ACT IV.
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.]