Scene: _the same. Morning. On the table at the left, coffee-service and
flowers._
[Mrs. Schwartze _and_ Franziska _discovered_.]
MRS. SCHWARTZE.
[_Excitedly_.] Thank Heaven, you've come. Such a time we've had this
morning!
FRANZISKA.
So?
MRS. SCHWARTZE.
Just think, two people have come from the hotel,--a gentleman who looks
like a lord, and a young lady like a princess. They're her servants.
FRANZISKA.
What extravagance!
MRS. SCHWARTZE.
And they're calling and talking all over the house, and neither of them
knows any German. And her ladyship ordered a warm bath, that was not
warm enough; and a cold douche, which was not cold enough; and spirits,
which she simply poured out of the window; and toilet vinegar, which we
didn't have at all.
FRANZISKA.
What demands! And where is your famous young lady?
MRS. SCHWARTZE.
After her bath she has gone back to bed again.
FRANZISKA.
I would not have such sloth in my house.
MRS. SCHWARTZE.
I shall tell her so. For Leopold's sake-- [_Enter_ Theresa.] What do
you want, Theresa?
THERESA.
Councillor von Keller--he has sent his servant here to ask whether the
Lieutenant has come yet, and what is the young lady's answer.
MRS. SCHWARTZE.
What young lady?
THERESA.
That's what I don't know.
MRS. SCHWARTZE.
Then just give our regards, and say that the Lieutenant has not come
yet.
FRANZISKA.
He is on duty till twelve. After that he'll come.
[_Exit_ Theresa. _As she opens the door, a great noise is heard in the
hall,--a man's voice and a woman's disputing in Italian_.]
MRS. SCHWARTZE.
Listen to that! [_Speaking outside_.] Just you wait. Your Signora'll be
here soon. [_Shuts the door_.] Ah! And now, breakfast. What do you
think she drinks?
FRANZISKA.
Why, coffee.
MRS. SCHWARTZE.
No.
FRANZISKA.
Tea, then?
MRS. SCHWARTZE.
No.
FRANZISKA.
Then it must be chocolate!
MRS. SCHWARTZE.
No; coffee and chocolate mixed.
FRANZISKA.
Horrible! But it must be good.
MRS. SCHWARTZE.
And yesterday half a dozen trunks came from the hotel, and as many more
are still there. Ah, what there is in them all! One whole trunk for
hats! A peignoir of real point, and open-work stockings with gold
embroidery, and [_in a whisper_] silk chemises--
FRANZISKA.
What? Silk--
MRS. SCHWARTZE.
Yes.
FRANZISKA.
[_With a gesture of horror_.] It is simply sinful.
_Enter_ Magda, _in brilliant morning toilette, speaking outside as she
opens the door_.
MAGDA.
_Ma che cosa volete voi? Perche non aspettate, finche vi commando?_ Ha?
MRS. SCHWARTZE.
Now they are getting their share!
MAGDA.
No, no; _e tempo_! [_Shutting the door_.] _Va, bruto_! Good-morning,
mamma. [_Kisses her_.] I'm a late sleeper, eh? Ah, good-morning, Aunt
Frankie. In a good humor? So am I.
MRS. SCHWARTZE.
What did the strange gentleman want, Magda?
MAGDA.
Stupid beast! He wanted to know when I was going away, the idiot! How
can I tell? [_Patting her_.] Eh, _mamma mia_? Oh, children, I slept
like the dead. My ear on the pillow, and off! And the douche was so
nice and cold. I feel so strong. _Allons, cousine_! Hop! [_Seizes_
Franziska _by the waist and jumps her into the air_.]
FRANZISKA.
[_Furiously_.] What do you--
MAGDA.
[_Haughtily_.] Eh?
FRANZISKA.
[_Cringingly_]. You are so facetious.
MAGDA.
Am I? [_Clapping her hands_.] Breakfast!
_Enter_ Marie, _with a tray of coffee things_.
MARIE.
Good-morning.
FRANZISKA.
Good-morning, my child.
MAGDA.
I'm dying of hunger. Ah! [_Pats her stomach_. Marie _kisses_
Franziska's _hand_.]
MAGDA.
[_Taking off the cover, with unction_.] Delicious! One would know
Giulietta was in the house.
FRANZISKA.
She has made noise enough, at least.
MAGDA.
Oh, she couldn't live without a good row. And when she gets too
excited, she quietly throws a plate at your head. I'm accustomed to it.
What is papa doing?
MRS. SCHWARTZE.
He's making his excuses to the members of the Committee.
MAGDA.
Is your life still half made up of excuses? What sort of a committee is
it?
MRS. SCHWARTZE.
