Produced by Charles Bowen, from page scans provided by Google Books
Page scan source:
http://books.google.com/books?id=9pUnAAAAMAAJ&printsec
MAGDA
A Play In Four Acts
_By_
HERMANN SUDERMANN
_Translated from the German by_
CHARLES EDWARD AMORY WINSLOW
* * *
Copyright, 1895, by
Lamson, Wolffe and Company.
Assignment of above Copyright to
Emanuel Lederer,
13 West 42d Street, New York City,
recorded in Assignment Book
V. 21 Page 143, June 8,1899, Washington, D. C.
* * *
CAUTION.-Professionals and amateurs are hereby notified that this play
is fully copyrighted under the existing laws of the United States
Government, and nobody is allowed to do this play without first having
obtained permission of Samuel French, 24 West 22d Street, New York
City, U. S. A.
_Copyright, 1895_,
By Lamson, Wolffe, and Company.
MAGDA
CHARACTERS
Lieutenant-Colonel Leopold Schwartz.
Pastor Heffterdingt
Dr. Von Kellner
Max
Major-General Von Klebs
Prof. Beckmann
Mrs. Schwartz, the stepmother
Magda Schwartz \
> sisters
Marie Schwartz /
Franziska
Mrs. General Von Klebs
Mrs. Justice Ellrich
Mrs. Schumann
Theresa, the Schwartzs' maid
* * *
SYNOPSIS
Scene--The Schwartzs' home.
Act I.--Afternoon.
Act II.--Evening of the same day.
Act III.--The next morning.
Act IV.--The same morning.
Note.
Herr Hermann Sudermann has achieved surprising success in passing from
novel-writing to dramatic authorship. He has a style of the utmost
distinction, and is well skilled in technique. His masterpiece,
"Heimat," is absolutely original. No play has ever produced a more
impressive effect upon German audiences. When it ceases to be
performed, it will still hold a permanent and important place in the
libraries of dramatic literature. Though a psychological study, there
is no concentration of attention upon morbid conditions. All these have
passed before the play begins. There is no passion for mere passion's
sake. Its development proceeds from the energies of circumstances and
character.
Herr Sudermann, unlike some of the new dramatists, is not lacking in
humor; and the snobbishness, stuffy etiquette, and scandal-mongering of
a provincial town are well illustrated by the minor characters. Into
this atmosphere comes the whirlwind from the outer world with fatal
effect. It is scarcely possible to conceive more varied and intense
emotions naturally and even inevitably evolved from the action of a
single day. The value of the drama lies in the sharp contrasts between
the New and the Old, alternately commanding, in their strife, the
adhesion of the spectator or reader. The preparation for the return of
"The Prodigal Daughter" occupies an entire act, and invests her
entrance with an interest which increases until the tremendous climax.
Yet the proud martinet father commands our respect and sympathy; and
the Pastor, in his enlightened self-conquest, is the antithesis alike
of the narrowness and lawlessness of parent and child, and remains the
hero of the swift tragedy.
It is not uncommon that the scrupulousness attending circumstances
where partiality would be a natural impulse, makes criticism even
unusually exacting. It is believed that in this spirit the present
translation may be somewhat confidently characterized as being both
spirited and faithful.
E. W.
The Oxford.
_January_, 1896.
Persons.
Schwartze, _Lieutenant-Colonel on half-pay_.
Magda, \
> _his children by his first wife_.
Marie, /
Augusta, _born_ Von Wendlowski, _his second wife_.
Franziska von Wendlowski, _her sister_.
Max von Wendlowski, _Lieutenant, their nephew_.
Heffterdingt, _Pastor of St. Mary's_.
Dr. von Keller, _Councillor_.
Beckmann, _Professor Emeritus_.
Von Klebs, _Major-General on half-pay_.
Mrs. von Klebs.
Mrs. Justice Ellrich.
Mrs. Schumann.
Theresa, _maidservant of the Schwartze family_.
_Place_. The principal city of a province.
_Time_. The present.
MAGDA.
ACT I.
Scene. _Living-room in house of_ Lieutenant-Colonel Schwartze,
_furnished in simple and old-fashioned style. Left, at back, a glass
door with white curtains through which the dining-room is seen. There
is also a hall door, through which a staircase to the upper story is
visible. Right, a corner window, with white curtains, surrounded by
ivy. Left, a door to the_ Lieutenant-Colonel's _room. Steel engravings
of a religious and patriotic character, in tarnished gold frames,
photographs of military groups, and cases of butterflies on the walls.
