



Produced by Charles Bowen, from page scans provided by the Web Archive






Transcriber's Note:
   1. Page scan source:
      http://www.archive.org/details/joyoflivingthe00suderich

   2. The diphthong oe is represented by [oe].





                           THE JOY OF LIVING

                         (_ES LEBE DAS LEBEN_)

                          A PLAY IN FIVE ACTS



                                   BY
                           HERMANN SUDERMANN



                       TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN
                                   BY
                             EDITH WHARTON



                        CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
                     NEW YORK:::::::::::::::::1906





             _Copyright, 1902, by Charles Scribner's Sons_



                       Published, November, 1902





                             TROW DIRECTORY
                       PRINTING AND BOOKBINDING COMPANY
                                NEW YORK




                          _Translator's Note_


_The translation of dramatic dialogue is attended with special
difficulties, and these are peculiarly marked in translating from
German into English. The German sentence carries more ballast than
English readers are accustomed to, and while in translating narrative
one may, by means of subordinate clauses, follow the conformation of
the original, it is hard to do so in rendering conversation, and
virtually impossible when the conversation is meant to be spoken on the
stage. To English and American spectators the long German speeches are
a severe strain on the attention, and even in a translation intended
only for the "closet" a too faithful adherence to German construction
is not the best way of doing justice to the original._

_Herr Sudermann's dialogue is more concise than that of many other
German dramatists; yet in translation his sentences and speeches need
to be divided and recast: to preserve the spirit, the letter must be
modified. This is true not only of the construction of his dialogue but
also of his forms of expression. Wherever it has been possible, his
analogies, his allusions, his "tours de phrase," have been scrupulously
followed; but where they seemed to obscure his meaning to English
readers some adaptation has been necessary. Apart from these trifling
changes, the original has been closely followed; and such modifications
as have been made were suggested solely by the wish to reproduce Herr
Sudermann's meaning more closely than a literal translation would have
allowed._




                               CHARACTERS

  Count Michael von Kellinghausen.
  Beata, his wife.
  Ellen, their daughter.
  Baron Richard von Voelkerlingk.
  Leonie, his wife.
  Norbert, their son, reading for the Bar.
  Baron Ludwig von Voelkerlingk (_Secretary of State, Richard's
     step-brother_).
  Prince Usingen.
  Baron von Brachtmann.
  Herr von Berkelwitz-Gruenhof.
  Dr. Kahlenberg (_Privy Councillor at the Board of Physicians_).
  Holtzmann (_candidate for Holy Orders, private Secretary to Baron
     Richard von Voelkerlingk_).
  Meixner.
  A Physician.
  Conrad, servant at Count Kellinghausen's.
  George, Baron Richard's servant.
  Another Servant.

_The scene is laid in Berlin--the first three and the fifth acts at the
house of Count Kellinghausen; the fourth act at Baron Richard
Voelkerlingk's._

                         _Period: about 1899_.




                                 ACT I




                           THE JOY OF LIVING




                                 ACT I


_A drawing-room in the Empire style in_ Count Kellinghausen's _house.
In front, on the left, a fireplace; to the left, in the background, a
door to the inner apartments; to the right, back, a door into the front
passage; in the foreground, on the right, a window. In the centre of
back wall a wide opening between two columns, partly closed by an old
Gobelins tapestry. On the right a sofa, table and chairs. On the left,
in front of the fireplace, several low seats. Near the middle, placed
diagonally, a writing-table with shelves; beside the table two seats
with low backs and a comfortable arm-chair. Old portraits and coloured
prints on the walls._

Holtzmann _is seated at the back of the room, a portfolio on his lap_.
Conrad _ushers in_ Baron Ludwig.


                       Conrad (_in the doorway_).

If your Excellency will kindly come this way--the doctor is with Madame
von Kellinghausen.

                             Baron Ludwig.

Ah? In that case perhaps I had better----

                                Conrad.

Madame von Kellinghausen will be here in a moment, your Excellency. The
other gentleman has already been announced. (_Indicating_ Holtzmann.)

                             Baron Ludwig.

Very well. (Conrad _goes out_.)

               Holtzmann (_rises and makes a deep bow_).

                             Baron Ludwig.

(_Bowing slightly in return wanders about the room and at last pauses
before_ Holtzmann.) I beg your pardon but--surely I know your face.

                               Holtzmann.

Very likely, your Excellency. My name is Holtzmann, private secretary
to Baron Richard von Voelkerlingk.

                             Baron Ludwig.

Indeed? I am so seldom at my brother's. The fact is--er, well.
Yesterday was election-day at Lengenfeld, by the way. The papers were
full of it this morning. It seems to cause a good deal of surprise that
Count Kellinghausen should not only have withdrawn in favour of my
brother, but should actually have gone about canvassing for him. I
daresay that's an exaggeration, though?

                               Holtzmann.

On the contrary, your Excellency. The Count has been down in the
country electioneering for weeks.

                             Baron Ludwig.

Really? And you were with him, I suppose?

                     Holtzmann (_with a dry smile_).

Very much so, your Excellency. I should be sorry to be answerable for
all the nonsense I've had to talk and write!

                             Baron Ludwig.

H'm--just so. Nonsense always wins. Who said that, by the way? Julian
the Apostate, wasn't it?

                               Holtzmann.

No, your Excellency. Talbot.

                             Baron Ludwig.

Julian might have said it. The losing side always philosophises.

                               Holtzmann.

I hope we sha'n't be on the losing side.

                             Baron Ludwig.

H'm. What is your profession?

                               Holtzmann.

Theology, your Excellency.

                             Baron Ludwig.

And how long do you think it will be before it lands you in socialism?

                         Holtzmann (_offended_).
Excellency!

                             Baron Ludwig.

My dear sir, look at the examples! I remember a predecessor of yours at
my brother's--a theological student also, I believe. Well, he landed
with both feet in the middle of the Socialist camp.

                               Holtzmann.

Yes, I know, your Excellency. You mean Meixner.

                             Baron Ludwig.

That reminds me--I hear the fellow has actually been taking a leading
hand in the fight against my brother.

                               Holtzmann.

The report is true.

                             Baron Ludwig.

Well, I hope you hit back hard.

                               Holtzmann.

That is what I was there for, your Excellency.

                  _Enter_ Beata _and_ Dr. Kahlenberg.

                                 Beata.

I hadn't dared to hope that your Excellency would answer my summons so
promptly.

                   Baron Ludwig (_kissing her hand_).

My dear Countess, your summons was a command--and one I was only too
happy to obey. (Beata _turns to_ Holtzmann.) Ah, good-morning, my dear
doctor.

                              Kahlenberg.

Good-morning, your Excellency. How is it you haven't been in lately to
let me look you over? A guilty conscience, eh?

                             Baron Ludwig.

Lack of time, doctor. Give me a day of twenty-five hours, and I'll
devote one of them to consulting my physician.

                              Kahlenberg.

Who will order you to rest during the other twenty-four.

                             Baron Ludwig.

We all get that order sooner or later, doctor--and from a chief we have
to obey. (_In a low voice_.) How is the Countess?

                       Kahlenberg (_same tone_).

No worse. (_To_ Beata.) And now, my dear lady, I must be off--but
what's the matter?

            Beata (_joyously excited, a paper in her hand_).

Oh, nothing--nothing--nothing----

             Kahlenberg (_in a tone of friendly reproach_).

You know I've warned you----

                                 Beata.

Not to feel, not to think, not to laugh, not to cry--not to live, in
short, dear doctor!

                              Kahlenberg.

Well, I don't object to the laughing.

                                 Beata.

It's just as well you don't, for it's a habit you couldn't break me of.
There is so much to laugh at in this vale of tears! Well, good-bye,
doctor! (Kahlenberg _goes out_.)

                       Beata (_to_ Baron Ludwig).

This will interest you too. Herr Holtzmann--you know Herr
Holtzmann?--has just brought me the returns from Lengenfeld. Only
fancy, your brother has a majority of a hundred and thirty-one! Think
of that!

                             Baron Ludwig.

Don't let us be too sanguine.

                                 Beata.

Oh----

                               Holtzmann.

Six districts are still to be heard from, Countess, and we know that
four of these belong to the Socialists. It is still doubtful if we can
gain a majority.

                Beata (_concealing her disappointment_).

And when do you expect to hear the final result?

                               Holtzmann.

At any moment now.

                                 Beata.

And when you _do_ hear----

                               Holtzmann.

I will jump into a cab and bring you the news instantly.

                                 Beata.

Thank you so 'much. (_Gives him her hand_.) Is Baron Voelkerlingk at
home?

                               Holtzmann.

He went for a ride. I daresay I shall find him on my return.

                                 Beata.

Remember me to him, won't you? (Holtzmann _takes leave with a bow_.)

                             Baron Ludwig.

What do you hear from Kellinghausen? He is still at Lengenfeld, I hear.

                                 Beata.

I have just had a letter. Now that the elections are over he means to
take a day's shooting, and then he is coming home--free from his
party-duties for the first time in years!

                             Baron Ludwig.

And what does the Egeria of the party say to such a state of things?

                                 Beata.

Do you mean _me_, your Excellency?

                             Baron Ludwig.

I mean the woman at whose delightful dinner-table the fate of more than
one important bill has been decided. Now that Kellinghausen has retired
into private life, do you mean to keep up the little political dinners
we've always been so much afraid of?

                                 Beata.

I hope so, your Excellency. And if you care to beard the lion in his
den, I shall be charmed to send you an invitation. You haven't dined
with us in an age. I've always fancied that the estrangement between
your brother and yourself might be the cause of our seeing so little of
you.

                             Baron Ludwig.

My dear Countess, those eyes of yours see through everything; and I
read in them all the answers I might make to that question. Ah,
well--Richard had the good luck, the unspeakable good luck, to win your
friendship, and under your influence, to develop into the man he is!

                                 Beata.

I know how to listen when clever men are talking. That is the secret of
what you call my influence.

                             Baron Ludwig.

You think so?--Well--there was Richard, dabbling in poetry and
politics, in archaeology and explorations, like the typical noble
amateur. He had a fortune from his mother, while I was poor. But in one
respect I was richer than he; for he married a fool who dragged him
down to the level of her own silly snobbishness. But then you came--and
lifted him up again. Then all his dormant powers awoke--he discovered
his gift as a speaker, he became the mouthpiece of the party, he got
into the Reichstag, and----

                                 Beata.

And dropped out again.

                             Baron Ludwig.

Exactly. And the estrangement between us dates from that time. It was
reported that government had left him in the lurch, and I was thought
to be more or less responsible.

                                 Beata.

At all events, his career was cut short. And he failed again at the
next election.

                             Baron Ludwig.

And now your friendship has helped him to success.

                                 Beata.

My husband's friendship, you mean.

                             Baron Ludwig.

In my loveless household I know too little of the power of woman to
pronounce definitely on that point.

                                 Beata.

You do well to suspend your judgment.

                             Baron Ludwig.

Ah, now you are displeased with me. I am sorry. I might be of use to
you.

                                 Beata.

If you wish to be of use to me you can do so by becoming your brother's
friend. It was to ask you this that I sent for you.

                             Baron Ludwig.

Countess, I wonder at your faith in human nature!

                                 Beata.

Human nature has never deceived me.

                             Baron Ludwig.

One would adore you for saying that if one hadn't so many other reasons
for doing so!

                          Beata (_laughing_).

Pretty speeches at our age?

                             Baron Ludwig.

You may talk of my age, but not of yours.

                                 Beata.

Look at the grey hair--here, on my temples; and my medicine-bottles
over there. I never stir without them now.

                             Baron Ludwig.

I have been distressed to hear of your illness.

                                 Beata.

Yes, my heart bothers me--an old story. My heart is tired--and I--I'm
not. And when I drive it too hard it grows a little restive now and
then. But it doesn't matter! (_Enter_ Ellen.) Is that you, Ellen? Come
in, dear.

                       Ellen (_in skating dress_).

Mother, dear, I didn't know you had a visitor. How do you do, your
Excellency?

                             Baron Ludwig.

How do you do, young lady? Dear me dear me what have you been growing
into?

                                 Ellen.

Into life, your Excellency!

                             Baron Ludwig.

Ha--very good--very neat. So many people just grow past it.

                                 Beata.

And how was the skating, dear?

                                 Ellen.

Oh, heavenly. Norbert and I simply flew. Poor Miss Mansborough--we left
her miles behind!

                                 Beata.

Well, run away now. Take off your fur jacket--you're too warm.

                                 Ellen.

Good-bye, your Excellency.

                             Baron Ludwig.

_Au revoir_, little Countess. (Ellen _goes out_.)

                             Baron Ludwig.

What a little wonder you've made of her!

                                 Beata.

She _is_ developing, isn't she?

                             Baron Ludwig.

And my nephew Norbert--you have developed him too. A very comprehensive
piece of work. (Beata _laughs_.)

                             Baron Ludwig.

If only he doesn't stray from the path you've marked out for him.

                                 Beata.

Ah--you are thinking of that pamphlet of his?

                         Baron Ludwig (_nods_).

An attack on duelling, I understand? Well, it's no business of mine.

                                 Beata.

He is not as immature as you think.

                             Baron Ludwig.

Indeed?

                            _Enter_ Conrad.

                         Conrad (_announcing_).

Baron von Brachtmann, his Highness Prince Usingen.

                             Baron Ludwig.

The pillars of the state! Brachtmann especially. This is something for
me to remember, Countess.

          _Enter_ Brachtmann _and_ Prince. Conrad _goes out_.

                              Brachtmann.

My dear Countess----

                                 Beata.

I am so glad to see you. And you, Prince. Always faithful to the cause?

                                Prince.

Yes, Countess; as far as fidelity is consonant with perfect inactivity.
Glad to shake hands between two rounds, your Excellency.

                             Baron Ludwig.

Our encounters are not sanguinary, your Highness.

                                Prince.

No although one adversary occasionally cuts another. (_Laughter_.)

                              Brachtmann.

We ventured to call, Countess, because we fancied that Voelkerlingk
would keep you posted as to the news from Lengenfeld.

                                 Beata.

Baron Voelkerlingk has done me no such honour. But--by the merest
accident--his secretary was here just now. Here are the latest returns.
(_Hands him the paper_.)

                 Brachtmann (_bending over the paper_).

H'm, h'm----

                                Prince.

Let me see.

                              Brachtmann.

Well, we'll hope for the best. Kellinghausen's personal popularity has
secured a conservative majority till now; but now that he has withdrawn
in favour of another man--even though that man is Voelkerlingk--the
result is more than doubtful.

                             Baron Ludwig.

I confess, Countess, that even if Kellinghausen looked upon his
politics merely as a branch of sport, I don't quite understand his
sacrificing his career to my brother.

                                 Beata.

My husband is very easy-going. He has no ambition. They had bothered
him dreadfully at their committee-meetings about things he didn't
understand--at least he said he didn't. The truth is, it probably bored
him.

                              Brachtmann.

But how about his fanatical devotion to the party? If we are all
monomaniacs on that subject, he is certainly the worst. He felt more
keenly than any of us what the party lost in losing your brother (_to_
Baron Ludwig)--he realised our need of Voelkerlingk's efficiency and
energy. He saw what a great power was lying idle. Doesn't that explain
his action?

                             Baron Ludwig.

I needn't tell you, Herr von Brachtmann, how pleasant it is to hear my
brother praised. I quite realise how much you need him at this
particular moment with the debate on the civil code pending, and the
serious questions likely to come up in connection with it. (_To_
Beata.) But that Kellinghausen should have consented to withdraw, even
in such an emergency-- I have so often heard him say, Countess, that it
was the duty of a landed proprietor to represent the district in which
his property lay. He said it was the only justification of a
representative government.

                                 Beata.

But you know you, all say that!

                                Prince.

My dear Countess, the revolutionary spirit has entered into our
traditions, and the modern idea of making a revolution is to gird at
existing institutions. Why deprive us of such an innocent amusement?

                             Baron Ludwig.

Really, Prince--pardon me--but since, by birth and political
affiliations, you are a supporter of existing institutions, would it
not be well to speak of them less flippantly?

                                Prince.

Why, my dear Baron?--Countess, shall I show you the attitude of the
modern state toward its citizens? Here we are: the state with its hand
in its pocket, the citizen with his fist clenched. And the only way to
unclench the citizen's fist is for the state to pull something out of
its pocket. There's the situation in a nutshell. It's a matter of taste
whether one respects such an institution or not.

                              Brachtmann.

You know. Baron, he is the spoiled child of the party.

                                Prince.

Its prodigal son, you mean. I squandered all my original ideas long
ago, and am living on the husks of the feudal tradition. But we are
boring Madame von Kellinghausen. (_The three men rise_.)

                                 Beata.

Good-bye, Prince--Herr von Brachtmann. (_To_ Baron Ludwig.) Whenever
your solitude weighs on you, come in and let me give you a cup of tea.

                             Baron Ludwig.

You are very good. But I am afraid it is too late to begin.

                                 Beata.

It is never too late to renew an old friendship.

                             Baron Ludwig.

Thank you. (_Goes out with the two other men_.)

                            Ellen _enters_.

                                 Ellen.

(_Throwing her arms about her mother's neck_.) Mother! You dear little
mamma!

                                 Beata.

Well, madcap--what is it now?

                                 Ellen.

Oh, nothing, nothing. I'm so happy, that's all.

                                 Beata.

What are you happy about, dear?

                                 Ellen.

I don't know--does one ever?

                                 Beata.

Has anything in particular happened?

                                 Ellen.

No; nothing. That is--Norbert said-- Oh, yes to be sure; we met Uncle
Richard.

                                 Beata.

Ah--where?

                                 Ellen.