It's the Christian Aid Society. They should have had a meeting here
this morning in our house. Now we thought it would not do. It would
look as if we wanted to introduce you.
FRANZISKA.
But, Augusta, now it will look as if your daughter were more important
to you--
MAGDA.
Well, I hope she is!
MRS. SCHWARTZE.
Of course! But--oh dear, you don't know what sort of people they are.
They are deserving of great respect. For instance, there's Mrs. General
von Klebs. [_Proudly_.] We are friends of hers.
MAGDA.
[_With sham respect_.] Really?
MRS. SCHWARTZE.
Now, they'll probably come to-morrow. Then you'll meet, besides, some
other pious and aristocratic ladies whose patronage gains us a great
deal of influence. I'm curious to see how they'll like you.
MAGDA.
How I shall like them, you should say.
MRS. SCHWARTZE.
Yes--that is--but we're talking and talking--
MARIE.
[_Jumping up_.] Oh, excuse me, mamma.
MAGDA.
No, you must stay here.
MRS. SCHWARTZE.
Yes, Magda; but about your trunks at the hotel,--I am constantly on the
rack for fear something should be left.
MAGDA.
Send for them, then, children.
FRANZISKA.
[_Aside to_ Mrs. Schwartze.] Now I'll question her thoroughly, Augusta.
Leave us alone.
[_Exit_ Mrs. Schwartze.
FRANZISKA.
[_Sitting down, with importance_.] And now, my dear Magda, you must
tell your old aunt all about it.
MAGDA.
Eh? Ah, look here, mamma needs help. Go on, quick! Make yourself
useful.
FRANZISKA.
[_Viciously_.] If you command it.
MAGDA.
Oh, I have only to request.
FRANZISKA.
[_Rising_.] It seems to me that your requests are somewhat forcible.
MAGDA.
[_Laughing_.] Perhaps.
[_Exit_ Franziska _in a rage_.
MARIE.
Oh, Magda!
MAGDA.
Yes, sweet. That's the way to go through the world,--bend or break;
that is, I never bend. It's the only way.
MARIE.
Oh, good Heavens!
MAGDA.
Poor child! Yes, in this house one learns quite other views. I bent,
myself, yesterday disgracefully. Ah, how nice our old mamma is!
[_Earnestly, pointing to the mother's picture_.] And she up there! Do
you remember her? [Marie _shakes her head_.]
MAGDA.
[_Thoughtfully_.] She died too soon! Where's papa? I want him. And yet
I'm afraid of him too. Now, child, while I eat my breakfast, now you
must make your confession.
MARIE.
Oh, I can't.
MAGDA.
Just show me the locket!
MARIE.
There!
MAGDA.
A lieutenant! Naturally. With us it's always a tenor.
MARIE.
Oh. Magda, it's no joke. He is my fate.
MAGDA.
What is the name of this fate?
MARIE.
It's Cousin Max.
MAGDA.
[_Whistles_.] Why don't you many the good youth, then?
MARIE.
Aunt Frankie wants a better match for him, and so she won't give him
the guaranty he needs. It's abominable!
MAGDA.
_Si! C'est bete, ca!_ And how long have you loved each other?
MARIE.
I don't remember when we did not.
MAGDA.
And where does he meet you?
MARIE.
Here.
MAGDA.
I mean elsewhere--alone.
MARIE.
We are never alone together. I think this precaution we owe to our own
self-respect.
MAGDA.
Come here--close--tell me the truth--has it never entered your mind to
cast this whole network of precaution and respect away from you, and to
go with the man you love out and away--anywhere--it doesn't matter
much--and as you lie quietly on his breast, to hurl back a scornful
laugh at the whole world which has sunk behind you?
MARIE.
No, Magda, I never feel so.
MAGDA.
But would you die for him?
MARIE.
[_Standing up with a gesture of enthusiasm_.]
I would die a thousand deaths for him!
MAGDA.
My poor little darling! [_Aside_.] They bring everything to naught. The
most terrible of all passions becomes in their hands a mere resigned
defiance of death.
MARIE.
Whom are you speaking of?
MAGDA.
Nothing, nothing. See here, how large is this sum you need?
MARIE.
Sixty thousand marks.
MAGDA.
When can you be married? Must it be now, or will afternoon do?
MARIE.
Don't mock me, Magda.
MAGDA.
You must give me time to telegraph. One can't carry so much money about
with one.
MARIE.
[_Slowly taking it in, and then, with an outburst of joy, throwing
herself at_ Magda's _feet_.] Magda!
MAGDA.
[_After a silence_.] Be happy, love your husband. And if you hold your
first-born on your arm, in the face of the world [_holding out her arms
with angry emphasis_]-- so, face to face, then think of one who-- Ah!
some one's coming.