Right, over the sofa, among other pictures, is the portrait of the
first Mrs. Schwartze, young and charming, in the costume of the
sixties. Behind the sofa, an old-fashioned desk. Before the window, a
small table with workbox and hand sewing-machine. At the back, between
the doors, an old-fashioned tall clock. In the left-hand corner, a
stand with dried grasses; in front, a table with a small aquarium.
Left, in front, a corner sofa with a small pipe-cupboard behind it. A
stove with a stuffed bird on it; and behind, a bookcase with a bust of
the old Emperor William._
[Marie _and_ Theresa _discovered_. Theresa _at the door_. Marie _is
occupied with the sewing-machine_.]
THERESA.
Miss Marie!
MARIE.
Well!
THERESA.
Is your father still lying down?
MARIE.
What's the matter? Has any one called?
THERESA.
No, but-- There! Look at that! [_Producing a magnificent mass of
flowers_.]
MARIE.
Good Heavens! Take it to my room quickly, or papa-- But, Theresa, when
the first came yesterday, weren't you told not to let any more be left?
THERESA.
I'd have sent the florist's boy away if I could, but I was up on the
ladder fixing the flag, and he laid it down and was gone before I could
stop him. My, my, though, they're beautiful! and if I might make a
guess, the Lieutenant--
MARIE.
You may not make a guess.
THERESA.
All right, all right. Oh, I know what I wanted to ask. Does the flag
hang well? [Marie _looks out, and nods assent_.]
THERESA.
The whole town is full of flags and flowers, and the most expensive
tapestries are hung out of the windows. One would think it was the
King's birthday. And all this fuss is about a stupid Music Festival!
What is this Music Festival, Miss Marie? Is it different from a choral
festival?
MARIE.
Yes, indeed.
THERESA.
Is it better?
MARIE.
Oh, much better!
THERESA.
Oh, well, if it's better-- [_A knock_.]
MARIE.
Come in!
_Enter_ Max.
THERESA.
Well, _now_ I suppose I can leave the flowers.
[_Exit_ Theresa, _laughing_.
MARIE.
You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Max.
MAX.
What on earth do you mean?
MARIE.
Aren't these flowers yours?
MAX.
Good Heavens! I can afford a few pennies for a bunch of violets once in
a while, but this-- Oh, no!
MARIE.
Nor yesterday's?
MAX.
No, nor yesterday's. [Marie _rings_.]
_Enter_ Theresa.
MARIE.
Please throw these flowers away.
THERESA.
What! Throw those beautiful flowers away?
MARIE.
You are right. The pastor would say, "If God's gifts do not please us,
we must at least take care that they give pleasure to others." Wouldn't
he?
MAX.
Probably he would.
MARIE.
Then you had better take them back to the florist's. Did they come from
Zimmerman's? [Theresa _nods_.] Well, we'll sell them if we can, and
give the money to Pastor Heffterdingt for his hospital.
THERESA.
Shall I go now?
MARIE.
After you have made the coffee. I'll serve it myself. [_Exit_ Theresa.]
These flowers are an insult! I need not tell you, Max, that I have
given no one the shadow of an excuse for such a thing.
MAX.
I'm very sure of that.
MARIE.
And papa was so angry. He simply stormed. And I was quiet because I
suspected it was you. If he got hold of the poor fellow, it would go
hard with him.
MAX.
Do you think it would be any better if I got hold of him?
MARIE.
What rights have you in the case?
MAX.
Marie! [_Takes her hand_.]
MARIE.
[_Gently disengaging herself_.] Oh, Max, please--not that. You know
every corner of my heart. But we must think of the proprieties.
MAX.
Proprieties! Oh, pshaw!
MARIE.
Well, you know what a world we live in. Here, every one is afraid of
every one else because each depends upon the good opinion of the other.
If a few anonymous flowers can make me talked of, how much more--
MAX.
Oh, yes, I know.
MARIE.
[_Laying her hand on his shoulder_.] Max, you'll speak again to Aunt
Frankie, won't you, about the guaranty[1] of your income?
MAX.
I have already.
MARIE.
Well?
MAX.
[_Shrugging his shoulders_.] As long as she lives, not a penny.
MARIE.
Then there's only one person who can help us.
MAX.
Your father?
MARIE.
No. For Heaven's sake, don't let him hear of it. He might forbid you
the house.
MAX.
What has he against me?
MARIE.