In the Zoo. On horseback. He sent his love and said he would be in
before dinner. Norbert is coming too. Mother, is it true that Uncle
Richard is such a wonderful speaker? Norbert says he can do what he
likes with people.

                                 Beata.

Some people--but only those whose thoughts he can turn into feelings,
or whose feelings he can turn into thoughts. Do you understand?

                                 Ellen.

Oh, yes! You mean, one can give only to those who have something to
give in return?

                                 Beata.

Yes.

                                 Ellen.

But he must have great power--I am sure of it! He's always so quiet,
and says so little--yet one feels there's a great fire inside--and
sometimes it blazes up.

                          Beata (_laughing_).

What do you know about it?

                                 Ellen.

Oh, I know. It's just the same with-- Mother, how can people _bear_
life sometimes? It's so beautiful one simply can't breathe!

                        Beata (_with emotion_).

Yes, it _is_ beautiful. And even when it's nothing but pain and fear
and renunciation, even then it's still beautiful, Ellen.

                           Ellen (_alarmed_).

Mother--what is the matter?

                                 Beata.

Nothing, dear. I'm only a little tired. (_She goes to the door_.)

                            Conrad _enters_.

                                Conrad.

Baron Norbert. (_Goes out_.)

                           Norbert _enters_.

                                Norbert.

How d'ye do, Aunt Beata? How are you to-day?

                           Beata (_wearily_).

Very well, thanks.

                          Ellen (_anxiously_).

No, not very well. (Beata _signs her to be silent_.)

                                Norbert.

This is Thursday. Ellen and I were to read _I Promessi Sposi_ together;
but if I might say a word to you first----

                                 Beata.

Presently, Norbert. Wait for me here.

                                 Ellen.

Don't you want me, mother?

                                 Beata.

No, dear. Stay with Norbert. I shall be back in a moment. (_She goes
out_.)

                      Ellen (_looking after her_).

Oh, Norbert!

                                Norbert.

Is she really worse?

                                 Ellen.

No, she is just the same as usual. But at night--oh, Norbert, she's
never in bed. All night she wanders, wanders. When I hear her coming, I
lie quite still. If she knew I was awake she might not come any more.
She never touches me, but just bends over and strokes my pillow, oh, so
softly! And she breathes so hard, as if it hurt her--and then gradually
she grows quiet again. When you see her in the daytime, so gay and dear
and busy, so full of other people's pleasures, you'd never guess the
misery she endures. Oh, Norbert, you _do_ love her, don't you?

                                Norbert.

I believe I love her better than my own mother.

                                 Ellen.

No, no, Norbert, that's wicked. You mustn't say that.

                                Norbert.

Perhaps not, but I can't help feeling it. And why shouldn't I, after
all? When I was a boy my father was everything to me--after that he was
always travelling, and I was left to my own devices. There are so many
things that puzzle a chap when there's no one to talk them over with.
It's different with girls, I suppose. At first I used to go to
my mother: _she's_ always found life simple enough. Visits, and
parties, and church--she looks upon church-going as another kind of
visiting--well, do you know what _she_ said to me? "In the first place,
my dear boy, your trousers are shocking. What you need is a good
tailor. Then you ought to take up lawn tennis--and after that, we'll
see." Well, that didn't help me much. And then your mother took pity on
me. Again and again she's let me sit up half the night, talking things
over with her.

                                 Ellen.

And now you and she have got something to say to each other again. What
is it, Norbert? Do tell me! Why can't _I_ help you as well as mother?

                                Norbert.

Perhaps you'd like to do my examination papers for me?

                                 Ellen.

Nonsense; it's not that.--But you don't care for me any more.

                                Norbert.

You silly child!

                                 Ellen.

You told me you did once--long ago--but since then--you've never
once----

                                Norbert.

Listen, dear. I made an awful ass of myself that day. Do you know what
I did? I called on your father to ask his permission to marry you.

                                 Ellen.

And you never told me?

                                Norbert.

Luckily your father was out--and as for your mother--well, she simply
laughed at me!

                                 Ellen.

Oh!

                                Norbert.

Oh, you know how your mother laughs at one. It doesn't hurt. "Dear
boy," she said, in the kindest way, "it's too soon to talk of such
things to Ellen. You must give her time to grow up." And I gave her my
word I would; and you see I've kept it.

                                 Ellen.

And if mother should----

                            Beata _enters_.

                                 Beata.

Ellen, dear, go to Miss Mansborough. It's time for your reading.
Norbert will come in a moment.

                                 Ellen.

Yes, mother. (_Goes out_.)

             Beata (_who has been watching them closely_).

By the way, Norbert--what about that promise you made me?

                                Norbert.

I've kept it, Aunt Beata.

                                 Beata.

Then you want to talk to me about something else?

                                Norbert.

Yes. The storm-signals are up. My college club has turned on me: one,
two, three, and out you go!

                                 Beata.

Not in disgrace?

                                Norbert.

I'm not so sure. I got an official letter yesterday from the committee,
asking me if I was the author of a pamphlet called "The Ordeal."

                                 Beata.

Why did you write it under an assumed name?

                                Norbert.

Only on my father's account.

                                 Beata.

If you disguised yourself at all, you ought to have done so more
thoroughly.

                                Norbert.

Why, Aunt Beata! Haven't you often told me that every reformer must
have the courage of his convictions?

                                 Beata.

Yes; but I've no sympathy with unnecessary martyrdom. Keep a cool head,
dear boy, and don't be drawn into controversy just yet. Haven't I often
told you that this college duelling you rail against is only a
preparation for the real battle of life--the battle of ideas and
beliefs? You'll come to that later--ask your father how it is!

                                Norbert.

Oh, father--of course he's only interested in big things.

                                 Beata.

What does he say to your article?

                                Norbert.

Immature.

                                 Beata.

Was he vexed?

                                Norbert.

When I asked him if it annoyed him, he laughed and said:--"I know the
world too well to agree with you. But you must work out the problem for
yourself. I sha'n't interfere."

                                 Beata.

Well, what more do you want? Did you expect him to go into raptures?

                                Norbert.

Wait and see, Aunt Beata! I mean to suffer for my convictions. I mean
to brave persecution. Is that a laughing matter?

                                 Beata.

Come! Come! No bragging--not even about persecution. It's intoxicating
at first, but the after-taste is bitter.

                                Norbert.

Don't make fun of me, Aunt Beata.

                                 Beata.

Heaven forbid! You know _I_ don't disapprove of your article.

                                Norbert.

How could you? Isn't it all yours?

                                 Beata.

I don't understand anything about duelling.

                                Norbert.

No, but my ideas are yours--every one of them. All I've said about
self-restraint--about striving toward an harmonious whole--about
the Greek ideal of freedom--and how posterity will smile at our
struggles--it's all yours, Aunt Beata, every word of it.

                                 Beata.

Don't tell your father! And besides, it isn't. My ideas have got
twisted in that wild young brain of yours. And it might annoy him to
think that I had put them there----

                                Norbert.

Oh, Aunt Beata, _I_ know what you really think. But, of course, if you
don't want me to, I----

                            _Enter_ Conrad.

                         Conrad (_announcing_).

Baron Voelkerlingk.

                  _Enter_ Richard. Conrad _goes out_.

                                Richard.

Well, dear friend? What sort of a night have you had? Not good, I'm
afraid.

                                 Beata.

There's no use in trying to deceive you. Have you just come from your
own house?

                                Richard.

Yes.

                                 Beata.

Well? Telegrams?

                                Richard.

None for the last two hours. Well, Norbert, you here, as usual? (_To_
Beata.) So you have the younger generation on your hands too?

                          Beata (_laughing_).

So much the better, since the older shows itself so seldom nowadays.

                                Richard.

Ah, well----

                                 Beata.

Good-bye, Norbert dear.

                  Norbert (_kissing_ Beata's _hand_).

Good-bye, father. (Richard _nods to him_. Norbert goes out.)

                                 Beata.

Will you dine with me to-day, Richard? (Richard _shakes his head_.)

                                 Beata.

Just we two?

                                Richard.

I can't: my wife has a dinner: an ambassador and his wife, two lights
of the Church, and others of the same feather. I must show myself on
such occasions, to keep up appearances.

                                 Beata.

I'm sorry. I should have liked to have you with me--to-day. How do you
stand the suspense? Perhaps I don't show it--but I'm in a fever.

                                Richard.

It's telling on me too. The fact is, any poor devil of a mountebank is
a king compared to one of us. He does his trick and gets his pay.--Oh,
this last fortnight! If you'd seen me driven about from village to
village like a travelling quack! Freedom and hot words, free beer and
hot sausages! And, to cap the climax, a fellow who used to be my
private secretary leading the campaign against me! Bah--it was
horrible. As for Michael, with his Olympian calm, he saw only the
humorous side of it. (_Laughing_.)

                                 Beata.

I wonder he let you leave before the election.

                                Richard.

He thought I ought not to make myself too cheap. I quite agreed with
him, and took myself off. Hang the democracy!

                                 Beata.

If only the noblemen who want to rule could get on without it!

                                Richard.

They could, if the spirit of the age hadn't turned them into
demagogues.

                                 Beata.

Did Holtzmann do as well as you expected?

                                Richard.

Admirably. But he's been going about with such a long face lately that
he's rather got on my nerves.--I heard you had told him to come back
when the returns are in--may I wait for him here?--When one thinks that
something will come in at that door presently--something dressed like
Holtzmann, looking like Holtzmann--and that that something will be
Fate--nothing more or less than Fate!

                                 Beata.

And if he comes in and says--or rather, if he doesn't say anything?
Remember, Richard, even if _that_ happens, you've got to go on living!

                                Richard.

Of course. Why not? It's all in the day's work. An Indian penitent was
once asked: "Why do you go on living?" And his answer was: "Because I
am dead."--Oh, I don't mean to be ungrateful. As long as I have you,
dear--as long as you are here to live my life with me, to give it
colour and meaning and purpose--let come what may, nothing else
matters.

                                 Beata.

Don't say that--don't----

                                Richard.

Am I exaggerating? Why, ever since we-- How long ago is it that we met
for the first time, in the wood at Tarasp? Fifteen years?

                                 Beata.

It seems like yesterday.

                                Richard.

You passed between the dark pine-trunks like an apparition. You wore a
pink dress and had Ellen by the hand.

                                 Beata.

She was tired and had begun to cry.

                                Richard.

I saw that she wanted to be carried.

                                 Beata.

And I was just recovering from an illness, and was too weak to lift
her. You raised your hat--no, it was the white cap you wore----

                                Richard.

Do you remember that?

                                 Beata.

Good heavens, what was I then, and what have you made of me? My
own--let me call you that just once, Richard, as I used to do--just
once, on this great day--my own! (Richard _looks nervously toward the
door_.)

                                 Beata.

There is no one coming.

                                Richard.

_Let_ you!

                                 Beata.

What a quiet happy little woman I was! That "happy" is not meant as a
reproach, dearest! I have a boundless capacity for happiness, and it
kept me company even in the loneliness of my early married life--for in
those days Michael didn't take much notice of me. It was you who showed
him that I was worth noticing. And so you built up my new life--a hard
life to carry, at times, a life bowed under its own wealth as the vine
is bowed under its fruit--but how it has grown under your hand,
dearest, how it has spread and strengthened!--Now you're laughing at
me, Richard.

                                Richard.

Beata--no one knows as you do how I have blundered and struggled. What
are you trying to do? Do you want to give me more faith in myself, or
do you really think I've done all that for you?

                                 Beata.

I know every line in your forehead, I watch every look in your eye, I
read every thought in your soul--there are some I could wish away, for
they only make you miserable--but no one knows as I do what you are,
and what you have been to me!

                                Richard.

When will Michael be here?

                                 Beata.

How suddenly you ask that! You are tormenting yourself again.
Dear--dearest--don't look like that! Why, it never really
happened--it's been dead and buried for years--dead and buried, every
trace of it. No one knows what we were to each other, no one even
dreams it. And we're old people now--you and I. Only think, I shall
soon be forty! Who is going to ask two old mummies what follies they
committed in the year one?

                                Richard.

You are pretending not to care, Beata. Don't do that!

                                 Beata.

Don't weigh every word I say--just look into my wicked heart. Your
conscience has nothing to do with that! And if you're fond of
Michael--if we're both fond of him--and why shouldn't we both be fond
of him--that dear, good, cheery Michael of ours?--why, that needn't
make you probe the depths of your soul for fresh wickedness. I tell you
we've paid for everything, even to the uttermost farthing!

                                Richard.

Do you think so? It seems to me that when a man and a woman have found
everything in each other, as we have, when they have been to each other
the strength and the meaning and the object of life--when they've
resolved to die fighting back to back, together to the last, as you
used to say it seems to me that in such a case there isn't much room
for expiation. If Purgatory is like that it must be fairly habitable.
(Beata _laughs_.) Ah, now you are flippant.

                                 Beata.

Be thankful that one of us is, dear!

                                Richard.

I remember when I lost my seat, six years ago--it was a hard knock, I
can tell you--everything went under at once--well, I said to myself:
This is my punishment. And the idea never left me. While I was
wandering about the world, or vegetating down in the country, I
actually used to get a kind of comfort out of it. And now? Do you know,
I sometimes fancy you wouldn't be altogether sorry if I lost my
election again.

                         Beata (_laughingly_).

Really? Do you think that?

                                Richard.

In fact I'm not at all sure you hold with the party any longer.

                                 Beata.

What--I, its Egeria? An elderly party-nymph gone wrong? What a shocking
idea!

                                Richard.

I'm sure of one thing you enjoy looking over our heads.

                                 Beata.

Don't say _our_ heads--don't include yourself with the rest. You think
of your duty; they think of their rights. You use the masses in order
to serve them. The others think only of power.

                                Richard.

Oh, as to that--we all want power.

                                 Beata.

Yes: the question is, for whose benefit?--Ah, well, I see I shall have
to tell you--you ought to know--the sooner the better, I suppose!

                                Richard.

Tell me what?

                                 Beata.

Dear--did you really think it was Michael's fondest wish to resign his
seat in Parliament, and live only for his horses?

                                Richard.

I've heard him say so often enough.

                                 Beata.

And so you leaped into the breach--in the interests of the party?

                        Richard (_hesitating_).

And because--(_suddenly_) Beata--there's been some deception? (Beata
_nods_.) Some one has been working against me----?

                                 Beata.

Or for you--as you please.--Sit down beside me, dear; give me
both your hands--so! And now listen. I couldn't bear to see your
disappointment--your suffering--I suffered with you too intensely! And
so--don't look so startled, or I shall lose heart and be afraid to go
on.--How shall I tell you?--It's taken me a year a whole year's work.
By degrees I persuaded him that he was unsuited to Parliamentary
life--gradually I turned him against the pottering routine-work which
is the only thing he can do--little by little I made him see what a
boon it would be for the country and the party if he would only let you
take his place. Till at last he did----

                          Richard (_rising_).

Ah----

                                 Beata.

Can you say _now_ that I didn't want you elected? (Richard _is
silent_.) I should never have told you this if I hadn't known that his
pride in his heroic feat would make him betray himself sooner or later.
(_A pause_.) After all, think how little he's given up! To him it was
only a--pastime--to you it is life. I had no choice, had I? You do see
that, don't you? (_A pause_.) Richard, I may be a very wicked woman,
but at least I deserve one look from you!

                                Richard.

Beata! Beata! What can I say? What can I say? You know how I've always
tried to keep our feeling for each other within the bounds--the bounds
of-- You know how it was twelve years ago--when I found myself
gradually slipping into intimacy with him, I came to you and said:
"Either this thing ends here, or I tell him everything. I won't take
his hand and play the sneak. If I do, we shall lose our respect for
each other as well as our self-respect." And then we hit on this
friendship as a way out of it--a way of not losing each other
altogether. It wasn't a very honourable solution--but this--this new
sacrifice--if I accept this--God! If Holtzmann were to come in now and
tell me the other man has won, what a load he would take off my mind!

                                 Beata.

Richard--how can you?

                                Richard.

Think of it: To-morrow I shall have to make that speech. My position,
my convictions, compel me to appear as the spokesman of the highest
ideals--and all the while I shall owe my seat to the friend whose
holiest ties I have trampled on----

                                 Beata.

And if they were not the holiest----?

                         Richard (_startled_).

Beata!

                                 Beata.

Don't turn from me. I've loved you so long!

                     Richard (_clasps her hands_).

One thing more. Listen to me. You played too reckless a game. Such
things are avenged. No one knows what happened in the past. Twelve
years have covered it; but it's ill disturbing the dead. Such things
are avenged. Remember that.

                                 Beata.

Well--and what of it?

                                Richard.

What of it?

                                 Beata.

I shouldn't care--except for Norbert and Ellen. For I mean them to have
all the happiness we have missed. Nothing must ever come between--
Hush! That is Holtzmann's voice. (_She presses her left hand to her
heart_.) Quite steady. (_She holds out her right hand to_ Richard.)
Feel my pulse it's perfectly steady.

                            Conrad _enters_.

                                Conrad.

Herr Holtzmann----

                 _Enter_ Holtzmann. Conrad _goes out_.

                     Holtzmann (_bowing quietly_).

We have a majority of twenty votes, Baron. Here are the final returns.
(_Hands telegram to_ Richard.)

                                Richard.

Official?

                               Holtzmann.

Virtually. As your co-worker, Baron, allow me to offer my
congratulations. (Richard _turns away without speaking_.)

                                 Beata.

You see how overcome he is, dear Herr Holtzmann. Thank you with all my
heart. (_Gives him her hand_.)

                Holtzmann (_turning to leave the room_).

Good-afternoon, Countess.

                                Richard.

