Part 2

Well, out there in the shrubbery, it's even hotter than in here.

Julia.

Oh, just try it--won't you?

Pierre.

Well, you'll see! (_Opens the door at the left._)

Julia.

Whew! It's like a blast from a furnace! And that disgusting odour--a mixture of perspiration and bad perfume--ugh!

Pierre.

That's from the roses of our by-gone days--they lie out there in great heaps.

Julia.

Close the door! Hurry--close it!

Pierre (_does so_).

I told you how it would be!

Julia.

Well, perhaps you could adjust the shutters at the large door so that we'd get more fresh air in here.

Pierre.

Even that would be dangerous. If some one happened to be looking this way and saw the movement----

Julia (_going to the door_).

One has to do it slowly, ve-ry slow-ly-- (_She starts, uttering a low cry of fear, and retreats to the foreground, her arms outstretched as if she were warding off a ghost._)

Pierre.

What's the matter?

Julia.

Sh! Sh! (_Approaches him cautiously, then softly._) There's a man--out there.

Pierre.

Where?

Julia.

Hush! Come here you can see it against the light. (_They cautiously change places_. Pierre _utters a low shriek, then_ Julia, _softly, despairingly_) Pierre!

Pierre.

It must be the gardener.

Julia.

It's not--the--gardener.

Pierre.

Who is it then?

Julia.

Creep around--and lock--the glass door.

Pierre (_weak from fright_).

I can't.

Julia.

Then I will. (_She has taken but a few steps toward the door when the streaks of light again become visible._) He's gone now!

Pierre.

How--gone?

Julia.

There--there--nothing----

Pierre.

Seize the opportunity--and go.

Julia.

Where?

Pierre.

To the gardener's house--quick--before he comes back.

Julia.

In broad daylight--half dressed as I am?

Pierre.

Throw on a wrap--anything--hurry! (_Knocking at the door on the left. They both stand rooted to the spot. The knocking is repeated. Then_ Pierre, _in a choking voice_) Come in.

(Wittich _enters. He is a large, burly man of about forty, whose whole appearance betrays neglect; his sandy-coloured hair is pushed back from his forehead in damp strands; his beard is straggling and unkempt; his face is haggard and perspiring, his eyes lustreless. He staggers heavily in walking. He speaks in a stammering, hesitating voice; he gives the impression, in sum, of a man who is deathly ill, but is making an intense effort to hold himself together._)

Wittich.

I beg your pardon if I am disturbing you. (_Both stare at him without venturing to move._)

Pierre (_taking heart_).

Oh--p-p-please----

Wittich.

I see you were about to make coffee. Really--I don't want to----

Pierre (_stammering_).

P-p-please--th-there's no--hurry----

Wittich.

Well, then we may as well--settle--our affair--first. (Julia, _who has been standing quite still, panting, utters a low groan. At the sound of her voice_, Wittich _catches his breath as if suffocating, then sinks into one of the chairs at the left and stares vacantly at the floor._)

Pierre (_edging up to_ Julia _then softly_).

Can you understand this?

Julia (_glancing back--aside to_ Pierre).

Keep near the weapons!

Pierre (_as_ Wittich _moves_).

Hush!

Wittich.

You must forgive me--I only wanted to--look after--my--wife. (_Breaks down again._)

Pierre (_aside to_ Julia).

Why, he's quite out of his mind!

Julia.

Keep near the weapons!

Wittich.

I don't care--to settle--this matter--by means of a--so-called--affair of honour. I'm a plain man. I only know about such things from hearsay. And any way--I don't see that they help--m-matters much. (_Breaks into tearless sobs._)

Pierre (_aside_).

He won't hurt us.

Julia (_stammering_).

I simply--don't--understand it--at all!

Pierre (_pointing to_ Wittich).

Try it! Go to him!

Julia.

He's not a bit like himself.

Pierre.

Go on! Go on!

Julia.