You know how he has been since our misfortune. He feels that there is a
blot to be wiped out; and especially now, when the whole town echoes
with music,--when everything recalls Magda.
MAX.
What if she should come back, some day?
MARIE.
After twelve years? She will never come.
[_Weeps_.]
MAX.
Marie!
MARIE.
You're right, you're right. I will put it away from me.
MAX.
But who is the one person who can help us?
MARIE.
Why, the pastor!
MAX.
Yes, yes, he might.
MARIE.
He can do everything. He stirs your very heart--as if-- And then he
seems like a kind of relation. He should have been my brother-in-law.
MAX.
Yes, but she wouldn't have it so.
MARIE.
Don't speak angrily, Max. She must have made atonement. [_A ring_.] Oh,
perhaps this is he.
MAX.
No, no, I forgot to tell you. Councillor von Keller asked me to bring
him here to-day.
MARIE.
What does he want?
MAX.
He wants to interest himself in the missions--no, it's in our home work
particularly, I think. I don't know-- Well, at any rate he wants to
come to the committee meeting tomorrow.
MARIE.
I'll call father and mother. [_Enter_ Theresa _with a card_.] Show him
in. [_Exit_ Theresa.] Entertain him until I come back. [_Gives him her
hand_.] And we'll talk again about the pastor some other time?
MAX.
In spite of the proprieties?
MARIE.
Oh, Max, I've been too forward! Haven't I?
MAX.
Marie!
MARIE.
No, no--we won't speak of it. Good-by.
[_Exit_ Marie.
_Enter_ Von Keller.
MAX.
You must content yourself with me for a few minutes, my dear Von
Keller. [_They shake hands_.]
VON KELLER.
With pleasure, my good sir, with pleasure. [_Sits_.] How our little
town is changed by the festival! It really seems as if we were in the
great world.
MAX.
[_Laughing_.] I advise you not to say that aloud.
VON KELLER.
What did I say? I assure you I did not mean anything. If such a
misunderstanding got abroad--
MAX.
You have nothing to fear from me!
VON KELLER.
Oh, of course not. Ah, how much better it would be to know nothing of
the outer world!
MAX.
How long were you away?
VON KELLER.
Five years, with examinations and being sent down to commissioners and
all that. Well, now I am back again. I drink home-brewed beer; I
patronize local tailors; I have even, with a noble fearlessness of
death, eaten the deer-steak of the season; and this I call pleasure!
Yes, youth, travel, and women are good things; but the world must be
ruled, and sober men are needed. Your time will come some day. The
years of honor are approaching. Yes, yes, especially when one joins the
ecclesiastical courts.
MAX.
Are you going to do that?
VON KELLER.
I think of it. And to be at one with those of the cloth-- I speak quite
openly with you--it is worth my while, in short, to interest myself in
religious questions. I have of late in my speeches, as perhaps you
know, taken this position; and as for the connections which this
household has--let me tell you I am proud of them.
MAX.
You might have been proud long ago.
VON KELLER.
Excuse me, am I over-sensitive? Or do I read a reproach in your words?
MAX.
Not quite that, but--if you will pardon me, it has sometimes
appeared--and not to me alone--as if you avoided the houses where my
uncle's family were to be found.
VON KELLER.
And my presence here now--does not that prove the contrary?
MAX.
Exactly. And therefore I too will speak very frankly. You were the last
person to meet my lost cousin, Magda.
VON KELLER.
[_Confused_.] Who says--
MAX.
You yourself have spoken of it, I am told. You met her with my friend
Heydebrand when he was at the military academy.
VON KELLER.
Yes, yes, it's true.
MAX.
It was wrong of me not to ask you about her openly, but you will
probably understand my reticence. I feel almost as if I belonged to
this family and I feared to learn something which might disgrace it.
VON KELLER.
Oh, not at all, not in the least. It was like this. When I was in
Berlin for the State Examinations, I saw one day on Leipsic Street a
familiar face,--a home face, if I may say so. You know what that is
when one is far away. Well, we spoke to each other. I learned that she
was studying to sing in opera, and that for this purpose she had left
her home.
MAX.
Not exactly. She left home to be companion to an old lady.
[_Hesitates_.] There was a difference with her father.
VON KELLER.
A love affair?
MAX.
In a way. Her father supported the suitor and told her to obey or leave
his house.
VON KELLER.
And she went away?
MAX.
Yes. Then, a year later, when she wrote that she was going on the
stage, it made the breach complete. But what else did you hear?
VON KELLER.
