Scene: _the same_.
[Mrs. Schwartze _and_ Marie _discovered_. Mrs. Schwartze, _in hat and
cloak, is knocking on the door at the left_.]
MRS. SCHWARTZE.
Leopold! Oh, Heaven, I dare not go in.
MARIE.
No, no, don't! Oh, if you'd only seen his face!
MRS. SCHWARTZE.
And they've been in there half an hour, you say?
MARIE.
Longer, longer!
MRS. SCHWARTZE.
Now she's speaking! [_Listening, frightened_.] He's threatening her.
Marie, Marie! Run into the garden. The pastor's there, in the arbor.
Tell him everything,--about Mr. von Keller's being here,--and ask him
to come in quickly.
MARIE.
Yes, mamma. [_Hurries to the hall-door_.]
MRS. SCHWARTZE.
Wait a minute, Marie. Has Theresa heard anything? If it should get
about--
MARIE.
I've already sent her away, mamma.
MRS. SCHWARTZE.
That's right, that's right. [_Exit_ Marie. Mrs. Schwartze _knocks
again_.] Leopold! listen to me, Leopold! [_Retreating_.] Oh, Heaven!
he's coming! [_Enter_ Schwartze, _bent and tottering_.]
MRS. SCHWARTZE.
How do you feel, Leopold?
SCHWARTZE.
[_Sinking into a chair_.] Yes, yes,--just like the roses. The knife
conies, and cuts the stem, and the wound can never be healed. What am I
saying? What?
MRS. SCHWARTZE.
He's out of his mind.
SCHWARTZE.
No, no, I'm not out of my mind. I know quite well-- [Magda _appears at
the door, left_.]
MRS. SCHWARTZE.
What have you done to him?
SCHWARTZE.
Yes, what have you--what have you? That is my daughter. What shall I do
with my daughter now?
MAGDA.
[_Humbly, almost beseechingly_.] Father, isn't it best, after what has
happened, that you should let me go,--that you should drive me into the
streets? You must get free of me if this house is to be pure again.
SCHWARTZE.
So, so, so! You think, then, you have only to go--to go away, out
there, and all will be as before? And we? What will become of us?
I--good God!--I--I have one foot in the grave--soon it will be
over--but the mother, and your sister--your sister.
MAGDA.
Marie has the husband she wants--
SCHWARTZE.
No one will marry a sister of yours. [_With aversion_.] No, no. Don't
think it!
MAGDA.
[_Aside_.] My God!
SCHWARTZE.
[_To_ Mrs. Schwartze.] See, she's beginning now to realize what she has
done.
MRS. SCHWARTZE.
Yes; what--
MAGDA.
[_In tender sympathy, but still with a tinge of superiority_.] My poor
old father--listen to me--I can't change what has passed. I will give
Marie half my fortune. I will make up a thousand times all that I have
made you suffer to-day. But now, I implore you, let me go my way.
SCHWARTZE.
Oho!
MAGDA.
What do you want of me? What am I to you? Yesterday at this time you
did not know even whether I still lived; and to-day-- It is madness to
demand that I should think and feel again as you do; but I am afraid of
you, father, I'm afraid of you all--ah, I am not myself-- [_Breaking
out in torment_.] I cannot bear the sorrow.
SCHWARTZE.
Ha, ha!
MAGDA.
Father dear, I will humble myself before you willingly. I lament with
my whole heart that I've brought sorrow to you to-day, for my flesh and
blood still belong to you. But I must live out my own life. That I owe
to myself,--to myself and mine. Good-by!
SCHWARTZE.
[_Stopping her_.] Where are you going?
MAGDA.
Let me pass, father.
SCHWARTZE.
I'll kill you first. [_Seizes her_.]
MRS. SCHWARTZE.
Leopold! [_Enter_ Heffterdingt. _He throws himself between them with a
cry of horror_. Magda, _freed by the old man, goes slowly back, with
her eyes fixed on the_ Pastor, _to the seat, left, where she remains
motionless_.]
HEFFTERDINGT.
[_After a silence_.] In God's name!
SCHWARTZE.