_Enter_ Heffterdingt _with a portfolio_.
MAGDA.
[_Crossing to him_.] Oh, it's you. That's good. I wanted you.
HEFFTERDINGT.
You wanted me? What for?
MAGDA.
Only--I want to talk with you, holy man.
HEFFTERDINGT.
Isn't it good, Miss Magda, to be at home again?
MAGDA.
Oh, yes, except for the old aunt's sneaking about.
MARIE.
[_Who is collecting the breakfast-things; laughing, but frightened_.]
Oh, Heavens, Magda!
HEFFTERDINGT.
Good-morning, Miss Marie.
MARIE.
Good-morning, Pastor.
[_Exit, with the table_.
HEFFTERDINGT.
Heavens, how she beams!
MAGDA.
She has reason.
HEFFTERDINGT.
Isn't your father here?
MAGDA.
No.
HEFFTERDINGT.
Isn't he well?
MAGDA.
I think so. I haven't seen him yet. Yesterday we sat together till
late. I told him what I could tell. But I think he was very unhappy;
his eyes were always searching and probing. Oh, I fear your promise
will be badly kept.
HEFFTERDINGT.
That seems like a reproach. I hope you don't regret--
MAGDA.
No, my friend, I don't regret it. But I feel very curiously. I seem to
be in a tepid bath, I'm so weak and warm. What they call German
sentiment is awaking again, and I have been so unused to it. My heart
seems like a Christmas number of the "Gartenlaube,"--moonlight,
betrothals, lieutenants, and I don't know what! But the best of it is,
I know that I'm playing with myself. I can cast it all off as a child
throws away its doll, and be my old self again.
HEFFTERDINGT.
That would be bad for us.
MAGDA.
Oh, don't be angry with me. I seem to be all torn and rooted up. And
then I am so afraid--
HEFFTERDINGT.
Of what?
MAGDA.
I can't--I can't be quite one of you. I am an intruder. [_Aside,
fearfully_.] If a spectre from without were to appear, this whole idyl
would go up in flames. [Heffterdingt _suppresses a start of
astonishment_.] And I'm confined, hemmed in. I begin to be a coward.
HEFFTERDINGT.
I don't think one should be terrified at feeling filial love.
MAGDA.
Filial love? I should like to take that snow-white head in my lap and
say, "You old child!" And nevertheless I must bend my will, I must bend
my will. I am not accustomed to that. I must conquer; I must sing down
opposition. I sing or I live,--for both are one and the same,--so that
men must will as I do. I force them, I compel them to love and mourn
and exult and lament as I do. And woe to him who resists! I sing them
down,--I sing and sing until they become slaves and playthings in my
hands. I know I'm confused, but you understand what I mean.
HEFFTERDINGT.
To work the impress of one's own personality,--that's what you mean,
isn't it?
MAGDA.
_Si, si, si, si_! Oh, I could tell you everything. Your heart has
tendrils which twine about other hearts and draw them out. And you
don't do it selfishly. You don't know how mighty you are. The men
outside there are beasts, whether in love or hate. But you are a man.
And one feels like a man when one is near you. Just think, when you
came in yesterday, you seemed to me so small; but something grows out
from you and becomes always greater, almost too great for me.
HEFFTERDINGT.
Good Heavens, what can it be?
MAGDA.
What shall I call it,--self-sacrifice, self-abnegation? It is something
with self--or rather the reverse. That is what impresses me. And that
is why you can do so much with me.
HEFFTERDINGT.
How strange!
MAGDA.
What?
HEFFTERDINGT.
I must own it to you--it is--it is nonsense; but since I have seen you
again, a sort of longing has awakened within me to be like you.
MAGDA.
Ha, ha! You, model of men! Like me!
HEFFTERDINGT.
I have had to stifle much in my nature. My peace is the peace of the
dead. And as you stood before me yesterday in your freshness, your
natural strength, your--your greatness, I said to myself, "That is what
you might have been if at the right moment joy had entered into your
life."
MAGDA.
[_In a whisper_.] And one thing more, my friend,-- sin! We must sin if
we wish to grow. To become greater than our sins is worth more than all
the purity you preach.
HEFFTERDINGT.
[_Impressed_.] That would be-- [_Voices outside_.]
MAGDA.
[_Starting and listening_.] 'Sh!
HEFFTERDINGT.
What's the matter?
MAGDA.
Nothing, it's only my stupid nervousness; not on my own account,
believe me, only out of pity for all these. We shall still be friends?
HEFFTERDINGT.
As long as you need me.
MAGDA.
And when I cease to need you?
