Evening in Melchior's study. The window is open, a lamp burns on the table.—Melchior and Moritz on the divan.
Moritz.
Now I'm quite gay again, only a little bit excited.——But during the Greek lesson I slept like the besotted Polyphemus. I'm astonished that the pronunciation of the ancient tongue doesn't give me the earache.——To-day I was within a hair of being late——My first thought on waking was of the verbs in ?——Himmel—Herrgott—Teufel—Donnerwetter, during breakfast and all along the road I conjugated until I saw green.——I must have popped off to sleep shortly after three. My pen made a blot in the book. The lamp was smoking when Mathilde woke me; the blackbirds in the elder bushes under the window were chirping so happily——and I felt so inexpressibly melancholy. I put on my collar and passed the brush through my hair.——One feels it when one imposes upon nature.
Melchior.
May I roll you a cigarette?
Moritz.
Thanks, I don't smoke.——If it only keeps on this way! I will work and work until my eyes fall out of my head.——Ernest RÖbel has failed three times since vacation; three times in Greek, twice with Knochenbruch; the last time in the history of literature. I have been first five times in this lamentable conflict, and from to-day it does not bother me!——RÖbel will not shoot himself. RÖbel has no parents who sacrifice everything for him. If he wants he can become a soldier, a cowboy or a sailor. If I fail, my father will feel the blow and Mamma will land in the madhouse. One can't live through a thing like that!——Before the examination I begged God to give me consumption that the cup might pass me by untouched. He passed me by, though to-day His aureole shines in the distance, so that I dare not lift my eyes by night or day.——Now that I have grasped the bar I shall swing up on it. The natural consequence will be that I shall break my neck if I fall.
Melchior.
Life is a worthless commonplace. It wouldn't have been a bad idea if I had hanged myself in the cradle.——Why doesn't Mamma come with the tea!
Moritz.
Your tea will do me good, Melchior!——I'm shivering. I feel so strangely spiritualized. Touch me once, please. I see,—I hear,—I feel, much more acutely——and yet everything seems like a dream——oh, so harmonious.——How still the garden stretches out there in the moonlight, so still, so deep, as if it extended to eternity. From out the bushes step indefinable figures that slip away in breathless officiousness through the clearings and then vanish in the twilight. It seems to me as if a counsel were to be held under the chestnut tree.——Shall we go down there, Melchior?
Melchior.
Let's wait until we have drunk our tea.
Moritz.
The leaves whisper so busily.——It's just as if I heard my dead grandmother telling me the story of the “Queen Without a Head.” There was once a wonderfully beautiful Queen, beautiful as the sun, more beautiful than all the maidens in the country. Only, unfortunately, she came into the world without a head. She could not eat, not drink, not kiss. She could only communicate with her courtiers by using her soft little hand. With her dainty feet she stamped declarations of war and orders for executions. Then, one day, she was besieged by a King, who, by chance, had two heads, which, year in and year out, disputed with one another so violently that neither could get a word in edgewise. The Court Conjurer-in-chief took off the smallest of these heads and set it upon the Queen's body. And, behold, it became her extraordinarily well! Therefore, the King and the Queen were married, and the two heads disputed no longer, but kissed each other upon the brow, the cheeks and the mouth, and lived thereafter through long, long years of joy and peace.——Delectable nonsense! Since vacation I can't get the headless Queen out of my mind. When I see a pretty girl, I see her without a head——and then presently, I, myself appear to be the headless Queen.——It is possible that someone may be set over me yet.
(Frau Gabor comes in with the steaming tea, which she sets before Melchior and Moritz on the table.)
Frau Gabor.
Here, children, here's a mouthful for you. Good-evening, Herr Stiefel, how are you?
Moritz.
Thank you, Frau Gabor.——I'm watching the dance down there.
Frau Gabor.
But you don't look very good——don't you feel well?
Moritz.
It's not worth mentioning. I went to bed somewhat too late last night.
Melchior.
Only think, he worked all through the night.
Frau Gabor.
