Part 5

ROCHESTER. The neighborly influence of the Buffalo police seems to have had a bad effect upon the mental development of the Rochester authorities. The hall was packed with officers at both meetings. The government of Rochester, however, was not saved--the police kept themselves in good order. Some of them seem to have benefited by the lectures. That accounts for the familiarity of one of Rochester's "finest," who wanted to shake Emma Goldman's hand. E. G. had to decline. Baron von Schlippenbach or an American representative of law and disorder,--where is the difference?

SYRACUSE. The city where the trains run through the streets. With Tolstoy, one feels that civilization is a crime and a mistake, when one sees nerve-wrecking machines running through the streets, poisoning the atmosphere with soft coal smoke.

What! Anarchists within the walls of Syracuse? O horror! The newspapers reported of special session at City Hall, how to meet the terrible calamity.

Well, Syracuse still stands on its old site. The second meeting, attended largely by "genuine" Americans, brought by curiosity perhaps, was very successful. We were assured that the lecture made a splendid impression, which led us to think that we probably were guilty of some foolishness, as the Greek philosopher, when his lectures were applauded, would turn to his hearers and ask, "Gentlemen, have I committed some folly?"

Au revoir. E. G. and M. B.

THE MORAL DEMAND.

A COMEDY, IN ONE ACT, BY OTTO ERICH HARTLEBEN.

Translated from the German for "Mother Earth."

CAST.

RITA REVERA, concert singer.

FRIEDRICH STIERWALD, owner of firm of "C. W. Stierwald Sons" in Rudolstadt.

BERTHA, Rita's maid.

_Time._--End of the nineteenth century.

_Place._--A large German fashionable bathing resort.

* * * * *

Scene.--_Rita's boudoir. Small room elegantly furnished in Louis XVI. style. In the background, a broad open door, with draperies, which leads into an antechamber. To the right, a piano, in front of which stands a large, comfortable stool._

* * * * *

RITA (_enters the antechamber attired in an elaborate ball toilette. She wears a gray silk cloak, a lace fichu, and a parasol. Gaily tripping toward the front, she sings_): "Les envoyees du paradis sont les mascottes, mes amis...." (_She lays the parasol on the table and takes off her long white gloves, all the while singing the melody. She interrupts herself and calls aloud_) Bertha! Bertha! (_Sings_) O Bertholina, O Bertholina!

BERTHA (_walks through the middle_): My lady, your pleasure?

(_Rita has taken off her cloak and stands in front of the mirror. She is still humming the melody absentmindedly_).

(_Bertha takes off Rita's wraps._)

RITA (_turns around merrily_): Tell me, Bertha, why does not the electric bell ring? I must always sing first, must always squander all my flute notes first ere I can entice you to come. What do you suppose that costs? With that I can immediately arrange another charity matinee. Terrible thing, isn't it?

BERTHA: Yes. The man has not yet repaired it.

RITA: O, Bertholina, _why_ has the man not yet repaired it?

BERTHA: Yes. The man intended to come early in the morning.

RITA: The man has often wanted to do so. He does not seem to possess a strong character. (_She points to her cloak_) Dust it well before placing it in the wardrobe. The dust is simply terrible in this place ... and this they call a fresh-air resort. Has anybody called?

BERTHA: Yes, my lady, the Count. He has----

RITA: Well, yes; I mean anyone else?

BERTHA: No. No one.

RITA: Hm! Let me have my dressing gown.

(_Bertha goes to the sleeping chamber to the left._)

RITA (_steps in front of the mirror, singing softly_): "Les envoyees du paradis...." (_Suddenly raising her voice, she asks Bertha_) How long did he wait?

BERTHA: What?

RITA: I would like to know how long he waited.

BERTHA: An hour.

RITA (_to herself_): He does not love me any more. (_Loudly_) But during that time he might have at least repaired the bell. He is of no use whatever. (_She laughs._)

BERTHA: The Count came directly from the matinee and asked me where your ladyship had gone to dine. Naturally I did not know.

RITA: Did he ask--anything else?

BERTHA: No, he looked at the photographs.

RITA (_in the door_): Well? And does he expect to come again to-day?

BERTHA: Yes, certainly. At four o'clock.

RITA (_looks at the clock_): Oh, but that's boring. Now it is already half-past three. One cannot even drink coffee in peace. Hurry, Bertha, prepare the coffee.

(_Bertha leaves the room, carrying the articles of attire._)

(_Rita, after a pause, singing a melancholy melody._)

(_Friedrich Stierwald, a man very carefully dressed in black, about thirty years of age, with a black crepe around his stiff hat, enters from the rear into the antechamber, followed by Bertha._)

BERTHA: But the lady is not well.

