SCENE II

_The reception hall in Emil Grelieu's villa. Plenty of air, light, and flowers. Large, windows overlooking the garden in bloom. One small window is almost entirely covered with the leaves of vines._

_In the room are Emil Grelieu and his elder son, Pierre, a handsome, pale, and frail-looking young man. He is dressed in military uniform. They pace up and down the room slowly. It is evident that Pierre is anxious to walk faster, but out of respect for his father he slackens his pace._

EMIL GRELIEU

How many kilometers?

PIERRE

Twenty-five or thirty kilometers to Tirlemont--and here--

EMIL GRELIEU

Seventy-four or five--

PIERRE

Seventy-five--yes, about a hundred kilometers. It's not far, father.

EMIL GRELIEU

Not far. It seemed to me that I heard cannonading. I heard it last night.

PIERRE

No, it's hardly possible.

EMIL GRELIEU

Yes, I was mistaken. But the rays of the searchlights could be seen. They must be very powerful searchlights. Mamma saw them too.

PIERRE

Really? You are suffering from insomnia again, father?

EMIL GRELIEU

I sleep well. A hundred kilometers--a hundred kilometers--

_Silence. Pierre looks at his father attentively._

PIERRE

Father!

EMIL GRELIEU

Well? It's too early for you, Pierre--you have three hours yet before your train starts. I am watching the time.

PIERRE

I know, father. No, I am thinking of something else--. Father, tell me, have you still any hopes?

_Silence._

I am hesitating, I feel somewhat embarrassed to speak to you--you are so much wiser, so far above me, father.... Yes, yes, it's nonsense, of course, but that which I have learned in the army during these days gives me very little hope. They are coming in such a compact mass of people, of iron, machines, arms and horses, that there is no possibility of stopping them. It seems to me that seismographs must indicate the place over which they pass--they press the ground with such force. And we are so few in number!

EMIL GRELIEU

Yes, we are very few in number.

PIERRE

Very, very few, father! Dreadfully few! Even if we were invulnerable and deathless, even if we kept killing them off day and night, day and night, we would drop from fatigue and exhaustion before we stopped them. But we are mortal--and they have terrible guns, father! You are silent? You are thinking of our Maurice--I have caused you pain?

EMIL GRELIEU

There is little of the human in their movements. Do not think of Maurice--he will live. A human being has a face, Pierre. Every human being has his own face, but they have no faces. When I try to picture them to myself, I see only the lights, projectors, automobiles--those terrible guns--and something walking, walking. And those vulgar mustaches of Wilhelm--but that is a mask, an immobile mask, which has stood over Europe for a quarter of a century--what is behind it? Those vulgar mustaches--and suddenly so much misery, so much bloodshed and destruction! It is a mask!

PIERRE

_Almost to himself._

If there were only not so many of them, not so many--. Father, I believe that Maurice will live. He is a lucky boy. But what does mamma think about it?

EMIL GRELIEU

What mamma thinks?

_Enter François. Sternly, without looking at anyone, he waters the flowers._

And what does he think? Look at him.

PIERRE

He can hardly hear anything. François!

EMIL GRELIEU

I don't know whether he hears anything or not. But there was a time when he did hear. He is silent, Pierre, and he furiously denies war. He denies it by work--he works alone in the garden as if nothing had happened. Our house is full of refugees. Mamma and everyone else in the house are busy, feeding them, washing the children--mamma is washing them--but he does not seem to notice anything. He denies war! Now he is bursting from anxiety to hear or guess what we are saying, but do you see the expression of his face? If you start to talk to him he will go away.

PIERRE

François!

EMIL GRELIEU

Don't bother him. He wants to be crafty. Perhaps he hears us. You ask me what mother is thinking of. Do I know? Who can tell? You see that she is not here, and yet these are your last hours at home. Yes, in this house--I am speaking of the house. She is young and resolute as ever, she walks just as lightly and is just as clear-headed, but she is not here. She is simply not here, Pierre.

PIERRE

Is she concealing something?

EMIL GRELIEU

No, she is not concealing anything, but she has gone into the depths of her own self, where all is silence and mystery. She is living through her motherhood again, from the very beginning--do you understand? when you and Maurice were not yet born--but in this she is crafty, like François. Sometimes I see clearly that she is suffering unbearably, that she is terrified by the war--. But she smiles in answer and then I see something else--I see how there has suddenly awakened in her the prehistoric woman--the woman who handed her husband the fighting club--. Wait, the soldiers are coming again!