You shouldn't do such things, Herr Stiefel. You ought to take care of yourself. Think of your health. Don't set your school above your health. Take plenty of walks in the fresh air. At your age, that is more important than a correct use of middle high German.
Moritz.
I will go walking. You are right. One can be industrious while one is taking a walk. Why didn't I think of that myself!——The written work I shall still have to do at home.
Melchior.
You can do your writing here; that will make it easier for both of us.——You know, Mamma, that Max von Trenk has been down with brain fever!——To-day at noon Hans Rilow came from von Trenk's deathbed to announce to Rector Sonnenstich that von Trenk had just died in his presence. “Indeed?” said Sonnenstich, “haven't you two hours from last week to make up? Here is the beadle's report. See that the matter is cleared up once for all! The whole class will attend the burial.”——Hans was struck dumb.
Frau Gabor.
What book is that you have, Melchior?
Melchior.
“Faust.”
Frau Gabor.
Have you read it yet?
Melchior.
Not to the end.
Moritz.
We're just at the Walpurgisnacht.
Frau Gabor.
If I were you I should have waited for one or two years.
Melchior.
I know of no book, Mamma, in which I have found so much beauty. Why shouldn't I read it?
Frau Gabor.
Because you can't understand it.
Melchior.
You can't know that, Mamma. I feel very well that I am not yet able to grasp the work in its entirety——
Moritz.
We always read together; that helps our understanding wonderfully.
Frau Gabor.
You are old enough, Melchior, to be able to know what is good and what is bad for you. Do what you think best for yourself. I should be the first to acknowledge your right in this respect, because you have never given me a reason to have to deny you anything. I only want to warn you that even the best can do one harm when one isn't ripe enough in years to receive it properly.——I would rather put my trust in you than in conventional educational methods.——If you need anything, children, you, Melchior, come up and call me. I shall be in my bedroom.
(Exit.)
Moritz.
Your Mamma means the story of Gretchen.
Melchior.
Weren't we discussing it just a moment ago!
Moritz.
Faust himself cannot have deserted her in cold blood!
Melchior.
The masterpiece does not end with this infamous action!——Faust might have promised the maiden marriage, he might have forsaken her afterwards, but in my eyes he would have been not a hair less worthy of punishment. Gretchen might have died of a broken heart for all I care.——One sees how this attracts the eyes continually; one might think that the whole world turned on sex![2]
Moritz.
To be frank with you, Melchior, I have almost the same feeling since I read your explanation.——It fell at my feet during the first vacation days. I was startled. I fastened the door and flew through the flaming lines as a frightened owl flies through a burning wood——I believe I read most of it with my eyes shut. Your explanation brought up a host of dim recollections, which affected me as a song of his childhood affects a man on his deathbed when heard from the lips of another. I felt the most vehement pity over what you wrote about maidens. I shall never lose that sensation. Believe me, Melchior, to suffer a wrong is sweeter than to do a wrong. To be overcome by such a sweet wrong and still be blameless seems to me the fullness of earthly bliss.
Melchior.
I don't want my bliss as alms!
Moritz.
But why not?
Melchior.
I don't want anything for which I don't have to fight!
Moritz.
Is it enjoyable then, Melchior?——The maiden's enjoyment is as that of the holy gods. The maiden controls herself, thanks to her self-denial. She keeps herself free from every bitterness until the last moment, in order that she may see the heavens open over her in an instant. The maiden fears hell even at the moment that she perceives a blooming paradise. Her feeling is as pure as a mountain spring. The maiden holds a cup over which no earthly breath has blown as yet; a nectar chalice, the contents of which is spilled when it flames and flares.——The enjoyment that the man finds in that, I think, is insipid and flat.
Melchior.
You can think what you like about it, but keep your thoughts to yourself——I don't like to think about it.
SCENE SECOND.
Frau Bergmann.
(Enters by the center door. Her face is beaming. She is without a hat, wears a mantilla on her head and has a basket on her arm.)
Wendla! Wendla!
Wendla.
(Appears in petticoats and corset in the doorway to the right.)
What's the matter, Mother?