Yes, yes, yes, Pastor--it made a fine family group, eh? Look at her!
She has soiled my name. Any scoundrel can break my sword. That is my
daughter; that is--
HEFFTERDINGT.
Dear Colonel, these are things which I do not understand, and which I
do not care to understand. But it seems to me there must be something
to do, instead of--
SCHWARTZE.
Yes, to do,--yes, yes,--there's much to do here. I have much to do. I
don't see why I'm standing here. The worst of it is--the worst of it
is, he can say to me--this man--you are a cripple--with your shaking
hand--with such a one I can't fight, even if I have had your daughter
for a-- But I will show him-- I will show him-- Where is my hat?
MRS. SCHWARTZE.
Where are you going, Leopold? [Magda _rises_.]
SCHWARTZE.
My hat!
MRS. SCHWARTZE.
[_Gives him hat and stick_.] Here, here!
SCHWARTZE.
So! [_To_ Magda.] Learn to thank the God, in whom you disbelieve, that
he has preserved your father until this hour, for he shall bring you
back your honor!
MAGDA.
[_Kneeling, and kissing his hand_.] Don't do it, father! I don't
deserve this of you.
SCHWARTZE.
[_Bends weeping over her head_.] My poor, poor child!
MAGDA.
[_Calling after him_.] Father!
[_Exit_ Schwartze _quickly_.
MRS. SCHWARTZE.
My child, whatever happens, we women--we must hold together.
MAGDA.
Thanks, mamma. The play will soon be played out now.
HEFFTERDINGT.
My dear Mrs. Schwartze, Marie is out there, full of sorrow. Go and say
a kind word to her.
MRS. SCHWARTZE.
What shall I say to comfort her, when all the happiness has gone out of
her life? [Magda _jumps up in anguish_.] Oh, Pastor, Pastor!
[_Exit_.
MAGDA.
[_After a silence_.] Oh, I am so tired!
HEFFTERDINGT.
Miss Magda!
MAGDA.
[_Brooding_,] I think I shall see those glaring bloodshot eyes before
me always--wherever I go.
HEFFTERDINGT.
Miss Magda!
MAGDA.
How you must despise me!
HEFFTERDINGT.
Ah, Miss Magda, I have long been a stranger to despite. We are all poor
sinners--
MAGDA.
[_With a bitter laugh_.] Truly we are-- Oh, I am so tired!--it is
crushing me. There is that old man going out to let himself be shot
dead for my sake, as if he could atone for all my sins with his single
life! Oh, I am so tired!
HEFFTERDINGT.
Miss Magda--I can only conjecture--what all this means--but you have
given me the right to speak to you as a friend. And I feel that I am
even more. I am your fellow-sinner, Miss Magda!
MAGDA.
Good Heavens! Still harping on that!
HEFFTERDINGT.
Do you feel the obligation, Miss Magda, to bring honor and peace back
to this house?
MAGDA.
[_Breaking out in anguish_.] You have lived through the sorrow, and ask
whether I feel it?
HEFFTERDINGT.
I think your father will obtain from that gentleman the declaration
that he is ready for any sort of peaceable satisfaction.
MAGDA.
Ha, ha! The noble soul! But what can I do?
HEFFTERDINGT.
You can--not spurn the hand which he will offer you.
MAGDA.
What? You don't mean-- This man--this strange man whom I despise--how,
how could I--
HEFFTERDINGT.
Dear Miss Magda, there comes an hour to almost every man when he
collects the broken pieces of his life, to form them together into a
new design. I have found it so with myself. And now it is your turn.
MAGDA.
I will not do it--I will not do it.
HEFFTERDINGT.
You will have to.
MAGDA.
I would rather take my child in my arms and throw myself into the sea.
HEFFTERDINGT.
[_Suppresses a violent start; continues after a silence, hoarsely_.] Of
course, that is the simplest solution. And your father can follow you.
MAGDA.
Oh, have pity on me! I must do whatever you demand. I don't know how
you have gained such power over me. Oh, man, if the slightest memory of
what you once felt, if the least pity for your own youth, still lives
within you, you cannot sacrifice me so!
HEFFTERDINGT.