_Military music is heard in the distance, nearing._

PIERRE

Yes, according to the assignment, it is the Ninth Regiment.

EMIL GRELIEU

Let us hear it, Pierre. I hear this music several times a day. There it starts on the right, and there it dies down. Always there.

_They listen._

But they are brave fellows!

PIERRE

Yes.

_Both listen attentively at the window. François looks at them askance and tries in vain to hear. The music begins to die out._

EMIL GRELIEU

_Walking away from the window._

Yesterday they played the "Marseillaise." But they are brave fellows!

_Emil Grelieu's wife enters quickly._

JEANNE

Do you hear it? How beautiful! Even our refugees smiled when they heard it. Emil, I have brought you some telegrams, here. I have read them.

EMIL GRELIEU

What is it? Let me have them!

_Reading the telegrams, he staggers to an armchair and sinks into it. He turns pale._

PIERRE

What is it, father?

EMIL GRELIEU

Read!

_Pierre reads it over the shoulder of his father. The woman looks at them with an enigmatical expression upon her face. She sits calmly, her beautiful head thrown back. Emil Grelieu rises quickly, and both he and his son start to pace the room in opposite directions._

PIERRE

Do you see?

EMIL GRELIEU

Yes.

PIERRE

Do you see?

EMIL GRELIEU

Yes! Yes!

JEANNE

_As though indifferently._

Emil, was that an interesting library which they have destroyed? I don't know.

EMIL GRELIEU

Yes, very. But what are you asking me, Jeanne? How can you speak?

JEANNE

Oh, I speak only of those books! Tell me, were there many books there?

EMIL GRELIEU

Yes, many, many!

JEANNE

And they've burned them?

_She hums softly in afresh, strong voice._

"Only the halo of the arts crowns law, liberty, and the King!--Law--"

EMIL GRELIEU

Books, books.

JEANNE

And there was also a Cathedral there. Oh, I remember it! Isn't it true, Emil, that it was a beautiful structure?

_Hums._

"Law, liberty, and the King--"

PIERRE

Father!

What?

EMIL GRELIEU

_He walks up and down the room._

JEANNE

Pierre, it will soon be time for you to leave. I'll give you something to eat at once. Pierre, do you think it is true that they are killing women and children? I don't know.

PIERRE

It is true, mother.

EMIL GRELIEU

How can you say it, Jeanne? You don't know?

JEANNE

I say this on account of the children. Yes, there they write that they are killing children, so they write there. And all this was crowded upon that little slip of paper--and the children, as well as the fire--

_Rises quickly and walks away, humming._

EMIL GRELIEU

Where are you going, Jeanne?

JEANNE

Nowhere in particular. François, do you hear? They are murdering our women and children. François! François!

_Without turning around, François walks out, his shoulders bent. All look after him. Jeanne goes to the other door with a strange half-smile._

PIERRE

Mamma!

JEANNE

I will return directly.

EMIL GRELIEU

What shall I call them? What can I call them? My dear Pierre, my boy, what shall I call them?

PIERRE

You are greatly agitated, father.

EMIL GRELIEU

I have always thought, I have always been convinced that words were at my command, but here I stand before this monstrous, inexplicable--I don't know, I don't know what to call them. My heart is crying out, I hear its voice, but the word! Pierre, you are a student, you are young, your words are direct and pure--Pierre, find the word!

PIERRE

You want me to find it, father? Yes, I was a student, and I knew certain words: Peace, Right, Humanity. But now you see! My heart is crying too, but I do not know what to call these scoundrels. Scoundrels? That is not sufficient.

_In despair._

Not sufficient.

EMIL GRELIEU

That is not strong enough. Pierre, I have decided--

PIERRE

Decided?

EMIL GRELIEU

Yes, I am going.

PIERRE

You, father?

EMIL GRELIEU

I decided to do it several days ago--even then, at the very beginning. And I really don't know why I--. Oh, yes, I had to overcome within me--my love for flowers.

_Ironically._

Yes, Pierre, my love for flowers. Oh, my boy, it is so hard to change from flowers to iron and blood!

PIERRE

Father, I dare not contradict you.

EMIL GRELIEU

No, no, you dare not. It is not necessary. Listen, Pierre, you must examine me as a physician.

PIERRE

I am only a student, father.

