The curtain rises on the Burgomaster, the Secretary, Isabelle and Floris.

As you were not present at the meeting, Mr. Secretary, I will tell you what was decided. The question of the war-levy and of the fine inflicted on the town for the death of Lieutenant von Schaunberg is settled. The Major demanded five hundred thousand francs for the levy and two millions for the fine....

Two hundred thousand times what he was worth!

There’s no doubt about that.... I persuaded the Major, not without difficulty, to agree to a lump sum of a million, which must be paid before midday to-morrow. I have in my safe fifty thousand francs in cash, which I place at the disposal of the town. De Cuyper’s Bank will pay us two hundred and fifty thousand francs, Sheriff van den Bulke fifty thousand and Councillor de Rudder seventy-five thousand francs. That makes nearly half a million certain. Sheriff Vermandel will try to get the rest of the money from the town-councillors and the leading inhabitants. You will assist him in his efforts. Everything therefore is more or less settled; and I can go without too much anxiety. The conditions are hard, but, taken all round, they are better than I hoped; and Stilemonde will not suffer unduly from the occupation. In any case, its fate is almost enviable, compared with that of many other towns. It owes this favour largely to Otto’s presence. He really did all he could without dangerously compromising himself. I want to recognize this in your presence and to do him justice.... I have said good-bye to the sheriffs, the councillors and all my friends at the Town-hall. I was very much touched; I had no idea that they cared so much for me. Sheriff Vermandel was really quite distressing: I’ve never seen a man look so sad. He clung to me, wanted to die in my place. I had the greatest difficulty in making him understand that it was not his turn and that his sacrifice would be impossible and useless. Father de Coninck, the Rector of St. John the Baptist’s, arrived at the end of the meeting and asked the Major why he had not taken him for a hostage as well as myself. He said that it was an honour to which he was entitled. Splendid of him, the way he demanded his share. The Major replied that he would lose nothing by waiting. Say what you will, there are good men left in the world. (Looking at the clock.) Half-past five. We have an hour and a half before us. But you have no time to lose, my dear Pierre; go and see to your affairs. I will wait here with my children until Otto returns. By the way, what has become of our wounded soldier, your friend Gilson? We have been forgetting him.

Firmin put him in the chauffeur’s room. I looked in there a moment ago. He was sleeping soundly, like a child, and he knows nothing.

So much the better. Be sure and keep an eye on him when I am gone, for he might commit some imprudence.

Make your mind easy; I’ll see to it. Au revoir, Mr. Burgomaster.

(Shaking hands with him.) Au revoir. Yes, perhaps we shall see each other again. (Exit the Secretary.) Otto has gone to make a last appeal to the Major. I have no great hope of his succeeding. I shall be leaving you soon, my dears, and I want to give you my last injunctions.

(Isabelle and Floris fling themselves into their father’s arms.)

Father!

Dad!

(Caressing them tenderly.) Don’t cry, dears; the time has not yet come. But we must provide for everything. My will is with Van Overloop, the solicitor. I have added certain safeguards against Otto, who, after all, is not a member of the family. You will find in the safe, over and above the fifty thousand francs put aside for the payment of the fine, ten thousand francs in ready money, which will enable you to live till better times come. Here, Isabelle, is the key. Don’t mention those ten thousand francs, either of you, to Otto. Isabelle’s position will be very difficult after the war. Flemish people have long memories and the national hatred will be so great that Otto will not be able to show his face here again.

I should hope not!

Hold your tongue, Floris; show some pity for your sister; and, whatever happens, always remember that she is your sister.... But here comes Otto; he will tell us the latest.

(Enter Otto.)

(Running towards him.) Well? Did you succeed? Have you done it? Did you make him understand?

Not a thing! I begged, entreated, dragged myself at his feet, did and said what not another German officer would have done. Not a thing, not a thing! He ended by commanding my silence in such a tone that it was impossible to insist.

You must try again! You give in too soon: that’s not the way to obtain what one wants! If you had let me go with you, as I implored you, he would have ended by yielding, I know he would! After all, he may be a German, but he’s a man, for all that! Come along. I want to go with you. If you won’t come, I’ll go alone!

It’s no use, he won’t see us.