HEFFTERDINGT.
There will be no change in me, Miss Magda. [_As he is going, he meets_
Schwartze _in the doorway_.]
_Enter_ Schwartze.
SCHWARTZE.
Good-morning, my dear pastor! Will you go out on the porch for a
moment? I will follow you. [_Exit_ Heffterdingt.] Now, did you sleep
well, my child? [_Kisses her on the forehead_.]
MAGDA.
Finely. In my old room I found the old sleep of childhood.
SCHWARTZE.
Had you lost it?
MAGDA.
Haven't you?
SCHWARTZE.
They say a good conscience-- Come to me, my child.
MAGDA.
Gladly, papa! No, let me sit at your feet. There I can see your
beautiful white beard. When I look at it, I always think of Christmas
eve and a quiet snow-covered field.
SCHWARTZE.
My child, you know how to say pretty things. When you speak, one seems
to see pictures about one. Here we are not so clever; that is why we
have nothing to conceal here.
MAGDA.
We also-- But speak quietly, papa.
SCHWARTZE.
Yes, I must. You know what agreement you made with the pastor.
MAGDA.
Which you will keep?
SCHWARTZE.
I am accustomed to keep to what I have promised. But you must see
that the suspicion--whatever I may do, the suspicion weighs like a
mountain--
MAGDA.
What do you suspect?
SCHWARTZE.
I don't know. You have appeared among us as wonderfully as gloriously.
But brilliance and worldly honor and all that don't blind a father's
eyes. You seem to be warm at heart too. At least, one would think so to
hear you speak. But there is something in your eyes which does not
please me, and a scornful curl about your lips.
MAGDA.
Dear, good old papa!
SCHWARTZE.
You see! This tenderness is not that of a daughter towards her father.
It is so that one pets a child, whether it be a young or an old one.
And although I'm only a poor soldier, lame and disabled, I demand your
respect, my child.
MAGDA.
I have never withheld it. [_Rising_.]
SCHWARTZE.
That is good, that is good, my daughter. Believe me, we are not so
simple as we may appear to you. We have eyes to see, and ears to hear,
that the spirit of moral revolt is abroad in the world. The seed which
should take root in the heart, begins to decay. What were once sins
easily become customs to you. My child, soon you will go away. When you
return, you may find me in the grave.
MAGDA.
Oh, no, papa!
SCHWARTZE.
It's in God's hand. But I implore you-- Come here, my
child--nearer--so-- [_He draws her down to him, and takes her head
between his hands_.] I implore you--let me be happy in my dying hour.
Tell me that you have remained pure in body and soul, and then go with
my blessing on your way.
MAGDA.
I have remained--true to myself, dear father.
SCHWARTZE.
How? In good or in ill?
MAGDA.
In what--for me--was good.
SCHWARTZE.
[_Blankly_.] In what--for you--then?
MAGDA.
[_Rising_.] And now don't worry any more. Let me enjoy these few days
quietly. They will be over soon enough.
SCHWARTZE.
[_Broodingly_.] I love you with my whole heart, because I have sorrowed
for you--so long. [_Threateningly, rising_.] But I must know who you
are.
MAGDA.
Father dear-- [_Bell rings_. Mrs. Schwartze _bursts in_.]
MRS. SCHWARTZE.
Just think! the ladies of the Committee are here! They want to
congratulate us in person. Do you think we ought to offer them coffee,
Leopold?
SCHWARTZE.
I will go into the garden, Augusta.
MRS. SCHWARTZE.
For Heaven's sake--they're just coming--you must receive their
congratulations.
SCHWARTZE.
I can't--no--I can't do it! [_Exit, left_.
MRS. SCHWARTZE.
What is the matter with your father?
_Enter_ Mrs. General Von Klebs, Mrs. Justice
Ellrich, Mrs. Schumann, _and_ Franziska.
FRANZISKA.
[_As she opens the door_.] My dear, the ladies--
MRS. VON KLEBS.
[_Giving her hand to_ Mrs. Schwartze.] What a day for you, my dear!
The whole town rejoices in the happy event.
MRS. SCHWARTZE.
Permit me--my daughter--Mrs. General von Klebs, Mrs. Justice Ellrich,
Mrs. Schumann.
MRS. SCHUMANN.
I am only the wife of a simple merchant; but--
MRS. VON KLEBS.
My husband will do himself the honor soon--
MRS. SCHWARTZE.
Won't you sit down, ladies? [_They sit_.]
FRANZISKA.
[_With aplomb_.] Yes, it is truly a joyful event for the whole family.
MRS. VON KLEBS.
We have unfortunately not shared the pleasures of the festival, my dear
young lady. I must therefore refrain from expressing that admiration to
which you are so well accustomed.