FRIEDRICH: Please tell the lady that I am passing through here, and that I must speak with her about a very pressing matter. It is absolutely necessary. Please! (_He gives her money and his card._)

BERTHA: Yes, I shall take your card, but I fear she will not receive you.

FRIEDRICH: Why not? O, yes! Just go----

BERTHA: This morning she sang at a charity matinee and so----

FRIEDRICH: I know, I know. Listen! (_Rita's singing has grown louder_) Don't you hear how she sings? Oh, do go!

BERTHA (_shaking her head_): Well, then--wait a moment. (_She passes through the room to the half-opened door of the sleeping apartment, knocks_) Dear lady!

RITA (_from within_): Well? What's the matter?

BERTHA (_at the door_): Oh, this gentleman here--he wishes to see you very much. He is passing through here.

RITA (_within; laughs_): Come in.

(_Bertha disappears._)

(_Friedrich has walked up to the middle door, where he remains standing._)

RITA: Well. Who is it? Friedrich---- Hmm---- I shall come immediately.

BERTHA (_comes out and looks at Friedrich in surprise_): My lady wishes you to await her. (_She walks away, after having taken another glance at Friedrich._)

(_Friedrich looks about embarrassed and shyly._)

(_Rita enters attired in a tasteful dressing gown, but remains standing in the door._)

FRIEDRICH (_bows; softly_): Good day.

(_Rita looks at him with an ironical smile and remains silent._)

FRIEDRICH: You remember me? Don't you?

RITA (_quietly_): Strange. You--come to see me? What has become of your good training? (_Laughs._) Have you lost all sense of shame?

FRIEDRICH (_stretches out his hand, as if imploring_): Oh, I beg of you, I beg of you; not this tone! I really came to explain everything to you, everything. And possibly to set things aright.

RITA: You--with me! (_She shakes her head._) Incredible! But, please, since you are here, sit down. With what can you serve me?

FRIEDRICH (_seriously_): Miss Hattenbach, I really should----

RITA (_lightly_): Pardon me, my name is Revera. Rita Revera.

FRIEDRICH: I know that you call yourself by that name now. But you won't expect me, an old friend of your family, to make use of this romantic, theatrical name. For me you are now, as heretofore, the daughter of the esteemed house of Hattenbach, with which I----

RITA (_quickly and sharply_): With which your father transacts business, I know.

FRIEDRICH (_with emphasis_): With which I now am myself associated.

RITA: Is it possible? And your father?

FRIEDRICH (_seriously_): If I had the slightest inkling of your address, yes, even your present name, I should not have missed to announce to you the sudden death of my father.

RITA (_after pause_): Oh, he is dead. I see you still wear mourning. How long ago is it?

FRIEDRICH: Half a year. Since then I am looking for you, and I hope you will not forbid me to address you now, as of yore, with that name, which is so highly esteemed in our native city.

RITA (_smiling friendly_): Your solemnity--is delightful. Golden! But sit down.

FRIEDRICH (_remains standing; he is hurt_): I must confess, Miss Hattenbach, that I was not prepared for such a reception from you. I hoped that I might expect, after these four or five years, that you would receive me differently than with this--with this--how shall I say?

RITA: Toleration.

FRIEDRICH: No, with this arrogance.

RITA: How?

FRIEDRICH (_controlling himself_): I beg your pardon. I am sorry to have said that.

RITA (_after a pause, hostile_): You wish to be taken seriously? (_She sits down, with a gesture of the hand_) Please, what have you to say to me?

FRIEDRICH: Much. Oh, very much. (_He also sits down._) But--you are not well to-day?

RITA: Not well? What makes you say so?

FRIEDRICH: Yes, the maid told me so.

RITA: The maid--she is a useful person. That makes me think. You certainly expect to stay here some time, do you not?

FRIEDRICH: With your permission. I have much to tell you.

RITA: I thought so. (_Calling loudly_) Bertha! Bertha! Do you suppose one could get an electric bell repaired here? Impossible.

BERTHA (_enters_): My lady?

RITA: Bertha, when the Count comes--now I am really sick.

BERTHA (_nods_): Very well. (_She leaves._)

RITA (_calls after her_): And where is the coffee? I shall famish.

BERTHA (_outside_): Immediately.

FRIEDRICH: The--the Count--did you say?

RITA: Yes, quite a fine fellow otherwise, but--would not fit in now. I wanted to say: I am passionately fond of electric bells. You know they have a fabulous charm for me. One only needs to touch them softly, ever so softly, with the small finger, and still cause a terrible noise. Fine--is it not? You wanted to talk about serious matters. It seems so to me.

