Chapter III: Part 3

And you are also longing to get back, I suppose?

IRENE

It isn't that. But I'm beginning to get accustomed to Vienna again. As I'm going about the streets here, I run across memories at every corner.--Can you guess where I was yesterday, Julian? In the rooms where I used to live as a child. It wasn't easy by any means, as a lot of strangers are living there now. But I got into the rooms just the same.

SALA (_with amicable irony_)

How did you manage it, Miss Herms?

IRENE

I sneaked in under a pretext. I pretended to believe that there was a room to be let--for a single elderly lady. But at last I fell to weeping so that I could see the people thought me out of my mind. And then I told them the true reason for my coming there. A clerk in the post-office is living there now with his wife and two children. One of these was such a nice little chap. He was playing railroad with an engine that could be wound up, and that ran over one of my feet all the time.... But I can see that all this doesn't interest you very much, Mr. von Sala.

SALA

How _can_ you interrupt yourself like that, Miss Herms, just when it is most exciting? I should have loved to hear more about it. But now I must really go, unfortunately. Good-by, Julian.--Then, Miss Herms, I may count on a visit from you. (_He goes out_)

IRENE

Thank God!

JULIAN (_smiling_)

Do you still have the same antipathy for him?

IRENE

Antipathy?--I hate him! Nothing but your incredible kindness of heart would let him come near you. For you have no worse enemy.

JULIAN

Where did you get that idea?

IRENE

My instinct tells me--you can feel such things.

JULIAN

I fear, however, that even now you cannot judge him quite objectively.

IRENE

Why not?

JULIAN

You can't forgive him that you failed in one of his plays ten years ago.

IRENE

Unfortunately it's already twelve years ago. And it wasn't my fault. For my opinion in regard to his so-called poetry is, that it's nonsense. And I am not the only one who thinks so, as you know. But you don't know him, of course. To appreciate that gentleman in all his glory, you must have enjoyed him at a rehearsal. (_Imitating Sala_) Oh, madam, that's verse--it's verse, dear madam.... Only when you have heard that kind of thing from him can you understand how limitless his arrogance is.... And everybody knows, by the way, that he killed his wife.

JULIAN (_amused_)

But, girl, who in the world put such horrible ideas into your head?

IRENE

Oh, people don't die willy-nilly like that, at twenty-five....

JULIAN

I hope, Irene, that you don't talk like this to other people?

IRENE

What would be the use? Everyone knows it but you. And I for my part have no reason to spare Mr. von Sala, who for twenty years has pursued me with his jeers.

JULIAN

And yet you are going to call on him?

IRENE

Of course. Beautiful villas interest me very much. And they tell me his is ravishing. If you were only to see people who....

JULIAN

Hadn't killed anybody....

IRENE

Really, we show him too much honor in talking so long about him. That ends it.--Well, Julian? How goes it? Why haven't you written me oftener? Is it possible you didn't dare?

JULIAN

Dare...?

IRENE

Were you forbidden, I mean?

JULIAN

I see.--Nobody can forbid me anything.

IRENE

Honestly? You live all by yourself?

JULIAN

Yes.

IRENE

I'm delighted. I can't help it, Julian, but I am delighted. Although it's sheer nonsense. This day, or the next, there'll be something new going on.

JULIAN

Those days are past.

IRENE

If it were only true!--Can I have a cup of tea?

JULIAN

Certainly. The samovar is right there.

IRENE

Where?--Oh, over there. And the tea?--Oh, I know! (_She opens a small cupboard and brings out what she needs; during the next few minutes she is busy preparing the tea_)

JULIAN

So you are really going to stay here only a couple of days more?

IRENE

Of course. I have done all my ordering. You understand, in my sister's house out there one doesn't need to dress up.

JULIAN

Tell me about it. How do you like it out there?

IRENE

Splendidly. Oh, it's bliss merely to hear nothing more about the theater.

JULIAN

And yet you'll return to it sometime.

IRENE

That's where you are completely mistaken. Why should I? You must remember that I have now reached the goal of all my desires: fresh air, and woods right by; horseback riding across meadows and fields; early morning seated in the big park, dressed in my kimono, and nobody daring to intrude. To put it plainly: no people, no manager, no public, no colleagues, no playwrights--though, of course, all are not as arrogant as your precious Sala.--Well, all this I have attained at last. I live in the country. I have a country house--almost a little palace, you might say. I have a park, and a horse, and a kimono--to use as much as I please. It isn't all mine, I admit--except the kimono, of course--but what does that matter? In the bargain, I live with the best people one could hope to find in this world. For my brother-in-law is, if possible, a finer fellow than Lora herself even.

JULIAN

Wasn't he rather making up to you once?