EMIL GRELIEU

Yes, but you know enough to say--. You see, Pierre, I must not burden our little army with a single superfluous sick or weak man. Isn't that so? I must bring with me strength and power, not shattered health. Isn't that so? And I am asking you, Pierre, to examine me, simply as a physician, as a young physician. But I feel somewhat embarrassed with you--. Must I take this off, or can you do it without removing this?

PIERRE

It can be done this way.

EMIL GRELIEU

I think so, too. And--must I tell you everything, or--? At any rate, I will tell you that I have not had any serious ailments, and for my years I am a rather strong, healthy man. You know what a life I am leading.

PIERRE

That is unnecessary, father.

EMIL GRELIEU

It is necessary. You are a physician. I want to say that in my life there were none of those unwholesome--and bad excesses. Oh, the devil take it, how hard it is to speak of it.

PIERRE

Papa, I know all this.

_Quickly kisses his father's hand. Silence._

EMIL GRELIEU

But it is necessary to take my pulse, Pierre, I beg of you.

PIERRE

_Smiling faintly._

It isn't necessary to do even that. As a physician, I can tell you that you are healthy, but--you are unfit for war, you are unfit for war, father! I am listening to you and I feel like crying, father.

EMIL GRELIEU

_Thoughtfully._

Yes, yes. But perhaps it is not necessary to cry. Do you think, Pierre, that I should not kill? Pierre, you think, that I, Emil Grelieu, must not kill under any circumstances and at any time?

PIERRE

_Softly._

I dare not touch upon your conscience, father.

EMIL GRELIEU

Yes, that is a terrible question for a man. I must kill, Pierre. Of course, I could take your gun, but not to fire--no, that would have been disgusting, a sacrilegious deception! When my humble people are condemned to kill, who am I that I should keep my hands clean? That would be disgusting cleanliness, obnoxious saintliness. My humble nation did not desire to kill, but it was forced, and it has become a murderer. So I, too, must become a murderer, together with my nation. Upon whose shoulders will I place the sin--upon the shoulders of our youths and children? No, Pierre. And if ever the Higher Conscience of the world will call my dear people to the terrible accounting, if it will call you and Maurice, my children, and will say to you: "What have you done? You have murdered!" I will come forward and will say: "First you must judge me; I have also murdered--and you know that I am an honest man!"

_Pierre sits motionless, his face covered with his hands. Enter Jeanne, unnoticed._

PIERRE

_Uncovering his face._

But you must not die! You have no right!

EMIL GRELIEU

_Loudly, and with contempt._

Oh, death!

_They notice Jeanne, and grow silent. Jeanne sits down and speaks in the same tone of strange, almost cheerful calm._

JEANNE

Emil, she is here again.

EMIL GRELIEU

Yes? She is here again. Where has she been the last two nights?

JEANNE

She does not know herself. Emil, her dress and her hands were in blood.

EMIL GRELIEU

She is wounded?

JEANNE

No, it is not her own blood, and by the color I could not tell whose blood it is.

PIERRE

Who is that, mother?

JEANNE

A girl. Just a girl. She's insane. I have combed her hair and put a clean dress on her. She has beautiful hair. Emil, I have heard something--I understand that you want to go--?

EMIL GRELIEU

Yes.

JEANNE

Together with your children, Emil?

EMIL GRELIEU

Yes. Pierre has examined me and finds that I am fit to enter the ranks.

JEANNE

You intend to go tomorrow?

EMIL GRELIEU

Yes.

JEANNE

You cannot manage it today. Pierre, you have only an hour and a half left.

_Silence._

PIERRE

Mamma! Tell him that he must not--Forgive me, father!--that he should not go. Isn't that true, mother? Tell him! He has given to the nation his two sons--what more should he give? He has no right to give more.

JEANNE

More, Pierre?

PIERRE

Yes,--his life. You love him; you, yourself, would die if he were killed--tell him that, mother!

JEANNE

Yes, I love him. I love you, too.

PIERRE

Oh, what are we, Maurice and I? But he! Just as they have no right to destroy temples in war or to bum libraries, just as they have no right to touch the eternal, so he--he--has no right to die. I am speaking not as your son, no; but to kill Emil Grelieu--that would be worse than to bum books. Listen to me! You have brought me into this world. Listen to me!--although I am young and should be silent--Listen to me! They have already robbed us. They have deprived us of our land and of the air; they have destroyed our treasures which have been created by the genius of our people, and now we would cast our best men into their jaws! What does that mean? What will remain of us? Let them kill us all, let our land be turned into a waste desert, let all living creatures be burned to death, but as long as he lives, Belgium is alive! What is Belgium without him? Oh, do not be silent, mother! Tell him!

