Chapter 8

_The_ COLONEL'S _summer parlor_. COLONEL _enters from the garden, followed by_ CARL.

COLONEL (_on entering, crossly_).

Who ordered William to bring the horse round in front of the bedrooms? The brute makes a noise with his hoofs that would wake the dead.

CARL.

Are you not going to ride today, Colonel?

COLONEL.

No. Take the horse to the stable!

CARL.

Yes, Colonel. [_Exit_.]

COLONEL (_rings_, CARL _reappears at the door_).

Is Miss Runeck at home?

CARL.

She is in her room; the judge has been with her an hour already.

COLONEL.

What? Early in the morning?

CARL.

Here she is herself.

[_Exit as soon as_ ADELAIDE _enters_.]

_Enter_ ADELAIDE _and_ KORB _through the door on the right_.

ADELAIDE (_to_ KORB).

You had better remain near the garden gate, and when the said young man comes bring him to us.

[_Exit_ KORB.]

Good-morning, Colonel.

[_Going up to him and examining him gaily_.]

How is the weather today?

COLONEL.

Gray, girl, gray and stormy. Vexation and grief are buzzing round in my head until it is fit to burst. How is the child?

ADELAIDE.

Better. She was wise enough to fall asleep toward morning. Now she is sad, but calm.

COLONEL.

This very calmness annoys me. If she would only once shriek and tear her hair a bit! It would be horrible, but there would be something natural about it. It is this smiling and then turning away to dry secret tears that makes me lose my composure. It is unnatural in my child.

ADELAIDE.

Possibly she knows her father's kind heart better than he does himself; possibly she still has hopes.

COLONEL.

Of what? Of a reconciliation with him? After what has happened a reconciliation between Oldendorf and myself is out of the question.

ADELAIDE (_aside_).

I wonder if he wants me to contradict him!

_Enter_ KORB.

KORB (_to_ ADELAIDE).

The gentleman has come.

ADELAIDE.

I will ring.

[_Exit_ KORB.]

Help me out of a little dilemma. I have to speak with a strange young man who seems in need of help, and I should like to have you stay near me.--May I leave this door open?

[_Points to the door on the left_.]

COLONEL.

That means, I suppose, in plain English, that I am to go in there?

ADELAIDE.

I beg it of you--just for five minutes.

COLONEL.

Very well--if only I don't have to listen.

ADELAIDE.

I do not require it; but you will listen all the same if the conversation happens to interest you.

COLONEL (_smiling_).

In that case I shall come out.

[_Exit to the left_; ADELAIDE _rings_.]

_Enter_ SCHMOCK. KORB _also appears at the entrance, but quickly withdraws_.

SCHMOCK (_with a bow_).

I wish you a good-morning. Are you the lady who sent me her secretary?

ADELAIDE.

Yes. You said you wished to speak to me personally.

SCHMOCK.

Why should the secretary know about it if I want to tell you something? Here are the notes that Senden wrote and that I found in the paper-basket of the _Coriolanus_. Look them over, and see if they will be of use to the Colonel. What can I do with them? There's nothing to be done with them.

ADELAIDE (_looking through them, reading, in an aside_).

"Here I send you the wretched specimens of style, etc." Incautious and very low-minded! [_Lays them on the table. Aloud_.] At any rate these unimportant notes are better off in my paper-basket than in any one else's. And what, sir, induces you to confide in me?

SCHMOCK.

I suppose because Bellmaus told me you were a clever person who would choose a good way of telling the Colonel to be on his guard against Senden and against my editor; and the Colonel is a kind man; the other day he ordered a glass of sweet wine and a salmon sandwich as a lunch for me.

COLONEL (_visible at the door, clasping his hands sympathetically_).

Merciful heavens!

SCHMOCK.

Why should I let him be duped by these people!

ADELAIDE.

Since you did not dislike the lunch, we will see that you get another one.

SCHMOCK.

Oh please, don't trouble yourself on my account.

ADELAIDE.

Can we help you with anything else?

