Chapter IV: Act III: Scene I

_The_ COLONEL'S _Summer Parlor_.

_The_ COLONEL _in front, walking rapidly up and down. In the rear_, ADELAIDE _and_ IDA _arm-in-arm, the latter in great agitation. A short pause. Then enter_ SENDEN.

SENDEN (_hastily calling through centre door_).

All goes well! 37 votes against 29.

COLONEL.

Who has 37 votes?

SENDEN.

Why you, Colonel, of course!

COLONEL.

Of course! (_Exit_ SENDEN.) The election day is unendurable! In no fight in my life did I have this feeling of fear. It is a mean cannon-fever of which any ensign might be ashamed. And it is a long time since I was an ensign!

[_Stamping his foot_.]

Confound it!

[_Goes to rear of stage_.]

IDA (_coming forward with_ ADELAIDE).

This uncertainty is frightful. Only one thing is sure, I shall be unhappy whichever way this election turns out.

[_Leans on_ ADELAIDE.]

ADELAIDE.

Courage! Courage, little girl! Things may still turn out all right. Hide your anxiety from your father; he is in a state of mind, as it is, that does not please me at all.

_Enter_ BLUMENBERG _in haste; the_ COLONEL _rushes toward him_.

COLONEL.

Now, sir, how do things stand?

BLUMENBERG.

41 votes for you, Colonel, 34 for our opponents; three have fallen on outsiders. The votes are being registered at very long intervals now, but the difference in your favor remains much the same. Eight more votes for you, Colonel, and the victory is won. We have every chance now of coming out ahead. I am hurrying back, the decisive moment is at hand. My compliments to the ladies!

[_Exit_.]

COLONEL.

Ida!

[IDA _hastens to him_.]

Are you my good daughter?

IDA.

My dear father!

COLONEL.

I know what is troubling you, child. You are worse off than any one. Console yourself, Ida; if, as seems likely, the professor has to make way for the old soldier, then we'll talk further on the matter. Oldendorf has not deserved it of me; there are many things about him that I do not like. But you are my only child. I shall think of that and of nothing else; but the very first thing to do is to break down the young man's obstinacy.

[_Releases_ IDA; _walks up and down again._]

ADELAIDE (_in the foreground, aside_).

The barometer has risen, the sunshine of pardon breaks through the clouds. If only it were all over! Such excitement is infectious! (_To_ IDA.) You see you do not yet have to think of entering a nunnery.

IDA. But if Oldendorf is defeated, how will he bear it!

ADELAIDE (_shrugging her shoulders_).

He loses a seat in unpleasant company and wins, instead, an amusing little wife. I think he ought to be satisfied. In any case he will have a chance to make his speeches. Whether he makes them in one house or another, what is the difference? I fancy you will listen to him more reverently than any other member.

IDA (_shyly_).

But Adelaide, what if it really would be better for the country to have Oldendorf elected?

ADELAIDE.

Yes, dearest, in that case there is no help for the country. Our State and the rest of the European nations must learn to get along without the professor. You have yourself to attend to first of all; you wish to marry him; you come first.

[_Enter_ CARL.]

What news, Carl?

CARL.

Mr. von Senden presents his compliments and reports 47 to 42. The head of the election committee, he says, has already congratulated him.

COLONEL.

Congratulated? Lay out my uniform, ask for the key of the wine-cellar, and set the table; we are likely to have visitors this evening.

CARL.

Yes, Colonel.

[_Exit_.]

COLONEL (_to himself in the foreground_).

Now, my young professor! My style does not please you? It may be that you are right. I grant you are a better journalist. But here, where it is a serious matter, you will find yourself in the wrong, just for once. [_Pause_.] I may be obliged to say a few words this evening. It used to be said of me in the regiment, indeed, that I could always speak to the point, but these manoeuvres in civilian dress disconcert me a little. Let's think it over! It will be only proper for me to mention Oldendorf in my speech, of course with due respect and appreciation; yes indeed, I must do that. He is an honest fellow, with an excellent heart, and a scholar with fine judgment. And he can be very amiable if you disregard his political theories. We have had pleasant evenings together. And as we sat then around my fat tea-kettle and the good boy began to tell his stories, Ida's eyes would be fixed on his face and would shine with pleasure--yes, and my own old eyes, too, I think. Those were fine evenings! Why do we have them no longer? Bah! They'll come back again! He'll bear defeat quietly in his own way--a good, helpful way. No sensitiveness in him! He really is at heart a fine fellow, and Ida and I could be happy with him. And so, gentlemen and electors--but thunder and lightning! I can't say all that to the voters! I'll say to them--

_Enter_ SENDEN.

SENDEN (_excitedly_).

Shameful, shameful! All is lost!

COLONEL.

Aha! (_Instantly draws himself up in military posture_.)

ADELAIDE } My presentiment! Father!
} [_Hurries to him_].
} (_together_).
}
IDA } Dear me!

SENDEN.

It was going splendidly. We had 47, the opponents 42 votes. Eight votes were still to be cast. Two more for us and the day would have been ours. The legally appointed moment for closing the ballot-box had come. All looked at the clock and called for the dilatory voters. Then there was a trampling of feet in the corridor. A group of eight persons pushed noisily into the hall, at their head the vulgar wine-merchant Piepenbrink, the same one who at the fête the other day--

ADELAIDE.