IRENE

I should say he was! He wanted to marry me at any cost. Of course!--It was always in me that they were at first--I mean that they always _have been_ in love with me. But as a rule the clever ones have gone over to Lora. In fact, I have always felt a little distrustful toward you because you never fell in love with Lora. And how much she is ahead of me--well, _you_ know, and it's no use talking of it. What all don't I owe to Lora!... If it hadn't been for her...!--Well, it's with them I have been living the last half year.

JULIAN

The question is only how long you are going to stand it.

IRENE

How long...? But, Julian, I must ask you what there could be to make me leave such a paradise and return to the morass where I (_in a lowered voice_) spent twenty-five years of my life. What could I possibly expect out of the theater anyhow? I am not made for elderly parts. The heroic mother, the shrewish dame and the funny old woman are equally little to my liking. I intend to die as "the young lady from the castle"--as an old maid, you might say--and if everything goes right, I shall appear to the grandchildren of my sister some hundred years from now as the Lady in White. In a word, I have the finest kind of a life ahead of me.--Why are you laughing?

JULIAN

It pleases me to see you so jolly again--so youthful.

IRENE

It's the country air, Julian. You should try it yourself for a good long while. It's glorious! In fact, I think I have missed my true calling. I'm sure the good Lord meant me for a milkmaid or farm girl of some kind. Or perhaps for a young shepherd. I have always looked particularly well in pants.--There now. Do you want me to pour a cup for you at once? (_She pours the tea_) Have you nothing to go with it?

JULIAN

I think there must still be a few crackers left in my bag. (_He takes a small package out of his traveling bag_)

IRENE

Thanks. That's fine.

JULIAN

This is quite a new fancy of yours, however.

IRENE

Crackers...?

JULIAN

No, nature.

IRENE

How can you say so? I have always had a boundless love for nature. Don't you recall the excursions we used to make? Don't you remember how once we fell asleep in the woods on a hot Summer afternoon? And don't you ever think of that shrine of the Holy Virgin, on the hill where we were caught by the storm?... Oh, mercy! Nature is no silly illusion. And still later--when I struck the bad days and wanted to kill myself for your sake, fool that I was ... then nature simply proved my salvation. Indeed, Julian! I could still show you the place where I threw myself on the grass and wept. You have to walk ten minutes from the station, through an avenue of acacias, and then on to the brook. Yes, I threw myself on the grass and wept and wailed. It was one of those days, you know, when you had again sent me packing from your door. Well, and then, when I had been lying half an hour in the grass, and had wept my fill, then I got up again--and began to scamper all over the meadow. Just like a kid, all by myself. Then I wiped my eyes and felt quite right again. (_Pause_) Of course, next morning I was at your door again, setting up a howl, and then the story began all over again.

[_It is growing dark._

JULIAN

Why do you still think of all that?

IRENE

But you do it, too. And who has proved the more stupid of us two in the end? Who? Ask yourself, on your conscience. Who?... Have you been more happy with anybody else than with me? Has anybody else clung to you as I did? Has anybody else been so fond of you?... No, I am sure. And as to that foolish affair into which I stumbled during my engagement abroad--you might just as well have overlooked it. Really, there isn't as much to that kind of thing as you men want to make out--when it happens to one of us, that is to say. (_Both drink of their tea_)

JULIAN

Should I get some light?

IRENE

It's quite cosy in the twilight like this.

JULIAN

"Not much to it," you say. Perhaps you are right. But when it happens to anybody, he gets pretty mad as a rule. And if we had made up again--it would never have been as before. It's better as it is. When the worst was over, we became good friends once more, and so we have been ever since. And that is a pretty fine thing, too.

IRENE

Yes. And nowadays I'm quite satisfied. But at that time...! Oh, mercy, what a time that was! But you don't know anything about it, of course. It was afterward I began really to love you--after I had lost you through my own thoughtlessness. It was only then I learned how to be faithful in the true sense. For anything that has happened to me since then.... But it's asking too much that a man should understand that kind of thing.

JULIAN

I understand quite well, Irene. You may be sure.

IRENE

And besides I want to tell you something: it was nothing but a well-deserved punishment for both of us.

JULIAN

For both of us?

IRENE

Yes, that's what I have figured out long ago. A well-deserved punishment.

JULIAN

For both of us?

IRENE

Yes, for you, too.

JULIAN

But what do you mean by that?

IRENE

We had deserved no better.

JULIAN

We...? In what way?

IRENE (_very seriously_)

You are so very clever otherwise, Julian. Now what do you say--do you think it could have happened as it did--do you think I could have made a mistake like that--if we--had had a child? Ask yourself on your conscience, Julian--do you believe it? I don't, and you don't either. Everything would have happened in a different way. Everything. We had stayed together then. We had had _more_ children. We had married. We might be living together now. I shouldn't have become an old-maidish "young lady from the castle," and you wouldn't have become....