(_Who has timidly approached her husband, bid has drawn back at a movement of his, suddenly throws herself at his feet with great emotion._) George! George!--I am guilty!--I have sinned before God and you!--I acknowledge my crime!--My life is in your hands!--Crush me--grind me to dust!--But God knows, I only obeyed a wretched impulse. My love for you has never left my heart.--My one desire is to die. Kill me!--Here!--Now!--But forgive me! Ah, forgive me!

Wittich (_staring straight ahead_).

Yes, they always talk like that--in books, at least.

Julia.

Forgive me!

Wittich.

There is nothing to forgive. And I am not going to kill any one. What good would it do? (Julia _sobs, hiding her face in her hands._)

Pierre.

Well, then--don't kneel there--like that--Julia, dear!

Julia.

I shall lie here until he raises me. Raise me! Take me in your arms! Oh, George----

Wittich.

Yes, that's what they always say. (_Sinks into reverie again._)

Pierre (_aside to her_).

Hush! Stand up! (_She does so._) Well--h'm--I suppose I may assume, Herr Wittich, that you had some purpose in seeking this interview?

Wittich.

Yes--yes. (_Looking about him._) I can well imagine that my wife--er--that the lady must find it very pleasant here.

Pierre.

Oh, yes--we needn't hesitate to say that, need we, Julia, dear?

Julia (_uncertainly adopting his tone_).

No, indeed, Pierre, dear.

Wittich.

At least--she seems to have plenty of roses here.

Julia (_laughing nervously_).

Oh, yes--plenty.

Wittich.

May I ask whether the lady has made any arrangements for the future?

Julia (_still timidly_).

I was thinking of making my home in Paris, wasn't I, Pierre?

Pierre.

Yes. You see, Julia wants to live a life suited to her tastes and inclinations--a life such as she cannot have even here--a life consecrated to Beauty and Art.

Wittich.

They say that an existence of that sort comes high. Has my wife--er--has the lady made any provision for her expenses?

Pierre (_embarrassed_).

From the moment that I become of age I shall be in a position to--h'm--h'm----

Wittich.

I see. But _until_ that moment--?

Pierre.

I--er----

Wittich.

Well, I consider it my duty--and mine alone--to protect the woman whom--until recently--I called my wife. And to save her from ruin, I am willing to make any sacrifice whatsoever.

Pierre.

Oh, as for that, of course----

Wittich.

I intend to put no obstacle in the way of your desire to legitimize your relations.

Pierre.

Very kind of you--really--very thoughtful indeed.

Wittich.

Not because--not that I don't dare insist upon _my_ rights in this affair, but because I want to guard _her_ from lifelong misery.

Pierre.

Really, you wouldn't believe how often we have discussed this question--would he, Julia, dear?

Julia.

But I am never going to grant your wish, Pierre, dear. You shall keep your liberty--you shall be free! Even as I ask nothing better than to follow my own inclinations. If I am ruined because of them--well, it's no one's concern but my own--no one's! (_Tosses her head._)

Wittich.

May I inquire what those inclinations are?

Julia.

It's hard to say--off-hand.--You must feel it--you must-- Well, I want to be free!--I want to hold my fate in my own hands!--I want-- Oh, why talk about it? What is one poor, human life?--especially a life like mine!--I am branded--doomed to the gutter!--One need use no ceremony with me now!

Wittich.

Really! Well--h'm--if I had known that you felt that way about it--I should have made you--a different proposition--Julia, dear.

Julia.

Tell me! Please!

Pierre.

Yes--tell us--please!

Wittich.

I suppose I may assume that the people at the castle know nothing of this little adventure of the young Count's?

Pierre.

You may rest assured, my dear sir, that I know what is due a woman's honour.

Wittich.

Ah--really!--Well, I'm sure no one saw me coming here. So then, there need be no scandal.

Pierre.

That would certainly be most agreeable to all parties concerned.

Wittich.

But--how did the lady propose to leave here without being seen?