Holtzmann! (Holtzmann _pauses_.) You've fought a good fight.

                               Holtzmann.

Oh, as to that----

                                Richard.

Thank you. (_Shakes his hand_.)

                               Holtzmann.

Don't mention it. I did my duty, that's all. (_Bows and goes out_.)

                                 Beata.

Richard! Isn't the struggle over yet?

                                Richard.

Beata--you have made me believe--in spite of myself--that--even now--I
may be of use to the cause. I shall stick to my work, and try not to
think.

                                 Beata.

It may not be as hard as you imagine.

                                Richard.

Perhaps not. But when the blow falls--if it falls----

                                 Beata.

We'll laugh----

                                Richard.

And meanwhile----

                                 Beata.

We'll live! (_They clasp each other's hands_.)


                                Curtain.




                                 ACT II




                                 ACT II


_The same scenery as in the first act. The drawing-room is brightly
lit, the curtain in the opening at back of stage drawn back, showing
two other apartments, also brilliantly lit. In the nearest one a group
of gentlemen are at the billiard-table. In the third room the rest of
the guests have just left the table. For some minutes_ Beata _is seen
among them_. Brachtmann, Prince Usingen _and_ von Berkelwitz-Gruenhof
_are just coming out of the billiard-room, talking together._

                              Brachtmann.

(_Coming forward with_ Usingen.) Prince, I want a word with you
later--an important matter.

                                Prince.

And I want a word with you.

                              Brachtmann.

On the same subject, probably.

                                Prince.

Perhaps.

                 von Berkelwitz (_looking about him_).

Deuced fine--magnificent! You've got to come up to town to see this
kind of thing.

                              Brachtmann.

How is it we never see you in the Reichstag nowadays, my dear fellow?

                            von Berkelwitz.

What's a man to do? I'm a country squire--I've got to work--and besides
I'm too poor to live in town. A man has got to make a show here--keep
up appearances--I--hang it, that champagne's gone to my head--what was
I going to say? Oh, yes: well, you see, I've got four boys growing up;
one is in the Rathenow Hussars--crack regiment, you know--I always look
out for that sort of thing--but costs like the devil! The second is
with the Pacific squadron on board the Princess William. _He_
doesn't cost as much except when he's ashore. The third is to study
forestry, and just now he's with his rifle-corps. The fourth is at
college--Bonn--belongs to all the most expensive clubs--but smart,
deuced smart! That's the chief thing. I expect all four to make their
living out of the state, but meanwhile they're a confounded expense to
me. You've no idea what it costs to keep Oscar alone in white gloves!

                       Prince (_to_ Brachtmann).

And these are the sources of German statesmanship!

                            von Berkelwitz.

What did you say, Prince?

                                Prince.

Nothing, nothing.

                            von Berkelwitz.

Not that we can't give you as good a dinner as you'll get here. But as
to keeping up a countryseat and a town house and a shooting-box and a
racing-stable--why, it's out of the question. I've had to mortgage my
place--and the men's wages--coming round every Saturday! well--well--I
tell my boys--rich marriages--_that's_ the cure. And they _ought_ to,
by gad! Good-looking fellows, you understand. What the deuce are we
Prussian noblemen for, if the state doesn't provide for us? Just answer
me that!

             Prince (_who has been studying the pictures_).

You ought to ask the Socialists that, Herr von Berkelwitz--ask it in
the Reichstag, you know. It would be rather effective. (_Turns back to
the pictures_.) A capital Sustermans.

                        Brachtmann (_smiling_).

After all, we're all looking out for ourselves.

                            von Berkelwitz.

And how have we succeeded? What have we landed proprietors
accomplished? Oh, we can all talk loud enough; but when it comes to
action, there we stand with our hands in our pockets.

                                Prince.

(_Who is turning over photograph-albums on the table_.) Other people's
pockets.

                        Brachtmann (_laughing_).

Prince--Prince!

                            von Berkelwitz.

(_In a low tone, to_ Brachtmann.) I say, is that fellow making fun of
us?

                              Brachtmann.

He's ten times more of a Conservative than either of us.

                            von Berkelwitz.

He talks like a Radical.

                     Prince (_in a startled tone_).

Oh, the devil!

                              Brachtmann.

What's the matter?

                                Prince.

Isn't this the Countess's writing-table?

                              Brachtmann.

Yes.

                                Prince.

Come here a moment, will you, and just glance discreetly over these
papers. Do you notice anything? (Brachtmann _shrugs his shoulders_.) I
mean among the newspapers.

             Brachtmann (_in a low voice, much agitated_).

The devil!--That was what I wanted to speak to you about. (_He points
to one of the papers_.)

                                Prince.

Ah--they've sent you one too?

                              Brachtmann.

In the same wrapper, addressed in the same hand. An hour ago, just as I
left the house. I suppose they haven't had time to look at the last
post here.

                                Prince.

(_Taking up the paper and looking at the wrapper_.) Do you know, I've
half a mind----

                              Brachtmann.

No, no, Prince--can't be done.

                                Prince.

I know it can't, my dear Baron. That's the very reason.--Don't our
political opponents say that property is theft? Why not reverse the
axiom, and----

                            von Berkelwitz.

What the deuce----?

                                Prince.

Why, instead of putting our hands into other people's pockets, we might
put other people's property into ours.

                              Brachtmann.

Prince, we all know your way----

                            von Berkelwitz.

If your Highness has made yourself sufficiently witty at our expense,
perhaps you'll explain what this is? (_Pointing to the paper_.)

                                Prince.

This, my dear Herr von Berkelwitz, is a copy of the "Lengenfeld News,"
the Socialist organ----

                            von Berkelwitz.

Faugh! How can you touch it?

                                Prince.

Well, it touches _us_, and rather nearly, as you'll see.

                            von Berkelwitz.

Why, what's up?

                                Prince.

(_Taking a newspaper out of his pocket_.) Look here----

                            von Berkelwitz.

That's the same as the other?

                                Prince.

Precisely. I brought it with me on your account. You will find in it an
interesting report of a meeting of Socialist electors. Do me the favour
to read the passage which they have thoughtfully marked for our
benefit.

                      von Berkelwitz (_reading_).

"It is seldom that the honourable gentlemen of the Right, the
self-constituted guardians of public morality, give us an opportunity
to see what goes on behind the scenes, in the gilded saloons to which
the man in the street may not presume to penetrate"--confound their
insolence!--"it is not often that we get a hint of what goes on behind
their silken bed-curtains"--h'm, I wish they could see what I sleep on!

                                Prince.

Go on.

                      von Berkelwitz (_reading_).

"But now and then a happy accident yields us an edifying glimpse of
their private histories. And, if I might venture to speak openly, I
could give you such a glimpse into the private life of the honourable
member from Lengenfeld, and into his relations with the friend whose
seat in the Reichstag he has taken--the confiding friend who, instead
of keeping watch in his own house, has been travelling from place to
place, canvassing for the honourable member. (Laughter. Prolonged
cheering.)" Lengenfeld? Lengen--why, that is Voelkerlingk's district.
(Brachtmann _nods affirmatively_.)

                            von Berkelwitz.

And the friend--the friend who----? (_He breaks off, and points vaguely
to the room_. Brachtmann _nods again_.) The deuce!

                              Brachtmann.

On account of the party I suppose we shall have to take some notice of
this.

                                Prince.

Kellinghausen evidently doesn't know of it yet. But Voelkerlingk does. I
watched him.

                              Brachtmann.

The Countess is not well. Who is the proper person to take that paper
away before she sees it?

                          Prince (_smiling_).

Well, frankly, I should say Voelkerlingk----

                              Brachtmann.

You don't mean----

                       Prince (_still smiling_).

I don't mean anything.

                            von Berkelwitz.

Gentlemen, I'm only a plain country squire, but I should like to
suggest that the morals of our hostess are hardly a subject for
discussion.

                                Prince.

Morals? Morals? What do morals signify? They were only invented for the
preservation of the race.

                            von Berkelwitz.

That's over my head, your Highness.

                                Prince.

It's simple enough. Mankind is bound to go on reproducing
itself--that's its fundamental instinct. Morality was invented to keep
the strain pure. If it ceases to accomplish that purpose, it had better
abdicate in favour of immorality. That's all.

                            von Berkelwitz.

I'll be hanged if I understand a single word.

                                Prince.

We all know the old families wouldn't have survived till now if the
stock hadn't been renewed--surreptitiously, so to speak--by----

                              Brachtmann.

Really, Prince--really----

                                Prince.

My dear Brachtmann, it's all very well for you to look shocked. Your
family hasn't had to resort to such expedients: your patent of nobility
isn't more than two hundred years old. But my people have been
misbehaving since the time of Lewis the Pious. Look at the result--look
at _me_. Jaw prognathous--frontal bone asymmetrical--ears abnormal--all
the symptoms of a decaying race. Thanks to several centuries of
inbreeding, I must go through life a degenerate, and I assure you I
haven't any talent for it. If only I could marry a healthy dairy-maid!
Under such circumstances, do you wonder one loses one's respect for
morality? What if two people in this house have followed the dictates
of their temperament?

                              Brachtmann.

Prince, von Berkelwitz is right. As long as we're in the house
ourselves, we'll postpone any discussion of its inmates.

                                Prince.

As you please. (Richard Voelkerlingk _is seen approaching. The_ Prince
_glances toward him_.) Which won't prevent my feeling the sincerest
sympathy for our friend there. His phenomenal self-possession is enough
to confirm my suspicions.

                            _Enter_ Richard.

                                Richard.

I've been looking for you every where, Brachtmann. I want to shake
hands and tell you how glad I am to be under your orders again.

                              Brachtmann.

We won't talk of being under my orders, my dear Voelkerlingk. You know
how badly we need you, and how anxious we are to have you take the lead
in the coming debate. (Richard _bows_.) I suppose we may count on your
speaking on the Divorce Bill next Friday?

                        Richard (_hesitating_).

Why--I had hardly expected----

                              Brachtmann.

It's the very thing we want of you. According to the Socialists, a man
and his wife are no more bound to each other than a pair of cuckoos. We
need a speaker of your eloquence and your convictions to proclaim the
sanctity of the marriage-bond.

                                Richard.

But I hardly know if I should have time to get my facts together. And
besides-- (_He draws_ Brachtmann _aside and continues in a low tone_.)
An hour or two ago I received a copy of a speech that a fellow called
Meixner has been making against me. The man is a former secretary of
mine, turned Socialist----

                              Brachtmann.

Ah--Meixner was your secretary?

                                Richard.

You knew of this?

                              Brachtmann.

My dear Voelkerlingk, don't you see that after such an attack it's
doubly important that you should speak on this very question? As for
the party, I think I may say in its name that our asking you to do so
is equivalent to a vote of confidence.

                                Richard.

Thanks, Brachtmann. I believe you're right. My refusal might be
misinterpreted.

               Brachtmann (_turning toward the others_).

We were speaking of this when you joined us. We have all received
copies of the paper.

                       Richard (_to the group_).

Then I must apologise for not having mentioned the matter; but I was
waiting to bring it before you in committee. It seems to be a question
of personal spite, for my son has received the paper too.

                              Brachtmann.

And Madame von Voelkerlingk?

                                Richard.

My wife? Why do you ask?

                              Brachtmann.

Look at this. (_Leads_ Richard _to the writing-table and points to the
paper_. Richard _starts, but controls himself instantly_.)

                                Prince.

We were just wondering how we could get rid of the thing before it is
discovered, and we had reluctantly decided that none of us is
sufficiently intimate here to tamper with the Countess's papers. Now,
if _you_, my dear Baron--as an old friend of the family--knowing how
important it is to spare her any excitement----

                  Richard (_looking at him sharply_).

There is only one person entitled to remove that paper, and that is
Count Kellinghausen. I will speak to him at once.

                           Prince (_aside_).

Irreproachable!

                              Brachtmann.

My dear Voelkerlingk, for heaven's sake leave Kellinghausen out of the
question!

                                Richard.

How can I?

                              Brachtmann.

I have been in politics long enough to take such incidents
philosophically. But Kellinghausen, easy-going as he is, strikes me as
the kind of man who might make an ass of himself in such an emergency.
If he loses his head he may do the party an incalculable amount of
harm; whereas, if we can keep this thing from him, it will blow over in
a week, and nobody be any the worse for it.

                                Richard.

But you forget that I am as much involved in this as Kellinghausen. It
is impossible that I should stand aside and allow any reflection to be
cast on--er----

                              Brachtmann.

You are quite right. But wait a moment. You said you meant to bring the
matter up in committee, which is undoubtedly the proper way of dealing
with it. The committee meets the day after to-morrow; and all I ask is
that you should say nothing till then.

                                Richard.

And suppose I agree to that what becomes of this paper? (_Pointing to
the writing-table_.) What if the Countess finds it?

                            von Berkelwitz.

Gentlemen, I'm only a plain country squire, and I haven't your
refinements of conscience. (_He takes the paper, tears it up and throws
it into the wastepaper basket_. Brachtmann _and the_ Prince _laugh_.)

                            von Berkelwitz.

After which act of felony I suppose I had better make my escape.
(_Shakes hands with the others and goes out_.)

                              Brachtmann.

Then it's understood that, in the interests of the party, you will----

                                Prince.

'Sh. Here is our host.

                        Kellinghausen _enters_.

                             Kellinghausen.

Ah, there you are, Richard! My dear fellow, I've been hunting for you
high and low. I was actually reduced to asking Madame von Voelkerlingk
where you were. "My dear Count," she said, "it's fifteen years since
I've known where my husband was." Nice reputation you've got! Well, now
I've run you to earth, sit down and let's have a talk. (_To the
others_.) I haven't had a chance to say two words to him yet.

                                Prince.

My dear Brachtmann, shall we----?

                             Kellinghausen.

No, no; don't run off. Richard and I have no secrets. Let us take
possession of this quiet corner. (_To_ Conrad, _who is passing with a
tray of refreshments_.) Conrad, what have you got there? Lion brew from
the wood, eh?

                                Conrad.

Yes, your Excellency.

                             Kellinghausen.

That's what we always had at Bismarck's. H'm--in those days there was a
power in the land. It weighed on us rather heavily at times, but we
were none the worse for it. Your health, Richard, my dear fellow!
Gentlemen, your healths! How deuced quiet you all are! You look as if
I'd invited you to my own funeral. Good Lord, if you knew how glad I am
to have got the Reichstag off my shoulders!--The other day, down at the
polls, I said to one of our Lengenfeld peasants: "My dear friend--"
(they're all our dear friends at election-time; we even have to put up
with being _their_ dear friends). "My dear friend," said I, "I hope
you're going to vote for my successor?"--"What will he give me for it?"
says he. "What will the Socialist give you?" said I. "The Socialist
will call you all names, and I like to hear you called names. It makes
me laugh," the fellow answered. And he was right. We must amuse the
masses and they'll love us. Circus-riding, my dear friends that's all
the nobility are good for!

                              Brachtmann.

We shall miss your cheerful view of life, my dear Kellinghausen.

                             Kellinghausen.

H'm--that's about the only epitaph I can hope for. Ha! ha!--Well--I
say, Richard, what sort of a fellow is that Meixner? (_The others look
up quickly_.) Wasn't he your secretary at one time?

                                Richard.

Yes.

                             Kellinghausen.

How long ago?

                                Richard.

It must be ten or twelve years.

                             Kellinghausen.

Well, he has certainly profited by the training you gave him. He's
raving against you like a madman.

                                Richard.

Did you happen to run across him?

                             Kellinghausen.

Heaven forbid!

                                Richard.

Did you hear what he said?

                             Kellinghausen.

Yes; Holtzmann told me about him. And I've had a lot of his speeches
and proclamations sent to me. Capital stuff for lighting the fire.
Well, thank the Lord, it's all over.

                                Richard.

I wish I knew how to thank you, Michael----

                             Kellinghausen.

Nonsense. None of that. By the way, I picked up a pamphlet in the train
to-day--"The Ordeal" or some such name. Holtzmann tells me that Norbert
wrote it. Is that true? (Richard _nods_.)

                              Brachtmann.

Ah, indeed--your son wrote----?

                             Kellinghausen.

I say, Richard, you give him a long rein, don't you?

                                Richard.

My dear Michael, the chief thing I have to thank my father for is that
he gave _me_ one. I vowed long ago that Norbert should have as much
freedom as I had.

                             Kellinghausen.

Well, we shall have to take the young scamp in hand before long.

                                Richard.

I wish you would. I should like to know who has put him up to this. He
won't tell me.

          _Enter_ Beata, _with_ Baron Ludwig von Voelkerlingk.

                                 Beata.

May we join you? Don't let us break up your party.

                             Baron Ludwig.

(_Advancing toward the other men_.) Will you allow me?

                 Beata (_to_ Michael, _in a low tone_).

Well, are you enjoying yourself?

                             Kellinghausen.

Immensely, dear, immensely.

                                 Beata.

Did you like the way I arranged the seats at table?

                             Kellinghausen.

Couldn't have been better. The brothers not too close together, yet
near enough to talk. Now you must follow it up, and get them to make
friends--eh?

                                 Beata.

That is what I've come for. (_To_ Richard.) My dear Voelkerlingk, I want
to speak to you.

                             Kellinghausen.

(_To_ Richard, _as he approaches_.) Mind you obey orders, now! (_Joins
the others_.)

                                Richard.

I am glad you are not too tired, Beata.

                                 Beata.

I've been growing stronger every day since the elections. But you must
take some notice of Leonie, Richard. She is saying things.

                                Richard.

Let her. It's her specialty.

                                 Beata.

Every one knows that she never comes here, and her being here to-night
is making people talk.

                             Baron Ludwig.