We know; go on--

SENDEN.

Each of the band in turn came forward, gave his vote and "Edward Oldendorf" issued from the lips of all. Then finally came this Piepenbrink. Before voting he asked the man next to him: "Is the professor sure of it?" "Yes," was the reply. "Then I, as last voter, choose as member of Parliament"--[_Stops._]

ADELAIDE.

The professor?

SENDEN.

No. "A most clever and cunning politician," so he put it, "Dr. Conrad Bolz." Then he turned short around and his henchmen followed him.

ADELAIDE (_aside, smiling_).

Aha!

SENDEN.

Oldendorf is member by a majority of two votes.

COLONEL.

Ugh!

SENDEN.

It is a shame! No one is to blame for this result but these journalists of the _Union_. Such a running about, an intriguing, a shaking of hands with all the voters, a praising of this Oldendorf, a shrugging of the shoulders at us--and at you, dear Sir!

COLONEL.

Indeed?

IDA.

That last is not true.

ADELAIDE (_to_ SENDEN).

Show some regard, and spare those here.

COLONEL.

You are trembling, my daughter. You are a woman, and let yourself be too much affected by such trifles. I will not have you listen to these tidings any longer. Go, my child! Why, your friend has won, there is no reason for you to cry! Help her, Miss Adelaide!

IDA (_is led by_ ADELAIDE _to the side door on the left; entreatingly_.)

Leave me! Stay with father!

SENDEN.

Upon my honor, the bad faith and arrogance with which this paper is edited are no longer to be endured. Colonel, since we are alone--for Miss Adelaide will let me count her as one of us--we have a chance to take a striking revenge. Their days are numbered now. Quite a long time ago, already, I had the owner of the _Union_ sounded. He is not disinclined to sell the paper, but merely has scruples about the party now controlling the sheet. At the club-fête I myself had a talk with him.

ADELAIDE.

What's this I hear?

SENDEN.

This outcome of the election will cause the greatest bitterness among all our friends, and I have no doubt that, in a few days, by forming a stock company, we can collect the purchase price. That would be a deadly blow to our opponents, a triumph for the good cause. The most widely-read sheet in the province in our hands, edited by a committee--

ADELAIDE.

To which Mr. von Senden would not refuse his aid--

SENDEN.

As a matter of duty I should do my part. Colonel, if you would be one of the shareholders, your example would at once make the purchase a sure thing.

COLONEL.

Sir, what you do to further your political ideas is your own affair. Professor Oldendorf, however, has been a welcome guest in my house. Never will I work against him behind his back. You would have spared me this moment had you not previously deceived me by your assurances as to the sentiments of the majority. However, I bear you no malice. You acted from the best of motives, I am sure. I beg the company to excuse me if I withdraw for today. I hope to see you tomorrow again, dear Senden.

SENDEN.

Meanwhile I will start the fund for the purchase of the newspaper. I bid you good day. [_Exit_.]

COLONEL.

Pardon me, Adelaide, if I leave you alone. I have some letters to write, and [_with a forced laugh_] my newspapers to read.

ADELAIDE (_sympathetically_).

May I not stay with you now, of all times?

COLONEL (_with an effort_).

I shall be better off alone, now.

[_Exit through centre door_.]

ADELAIDE (_alone_).

My poor Colonel! Injured vanity is hard at work in his faithful soul. And Ida. [_Gently opens the door on the left, remains standing_.] She is writing. It is not difficult to guess to whom. [_Closes the door_.] And for all of this mischief that evil spirit Journalism is to blame. Everybody complains of it, and every one tries to use it for his own ends. My Colonel scorned newspaper men until he became one himself, and Senden misses no opportunity of railing at my good friends of the pen, merely because he wishes to put himself in their place. I see Piepenbrink and myself becoming journalists, too, and combining to edit a little sheet under the title of _Naughty Bolz_. So the _Union_ is in danger of being secretly sold. It might be quite a good thing for Conrad: he would then have to think of something else besides the newspaper. Ah! the rogue would start a new one at once!

_Enter_ OLDENDORF _and_ CARL.

OLDENDORF (_while still outside of the room_).

And the Colonel will receive no one?

CARL.

No one, Professor. [_Exit_.]

ADELAIDE (_going up to_ OLDENDORF).

Dear Professor, this is not just the right moment for you to come. We are very much hurt and out of sorts with the world, but most of all with you.

OLDENDORF.

I am afraid you are, but I must speak to him.

_Enter_ IDA _through the door on the left_.

IDA (_going toward him_).

Edward! I knew you would come!

OLDENDORF.

My dear Ida! [_Embraces her_.]

IDA (_with her arms around his neck_).

And what will become of us now?

_Enter_ COLONEL _through centre door_.

COLONEL (_with forced calmness_).

You shall remain in no doubt about that, my daughter! I beg you, Professor, to forget that you were once treated as a friend in this household. I require you, Ida, to banish all thought of the hours when this gentleman entertained you with his sentiments. (_More violently_.) Be still! In my own house at least I submit to no attacks from a journalist. Forget him, or forget that you are my daughter. Go in there! [_Leads_ IDA, _not ungently, out to the left, and places himself in front of the door_.] On this ground, Mr. Editor and Member of Parliament, before the heart of my child, you shall not beat me.