SCHMOCK.

What should you be able to help me with? [_Examining his boots and clothes_.] I have everything in order now. My trouble is only that I have got into the wrong occupation. I must try to get out of literature.

ADELAIDE (_sympathetically_.)

It is very hard, I suppose, to feel at home in literature?

SCHMOCK.

That depends. My editor is an unfair man. He cuts out too much and pays too little. "Attend to your style first of all," says he; "a good style is the chief thing." "Write impressively, Schmock," says he; "write profoundly; it is required of a newspaper today that it be profound." Good! I write profoundly, I make my style logical! But when I bring him what I have done he hurls it away from him and shrieks: "What is that? That is heavy, that is pedantic!" says he. "You must write dashingly; it's brilliant you must be, Schmock. It is now the fashion to make everything pleasant for the reader." What am I to do? I write dashingly again; I put a great deal of brilliant stuff in the article; and when I bring it he takes his red pencil and strikes out all that is commonplace and leaves me only the brilliant stuff remaining.

COLONEL.

Are such things possible?

SCHMOCK.

How can I exist under such treatment? How can I write him only brilliant stuff at less than a penny a line. I can't exist under it! And that is why I'm going to try to get out of the business. If only I could earn twenty-five to thirty dollars, I would never in my life write again for a newspaper; I would then set up for myself in business--a little business that could support me.

ADELAIDE.

Wait a moment! [_Looks into her purse_.]

COLONEL (_hastily coming forward_).

Leave that to me, dear Adelaide. The young man wants to cease being a journalist. That appeals to me. Here, here is money such as you desire if you will promise me from this day on not to touch a pen again for a newspaper. Here, take it.

SCHMOCK.

A Prussian bank note--twenty-five thalers in currency? On my honor, I promise you, on my honor and salvation, I go this very day to a cousin of mine who has a paying business. Would you like an I.O.U., Colonel, or shall I make out a long-term promissory note?

COLONEL.

Get out with your promissory note!

SCHMOCK.

Then I will write out a regular I.O.U. I prefer it to be only an I.O.U.

COLONEL (_impatiently_).

I don't want your I.O.U. either. Sir, for God's sake get out of the house!

SCHMOCK.

And how about the interest? If I can have it at five per cent. I should like it.

ADELAIDE.

The gentleman makes you a present of the money.

SCHMOCK.

He makes me a present of the money? It's a miracle! I tell you what, Colonel, if I don't succeed with the money it remains a gift, but if I work my way up with it I return it. I hope I will work my way up. COLONEL. Do just as you like about that.

SCHMOCK.

I like to have it that way, Colonel.--Meanwhile I thank you, and may some other joy come to make it up to you. Good day, Sir and Madam.

ADELAIDE.

We must not forget the lunch. [_Rings,_ KORB _enters_.] Dear Korb! [_Talks in a low tone to him_.]

SCHMOCK.

O please, do not go to that trouble!

[_Exeunt_ SCHMOCK _and_ KORB.]

COLONEL.

And now, dear lady, explain this whole conversation; it concerns me intimately enough.

ADELAIDE.

Senden spoke tactlessly to outsiders about his relations with you and your household. This young man had overheard some of it, and also had notes written by Senden in his possession, which contained unsuitable expressions. I thought it best to get these notes out of his hands.

COLONEL.

I want you to let me have those letters, Adelaide.

ADELAIDE (_entreating_).

Why, Colonel?

COLONEL.

I won't get angry, girl.

ADELAIDE.

Nor is it worth while to do so. But still I beg you won't look at them. You know enough now, for you know that he, with his associates, does not merit such great confidence as you have latterly reposed in him.

COLONEL (_sadly_).

Well, well! In my old days I have had bad luck with my acquaintances.

ADELAIDE.

If you put Oldendorf and this one (_pointing to the letters_) in the same class you are quite mistaken.

COLONEL.

I don't do that, girl. For Senden I had no such affection, and that's why it is easier to bear it when he does me an injury.

ADELAIDE (_gently_).