Frau Bergmann.
You are up already, child? Now, that is nice of you!
Wendla.
You have been out already?
Frau Bergmann.
Get dressed quickly!——You must go down to Ina's at once. You must take her this basket!
Wendla.
(Dressing herself during the following conversation.)
You have been to Ina's?—How is Ina?—Is she ever going to get better?
Frau Bergmann.
Only think, Wendla, last night the stork paid her a visit and brought her a little baby boy!
Wendla.
A little boy?——A little boy!——Oh, that's lovely!——That's the cause of that tedious influenza!
Frau Bergmann.
A fine little boy!
Wendla.
I must see him, Mother. That makes me an aunt for the third time——aunt to a little girl and two little boys!
Frau Bergmann.
And what little boys!——It always happens that way when one lives so near the church roof!——To-morrow will be just two years since she went up the steps in her mull gown.
Wendla.
Were you there when he brought him?
Frau Bergmann.
He had just flown away again.——Won't you put on a rose?
Wendla.
Why couldn't you have been a little earlier, Mother?
Frau Bergmann.
I almost believe he brought you something, too——a breastpin or something.
Wendla.
It's really a shame!
Frau Bergmann.
But, I tell you, he brought you a breastpin!
Wendla.
I have breastpins enough——
Frau Bergmann.
Then be happy, child. What do you want besides?
Wendla.
I would have liked so much to have known whether he flew through the window or down the chimney.
Frau Bergmann.
You must ask Ina. Ha! You must ask Ina that, dear heart! Ina will tell you that fast enough. Ina talked with him for a whole half hour.
Wendla.
I will ask Ina when I get there.
Frau Bergmann.
Now don't forget, sweet angel! I'm interested myself to know if he came in through the window or by the chimney.
Wendla.
Or hadn't I better ask the chimney-sweep?——The chimney-sweep must know best whether he flew down the chimney or not.
Frau Bergmann.
Not the chimney-sweep, child; not the chimney-sweep. What does the chimney-sweep know about the stork! He'd tell you a lot of foolishness he didn't believe himself——Wha——what are you staring at down there in the street?
Wendla.
A man, Mother,——three times as big as an ox!——with feet like steamboats——!
Frau Bergmann.
(Rushing to the window.)
Impossible! Impossible!
Wendla.
(At the same time.)
He holds a bedslat under his chin and fiddles “Die Wacht am Rhein” on it——there, he's just turned the corner.——
Frau Bergmann.
You are, and always will be a foolish child!——To frighten your old simple mother that way!——Go get your hat! I wonder when you will understand things. I've given up hope of you.
Wendla.
So have I, Mother dear, so have I. It's a sad thing about my understanding.——I have a sister who has been married for two and a half years, I myself have been made an aunt for the third time, and I haven't the least idea how it all comes about.——Don't be cross, Mother dear, don't be cross! Whom in the world should I ask but you! Please tell me, dear Mother! Tell me, dear Mother! I'm ashamed for myself. Please, Mother, speak! Don't scold me for asking you about it. Give me an answer——How does it happen?——How does it all come about?——You cannot really deceive yourself that I, who am fourteen years old, still believe in the stork.
Frau Bergmann.
Good. Lord, child, but you are peculiar!——What ideas you have!——I really can't do that!
Wendla.
But why not, Mother?——Why not?——It can't be anything ugly if everybody is delighted over it!
Frau Bergmann.
O——O God protect me!——I deserve——Go get dressed, child, go get dressed!
Wendla.
I'll go——And suppose your child went and asked the chimney-sweep?
Frau Bergmann.
But that would be madness!——Come here, child, come here, I'll tell you! I'll tell you everything——O Almighty Goodness!——only not to-day, Wendla!——To-morrow, the next day, next week——any time you want, dear heart——
Wendla.
Tell me to-day, Mother; tell me now! Right away!——Now that I have seen you so frightened I can never be peaceful until you do.
Frau Bergmann.
I can't do it, Wendla.
Wendla.