[_Exit to the left_.]

ADELAIDE (_aside_).

Dear me! That is bad!

OLDENDORF (_as the_ COLONEL _turns to go, with determination_).

Colonel, it is ungenerous of you to refuse me this interview. [_Goes toward the door_.]

ADELAIDE (_intercepting him quickly_).

Stop! No further! He is in a state of excitement where a single word might do permanent harm. But do not leave us this way, Professor; give me just a few moments.

OLDENDORF.

I must, in my present condition of mind, ask your indulgence. I have long dreaded just such a scene, and yet I hardly feel able to control myself.

ADELAIDE.

You know our friend; you know that his quick temper drives him into acts for which later he would gladly atone.

OLDENDORF.

This was more than a fit of temper. It means a breach between us two--a breach that seems to me beyond healing.

ADELAIDE.

Beyond healing, Professor! If your sentiments toward Ida are what I think they are, healing is not so difficult. Would it not be fitting for you even now--especially now--to accede to the father's wishes. Does not the woman you love deserve that, for once at least, you sacrifice your ambition!

OLDENDORF.

My ambition, yes; my duty, no.

ADELAIDE.

Your own happiness, Professor, seems to me to be ruined for a long time, possibly forever, if you part from Ida in this way.

OLDENDORF (_gloomily_).

Not every one can be happy in his private life.

ADELAIDE.

This resignation does not please me at all, least of all in a man. Pardon me for saying so, plainly. (_Ingratiatingly_.) Is the misfortune so great if you become member for this town a few years later, or even not at all?

OLDENDORF.

Miss Runeck, I am not conceited. I do not rate my abilities very high, and, as far as I know myself, there is no ambitious impulse lurking at the bottom of my heart. Possibly, as you do now, so a later age will set a low estimate on our political wrangling, our party aims, and all that that includes. Possibly all our labor will be without result; possibly much of the good we hope to do will, when achieved, turn out to be the opposite--yes, it is highly probable that my own share in the struggle will often be painful, unedifying, and not at all what you would call a grateful task; but all that must not keep me from devoting my life to the strife and struggle of the age to which I belong. That struggle, after all, is the best and noblest that the present has to offer. Not every age permits its sons to achieve results which remain great for all time; and, I repeat, not every age can make those who live in it distinguished and happy.

ADELAIDE.

I think every age can accomplish that if the individuals will only understand how to be great and happy. [_Rising_.] You, Professor, will do nothing for your own little home-happiness. You force your friends to act for you.

OLDENDORF.

At all events cherish as little anger against me as possible, and speak a good word for me to Ida.

ADELAIDE.

I shall set my woman's wits to aiding you, Mr. Statesman.

[_Exit_ OLDENDORF.]

ADELAIDE (_alone_).

So this is one of the noble, scholarly, free spirits of the German nation! And he climbs into the fire from a sheer sense of duty! But to conquer anything--the world, happiness, or even a wife--for that he never was made!

_Enter_ CARL.

CARL (_announcing_).

Dr. Bolz!

ADELAIDE.

Ah! He at least will be no such paragon of virtue!--Where is the Colonel?

CARL.

In Miss Ida's room.

ADELAIDE.

Show the gentleman in here.

[_Exit_ CARL.]

I feel somewhat embarrassed at seeing you again, Mr. Bolz; I shall take pains to conceal it.

_Enter_ BOLZ.

BOLZ.

A poor soul has just left you, vainly seeking consolation in your philosophy. I too come as an unfortunate, for yesterday I incurred your displeasure; and but for your presence, which cut short a vexatious scene, Mr. von Senden, in the interests of social propriety, would doubtless have pitched into me still harder. I thank you for the reminder you gave me; I take it as a sign that you will not withdraw your friendly interest in me.

ADELAIDE (_aside_).

Very pretty, very diplomatic!--It is kind of you to put so good a construction on my astonishing behavior. But pardon me if I presume to interfere again; that scene with Mr. von Senden will not, I trust, give provocation for a second one?

BOLZ (_aside_).

This eternal Senden! (_Aloud_.) Your interest in him furnishes me grounds for avoiding further consequences. I think I can manage it.

ADELAIDE.

I thank you. And now let me tell you that you are a dangerous diplomatist. You have inflicted a thorough defeat on this household. On this unfortunate day but one thing has pleased me--the one vote which sought to make you member of Parliament.

BOLZ.

It was a crazy idea of the honest wine-merchant.

ADELAIDE.

You took so much trouble to put your friend in, why did you not work for yourself? The young man I used to know had lofty aims, and nothing seemed beyond the range of his soaring ambition. Have you changed, or is the fire still burning?

BOLZ (_smiling_).

I have become a journalist, Miss Adelaide.

ADELAIDE.

Your friend is one, too.

BOLZ.

Only as a side issue. But I belong to the guild. He who has joined it may have the ambition to write wittily or well. All that goes beyond that is not for us.

ADELAIDE.

Not for you?

BOLZ.

For that we are too flighty, too restless and scatter-brained.

ADELAIDE.

Are you in earnest about that, Conrad?