That's all.
MAX.
Nothing else?
VON KELLER.
Well, well,--I met her once or twice at the opera-house where she had a
pass.
MAX.
And you know absolutely nothing of her life?
VON KELLER.
[_With a shrug_.] Have you heard nothing from her?
MAX.
Nothing at all. Well, at any rate, I am grateful to you. I beg you,
however, not to mention the meeting to my uncle, unless he asks you
about it directly. He knows of it, of course, but the name of the lost
daughter is never mentioned in this house.
VON KELLER.
Oh, I have tact enough not to do that.
MAX.
And what do you think has become of her?
VON KELLER.
Oh, music is a lottery. Ten thousand blanks and one prize. A host of
beginners and but one who makes a career. If one becomes a Patti or a
Sembrich, or, to come down to our own Festival--
_Enter_ Schwartze _and_ Mrs. Schwartze.
SCHWARTZE.
[_Shaking hands_.] Welcome to my house! Councillor von Keller, my wife.
MRS. SCHWARTZE.
Pray sit down.
VON KELLER.
I should not have dared, madam, to ask the honor of this introduction
had I not wished so strongly to share in the good and useful work which
centres here. My purpose may excuse my temerity.
SCHWARTZE.
You're very kind; but you do us too much honor. If you seek the centre
of the whole movement, Pastor Heffterdingt is the man. He inspires all;
he controls all; he--
MRS. SCHWARTZE.
Do you know our pastor, sir?
VON KELLER.
I have heard him speak many times, dear lady, and have admired equally
the sincerity of his convictions and his naive faith in human nature.
But I cannot comprehend the influence he exerts.
MRS. SCHWARTZE.
You will find it out. He is so plain and simple that one hardly
realizes what a man he is. He brings every one round.
VON KELLER.
I am almost converted already, dear lady.
SCHWARTZE.
As for us here, all I can do is to give these weak and useless hands to
help on the great work. It's only right that an old soldier should
dedicate the little strength left him by the throne to the service of
the altar. Those are the two causes to fight for.
VON KELLER.
That's a great thought!
SCHWARTZE.
Thanks, thanks, but no more of this. Ah, ten years ago, when they gave
me my discharge, I was a devil of a fellow. Max, doesn't my old
battalion still tremble at my name?
MAX.
That they do, uncle.
SCHWARTZE.
Ah, that is one thing you escape in the civil service,--being laid on
the shelf without any fault of your own,--without the shadow of a
fault. Then there came a slight stroke of apoplexy. See how my hand
trembles now! And what had I to look forward to? It was then that my
young friend, Heffterdingt, showed me the way, through work and prayer,
to a new youth. Without him I never should have found it.
MRS. SCHWARTZE.
You mustn't believe all he says, Mr. von Keller. If he didn't always
depreciate himself, he would be better thought of in the highest
circles.
VON KELLER.
High and low, madam, everywhere your husband is known and honored.
SCHWARTZE.
[_Lighting up_.] Indeed? Ah, well, no vanity. No, no, that is the moth
that corrupts.
MRS. SCHWARTZE.
Is it really so wrong to wish for a little honor?
VON KELLER.
Oh!
SCHWARTZE.
What is honor? You would call it being led up the room by the governor,
or being asked to tea at the castle when the royal family is here.
MRS. SCHWARTZE.
You know very well that the latter honor has never fallen to my lot.
SCHWARTZE.
Oh, yes, pardon me. I knew your weak spot. I should have avoided it.
MRS. SCHWARTZE.
Yes, just think, Councillor, Mrs. Fanny Hirschfeld of the Children's
Hospital was invited, and I was not.
VON KELLER.
[_Deprecatingly_.] Oh!
SCHWARTZE.
[_Laughing, and stroking her head_.] Ah, the moth that corrupts, the
moth that corrupts! [_Enter_ Marie _with the coffee. She bows in a
friendly way to_ Von Keller.] Herr von Keller, my daughter--my only
daughter.
VON KELLER.
I've already had the pleasure.
MARIE.
I can't offer you a hand for welcome, Dr. Von Keller, but you may have
a cup of coffee instead.
VON KELLER.
[_Helping himself and looking at the others_.] I am very fortunate in
being treated like an old acquaintance of the family.
SCHWARTZE.
As far as we are concerned, you shall become not only an acquaintance
but a friend. And that is no conventional politeness, Councillor; for I
know you, and in these times, when all the ties of morality and
authority seem strained to bursting, it is doubly necessary that those
who stand for the good old patriarchal order should hold together.