Did you say all there was to say? You have influence in Germany; your family is rich and powerful; you’ve told me so again and again. You must frighten him, make him feel uneasy, threaten him, anything!

Threaten him! You don’t realize; you don’t know what things are. I saw that his patience was exhausted.... But I haven’t told you everything. There’s something else, something worse.

Something worse? Worse than what? What can be worse than death?

Yes, he has discovered something worse; and perhaps it is not his fault. He is, as we all are, the slave of discipline and of the military regulations. He does not like me as much, perhaps, as he liked von Schaunberg, for I don’t belong to his class. But I do not believe that he wishes me any ill. He was always a little distant to me, perhaps, but on the whole, up to now, he has been very just. He is not a bad sort of man; he is one of our most humane officers; but what he wants to make me do is terrible.

But what is it, what? There is nothing more for us to fear. Nothing worse can happen than what has happened already. He is not going to revive torture, I suppose? Does he want more victims? There are no lives more precious than our father’s. Does he want you and me? I would rather have that. We will all die together. Of what good will life be, after this?

He does not ask for other victims, but his orders are.... No, I can’t say it, I daren’t say it, to you!

But what is it that he wants? Do speak, speak, tell us! Why all this mystery? What can you say, worse than already is? If I lose my father, I shall have nothing left to lose.

She is right; it is cruel of you to keep her on tenterhooks like this. You see how upset she is. Say what you have to say; tell us. You cannot add much to what we know already.

You are right. Very well, he orders, he demands that I myself shall command the firing-party.

The firing-party, the men who are to shoot my father?

Yes.

The scoundrel, the villain!

You, Otto, you? It’s not true! He can’t have dared! It’s impossible! And you didn’t rebel, you didn’t lash him across the face, you didn’t cut him down with your sword, your eyes said nothing of what was passing in your soul? I refuse to believe it! There has been nothing like this in any war in history! Why, it’s not possible! It’s only a test! He wanted to find out how far he could go; but he knows quite well that no man, no man in the world, not even a German, could agree to that!... Well, what did you answer? I hope that by this time he knows what to expect and that, though you have had the misfortune to be born in Germany, you are still different from the rest of them!

The worst of it is that he is obliged to do what he is doing. I am the only officer he has with him. It’s the regulation: he can’t act differently.

He can’t act differently!... And you dare tell me that, just as though you approved!... But you, you, what did you say, what did you do and what do you intend to do?

I told him it was impossible.

That’s something, at last! It’s the first word which was worthy of you, which was worthy of the man I married!... And what did he reply? He didn’t insist, of course?

He told me that he would give me till seven o’clock to think it over. If at seven o’clock precisely I am not at the head of my men in the little yard behind the stables, he will have me arrested, place me against the wall beside your father and will himself command the party which will execute both sentences.

Good! I shall go and stand between the two of you. He will order three volleys and it will be finished. After all, life has become impossible.

I shall go too.

And “the man is not a bad sort,” you say! “He’s one of your most humane officers!”

It’s war!

And who started the war?

As far as you Belgians were concerned, you did! And many of us were sore at heart when we found that we had to march against you. But you wanted it! Ah, that beloved king of yours did a fine stroke of work, on the day when he blocked the way to a peaceful army of men, who merely asked to pass through the country as friends.

Silence! Our king’s wishes were the wishes of every one of us; and if to-morrow we had to do once more what we have done to-day, you would find us in the same place, among our ruins, our martyrs and our dead, ready to begin all over again.

Tell your horrible Kaiser to put that in his pipe and smoke it!

(Suddenly drawing himself up, in a threatening attitude.) Mind what you’re saying!

Come, come, stop this fooling and let us talk sense. We must not lose our self-control. The Major is a monster, a brute, anything you please; but, placed as he is, he’s right. He’s obeying the regulations; and, again in his position, he can’t act differently.... I will ask Otto once again, is it quite certain that he will not reconsider his decision? People often change their minds at the last moment; and even the most obstinate man will let himself think.

As I know him—and I have known him for more than ten years—he will have everything carried out exactly as he has decided.

Can’t he have the firing-party commanded by a sergeant?