I do not sacrifice you alone, Miss Magda.
MAGDA.
[_With awakening perception_.] Good God!
HEFFTERDINGT.
There's no other way. I see none. You know yourself that the old man
would not survive it. And what would become of your mother, and what
would become of your poor sister? Miss Magda, it is as if with your own
hand you set fire to the house and let everything burn that is within.
And this house is still your home--
MAGDA.
[_In growing agony_.] I will not, I will not. This house is not my
home. My home is with my child!
HEFFTERDINGT.
This child, too. He will grow up fatherless, and will be asked, "Where
is your father?" He will come and ask you, "Where is my father?" What
can you answer him? And, Miss Magda, he who has not peace in his heart
from the beginning will never win it in the end.
MAGDA.
All this is not true, and if it were true, have I not a heart too? Have
I not a life to live also? Have I not a right to seek my own happiness?
HEFFTERDINGT.
[_Harshly_.] No; no one has that. But do as you will. Ruin your home,
ruin your father and sister and child, and then see what heart you have
to seek your own happiness. [Magda _bows her head, sobbing. The_ Pastor
_crosses to her, and leans over the table pityingly, with his hand on
her hair_.] My poor--
MAGDA.
[_Seizing his hand_.] Answer me one question. You have sacrificed your
life for my sake. Do you think, to-day, in spite of what you know and
what you do not know, do you think that I am worth this sacrifice?
HEFFTERDINGT.
[_Constrained, as if making a confession_.] I have said already I am
your fellow-sinner, Miss Magda.
MAGDA.
[_After a pause_.] I will do what you demand.
HEFFTERDINGT.
I thank you.
MAGDA.
Good-by.
HEFFTERDINGT.
Good-by. [_Exit. He is seen through the open door speaking to_ Marie
_and sending her in_. Magda _remains motionless, with her face in her
hands until he has gone_.
_Enter_ Marie.
MARIE.
What can I do, Magda?
MAGDA.
Where has the pastor gone?
MARIE.
Into the garden. Mamma is with him.
MAGDA.
If father asks for me, say I shall wait there. [_Nods towards left_.]
MARIE.
And haven't you a word for me, Magda?
MAGDA.
Oh, yes. Fear nothing. [_Kisses her on the forehead_.] Everything will
come out well, so well--no, no, no. [_In weary bitterness_.] Everything
will come out quite well. [_Exit, left_. Marie _goes into the
dining-room_.]
_Enter_ Schwartze. _He takes out a pistol-case and opens it. Takes a
pistol, cocks it with difficulty, examines the barrel, and aims at a
point on the wall. His arm trembles violently. He strikes it angrily,
and lets the pistol sink. Enter_ Max.
SCHWARTZE.
[_Without turning_.] Who's there?
MAX.
It's I, uncle.
SCHWARTZE.
Max? Ah, you may come in.
MAX.
Uncle, Marie told me-- What are the pistols for, uncle?
SCHWARTZE.
Ah, they used to be fine pistols,--beautiful pistols. See, boy, with
this I have hit the ace of hearts at twenty paces, or say fifteen.
And fifteen would be enough. We ought to have been in the garden
already, but--but [_helplessly touches his trembling arm, almost in
tears_]--but I can nevermore--
MAX.
[_Hurrying to him_.] Uncle? [_They embrace each other for a moment_.]
SCHWARTZE.
It's all right,--it's all right.
MAX.
Uncle, I need not say that I take your place, that I meet any man you
point out; it is my right.
SCHWARTZE.
Yours,--why? In what capacity? Will you marry into a disgraced family?
MAX.
Uncle!
SCHWARTZE.
Are you prepared to strip off the uniform of our regiment? Yes, I might
set up a gambling-house, and you could play the stool-pigeon for a
living. There is no knowing what we might do. What! you, with your
beautiful name, your noble name, propose this sacrifice,--and I to
profit by it! Ha, ha! No, my boy; even if you still were willing, I am
not. This house and all within are marked for ruin. Go your way from
it. With the name of Schwartze you have nothing more to do.
MAX.
Uncle, I demand that you--
SCHWARTZE.