Oh, why can't you, Mother dear!——I will kneel here at your feet and lay my head in your lap. You can cover my head with your apron and talk and talk, as if you were entirely alone in the room. I won't move, I won't cry, I will bear all patiently, no matter what may come.
Frau Bergmann.
Heaven knows, Wendla, that I am not to blame! Heaven knows it!——Come here in God's name! I will tell you, child, how you came into this world.——Listen to me, Wendla.——
Wendla.
(Under the apron.)
I'm listening.
Frau Bergmann.
(Extatically.)
But it's no use, child!——I can't justify it. I deserve to be put into prison——to have you taken from me.
Wendla.
Take heart, Mother!
Frau Bergmann.
Listen, then——!
Wendla.
(Trembling under the apron.)
O God! O God!
Frau Bergmann.
In order to have a child——do you understand me, Wendla?
Wendla.
Quick, Mother, I can't stand it much longer.
Frau Bergmann.
In order to have a child——one must love—the man—to whom one is married—love him, I tell you—as one can only love a man! One must love him so much with one's whole heart, so—so that one can't describe it! One must love him, Wendla, as you at your age are still unable to love——Now you know it!
Wendla.
(Getting up.)
Great——God——in heaven!
Frau Bergmann.
Now you know what an ordeal awaits you!
Wendla.
And that is all?
Frau Bergmann.
As true as God helps me!——Take your basket now and go to Ina. You will get chocolate and cakes there.——Come, let's look you over, the laced shoes, the silk gloves, the sailor blouse, the rose in your hair—your dress is really becoming much too short for you, Wendla!
Wendla.
Did you get meat for lunch, Mother?
Frau Bergmann.
The Good God protect and bless you——I will find an opportunity to add a handbreadth of flounces to the bottom.
SCENE THIRD.
Hans Rilow.
(With a light in his hand, fastens the door behind him and opens the lid.)
“Have you prayed to-night, Desdemona?” (He takes a reproduction of the Venus of Palma Vecchio from his bosom.)——Thou wilt not appear to me after the Our Father, darling,——as in that moment of anticipated bliss when I saw thee contemplatively expectant of someone's coming, lying in Jonathan Schlesinger's shop window——just as enticing as thou art now, with these supple limbs, these softly arched hips, these plump, youthful breasts.——Oh how intoxicated with joy the great master must have been when his glance strayed over the fourteen-year-old original stretched out upon the divan!
Wilt thou not visit me for awhile in my dreams? I will receive thee with widely open arms and will kiss thee until thou art breathless. Thou drawest me onward as the enchanted princess in her deserted castle. Portals and doors open themselves as if by an unseen hand, while the fountain in the park below begins to splash joyously——
“It is the cause!——It is the cause!” The frightful beating in my breast shows thee that I do not murder thee from frivolous emotion. The thought of my lonely nights is strangling me. I swear to thee, child, on my soul, that it is not satiety which rules me. Who could ever boast of being satiated of thee!
But thou suckest the marrow from my bones, thou bendest my back, thou robbest my youthful eyes of their last spark of brilliancy.——Thou art so arrogant toward me in thy inhuman modesty, so galling with thy immovable limbs!——Thou or I! And I have won the victory.
Suppose I count them——all those who sleep, with whom I have fought the same battle here——: Psyche by Thumann—another bequest from the spindle-shanked Mademoiselle Angelique, that rattlesnake in the paradise of my childhood; Io by Corregio; Galathea by Lossow; then a Cupid by Bouguereau; Ada by J. van Beers—that Ada whom I had to abduct from a secret drawer in Papa's secretary in order to incorporate in my harem; a trembling, modest Leda by Makart, whom I found by chance among my brother's college books——seven, thou blooming candidate for death, have preceded thee upon this path to Tartarus. Let that be a consolation unto thee, and seek not to increase my torments at this enormity by that fleeting look.
Thou diest not for thy sins, thou diest on account of mine!——As protection against myself I go to my seventh wife-murder with a bleeding heart. There is something tragic in the rÔle of Bluebeard. I believe the combined sufferings of his murdered wives did not equal the torments he underwent each time he strangled one of them.