He won’t do it. In anything relating to the army orders, he is inflexible. Besides, on second thoughts, I am not sure that I did not go too far just now when I said that he had nothing against me. I have sometimes observed a certain ill-will, almost a certain animosity, where I was concerned. I don’t quite know to what to ascribe it. It may be that the plebeian prosperity of my family offends his patrician poverty. It may be that, as I took my wife from this country, he suspects me of being too fond of its inhabitants. Or, more likely still, he may have other reasons into which I do not care to enter. The fact remains that he would not be sorry to find me at fault or at least to put me to the test and to make that test a striking example, which will teach our soldiers once more what German discipline can do.

And if I asked him to grant me the favour of giving the word to fire?

I thought of that. He refused peremptorily, refused as a matter of course, said that it was an honour which could not be shown to a rebel and a traitor.

A traitor?

Yes, Floris, they call traitors all those who do not betray their country for Germany’s benefit.

He added that it was also against all the regulations, so it became useless for me to insist.

Very good. What do you intend to do?

Whatever Isabelle decides.

And what will you have him do, Isabelle?

Refuse to obey.

Why, of course!

And, if you refuse to obey, Otto, do you think that your refusal will alter my fate at all?

I am convinced—I am sorry to say it—that nothing could alter it in any way whatever.

On the other hand, if he refuses to obey, do you, Isabelle, fully realize the consequences? He will at once be arrested and shot by my side. That is so, Otto, is it not?

There is not the least doubt of it.

Is that what you wish, Isabelle? He will die at the same time that I do.

And at the same time that I do.

It is not sure that they will permit you to die with us.

It would certainly be the first time that they had spared a woman. You need have no fear on that score. In any case, this is my affair; and we need say no more about that.

Do you accept, Otto?

I accept, in so far as I am concerned, that is to say, I shall refuse to obey; but I do not agree to letting my death involve Isabelle’s.

Therefore, by ordering you to disobey, Isabelle is sending you to face the firing-party. She has no right to do that, unless she is absolutely determined not to survive you. If a woman deliberately and of her own free will—for that is what you are doing, Isabelle—sends a man to his death and does not go with him, after explicitly promising to share his fate, then she is guilty of one of the most odious and cowardly acts of treachery which she could possibly commit. Reflect, both of you. It is a question of taking, in my presence, a solemn and irrevocable pledge.

I have thought it all out. The pledge is taken.

Then Otto will die in an hour’s time and you with him? Is that exactly what you wish?

It is exactly what I wish and all that I wish.

Do you accept, Otto?

I accept, since Isabelle wishes it.

(A pause.)

Good. Each of you is worthy of the other. You have proved to me that you love me and that you love each other better than life.... Now that the proof is established and your sacrifice fulfilled as much as though death had come to you, we have nothing more to fear and we can speak freely. In all this nightmare there is only one death which is necessary and inevitable; and that is mine. Your own deaths depend only upon ourselves, that is to say, they must not take place.... Isabelle, my darling, if I were lying on my death-bed at this moment, you would not refuse to hear and carry out my last wishes. I am before you now, standing on my feet, but as near to my end as though I were stretched upon a bed of sickness. (The clock strikes six.) Hark! Six o’clock! You see how close it is. Besides, I have what dying men, whose minds are often dulled, do not always have, the full possession of my mental faculties. The wish which I am about to express, the request which I am about to make of both of you, must therefore be all the more sacred. Do you promise me, Isabelle, as you would promise a dying man, to perform piously what I am going to ask of you?

I know beforehand what you are going to ask; and I cannot promise you to order the man I married to become the murderer of his father and mine.

Isabelle, at a moment like this we must not juggle with words which do not express what they say and which distort the truth most dreadfully. Otto has revealed to us the only truth that counts, by proving that he is ready to sacrifice his life not only to save mine, if that were possible, but even to spare you the pain of seeing him become the instrument—to some extent the accidental, involuntary, irresponsible instrument—of my death. It is for you and me to show ourselves worthy of that sacrifice by not accepting it.

If I did not accept it, I should not be worthy of being your daughter.

Words, more words, Isabelle, which do not touch the truth. We have no time to waste on sentences which do not say the things that have to be said. The minutes are slipping by, there are very few left; and I should not like to die before convincing you. Otto—you know it as well as I do—is caught in the cogs of the machine and cannot extricate himself. This is enough to justify him. He is no more responsible for the harm which he will do me than the sword which he carries or the twelve rifles which will discharge their bullets at me. We must look at things as they are and rise above hackneyed phrases and theories which show things to us as they are not. If his refusal could delay my execution for a day, for an hour, I could in the last resort understand your decision; but it will not delay it for three minutes. Whether it be he or another who gives the word of command, the ten or twelve bullets that enter my body will do it the same hurt.