VON KELLER.
Very true, very true indeed. One doesn't hear such sentiments as that
in the world in general, where modern ideas pass current for small
change.
SCHWARTZE.
Modern ideas! Oh, pshaw! I know them. But come into the quiet homes
where are bred brave soldiers and virtuous wives. There you'll hear no
talk about heredity, no arguments about individuality, no scandalous
gossip. There modern ideas have no foothold, for it is there that the
life and strength of the Fatherland abide. Look at this home! There is
no luxury,--hardly even what you call good taste,--faded rugs, birchen
chairs, old pictures; and yet when you see the beams of the western sun
pour through the white curtains and lie with such a loving touch on the
old room, does not something say to you, "Here dwells true happiness"?
[Von Keller _nods with conviction_.]
SCHWARTZE.
[_Broodingly_.] And here it might have dwelt!
MARIE.
[_Hurrying to him_.] Papa!
SCHWARTZE.
Yes, yes, I know. Well, in this house rules old-fashioned paternal
authority. And it shall rule as long as I live. And am I therefore a
tyrant? Tell me. You ought to know.
MARIE.
You're the best, the dearest--
MRS. SCHWARTZE.
He is so excitable, you see, Councillor.
SCHWARTZE.
Have you not been well brought up? And shall we not hold together, we
three? But the age goes on planting rebellion in children's hearts,
putting mistrust between man and wife [_rises_], and it will never be
satisfied till the last roof-tree smokes in ruins, and men wander about
the streets, fearful and alone, like homeless curs. [_Sinks back
exhausted_.]
MRS. SCHWARTZE.
You ought not to get so wrought up, papa. You know it is bad for you.
[Max _makes a sign to_ Von Keller.]
VON KELLER.
Shall I go? [Max _nods_.] This is an interesting subject to develop,
Colonel. I must say I think perhaps you are a little severe. But my
time--
SCHWARTZE.
Severe? Ah, well, don't think ill of an old man for speaking a little
too hotly.
VON KELLER.
Ah, sir, heat is the badge of youth. I believe I am a graybeard beside
you.
SCHWARTZE.
No, no. [_Presses his hand_.]
VON KELLER.
Madam! Miss Marie! [_Exit_. Max _follows him_.]
SCHWARTZE.
Greet the battalion for me, my boy.
MAX.
I will, dear uncle. [_Exit_.
MRS. SCHWARTZE.
A very agreeable man.
MARIE.
Almost too agreeable.
SCHWARTZE.
You are speaking of our guest! [Mrs. Schwartze _makes_ Marie _a sign
to be careful_.]
MARIE.
Will you have your pipe, papa?
SCHWARTZE.
Yes, dear.
MRS. SCHWARTZE.
The gentlemen of the card-club will be here soon. How lucky that we
didn't eat the haunch of venison Sunday! I've ordered some red wine for
the General, too. I paid three marks; that's not too dear, is it?
SCHWARTZE.
Not if it's good. Is your sister coming to-day?
MRS. SCHWARTZE.
I think so.
SCHWARTZE.
She was asked to the Governor's yesterday, wasn't she?
MRS. SCHWARTZE.
[_Sighing_.] Yes.
SCHWARTZE.
And we were not. Poor thing! She must look out for me to-day if she
boasts. [_Aside_] Old cat!
MARIE.
[_Kneels before him, lighting his pipe_.] Be good, father dear. What
harm does it do you?
SCHWARTZE.
Yes, yes, darling. I'll be good. But my heart is sore. [_Bell rings_.
Marie _hurries out_.]
MRS. SCHWARTZE.
Here they are.
_Enter_ Major-general Von Klebs, Professor
Beckmann, _and_ Marie.
VON KLEBS.
My humblest respects to the ladies. Ah, my dear madam! [_Kisses her
hand_.]
MRS. SCHWARTZE.
Make yourselves at home, gentlemen.
VON KLEBS.
Ha, my dear Colonel, hearty as ever? All ready for the fray, little
one? Now we are all right. But we were almost too late. We were caught
in the Music Festival crowd. Such a confusion! I was bringing the
schoolmaster along, and just as we passed by the German House, there
was a great crush of people, gaping as if there were a princess at the
least. And what do you suppose it was? A singer! These are really what
one may call goings-on. All this fuss about a singer! What do they call
the person?
BECKMANN.
Ah, General, we seem to be in a strange land to-day.
VON KLEBS.
