ALBERT—No, no—— [_Starts to go._] You mustn’t feel obliged to run about
with me as though I were a stranger. Forward, march, Luetzen. Coming,
Colonel. When they are ready at the gymnasium send someone after us. [_He
is in the doorway at left._]
BEATRICE—I’ll telephone.
ALBERT—But we shall probably be among the cows.
BEATRICE—Yes, I know.
ALBERT—Is there a telephone there?
BEATRICE—In every stall.
ALBERT—You really are a wonderful woman. Incredible! [_There is a pause;
then he says suddenly_] Adieu! [_Exits quickly into the garden with
LUETZEN and WUNDERLICH. There it another painful and dejected silence.
BEATRICE sits down, despairingly. ALEXANDRA, greatly offended, exits at
right._]
HYACINTH—Well, he disposed of the rose-garden very neatly.
BEATRICE—[_Rises._] What did I tell you? Could anything have been more
pointed? You heard that Colonel. I scarcely got the rose-garden out of my
mouth when he came forward with the cows.
HYACINTH—A coincidence.
BEATRICE—[_Heatedly._] Was it? Well, I shan’t be beaten by such a
coincidence.
HYACINTH—I observed that your first attempts in that direction were
without conspicuous success.
BEATRICE—I shan’t give up as long as there is a ray of hope, an hour of
time left.
SYMPHOROSA—What are you going to do now?
BEATRICE—There is only one way left.
SYMPHOROSA—What way?
BEATRICE—Only one. A terrible way.
SYMPHOROSA—You alarm me, Beatrice.
BEATRICE—Yes, you may well be alarmed. For what I propose to do is so
reprehensible that, if anyone else did it, I’d despise her all my life.
HYACINTH—What in Heaven’s name are you thinking of?
BEATRICE—God will forgive a mother anything she does for her child. And a
widow what she does for the welfare of her family. [_She faces HYACINTH
with tears in her eyes._] You will forgive me.
HYACINTH—I have forgiven you already, but tell me what you mean to do.
SYMPHOROSA—I know you, Beatrice. When you start talking in that strain
there is only one bit of advice I can give you. Don’t do it.
BEATRICE—You will be good enough to hold your tongue. The whole
difficulty lies in the fact that Albert’s interest in the girl had not
been aroused. His interest—as a man.
SYMPHOROSA—Merciful heaven!
BEATRICE—Why? Does it begin so shockingly?
HYACINTH—Rather disquietingly.
BEATRICE—Well, be prepared for worse. There are certain grounds beyond
which Alexandra may not go. Alexandra can’t flirt with him, for instance.
SYMPHOROSA—I am beginning to be reassured.
BEATRICE—Alexandra can’t ... throw herself at him.
SYMPHOROSA—Thank God for that.
BEATRICE—She wouldn’t be capable of such a thing, and if she were, my
pride wouldn’t permit it.
HYACINTH—Well, then?
BEATRICE—A man’s interest in a woman ... can best be aroused ... through
the attentions of another man.
SYMPHOROSA—How shocking!
HYACINTH—Not yet. But it begins most curiously. Go on.
BEATRICE—Once Albert is made to see the woman in Alexandra, the rest will
be easy for us. We have no time to lose. He goes to-morrow.... And he
seems to have taken a fancy to the tutor.
HYACINTH—Ah!
SYMPHOROSA—Beatrice!
BEATRICE—[_Greatly excited._] Be still! Do you think I am in the mood to
consider your petty prejudices now?
HYACINTH—And what is it you propose to do with the professor?
BEATRICE—Invite him to the ball to-night.
SYMPHOROSA—The world will come to an end.
BEATRICE—And Alexandra will show him marked attention.
SYMPHOROSA—That ... that ... is worthy of Machiavelli’s brain.
BEATRICE—It would never have occurred to me if Albert hadn’t praised the
professor. It was he who put the plan in my head. And it can’t fail. A
rival of his own rank might leave him quite indifferent ... but a mere
tutor ... that is irresistible.