MRS. SCHUMANN.
If we had known, we should certainly have ordered tickets.
MRS. VON KLEBS.
Do you expect to remain here for very long?
MAGDA.
That I really cannot say, madam--or, pardon me--your ladyship?
MRS. VON KLEBS.
I must beg you--no.
MAGDA.
Oh, pardon me!
MRS. VON KLEBS.
Oh, please!
MAGDA.
We are such birds of passage, my dear madam, that we can really never
plan for the future.
MRS. ELLRICH.
But one must have one's real home.
MAGDA.
Why? One must have a vocation. That seems to me enough.
FRANZISKA.
It's all in the point of view, dear Magda.
MRS. VON KLEBS.
Ah, we're so far removed from all these ideas, my dear young lady.
Every now and then some person gives lectures here, but the good
families have nothing to do with it.
MAGDA.
[_Politely_.] Oh, I can quite understand that. The good families need
nothing, as they have plenty to eat. [_A silence_.]
MRS. ELLRICH.
But at least you must have some residence?
MAGDA.
If you call it so,--a place to sleep. Yes, I have a villa by the Lake
of Como and an estate at Naples. [_Sensation_.]
MRS. SCHWARTZE.
But you've said nothing to us about that.
MAGDA.
I hardly ever make use of them, mamma dear.
MRS. ELLRICH.
Art must be a very trying occupation?
MAGDA.
[_In a friendly tone_.] It depends upon how one follows it, my dear
madam.
MRS. ELLRICH.
My daughter used to take singing-lessons, and it always taxed her very
much.
MAGDA.
[_Politely_.] Oh, I'm sorry for that.
MRS. ELLRICH.
Naturally, you only do it for pleasure.
MAGDA.
Oh, it's so much pleasure! [_Aside to_ Mrs. Schwartze, _who sits near
her_.] Get these women away, or I shall be rude!
MRS. VON KLEBS.
Are you really engaged by a theatre, my dear young lady?
MAGDA.
[_Very sweetly_.] Sometimes, my dear madam.
MRS. VON KLEBS.
Then you are out of an engagement at present?
MAGDA.
[_Murmurs_.] Oh, come, come! [_Aloud_.] Yes, I'm a vagabond now. [_The
ladies look at each other_.]
MRS. VON KLEBS.
There are really not many daughters of good families on the stage, are
there?
MAGDA.
[_In a friendly tone_.] No, my dear madam; most of them are too stupid.
MRS. SCHWARTZE.
Oh, Magda!
_Enter_ Max.
MAGDA.
Oh, that must be Max! [_Goes to him and shakes hands_.] Just think, I
had quite forgotten your face. We were great friends, were we not?
MAX.
Were we? [_Astonished_.]
MAGDA.
Well, we can begin now.
MRS. ELLRICH.
[_Aside_.] Do you understand this?
[Mrs. Von Klebs _shrugs her shoulder. The ladies rise and take their
leave, shaking hands with_ Mrs. Schwartze _and_ Franziska, _and bowing
to_ Magda.]
MRS. SCHWARTZE.
[_Confused_.] Must you go already, ladies? My husband will be so
sorry--
MAGDA.
[_Coolly_.] _Au revoir_, ladies, _au revoir_!
[_Exit the ladies in the order of their rank_.
MRS. SCHWARTZE.
[_Turning back from the door_.] Mrs. von Klebs was offended, or she
would have stayed. Magda, you certainly must have offended Mrs. von
Klebs.
FRANZISKA.
And the other ladies, too, were hurt.
MAGDA.
Mamma dear, won't you see about my trunk?
MRS. SCHWARTZE.
Yes, yes, I'll go to the hotel myself. Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear!
[_Exit_.
FRANZISKA.
Wait, I'm coming too. [_Spitefully_.] I must make myself useful, of
course!
MAGDA.
Oh, Aunt Frankie, a word with you.
FRANZISKA.
Now?
MAGDA.
We're going to celebrate a betrothal to-day.
FRANZISKA.
What betrothal?
MAGDA.
Between him and Marie.
MAX.
[_Joyfully_.] Magda!
FRANZISKA.
I think, as I occupy a mother's position towards him, that it is my
right--
MAGDA.
No; the giver alone has rights, my dear aunt. And now don't fail.
FRANZISKA.
[_Furiously_.] I will make you-- [_Exit_.
MAX.
How shall I thank you, my dear Miss--
MAGDA.
Magda, my dear cousin, Magda!
MAX.
Pardon me, it was my great respect--
MAGDA.
Not so much respect, my boy,--I don't like it; more weight, more
individuality!
MAX.