Pierre.

Pray, my dear sir, let that be my concern.

Wittich.

That concern, however, I shall share with you--my dear sir. And it seems to me that the best plan would be for the lady to put on a decent dress, walk through the grounds with me, and pay a visit to the Countess at the castle.

Pierre.

What!--my mother--? What's the use of that?

Wittich.

It will look as if she'd returned--and we'd--somehow--met here.

Pierre.

Do you think any one is going to believe that?

Wittich (_proudly_).

What else should they believe?

Julia (_frightened anew_).

Oh, but I don't want to! I don't want to do that! Pierre! I want to stay with you! I am under your protection, Pierre!

Pierre.

See here, my dear sir, let us suppose that your plan is successful--what then?

Julia.

Yes--yes--afterward--what then?

Wittich.

Then?--Then-- (_Looks from one to the other, uncertainly, almost imploringly, and breaks down again._)

Pierre.

Well--won't you go on with your proposition?

Wittich.

Yes, I suppose that when a man has acted as I have acted here, he must have lost--his sense of pride--and honour--and all the rest of it--long ago.--Then nothing is left him but--his duty.--And the thing that seems to me my--duty--I am going to do.--Let the Count sneer at me--I no longer----

Pierre.

Oh, please--I say!

Wittich.

Well, then, let me tell you something, Julia. After I had read the letter from Brussels, I had two rooms prepared for you--in the left wing--quite apart; so that some day, in case--you ever--came back-- Oh, well--it doesn't matter now. But the rooms--are--still there--and if you would like to come home with me now--straight off--well, you might be spared--some annoyance.

Pierre.

H'm--so you're willing--? (_Shrugs his shoulders and laughs._) I suppose that sort of thing is all a matter of taste--but I can understand----

Wittich.

I am speaking to you, Julia.

Julia.

Oh, I thank you most heartily, George. It's certainly very noble of you--and--I deeply appreciate it. But after--this, I should always feel ashamed before you--I should feel that I was just being tolerated--I-- No. Thank you, George--but I couldn't stand it.

Pierre (_correcting her_).

That is--! (_Aside to_ Julia.) Don't be a fool!

Wittich (_without noticing_ Pierre).

You shall never hear a word of reproach from my lips, Julia, dear.

Julia.

But--if I should actually accept--we never could go on as we did before, you know. I must be free to do exactly as I please--to go away--come back--just as I like. There is such a thing as the sovereignty of the individuality, my dear George--you can't deny that.

Pierre.

Herr Wittich can't possibly deny that!

Wittich.

You shall have your own way as far as it lies in my power, Julia, dear.

Julia.

And then, you must try to bring a little more--more beauty into our life.--I surely have the right to demand that. Just look about you here. You know how passionately fond of roses I am. My soul demands something besides--potatoes! Well, I insist upon having roses around me. That's not unreasonable, is it?

Wittich.

You shall have roses enough to smother you.

Pierre (_nervously_).

Well, then, Julia, dear, I see no reason why we should not accept this proposition.

Wittich.

What have you got to say about it?

Pierre.

I beg your pardon, Herr Wittich. I certainly don't want to offend you. But--as Julia and I have found so much in each other--haven't we, Julia, dear?

Julia.

Yes--so very, very much, Pierre, dear.--And to know that we were so near--and yet could never see each other or talk together, or-- I, for my part, couldn't endure it, could you, Pierre?

Pierre.

Oh--as for that--well, it would be hard, Julia, dear.

Julia.

And what would the world say, dear George, if we should suddenly--and apparently without any cause--break off all communication with our neighbors? How would Pierre explain it to his mother? Why, he simply couldn't! No; if we are to carry out your plan, then everything must remain outwardly the same as before. Don't you agree with me, Pierre, dear?

Pierre.

(_Hesitating, with an apprehensive glance toward_ Wittich.) Outwardly--yes, Julia, dear.

Wittich (_losing control of himself_).