_Silence._

EMIL GRELIEU

_Somewhat sternly._

Calm yourself, Pierre!

JEANNE

Yesterday I--no, Pierre, that isn't what I was going to say--I don't know anything about it. How could I know? But yesterday I--it is hard to get vegetables, and even bread, here--so I went to town, and for some reason we did not go in that direction, but nearer the field of battle--. How strange it is that we found ourselves there! And there I saw them coming--

EMIL GRELIEU

Whom?

JEANNE

Our soldiers. They were coming from there--where the battle raged for four days. There were not many of them--about a hundred or two hundred. But we all--there were so many people in the streets--we all stepped back to the wall in order to make way for them. Emil, just think of it; how strange! They did not see us, and we would have been in their way! They were black from smoke, from mud, from dried blood, and they were swaying from fatigue. They were all thin--as consumptives. But that is nothing, that is all nothing. Their eyes--what was it, Emil? They did not see their surroundings, they still reflected that which they had seen there--fire and smoke and death--and what else? Some one said: "Here are people returning from hell." We all bowed to them, we bowed to them, but they did not see that either. Is that possible, Emil?

EMIL GRELIEU

Yes, Jeanne, that is possible.

PIERRE

And he will go to that inferno?

_Silence. Emil Grelieu walks over to his wife and kisses her hand. She looks at his head with a smile. Suddenly she rises._

JEANNE

Forgive me; there is something else I must say--

_She moves quickly and lightly, but suddenly, as though stumbling over an invisible obstacle, falls on one knee. Then she tries to rise, kneels, pale and still smiling, bending to one side. They rush over to her and lift her from the ground._

PIERRE

Mamma! Mamma!

EMIL GRELIEU

You have a headache? Jeanne, my dearest, what ails you?

_She pushes them aside, stands up firmly, trying to conceal her nervousness._

JEANNE

What is it? What? Don't trouble, Emil! My head? No, no! My foot slipped--you know, the one that pained me. You see, I can walk now.

EMIL GRELIEU

A glass of water, Pierre.

JEANNE

What for? How absurd!

_But Pierre had already gone out. Jeanne sits down, hangs her head, as one guilty, endeavoring not to look into his eyes._

JEANNE

What an excitable youth--your Pierre! Did you hear what he said?

EMIL GRELIEU

_Significantly._

Jeanne!

JEANNE

What? No, no--why do you look at me this way? No--I am telling you.

_Pierre brings her water, but Jeanne does not drink it._

JEANNE

Thank you, Pierre, but I don't want it.

_Silence._

How fragrant the flowers are. Pierre, please give me that rose--yes, that one. Thank you. How fresh it is, Emil, and what a fine fragrance--come over here, Emil!

_Emil Grelieu goes over to her and kisses the hand in which she holds the rose. Looks at her._

JEANNE

_Lowering her hand._

No; I have asked for this flower simply because its fragrance seems to me immortal--it is always the same--as the sky. How strange it is, always the same. And when you bring it close to your face, and close to your eyes, it seems to you that there is nothing except this red rose and the blue sky. Nothing but the red rose and the distant, pale--very pale--blue sky....

EMIL GRELIEU

Pierre! Listen to me, my boy! People speak of this only at night, when they are alone with their souls--and she knows it, but you do not know it yet. Don't you know it, Jeanne?

JEANNE

_Trembling, opening her eyes._

Yes, I know, Emil.

EMIL GRELIEU

The life of the poet does not belong to him. The roof over the heads of people, which shelters them--all that is a phantom for me, and my life does not belong to me. I am always far away, not here--I am always where I am not. You think of finding me among the living, while I am dead; you are afraid of finding me in death, mute, cold, doomed to decay, while I live and sing aloud from my grave. Death which makes people mute, which leaves the imprint of silence upon the bravest lips, restores the voice to the poet. Dead, I speak more loudly than alive. Dead, I am alive! Am I--just think of it, Pierre, my boy,--am I to fear death when in my most persistent searches I could not find the boundary between life and death, when in my feelings I mix life and death into one--as two strong, rare kinds of wine? Just think of it, my boy!