Enough, enough!

No, it is not enough: you have not yet promised me.

I can’t promise.

Isabelle!

What is it?

(Flinging himself into his sister’s arms.) I don’t know!

I have done my duty, Isabelle, and you have approved. I have made the sacrifice of my life; and I have made it much more easily than I dared hope, for I did not know that I had so much courage. But I am no hero; I am only a poor man who was quite unprepared to do what I am going to do to-day. You must not ask too much of me. There are limits to my strength. I am not used to suffering, I have not been in the habit of braving misfortune. I can bear my own unhappiness, but not that of others; and I feel that I shall not hold out to the end without breaking down, if my death is to involve the loss of the most precious of the lives which I thought I had ransomed. You must spare me one intolerable sorrow that can still move me. You ought to understand this. You ought to help me. And, instead of helping me, you are both of you making it more difficult for me! Don’t you want your father to hold up his head when he faces the enemy? I was not afraid of death for myself, but I am for you. Do not weaken the strength which I shall need very soon. I have made the sacrifice of my own life, but not of your two lives: that would mean a twofold death to me and threefold suffering; and the courage which I have called up will not be enough if I see you fall by my side.

(Sobbing and throwing herself into her father’s arms.) Father!

I thought that there would be tears for me, Isabelle. They prove that you are becoming reasonable and will no longer resist me.

I can’t do it, I can’t do it, I shall never be able to do it!

But you must. Time presses; and you are making the last few minutes of my life seem even more cruel than death.

There are chances still. There is flight.

Flight?... Whither?... How?... The house is guarded.

The men who guard it are under Otto’s orders. He has only to give a command.

Otto is answerable for my safe custody. If I run away, he will take my place against the wall.

He can run away too.

And both of us be caught before we have gone two hundred yards? The tragedy would be the same; only it would be less seemly. And, if I did succeed in escaping, too many others would pay the penalty. Of all the chances of safety, this obviously is the only one that must on no account be attempted. No, I am driven into a corner, I am marked down; it is all over; and you must look upon me as dead. I have come to the end of my days; those which were worth living are past. I am not dying too soon; I had nothing more to wait for. Instead of a lingering, troublesome death, a painful, miserable death on a bed, I am offered a quick and sudden end, an honourable end, free from thought or suffering, and one which perhaps will save half the town. I should be mad to hesitate or to regret not dying in my bed. I too have been afraid of death. If any one had ever told me that one evening I should have to face it as I am doing now, I should not have dared to go on living. Whereas now I hardly give it a thought; I have to make an effort, to force myself, to concentrate my mind upon it in order to realize that, after all, perhaps it is somewhat serious and not what we had expected. Looked at from a distance, death seems like some horrible mountain, which shuts out the horizon; but, as we draw near, it dwindles and sinks away; and, when we are face to face with it, it is nothing.

Well, if it is nothing, let us die with you.

It is nothing to me, because I was nearing my end; and, above all, it is nothing because it is necessary. But to you two it is everything, because it is purposeless and because your life is beginning.

Our life is beginning. Ah, a beautiful life, a life that begins like this!

It will be what you make of it. But enough! I have begged, entreated and argued. The seconds are flying and I am wasting the last of them in quarrelling with you instead of pressing you to my heart. Yes or no, will you do what I ask? I appeal to Otto: his silence shows that he understands. He sees things now as you will see them later, as I see them and as we are bound to see them. One day you will thank us both for not listening to you to-day. But we must have done with this; and there are certain precautions which we must take to protect you against yourself and the strain of the final moment. I am going to lock you in this room and I shall give the key of the door to Otto, who will let you out when all is over.

Lock me in here, while...? I won’t have it, I won’t have it!

You surely will not compel Otto and me to use violence, to push you back by force, to struggle with you? That would be too dreadful! Look at me! Can’t you see that I am using up all my strength, my last atom of strength, that I am dying ten deaths, rather than one, because of you? Look! I can scarcely hold myself up! It is more than I can bear, it is too much for me: will you not understand?