Hush! Not now! [_Motions to the door_.] Soon I may need you as one
needs a friend in such affairs, but not now--not now. First I must find
the gentleman. He was not at home--the gentleman was not at home. But
he shall not think he has escaped me. If he is out a second time, then,
my son, your work begins. Until then, be patient,--be patient.
_Enter_ Theresa _from hall_.
THERESA.
Councillor von Keller. [Schwartze _starts_.]
MAX.
He here! How--
SCHWARTZE.
Let him come in. [_Exit_ Theresa.
MAX.
Uncle! [_Points to himself in great excitement_. Schwartze _shakes his
head, and signs to_ Max _to leave the room. Enter_ Von Keller. _Exit_
Max. _They meet in the doorway_. Von Keller _greets_ Max _courteously_.
Max _restrains himself from insulting him_.]
VON KELLER.
Colonel, I am grieved at having missed you. When I returned from the
Casino, where I am always to be found at noon,--where, I say, I am
always to be found,--your card lay on the table; and as I imagine that
there are matters of importance to be discussed between us, I made
haste--as I say, I have made haste--
SCHWARTZE.
Councillor, I do not know whether in this house there should be a chair
for you, but since you have come here so quickly, you must be tired. I
beg you to be seated.
VON KELLER.
Thanks. [_Sits down, near the open pistol-case, starts as he sees it,
watches the_ Colonel _apprehensively_.] H'm!
SCHWARTZE.
Now, have you nothing to say to me?
VON KELLER.
Allow me first one question: Did your daughter, after our conversation,
say anything to you about me?
SCHWARTZE.
Councillor, have you nothing to say to me?
VON KELLER.
Oh, certainly, I have a great deal to say to you. I would gladly, for
instance, express to you a wish, a request; but I don't quite know
whether-- Won't you tell me, at least, has your daughter spoken of me
at all favorably?
SCHWARTZE.
[_Angrily_.] I must know, sir, how we stand, in what light I am to
treat you.
VON KELLER.
Oh, pardon me, now I understand-- [_Working himself up_.] Colonel,
you see in me a man who takes life earnestly. The days of a light
youth-- [Schwartze _looks up angrily_.] Pardon me, I meant to
say--since early this morning a holier and, if I may say so, a more
auspicious resolution has arisen within me. Colonel, I am not a man of
many words. I have already wandered from the point. As one man of honor
to another, or-- in short, Colonel, I have the honor to ask you for the
hand of your daughter. [Schwartze _sits motionless, breathing
heavily_.] Pardon me, you do not answer--am I perhaps not worthy--
SCHWARTZE.
[_Groping for his hand_.] No, no, no; not that,--not that. I am an old
man. These last hours have been a little too much for me. Don't mind
me.
VON KELLER.
H'm, h'm!
SCHWARTZE.
[_Rising, and closing the lid of the pistol-case_.] Give me your hand,
my young friend. You have brought heavy sorrow upon me,--heavy sorrow.
But you have promptly and bravely made it good. Give me the other hand.
So, so! And now do you wish to speak to her also? You will have much to
say. Eh?
VON KELLER.
If I might be allowed.
SCHWARTZE.
[_Opens the hall-door and speaks off, then opens the door, left_.]
Magda!
_Enter_ Magda.
MAGDA.
What is it, father?
SCHWARTZE.
Magda, this gentleman asks for the honor-- [_As he sees the two
together, he looks with sudden anger from one to the other_.]
MAGDA.
[_Anxiously_.] Father?
SCHWARTZE.
Now everything's arranged. Don't make it too long! [_To_ Magda.] Yes,
everything's all right now. [_Exit_.
VON KELLER.
Ah, my dearest Magda, who could have suspected it?
MAGDA.
Then we are to be married.
VON KELLER.
Above all, I don't want you to entertain the idea that any design of
mine has been at the bottom of this development which I welcome so
gladly, which I--
MAGDA.
I haven't reproached you.
VON KELLER.
No, you have no reason.
MAGDA.
None whatever.
VON KELLER.
Let me further say to you that it has always been my strongest wish
that Providence might bring us together again.
MAGDA.