FRIEDRICH: Yes. And I beg of you, Miss Erna----

RITA: Erna?

FRIEDRICH: Erna!

RITA: Oh, well!

FRIEDRICH (_continuing_): I beg of you; be really and truly serious. Yes? Listen to what I have to say to you. Be assured that it comes from an honest, warm heart. During the years in which I have not seen you, I have grown to be a serious man--perhaps, too serious for my age--but my feelings for you have remained young, quite young. Do you hear me, Erna?

RITA (_leaning back in the rocking chair, with a sigh_): I hear.

FRIEDRICH: And you know, Erna, how I have always loved you from my earliest youth, yes, even sooner than I myself suspected. You know that, yes?

(_Rita is silent and does not look at him_.)

FRIEDRICH: When I was still a foolish schoolboy I already called you my betrothed, and I could not but think otherwise than that I would some day call you my wife. You certainly know that, don't you?

RITA (_reserved_): Yes, I know it.

FRIEDRICH: Well, then you ought to be able to understand what dreadful feelings overcame me when I discovered, sooner than you or the world, the affection of my father for you. That was--no, you cannot grasp it.

RITA (_looks at him searchingly_): Sooner than I and all the world?

FRIEDRICH: Oh, a great deal sooner ... that was.... That time was the beginning of the hardest innermost struggles for me. What was I to do? (_He sighs deeply_.) Ah, Miss Erna, we people are really----

RITA: Yes, yes.

FRIEDRICH: We are dreadfully shallow-minded. How seldom one of us can really live as he would like to. Must we not always and forever consider others--and our surroundings?

RITA: Must?

FRIEDRICH: Well, yes, we do so, at least. And when it is our own father! For, look here, Erna, I never would have been able to oppose my father! I was used, as you well know, from childhood to always look up to my father with the greatest respect. He used to be severe, my father, proud and inaccessible, but--if I may be permitted to say so, he was an excellent man.

RITA: Well?

FRIEDRICH (_eagerly_): Yes, indeed! You must remember that it was he alone who established our business by means of his powerful energy and untiring diligence. Only now I myself have undertaken the management of the establishment. I am able to see what an immense work he has accomplished.

RITA (_simply_): Yes, he was an able business man.

FRIEDRICH: In every respect! Ability personified, and he had grown to be fifty-two years of age and was still, still--how shall I say?

RITA: Still able.

FRIEDRICH: Well, yes; I mean a vigorous man in his best years. For fifteen years he had been a widower, he had worked, worked unceasingly, and then--the house was well established--he could think of placing some of the work upon younger shoulders. He could think of enjoying his life once more.

RITA (_softly_): That is----

FRIEDRICH (_continuing_): And he thought he had found, in you, the one who would bring back to him youth and the joy of life.

RITA (_irritated_): Yes, but then you ought to--(_Breaks off._) Oh, it is not worth while.

FRIEDRICH: How? I should have been man enough to say: No, I forbid it; that is a folly of age. I, your son, forbid it. I demand her for myself. The young fortune is meant for me--not for you?----No, Erna, I could not do that. I could not do that.

RITA: No.

FRIEDRICH: I, the young clerk, with no future before me!

RITA: No!

FRIEDRICH: My entire training and my conceptions urged me to consider it my duty to simply stand aside and stifle my affection, as I did--as I already told you even before any other person had an idea of the intentions of my father. I gradually grew away from you.

RITA (_amused_): Gradually--yes, I recollect. You suddenly became formal. Indeed, very nice!

FRIEDRICH: I thought----

(_Bertha comes with the coffee and serves._)

RITA: Will you take a cup with me?

FRIEDRICH (_thoughtlessly_): I thought----(_Correcting himself_) pardon me! I thank you!

RITA: I hope it will not disturb you if I drink my coffee while you continue.

FRIEDRICH: Please (_embarrassed_). I thought it a proper thing. I hoped that my cold and distant attitude would check a possible existing affection for me.

RITA: Possible existing affection! Fie! Now you are beginning to lie! (_She jumps up and walks nervously through the room._) As though you had not positively known that! (_Stepping in front of him_) Or what did you take me for when I kissed you?

FRIEDRICH (_very much frightened, also rises_): O, Erna, I always----

RITA (_laughs_): You are delightful! Delightful! Still the same bashful boy--who does not dare--(_she laughs and sits down again_.) Delightful.

FRIEDRICH (_after a silence, hesitatingly_): Well, are you going to allow me to call you Erna again, as of yore?