(_Approaching his brother, evidently at_ Kellinghausen's
_instigation_.) Ah, here are the two friends talking together.

                                 Beata.

(_Looking from one brother to the other_.) And the two enemies,
too--thank heaven!

                             Baron Ludwig.

The Countess is right, Richard. It was foolish of us not to speak to
each other.

                                Richard.

My dear Ludwig, perhaps we hadn't enough to say.

                             Baron Ludwig.

Or too much!

                                Richard.

Possibly. (_To_ Beata.) But, Countess----

                 Beata (_turning to join the others_).

No, no. I am going to leave you two together. (_She moves away_.)

                                Richard.

Why do you look at her so strangely?

                             Baron Ludwig.

Strangely? What do you mean?

                                Richard.

You begrudge me this friendship, Ludwig.

                             Baron Ludwig.

Do I? Perhaps. You must remember that I am very lonely. I had hoped
that your house might----

                                Richard.

My house? With Leonie----?

                             Baron Ludwig.

Yes--your friend is different from Leonie.

                                Richard.

You needn't envy me, Ludwig. My friend is a dying woman. Every day I
ask myself if I shall ever see her again.

                             Baron Ludwig.

My dear Richard, the woman lives in a thousand energies. She will
survive us both.

                                Richard.

God grant it!

                             Baron Ludwig.

But--be on your guard.

                                Richard.

What do you mean?

                             Baron Ludwig.

(_Glancing at_ Kellinghausen.) Can we find a quiet corner somewhere?
(_He takes_ Richard's _arm and they go toward the other room_.)

                 _Enter_ Leonie, _on_ Norbert's _arm_.

                    Leonie (_meeting the brothers_).

What a touching spectacle! Look, Norbert!

                             Baron Ludwig.

Don't detain us, Leonie. We're going to have our photograph taken. (_He
and_ Richard _go out_.)

                 Leonie (_advancing toward the front_).

How enchanting! And Beata as the angel of peace! Quite a new role for
you, isn't it, dear? But you're _so_ versatile!

                                 Beata.

Dear Leonie, find fault with me when I sow discord, but praise me when
I make peace.

                                Leonie.

Do you care so much for praise?

                                 Beata.

Don't you?

                                Leonie.

Oh, no one ever praises me. I suppose I don't know how to play my
cards. Norbert, please have the carriage called.

                                Norbert.

Very well, mother. (_Goes out_.)

                                Leonie.

Ah, Prince--good-evening! (_He kisses her hand_.) How is it we never
see you at our missionary meetings? Her Royal Highness wished me to say
that she counts on your help. Isn't that flattering? (_To the others_.)
The Prince is one of us, you know. He serves the cause of religion
faithfully----

                                Prince.

And in poverty of spirit. That's my special merit, you know, Baroness.

                  Brachtmann (_aside to the_ Prince).

You reprobate!

                                Leonie.

But pray don't let me disturb you, for I must really be off. My
carriage is waiting, and my coachman is so cross. We're all the
slaves of our carriages. (_To_ Kellinghausen.) It has been so
delightful--dear Beata is such a wonderful hostess. Our great
stateswoman knows so well how to keep her party in hand. Willingly or
unwillingly, she makes them all come into line; don't you, Beata, dear?

                                 Beata.

I'm afraid you are among the unwilling to-night, Leonie.

                                Leonie.

Oh, I'm not as adaptable as some of your friends.

                  Brachtmann (_aside to the_ Prince).

Do you hear those amenities?

                       Prince (_to_ Brachtmann).

The Baroness is dispensing Christian charity sprinkled with arsenic.
Let's efface ourselves. (_They move quietly into the background_.)

                                Leonie.

(_To_ Kellinghausen, _with whom she has been talking_.) No, no, my dear
Count you mustn't think of it. Norbert will put me in my carriage. And
meanwhile, I want to have a little chat with dear Beata. We always have
so many things to say to each other.

                  Kellinghausen (_kissing her hand_).

At your orders, my dear friend. I'll draw the curtain to protect your
_tete-a-tete_. (_He draws the curtain between the columns and goes
out_.)

                                Leonie.

How wonderfully well you look to-night, Beata! Not in the least like a
prospective grandmother.

                                 Beata.

Why, as to that, Leonie, it looks as though you and I were to be made
grandmothers on the same day.

                                Leonie.

Ah, really? Well, Ellen is a delightful child. Where is she, by the
way? You don't seem to care to let her be seen in your neighbourhood on
such occasions.

                                 Beata.

Seen? In my neighbourhood? You have an odd way of putting things. But I
believe you had something to say to me.

                                Leonie.

I know I oughtn't to keep you from your other guests, but it's such a
pleasure to have you to myself. I wonder what has become of Norbert?--I
must say, Beata, I can't help admiring your self-possession. I don't
see how you can be so unconcerned.

                                 Beata.

What should I be concerned about?

                                Leonie.

Why, you don't mean--? I should almost think you-- But I don't know how
to express myself. It's so very painful.--There are such dreadful
people in the world.

                                 Beata.

Are there?

                                Leonie.

This former secretary of Richard's, for instance, who has made such a
shocking speech against him. You've received a copy, of course?

                                 Beata.

Not that I know of.

              Leonie (_drawing a paper from her pocket_).

Ah--I brought mine with me. Perhaps it might interest you.

                                 Beata.

Not in the least, my dear.

                                Leonie.

You are mentioned in it, too.

                           Beata (_smiling_).

Really?

                                Leonie.

Only between the lines, of course.

                                 Beata.

Between the lines? What do you mean?

                                Leonie.

This is the paragraph; the one marked with a blue pencil. Don't be
horrified. It will make you laugh, of course. I laughed over it myself.
(Beata _takes the paper, looking firmly at_ Leonie _as she does so. She
reads the paper, throws it aside, and looks at_ Leonie _again, without
speaking_.) Good heavens, how pale you are! I didn't realise-- Shall I
get you a glass of water?

                                 Beata.

No, thanks. (_Controlling herself with an effort_.) Does Richard know
of this?

                                Leonie.

Oh, yes. Doesn't Michael?

                                 Beata.

Certainly not.--He would have-- Will you let me have this paper?

                                Leonie.

To show Michael?

                                 Beata.

Naturally. In a matter involving his honour----

                                Leonie.

You don't mean to make a scandal?

                                 Beata.

What do you call a scandal? Haven't you made one in bringing me this?

                                Leonie.

I mean that your husband might----

                                 Beata.

My husband will do as he sees fit.

                                Leonie.

You are very sure of yourself.

                                 Beata.

My dear Leonie, remember that you are in my house.

                                Leonie.

My dear Beata, we are always in each other's houses; we can't meet at
the street corners, like servants.

                                 Beata.

You are right. Say what you were going to say.

                                Leonie.

Oh, I have held my tongue so long!

                                 Beata.

Why have you, if you had anything to say?

                                Leonie.

Listen, Beata. I am not going to discuss the relations between my
husband and yourself. It's a subject that no longer interests me. But
it was you who took him away from me, and when I found you had taken
him, I turned to my boy instead. Then you took him too. Now I have
nothing left--nothing but my position in society, which I have built up
slowly, year by year, by my own efforts, as you know. I am in the
Princess Agnes's most intimate set, I am patroness of--but all this
doesn't interest you. But how have I accomplished it? Simply by
keeping my eyes shut and appearing to sanction your friendship with
Richard.--And now, if you persist in dragging your husband in, there
will be a scandal, and I shall have to sue for a divorce; and that will
be excessively unpleasant for us all. Don't you agree with me?

                                 Beata.

I might say so many things in reply.--In the first place, whatever I
have taken was never really yours.--But no matter. I will only ask you
one thing: have you thought of Ellen and Norbert?

                                Leonie.

Oh, Ellen and Norbert! I've no objection to the match, none
whatever--but it's _your_ scheme, not mine, and you can't expect me to
be particularly enthusiastic about it. But I should think it would be
one more reason for _you_ to keep quiet.

                                 Beata.

Then--if you don't mean to do anything--why did you bring me this?

                 Leonie (_with irrepressible triumph_).

Why did I bring it? Because I--(_relapses into her usual
amiability_)--I thought it might interest you, and you see I was not
mistaken. Ah, here comes Norbert!

                            _Enter_ Norbert.

                                Norbert.

I'm sorry to have kept you, mother. The carriage was-- (_Startled_.)
Why, Aunt Beata, what's the matter?

                  Beata (_making an effort to smile_).

Nothing, Norbert, dear.

                                Leonie.

Well, good-bye, Beata. Do be careful of yourself! I should be so sorry
to think I had done anything to excite you. Come, Norbert, you must put
me in the carriage, and then you can come back to your dear aunt.

                                Norbert.

I beg your pardon, mother, but I think Aunt Beata needs me now. If
you'll wait for me a moment downstairs----

                                Leonie.

What did I say? I congratulate you, Beata! (_She goes out alone_.)

                                Norbert.

What has she been saying to you?

                                 Beata.

Oh, she was right--so right!

                          Norbert (_alarmed_).

Aunt Beata!

                       Beata (_with an effort_).

Norbert--my son--take me to Ellen. In a few minutes I shall be
quite----

                                Norbert.

Come, come-- (_Leads her gently out. Sounds of talk and laughter come
from the inner room_.)

                            _Enter_ Kellinghausen.

                             Kellinghausen.

(_Putting his head through the curtains_.) Ha! No one there? Have our
wives made way with each other? (_To_ Richard, _who has followed him_.)
They're not so deuced fond of one another. I say, old man, just now,
when I was talking about the elections, why did you all put on that air
of statesmanlike reserve? Did I say anything out of the way?

                                Richard.

What an absurd idea!

                             Kellinghausen.

One is always liable to make an ass of one's self. I'm not conscious of
having blundered, but--oh, well, I sha'n't get anything out of you.
(_Raising the curtain and calling out_--) Brachtmann--Usingen--come
here a moment.

                                Richard.

Michael, if you take my advice we'll drop the election for the present.
I give you my word that if anything occurs that reflects on you----

                             Kellinghausen.

On me? Reflects on me? What on earth do you mean? I'm thinking of the
party. Our business is to look out for the party.

  _Enter_ Brachtmann _and the_ Prince, _followed a moment or two later
                              by_ Norbert.

                              Brachtmann.

Hear, hear! But what are you talking about?

                     Kellinghausen (_to_ Norbert).

Aha, young man, where have you come from? Tea in the school-room, eh?

                                Norbert.

Aunt Beata was not very well, Uncle Michael. (Richard _starts_.)

                             Kellinghausen.

Ah?

                                Norbert.

She is feeling better now. She will be here in a few minutes.

                             Kellinghausen.

That's good--that's good. By the way, Master Norbert, we're going to
put you through your paces. How about this so-called "Ordeal," eh? Do
you own up to it?

                                Norbert.

I'm proud to, Uncle. At least, no--not so very proud; for I've found
out lately that it's all been said before, a thousand times better than
I've said it.

                              Brachtmann.

And also by a member of the Conservative party?

                                Norbert.

Well--no--not exactly.

                              Brachtmann.

Ah--but that's the point.

                                Norbert.

I beg your pardon, Herr von Brachtmann, I thought truth was truth, no
matter who uttered it.

                                Prince.

What is truth? said Pilate.

                                Norbert.

And washed his hands. We also wash our hands of many things, your
Highness. I have even heard it said that the use of soap and water is
the only thing that distinguishes us from the masses. But no matter how
much washing we do, we can't wash off the blood we have shed in the
abuse of our class-privileges.

                         Prince (_to_ Richard).

Very neatly parried. He has a good wrist.

                                Richard.

My dear Norbert, will you give your venerable parent a hearing? We have
left far behind us many of what you call our "class-privileges"; but
their traditional spirit still survives. And that spirit, whether the
modern world condemns it, or the middle-classes make it ridiculous by
aping it--that spirit is the safeguard of our order. Believe me,
Norbert, we must stand or fall by it.

                                Norbert.

Then we must fall, father.

                                Richard.

Possibly--even probably. But meanwhile the one distinction we have left
is the right to dispose of our lives. When a nobleman of the Italian
Renaissance, or a young blade of the court of Louis XIII., crossed the
threshold of his house, he was never sure of re-entering it alive. That
was what gave him his audacity, his splendid indifference to danger.
Today we no longer stake our lives so lightly; but the fact that they
are ours to stake still gives its keenest edge to living.

                              The Others.

Hear! Hear!

                                Norbert.

My dear father, you have given us an admirable explanation of the
personal view of death. But life is not a personal matter at all. You
have said so often enough. Our lives belong to the ideals for which we
fight, they belong to the state or to the race----

                             Kellinghausen.

And how about our personal sense of honour? What of that, Norbert? Are
we to be forbidden to defend with our lives the few things we hold
sacred on earth? May we no longer fall upon the scoundrel who assails
them? You will hardly convince us of that, Norbert.

                                Richard.

Then again, Norbert, there may be cases--you are too young to have
foreseen them, but they exist--where an honourable man may have done
irreparable injury to another's honour. If he admits his guilt, and
satisfaction is demanded of him, what is he to do? Is he to run away,
or to shelter himself behind the law? The law, which was made to
protect the honour of serfs! Should you expect that of him, Norbert?

                                Norbert.

If your man of honour admits his guilt, and is ready to pay the
penalty, let him be his own judge.

                                Richard.

H'm----

                                Norbert.

But I beg your pardon, father; that is hardly the point. It was all
very well for the aristocracy to make its own laws when it had
the power to enforce them; but what is to become of its precious
"class-privileges" when the modern world laughs at them and the mob
refuses to recognise them? When that day comes, I don't see what we can
do but take shelter behind the law.

                             Kellinghausen.

I don't understand you, Norbert. Give us an instance.

                                Norbert.

Nothing easier, Uncle Michael. What do you propose to do with the
scoundrel who has been insulting you in his electioneering speeches?
(_There is a startled movement among his listeners_.) You don't mean to
challenge _him_, I suppose?

                             Kellinghausen.

What do you----?

                                Norbert.

Unless you treat the whole matter with silent contempt and I fancy
you'll hardly do that it seems to me that a libel suit is the only
alternative.

                             Kellinghausen.

Norbert--are you dreaming--or----

                                Norbert.

Why--Uncle Michael--didn't you know?

                                Prince.

_Now_ you've done it, young man!

                             Kellinghausen.

Do any of you know what he's driving at?

                              Brachtmann.

Yes.

                             Kellinghausen.

Richard, what does this mean? What is going on behind my back? You call
yourself my friend--why have you kept me in the dark?

                       Richard (_very quietly_).

In the first place, dear Michael, we only heard of the business an hour
or two ago; in the second place (_as he speaks_, Beata _enters from
behind_), I am mixed up in it myself.

                             Kellinghausen.

You? In a slander that concerns me? (Richard _nods without speaking_.)
Then there was all the more reason----

                              Brachtmann.

My dear Kellinghausen, the fault is mine. For the sake of the party, I
asked Voelkerlingk not to--

                  Prince (_suddenly noticing_ Beata).

H'm. Perhaps we had better-- (_he advances toward_ Beata). My dear
Countess----

                        Beata _enters quietly_.

                                 Beata.

Don't be afraid. I know what you are speaking of. I know all about it.
Michael, if these gentlemen would allow us to talk the matter over by
ourselves----

                             Kellinghausen.

Thank you, my dear. But I think you had better keep out of it.
Richard--Brachtmann--if you'll come to my study---- (_They both
assent_.)

                     Richard (_approaching_ Beata).

I will say good-night, Countess.

                                 Beata.

Good-night, my dear Voelkerlingk. (_Rapidly, in a low voice, as he bends
above her hand_.) Does he know?

                     Richard (_in the same tone_).

Not yet.

             Beata (_aloud, with conventional cordiality_).

I shall see you to-morrow? (Richard _bows, and follows the other men
toward the door_.)


                                Curtain.




                                ACT III




                                ACT III


_The same scene: in the afternoon_. Holtzmann _is waiting. Enter_
Kellinghausen _in hat and fur-lined coat_.

                             Kellinghausen.

Ah, Holtzmann--this is very good of you. I'm extremely obliged to you
for coming. (_Shakes hands with him_.) Sorry to have kept you waiting.
(_Takes off his hat and coat_.) Sit down--sit down.--That is,--perhaps
we'd better-- Oh, well, my wife's not likely to come in just now.--A
cigarette?

                               Holtzmann.

Thanks. I don't smoke.

                Kellinghausen (_lighting a cigarette_).

You remember Meixner the fellow who gave us such a lot of trouble
during the elections? I believe you and he have crossed swords once or
twice in public; and didn't you tell me that you knew him personally?
When was it that you ran across him?

                               Holtzmann.

There was only one inn in the village, and his room and mine were on
the same landing. The meeting was over at eleven, and I went to bed
soon after. About midnight in walks Meixner, as cool as you please, and
sits down on my bed. "We haven't finished that argument yet. Let's have
it out now," he said. And there he sat till six in the morning.

                             Kellinghausen.

(_Takes a copy of the_ "_Lengenfeld News_" _out of his pocket and
glances at it_.) Did that happen before or after the twelfth of
January?

                               Holtzmann.

It happened before he made that speech.

                      Kellinghausen (_startled_).

What? You knew----?

                               Holtzmann.

Why--naturally.

                             Kellinghausen.

Herr Holtzmann, we were in the train together for hours. We drove
together for miles. I have always treated you as a friend. Why did you
never speak of this? (Holtzmann _remains silent_.) Let me tell you one
thing: you can't put me off with a shrug. If you think you can, you
don't know me.

                               Holtzmann.

I beg your pardon, Count Kellinghausen--but I must remind you that I am
not in your service.

                             Kellinghausen.