BOLZ.

Perfectly in earnest. Why should I wish to seem to you different from what I am? We journalists feed our minds on the daily news; we must taste the dishes Satan cooks for men down to the smallest morsel; so you really should make allowances for us. The daily vexation over failure and wrong doing, the perpetual little excitements over all sorts of things--that has an effect upon a man. At first one clenches one's fist, then one learns to laugh at it. If you work only for the day you come to live for the day.

ADELAIDE (_perturbed_).

But that is sad, I think.

BOLZ.

On the contrary, it is quite amusing. We buzz like bees, in spirit we fly through the whole world, suck honey when we find it, and sting when something displeases us. Such a life is not apt to make great heroes, but queer dicks like us are also needed.

ADELAIDE (_aside_).

Now he too is at it, and he is even worse than the other one.

BOLZ.

We won't waste sentiment on that account. I scribble away so long as it goes. When it no longer goes, others take my place and do the same. When Conrad Bolz, the grain of wheat, has been crushed in the great mill, other grains fall on the stones until the flour is ready from which the future, possibly, will bake good bread for the benefit of the many.

ADELAIDE.

No, no, that is morbidness; such resignation is wrong.

BOLZ.

Such resignation will eventually be found in every profession. It is not your lot. To you is due a different kind of happiness, and you will find it. (_Feelingly_.) Adelaide, as a boy I wrote you tender verses and lulled myself in foolish dreams. I was very fond of you, and the wound our separation inflicted still smarts at times. [ADELAIDE _makes a deprecatory gesture_.] Don't be alarmed, I am not going to pain you. I long begrudged my fate, and had moments when I felt like an outcast. But now when you stand there before me in full radiancy, so lovely, so desirable, when my feeling for you is as warm as ever, I must say to you all the same: Your father, it is true, treated me roughly; but that he separated us, that he prevented you, the rich heiress, who could claim anything, with your own exclusive circle of friends, from throwing herself away on a wild boy who had always shown more presumption than power--that was really very sensible, and he acted quite rightly in the matter.

ADELAIDE (_in her agitation seizing his hands_).

Thank you, Conrad, thank you for speaking so of my dead father! Yes, you are good, you have a heart. It makes me very happy that you should have shown it to me.

BOLZ.

It is only a tiny little pocket-heart for private use. It was quite against my will that it happened to make its appearance.

ADELAIDE.

And now enough of us two! Here in this house our help is needed. You have won, have completely prevailed against us. I submit, and acknowledge you my master. But now show mercy and let us join forces. In this conflict of you men a rude blow has been struck at the heart of a girl whom I love. I should like to make that good again and I want you to help me.

BOLZ.

I am at your command.

ADELAIDE.

The Colonel must be reconciled. Think up some way of healing his injured self-esteem.

BOLZ.

I have thought it over and have taken some steps. Unfortunately, all I can do is to make him feel that his anger at Oldendorf is folly. This soft conciliatory impulse you alone can inspire.

ADELAIDE.

Then we women must try our luck.

BOLZ.

Meanwhile I will hurry and do what little I can.

ADELAIDE.

Farewell, Mr. Editor. And think not only of the progress of the great world, but also occasionally of one friend, who suffers from the base egotism of wishing to be happy on her own account.

BOLZ.

You have always found your happiness in looking after the happiness of others. With that kind of egotism there is no difficulty in being happy. [_Exit_.]

ADELAIDE (_alone_).

He still loves me! He is a man with feeling and generosity. But he, too, is resigned. They are all _ill_--these men! They have no courage! From pure learning and introspection they have lost all confidence in themselves. This Conrad! Why doesn't he say to me: "Adelaide, I want you to be my wife?" He can be brazen enough when he wants to! God forbid! He philosophizes about my kind of happiness and his kind of happiness! It was all very fine, but sheer nonsense.--My young country-squires are quite different. They have no great burden of wisdom and have more whims and prejudices than they ought to; but they do their hating and loving thoroughly and boldly, and never forget their own advantage. They are the better for it! Praised be the country, the fresh air, and my broad acres! [_Pause; with decision_.] The _Union_ is to be sold! Conrad must come to the country to get rid of his crotchets! [_Sits down and writes; rings; enter_ CARL.] Take this note to Judge Schwarz; I want him kindly to come to me on urgent business.

[_Exit_ CARL.]

_Enter_ IDA _through the side door on the left_.

IDA.

I am too restless to keep still! Let me cry here to my heart's content! [_Weeps on_ ADELAIDE'S _neck_.]

ADELAIDE (_tenderly_).

Poor child! The bad men have been very cruel to you. It's all right for you to grieve, darling, but don't be so still and resigned!

IDA.

I have but the one thought: he is lost to me--lost forever!

ADELAIDE.

You are a dear good girl. But be reassured! You haven't lost him at all. On the contrary, we'll see to it that you get him back better than ever. With blushing cheeks and bright eyes he shall reappear to you, the noble man, your chosen demigod--and your pardon the demigod shall ask for having caused you pain!--

IDA (_looking up at her_).

What are you telling me?

ADELAIDE.

Listen! This night I read in the stars that you were to become Mrs. Member-of-Parliament. A big star fell from heaven, and on it was written in legible letters: "Beyond peradventure she shall have him!" The fulfilment has attached to it but one condition.