RITA: As of yore. (_She sighs, then gaily_) If you care to.

FRIEDRICH (_happy_): Yes? May I?

RITA (_heartily_): O, yes, Fritz. That's better, isn't it? It sounds more natural, eh?

FRIEDRICH (_presses her hand and sighs_): Yes, really. You take a heavy load from me. Everything that I want to say to you can be done so much better in the familiar tone.

RITA: Oh! Have you still so much to say to me?

FRIEDRICH: Well--but now tell me first: how was it possible for you to undertake such a step. What prompted you to leave so suddenly? Erna, Erna, how could you do that?

RITA (_proudly_): How I could? Can you ask me that? Do you really not know it?

FRIEDRICH (_softly_): Oh, yes; I do know it, but--it takes so much to do that.

RITA: Not more than was in me.

FRIEDRICH: One thing I must confess to you, although it was really bad of me. But I knew no way out of it. I felt relieved after you had gone.

RITA: Well, then, that was _your_ heroism.

FRIEDRICH: Do not misunderstand me. I knew my father had----

RITA: Yes, yes--but do not talk about it any more.

FRIEDRICH: You are right. It was boyish of me. It did not last long, and then I mourned for you--not less than your parents. Oh, Erna! If you would see your parents now. They have aged terribly. Your father has lost his humor altogether, and is giving full vent to his old passion for red wine. Your mother is always ailing, hardly ever leaves the house, and both, even though they never lose a word about it, cannot reconcile themselves to the thought that their only child left them.

RITA (_after a pause, awakens from her meditation, harshly_): Perhaps you were sent by my father?

FRIEDRICH: No--why?

RITA: Then I would show you the door.

FRIEDRICH: Erna!

RITA: A man, who ventured to pay his debts with me----

FRIEDRICH: How so; what do you mean?

RITA: Oh--let's drop that. Times were bad. But to-day the house of Hattenbach enjoys its good old standing, as you say, and has overcome the crisis. Then your father must have had some consideration--without me. Well, then.----And Rudolstadt still stands--on the old spot. That's the main thing. But now let us talk about something else, I beg of you.

FRIEDRICH: No, no, Erna. What you allude to, that----do you really believe my father had----

RITA: Your father had grown used to buy and attain everything in life through money. Why not buy me also? And he had already received the promise--not from me, but from my father. But I am free! I ran away and am my own mistress! (_With haughtiness._) A young girl, all alone! Down with the gang!

(_Friedrich is silent and holds his head._)

RITA (_steps up to him and touches his shoulder, in a friendly manner_): Don't be sad. At that time your father was the stronger, and----Life is not otherwise. After all, one must assert oneself.

FRIEDRICH: But he robbed you of your happiness.

RITA (_jovially_): Who knows? It is just as well.

FRIEDRICH (_surprised_): Is that possible? Do you call that happiness, this being alone?

RITA: Yes. That is MY happiness--my freedom, and I love it with jealousy, for I fought for it myself.

FRIEDRICH (_bitterly_): A great happiness! Outside of family ties, outside the ranks of respectable society.

RITA (_laughs aloud, but without bitterness_): Respectable society! Yes. I fled from that--thank Heaven. (_harshly_) But if you do not come in the name of my father, what do you want here? Why do you come? For what purpose? What do you want of me?

FRIEDRICH: Erna, you ask that in a strange manner.

RITA: Well, yes. I have a suspicion that you--begrudge me my liberty. How did you find me, anyway?

FRIEDRICH: Yes, that was hard enough.

RITA: Rita Revera is not so unknown.

FRIEDRICH: Rita Revera! Oh, no! How often I have read that name these last years--in the newspapers in Berlin, on various placards, in large letters. But how could I ever have thought that you were meant by it?

RITA (_laughs_): Why did you not go to the "Winter Garden" when you were in Berlin?

FRIEDRICH: I never frequent such places.

RITA: Pardon me! Oh, I always forget the old customs.

FRIEDRICH: Oh, please, please, dear Erna; not in this tone of voice!

RITA: Which tone?

FRIEDRICH: Erna! Do not make matters so difficult for me. See, after I had finally discovered, through an agency in Berlin, and after hunting a long time, that you were the famous Revera, I was terribly shocked at first, terribly sad, and, for a moment, I thought of giving up everything. My worst fears were over. I had the assurance that you lived in good, and as I now see, in comfortable circumstances. But, on the other hand, I had to be prepared that you might have grown estranged to the world in which I live--that we could hardly understand each other.