We are under a curse, my dear madam. We are bearing a penance. [_They
sit_.]
BECKMANN.
But you must know dall' Orto, the great Italian Wagner singer. We are
very fortunate in getting her for the festival. If she were not here--
VON KLEBS.
Well, well, what if she were not? Eh? I hoped that our strictly moral
circle, at least, would hold itself aloof from all this. But since the
Governor gives receptions in the lady's honor! And, best of all, to cap
the climax, who do you think was standing to-day among the enthusiasts,
craning his neck like the rest? You'll never guess. It's too
inconceivable. The pastor!
SCHWARTZE.
The pastor?
VON KLEBS.
Yes, our pastor.
SCHWARTZE.
How extraordinary!
VON KLEBS.
Now, I ask you, what did he want there? And what did the others want
there? And what good is the whole festival?
BECKMANN.
I should think that the cultivation of the faculty of the ideal among
the people was an object--
VON KLEBS.
The way to cultivate the faculty of the ideal is to found a Soldiers'
Union.
SCHWARTZE.
But, General, every one isn't so lucky as to be a soldier.
VON KLEBS.
[_Sorting his cards_.] Well, we have been, Colonel. I know no one, I
wish to know no one, who has not been a soldier. And all this so-called
Art,--what good does it do?
BECKMANN.
Art raises the moral tone of the people.
VON KLEBS.
There we have it, madam!--We're beaten, beaten by the hero of
Koeniggraetz.--I tell you Art is a mere invention of those who are afraid
to be soldiers to gain an important position for themselves. I pass.
SCHWARTZE.
I pass.
BECKMANN.
And will you maintain that Art-- I have the nine of spades.
[_Bell rings. Exit_ Marie. Von Klebs _makes an impatient movement_.
Schwartze _quiets him. They begin to play_.]
_Enter_ Franziska, _followed by the_ Pastor.
VON KLEBS.
Ah, Miss Franziska! [_Aside_] That is the end of us!
SCHWARTZE.
No, no, we'll send her into the garden.
FRANZISKA.
[_Throwing herself into a chair_.] Oh, I am so hot! I must get my
breath. Pray don't put yourself out, General.
BECKMANN.
Nine of spades!
VON KLEBS.
Hello, here's the pastor too!
HEFFTERDINGT.
Good-day to you! [_He shakes hands with each_.]
VON KLEBS.
How long have you been running after the singers. Pastor?
HEFFTERDINGT.
What? Oh, yes. Yes, I am running after singers. That's my occupation
now.
SCHWARTZE.
You can play with our card party though, can't you?
HEFFTERDINGT.
Unfortunately, no. I must, on the contrary, ask for a few serious words
with you, my dear sir.
VON KLEBS.
Ah, but you'll put it off, won't you, Pastor?
FRANZISKA.
Oh, for Heaven's sake! It's so important. There must be no delay.
SCHWARTZE.
Is my sister-in-law in it too?
FRANZISKA.
Very much so.
VON KLEBS.
Oh, well, we can go away again.
MRS. SCHWARTZE.
Oh, we shouldn't like that at all.
SCHWARTZE.
If it were not you, dear pastor, who separated us!
MRS. SCHWARTZE.
But perhaps, Marie, the gentlemen would be willing to take a turn with
you in the garden.
VON KLEBS.
Certainly! That's good! That's famous! That's what we'll do! Miss
Marie, be so good as to lead the way.
BECKMANN.
Shall we leave the cards as they lie?
VON KLEBS.
Yes, you have the nine of spades. Come on.
[_Exit_ Von Klebs, Beckmann, _and_ Marie.
SCHWARTZE.
Well?
FRANZISKA.
Good Lord, don't you see how upset I am? You might at least give me a
glass of water. [Mrs. Schwartze _brings it_.]
HEFFTERDINGT.
Will you promise me, my dear sir, that whatever may happen you will
preserve your calmness? You may believe me, much depends upon it.
SCHWARTZE.
Yes, yes; but what--
HEFFTERDINGT.
Miss Franziska will tell you better.
FRANZISKA.
[_After drinking the water_.] This is a day indeed! Fate is avenging
me. This man has for years outraged my holiest feelings, but today I
can heap coals of fire on his head. [_Moved_.] Brother-in-law, give me
your hand. Sister, yours.
HEFFTERDINGT.
Pardon me, dear Miss Franziska, I think your news is so important
that--
FRANZISKA.