IDA.

What condition? Tell me!

ADELAIDE.

I recently told you of a certain lady and an unknown gentleman. You remember?

IDA.

I have thought of it incessantly.

ADELAIDE.

Good! On the same day on which this lady finds her knight again shall you also be reconciled with your professor--not sooner, not later. Thus it is written.

IDA.

I am so glad to believe you. And when will the day come?

ADELAIDE.

Yes, dear, I do not know that exactly. But I will confide in you, since we girls are alone, that the said lady is heartily tired of the long hoping and waiting and will, I fear, do something desperate.

IDA (_embracing her_).

If only she will hurry up!

ADELAIDE (_holding her_).

Hush! Some man might hear us! [_Enter_ KORB.] What is it, old friend?

KORB.

Miss Adelaide, out there is Mr. Bellmaus, the friend--

ADELAIDE.

Very well, and he wishes to speak to me?

KORB.

Yes. I myself advised him to come to you; he has something to tell you.

ADELAIDE.

Bring him in here! [_Exit_ KORB.]

IDA.

Let me go away; my eyes are red with weeping.

ADELAIDE.

Well go, dear. In a few minutes I will rejoin you. (_Exit_ IDA.)

He too! The whole _Union_--one after the other!

_Enter_ BEULMAUS.

BELLMAUS (_shyly, bowing repeatedly_).

You permit me, Miss Runeck!

ADELAIDE (_kindly_).

I am glad to receive your visit, and am curious about the interesting disclosures you have to make to me.

BELLMAUS.

There is no one to whom I would rather confide what I have heard, Miss Runeck, than to you. Having learned from Mr. Korb that you are a subscriber to our newspaper I feel sure--

ADELAIDE.

That I deserve, too, to be a friend of the editors. Thank you for the good opinion.

BELLMAUS.

There is this man Schmock! He is a poor fellow who has been little in good society and was until now on the staff of the _Coriolanus_.

ADELAIDE. I remember having seen him.

BELLMAUS.

At Bolz's request I gave him a few glasses of punch. He thereupon grew jolly and told me of a great plot that Senden and the editor of the _Coriolanus_ have hatched between them. These two gentlemen, so he assures me, had planned to discredit Professor Oldendorf in the Colonel's eyes and so drove the Colonel into writing articles for the _Coriolanus_.

ADELAIDE.

But is the young man who made you these revelations at all trustworthy?

BELLMAUS.

He can't stand much punch, and after three glasses he told me all this of his own accord. In general I don't consider him very reputable. I should call him a good fellow, but reputable--no, he's not quite that.

ADELAIDE (_indifferently_.)

Do you suppose this gentleman who drank the three glasses of punch would be willing to repeat his disclosures before other persons?

BELLMAUS.

He said he would, and spoke of proofs too.

ADELAIDE (_aside_).

Aha! (_Aloud_.) I fear the proofs won't amount to much. And you have not spoken of it to the professor or Mr. Bolz?

BELLMAUS.

Our professor is very much occupied these days, and Bolz is the jolliest man in the world; but his relations with Mr. von Senden being already strained I thought--

ADELAIDE (_quickly_).

And you were quite right, dear Mr. Bellmaus. So in other regards you are content with Mr. Bolz?

BELLMAUS.

He is a sociable, excellent man, and I am on very good terms with him. All of us are on very good terms with him.

ADELAIDE.

I am glad to hear it.

BELLMAUS.

He sometimes goes a little too far, but he has the best heart in the world.

ADELAIDE (_aside_). "Out of the mouths of babes and sucklings" ye shall hear the truth!

BELLMAUS.

His nature, you know, is a purely prosaic one; for poetry he has not the least comprehension. ADELAIDE. Do you think so?

BELLMAUS.

Yes, he often bursts forth on the subject.

ADELAIDE (_rising_).

I thank you for your communication even if I cannot attach weight to it, and I am glad to have met in you one of the editorial staff. Journalists, I find, are dangerous people, and it is just as well to secure their good will; although I, as an unimportant person, will try never to furnish matter for a newspaper article. [_As_ BELLMAUS _lingers._] Can I do anything more for you?

BELLMAUS (_with warmth_).

Yes, Miss Runeck, if you would be so good as to accept this copy of my poems. They are poems of youth, to be sure, my first attempts, but I count on your friendly indulgence.

[_Draws a gilt-edged book from his pocket, and hands it to her._]

ADELAIDE.

I thank you heartily, Mr. Bellmaus. Never before has a poet presented me with his works. I shall read the beautiful book through in the country, and, under my trees, shall rejoice that I have friends in town who spare a thought for me too, when they represent beauty for other people.

BELLMAUS (_fervently_).

Rest assured, Miss Runeck, that no poet will forget you, who has once had the good fortune to make your acquaintance.

[_Exit with a deep bow._]

ADELAIDE.

This Mr. Schmock with the three glasses of punch is well worth cultivating, I should say. Scarcely have I arrived in town when my room turns into a regular business office, where editors and authors ply their trade. I fear that is an omen.

[_Exit to the left._]

_It grows dark. The_ COLONEL _enters from the garden._

COLONEL (_slowly coming forward_).