(Falls sobbing into her father’s arms.) I too cannot bear it any more.... Do what you will!... I promise whatever you ask of me!

At last my own daughter has come back to me! And now let me give you one long, long kiss, free from any thought of pain or sorrow. You will both of you live. I feel as I might if I had been reprieved. But remember that you have given your promise to a dying man. And, my dear one, I want something more. I am not asking you to forget: that does not depend on yourself. Nor to forgive Otto: there is nothing to forgive. I simply ask you not to shut him out from your heart. Is that a promise also?

(Faintly.) Yes.

Come and kiss her, Otto.

(Starting.) No, no!... Not now!...

He is more to be pitied than either of us two. He is bearing the chief burden of this dreadful ordeal; and I doubt if, in his place, I should have the strength to bear that burden. We must have pity. You will learn, slowly, to love him once more as you have loved him until this day.... Besides, you will probably soon become a mother. The child that is to be born must not become the last and most sorrowful victim of this tragedy. I know that, at first, life will be very sad for you and very difficult. Wait patiently. Listen humbly to what it says. Life is always right. It is full of indulgence and good-will and very soon forgets what should be forgotten. (The clock strikes seven.) Seven o’clock. I hear some one knocking at the door. My time is up. They have come to fetch us, Otto. Let us embrace each other for the last time, Isabelle. Come to my arms, Floris. You’re a man now. I entrust your sister to you. We have been very fond of one another.... Come, Otto, we must not keep them waiting. (He turns to the door.)

(Clinging to his clothes.) No, no!... Not yet!... I can’t bear it!... I want to go with you!...

(Releasing himself.) Not a word!... Not a cry!... I could not endure more than I am doing.... Floris, look to your sister.

(He pushes Isabelle away and goes out with Otto, locking the door behind him. A pause. Isabelle falls to the floor, where she lies half-supported by Floris and sobbing.)

(Caressing her.) Don’t cry, dearest. We shall be revenged, we shall be revenged!... We shall be revenged!

(Draws herself up, looks around her and suddenly rises and runs to the door.) No, no, I can’t have it!

(Catching her up.) What are you doing? What do you want to do?

I want ... I want to call out, to cry, to throw myself at his feet, to kill myself in front of him.... One never knows.... There are things left to try.... (She shakes the door.) They’ve locked it!... (She runs to the window, opens it, measures the height with her eyes and instinctively steps back. Floris, who has followed her, throws his arms round her waist and drags her into the room.)

You see, it’s too high.

(Returning to the door and shaking it violently.) I can’t open it!... I can’t open it!... Ah, if I were only there!... One never knows until the last moment!... I must get to him, I must get to him!... (A volley is fired. She steps back in horror.) It’s done, it’s done, it’s done!... They’ve killed him!... They’ve killed what was best in the wide world!... I shall never see him again, I shall never see him again!

(Supported by Floris, she staggers to a chair, where she sits huddled, staring before her, dry-eyed. Floris puts his arms round her and, with his cheek against hers, rocks her to and fro, whispering, “Dearest, dearest, dearest!” A pause. The door opens and the Major and Otto appear on the threshold.)

(Ceremoniously.) Madam, I have done your father the honour of myself taking command of the firing-party. All I wanted was that your husband should prove his respect for discipline to the end! I give him back to you; you have nothing to blame him for. Everything went off very well, in a most correct and satisfactory manner. Your father died like a hero.... And now, Lieutenant Hilmer, go and embrace your wife....

(Suddenly drawing herself to her full height.) Go away!... Go away, both of you!...

What, I too, Isabelle?... But you don’t understand....

I understand everything, I understand too much, it’s you who will never understand anything!...

(Coming towards her.) But, Isabelle!...

(Shrinking back.) Don’t touch me!... Go away!... Don’t touch me!... Go! It’s over ... for good!...

(Stamping his foot.) She’s right! She’s right! She’s right!... Kiss me, kiss me! Let me kiss you!... It’s we two now, you and I!...

(To Otto.) Let them be; I want you. I hear they’re attacking on the Oostwinkel side.... You’ve done your duty, Hilmer. This is incomprehensible. But they’re all more or less mad in this country....