Ah, my dear cousin, should a young lieutenant with twenty-five marks'
pay, not to speak of debts, have individuality? It would only be a
hindrance to him.
MAGDA.
Ah!
MAX.
If I manage my men properly, and dance a correct figure at our
regimental balls, and am not a coward, that is enough.
MAGDA.
To make a wife happy, certainly. Go and find her. Go along!
MAX.
[_Starts to go, and turns back_.] Oh, excuse me, in my happiness I
entirely forgot the message I-- Early this morning--by-the-by, you
can't think what a tumult the whole city is in about you--well, early
this morning--I was still in bed--an acquaintance came in who is also
an old acquaintance of yours, very pale from excitement, and he asked
whether it were all true, and if he might come to see you.
MAGDA.
Yes, let him come.
MAX.
He wanted me to ask you first. He would then send in his card this
morning.
MAGDA.
What formalities the men go through here! Who is he?
MAX.
Councillor von Keller.
MAGDA.
[_Speaking with difficulty_.] He--what?--he?
MAX.
[_Laughing_.] Pardon me, but you're as white now as he was.
MAGDA.
[_Quietly_.] I? White?
_Enter_ Theresa _with a card_.
MAX.
Here he is. Dr. von Keller.
MAGDA.
Let him come up.
MAX.
[_Smiling_.] I'll only say to you, my dear cousin, that he's a very
important man, who has a great career before him, and promises to be a
pillar of our religious circle.
MAGDA.
Thank you!
_Enter_ Von Keller _with a bouquet_.
MAX.
[_Crossing to him_.] My dear Councillor, here is my cousin, who is
delighted to see you. You will excuse me.
[_Exit, with a bow to each_.
[Von Keller _remains standing at the door_. Magda _moves about
nervously. Silence_.]
MAGDA.
[_Aside_.] Here is my spectre! [_Indicates a seat at the table, left,
and sits down opposite_.]
VON KELLER.
First, you must allow me to express my warmest and most sincere good
wishes. This is a surprise which you happily could not have expected.
And as a sign of my interest, allow me, my dearest friend, to present
you with these modest flowers.
MAGDA.
Oh, how thoughtful! [_Takes the flowers with a laugh, and throws them
on the table_.]
VON KELLER.
[_In embarrassment_.] I--I see with sorrow that you resent this
approach on my part. Have I in any way been wanting in the necessary
delicacy? In these narrow circles a meeting could not have been
avoided. I think it is better, my dearest friend, that we should come
to an understanding,--that we should know the relations--
MAGDA.
[_Rising_.] You're right, my friend. I was not at the height of my own
nature just now. Had I been, I might have played the deserted
Marguerite to the end. The morals of home had infected me a little. But
I am myself again. Give me your hand bravely. Don't be afraid, I won't
harm you. So--tight--so!
VON KELLER.
You make me happy.
MAGDA.
I've painted this meeting to myself a thousand times, and have been
prepared for it for years. Something warned me, too, when I undertook
this journey home--though I must say I hardly expected just here
to-- Yes, how is it that, after what has passed between us, you came
into this house? It seems to me a little--
VON KELLER.
I tried to avoid it until quite recently; but since we belong to the
same circles, and since I agree with the views of this family--that is,
at least in theory--
MAGDA.
Yes, yes. Let me look at you, my poor friend. How you have changed!
VON KELLER.
[_Laughing nervously_.] I seem to have the misfortune to make a rather
absurd figure in your eyes.
MAGDA.
No, oh, no! I can see it all. The effort to keep worthy of respect
under such difficulties, with a bad conscience, is awkward. You
look down from the height of your pure atmosphere on your sinful
youth,--for you are called a pillar, my dear friend.
VON KELLER.
[_Looking at the door_.] Pardon me--I can hardly accustom myself again
to the affectionate terms. And if any one should hear us-- Would it not
be better--
MAGDA.
[_Sadly_.] Let them hear us.
VON KELLER.
[_At the door_.] Good Heavens! Well [_sitting down again_], as I was
saying, if you knew with what real longing I look back from this height
at my gay, discarded youth--
MAGDA.
[_Half to herself_.] So gay,-- yes, so gay.
VON KELLER.
Well, I felt myself called to higher things. I thought-- Why should I
undervalue my position? I have become Councillor, and that
comparatively young. An ordinary ambition might take satisfaction in
that. But one sits and waits at home, while others are called to the
ministry. And this environment, conventionality, and narrowness, all is
so gray,--gray! And the ladies here--for one who cares at all about
elegance--I assure you something rejoiced within me when I read this
morning that you were the famous singer,--you to whom I was tied by so
many dear memories and--
MAGDA.