My dear Herr Holtzmann, you are known as one of the most zealous
supporters of our party. Probably you attach some importance to that
fact. Your silence in this matter surprises me, and I shall not fail to
draw my own conclusions.

                         Holtzmann (_rising_).

You must draw what conclusions you please, sir. Personally I have
nothing to gain by serving your party. I might have a living at any
moment, and if I have preferred, for the present, to devote myself to
politics, it was only because I thought I could be of use to the cause.

                    Kellinghausen (_after a pause_).

I have offended you. You must make allowances for my excitement--this
business has unnerved me. (_Holds out his hand_.) Sit down again and
let me ask you a question. Has this Meixner any recognised standing in
his party, or is he merely a hanger-on?

                               Holtzmann.

He must have a certain standing, since he is their candidate for the
next election.

                             Kellinghausen.

Ha! ha! A nice lot they are! Well, the gentleman has given us his
measure by sending copies of this paper to the wives of the men he
attacks.

                               Holtzmann.

If he has done that, sir, can you guess his reasons?

                             Kellinghausen.

No. Can you?

                               Holtzmann.

Perhaps----

                             Kellinghausen.

Well----?

                               Holtzmann.

I'm sorry, sir--but I can't say anything more just now.

                       Kellinghausen (_rising_).

Good-day, then, Herr Holtzmann.

                               Holtzmann.

My respects to you, sir. (_Goes out_.)

               Kellinghausen (_giving way to his rage_).

Hounds! Brigands! Damn them! All tarred with the same brush----

                            Beata _enters_.

                           Beata (_quietly_).

Flying into a passion won't mend matters, Michael.

                             Kellinghausen.

And I can't make you out, either. Here they are, throwing mud
at us--calling you I won't say what--and you stand there
like--like--Haven't you got any blood in your veins? Don't you realise
what it all means?

                                 Beata.

I haven't much strength to spare, and I have to economise my emotions.

                             Kellinghausen.

Good God--how white you are! Don't mind me--I'll pull myself together.
We won't talk of the damned thing any more.

                                 Beata.

It will be the first time in twenty years that we haven't talked over
what you had on your mind.

                             Kellinghausen.

I wish to heaven I'd never told you of it. The devil take Leonie! She
can't hold her cursed meddling tongue; Richard ought to muzzle her. By
the way, it's strange he hasn't shown himself to-day.

                                 Beata.

I have had a note from him. He asked me to tell you that he is deep in
his speech. He is coming as soon as he has a moment to spare.

                             Kellinghausen.

There you are again! Just when the man needs a clear head for the great
work that's before him, he finds himself involved in this filthy-- Ah,
well, I'll have the dogs by the throat yet! I'll have them howling for
mercy!

                                 Beata.

Do calm yourself, Michael. Look--your face is all on fire. You know
it's bad for you to excite yourself.

                             Kellinghausen.

There, there--I'm quiet again. Don't I always do what you tell me? Ah,
if I hadn't had _you_ all these years, the Lord knows what would have
become of me!

                                 Beata.

Then, on the whole, I've been--satisfactory?

                      Kellinghausen (_laughing_).

That sounds as if you were asking for a reference.

                                 Beata.

Perhaps I am. I want to have one to show in case of need.

                             Kellinghausen.

And when do you expect to need it?

                                 Beata.

Who knows?

                            _Enter_ Conrad.

                         Conrad (_announcing_).

Baron Brachtmann.

                      Kellinghausen (_to_ Beata).

Do you wish to see him?

                                 Beata.

Yes.

                 _Enter_ Brachtmann. Conrad _goes out_.

                              Brachtmann.

(_Bows to_ Kellinghausen _and kisses_ Beata's _hand_.) I am sorry we
were not on our guard yesterday, Countess. Even if you had to know of
this stupid business, you needn't have heard of it till it had blown
over.

                                 Beata.

Don't reproach yourself, Baron. I should have been sorry to miss such a
chance of enlarging my knowledge of human nature.

                              Brachtmann.

Well, at all events, I beg of you both not to take it too seriously.
And as for you, my dear Kellinghausen, I say again as I've said before:
for God's sake, keep out of the courts.

                             Kellinghausen.

Ah----?

                              Brachtmann.

Why, my dear man, haven't I been accused of arson and forgery? Haven't
I been charged with bribing my constituents to perjure themselves--not
to speak of my dodging my taxes, and other sleight-of-hand
performances? That's merely the political way of poking fun.

                             Kellinghausen.

H'm--your digestion must be stronger than mine. But those charges
concerned no one but yourself; if I stood alone in this business, I
might see the humour of it. But let them beware how they attack my
family! Besides, I've taken steps already----

                              Brachtmann.

What have you done?

                             Kellinghausen.

I got hold of my counsel this morning. He has made out a retraction
which the scoundrel is to sign. If he won't sign it, we'll take other
means. He is to be at my lawyer's at three o'clock.

                         Beata (_starting up_).

What? To-day?

                             Kellinghausen.

To-day. The sooner the better. By the way, what time is it? I must be
on hand myself. Brachtmann, will you come with me?

                              Brachtmann.

I was going to propose it. (_While_ Kellinghausen _puts on his coat, he
turns to_ Beata.) If you have any influence over him, for heaven's
sake----

                       Beata (_in a low voice_).

I can do nothing.

                             Kellinghausen.

Well, dear, good-bye. If Richard turns up, be sure you make him wait. I
shall be back in an hour. (Kellinghausen _and_ Brachtmann _go out_.)

                                 Beata.

(_Closing her eyes, with a miserable smile_.) In an hour!

                             _Enter_ Ellen.

                       Ellen (_in the doorway_).

Mother!

                                 Beata.

Come in, dear child.

                  Ellen (_kneeling down beside her_).

Mother, mother dear, what has happened? What is it? Papa is so excited
and talks to himself so strangely--and you--oh, mother!

                           Beata (_smiling_).

Well what have I done?

                                 Ellen.

If I tell you, you won't--won't stay away? You'll come and lean over my
bed every night--just as you've always done?

                          Beata (_surprised_).

Then you're awake--when I come?

                                 Ellen.

Always, always. I never go to sleep till I've heard you.

                                 Beata.

Dearest! And yet you never stirred!

                                 Ellen.

Oh, I prided myself on that! But last night it was so hard to keep
quiet. I could feel your tears on my face--oh, how you were crying! And
I did so want to cry with you. But I held my breath and lay as still as
I could.--Mother, what has happened? Won't you tell me? I'm not a child
any longer.

                                 Beata.

Listen, dear. I want to ask you a question. Is there any one in the
world--besides your father and me--that you're very fond of?

                           Ellen (_softly_).

You know, mother. I don't have to tell you things----

                                 Beata.

Some one you're so fond of that you could live for him--or even die for
him?

                                 Ellen.

There's nothing in the world I wouldn't do for him!

                                 Beata.

(_Softly stroking her hair and cheeks_.) H'm----

                            _Enter_ Conrad.

                         Conrad (_announcing_).

                            Dr. Kahlenberg.

                          Beata (_to Ellen_).

Go, dear. That is all I wanted to know.

                                 Ellen.

Mother! (_Goes out_.)

               _Enter_ Dr. Kahlenberg. Conrad _goes out_.

                            Dr. Kahlenberg.

You sent for me, Countess? Nothing wrong, I hope?

                                 Beata.

Why, this is your hour for consultations, isn't it?

                            Dr. Kahlenberg.

Oh, there was no one there but two or three whining women. The kind
that can be cured by the atmosphere of a fashionable doctor's
waiting-room; so I'm letting them wait.

                                 Beata.

(_Listening, as though to make sure that they are alone_.) I sha'n't
keep you long. Doctor you know how often I have said to you: "My dear
friend, I've got to live--I've simply got to live; show me how--" and
how you've always answered: "The only way is to avoid excitement."
Well--I've borne that in mind--I've schooled myself to look at life
through a tombstone, as it were--my own tombstone, doctor! I've done
that. But now--now there are storms ahead, perhaps disasters. If they
come, my judgment and energy are equal to them--but my valves are not.
I found that out last night--it was only those drops of yours that
saved me. But I can't live on those drops--you've warned me not to take
them too often. And I don't want to die of this. Doctor, you must help
me!

                            Dr. Kahlenberg.

Why, what's the meaning of all this? H'm. You're right. Strophanthus
and digitalis are not meant for human nature's daily food. Besides, the
effect might wear off.--My dear Countess, take your courage in both
hands and run away. Turn your back on all these emotions. Human life is
simply a process of molecular adjustment complicated by moral
idiosyncrasies.

                          Beata (_laughing_).

I'm so glad to know it, doctor. (_Growing serious_.) But there is no
time to run away. The storm may break in an hour.

                            Dr. Kahlenberg.

Child, what has happened? Ah, well, I never ask questions.--In an
hour?--I am going home to despatch my whining women, and then I'll drop
in again and see what has happened in the interval.

                                 Beata.

And if to-day is only the prelude?

                            Dr. Kahlenberg.

So much the better. Then we shall have time to look the thing in the
face. Meanwhile I'll give you something new to take--something that
your system hasn't got used to. We physicians have a supply of such
remedies to tide us over bad places.

                                 Beata.

Thank you.

                            Dr. Kahlenberg.

Give me both hands, Countess. You and I know death too well to be much
afraid of it. But if you want to live I'll do my best to help you. And
now I'll go and assure my other patients that they're really ill.
Good-bye. (_He goes out. In the hall he is heard greeting_ Norbert.)

                            _Enter_ Norbert.

                                Norbert.

Aunt Beata, I'm so glad to see you looking so well. I was almost
afraid----

                                 Beata.

It always cheers me to see you, Norbert. And to-day especially----

                                Norbert.

To-day?

                                 Beata.

'Sh--to-day is a lucky day.

                                Norbert.

Lucky? In what way?

                                 Beata.

Wait and see! Wait and see!

                                Norbert.

I say, Aunt Beata, you're not making fun of me? I don't half like the
way you're smiling to yourself.

                                 Beata.

Well, you must make the best of it, dear boy!

                                Norbert.

Aunt Beata--you're _not_ the same since yesterday. I knew it all along.
What a beastly business life is! You--you--of all women!--that they
should dare attack you! The scoundrels--the miserable sneaking
scoundrels!

                                 Beata.

Norbert, dear, you must see that this is a matter we can't discuss.
Besides, I have something else to talk to you about. Can you tell me
what time it is?

                                Norbert.

Half-past four.

                                 Beata.

Will you ring for the lamps, please? Ring twice. (Norbert _rings_.) I
have only a few minutes to spare, but it won't take long to-- (Conrad
_brings in two lamps, and draws the curtains_) to tell you what
I-- (_She hesitates, constrained by_ Conrad's _presence_.) This is Miss
Mansborough's afternoon. She has probably gone out. (Conrad _leaves the
room_.) You will find Ellen alone in her sitting-room--go and look for
her--and when you find her, put your arms about her, and say to her,
"I love you, and I shall always love you, in this world and the
next"--provided there is any next!

                                Norbert.

Aunt Beata! (_Falls on his knees before her and hides his face in her
lap_.)

                  Beata (_struggling with her tears_).

And then sit down in the twilight, you and Ellen, quietly, side by
side, and talk of all the happiness that is coming to you and of all
the good you mean to do. Let it be your hour of consecration. And I
shall be with you all the while--feeling your happiness, thinking your
thoughts--all through this next hour of my life.--Now go, Norbert. I
hear some one coming--it must be your father. I will tell him--go,
dear, go.

                                Norbert.

Aunt Beata! (_Kisses her hand_.)

                                 Beata.

Your hour of consecration remember that, Norbert. (Norbert _goes out_.)

                            _Enter_ Richard.

                                Richard.

What has happened? You look radiant.

                                 Beata.

(_Taking his hand and holding it fast_.) I have settled the future of
our children. No matter what happens to us-- Why, Richard, aren't you
the least bit pleased?--Oh, how ill you look!

                                Richard.

What sort of a night did you have, Beata?

                                 Beata.

Not so bad.--And how goes the speech? Are you in sight of land?

                                Richard.

Beata--I don't know if I shall be able to speak to-morrow.

                           Beata (_alarmed_).

But you must. You must. They all count on you. Dear, you _must_. Is it
because of that wretched business last night?

                                Richard.

Partly, I suppose. This new danger has stirred up the whole past.

                                 Beata.

And your conscience is bothering you again?

                                Richard.

You call it conscience, Beata; I call it consistency. How dare I speak
on this bill, how dare I take such a stand before God and man, when my
whole life gives me the lie?--Good God!--To stand up and talk about the
sanctity of marriage--about the family life as the main support of
society--to parade such an argument before the cynics of the
Opposition, when with my own hands I have helped to tear down that very
support--no, no, I can't justify myself without adopting their own
cynical and materialistic creed. And not even then; for what I call God
they call social expediency; and this new idol of theirs is more
exacting than the Jehovah of the old dispensation. As to acknowledging
that words are one thing and actions another--that the man in me is not
accountable to the statesman--well, I haven't sunk as low as that--what
I give I must give without an afterthought.--And so all my ideas
crumble into dust, all my reasoning ends in contradiction--and I find
myself powerless to plead the very cause I have at heart!

                                 Beata.

But why, dearest, why?

                                Richard.

Forgive me. I am so tired; my mind is a blank. First that dreadful
scene last night, when a moment's hesitation would have ruined us both.
Then my long night at my desk--the superhuman effort of collecting my
thoughts after all I'd been through. But as I worked, my subject took
such hold of me that I've only just waked up to the question--how on
earth is it all to end? (Beata _is silent_.) Oh, Beata, the truth, the
truth! Oh, to be at one with one's self! To have the right to
stand up openly for one's convictions! I would give everything for
it--happiness, life itself, everything!

                                 Beata.

And yet you love life.

                                Richard.

I? No--not now. Now that our falsehood is closing in on us, death would
be--but don't be frightened; I shall do nothing foolish. There are two
of us, and we must hold together. I am so used to sharing every thought
with you.--What has happened since yesterday? I suppose Michael has
given up the absurd idea of prosecuting the man.

                                 Beata.

On the contrary.

                                Richard.

What?

                                 Beata.

At this moment he has probably found out whatever your former secretary
knows about us.

                                Richard.

What on earth do you mean?

                                 Beata.

I haven't interrupted you, dear, because speaking seemed to clear your
thoughts. But I haven't attempted to answer you, because every minute
is precious.

                                Richard.

Hasn't Brachtmann been here?

                                 Beata.

Brachtmann came too late.

                                Richard.

Then----?

                                 Beata.

Even if he had come sooner he could not have prevented anything.
Dearest, Michael may come back at any moment, and when he comes we must
be ready----

                                Richard.

Don't go on, Beata. Let us suppose the worst: say that Meixner has
unearthed a few suspicious circumstances--what use can he make of them?
He can't produce any proofs.

                                 Beata.

Who knows?

                                Richard.

Where are they to come from? The few letters we exchanged were burnt
long ago. Copies are not admitted as evidence. He will not be allowed
to testify on oath. We have only to keep ourselves in hand as well as
we did yesterday, and the whole story will fall to the ground.

                                 Beata.

And Michael?

                                Richard.

Michael?

                                 Beata.

Suppose he questions you?

                                Richard.

There can be but one answer, I think.

                                 Beata.

In our class there is something we call a "word of honour." If he asks
you for _that_--? You don't answer.

                Richard (_confused, breathing heavily_).

We haven't reached that point yet, Beata--and if he does--why, we two
are chained together by our past, we are answerable to no one but
ourselves. That is all there is left to us.

                                 Beata.

Is that your answer? You, who tell me you have wrestled with yourself
all night because--Richard, I don't believe you!

                                Richard.

Believe me or not, but be sure that, whatever happens, no suspicion
shall fall on you--on either of us. And now I beg of you--let me see
Michael alone.

                           Beata (_smiling_).

Alone?

                                Richard.

I----

                        Beata (_still smiling_).

Hush! Do you hear his latch-key?

                                Richard.

Beata, I implore you. You are not fit to bear what is coming! If you
value your life, go----

                                 Beata.

I value yours, and therefore I shall stay.

                         _Enter_ Kellinghausen.

                    Kellinghausen (_very gravely_).

Good-afternoon, Richard. (_Shakes hands with him_.)

                                Richard.

Good-afternoon, Michael.

                      Kellinghausen (_to_ Beata).

Has any one been here?

                                 Beata.

Norbert--and Dr. Kahlenberg. No one else.

                             Kellinghausen.

Kahlenberg? At this hour? Is any one ill?

                                 Beata.

No. He merely came to see me. Shall I give you some tea?

                             Kellinghausen.

Thanks, no. Richard, you don't want any either? Then, if you'll come
into my study----

                                Richard.

With pleasure.

                                 Beata.

Michael, I don't understand you. You have never shut me out from your
counsels. Hitherto, if I have taken part in your discussions, it was
because you wished me to; to-day I have a right to be here.

                             Kellinghausen.

My dear child, don't you always have your way? If Richard doesn't
object----

                                Richard.

Whatever you wish----

                                 Beata.

But first I want to give you a piece of good news. Norbert and Ellen
are engaged.

                Kellinghausen (_his face lighting up_).

Ha? What? Those two children? I saw it coming, bless their hearts!--but
I'd no notion--where are they, Beata? (_Goes to door, left_.)

                 Richard (_in a low tone, to_ Beata).

He knows nothing.

                       Beata (_with an effort_).

Michael--never mind--don't speak to them now! To-morrow Norbert
will---- (_She breathes painfully_. Richard _makes a startled
movement_.)

                             Kellinghausen.

What is it? Are you ill?

                                 Beata.

No--no, it's nothing. But happiness reverberates so! Norbert is coming
back to-morrow. He wishes to tell his mother first.

                             Kellinghausen.