But my thoughts will become more peaceful, my body will strengthen itself, when thou, thou little devil, residest no longer in the red satin padding of my jewel case. In place of thee, I will indulge in wanton joyousness with Bodenhausen's Lurlei or Linger's Forsaken One, or Defregger's Loni—so I should be all the quicker! But a quarter of a year more, perhaps thy unveiled charms, sweet soul, would begin to consume my poor head as the sun does a pat of butter. It is high time to declare the divorce from bed and board.
Brrr! I feel a Heliogablus within me? Moritura me salutat! Maiden, maiden, why dost thou press thy knees together?——Why now of all times?——In face of the inscrutable eternity?——A movement and I will spare thy life!——A womanly emotion, a sign of passion, of sympathy, maiden!——I will frame thee in gold, and hang thee over my bed! Doest thou not guess that only thy chastity begets my debauchery?——Woe, woe, unto the inhuman ones!——
One always perceives that they received an exemplary education——It is just so with me.
“Have you prayed to-night, Desdemona?”
My heart contracts,——madness!——St. Agnes also died for her reserve and was not half as naked as thou!——Another kiss upon thy blooming body——upon thy childish swelling breast—upon thy sweetly rounded—thy cruel knees——
“It is the cause, it is the cause, my soul, Let me not name it to you, you chaste stars! It is the cause!”——
(The picture falls into the depths, he shuts the lid.)
FOURTH SCENE.
A haymow. Melchior lies on his back in the fresh hay. Wendla comes up the ladder.
Wendla.
Here's where you've hid yourself?——They're all hunting for you. The wagon is outside again. You must help. There's a storm coming up.
Melchior.
Go away from me! Go away from me!
Wendla.
What's the matter with you?——Why are you hiding your face?
Melchior.
Out! out! I'll throw you down on the floor below.
Wendla.
Now for certain I'm not going.—(Kneels down by him.) Why won't you come out with me into the meadow, Melchior?——Here it is hot and dark. Suppose we do get wet to the skin, what difference will that make to us!
Melchior.
The hay smells so fine.——The sky outside must be as black as a pall——I only see the brilliant poppy on your breast——and I hear your heart beating——
Wendla.
Don't kiss me, Melchior!——Don't kiss me!
Melchior.
Your heart——I hear beating——
Wendla.
People love——when they kiss——Don't, don't!
Melchior.
Oh, believe me, there's no such thing as love! Everything is selfishness, everything is egotism!——I love you as little as you love me.
Wendla.
Don't——don't, Melchior!——
Melchior.
Wendla!
Wendla.
Oh, Melchior!——Don't, don't——
FIFTH SCENE.
Frau Gabor.
(Sits writing.)
Dear Herr Stiefel:—After twenty-four hours of consideration and reconsideration of all you have written me, I take up my pen with a heavy heart. I cannot furnish you with the necessary amount for the voyage to America—I give you my word of honor. In the first place, I have not that much to my credit, and in the second place, if I had, it would be the greatest sin imaginable for me to put into your hands the means of accomplishing such an ill-considered measure. You will be doing me a bitter wrong, Herr Stiefel, if you see a sign of lack of love in my refusal. On the contrary, it would be the greatest neglect of my duty as your motherly friend were I to allow myself to be affected by your temporary lack of determination, so that I also lost my head and blindly followed my first fleeting impulse. I am very ready—in case you desire it—to write to your parents. I should seek to convince your parents that you have done what you could during this quarter, that you have exhausted your strength, that a rigorous judgment of your case would not only be inadvisable, but might be in the greatest degree prejudicial to your mental and bodily health.
That you imply a threat to take your own life in case flight is impossible for you, to speak plainly, has somewhat surprised me. No matter how undeserving is a misfortune, Herr Stiefel, one should never choose improper means to escape it. The way in which you, to whom I have always done only good, want to make me responsible for a possible frightful action on your part, has something about it which, in the eyes of an evil-thinking person, might be misconstrued very easily. I must confess that this outbreak of yours—you who know so well what one owes to oneself—is the last thing for which I was prepared. However, I cherish the strong conviction that you are laboring yet too much under the shock of your first fright to be able to understand completely your action.