And because you loved the other one, that was the reason why yesterday you were so--

COLONEL.

Say it, mentor--so harsh and violent!

ADELAIDE.

Worse than that, you were unjust.

COLONEL.

I said the same thing to myself last night, as I went to Ida's room and heard the poor thing cry. I was a hurt, angry man and was wrong in the form--but in the matter itself I was, all the same, right. Let him be member of Parliament; he may be better suited for it than I. It is his being a newspaper writer that separates us.

ADELAIDE.

But he is only doing what you did yourself!

COLONEL.

Don't remind me of that folly! Were he as my son-in-law to hold a different opinion from mine regarding current happenings--that I could doubtless stand. But if day by day he were to proclaim aloud to the world feelings and sentiments the opposite of mine, and I had to read them, and had to hear my son-in-law reproached and laughed at for them on all sides by old friends and comrades, and I had to swallow it all--you see that is more than I could bear!

ADELAIDE.

And Ida? Because you won't bear it Ida is to be made unhappy?

COLONEL.

My poor child! She has been unhappy throughout the whole affair. This half-hearted way of us men has long been a mistake. It is better to end it with one sharp pain.

ADELAIDE (_seriously_).

I cannot see that ending of it as yet. I shall only see it when Ida laughs once more as merrily as she used to do.

COLONEL (_excitedly walking about, exclaiming_).

Well then, I'll give him my child, and go and sit alone in a corner. I had other views for my old age, but God forbid that my beloved girl should be made unhappy by me. He is reliable and honorable, and will take good care of her. I shall move back to the little town I came from.

ADELAIDE (_seizing his hand_).

My revered friend, no--you shall not do that! Neither Oldendorf nor Ida would accept their happiness at such a price. But if Senden and his friends were secretly to take the paper away from the professor, what then?

COLONEL (_joyfully_).

Then he would no longer be a journalist! (_Uneasily_.) But I won't hear of such a thing. I am no friend of underhanded action.

ADELAIDE.

Nor am I! (_Heartily_.) Colonel, you have often shown a confidence in me that has made me happy and proud. Even today you let me speak more frankly than is usually permitted to a girl. Will you give me one more great proof of your regard?

COLONEL (_pressing her hand_).

Adelaide, we know how we stand with each other. Speak out!

ADELAIDE.

For one hour, today, be my faithful knight. Allow me to lead you wherever I please.

COLONEL.

What are you up to, child?

ADELAIDE.

Nothing wrong, nothing unworthy of you or of me. You shall not long be kept in the dark about it.

COLONEL.

If I must, I will surrender. But may I not know something of what I have to do?

ADELAIDE.

You are to accompany me on a visit, and at the same time keep in mind the things we have just talked over so sensibly.

COLONEL.

On a visit?

_Enter_ KORB.

ADELAIDE.

On a visit I am making in my own interest.

KORB (_to_ ADELAIDE).

Mr. von Senden wishes to pay his respects.

COLONEL.

I don't wish to see him now.

ADELAIDE.

Be calm, Colonel! We have not time to be angry even with him. I shall have to see him for a few moments.

COLONEL.

Then I will go away.

ADELAIDE (_entreating_).

But you will accompany me directly? The carriage is waiting.

COLONEL.

I obey the command. [_Exit to the left_.]

ADELAIDE.

I have made a hasty decision; I have ventured on something that was doubtless too bold for a girl; for now that the crisis is at hand, I feel my courage leaving me. I had to do it for his sake and for all our sakes. (_To_ KORB.) Ask Miss Ida to get ready--the coachman will come straight back for her. Dear Korb, let your thoughts be with me. I am going on a weighty errand, old friend! [_Exit_ ADELAIDE.]

KORB.

(_alone_). Gracious, how her eyes shine! What is she tip to? She's not going to elope with the old Colonel, I hope! Well, whatever she is up to, she will carry it through. There is only one person who could ever be a match for her. Oh, Mr. Conrad, if only I could speak!

[_EXIT_.]