Then you have really never ceased to love me?
VON KELLER.
Well, as an honorable man and without exaggeration I can scarcely
assert that. But since early this morning a holier and a more
auspicious resolution has arisen within me--
MAGDA.
Pardon me, would this holy and auspicious resolution have arisen within
you just the same if I had come back to my home in poverty and shame?
VON KELLER.
My dearest Magda, I am neither self-seeking nor a fortune-hunter, but I
know what is due to myself and to my position. In other circumstances
there would have been no social possibility of making legitimate our
old relations--
MAGDA.
I must consider myself, then, very happy in these ten long years to
have worked up unconsciously towards such a high goal.
VON KELLER.
I don't know whether I am too sensitive, but that sounds almost like
irony. And I hardly think that--
MAGDA.
That it is fitting from me?
VON KELLER.
[_Deprecatingly_.] Oh!
MAGDA.
I must ask for your indulgence. The role of a patient and forbearing
wife is new to me. Let us speak, then, of the future [_sits and motions
to him to do the same_]--of our future. What is your idea of what is to
come?
VON KELLER.
You know, my dearest Magda, I have great designs. This provincial town
is no field for my statesmanship. Besides, it is my duty now to find a
place which will be worthy of your social talents. For you will give up
the stage and concert-hall,--that goes without saying.
MAGDA.
Oh, that goes without saying?
VON KELLER.
Oh, I beseech you--you don't understand the conditions; it would be a
fatal handicap for me. I might as well leave the service at once.
MAGDA.
And if you did?
VON KELLER.
Oh, you can't be in earnest. For a hardworking and ambitious man who
sees a brilliant future before him to give up honor and position, and
as his wife's husband to play the vagabond,--to live merely as the
husband of his wife? Shall I turn over your music, or take the tickets
at the box-office? No, my dearest friend, you underestimate me, and the
position I fill in society. But don't be uneasy. You will have nothing
to repent of. I have every respect for your past triumphs, but
[_pompously_] the highest reward to which your feminine ambition can
aspire will be achieved in the drawing-room.
MAGDA.
[_Aside_.] Good Heaven, this thing I'm doing is mere madness!
VON KELLER.
What do you say? [Magda _shakes her head_.] And then the wife, the
ideal wife, of modern times is the consort, the true, self-sacrificing
helper of her husband. For instance, you, by your queenly personality
and by the magic of your voice, will overcome my enemies, and knit even
my friends more closely to me. And we will be largely hospitable. Our
house shall be the centre of the most distinguished society, who still
keep to the severely gracious manners of our forefathers. Gracious and
severe may seem contradictory terms, but they are not.
MAGDA.
You forget that the child on whose account this union is to be
consummated will keep the severely inclined away from us.
VON KELLER.
Yes, I know, dear Magda, it will be painful for you; but this child
must of course remain the deepest secret between us. No one must
suspect--
MAGDA.
[_Astounded and incredulous_.] What--what do you say?
VON KELLER.
Why, it would ruin us. No, no, it is absurd to think of it. But we can
make a little journey every year to wherever it is being educated. One
can register under a false name; that is not unusual in foreign parts,
and is hardly criminal. And when we are fifty years old, and other
regular conditions have been fulfilled, [_laughing_], that can be
arranged, can't it? Then we can, under some pretext, adopt it, can't
we?
MAGDA.
[_Breaks into a piercing laugh; then, with clasped hands and
staring eyes_.] My sweet! My little one! _Mio bambino! Mio
povero_--_bam_--you--you--I am to--ha, ha, ha! [_Tries to open the
folding door_.] Go! go!
_Enter_ Schwartze.
SCHWARTZE.
What--
MAGDA.
Good you're here! Free me from this man, take this man away from me.
SCHWARTZE.
What?
MAGDA.
I have done everything you demanded. I have humbled myself, I have
surrendered my judgment, I have let myself be carried like a lamb to
the slaughter. But my child I will not leave. Give up my child to save
his career! [_Throws herself into a chair_.]
SCHWARTZE.
Mr. von Keller, will you please--
VON KELLER.