And then you thought whether it might not be possible with the help of
these dear memories to bring a little color into the gray background?
VON KELLER.
[_Smiling_.] Oh, pray don't--
MAGDA.
Well, between old friends--
VON KELLER.
Really, are we that, really?
MAGDA.
Certainly, _sans rancune_. Oh, if I took it from the other standpoint,
I should have to range the whole gamut,--liar, coward, traitor! But as
I look at it, I owe you nothing but thanks, my friend.
VON KELLER.
[_Pleased, but confused_.] This is a view which--
MAGDA.
Which is very convenient for you. But why should I not make it
convenient for you? In the manner in which we met, you had no
obligations towards me. I had left my home; I was young and innocent,
hot-blooded and careless, and I lived as I saw others live. I gave
myself to you because I loved you. I might perhaps have loved any one
who came in my way. That--that seemed to be all over. And we were so
happy,--weren't we?
VON KELLER.
Ah, when I think of it, my heart seems to stop beating.
MAGDA.
There in the old attic, five flights up, we three girls lived so
merrily in our poverty. Two hired pianos, and in the evening bread and
dripping. Emmy used to warm it herself over the oil-stove.
VON KELLER.
And Katie with her verses! Good Lord! What has become of them?
MAGDA.
_Chi lo sa_? Perhaps they're giving singing-lessons, perhaps they're on
the stage. Yes, we were a merry set; and when the fun had lasted half a
year, one day my lover vanished.
VON KELLER.
An unlucky chance, I swear to you. My father was ill. I had to travel.
I wrote everything to you.
MAGDA.
H'm! I did not reproach you. And now I will tell you why I owe you
thanks. I was a stupid, unsuspecting thing, enjoying freedom like a
runaway monkey. Through you I became a woman. For whatever I have done
in my art, for whatever I have become in myself, I have you to thank.
My soul was like--yes, down below there, there used to be an AEolian
harp which was left mouldering because my father could not bear it.
Such a silent harp was my soul; and through you it was given to the
storm. And it sounded almost to breaking,--the whole scale of passions
which bring us women to maturity,--love and hate and revenge and
ambition [_springing up_], and need, need, need--three times need--and
the highest, the strongest, the holiest of all, the mother's
love!-- All I owe to you!
VON KELLER.
What--what do you say?
MAGDA.
Yes, my friend, you have asked after Emmy and Katie. But you haven't
asked after your child.
VON KELLER.
[_Jumping up and looking about anxiously_.] My child!
MAGDA.
Your child? Who calls it so? Yours? Ha, ha! Dare to claim portion
in him and I'll kill you with these hands. Who are you? You're a
strange man who gratified his lust and passed on with a laugh. But I
have a child,--my son, my God, my all! For him I lived and starved
and froze and walked the streets; for him I sang and danced in
concert-halls,--for my child who was crying for his bread! [_Breaks out
in a convulsive laugh which changes to weeping, and throws herself on a
seat, right_.]
VON KELLER.
[_After a silence_.] I am confounded. If I could have suspected,--yes,
if I could have suspected--I will do everything; I will not shrink from
any reparation. But now, I beg you to quiet yourself. They know that I
am here. If they saw us so, I should be--[_correcting himself_] you
would be lost.
MAGDA.
Don't be afraid. I won't compromise you.
VON KELLER.
Oh, I was not speaking for myself, not at all. But just think, if it
were to come out, what the town and your father--
MAGDA.
Poor old man! His peace is destroyed, at any rate.
VON KELLER.
And think! the more brilliantly you are placed now, the more certain is
your ruin.
MAGDA.
[_Madly_.] And if I wish for ruin! If I--
VON KELLER.
For Heaven's sake, hush! some one's coming.
MAGDA.
[_Springing up_.] Let them come! Let them all come! I don't care, I
don't care! To their faces I'll say what I think of you,--of you and
your respectable society. Why should I be worse than you, that I must
prolong my existence among you by a lie! Why should this gold upon my
body, and the lustre which surrounds my name, only increase my infamy?
Have I not worked early and late for ten long years? Have I not woven
this dress with sleepless nights? Have I not built up my career step by
step, like thousands of my kind? Why should I blush before any one? I
am myself, and through myself I have become what I am.
VON KELLER.
Good! You may stand there proudly, but you might at least consider--
MAGDA.
Whom? [_As he is silent_.] Whom? The pillar! Ha, ha! The pillar begins
to totter! Be easy, my dear friend. I am not revengeful. But when I
look at you in all your cowardly dignity--unwilling to take upon you
the slightest consequence of your doings, and contrast you with myself,
who sank through your love to be a pariah and an outcast-- Ah, I'm
ashamed of you. Pah!