Ah, that's thoughtful of him. I had forgotten about his mother. Well,
shake hands, old man. Confound it--I'm ashamed to look you in the face
with this cursed thing hanging over us. And to think how happy we three
might be--oh, that hound, that vile infamous hound!

                                Richard.

Tell me what happened, Michael.

                             Kellinghausen.

There isn't much to tell. My lawyer had a talk with him. He says his
only object is to bring out the facts.

                    Richard (_after a short pause_).

Well--let him bring them out.

                             Kellinghausen.

Let him? You should have heard Brachtmann. The man was beside himself.
He began with the old story of the Frenchman who said that if he were
accused of stealing the towers of Notre Dame he would take the first
train for the frontier. "No matter how blameless you all are, the lie
will stick to you," he said. "It will stick to you and to your children
and to your party." I had to give him my word of honour that, whatever
happens, I will do nothing to bring scandal on the party.

                                Richard.

But you haven't stuck to your resolve?

                             Kellinghausen.

How could I? We can't wring the scoundrel's neck without landing
ourselves in prison. Norbert was right yesterday. In such cases we have
no refuge left but the courts. There is more in that boy's ideas than I
was willing to admit at the time. Well--meanwhile I've agreed to think
the matter over for twenty-four hours. A mere formality, of course--and
yet not quite, after all. The fact is, I wanted to talk it out with
you.

                                Richard.

Very well.

                             Kellinghausen.

Beata--Richard--I don't need to be told that there's nothing wrong in
this house--nothing wrong between you two, to put it plainly. I can see
that for myself. But in such a dirty business the most harmless fact
may be used against you; and you won't misunderstand me if I ask
you--both-- You see, you two have always been in such close sympathy--I
don't say that to reproach you--God forbid! It was natural
enough--you're both so much cleverer than I am--but I ask you, for all
our sakes, to look back and try to remember if you've ever written each
other any letters that might--might seem--to an outsider--a little
too friendly? Good heavens! _I_ should understand it if you had!
Or--or--have you ever written anything about _me_? Anything that
might--? There are plenty of things to criticise about me. But I must
know the truth. There must not be the least pretext for this attack. I
ask you to stop and consider.

                                Richard.

There is nothing to consider, my dear Michael.

                             Kellinghausen.

Not so fast, my dear fellow! Take time. Think the matter over.

                                Richard.

There is nothing to think over.

                             Kellinghausen.

Beata----?

                                 Beata.

My answer is the same as Richard's, of course.

                             Kellinghausen.

Richard, our fate is in your hands. Do you advise me to bring suit?

                                Richard.

Oh--if you ask my advice----

                             Kellinghausen.

I don't ask your advice but your assurance. I have pledged myself not
to endanger the party. Give me your word of honour that I can bring
suit without doing so.

                   Richard (_straightening himself_).

I give you my word of honour that--you---- (Beata _gives a suppressed
cry_.)

                             Kellinghausen.

What is the matter? What ails you?

                     Beata (_looking at_ Richard).

He will give you his word of honour, and then he will go home and blow
his brains out. Don't you see it in his face?

                             Kellinghausen.

What do you mean?

                                Richard.

Kellinghausen, ask your wife to leave the room, and I will----

                                 Beata.

Richard, for fifteen years we have shared all our joys and sorrows. We
must share this too.

                             Kellinghausen.

(_Half strangled, tearing his collar open, and then throwing himself
on_ Richard.) You--you--you!

                  Richard (_seizing both his hands_).

Michael, take care! This must be between ourselves. Remember that.

                             Kellinghausen.

Yes--yes--yes; I pledged my word--I remember--I--oh, you--you---- (_He
sinks down in a chair near the table, and hides his face with tearless
sobs_.)

                Beata (_approaching him after a pause_).

Dear Michael, Richard and I conquered our feelings long ago. That is
why we are so calm now. What happened between us happened years ago,
and we are ready to pay the cost, whatever it is.

                             Kellinghausen.

Oh, as far as he's concerned, it's simple enough. He and I can soon
settle our account.

                                Richard.

Yes.

                             Kellinghausen.

But you--you--how can you justify yourself? How have you reconciled it
to your conscience to live beside me half a lifetime with this thing
between us? Why didn't you come and ask me to set you free?

                                 Beata.

Yes--that was what _he_ wanted--he has such a sense of honour! And to
this day he has never understood why I wouldn't. I loved him too well
to ruin his life--that's all. Even if he could have got a divorce and
married me, such a marriage would have been his ruin. I should simply
have finished the work that Leonie had begun. But what I wanted was to
save him. And so all these years I have lied for him----

                             Kellinghausen.

And what have you done for _me_? Or didn't I enter into your
calculations?

                                 Beata.

Michael, you must see that we can't discuss that now. It would be
laughable if I were to try to explain to you----

                             Kellinghausen.

Ha! Ha! Lies and deception! Wife--friend--everything! Everything! (_To_
Richard.) Why do you stand there as if you were struck dumb? Why don't
_you_ try and whitewash yourself too?

                                Richard.

You said just now that our account was easy to settle.

                                 Beata.

He sees things differently. I speak for myself. He looks at things as
you do.

                             Kellinghausen.

And yet----

                                 Beata.

Wait, please! I have one word more to say, I have staked everything and
lost--it's all over for us, all three of us. If I had spoken years ago,
the same thing would have happened. You told me just now that I had
made you happy. Well, that is what my lie has done. It has made you
happy for fifteen years. Blame me for it--but don't forget it----

                             Kellinghausen.

And God--and retribution? Do you never think of such things? No
repentance--no remorse? Nothing? Nothing?

                                Richard.

Spare her, Michael. Let me answer for her. (Kellinghausen _advances
toward him with clenched fist_.)

                                 Beata.

You have questioned _me_, Michael; let me question you. Must every
natural instinct end in remorse and repentance? Sin? I am not conscious
of sinning. I did the best that it was in me to do. I simply refused to
be crushed by your social laws. I asserted my right to live; my right
to self-preservation. Perhaps it was another way of suicide--that's no
matter. You know what my life has been--how I've had to buy it, hour by
hour and drop by drop, at the nearest chemist's--well, wretched as it
is, I've loved it too dearly to disown it now! Yes, I've loved it--I've
loved everything--everything around me--you too, Michael--ah, don't
laugh--yes, you too--even if I've--ah-- (_Her breath comes in long
gasps and she reels and clutches a chair, closing her eyes as she leans
against it. Then she opens them again_.) Which one of you will--help me
to the door? (Richard _makes a movement, and then draws back_.)

                             Kellinghausen.

Beata, from now on there will be no one to help you.

                                 Beata.

Thank you. (_With an intense effort, she walks out of the room_.)

                     Kellinghausen (_to_ Richard).

And now----?

                                Richard.

Do what you like. Say what you like. Curse me--shoot me. I sha'n't
defend myself.

                             Kellinghausen.

You admit that one of us must die?

                                Richard.

No; I don't admit it; but I am at your orders.

                             Kellinghausen.

A duel between us is impossible----

                                Richard.

Impossible----

                             Kellinghausen.

I don't mean on account of the children. _That's_ all at an end.

                                Richard.

Why must it be at an end if one of us dies? But I am at your orders.

                             Kellinghausen.

I have pledged my word not to bring any scandal on the party. You are
under the same obligation.

                                Richard.

Yes.

                             Kellinghausen.

So that the only thing left----

                                Richard.

Before you go any further, let me tell you that I decline to go through
the farce of an American duel.

                             Kellinghausen.

You decline--? Perhaps you want to sneak out of the whole business?

                                Richard.

You don't believe that!

                             Kellinghausen.

Well--what other way is there?

                                Richard.

I know a way--but---- (Norbert's _voice is heard outside, speaking
with_ Conrad.)

                             Kellinghausen.

(_With sudden decision, opening the door_.) Norbert!

                       Richard (_following him_).

For God's sake, Michael--do you want to disgrace my whole house?

                  Kellinghausen (_opening the door_).

You shall see.--Norbert! Come in, my boy--come!

                           Norbert _enters_.

                                Norbert.

Uncle Michael, what is the matter with Aunt Beata? The doctor is with
her, and Ellen has been called----

                             Kellinghausen.

Nothing serious. Don't be alarmed. (_Takes his hand_.) Norbert, your
father and I were just talking of last evening. You remember that
stupid business interrupted our talk, and we never heard the end of
your argument. Let us have it now. Sit down--sit down, Richard. (_They
all seat themselves_.) There was one phrase of yours that struck me.
You said--you said--that if----

                                Richard.

You said that if a man of honour has injured another and is called on
to atone for it, he is the best judge of his own punishment.

                         Norbert (_laughing_).

Did I? Very likely--but my head is so full of other things just now
that I couldn't swear to it.

                             Kellinghausen.

That was not quite what I meant; but no matter. Suppose we take such a
case. If the injured person says: "One of us two must die"--what ought
the other to answer?

                                Norbert.

Why, Uncle Michael, I should say that depended on the nature of the
injury--doesn't it?

                                Richard.

Let us say, for the sake of argument, that the wrong is the gravest
that one man can do another; let us say he has seduced his friend's
wife. Has the husband a right to the other man's life?

                                Norbert.

Why, father--there can be but one answer to that. And if the other man
is a man of honour--though I don't see how he could be, do you?--he
would be more eager to give his life than the husband could possibly be
to take it.

                                Richard.

H'm. Perhaps you're right. Thank you, my boy.

                                Norbert.

Uncle Michael, at what time to-morrow may I see you?

                             Kellinghausen.

I'll send you word, Norbert.

                                Norbert.

Thanks. Don't make it too late, will you? Don't keep me waiting too
long. Good-bye. Good-bye, father. (_Goes out_.)

                                Richard.

Well--are you satisfied?

                             Kellinghausen.

You put the question in a way that suggests suicide. That was not----

                                Richard.

It is your own choice. All I ask is two days' respite. You won't refuse
it? (Kellinghausen _shrugs his shoulders_.) Good-bye. (_Goes out_.)


                                Curtain.




                                 ACT IV




                                 ACT IV


_A study in the house of_ Richard Voelkerlingk. _Doors on the right and
left, at the back. A fireplace in the middle background, the rest of
the wall hidden by book-cases, which frame the fireplace and doors.
In the foreground, to the left, a window. To the right of it, a
writing-table. In the centre a table covered with periodicals and
books. On the right a leather sofa and arm-chairs. Behind these a door.
Rich and sombre decorations, old pictures, armour, etc. A hanging-lamp
with a green shade, another lamp on a table, both lit. Through
the window one sees the twilight_. Holtzmann _is seated at the
centre-table, reading_.

                            _Enter_ George.

                                George.

Herr Holtzmann, some one is asking for the Baron.

                               Holtzmann.

Why, you know the Baron is at the Reichstag.

                                George.

He says it's important that the Baron should see him. He wants to know
when he can call again.

                               Holtzmann.

Do you know who it is?

                                George.

Well--not exactly a gentleman. What shall I tell him?

                               Holtzmann.

The Baron speaks this afternoon. He will not leave till the House
rises. Tell the man to come back in an hour. (George _goes out_.)

                           Norbert _enters_.

                      Norbert (_greatly excited_).

Herr Holtzmann--haven't you been at the Reichstag? (Holtzmann _shakes
his head without speaking_.) Then you haven't heard? My father has had
the most wonderful triumph--they say there has never been anything like
it.

                               Holtzmann.

Ah?

                                Norbert.

I wish I could give you an idea of it! Look at me--I'm shaking all
over! If you could have heard the way the words rushed out, the way the
thoughts trod on each other's heels! He began by sketching the
psychology of the modern man, and from that he developed a theory of
marriage, with its outward obligations and inner ideals--the marriage
of to-day in its highest, noblest sense--but you'll read what he said;
you'll see if I'm exaggerating. Then he went on to the practical
application of his theory. In this unsettled age, when parents are
losing their control over their children, and the state its hold over
the citizen, when even God and His priests see the soul of man slipping
away from them--at such a time we must do all we can to strengthen the
only tie that holds humanity together--the only tie that gives youth
the shelter of the family life till habit becomes duty, and duty the
law of being, and through obedience to that law a strong and enduring
national soul is created. Isn't that beautiful, Herr Holtzmann? Isn't
that a glorious idea?

                               Holtzmann.

Very fine, very fine. But doesn't such an argument lead back to the
standpoint of the Church, which----

                                Norbert.

When marriage is a mockery, he said, the state may intervene and
dissolve it. That was all. Never in my life have I heard such a
scathing denunciation of infidelity!

                               Holtzmann.

Ah? Indeed?

                                Norbert.

There was such terrible menace in his words that I--oh, well, I can't
explain it--but I began to feel afraid--of I don't know what----

                     Holtzmann (_half to himself_).

This will explain----

                                Norbert.

Explain what? What do you mean?

                            George _enters_.

                          George (_urgently_).

Herr Holtzmann!

                       Holtzmann (_to_ Norbert).

One moment, please. (_He goes up to_ George.)

                        George (_in a whisper_).

The man is here again, and asking to see you. He is waiting in the cafe
across the street.

                               Holtzmann.

Doesn't he give his name?

                                George.

Yes. Something like Meister or Meissner.

                 Holtzmann (_startled, in a whisper_).

Meixner?

                                George.

That's it.

                   Holtzmann (_turning to_ Norbert).

Will you excuse me? Some one has sent for me.

                                Norbert.

Don't let me keep you. (Holtzmann _and_ George _go out_. Norbert _goes
to the window, his hand shading his eyes, and gazes out eagerly_.
Richard _comes in quietly and lays his portfolio on the
writing-table_.)

                    Norbert (_turning toward him_).

Father! Father! (_He throws himself in_ Richard's _arms_. Richard
_thanks him with a smile_.)

                                Norbert.

Mother sends you her love and is sorry she can't be here to
congratulate you. She's in waiting on the Princess this evening.

                                Richard.

Ah? (_He moves about the room_.)

                                Norbert.

Oh, father, how happy you must be! How they cheered, how they fought to
get near you and shake your hand! Oh, if only I could have one such
hour in my life!

               Richard (_laying a hand on his shoulder_).

If you do, my son, may you pay for it less dearly!

                                Norbert.

What do you mean?

                                Richard.

Listen, Norbert.--Have you heard anything of Aunt Beata?

                                Norbert.

I went there, but they told me she wouldn't see any one.

                         Richard (_musingly_).

H'm.

                                Norbert.

The fact is, I wanted to see Uncle Michael.

                                Richard.

(_Who has walked toward the window_.) Uncle Michael? That reminds me
that I wanted to tell you-- How the sunset shines on the house-tops
over there! Everything is in a glow--we shall have glorious winter
weather soon----

                                Norbert.

You said you had something to tell me, father.

                                Richard.

Yes, yes; to be sure. But first, haven't you something to tell _me_?

                 Norbert (_with an embarrassed smile_).

Yes; but not to-day--when you're so----

                                Richard.

The very day, dear boy! To-morrow I may but there's nothing to tell,
after all. Aunt Beata and I have seen this coming and it has made us
very happy.

                                Norbert.

(_Flinging his arms about his father_.) Father! Father!

                                Richard.

Norbert! My dear lad! But we don't yet know what Uncle Michael will
say----

                                Norbert.

Uncle Michael? When I'm _your_ son? Father, you've heard something. You
wouldn't frighten me for nothing.

                                Richard.

I have heard nothing. But, Norbert, listen. Whatever comes to you in
after days, I want you to remember one thing: it doesn't matter whether
we succeed or not. What we need is the guiding note of a voice that
seems the echo of our best hopes. It doesn't matter whether we are
mistaken in the voice or not--the great thing is to hear it. And the
worst thing is not to feel the need of it.

                                Norbert.

Thank you, father. I'm not sure I understand--but you may be sure I
shall listen for the voice.

                                Richard.

And one thing more. Uncle Michael is very busy just now. Leave him
alone for a day or two--even if you have the chance of speaking. And
let me see you to-morrow morning early. I may have to go on a long
journey--and before I start----

                                Norbert.

On a journey? Now? Just as you----

                           Richard (_nods_).

This is between ourselves. But meanwhile, try to see Aunt Beata for a
moment. I want you to tell her--but stay, I'll write. (_He seats
himself at the writing-table and begins to write_.)

                            _Enter_ George.

                                George.

His Excellency Baron Ludwig von Voelkerlingk.

   _Enter_ Baron Ludwig. Richard _starts up, pleased and surprised_.

                                George.

The evening papers, your Excellency. (_He puts them down and goes
out_.)

                                Richard.

Ludwig! It's a long time since you've given me this pleasure.

                             Baron Ludwig.

Thank you, Richard.

                                Richard.

Will you excuse me a moment? I am finishing a letter. (_He folds the
letter, puts it into an envelope and writes the address, while_ Norbert
_and_ Baron Ludwig _are greeting each other_.) There!

                     Norbert (_taking the letter_).

An answer, father?

                                Richard.

As soon as possible. (Norbert _goes out_.)

                             Baron Ludwig.

My dear Richard--we're quite alone, I suppose? (Richard _nods_.)
Forgive the suggestion, but-- (_he glances about the room_) Leonie
sometimes overhears----

                                Richard.

Leonie is out.

                             Baron Ludwig.

So much the better. But first let me tell you with what admiration I
listened to you just now--what breathless admiration! (Richard _makes a
gesture of thanks_.) Still, I confess that your having to speak on such
a subject just at present made me--er--a little nervous----

                                Richard.

Why so?

                             Baron Ludwig.

I was almost afraid--but we'll go into that presently.--Well, at
all events, if nothing goes wrong, you may look upon this as the
starting-point of a career that any man living might envy you.

                                Richard.

What do you mean?

                             Baron Ludwig.