[_Melting_.] Don't be angry, don't be angry. I am so upset! Well,
yesterday I was at the Governor's. Only the nobility and the most
important people were asked. You weren't asked?
SCHWARTZE.
[_Angrily_.] No.
FRANZISKA.
I did not mean to offend you. Oh, I am so upset! [_Suppressing a sob at
a sign from the_ Pastor.] Yes, yes, yes. I had on my yellow silk dress
with the Brussels lace--you know I've had the train shortened. Well, as
I stepped into the room--whom do you think I saw?
SCHWARTZE.
Well, well, who?
FRANZISKA.
[_Sobbing_.] Your child! Magdalene!
[Schwartze _staggers, and is supported by the_ Pastor. Mrs. Schwartze
_cries out. A pause._]
SCHWARTZE.
Pastor?
HEFFTERDINGT.
It is true.
SCHWARTZE.
[_Standing up_.] Magdalene is no longer my child.
FRANZISKA.
Ah, just wait. If you listen, you'll look at it in quite another light.
Such a child you will welcome with open arms.
SCHWARTZE.
Magdalene is no longer my child.
HEFFTERDINGT.
But you may at least hear the circumstances.
SCHWARTZE.
[_Dazed_.] Yes, I suppose so.
FRANZISKA.
[_At a sign from_ Heffterdingt.] Well, the great dining-hall was
crammed. They were almost all strangers. Then I saw his Excellency
coming down the room. And on his arm was a lady--
MRS. SCHWARTZE.
On his Excellency's arm?
FRANZISKA.
With dark hair, and very proud and tall--and around her a crowd of men
just like the circle about royalty--and chatting and laughing. And any
one to whom she spoke seemed as happy as if it were the Princess. And
she wore half a dozen orders, and an orange band with a medal about her
neck. I was wondering what royal personage it could be--when she turned
half around--and--I knew Magda's eyes!
SCHWARTZE.
Impossible!
FRANZISKA.
That is what I saw!
HEFFTERDINGT.
My dear Colonel, it is true.
SCHWARTZE.
If she-- [_Clasping his hands_.] At least she has not fallen! She has
not fallen! Father in Heaven, Thou hast kept her safely!
MRS. SCHWARTZE.
And what is she, to have such honor--
HEFFTERDINGT.
She has become a great singer, and calls herself, in Italian, Maddalene
dall' Orto.
MRS. SCHWARTZE.
Listen, listen, Leopold, the famous singer of whom the papers are so
full is our child!
SCHWARTZE.
Magda is no longer my child.
HEFFTERDINGT.
Is that your fixed resolve?
FRANZISKA.
What sort of a heart have you? You ought to imitate me. She offended me
as only she could,--the little wretch! That is, then she was a little
wretch. But now--well, she did not look at me; but if she had--
MRS. SCHWARTZE.
Leopold, she was on his Excellency's arm!
SCHWARTZE.
I tell you, and you,--and you, too, Pastor,--that I would rather have
seen her lying in rags and tatters at my feet and begging for
forgiveness. For then I should have known that she was still, at heart,
my child. But why has she come back here? The world was large enough
for her triumph. Why should she rob this humble provincial nest of
ours? I know why. To show her miserable father how far one can rise in
the world by treading filial duty into the dust,--that is her
intention. Pride and arrogance speak in her, and nothing else.
HEFFTERDINGT.
My dear Colonel, I might ask, what speaks in you? A father's love? You
could make no pretence to that. Your rights? I think rather it would be
your right to rejoice in the good fortune of your child. Offended
custom? I don't know-- Your daughter has done so much through her own
strength that even offended custom might at least condone it. It
appears to me that pride and arrogance speak in you--and nothing else.
SCHWARTZE.
[_Angrily_.] Pastor!
HEFFTERDINGT.
Oh, don't be angry--there is no need of that. When I have something to
say, I must say it, mustn't I? I might almost think that it displeased
you that she has climbed so high in spite of you. Your pride demands
something to forgive, and you are angry because there is nothing to be
forgiven. And now, let me ask you, do you seriously wish that she had
found her way home, lost and ruined? Do you dare answer for such a wish
before the throne of God? [_A silence_.] No, my dear old friend. You
have often, in jest, called me your good angel; let me be so once, in
reality. Come with me--now--to-day.
FRANZISKA.
If you'd only seen-- [Heffterdingt _stops her_.]
SCHWARTZE.
Has she made the slightest effort to approach her parents? Has she
thought of her home with one throb of love? Who will vouch for it that
my outstretched hand will not be repulsed with scorn?