I am inconsolable, Colonel. But it seems that the conditions which for
the interest of both parties I had to propose, do not meet the
approbation--
SCHWARTZE.
My daughter is no longer in the position to choose the conditions under
which she-- Dr. von Keller, I ask your pardon for the scene to which
you have just been subjected. Wait for me at your home. I will myself
bring you my daughter's consent. For that I pledge you my word of
honor. [_Sensation_. Magda _rises quickly_.]
VON KELLER.
Have you considered what--
SCHWARTZE.
[_Holding out his hand_.] I thank you, Dr. von Keller.
VON KELLER.
Not at all. I have only done my duty.
[_Exit, with a bow_.
MAGDA.
[_Stretching herself_.] So! Now I'm the old Magda again. [Schwartze
_locks the three doors silently_.] Do you think, father, that I shall
become docile by being shut up?
SCHWARTZE.
So! Now we are alone. No one sees us but He who sees us--there
[_pointing upward_] Quiet yourself, my child. We must talk together.
MAGDA.
[_Sits down_.] Good! We can come to an understanding, then,--my home
and I.
SCHWARTZE.
Do you see that I am now quite calm?
MAGDA.
Certainly.
SCHWARTZE.
Quite calm, am I not? Even my arm does not tremble. What has happened,
has happened. But just now I gave your betrothed--
MAGDA.
My betrothed?-- Father dear!
SCHWARTZE.
I gave your betrothed my word of honor. And that must be kept, don't
you see?
MAGDA.
But if it is not in your power, my dear father.
SCHWARTZE.
Then I must die,--then I must simply die. One cannot live on when
one-- You are an officer's daughter. Don't you understand that?
MAGDA.
[_Compassionately_.] My God!
SCHWARTZE.
But before I die, I must set my home in order, must I not? Every one
has something which he holds sacred. What is sacred to your inmost
soul?
MAGDA.
My art.
SCHWARTZE.
No, that is not enough. It must be more sacred.
MAGDA.
My child.
SCHWARTZE.
Good! Your child,--your child,--you love it? [Magda _nods_.] You wish
to see it again? [_She nods_.] And--yes--if you made an oath upon its
head [_makes a motion as if he laid his hand upon a child's head_],
then you would not perjure yourself? [Magda _shakes her head, smiling_.]
That's well. [_Rising_.] Either you swear to me now, as upon his head,
that you will become the honorable wife of his father, or--neither of
us two shall go out of this room alive. [_Sinks back on the seat_.]
MAGDA.
[_After a short silence_.] My poor, dear papa! Why do you torture
yourself so? And do you think that I will let myself be constrained by
locked doors? You cannot believe it.
SCHWARTZE.
You will see.
MAGDA.
[_In growing excitement_.] And what do you really want of me? Why do
you trouble yourself about me? I had almost said, what have you all to
do with me?
SCHWARTZE.
That you will see.
MAGDA.
You blame me for living out my life without asking you and the whole
family for permission. And why should I not? Was I not without family?
Did you not send me out into the world to earn my bread, and then
disown me because the way in which I earned it was not to your taste?
Whom did I harm? Against whom did I sin? Oh, if I had remained the
daughter of the house, like Marie, who is nothing and does nothing
without the sheltering roof of the home, who passes straight from the
arms of her father into the arms of her husband; who receives from the
family life, thought, character, everything,--yes, then you would have
been right. In such a one the slightest error would have ruined
everything,--conscience, honor, self-respect. But I? Look at me. I was
alone. I was as shelterless as a man knocked about in the world,
dependent on the work of my own hands. If you give us the right to
hunger--and I have hungered--why do you deny us the right to love, as
we can find it, and to happiness, as we can understand it?
SCHWARTZE.
You think, my child, because you are free and a great artist, that you
can set at naught--
MAGDA.