I am glad that all is over between us. [_Stamping his foot._] I am very glad! [_In a depressed tone._] I feel free and more relieved than for a long time. I think I could actually sing! At this moment I am the subject of conversation over all tea-cups, on all beer-benches. Everywhere arguing and laughter: It serves him right, the old fool! Damn! [_Enter_ CARL, _with lights and the newspaper_.] Who told you to bring the lamp?

CARL.

Colonel, it is your hour for reading the newspaper. Here it is. [_Lays it on the table_.]

COLONEL.

A low rabble, these gentlemen of the pen! Cowardly, malicious, insidious in their anonymity. How this band will triumph now, and over me! How they will laud their editor to the skies! There lies the contemptible sheet! In it stands my defeat, trumpeted forth with full cheeks, with scornful shrugs of the shoulders--away with it! [_Walks up and down, looks at the newspaper on the ground, picking it up_.] All the same I will drink out the dregs! [_Seats himself.]_ Here, right in the beginning! [_Reading_.] "Professor Oldendorf--majority of two votes. This journal is bound to rejoice over the result."--I don't doubt it!--"But no less a matter for rejoicing was the electoral contest which preceded it."--Naturally--"It has probably never before been the case that, as here, two men stood against each other who were so closely united by years of friendship, both so distinguished by the good will of their fellow-citizens. It was a knightly combat between two friends, full of generosity, without malice, without jealousy; yes doubtless, deep down in his heart, each harbored the hope that his friend and opponent and not himself would be the victor"--[_Lays down the paper; wipes his brow_.] What sort of language is that? [_Reads_.] "and aside from some special party views, never did a man have greater claims to victory than our honored opponent. What he, through his upright, noble personality stands for among his wide circle of friends and acquaintances, this is not the place to dwell upon. But the way in which, by his active participation in all public spirited enterprises of the town, he has given aid and counsel, is universally known and will be realized by our fellow-citizens, especially today, with heartfelt gratitude." [_Lays the paper aside_.] That is a vile style! [_Reads on_.] "By a very small majority of votes our town has decreed to uphold the younger friend's political views in Parliament. But by all parties today--so it is reported--addresses and deputations are being prepared, not to extol the victor in the electoral contest, but to express to his opponent the general reverence and respect of which never a man was more worthy than he."--That is open assassination! That is a fearful indiscretion of Oldendorf's, that is the revenge of a journalist, so fine and pointed! Oh, it is just like him! No, it is not like him! It is revolting, it is inhuman! What am I to do! Deputations and addresses to me? To Oldendorf's friend? Bah, it is all mere gossip, newspaper-babble that costs nothing but a few fine words! The town knows nothing of these sentiments. It is blackguardism!

_Enter_ CARL.

CARL.

Letters from the local mail.

[_Lays them on the table._]

[_Exit_.]

COLONEL.

There is something up, here, too. I dread to open them. [_Breaks open the first one_.] What the devil! A poem?--and to me? "To our noble opponent, the best man in town."--Signed? What is the signature? "B--aus!" B--aus? I don't know it, it must be a pseudonym! [_Reads_.] It seems to be exceedingly good poetry!--And what have we here? [_Opens the second letter_.] "To the benefactor of the poor, the father of orphans." An address!--[_Reads_.] "Veneration and kindliness."--Signature: "Many women and girls." The seal a P.P.--Good God, what does it all mean? Have I gone mad? If these are really voices from the town, and if that is the way people look on this day, then I must confess men think better of me than I do of myself!

_Enter_ CARL.

CARL.

A number of gentlemen wish to speak to you, Colonel.

COLONEL.

What sort of gentlemen!

CARL.

They say: A deputation from the voters.

COLONEL.

Show them in. This confounded newspaper was right, after all.

_Enter_ PIEPENBRINK, KLEINMICHEL _and three other gentlemen. They bow, the_ COLONEL _likewise_.

PIEPENBRINK (_solemnly_).

My Colonel: A number of voters have sent us as a deputation to you to inform you on this special day that the whole town considers you a most respectable and worthy man.

COLONEL (_stiffly_).

I am obliged for the good opinion.

PIEPENBRINK.

You have no reason to feel obliged. It is the truth. You are a man of honor through and through, and it gives us pleasure to tell you so; you cannot object to hearing this from your fellow-citizens.

COLONEL.

I always did consider myself a man of honor, gentlemen.

PIEPENBRINK.

There you were quite right. And you have proved your good principles, too. On every occasion. In cases of poverty, of famine, of caring for orphans, also at our shooting-club meeting--always when we citizens enjoyed or needed a benevolent good man, you were among the first. Always simple and loyal without arrogance or supercilious manners. That's the reason why we universally love and honor you. (_Colonel wipes his eyes_.) Today many of us gave their votes to the professor. Some on account of politics, some because they know that he is your close friend and possibly even your future son-in-law. COLONEL (_not harshly_).

Sir--

PIEPENBRINK.

Nor did I myself vote for you.

COLONEL (_somewhat more excitedly_).

Sir--

PIEPENBRINK.

But for that very reason I come to you with the rest, and that is why we tell you what the citizens think of you. And we hope that for long years to come you will preserve to us your manly principles and friendly heart as an honored, most respected gentleman and fellow-citizen.