So that's your condition, is it?

Julia (_with a sort of nervous impudence_).

Yes, that's our condition--isn't it, Pierre, dear? (Pierre _does not reply, but looks at_ Wittich.)

Wittich.

Really?--Really!--Very well! (_He draws himself to his full height, his face flushes, and he looks around the room wildly, as if searching for something._)

Julia.

What are you looking for, George?

Wittich.

If you-- (_Gasps as if suffocating._)

Julia.

George! George! What's the matter?

Wittich.

There--there--there! (_With a loud cry, he falls upon the weapons and snatches one of the daggers._)

Julia.

Help! Help! Pierre! Save me!

Pierre (_at the same time_).

Help! Help! (_He pushes open the door and escapes, screaming_. Julia _rushes out through the door at the left_. Wittich _dashes after her. A piercing shriek is heard. After a short pause_, Julia _appears at the large door in the centre. She tries to go further, fails, supports herself against the door posts for an instant, and then reels into the room. She attempts to lean against the small table in the centre, but falls to the floor, dying. As she falls the small table is upset, burying her beneath a shower of roses._

_Through the doorway at the left_, Wittich _is heard, sobbing and groaning. In the distance_ Pierre _is shouting for help. The sound of many voices, growing louder as the curtain falls._)

II

MARGOT

A PLAY IN ONE ACT

CHARACTERS

Herr Ebeling, a lawyer. Frau von Yburg. Margot, her daughter. Doctor von Tietz. Bonath, a secretary. A Servant.

The Present Day

The scene is laid in a large German city.

MARGOT

_The richly furnished office of a prosperous lawyer. Pictures, bronzes, carved furniture, costly hangings. In the foreground, on the left, a window; turned toward it, a writing-table with a writing-chair behind. Near the window, a leather arm-chair. At the narrow side of the table, in the foreground, a low seat. On the right, a sofa, table, and chairs. In the background, a door which, when opened, reveals the clerks working at long tables. To the right, back, another door. The backward projection of the writing-table forms a revolving-stand for reference books. On the writing-table, among documents and writing materials, are photographs in standing frames and a slender vase filled with dark red roses._

_It is winter, about six o'clock in the evening. The lamps are lighted._

Ebeling _is seated in the writing-chair. He is a man of about forty, attractive, winning in manner, his clothes betokening wealth and refinement; he wears a short, dark beard, and his hair is slightly gray at the temples_. Von Tietz, _sitting opposite him in the arm-chair, is about thirty, very smartly dressed--in appearance a type of the ordinary drawing-room devotee._

Ebeling (_holding out a box of cigars_).

There! Now let's chat. Will you smoke?

v. Tietz (_helping himself_).

Really now--if I'm disturbing you----

Ebeling.

See here, my dear fellow, if you were disturbing me, I'd make short work of you. But (_looking toward the clock_) my office hours are over. And we'll find out immediately what else there is. (_He rings._)

Bonath _appears with a bundle of papers_.

Ebeling.

Is any one still there?

Bonath.

No, Herr Ebeling, but a lady is expected.

Ebeling.

Yes, I know. Well, let me have the papers. (Bonath _lays them before him._)

Ebeling.

(_To_ v. Tietz.) You can go on speaking. These are only signatures.--Have you a light?

v. Tietz.

(_Who has stood up and is looking around the room._) Yes, thank you.

Ebeling.

See that this decision is delivered to Baron von Kanoldt at once.

Bonath.

Yes, Herr Ebeling.

v. Tietz.

You've become a collector, I see.

Ebeling (_signing_).

One must have some diversion.

v. Tietz.

What's that? Looks like a Terburg. Is it an original?

Ebeling (_signing_).

Would you expect it to be a copy?

v. Tietz.

H'm, your practice is certainly splendid.

Ebeling.

There are a lot of people, though, who think they are cleverer than I--and take great pains to justify their opinion. (_To_ Bonath.) Will it be necessary to work overtime?