And, therefore, I hope with confidence that these words of mine will find you already in better spirits. Take up the matter as it stands. In my opinion it is unwise to judge a young man by his school record. We have too many examples of bad students becoming distinguished men, and, on the other hand, of brilliant students not being at all remarkable in life. At any rate, I can assure you that your misfortune, as far as it lies with me, shall make no difference in your association with Melchior. On the contrary, it will afford me the greatest pleasure to see my son going with a young man who, let the world judge him as it will, is able to win my fullest sympathy.
And, therefore, hold your head high, Herr Stiefel!——Such a crisis as this comes to all of us and will soon be surmounted. If all of us had recourse to dagger or poison in such cases, there would soon be no men left in the world. Let me hear from you right soon again, and accept the heartfelt greetings of your unchanged
Motherly friend,
Fanny G.
SCENE SIXTH.
Bergmann's garden in the morning sunlight.
Wendla.
Why have you slipped out of the room?——To hunt violets!——Because Mother seems to laugh at me.——Why can't you bring your lips together any more?——I don't know.——Indeed I don't know, I can't find words——The path is like a velvet carpet, no pebbles, no thorns.——My feet don't touch the ground.——Oh, how I slept last night!
Here they are.——I become as grave as a nun at communion.——Sweet violets!——Peace, little mother, I will put on my long dress.——Oh God, if somebody would come upon whose neck I could fall and tell!
SCENE SEVEN.
Evening twilight. Light clouds in the sky. The path straggles through low bushes and coarse grass. The flow of the stream is heard in the distance.
Moritz.
Better and better.——I am not fit. Another may be able to climb to the top. I pull the door to behind me and step into the open.——I don't care enough about it to let myself be turned back.
I haven't succeeded in forcing my way. How shall I force my way now!——I have no contract with God. Let them make out of the thing what they will. I have been forced.——I do not hold my parents answerable. At the same time, the worst must fall upon them. They were old enough to know what they were doing. I was a weakling when I came into the world——or else I would have been wise enough to become another being. Why should I be forced to pay for the fact that the others were here already!
I must have fallen on my head——If anybody makes me a present of a mad dog I'll give him back a mad dog. And if he won't take back his mad dog, then I am human and——
I must have fallen on my head!
Man is born by chance and should not, after mature consideration——It is to shoot oneself dead!
The weather at least has shown itself considerate. The whole day it looked like rain and yet it has held off.——A rare peace rules in nature. Nowhere anything dazzling, exciting. Heaven and earth are like a transparent fabric. And everything seems so happy. The landscape is as sweet as the melody of a lullaby.——“Sleep, little prince, sleep on,” as FrÄulein Snandulia sang. It's a shame she holds her elbows so awkwardly!——I danced for the last time at the CÄcilienfest. Snandulia only dances with good matches.——Her silk dress was cut low in front and in the back. In the back, down to her girdle and in the front down——unconscionably low.——She couldn't have worn a chemise.———That might be something able to affect me yet.——More than half curiosity.——It must be a wonderful sensation——a feeling as if one were being carried through the rapids——I should never tell anybody that I was experiencing something untried before——I would act as if I had done it all.—There is something shameful in growing up to be a man without having learned the chief function of masculinity.——You come from Egypt, honorable sir, and have not seen the pyramids?!
I will not cry again to-day. I will not think of my burial again.——Melchior will lay a wreath on my coffin. Pastor Kahlbauch will console my parents. Rector Sonnenstich will cite examples from history.——It is possible that I shall not have a tombstone. I had wanted a snow-white marble urn on a pedestal of black syenite.——Thank God, I shall not miss them. Monuments are for the living, not for the dead.