COLONEL (_without harshness_).

Why do you not say that to the professor, to the man that you have chosen?

PIEPENBRINK.

He shall first deserve it in Parliament before the town thanks him. But you _have_ deserved it of us, and therefore we come to you.

COLONEL (_heartily_).

I thank you, sir, for your kind words. They are very comforting to me just now. May I ask your name?

PIEPENBRINK.

My name is Piepenbrink.

COLONEL (_morely coldly, but not impolitely_).

Ah, indeed, that is your name! (_With dignity._) I thank you, gentlemen, for the friendly sentiment you have expressed, whether it be that you render the true opinion of the town, or speak according to the desire of individuals. I thank you, and shall go on doing what I think is right.

[_Bows, so does the deputation; exit latter_.]

This, then, is that Piepenbrink, the close friend of his friend! But the man's words were sensible and his whole demeanor honorable; it cannot possibly be all rascality. Who knows! They are clever intriguers; send into my house newspaper articles, letters, and these good-natured people, to make me soft-hearted; act in public as my friends, to make me confide again in their falseness! Yes, that is it. It is a preconcerted plan! They will find they have miscalculated!

_Enter_ CARL.

CARL.

Dr. Bolz!

COLONEL.

I am at home to no one any longer!

CARL.

So I told the gentleman; but he insisted on speaking to you, saying that he came in on an affair of honor.

COLONEL.

What? But Oldendorf won't be so insane--show him in here!

_Enter_ BOLZ.

BOLZ (_with dignity_).

Colonel, I come to make you an announcement which the honor of a third person necessitates.

COLONEL.

I am prepared for it, and beg you not to prolong it unduly.

BOLZ.

No more than is requisite. The article in this evening's _Union_ which deals with your personality was written by me and inserted by me in the paper without Oldendorf's knowledge.

COLONEL.

It can interest me little to know who wrote the article.

BOLZ (_courteously_).

But I consider it important to tell you that it is not by Oldendorf and that Oldendorf knew nothing about it. My friend was so taken up these last weeks with his own sad and painful experiences that he left the management of the paper entirely to me. For all that has lately appeared in it I alone am responsible.

COLONEL.

And why do you impart this information?

BOLZ.

You have sufficient penetration to realize, Colonel, that, after the scene which took place today between you and my friend, Oldendorf as a man of honor could neither write such an article nor allow it to appear in his paper.

COLONEL.

How so, sir? In the article itself I saw nothing unsuitable.

BOLZ.

The article exposes my friend in your eyes to the suspicion of having tried to regain your good-will by unworthy flattery. Nothing is further from his thoughts than such a method. You, Colonel, are too honorable a man yourself to consider a mean action natural to your friend.

COLONEL.

You are right. (_Aside_.) This defiance is unbearable! (_Aloud_.) Is your explanation at an end?

BOLZ.

It is. I must add still another: that I myself regret very much having written this article.

COLONEL.

I imagine I do not wrong you in assuming that you have already written others that were still more to be regretted.

BOLZ (_continuing_).

I had the article printed before hearing of your last interview with Oldendorf. (_Very courteously_.) My reason for regretting it is, that it is not quite true. I was too hasty in describing your personality to the public. Today, at least, it is no longer a true portrait; it is flattering.

COLONEL (_bursting out_).

Well, by the devil, that is rude!

BOLZ.

Your pardon--it is only true. I wish to convince you that a journalist can regret having written falsehoods.

COLONEL.

Sir! (_Aside_.) I must restrain myself, or he will always get the better of me.--Dr. Bolz, I see that you are a clever man and know your trade. Since, in addition, you seem inclined today to speak only the truth, I must beg you to tell me further if you, too, organized the demonstrations which purport to represent to me public sentiment.

BOLZ (_bowing_).

I have, as a matter of fact, not been inactive in the matter.

COLONEL (_holding out the letter to him, angrily_).

Did you prompt these, too?

BOLZ.

In part, Colonel. This poem is the heart-outpouring of an honest youth who reveres in you the paternal friend of Oldendorf and the ideal of a chivalrous hero. I inspired him with the courage to send you the poem. It was well-meant, at any rate. The poet will have to seek another ideal. The address comes from women and girls who constitute the Association for the Education of Orphans. The Association includes among its members Miss Ida Berg. I myself composed this address for the ladies; it was written down by the daughter of the wine-merchant Piepenbrink.

COLONEL.

That was just about my opinion concerning these letters. It is needless to ask if you too are the contriver who sent me the citizens?

BOLZ.

At all events I did not discourage them. [_From without a male chorus of many voices_.]

Hail! Hail! Hail!
Within the precincts of our town,
Blessed by each burgher's son,
There dwells a knight of high renown,
A noble, faithful one.

Who doth in need for aid apply
To this brave knight sends word;
For love is his bright panoply
And mercy is his sword.

We laud him now in poem and song
Protector of the lowly throng.
The Colonel, the Colonel,
The noble Colonel Berg!

COLONEL (_rings after the first measure of the song_. CARL _enters_).

You are to let no one in if you wish to remain in my service.

CARL.

Colonel, they are already in the garden, a great company of them. It is the glee club; the leaders are already at the steps.