Bonath.

Not to-day, Herr Ebeling.

Ebeling.

Then you can announce Frau von Yburg as soon as she comes. (v. Tietz _listens attentively._)

Bonath.

Very well, Herr Ebeling. (_Goes out._)

v. Tietz.

The lady you are expecting is Frau von Yburg?

Ebeling.

Of course you know that I've been the Yburg's legal adviser for years.

v. Tietz (_sitting down_).

Well, really, this is quite a marvellous coincidence. It's on account of the Yburgs that I've come to see you.

Ebeling (_interested_).

Is that so? What's the matter?

v. Tietz.

My dear friend, if you hadn't so completely drawn away from all society since your wife l---- (_alarmed._) I beg your pardon.

Ebeling.

Go on! Say it! Left me! Walked out of the house! You may say it. But then--drop it! Even our old fraternity friendship doesn't oblige us to be everlastingly putting each other on the grill.

v. Tietz.

No, really--it escaped me somehow. I'm awfully sorry.

Ebeling.

Oh, well, never mind. You know, I speak of it quite disinterestedly. And it's a good many years since then. Only--I'd rather not be attacked unawares.

v. Tietz.

Don't worry. I'll be on my guard. But--as we've mentioned it--there's something I wanted to ask you before--only I hadn't the courage. Tell me, do you always keep her picture on your table?

Ebeling (_in a hard voice_).

Yes.

v. Tietz.

Then you still love her?

Ebeling.

No. I only keep the picture there to warn me against making a fool of myself again. So many charming women sit there where you're sitting, women just on the point of divorce--and therefore in need of consolation. Every now and then one of them undertakes to faint--um--and then I have to-- (_Holds out his arms._)

v. Tietz (_bursting out laughing_).

Aha! Very interesting! Very interesting!

Ebeling.

In short, it does no harm to keep the picture there.

v. Tietz.

Of course, everyone knows how much courted you are. For instance, no matter when I come to see you, I always find those beautiful roses on your table. They speak for themselves. Heavens! What a luxury! Roses in January!

Ebeling.

Things like that come anonymously. If I knew who the sender was, I wouldn't accept them.

v. Tietz.

Let me with all due modesty give you a piece of advice: you ought to marry.

Ebeling.

(_Ironically, shaking his finger at him across the table._) Thank you. But didn't you want to speak to me about the Yburgs?

V. Tietz.

Yes. What was I going to say?--Oh, yes. Well, if you hadn't taken it into your head to live like a hermit, you'd know that, for some time past, I've been a very frequent visitor at the Yburgs's.

Ebeling.

Oh, yes, I know. I go there myself sometimes--only not when other people are around.

v. Tietz.

Well, then, to make a long story short--why should I mince matters with you?--I am courting Margot.

Ebeling (_startled_).

Ah--you, too? You're also one of the crowd?

v. Tietz (_conceitedly_).

I trust that I stand up a bit above the crowd.

Ebeling.

Indeed? I thought perhaps the social glamour of the Yburgs was attracting you. A thing like that can't help dazzling one. But that you----

v. Tietz.

Is it so surprising? That girl is so bewitching--so--so entirely unlike these forward, city-bred girls. With her, at least, one knows what one can count on. She's so--so the essence of everything innocent and chaste and pure.

Ebeling (_quoting_).

"Be thou as chaste as ice, as pure as snow,"--thy dowry shall not escape me.

v. Tietz.

No, no--don't joke. It's out of place. I won't deny that, as an official without fortune--that would also be very--h'm--but----

Ebeling.

Yes, but what have I got to do with it?

v. Tietz.

See here, my dear friend, we scattered remnants of the old college fraternity have grown so accustomed to ask your help in times of need, to look up to you as a sort of father confessor----

Ebeling.

Do you want me to go and propose for you?

v. Tietz.

We'll talk of that later. But first I'd like to ask you something. See here, what role is Baron von Kanoldt playing in this family?