_Silence. Emil Grelieu looks at his son, smiling. Pierre has covered his face with his hands. The woman is apparently calm. She turns her eyes from her weeping son to her husband._

PIERRE

_Uncovering his face._

Forgive me, father!

JEANNE

Take this rose, Pierre, and when it fades and falls apart tear down another rose--it will have the same fragrance as this one. You are a foolish little boy, Pierre, but I am also foolish, although Emil is so kind that he thinks differently. Will you be in the same regiment, Emil?

EMIL GRELIEU

No, hardly, Jeanne.

PIERRE

Father, it is better that we be in the same regiment. I will arrange it, father--will you permit me? And I will teach you how to march--. You know, I am going to be your superior officer.

EMIL GRELIEU

_Smiling._

Very well.

JEANNE

_Goes out singing in a low voice._

"Only the halo of the arts is crowning--law, liberty, and the King." Who is that? Ah, you! Look, Pierre, here is the girl you wished to see. Come in, come in, my dear child! Don't be afraid, come in! You know him. That's my husband. He is a very good man and will do you no harm. And this is my son, Pierre. Give him your hand.

_A girl enters; she is frail, very pale, and beautiful. She wears a black dress, her hair is combed neatly, and she is modest in her demeanor. Her eyes reflect fright and sorrow. She is followed by the chambermaid, Silvina, a kind, elderly woman in a white cap; by Madame Henrietta, and another woman in the service of the Grelieu household. They stop at the threshold and watch the girl curiously. The elder woman is weeping as she looks at her._

GIRL

_Stretching forth her hand to Pierre._

Oh, that is a soldier! Be so kind, soldier, tell me how to go to Lonua. I have lost my way.

PIERRE

_Confused._

I do not know, Mademoiselle.

GIRL

_Looking at everybody mournfully._

Who knows? It is time for me to go.

JEANNE

_Cautiously and tenderly leading her to a seat._

Sit down, child, take a rest, my dear, give your poor feet a rest. Pierre, her feet are wounded, yet she wants to walk all the time.

ELDERLY WOMAN

I wanted to stop her, Monsieur Pierre, but it is impossible to stop her. If we close the door before her the poor girl beats her head against the walls, like a bird in a cage. Poor girl!

_Dries her tears. François enters from the garden and occupies himself again with the flowers. He glances at the girl from time to time. It is evident that he is making painful efforts to hear and understand what is going on._

GIRL

It is time for me to go.

JEANNE

Rest yourself, here, my child! Why should you leave? At night it is so terrible on the roads. There, in the dark air, bullets are buzzing instead of our dear bees; there wicked people, vicious beasts are roaming. And there is no one who can tell you, for there is no one who knows how to go to Lonua.

GIRL

Don't you know how I could find my way to Lonua?

PIERRE

_Softly._

What is she asking?

Emil GRELIEU

Oh, you may speak louder; she can hear as little as François. She is asking about the village which the Prussians have set on fire. Her home used to be there--now there are only ruins and corpses there. There is no road that leads to Lonua!

GIRL

Don't you know it, either? No one knows. I have asked everybody, and no one can tell me how to find my way to Lonua. I must hurry. They are waiting for me there.

_She rises quickly and walks over to François._

Tell me; you are kindhearted! Don't you know the way to Lonua?

_François looks at her intently. Silently he turns away and walks out, stooping._

JEANNE

_Seating her again._

Sit down, little girl. He does not know.

GIRL

_Sadly._

I am asking, and they are silent.

EMIL GRELIEU

I suppose she is also asking the bodies of the dead that lie in the fields and in the ditches how to go to Lonua.

JEANNE

Her hands and her dress were bloodstained. She was walking all night. Take a rest, my little one! I will hold you in my arms, and you will feel better and more comfortable, my little child.

GIRL

_Softly._

Tell me, how can I find my way to Lonua?

JEANNE

Yes, yes, come! Emil, I will go with her to my room. There she will feel more comfortable. Come along, my dear. I'll hold you. Come!

_They go out. The other women follow them. Emil Grelieu and Pierre remain._

EMIL GRELIEU

Lonua! A quiet little village which no one ever noticed before--houses, trees, and flowers. Where is it now? Who knows the way to that little village? Pierre, the soul of our people is roaming about in the watches of the night, asking the dead how to find the way to Lonua! Pierre, I cannot endure it any longer! I am suffocating from hatred and anger! Oh, weep, you German Nation--bitter will be the fate of your children, terrible will be your disgrace before the judgment of the free nations!

_Curtain_