Leave art out of the question. Consider me nothing more than the
seamstress or the servant-maid who seeks, among strangers, the little
food and the little love she needs. See how much the family with its
morality demand from us! It throws us on our own resources, it gives us
neither shelter nor happiness, and yet, in our loneliness, we must live
according to the laws which it has planned for itself alone. We must
still crouch in the corner, and there wait patiently until a respectful
wooer happens to come. Yes, wait. And meanwhile the war for existence
of body and soul is consuming us. Ahead we see nothing but sorrow and
despair, and yet shall we not once dare to give what we have of youth
and strength to the man for whom our whole being cries? Gag us, stupefy
us, shut us up in harems or in cloisters--and that perhaps would be
best. But if you give us our freedom, do not wonder if we take
advantage of it.
SCHWARTZE.
There, there! That is the spirit of rebellion abroad in the world. My
child--my dear child--tell me that you were not in earnest--that
you--that you--pity me--if-- [_Looking for the pistol-case_]. I don't
know what may happen--child--have pity on me!
MAGDA.
Father, father, be calm, I cannot bear that.
SCHWARTZE.
I will not do it--I cannot do it-- [_Looking still for the
pistol-case._] Take it from me! Take it from me!
MAGDA.
What, father?
SCHWARTZE.
Nothing, nothing, nothing. I ask you for the last time.
MAGDA.
Then you persist in it?
SCHWARTZE.
My child, I warn you. You know I cannot do otherwise.
MAGDA.
Yes, father, you leave me no other way. Well, then, are you sure that
you ought to force me upon this man--[Schwartze _listens_] that,
according to your standards, I am altogether worthy of him?
[_Hesitating, looking into space_.] I mean--that he was the only one in
my life?
SCHWARTZE.
[_Feels for the pistol-case and takes the pistol out_.] You jade! [_He
advances upon her, trying to raise the weapon. At the same moment he
falls back on the seat, where he remains motionless, with staring eyes,
the pistol grasped in his hand, which hangs down by his side_.]
MAGDA.
[_With a loud cry_.] Father! [_She flies toward the stove for shelter
from the weapon, then takes a few steps, with her hands before her
face_.] Father! [_She sinks, with her knees in a chair, her face on the
back. Calling and knocking outside. The door is broken open_.] _Enter_
Max, Marie, Heffterdingt, and Mrs. Schwartze.
MRS. SCHWARTZE.
Leopold, what's the matter? Leopold! [_To the_ Pastor.] O my God, he's
as he used to be!
MARIE.
Papa dear! Speak, one word! [_Throws herself down at his right_.]
HEFFTERDINGT.
Get the doctor, Max.
MAX.
Is it a stroke?
HEFFTERDINGT.
I think so. [_Exit_ Max. _Aside to_ Magda.] Come to him. [_As she
hesitates_.] Come; it is the end. [_Leads her trembling to_ Schwartze's
_chair_.]
MRS. SCHWARTZE.
[_Who has tried to take the pistol_.] Let it go, Leopold; what do you
want with it? See, he's holding the pistol and won't let it go.
HEFFTERDINGT.
[_Aside_.] It is the convulsion. He cannot. My dear old friend, can you
understand what I'm saying to you? [Schwartze _bows his head a little_.
Magda _sinks down at his left_.] God, the All-Merciful One, has called
you from on high. You are not her judge. Have you no sign of
forgiveness for her? [Schwartze _shakes his head slowly_.]
MARIE.
[_Sinking down by_ Magda.] Papa, give her your blessing, dear papa! [_A
smile transfigures his face. The pistol escapes from his hand. He
raises his hand slowly to place it on_ Marie's _head. In the midst of
this motion a spasm goes through his body. His arm falls back, his head
sinks_.]
MRS. SCHWARTZE.
[_Crying out_.] Leopold!
HEFFTERDINGT.
[_Taking her hand_.] He has gone home. [_He folds his hands. Silent
prayer, broken by the sobbing of the women_.]
MAGDA.
[_Springing up and spreading out her arms in agony_.] Oh, if I had only
never come! [Heffterdingt _makes a motion to beg her silence. She
misunderstands_.] Are you going to drive me away? His life was the cost
of my coming. May I not stay now?
HEFFTERDINGT.
[_Simply and peacefully_. ] No one will hinder you from praying upon
his grave.
[_Curtain falls slowly_.]
THE END.
FOOTNOTE:
[Footnote 1: Without which officers in the German army may not marry.]