A certain personage was heard to say after your speech: _That is the
man I need_. Don't look as if you saw a ghost. You deserve it all, my
dear Richard.

                                Richard.

(_Walks up and down in agitated silence_.) Ludwig--you have led me to
the top of a high mountain and shown me the promised land in which I
shall never set foot. Give me time to renounce the idea.

                             Baron Ludwig.

Why should you talk of renouncing it? But this brings me to the object
of my visit. Richard, how long do you suppose your enemies will wait
before making capital out of your speech?

                                Richard.

I'm ready for them, my dear fellow. I'll pay the shot--to the last
penny!

                   Baron Ludwig (_in a lower tone_).

We are talking at cross-purposes. I referred to the insinuations of
your former secretary.

                                Richard.

I understand.

                             Baron Ludwig.

You know there is nothing they are so eager to attack as our private
life. Of course I don't for a moment imagine the man has anything to go
on--but unless you can silence him he may make a scandal in which
everything will go under--your name, your career--and other things
besides.

                                Richard.

What can I do to prevent it?

                             Baron Ludwig.

For one thing, you might jump into a cab and hunt your man down with a
big bribe in your pocket.

                                Richard.

Do you think that kind of man could be bribed?

                             Baron Ludwig.

My dear Richard, this is not merely a matter of life and death.
Remember that. Of course you may be too late; but it's the only way I
can suggest. (_There is a knock on the door_.)

                                Richard.

Come in.

                           _Enter_ Holtzmann.

                               Holtzmann.

I beg your pardon, Baron. (_In a low voice_.) An important matter----

                                Richard.

You may speak before my brother. I have no secrets from him.

                               Holtzmann.

There is a man waiting in my room who wishes to speak to you. His name
is Meixner. (_The two brothers look at each other_.)

                                Richard.

Thanks. Please tell Herr Meixner that I will see him in a moment.
(Holtzmann _goes out_.)

                             Baron Ludwig.

Well, this ends my mission. Good-bye, Richard. Your luck frightens me.

                     Richard (_laughing bitterly_).

My luck!

                  Baron Ludwig (_pressing his hands_).

Don't hang back now, my dear fellow. The way is open to you.

                                Richard.

Thank you. Good-bye. (Baron Ludwig _goes out_. Richard _rings_.)

                            _Enter_ George.

                                Richard.

I will see the gentleman who is waiting. You will remain in the
ante-room. Don't let in any one else. (George _goes out. After a short
pause_ Meixner _enters_.)

                                Richard.

Herr Meixner, after what has happened, doesn't it strike you as rather
a liberty that you should enter my house?

                                Meixner.

(_Speaking in a hoarse voice, with an occasional cough_.) May I take my
muffler off? My lungs have gone wrong--makes it very hard for me to
talk down my adversary in one of those crowded smoky halls.--But what's
to be done about it?

                                Richard.

May I ask what you want of me?

                                Meixner.

Really, Baron, from the way you look at me I might almost ask what you
want of _me_. But I suppose it's my turn first.--I haven't come out of
malice. You can safely offer me a chair.

                                Richard.

If you haven't come out of malice you probably won't stay long enough
to need one.

                                Meixner.

Ah--thanks. Well, I'll take the hint and be brief. It was down at
Lengenfeld, you know. Herr Holtzmann and I sat up a whole night arguing
over the elections. Why not--two honourable antagonists, eh? Herr
Holtzmann, as a good theologian, was all for the sanctity of the social
order. I laughed at him--he's at the age when the disciple looks up to
his master, and he brought you up as an example. I laughed at him
again.--"If Baron Voelkerlingk is not what I believe him to be," said
he, "nothing is what I believe it to be, and I'll go over to your
side." "Shake hands on that," said I; and we did. The next day, in my
speech, I made that allusion--you know what I mean--and as no one took
it up, and I began to be afraid it might hang fire, I sent about a few
copies of the paper. That helped. I got my nomination the next day.

                                Richard.

Not in my district.

                                Meixner.

No matter. Well I found I'd made a stupid blunder. I'd meant to convert
Holtzmann but I hadn't meant to ruin _you_. Do you see? Then you made
your speech to-day--and after that-- Well, I've been tramping the
streets ever since, saying to myself: The man who could make that
speech after what he's been through--well, he's suffered enough.--Baron
Voelkerlingk, here are two letters written to you by-- (_he looks about
him cautiously_) by a lady I needn't name. Don't ask me how I got them.
I didn't steal them; and here they are, if you'll give me your word
that you'll put a stop to that libel-suit.

                                Richard.

I think the suit has already been stopped.

                                Meixner.

H'm--well, your thinking so is hardly sufficient.

                                Richard.

It will have to be stopped, even if you keep those letters.

                         Meixner (_startled_).

Even if--? H'm--do things look as badly as that for you?

                                Richard.

You will kindly leave me out of the question.

                                Meixner.

Ah--well--here are your letters. (_Lays them on the table_.)

                                Richard.

If you didn't wish to do me a public injury, why not have shown them
privately to my secretary?

                                Meixner.

They might have been forgeries.

                                Richard.

They may be so still.

                                Meixner.

When I've taken the trouble to return them to you? Holtzmann doesn't
think so. He's packing up already. Perhaps you'd like to see him before
he leaves?

                                Richard.

No.

                                Meixner.

Baron Voelkerlingk, if I have got you into trouble don't set it down to
ill-feeling. Principle is principle, if we have to hang for it. Every
man who has convictions must be prepared to go to the stake for them.
Good-day to you, Baron Voelkerlingk. (_He goes out_.)

                                Richard.

(_Clutches the letters and strikes his clenched hand against his
brow_.) Oh, to live again to live, to live!

                            _Enter_ Norbert.

                                Norbert.

Father----

                                Richard.

Well?

                                Norbert.

Aunt Beata was out.

                                Richard.

Out? At this hour? Why, she never goes out except for her morning
drive. Where can she have gone?

                                Norbert.

No one knows.

                                Richard.

But she must have ordered the carriage?

                                Norbert.

It seems not.

                                Richard.

Well, thank you, my boy. What time is it?

                                Norbert.

Nearly seven.

                                Richard.

You had better dine without me. I shall go and enquire. She may
have----

                                Norbert.

Is there anything I can do, father?

                                Richard.

No, no. Thanks, Norbert. (_He gives him his hand_.) Good-night, my lad.

                                Norbert.

Good-night, father. (_Goes out_.)

                        Richard (_to himself_).

My God! My God! (_He hurries toward the door, and starts back amazed_.)

      _Enter_ Beata, _in hat and cloak, her face thickly veiled_.

                                Richard.

Beata! (_He closes the door_.) Where have you come from? Tell me, for
heaven's sake!

                                 Beata.

Alive!

                                Richard.

Did any one see you except George?

                                 Beata.

Alive--alive! (_She sinks into a chair, trembling and hiding her face
in her hands_.)

                                Richard.

Good God, Beata, rouse yourself! What has happened? Don't keep me in
suspense. What is it, dearest? Answer me.

                                 Beata.

I'm so cold.

                     Richard (_opening the door_).

George! (George _enters_.) Light the fire.

                 George (_kneels down and lights it_).

Yes, your Excellency.

                                Richard.

And see that no one interrupts us. I am engaged with Madame von
Kellinghausen.

                                George.

Yes, your Excellency.

                                Richard.

If the Baroness comes in, say nothing, but let me know.

                                George.

Yes, your Excellency. (_Goes out_.)

                                Richard.

And now, come and sit by the fire. But take off your cloak
first--there. And your hat and veil too?

                                 Beata.
(_Letting her arms sink down helplessly_.) I can't.

                                Richard.

Wait, dear. (_He loosens her veil_.) How white you are! Come to the
fire. (_He leads her to the fireplace_.) There! is that right?

                                 Beata.

Everything is right as long as you're alive!

                                Richard.

Why, Beata, what put such an idea into your head?

                                 Beata.

Hasn't it been in _yours_ ever since yesterday?

                                Richard.

There will be no duel, I assure you.

                                 Beata.

I have just read your speech. It was your goodbye to the world. Oh,
don't laugh--don't deny it. I've felt death hanging over us ever since.

                                Richard.

And I swear to you that I've never loved life better, have never been
more determined to live, than now that I've won back my place in the
world.

                                 Beata.

You swear that to me?

                                Richard.

I swear it.

                                 Beata.

And yet you must die.

                                Richard.

So must we all. But I mean to put it off as long as possible, I promise
you!

                         Beata (_standing up_).

Richard, for fifteen years we haven't kept a single thought from each
other, yet now that the end has come you throw me over as if you were
paying off a discarded mistress.

                         Richard (_agitated_).

Beata!

                                 Beata.

Don't be afraid. I am not going to force your confidence. You would
only repeat what Michael has already told me--that you are going to
travel, to disappear for a while.--Is this the laugh with which we were
to have greeted death? Often and often, at night, when I've lain in bed
struggling for breath, I've said to myself that I should die before
morning. What if it really happened to-night? You'd have to wait
then--you'd have no right to follow me. Think how people would talk if
you did! (_With a sudden start_.) The children, Richard--there must be
no shadow on the children.

                                Richard.

Beata, don't talk so wildly. Do shake off such fancies.

                           Beata (_musing_).

Yes--yes.--You know you'll have a note from Michael in the morning.

                                Richard.

What do you mean?

                                 Beata.

A note asking you to luncheon to-morrow to meet some friends. Nothing
more.

                                Richard.

What is the object----

                                 Beata.

It seems there has been some gossip at the clubs, and this is the
shortest way of putting a stop to it. (_Entreatingly_.) You'll come,
Richard, won't you?

                                Richard.

Beata! Why should we go through this new misery?

                       Beata (_in wild anxiety_).

Richard, you _will_ come? You must come.

                                Richard.

I can't, Beata.

                                 Beata.

It is the last thing I shall ever ask of you. Now you're smiling
again--well, I'll believe anything you tell me--about your travelling,
about your disappearing--I'll believe anything, if you'll only come.
Richard, come for the children's sake. And if not for the children's
sake, come for mine--or I shall die of it--I shall die of it, Richard,
in the night----

                         Richard (_overcome_).

I will come.

                                 Beata.

Give me your hand. (Richard _gives it_. Beata _takes his hand, and
passes it over her eyes and cheeks_.) There--I'm quite quiet again, you
see. (_Sits down_.) I don't know if I told you that I'm going to
Rossitsch to-morrow.

                                Richard.

For good?

                           Beata (_nodding_).

So that, unless you come and pay me a visit there----

                                Richard.

This is good-bye?

For always. So you needn't keep yourself so frightfully in hand. (_He
looks at her doubtfully_.) You needn't, really. (_He falls on his knees
before her and hides his face in her lap_.)

                      Beata (_stroking his hair_).

"I knew a sad old tale of Tristram and Iseult"--How grey you've grown
in these last few days! (_She kisses his hair_.) Don't get up yet--I
want to look at you again--for the last time.--Only I can't see
you--your face has been like a mask ever since yesterday.--Look at me
just once as you used to--just once!

                          Richard (_rising_).

I've never changed to you.

                                 Beata.

Haven't you?--Who knows?--We've grown old, you and I. There's a layer
of ashes on our hearts--a layer of conventionality and good behaviour
and weariness and disappointment.--Who knows what we were like before
the fire went out? Not a trace is left to tell--not so much as a riband
or a flower. The words are forgotten, the letters are destroyed, the
emotions have faded. Here we sit like two ghosts on our own graves.
(_Passionately_.) Oh, to go back just once to the old life, and then
forget everything----

                                Richard.

Do you really want to?

                                 Beata.

You can work wonders--but not that!

                                Richard.

(_Draws out the letters, and opening one, begins to read it to her_.)
"Rossitsch, June 13th, 1881. Two o'clock in the morning."

                                 Beata.

What is that?

                                Richard.

Listen. (_Reading_.) "I don't want to sleep, dearest. The night is too
bright and my happiness too great. The moonlight lies on Likowa, and
already the dawn shows red through the network of elms. The blood beats
like a hammer in my temples--I scarcely know how I am going to bear the
riches of my new life. Oh, how I pray God to let me live it out beside
you--not as your wife, that would be too wild a dream!--but as an
unseen influence at your side, faint as the moonlight which rests upon
your sleep, or as the first glow of dawn that wakes you to new
endeavour."

                                 Beata.

I must have been listening to Wagner. Let me see; did I really write
that? (_She reads_.) "For I mean to make you the greatest among men,
you, my discoverer and my deliverer--" That's not so bad, you know.
(_Reads on_.) "If only heaven would let me die, and give you my life to
live as well as your own." (_She rises suddenly with a strange look on
her face_.)

                                Richard.

This letter and another have just been brought to me by--Meixner. If he
had come yesterday we should have been saved. Now it is too late.

                                 Beata.

Too late?--Oh, Richard, how ungrateful I've been! Why, every prayer
of my youth has been granted--the long sad sweet dream at your
side-- (_She breaks suddenly into laughter_.)

                                Richard.

Why do you laugh?

                                 Beata.

I laugh because in your speech this morning you disowned us
both--disowned our long sad sweet dream. Oh, I don't blame you,
Richard. It isn't your conscience that torments you, it's the
conscience of the race. I'm only a woman--what do I care for the race?
You felt that you were sinning--I felt that I had risen above myself,
that I had attained the harmony nature meant me to attain. And because
I feel that----

                                Richard.

You deny that we have sinned----?

                                 Beata.

I deny nothing. I affirm nothing. I stand on the farther shore of life,
and look over at you with a smile. Oh, Richard, Richard (_she laughs_),
did you ever really think I had given you up? I never gave you up. I
never ceased to long for you, passionately, feverishly, day and night,
when you were away and when you were near me--always, always--and all
the while I was playing the cool, quiet friend, biting my lips to keep
the words back, and crushing down my rebellious heart--yes, and through
it all I was so happy--so unspeakably, supremely happy----

                      Richard (_going up to her_).

Take care, dear. You mustn't excite yourself. I shall have to send you
home.

                                 Beata.

(_Letting her head sink on his breast with a happy smile_.) Home? This
is home.

                                Richard.

They will be wondering where you are. They may send here to find you.

                   Beata (_mysteriously, urgently_).

No, no--not yet! I have so much to say to you. There are so many
secrets I must tell you. Everything has grown so clear to me--I wish
I--Richard, you will surely come to-morrow? (_Crying out suddenly_.) I
want to stay with you. I am afraid of to-night!

                                Richard.

Beata, do try to control yourself.

                                 Beata.

Yes, yes--I'll control myself.-- (_She stands motionless, benumbed_.)
Give me my hat. (_He brings her the hat and veil_.) And my veil.
(_Fervently_.) You still love your life, Richard? You still want to
live?

                                Richard.

Haven't I told you so? Ever since----

                                 Beata.

Never fear, dearest. You _shall_ live.

                  Richard (_with outstretched hands_).

Beata, before we part----

                                 Beata.

Don't thank me--don't kiss me. I--good-bye, Richard. (_She goes out_.)

                                Richard.

Beata!


                                Curtain.




                                 ACT V




                                 ACT V


_The dining-room at_ Count Kellinghausen's. _In the middle of the stage
a table with six covers. On the right a sofa, table, and chairs.
Sideboard on the left. In the centre at the back a wide door leading
into the drawing-room. Door on the right into anteroom, door on the
left into inner apartments. A window on the right, in the foreground.
Grey light of a winter's day_. Ellen _is busy arranging the flowers on
the table_. Conrad _in the background. Enter_ Beata _from the left_.

                                 Ellen.

Oh, mother, I'm so glad you've come. Will the flowers do?

                                 Beata.

Beautifully, dear. (Conrad _goes out_.)

                                 Ellen.

And the cards? Look--I've put you here, of course, with Baron Ludwig on
your right, and Prince Usingen on your left.--Mother! You're not
listening.

                                 Beata.

Yes I am. But Brachtmann is older than the Prince. They must change
places.

                                 Ellen.

Very well. And this is Uncle Richard's seat, next to father's.

                         _Enter_ Kellinghausen.

                             Kellinghausen.

What about father?

                                 Ellen.

I was only saying that I had put Uncle Richard next to you.

                             Kellinghausen.

Next to me?--Yes, yes; of course. Quite right. (_He pets her_.) Now,
you monkey, be off!

                                 Beata.

I shall see you before luncheon, dear.

                                 Ellen.

Yes, mother. (_Goes out_.)

                             Kellinghausen.

I came to speak to you about our arrangements. I have just received a
telegram from Rossitsch. Your rooms are ready for you. To prevent any
talk, I shall take you there and leave you. I suppose you are ready to
start this evening?

                                 Beata.

Whenever you please, dear Michael.

                             Kellinghausen.

You don't seem to have made any preparations.

                           Beata (_smiling_).

I have so few to make!

                             Kellinghausen.

I have no objection to Ellen's remaining with you till the spring. Then
we can see about sending her to a boarding-school.

                                 Beata.

I consent to that too.

                             Kellinghausen.

You could hardly expect your refusal to make much difference.

                        Beata (_still smiling_).

Don't be afraid. I understand my position.

                             Kellinghausen.

And who is to blame for it?

                                 Beata.

My dear Michael, we neither of us care for tragedy. Why not let that
be?

                             Kellinghausen.

You're right.--Where have you put my seat?

                                 Beata.

Here.

                             Kellinghausen.

Another torture to undergo!

                                 Beata.

Isn't it more than you can bear?

                             Kellinghausen.

Perhaps--but it can't be helped. I had to have these people--I've got
to go through with it.

                                 Beata.

Yes, you've got to go through with it. And so have I. I need them more
than you do.

                             Kellinghausen.

You? Why?

                                 Beata.

You will see later.