JULIAN

An old bachelor.

IRENE

Well, if you say it yourself. And the main thing is this: we _had_ a child. I had a child. (_Pause_)

JULIAN (_walking back and forth_)

What's the use, Irene? Why do you begin to talk of all those forgotten things again...?

IRENE

Forgotten?

JULIAN

... Things gone by.

IRENE

Yes, they are bygone, of course. But out there in the country you have plenty of time. All sorts of things keep passing through your head. And especially when you see other people's children--Lora has two boys, you know--then you get all sorts of notions. It almost amounted to a vision not long ago.

JULIAN

What?

IRENE

It was toward evening, and I had walked across the fields. I do it quite often, all by myself. Far and wide there was nobody to be seen. And the village down below was quite deserted, too. And I walked on and on, always in direction of the woods. And suddenly I was no longer alone. You were with me. And between us was the child. We were holding it by the hands--our little child. (_Angrily, to keep herself from crying_) It's too silly for anything! I know, of course, that our child would be a gawky youngster of twenty-three by now--that it might have turned into a scamp or a good-for-nothing girl. Or that it might be dead already. Or that it had drifted out into the wide world, so that we had nothing left of it--oh, yes, yes.... But we should have had it once, for all that--once there would have been a little child that seemed rather fond of us. And.... (_She is unable to go on; silence follows_)

JULIAN (_softly_)

You shouldn't talk yourself into such a state, Irene.

IRENE

I am not talking myself into anything.

JULIAN

Don't brood. Accept things as they are. There have been other things in your life--better things, perhaps. Your life has been much richer than that of a mere mother could ever have been.... You have been an artist.

IRENE (_as if to herself_)

I don't care that much for it.

JULIAN

A great, famous one--that means something after all. And your life has brought you many other exquisite experiences--since the one with me. I am sure of it.

IRENE

What have I got left of it? What does it amount to? A woman who has no child has never been a woman. But a woman who once might have had one--who should have had one, and who--(_with a glance at him_)--has never become a mother, she is nothing but--oh! But that's what a man cannot understand! It is what not one of them can understand! In this respect the very best one of the lot will always remain something of a cad. Is there one of you who knows how many of his own offspring have been set adrift in the world? I know at least that there are none of mine. Can you say as much?

JULIAN

And if I did know....

IRENE

How? Have you got one really?--Oh, speak, please! You can tell _me,_ Julian, can't you? Where is it? How old is it? A boy? Or a girl?

JULIAN

Don't question me.... Even if I had a child, it wouldn't belong to you anyhow.

IRENE

He has a child! He has a child! (_Pause_) Why do you permit it to be drifting around in the world then?

JULIAN

You yourself have given the explanation: in this respect the very best of us remains always something of a cad. And I am not the best one at that.

IRENE

Why don't you go and get it?

JULIAN

How could it be any of my concern? How could I dare to make it my concern? Oh, that's enough.... (_Pause_) Do you want another cup of tea?

IRENE

No, thanks. No more now. (_Pause; it is growing darker_) He has a child, and I have never known it! (_Protracted silence_)

VALET (_enters_)

JULIAN

What is it?

VALET

Lieutenant Wegrat asks if you are at home, sir?

JULIAN

Certainly. Ask him in.

VALET (_goes out after having turned on the light_)

IRENE

Young Wegrat?--I thought he had already left again.--The poor chap! He seemed utterly stunned.

JULIAN

I can imagine.

IRENE

You visited him at Salzburg?

JULIAN

Yes, I happened to be there a couple of days last August.

FELIX (_enters, dressed as a civilian_)

Good evening.--Good evening, Miss Herms.

IRENE

Good evening, Lieutenant.

JULIAN

My dear Felix--I was going to call on you--this very evening. It's extremely nice of you to take the trouble.

FELIX

I have to be off again the day after to-morrow, and so I wasn't sure whether I could find any chance at all to see you.

JULIAN

Won't you take off your coat?--Think of it, I didn't have the slightest idea.... It was Sala who told me--less than an hour ago.

[_Irene is looking from one to the other._

FELIX

We didn't dream of this when we took that walk in the Mirabell Gardens[4] last summer.

[4] The palace of Mirabell is one of the sights of Salzburg,
the city near the Bavarian border, where Felix's regiment was
stationed. It is now used as a museum. The gardens adjoining
it are of the formal type so dear to, and so characteristic
of, the eighteenth century.

JULIAN

Was it very sudden?

FELIX

Yes. And I, who couldn't be with her.... Late that evening I had to leave, and she died during the night.

IRENE

Say rather that she didn't wake up again next morning.

FELIX

We owe a lot of thanks to you, Miss Herms.