Ebeling.

So that's it!

V. Tietz.

You're his counsel in his divorce proceedings, aren't you?

Ebeling.

As the affair has become common talk, I need make no secret of it.

v. Tietz.

They say that it is the wife who has been the martyr. And yet, after fifteen years, _he_ begins the divorce proceedings. Why should he?

Ebeling.

My dear fellow, you must put that question to some one who's not so well informed as I am.

v. Tietz.

Oh, see here, I don't want to be indiscreet about it, but the further the case goes, the more persistent are the rumours that he has designs on Margot's hand--and, furthermore, that her mother is encouraging him!

Ebeling.

Frau von Yburg will be here in a few minutes.--Ask her!

v. Tietz.

What do you take me for?

Ebeling (_shrugging his shoulders_).

Oh, well then----

v. Tietz.

But just think! that man--forty, if he's a day, fat, worn out, a roue whose amorous adventures are common gossip to every cabby on the street!

Ebeling.

Pardon me, my clients are all virtuous, young, handsome, desirable--of inestimable pulchritude.

v. Tietz.

See here--are you chaffing me?

Ebeling.

I'm only trying to make you understand that you've unwittingly walked into the enemy's camp.

v. Tietz (_standing up_).

Very well--if you don't want to----

Ebeling.

(_Also stands up, and puts his hand on_ v. Tietz's _shoulder._) My dear fellow, you're ten years younger than I. You're one of your country's young hopefuls. Go ahead and do what your heart and pocket-book bid you.

v. Tietz.

I didn't need you to tell me that. (_A knock at the door._)

Ebeling.

Come in.

Bonath.

Frau von Yburg and----

Ebeling.

Ask her in.

(Bonath _stands aside, opening the door. Enter_ Frau v. Yburg _and_ Margot. Frau v. Yburg _is a woman of about forty, dressed simply but tastefully; her bearing is dignified, self-possessed, refined, and betrays a natural, unaffected knowledge of the demands of convention; but hidden behind her assurance, and scarcely noticeable, are the traces of an old sorrow, a helpless glance, and a forced smile_. Margot _is a lovely young girl, extremely well-bred, with a somewhat shy, reserved manner._)

v. Tietz (_at sight of Margot_).

Ah!

Frau v. Yburg.

I brought my little girl along, Herr Ebeling, to let her catch a glimpse of the lion's den. I hope that you won't mind.

Ebeling (_kissing her hand_).

A thousand times welcome, dear ladies. (_Shakes hands with_ Margot.)

Frau v. Yburg.

Good evening, Herr von Tietz. This is indeed a pleasure. (_Gives him her hand._)

v. Tietz.

I'm very happy to meet you both--I hadn't hoped to see Fraeulein Yburg here. But our friend believes in military promptitude. I have just received permission to take my leave.

Frau v. Yburg.

I hope that you will come to see us soon, Herr von Tietz.

v. Tietz.

That's very kind of you. (_Bowing to_ Margot.) Fraeulein Yburg!

Ebeling (_accompanying him to the door_).

Good-bye, my dear fellow. No bad feelings now----

v. Tietz.

Oh, I say! Of course not! (_Goes out._)

Ebeling.

Won't you sit down?

Frau v. Yburg.

Oh, no. Margot is only going to glance around a bit. Yes, my little girl, you may well look about. Between these four walls many a fate has been shaped.

Ebeling.

Let us rather say, has been mended.

Margot (_softly, suddenly looking up_).

Mine, too?

Frau v. Yburg.

(_Looking at her with evident disapproval._) Perhaps Margot may call for me again in half an hour. You won't mind?

Ebeling.

It will give me great pleasure.

Frau v. Yburg.

Then run away, dear, pay your visit, and let the carriage bring you back again. (_Sits down, right._)

Margot.

(_Giving him her hand with social assurance, but a little timidly, none the less._) Au revoir, Herr Ebeling.