HEFFTERDINGT.
I will vouch for it.
SCHWARTZE.
You? You, above all, have had a proof of her untamable pride.
HEFFTERDINGT.
[_With embarrassment_.] You should not have reminded me of that.
_Enter_ Marie _with flowers, and_ Theresa.
MARIE.
Papa, papa, listen to what Theresa-- Oh! am I interrupting?
SCHWARTZE.
[_Pulling himself together_.] What is it?
MARIE.
To-day I got some more flowers; and when I sent Theresa back to the
florist's, she found out it was not a man, but a lady, who had ordered
them. And she couldn't sell them again; so she brought them back. [_The
others exchange glances_.]
HEFFTERDINGT.
Tell me, Theresa, did they describe this lady to you?
THERESA.
She was tall, with great dark eyes, and there was something very
distinguished and foreign about her.
HEFFTERDINGT.
[_Leads_ Marie _to the back of the stage, and lays his hand on_
Schwartze's _arm_.] You asked for a token of love!
SCHWARTZE.
[_Staring at the flowers_.] From her!
MRS. SCHWARTZE.
They must have cost a small fortune!
MARIE.
Theresa has something else very wonderful to tell, too.
HEFFTERDINGT.
What is it, Theresa? Quick!
THERESA.
If the pastor wishes it. When I came back, the porter told me that last
evening in the twilight a carriage stopped before the door; there was a
lady inside. She didn't get out, but kept watching all the windows of
our house where there were lights. And when he went out to ask what she
wanted, she said something to her coachman, and they were gone! [_All
show signs of astonishment_.]
HEFFTERDINGT.
That's all, Theresa. [_Exit_ Theresa.
HEFFTERDINGT.
Pardon us, dear Miss Marie, if we treat you once more like a child, and
ask you to leave us alone for a moment.
MARIE.
I am so frightened at all this, Pastor. [_Imploringly_.] Papa?
SCHWARTZE.
What is it, child?
MARIE.
Papa, papa, do you know who this lady is?
SCHWARTZE.
I? No. I can only guess.
MARIE.
[_Bursting out_.] Magdalene--Magda! Magda is here! [_Falling on her
knees_.] Oh, you will forgive her?
SCHWARTZE.
Get up, my child. Your sister is far above my poor forgiveness.
HEFFTERDINGT.
She is not above your love.
MARIE.
Magda is here! Magda herself is here! [_Throws her arms about her
mother's neck, weeping_.]
FRANZISKA.
Won't any one bring me a glass of water? I am so upset!
HEFFTERDINGT.
Are you quite resolved? [Schwartze _remains motionless_.] Will you let
her go on her way without--
SCHWARTZE.
That would be best.
HEFFTERDINGT.
How will it be with you if in your death-hour a longing for your lost
child comes upon you, and all you can say to yourself is, "She stood
before my door and I would not open it"?
SCHWARTZE.
[_Shaken and half convinced_.] What would you have me do? Must I abase
myself before my runaway child?
HEFFTERDINGT.
No, you shall not do that. I--I--will go to her.
SCHWARTZE.
You? Pastor--you?
HEFFTERDINGT.
This afternoon I waited before her hotel to see if Miss Franziska had
not been mistaken. At a quarter to four she came out of the house and
got into her carriage.
MARIE.
You saw her?
MRS. SCHWARTZE.
How did she look? What did she have on?
HEFFTERDINGT.
The performance began at four, and must be almost over now. I will wait
for her again at the hotel, and will tell her that she will find your
arms open to her. May I?
MARIE.
Yes, yes, papa, won't you let him?
MRS. SCHWARTZE.
Just think with whom your daughter--
SCHWARTZE.
Will you swear to me that no weak and personal motives are mixed with
your intention,--that you do what you do in the name of our Lord and
Saviour?
HEFFTERDINGT.
I swear it!
SCHWARTZE.
Then God's will be done. [Marie _gives a cry of joy_. Heffterdingt
_presses_ Schwartze's _hand_.]
SCHWARTZE.
[_Holding his hand, speaking softly_.] The way will be hard for you, I
know. Your lost youth--your pride--
HEFFTERDINGT.
Dear Colonel, I begin to think that pride is a very poor sort of thing.
It really profits us little to have it always in our mouths. I am
giving back a daughter to an old father. I am giving back a home to an
erring soul. That, I think, is enough. [_Exit_. Marie _throws herself
on her father's breast, laughing and crying_.]