                             Kellinghausen.

You have no right to keep anything from me----

                                 Beata.

Are you keeping nothing from _me_? (_He turns away_.) Michael, here is
a letter in which I have written something I can't well say to you.
Will you promise not to open it till luncheon is over?

                             Kellinghausen.

Yes.

                                 Beata.

You give me your word?

                             Kellinghausen.

Yes.

                    Beata (_giving him the letter_).

Here it is.

                             Kellinghausen.

Thank you. Then--I suppose--we-- (_Goes to the door_.)

                                 Beata.

Michael!

                             Kellinghausen.

Eh?

                                 Beata.

You know I'm not very strong--oh, don't misunderstand me! I'm not
trying to work on your feelings--but you know how much is at stake. If
Richard Voelkerlingk should die suddenly, and I----

                      Kellinghausen (_tortured_).

I beg of you, Beata! I----

                                 Beata.

Well?

                             Kellinghausen.

Go on.

                                 Beata.

You had something to say.

                      Kellinghausen (_confused_).

I--I was only going to tell you--that there will be no duel.

                                 Beata.

Ah.--Then the danger I spoke of is removed, and I----

                            _Enter_ Conrad.

                                Conrad.

His Highness Prince Usingen and Baron Brachtmann are in the
drawing-room.

                             Kellinghausen.

I will come at once. (Conrad _goes out_.)

                                 Beata.

If you don't mind I will join you at table.

                             Kellinghausen.

You are not well.

                      Beata (_carelessly_).

It's nothing to speak of. Don't keep them waiting.--(Kellinghausen
_stands before her, shaken with tearless sobs_. Beata _goes up to him
and lays her hand softly on his arm_.) Michael, dear, when I think how
I have hurt you I should like to fall down before you and kiss your
hands--I should like to show you--what is in my heart--but it's too
late to say such things now----

                             Kellinghausen.

Good-bye. (_He goes out_. Beata _rings and_ Conrad _enters_.)

                                 Beata.

Ask Countess Ellen to bring me my drops. (Conrad _goes out_. Beata
_stretches out her arms and passes her hands over her face_.)

                             _Enter_ Ellen.

                       Ellen (_in the doorway_).

Mother! Are you ill? (Beata _stretches out her arms again, half
beckoning_ Ellen, _half warding her off_. Ellen, _hastening to her_.)
Mother! Mother! what is it?

                           Beata (_softly_).

Nothing, nothing. (_She strokes_ Ellen's hair, _lets her arms slip
gradually from the girl's shoulders, and finds the phial containing the
drops in her left hand. A long shudder_.) Give me the drops.

                                 Ellen.

How you snatch! Here they are. (Beata _turns the phial about in her
hand_.) Mother, are we really going to Rossitsch, this evening?

                           Beata (_nodding_).

Yes.

                                 Ellen.

In midwinter? Why do we go?

                                 Beata.

H'm----

                                 Ellen.

What will Norbert say? It looks as though you wanted to separate us----

                                 Beata.

Does it? Does it really look so?

                                 Ellen.

No, no, no--forgive me! No.

                                 Beata.

But others might want to separate you--for life--for life, Ellen! Do
you understand?

                                 Ellen.

Mother!

                                 Beata.

Shall I tell you what to do if ever that happens? Wait till you are of
age, and then go to him wherever he is, and say: "My mother sent me."
Do you see?

                                 Ellen.

Yes, yes--but why----?

                                 Beata.

By and by, at Rossitsch, I'll tell you. When we sit together in the big
hall, over the fire, with the wind singing in the chimney. You'll like
that, won't you, dear? We'll be so jolly together, you and I. And now,
darling, go. (_Passionately_.) No, come back-- (_kissing her) and
now-- (_smiling at her) go dear, go! (Ellen _goes out_.)

                            _Enter_ Conrad.

                                 Beata.

Has every one come?

                                Conrad.

All but Baron Richard.

                                 Beata.

You may announce luncheon, then. (Conrad _goes out. A moment later he
throws open the doors, and_ Baron Ludwig, Prince Usingen, Baron
Brachtmann, _and_ Kellinghausen _enter_.)

                                 Beata.

Prince--Herr von Brachtmann--how do you do? (_To_ Baron Ludwig.) Your
Excellency, you are to sit on my right.

                             Baron Ludwig.

You do me too much honour. (Conrad _closes the folding-doors_.)

                             Kellinghausen.

And now, gentlemen, shall we begin _a la Russe_, with a little caviare?
(_He leads the others to the table near the sofa, where cold dishes and
liqueurs are set out_.)

                                Prince.

Your true German can't abide a Russian, but we all adore their caviare.

                             Baron Ludwig.

Where can my brother be? The feast is given for him and he is the last
to appear.

                              Brachtmann.

He's probably doing what we all do the day after. Poring over the
papers.

                                Prince.

And wondering how it is that yesterday's laurels have already turned
into thorns.

                             Baron Ludwig.

Ah, that's part of the game.

                                Prince.

No, it's the end of the game.

                                 Beata.

What do you mean, Prince?

                                Prince.

That our growth ceases when we gain our end. Attainment means being
nailed fast--nailed to a cross, sometimes!

                             Kellinghausen.

(_While_ Conrad _hands about glasses of wine_.) Gentlemen, won't you
drop your epigrams and try some of my port?

                                Prince.

It's his Excellency's doing. He always begins!

                           _Enter a footman_.

                              The Footman.

Baron Richard von Voelkerlingk. (_There is an expectant murmur_.)

                            _Enter_ Richard.

                    Brachtmann (_aside to_ Prince).

I told you there was nothing wrong.

                                Prince.

Wait and see.

                  Richard (_kissing_ Beata's _hand_).

Forgive my being so late. A dozen things turned up at the last moment.
Excuse me, Michael. (_The_ Prince _makes a sign to_ Brachtmann.)

                             Kellinghausen.

(_Shaking hands composedly with_ Richard.) Don't mention it, my dear
fellow. We are lucky to get you at all. The man of the hour you can't
have a moment to yourself.

                                Richard.

I've not had many yet. (_Shakes hands with him again and then turns to
the others_.)

                                 Beata.

Shall we have luncheon? Voelkerlingk, you can join us when you've had
your caviare. (Richard _makes a gesture refusing the hors-d'[oe]uvre_.)

                  Brachtmann (_aside to the_ Prince).

Well?

                                Prince.

Irreproachable, as usual.

                              Brachtmann.

Thank God! (_They all seat themselves_.)

                   Prince (_to_ Baron Ludwig).

I can't make your brother out. You know him better than we do. Look at
his face--what's the matter with him?

                             Baron Ludwig.

We are such complicated machines, your Highness. It's impossible to
explain any one with a word.

                                 Beata.

Take a hundred, then. (_With a short excited laugh_.) Life is long
enough!

                     Kellinghausen (_to himself_).

Yes. Life is long enough.

                                Richard.

Instead of discussing my appearance I wish you would criticise my
speech.

                                Prince.

What a _gourmet_ he is, Countess! He wants the disapproval of his
friends to season the praise of his enemies!

                                Richard.

Now, then, Brachtmann?

                              Brachtmann.

Why, my dear fellow, if you insist--I must tell you frankly that I had
hoped you would lay more stress on the view of marriage as a divine
institution.

                                Richard.

I have the greatest respect for that view of marriage, but I fear it
might have invalidated the scientific side of my argument. What do you
say, Prince?

                                Prince.

And what if it did? It's much more gratifying to our vanity to think
ourselves the objects of divine solicitude than the victims of natural
law. (Brachtmann _and_ Baron Ludwig _protest_. Beata _laughs_.)

                             Kellinghausen.

Really, Usingen----!

                             Baron Ludwig.

Isn't your Highnesses scepticism a little overdone? Surely society has
made us the natural protectors of the social order. The order may
change with the times--all we ask is that it should maintain the moral
balance of power. (Beata _laughs_.) You are amused, Countess?

                       Beata (_still laughing_).

I was only laughing to think how often I'd heard it before--the moral
balance of power, and all the rest! I'm sure our ancestors sang the
same song when they threw their victims to Moloch. And our souls are
still thrown by the million to the Moloch of social expediency. We are
all expected to sacrifice our personal happiness to the welfare of the
race! (_She laughs excitedly_.)

                Kellinghausen (_almost threateningly_).

Beata!

                             Baron Ludwig.

Countess, you are conjuring up a phantom.

                                 Beata.

It may be a phantom, but it has us by the throat.--(_To_ Richard.) What
are you thinking of, Voelkerlingk? You are not going to refuse our
celebrated game-pie?

                                Richard.

I beg your pardon. I wasn't thinking. (_He helps himself to the dish_.)

                                 Beata.

You must know that that pie is an invention of my own!

                                Prince.

Dear me, Countess, are you at home in every branch of learning?

                                 Beata.

Oh, I had the making of a great cook in me. I believe I'm the last of
the old school--the model housekeeper, the domestic wife, the
high-priestess of the family! (_She goes on laughing excitedly and_
Michael _nervously echoes her laugh_.)

                                Richard.

(_Making a perceptible effort to change the conversation_.) My dear
Countess, no one ever ventures to dispute your statements. But there is
one family about which I want to say a word and that is the one we are
in. (_Rising_.) I drink to the house of Kellinghausen!

                              The Others.

Hear--hear!

                                Richard.

The house of Kellinghausen! As I look back over my life, I don't know
how to sum up all I owe to it. (_He turns to_ Beata.) To you, my dear
friend----

                 Kellinghausen (_with forced gaiety_).

Is this a settlement in full, my dear fellow?

                                Richard.

(_Taken aback, but recovering himself instantly_.) You're right,
Michael. There's no use trying; but there's something I want to say to
you.

                             Kellinghausen.

Hear! hear!

                       Richard (_to the others_).

Since yesterday, you all know what I owe him. My success is his doing,
all his doing. If I've gained my end, if I've reached the goal at last,
it's to Kellinghausen I owe it. Here's to my good friend and yours!

                              The Others.

Hear! Hear! (_They clink their glasses_.)

                             Kellinghausen.

(_With a strained laugh, as he and_ Richard _touch glasses_.) You might
have left that out.

                                Richard.

I should have written it if I hadn't said it.

                  Kellinghausen (_still on his feet_).

Gentlemen--Beata--I may speak for all of you, I believe? I think our
friend Voelkerlingk proved conclusively yesterday that if he has taken
my place it is because he has the best right to it. (_On the verge
of an outburst_.) A better right to it--than-- (_He is checked
by a terrified glance from_ Beata, _who utters a low exclamation_.)
Well--well--I'm not much of a speech-maker.--Gentlemen--Beata--long
life to our friend Voelkerlingk--long life to my successor!

                                 Beata.

(_In a low voice, while the others gather about_ Richard.) Long life to
him! (_She presses her hand to her heart, and rests heavily against the
arm of her chair_.)

                      Prince (_to_ Kellinghausen).

Is anything wrong with the Countess?

                             Kellinghausen.

Beata!

                Beata (_raising herself with a smile_).

Yes?

                             Kellinghausen.

Would you not rather go into the drawing-room? You look tired. (_She
shakes her head_.)

                                Richard.

(_In a formal tone, with a glance at_ Michael.) We all beg of you,
Countess----

                                 Beata.

(_Looking from one to the other with growing apprehension_.)
No--no--no--I'm quite--quite--on the contrary--_I_ have a toast to
propose. (Richard _makes a startled gesture_.) Yes--a toast of my own!
But please all sit down first----

                                Prince.

Woman disposes!

                             Kellinghausen.

Beata, you are overtaxing yourself. Be careful.

                                 Beata.

My dear friends, you all go on wishing each other a long life but which
of us is really alive? Which of us really dares to live? Somewhere, far
off in the distance, we catch a glimpse of life--but we hide our eyes
and shrink away from it like transgressors. And that's our nearest
approach to living! Do you really think you're alive--any one of you?
Or do you think I am? (_She springs up with an inspired look_.) But I,
at least--I--whose whole life is one long struggle against death--I who
never sleep, who hardly breathe, who barely stand--I at least know how
to laugh, how to love life and be thankful for it! (_She staggers to
her feet, raising her glass, her voice no more than a hoarse whisper_.)
And as the only living soul among you, I drink to the joy of living!

               The Others (_holding out their glasses_).

Good! Good! Bravo!

                                 Beata.

(_Draws a deep breath, sets down her glass, and looks about her
confusedly. Her eyes rest on_ Richard, _and then turn to_ Michael, _to
whom she speaks_.) I think I will take your advice and go into the
other room for a little while. (_She rises with an effort_.)

                             Kellinghausen.

There, Beata! I warned you.

                 Baron Ludwig (_offering her his arm_).

Won't you take my arm, Countess?

                                 Beata.

No, no--thanks! Michael, make my excuses. I shall be back in a few
minutes. (_She lingers in the doorway with a last smile and a last look
at_ Richard.) Good-bye. I shall be back--in a few minutes. (_Goes
out_.)

                   Kellinghausen (_to the others_).

Don't be alarmed. My wife often breaks down in this way--I knew by her
excitement that it was coming. Please sit down again. I assure you that
in a few minutes she--(_A heavy fall is heard in the next room_.
Richard _starts violently_. Michael _half springs from his seat, but
controls himself with an effort. There is a short pause_.)--she'll be
coming back laughing as usual. (_Whispers are heard behind the door to
the left_. Richard _is seen to listen intently_.) What are you
listening to? What's the matter?

                         Richard (_agitated_).

I beg your pardon--I thought I-- (Ellen _is heard to utter a piercing
scream. The men start to their feet_. Michael _rushes out_.)

                             Baron Ludwig.

Surely that was Countess Ellen's voice?

                                Prince.

It doesn't look as if the Countess were going to come back laughing as
usual.

                 Michael _enters with a ghastly face_.

                      Kellinghausen (_hoarsely_).

The nearest doctor--any one--quick! (_Goes out again_. Richard _makes a
motion as though to follow him, then turns and rushes out of the door
to the right_.)

                              Brachtmann.

The Countess is subject to such attacks; but this seems--different.

                                Prince.

H'm--yes--quite so. (_There is a long silence_.)

                    Brachtmann (_to_ Baron Ludwig).

Your brother may not be able to find a doctor.

                             Baron Ludwig.

We must hope for the best. (_Another silence_.)

                                Prince.

Perhaps we had better be going----

                              Brachtmann.

(_Nods his assent; then to_ Baron Ludwig.) Are you coming?

                             Baron Ludwig.

I shall wait for my brother. (_He shakes hands with them_.)

                                Prince.

H'm. (_He and_ Brachtmann _go out_. Baron Ludwig _walks up and down the
room shaking his head_.)

                            _Enter_ Conrad.

                             Baron Ludwig.

Well?

                                Conrad.

I can't say yet, your Excellency. (_He goes to the table_.) We are
looking for the drops. Countess Ellen gave them to the Countess herself
before luncheon.

                             Baron Ludwig.

I thought I saw something in her hand at luncheon. Has any one looked
in her hand?

                                Conrad.

No. (_He goes out. There is a pause_.)

                    _Enter_ Richard _and a doctor_.

                                Richard.

Well? Has anything----

                             Baron Ludwig.

Nothing.

                                Richard.

Will you come this way, doctor?

                              The Doctor.

Thank you. (Richard _and the doctor go out_. Baron Ludwig _continues to
pace the floor_.)

                _Enter_ Norbert _by door on the right_.

                                Norbert.

Uncle, what has happened? I've just met Brachtmann and Usingen. They
said--uncle-- (Baron Ludwig _points silently to the door on the left_.
Norbert _hurries through it. Another pause_. Baron Ludwig _continues to
pace up and down. The doctor_, Richard _and_ Michael _come slowly into
the room_.)

                    The Doctor (_after a silence_).

Count, I am extremely sorry to have come too late. But it may be some
comfort to you to know that I could have done nothing. Death was the
result of heart disease--the end must have been instantaneous. May I
ask who was the Countess's regular physician?

                             Kellinghausen.

Dr. Kahlenberg.

                              The Doctor.

I will notify him at once. Permit me to offer my sympathy.

                             Kellinghausen.

Thank you, doctor. (_Shakes his hand and accompanies him to the door.
The doctor goes out_. Baron Ludwig _shakes_ Kellinghausen's _hand
silently, nods to_ Richard _and withdraws_.)

                                Richard.

Thank you, Michael--for letting me be with her----

                             Kellinghausen.

Read this. (_Hands him_ Beata's _letter_.)

                                Richard.

(_Takes the letter, shudders at sight of the handwriting, tries to read
it, and then hands it back_.) I cannot----

                             Kellinghausen.

Then I will read it to you. It's meant for both of us. (_He reads_.)
"Dear Michael, even if the poison is found in me they will think I took
it by mistake. To avoid suspicion I shall do it while we are all at
luncheon. I see that some one must pay the penalty--better I than he.
He has his work before him--I have lived my life. And so I mean to
steal a march on him. Whatever you have agreed upon between you, my
death will cancel the bargain--he cannot die now without causing the
scandal you have been so anxious to avert. I have always loved
happiness, and I find happiness now in doing this for his sake, and the
children's and yours. Beata." As she says, this cancels our agreement.
You see that I must give you back your word.

                                Richard.

And you see, Michael----

                            _Enter_ Norbert.

                                Norbert.

(_Throws himself weeping into_ Kellinghausen's _arms_.) Uncle Michael!

                             Kellinghausen.

Go, my son--go to Ellen. (Norbert _wrings_ Richard's _hand without
speaking, and goes out_.)

                                Richard.

And you see, Michael, that _I_ live because I must--that I
live--because I am dead----


                                Curtain.







End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Joy of Living (Es lebe das Leben), by
Hermann Sudermann

*** 