RITA: Hm! Shall I tell you what was your ideal--how you would have liked to find me again? As a poor seamstress, in an attic room, who, during the four years, had lived in hunger and need--but respectably, that is the main point. Then you would have stretched forth your kind arms, and the poor, pale little dove would have gratefully embraced you. Will you deny that you have imagined it thus and even wished for it?

FRIEDRICH (_looks at her calmly_): Well, is there anything wrong about it?

RITA: But how did it happen that, regardless of this, of this disappointment, you, nevertheless, continued to search for me?

FRIEDRICH: Thank goodness, at the right moment I recollected your clear, silvery, childlike laughter. Right in the midst of my petty scruples it resounded in my ears, as at the time when you ridiculed my gravity. Do you still remember that time, Erna?

(_Rita is silent._)

BERTHA (_enters with an enormous bouquet of dark red roses_): My lady--from the Count.

RITA (_jumps up, nervously excited_): Roses! My dark roses! Give them to me! Ah! (_She holds them toward Friedrich and asks_) Did he say anything?

BERTHA: No, said nothing, but----

FRIEDRICH (_shoves the bouquet, which she holds up closely to his face, aside_): I thank you.

RITA (_without noticing him, to Bertha_): Well?

BERTHA (_pointing to the bouquet_): The Count has written something on a card.

RITA: His card? Where? (_She searches among the flowers_) Oh, here! (_She reads; then softly to Bertha_) It is all right.

(_Bertha leaves_.)

RITA (_reads again_): "Pour prendre conge." (_With an easy sigh_) Yes, yes.

FRIEDRICH: What is the matter?

RITA: Sad! His education was hardly half finished and he already forsakes me.

FRIEDRICH: What do you mean? I do not understand you at all.

RITA (_her mind is occupied_): Too bad. Now he'll grow entirely stupid.

FRIEDRICH (_rises importantly_): Erna, answer me. What relationship existed between you and the Count?

RITA (_laughs_): What business is that of yours?

FRIEDRICH (_solemnly_): Erna! Whatever it might have been, this will not do any longer.

RITA (_gaily_): No, no; you see it is already ended.

FRIEDRICH: No, Erna, that must all be ended. You must get out of all this--entirely--and forever.

RITA (_looks at him surprised and inquiringly_): Hm! Strange person.

FRIEDRICH (_grows more eager and walks up and down in the room_): Such a life is immoral. You must recognize it. Yes, and I forbid you to live on in this fashion. I have the right to demand it of you.

RITA (_interrupts him sharply_): Demand? You demand something of me?

FRIEDRICH: Yes, indeed, demand! Not for me--no--in the name of morals. That which I ask of you is simply a moral demand, do you understand, a moral demand, which must be expected of every woman.

RITA: "Must!" And why?

FRIEDRICH: Because--because--because--well, dear me--because--otherwise everything will stop!

RITA: What will stop? Life?

FRIEDRICH: No, but morals.

RITA: Ah, I thank you. Now I understand you. One must be moral because--otherwise morality will stop.

FRIEDRICH: Why, yes. That is very simple.

RITA: Yes--now, please, what would I have to do in order to fulfill your demand? I am curious like a child now, and shall listen obediently. (_She sits down again._)

FRIEDRICH (_also sits down and grasps her hand, warmly_): Well, see, my dear Erna, everything can still be undone. In Rudolstadt everybody believes you are in England with relatives. Even if you have never been there----

RITA: Often enough. My best engagements.

FRIEDRICH: So much the better. Then you certainly speak English?

RITA: Of course.

FRIEDRICH: And you are acquainted with English customs. Excellent. Oh, Erna. Your father will be pleased, he once confessed to me, when he had a little too much wine. You know him: he grows sentimental then.

RITA (_to herself_): They are all that way.

FRIEDRICH: How?

RITA: Oh, nothing. Please continue. Well--I could come back?

FRIEDRICH: Certainly! Fortunately, during these last years, since you have grown so famous, nobody has----

RITA: I have grown notorious only within a year.

FRIEDRICH: Well, most likely nobody in Rudolstadt has ever seen you on the boards. In one word, you _must_ return.

RITA: From England?

FRIEDRICH: Yes, nothing lies in the way. And your mother will be overjoyed.

RITA: Nay, nay.

FRIEDRICH: How well that you have taken a different name.

RITA: Ah, that is it. Yes, I believe that. Then they know that I am Rita Revera.

FRIEDRICH: I wrote them. They will receive you with open arms. Erna! I beg of you! I entreat you; come with me! It is still time. To-day. You cannot know, but anybody from Rudolstadt who knows might come to the theatre and----