SYMPHOROSA—I shan’t live through it.
BEATRICE—I command you to live through it. Alexandra will be attentive
to the tutor ... and ... and Alexandra will dance a quadrille with the
tutor. And God will forgive me, and God will forgive Alexandra. And I
shall never forgive the tutor.
HYACINTH—For what?
BEATRICE—For putting me under obligation to him.
SYMPHOROSA—[_Indignantly._] Alexandra mayn’t flirt with the Crown Prince,
but she may flirt with a tutor.
BEATRICE—[_Dryly._] That is quite different. It’s like flirting with your
horse.
SYMPHOROSA—Karl, how can you listen to such dreadful proposals and be
silent?
HYACINTH—They are not dreadful proposals. They are mere feminine
maneuvers which are not as considerable as you suppose. There is
something else I am considering.
BEATRICE—What?
HYACINTH—The poor tutor.
BEATRICE—What has the tutor got to do with it? No one’s harming him.
HYACINTH—Tell me, my dear, has Alexandra ever taken particular notice of
the tutor before?
BEATRICE—How can you ask such a thing?
HYACINTH—That means she hasn’t. And what do you suppose will happen, my
dear, if she suddenly takes notice of him now——
BEATRICE—Oh, you needn’t be afraid it will inspire the fellow with any
false hopes. I’ll see to that.
HYACINTH—I’m not so sure. The tutor is young and temperamental. I
admit I have no eye for such things any more, but just now, when I saw
them together, it seemed to me that the young man looked at Alexandra
respectfully, yet adoringly. As a cat might look at a canary in its cage,
respecting it, yet ... longing to devour it.
BEATRICE—You are not trying to suggest that he is in love with her?
HYACINTH—No. But certainly his interest is aroused.
BEATRICE—What of it?
HYACINTH—Only that it seems unjust to play with the young fellow in that
fashion, and then cast him aside.
BEATRICE—Am I to understand that your sympathies are on the side of the
tutor?
HYACINTH—My sympathies are on the side of the humanities.
BEATRICE—The possible disappointment of a mere tutor concerns you more
than the happiness of your sister and your niece, and the historical
destiny of your family.
HYACINTH—My dear sister, you have looked upon this robe of mine so often
that you have ceased to notice it. It is true, I am more concerned with
rectitude and fair dealing than with all your schemes about Albert’s
throne and Alexandra’s crown.... I regard my fellow man not as a tool,
but as a creature of God. In my younger days, when I maintained a racing
stable, I sometimes found it necessary to enter one horse merely to lead
and set the pace for another horse, and at the finish to lag behind and
let him win the race. But that was a horse, my dear sister. And whoever
seeks to use a man in that fashion; whoever holds the tranquillity of
a human soul so cheaply—she, my dear sister, she has great need of the
excuse that maternal love impels her. That is my opinion, dear; and now
I, too, am going to look at that vacuum. [_He exits quickly into the
garden._]
BEATRICE—[_With determination._] Nothing shall hinder me! Stop crying!
I command you to put that handkerchief away. I am desperate now. You
needn’t pay any attention to him. He always had opinions, but never
manners. If it had been left to the men of our family we’d have been
dethroned as early as the eighteenth century. Go, and send Alexandra
in to me. [_SYMPHOROSA exits at right. There is a brief pause before
ALEXANDRA enters._]
ALEXANDRA—You sent for me, mother?
BEATRICE—Yes, my child. You are dearest to me in all the world. My blood
flows in your veins. You will understand me.
ALEXANDRA—Yes, mother.
BEATRICE—Your will is as strong as my own.
ALEXANDRA—Oh, yes, mother.
BEATRICE—And if it falters you must lean on my will for support, and make
yourself as steadfast and determined as I am.
ALEXANDRA—Yes, mother.
BEATRICE—You know what I am referring to, and what it is I want. Do you
want it as much as I do?
ALEXANDRA—[_Calmly, earnestly._] Yes, mother.
BEATRICE—Wounded vanity heals quickly. After all, roses _are_ more
beautiful than cows.