BOLZ (_who has opened the window_).

Very well sung, Colonel--from _La Juive_--he is the best tenor in town and the accompaniment is exceedingly original.

COLONEL (_aside_).

It is enough to drive one mad. [_Aloud_.] Show the gentlemen in!

_Exit_ CARL. _At the end of the verse enter_ FRITZ KLEINMICHEL _and two other gentlemen_.

FRITZ KLEINMICHEL.

Colonel, the local glee club asks to be allowed to sing you some songs--kindly listen to the little serenade as a feeble expression of the general veneration and love.

COLONEL.

Gentlemen, I regret exceedingly that a case of illness in my family makes it desirable for me to have you curtail your artistic performance. I thank you for your intentions, and beg you will sing to Professor Oldendorf the songs you had designed for me.

FRITZ KLEINMICHEL.

We considered it our duty first to greet you before visiting your friend. In order not to disturb invalids, we will, with your permission, place ourselves further away from the house, in the garden.

COLONEL.

Do as you please.

[FRITZ KLEINMICHEL _and the two others leave_.]

Is this act, too, an invention of yours?

BOLZ (_with a bow_).

Partially at least. But you are too kind, Colonel, if you look upon me as the sole originator of all these demonstrations. My share in it is really a small one. I have done nothing but edit public opinion a little; all these different people are not dolls, which a skilful puppet-man can move around by pulling wires. These are all voices of capable and honorable persons, and what they have said to you is actually the general opinion of the town--that is to say, the conviction of the better and more sensible elements in the town. Were that not the case I should have labored quite in vain with these good people to bring a single one of them into your house.

COLONEL.

He is right again, and I am always in the wrong!

BOLZ (_very courteously_).

Permit me to explain further, that I consider these tender expressions of general regard out of place now, and that I deeply regret my share in them. Today at least, no friend of Oldendorf has any occasion to praise your chivalrous sentiments or your self-effacement.

COLONEL (_going toward him_).

Doctor Bolz, you use the privilege of your profession to speak recklessly, and are insulting outsiders in a way that exhausts my patience. You are in my house, and it is a customary social amenity to respect the domicile of one's opponent.

BOLZ (_leaning on a chair, good-naturedly_).

If you mean by that that you have a right to expel from your house unwelcome guests you did not need to remind me of it, for this very day you shut your doors on another whose love for you gave him a better right to be here than I have.

COLONEL.

Sir, such brazen-facedness I have never yet experienced.

BOLZ (_with a bow_).

I am a journalist, and claim what you have just called the privilege of my profession.

[_Grand march by brass band. Enter_ CARL _quickly_.]

COLONEL (_going toward him_).

Shut the garden gate; no one is to come in. [_The music stops_.]

BOLZ (_at the window_).

You are locking your friends out; this time I am innocent.

CARL.

Ah, Colonel, it is too late. The singers are back there in the garden, and in front a great procession is approaching the house; it is Mr. von Senden and the entire club.

[_Goes to rear of stage_.]

COLONEL (_to_ BOLZ).

Sir, I wish the conversation between us to end.

BOLZ (_speaking back at him from the window_).

In your position, Colonel, I find the desire very natural. [_Looking out again_.] A brilliant procession! They all carry paper lanterns, and on the lanterns are inscriptions! Besides the ordinary club mottoes, I see others. Why isn't Bellmaus ever looking when he might be helping the newspaper! [_Taking out a note book_.] We'll quickly note those inscriptions for our columns. [_Over his shoulder_.] Pardon me! Oh, that is truly remarkable: "Down with our enemies!" And here a blackish lantern with white letters--"Death to the _Union_!" Holy thunder! [_Calls out of the window_.] Good evening, gentlemen!

COLONEL (_going up to him_).

Sir, you're in league with the devil!

BOLZ (_turning quickly around_).

Very kind of you, Colonel, to show yourself at the window with me.

[COLONEL _retreats_.]

SENDEN (_from below_).

Whose voice is that!

BOLZ.

Good evening, Mr. von Senden!--The gentleman with the dark lantern and white inscription would oblige us greatly by kindly lifting it up to the Colonel. Blow your light out, man, and hand me the lantern. So, thank you--man with the witty motto! [_Pulling in the stick and lantern_.] Here, Colonel, is the document of the brotherly love your friends cherish toward us. [_Tears the lantern from the stick_.] The lantern for you, the stick for the lantern-bearer! [_Throws the stick out of the window_.] I have the honor to bid you good day!

[_Turns to go, meets_ ADELAIDE.]

_Male chorus, close at hand again: "Within the precincts of our town;" trumpets join in; then many voices: "Long live_ COLONEL BERG! _Hurrah!_" ADELAIDE _has entered on the left, during the noise_.

ADELAIDE.

Well, is the whole town upside-down today?

BOLZ.

I've done my share; he is half converted. Good night!

COLONEL (_throwing the lantern on the ground--in a rage_).

To the devil with all journalists!

_Male chorus_, SENDEN, BLUMENBERG _and many other gentlemen, in procession, are visible through the door into the garden; the deputation comes in; chorus and lantern-bearers form a group at the entrance_.

SENDEN (_with a loud voice while the curtain is lowered_).

Colonel, the Club has the honor of greeting its revered members!