I should need a whole year to say farewell to everything in my thoughts. I will not cry again. I am so happy to be able to look back without bitterness. How many beautiful evenings I have passed with Melchior!——under the osiers; at the forester's house; on the highway where the five lindens stand; on the Schlossberg, among the restful ruins of the Runenburg.——When the hour comes, I will think with all my might of whipped cream. Whipped cream doesn't stay firm. It falls and leaves a pleasant after-taste.——I had thought men were infinitely worse. I haven't found one who didn't want to do his best. Many have suffered with me on my own account.
I wander to the altar like the ancient Etrurian youth whose dying rattle bought his brothers' prosperity for the coming year.——I experience bit by bit the mysterious awe of liberation. I sob with sorrow over my lot.——Life has turned its cold shoulder to me. I see earnest, friendly glances luring me there in the distance, the headless queen, the headless queen—compassion awaiting me with open arms——Your commands concern minors; I carry my free ticket in myself. If the shell sinks, the butterfly flits from it; the delusion no longer holds.——You should drive no mad bargain with the swindle! The mists close in; life is bitter on the tongue.
Ilse.
(In torn clothing, a bright cloth about her head, grabs him by the shoulder from behind.)
What have you lost?
Moritz.
Ilse!
Ilse.
What are you hunting here?
Moritz.
Why did you frighten me so?
Ilse.
What are you hunting?——What have you lost?
Moritz.
Why did you frighten me so fearfully?
Ilse.
I'm coming from town.——I'm going home.
Moritz.
I don't know what I've lost.
Ilse.
Then seeking won't help you.
Moritz.
Sakerment, sakerment!
Ilse.
I haven't been home for four days.
Moritz.
Restless as a cat!
Ilse.
Because I have on my dancing slippers——Mother will make eyes!——Come to our house with me!
Moritz.
Where have you been strolling again?
Ilse.
With the Priapia!
Moritz.
Priapia?
Ilse.
With Nohl, with Fehrendorf, with Padinsky, with Lenz, Rank, SpÜhler—with all of them possible! Kling, kling——things were lively!
Moritz.
Do they paint you?
Ilse.
Fehrendorf painted me as a pillar saint. I am standing on a Corinthian capital. Fehrendorf, I tell you, is a gibbering idiot. The last time, I trod on one of his tubes. He wiped his brush on my hair. I fetched him a box on the ear. He threw his palette at my head. I upset the easel. He chased me all about the studio, over divans, tables and chairs, with his mahlstick. Behind the stove stood a sketch;——Be good or I'll tear it! He swore amnesty, and—and then kissed me promptly and frightfully, frightfully, I tell you.
Moritz.
Where do you spend the night when you stop in town?
Ilse.
Yesterday we were at Nohl's.——The day before with Bojokewitsch—Sunday with Oikonomopulos. We had champagne at Padinsky's. Valabregez had sold his “Woman Dead of the Pest.” Adolar drank out of the ash tray. Lenz sang the “Child's Murderer,” and Adolar pounded the guitar out of shape. I was so drunk they had to put me to bed.——Do you go to school yet, Moritz?
Moritz.
No, no,——I take my leave of it this quarter.
Ilse.
You are right. Ah, how time passes when one earns money!——Do you remember how we used to play robbers?——Wendla Bergmann and you and I and the others, when you used to come out in the evening and drink warm goat's milk at our house?——What is Wendla doing? I haven't seen her since the flood——What is Melchi Gabor doing?——Does he seem as deep thinking as ever?——We used to stand opposite each other during singing.
Moritz.
He philosophizes.
Ilse.
Wendla came to see us a while ago and brought Mother some presents. I sat that day for Isidor Landauer. He needed me for the Holy Mary, the Mother of God, with the Christ Child. He is a ninny and disagreeable. Hu, like a weathercock!——Have you a katzenjammer?
Moritz.
From last night!——We soaked like hippopotami. I staggered home at five o'clock.
Ilse.
One need only to look at you.——Were there any girls there?
Moritz.
Arabella, the beer nymph, an Andalusian. The landlord let all of us spend the whole night alone with her.
Ilse.