VON KELLER.
For Heaven's sake! Your father! If he should see you like this!
MAGDA.
[_In agony_.] My father! [_Escapes through the door of the dining-room,
with her handkerchief to her face_.]
_Enter_ Schwartze, _happy and excited, through the hall-door_.
SCHWARTZE.
Ah, my dear Councillor--was that my daughter who just disappeared?
VON KELLER.
[_In great embarrassment_.] Yes, it was--
SCHWARTZE.
Why should she run away from me? Magda!
VON KELLER.
[_Trying to block his path_.] Had you not better-- The young lady
wished to be alone for a little!
SCHWARTZE.
Now? Why? When one has visitors, one does not-- Why should she--
VON KELLER.
She was a little--agitated.
SCHWARTZE.
Agitated?
VON KELLER.
Yes; that's all.
SCHWARTZE.
Who has been here?
VON KELLER.
No one. At least, as far as I know.
SCHWARTZE.
Then, what agitating things could you two have to talk about?
VON KELLER.
Nothing of importance,--nothing at all, I assure you.
SCHWARTZE.
What makes you look so, then? You can scarcely stand.
VON KELLER.
I? Oh, you're mistaken, you're mistaken.
SCHWARTZE.
One question, Councillor-- You and my daughter-- Please sit down.
VON KELLER.
My time is unfortunately--
SCHWARTZE.
[_Almost threatening_.] I beg you to sit down.
VON KELLER.
[_Not daring to resist_.] Thank you. [_They sit_.]
SCHWARTZE.
You met my daughter some years ago in Berlin?
VON KELLER.
Yes.
SCHWARTZE.
Councillor von Keller, I know you to be as discreet as you are
sensible; but there are cases in which silence is a crime. I ask
you--and your life-long relations with me give me the right to ask, as
well as the mystery--which just now-- In short, I ask you, Do you know
anything discreditable about my daughter's life there?
VON KELLER.
Oh, for Heaven's sake, how can you--
SCHWARTZE.
Do you not know how and where she lived?
VON KELLER.
No. I am absolutely--
SCHWARTZE.
Have you never visited at her house?
VON KELLER.
[_More and more confused_.] No, no, never, never.
SCHWARTZE.
Not once?
VON KELLER.
Well, I called on her once; but--
SCHWARTZE.
Your relations were friendly?
VON KELLER.
Oh, entirely friendly--of course, only friendly. [_A pause_.]
SCHWARTZE.
[_Passes his hand over his forehead, looks earnestly at_ Von
Keller; _then, speaking absently_.] So? Then, honestly--if it might
be--if--if-- [_Gets up, goes to_ Von Keller, _and sits down again,
trying to quiet himself_.] Dr. von Keller, we both live in a quiet
world, where scandals are unknown. But I have grown old, very old. And
therefore I can't--can't control my thoughts as I should. And I can't
rid myself of an idea which has--suddenly--taken possession of me. I
have just had a great joy which I don't want to be embittered. But, to
quiet an old man, I beg you--give me your word of honor that--
VON KELLER.
[_Rising_.] Pardon me, this seems almost like a cross-examination.
SCHWARTZE.
You must know, then, what I--
VON KELLER.
Pardon me, I wish to know nothing. I came here innocently to make a
friendly visit, and you have taken me by surprise. I will not be taken
by surprise. [_Takes his hat_.]
SCHWARTZE.
Dr. von Keller, have you thought what this refusal means?
VON KELLER.
Pardon me, if you wish to know anything, I beg you to ask your
daughter. She will tell you what--what-- And now you must let me go.
You know where I live. In case-- I am very sorry it has happened so:
but-- Good-day, Colonel! [_Exit_.
SCHWARTZE.
[_After brooding for a time_.] Magda!
MARIE.
[_Running in anxiously_.] For Heaven's sake, what's the matter?
SCHWARTZE.
[_Chokingly_.] Magda,--I want Magda.
MARIE.
[_Goes to the door and opens it_.] She's coming now--down the stairs.
SCHWARTZE.
So! [_Pulls himself together with an effort_.]
MARIE.
[_Clasping her hands_.] Don't hurt her! [_Pauses with the door open_.
Magda _is seen descending the stairs. She enters in travelling-dress,
hat in hand, very pale, but calm_.]
MAGDA.
I heard you call, father.
SCHWARTZE.
I have something to say to you.
MAGDA.
And I to you.
SCHWARTZE.
Go in--into my room.
MAGDA.
Yes, father. [_She goes to the door, left_. Schwartze _follows her_.
Marie, _who has drawn back frightened to the dining-room door, makes an
unseen gesture of entreaty_.]