One only need look at you, Moritz!——I don't know what a katzenjammer's like. During the last carnival I went three days and three nights without going to bed or taking my clothes off. From the ball to the cafÉ, noon at Bellavista; evenings, Tingle-Tangle; night, to the ball. Lena was there, and the fat Viola.——The third night Heinrich found me.
Moritz.
Had he been looking for you?
Ilse.
He tripped over my arm. I lay senseless in the snow in the street.——That's how I went with him. For fourteen days I didn't leave his lodgings——a dreadful time! In the morning I had to throw on his Persian nightgown and in the evening go about the room in the black costume of a page; white lace ruffles at my neck, my knees and my wrists. Every day he photographed me in some new arrangement——once on the sofa as Ariadne, once as Leda, once as Ganymede, once on all fours as a feminine Nebuchadnezzar. Then he longed for murder, for shooting, suicide and coal gas. Early in the morning he brought a pistol into bed, loaded it full of shot and put it against my breast! A twitch and I'll pull!——Oh, he would have fired, Moritz, he would have fired!——Then he put the thing in his mouth like a blow-pipe.——That awoke the feeling of self-preservation. And then——brrr!——the shot might have gone through my spine.
Moritz.
Is Heinrich living yet?
Ilse.
How do I know!——Over the bed was a large mirror set into the ceiling. The room seemed as high as a tower and as bright as an opera house. One saw one's self hanging down bodily from heaven. I had frightful dreams at night——O God, O God, if it were only day!——Good-night, Ilse, when you are asleep you will be pretty to murder!
Moritz.
Is this Heinrich living yet?
Ilse.
Please God, no!——One day, when he went for absinthe, I put on the mantle and ran out into the street. The carnival was over; the police arrested me; what was I doing in man's clothes?——They took me to the Central Station. Nohl, Fehrendorf, Padinsky, SpÜhler, Oikonomopulos, the whole Priapia came there and bailed me out. They transported me in a cab to Adolar's studio. Since then I've been true to the herd. Fehrendorf is an ape, Nohl is a pig, Bojokewitsch an owl, Loison a hyena, Oikonomopulos a camel——therefore I love one and all of them the same and wouldn't attach myself to anyone else, even if the world were full of archangels and millionaires!
Moritz.
I must go back, Ilse.
Ilse.
Come as far as our house with me!
Moritz.
What for?——What for?——
Ilse.
To drink warm goat's milk! I will singe your hair and hang a little bell around your neck.——Then we have another kid with which you can play.
Moritz.
I must go back. I have yet the Sassanides, the Sermon on the Mount and the parallelepipedon on my thoughts.——Good-night, Ilse!
Ilse.
Sleep well!——Do you ever go to the wigwam where Melchi Gabor buried my tomahawk?——Brrr! until you are married I'll lie in the straw.
(Runs out.)
Moritz.
(Alone.)
It might have cost only a word.——(He calls)——Ilse?——Ilse!——Thank God she doesn't hear me any more.——I am not in the humor.——One needs a clear head and a happy heart for it.——What a lost opportunity!——I would have said that I had many crystal mirrors over my bed——that I had trained an unbroken filly——that I had her proudly march in front of me on the carpet in long black silk stockings and black patent leather shoes, long black gloves, black velvet about her neck——had strangled her in a moment of madness with my cushions. I would laugh when the talk turned on passion——I would cry out!——Cry out!——Cry out! It is you, Ilse!——Priapia!——Loss of memory!——That takes my strength!——This child of fortune, this sunny child——this joyous maiden on my dolorous path!——O!——O!——— —— —— —— —— —— —— —— —— —— —— —— —— —— —— —— —— —— ——
(In the bushes by the bank.)
Have I found it again unwillingly—the seat of turf. The mulleins seem to have grown since yesterday. The outlook between the willows is still the same——The water runs as heavy as melted lead. I mustn't forget. (He takes Frau Gabor's letter from his pocket and burns it.)——How the sparks fly—here and there, downward and upward——souls!——shooting stars!
Before I struck a light one could see the grass and a streak on the horizon.——Now it is dark. Now I shall never return home again.