IRENE

Oh, please...!

FELIX

It always gave my mother so much pleasure to have you with her, chatting, or playing the piano to her.

IRENE

Oh, don't mention my playing...!

[_A clock strikes._

IRENE

Is it that late? Then I have to go.

JULIAN

What's the hurry, Miss Herms?

IRENE

I'm going to the opera. I have to make good use of the few days I shall still be here.

FELIX

Shall we see you at our house again, Miss Herms?

IRENE

Certainly.--You'll have to leave before me, won't you?

FELIX

Yes, my furlough will be up....

IRENE (_as if en passant_)

How long have you been an officer anyhow, Felix?

FELIX

For three years really--but I didn't apply for a commission until this year--a little too late, perhaps.

IRENE

Too late? Why?--How old are you, Felix?

FELIX

Twenty-three.

IRENE

Oh! (_Pause_) But when I saw you four years ago as a volunteer, I thought at once you would stay in the service.--Do you remember, Julian, I told you so at the time?

JULIAN

Yes....

FELIX

That must have been in the summer, the last time you called on us.

IRENE

I think so....

FELIX

Many things have changed since then.

IRENE

Indeed! Those were still happy days.--Don't you think so, Julian? For we haven't met either since we spent those beautiful summer evenings in the garden of the Wegrats.

JULIAN (_nods assent_)

IRENE (_stands again looking now at Julian and now at Felix; brief pause_) Oh, but now it's high time for me to be gone.--Good-by. Remember me at home, Lieutenant.--Good-by, Julian. (_She goes out, accompanied to the door by Julian_)

FELIX

Haven't you made some changes here?

JULIAN

Not to my knowledge. And how could you know anyhow? You have only been here two or three times.

FELIX

Yes. But the last time at one of the most important moments in my life. I came here to get your advice.

JULIAN

Well, everything has turned out in accordance with your wish. Even your father has resigned himself to it.

FELIX

Yes, he has resigned himself. Of course, he would have preferred to see me continue my technical studies. But now he has seen that it is quite possible to lead a sensible life in uniform too--without any debts or duels. In fact, my life is almost too smooth. However, there is at least more to anticipate for one of us than for most people. And that's always something.

JULIAN

And how are things at home?

FELIX

At home.... Really, it's almost as if that word had lost its meaning.

JULIAN

Has your father resumed his duties again?

FELIX

Of course. Two days later he was back in his studio. He is wonderful. But I can't quite understand it.... Am I disturbing you, Mr. Fichtner? You were putting your papers in order, I think.

JULIAN

Oh, there's no hurry about that. They're easily put in order. Most of them I burn.

FELIX

Why?

JULIAN

It's more sensible, don't you think, to destroy things one hardly cares to look at any more?

FELIX

But doesn't it make you rather sad to clean out your past like that?

JULIAN

Sad?... No, it's entirely too natural a process for that.

FELIX

I can't see it that way. Look here. To burn a letter, or a picture, or something of that kind, immediately after you have got it--that seems quite natural to me. But something at all worthy of being kept as a remembrance of some poignant joy or equally poignant sorrow would seem incapable of ever losing its significance again. And especially in the case of a life like yours, that has been so rich and so active.... It would seem to me that at times you must feel something like--awe in the face of your own past.

JULIAN

Where do you get such thoughts--you, who are so young?

FELIX

They just came into my head this minute.

JULIAN

You are not so very much mistaken, perhaps. But there is something else besides, that makes me want to clean house. I am about to become homeless, so to speak.

FELIX

Why?

JULIAN

I'm giving up my rooms here, and don't know yet what my next step will be. And so I think it's more pleasant to let these things come to a decent end rather than to put them in a box and leave them to molder away in a cellar.

FELIX

But don't you feel sorry about a lot of it?

JULIAN

Oh, I don't know.

FELIX

And then you must have mementoes that mean something to other people besides yourself. Sketches of all kinds, for instance, which I think you have saved to some extent.

JULIAN

Are you thinking of those little things I showed you in Salzburg?

FELIX

Yes, of those too, of course.

JULIAN

They are still wrapped up. Would you like to have them?

FELIX

Indeed, I should feel very thankful. They seemed to have a particular charm for me. (_Pause_) But there's something else I wanted to ask of you. A great favor. If you will let me....

JULIAN

Tell me, please.

FELIX

I thought you might still have left a picture of my mother as a young girl. A small picture in water colors painted by yourself.

JULIAN

Yes, I did paint such a picture.

FELIX

And you have still got it?

JULIAN

I guess it can be found.

FELIX

I should like to see it.

JULIAN

Did your mother remember this picture...?

FELIX

Yes, she mentioned it to me the last evening I ever saw her--the evening before she died. At the time I didn't imagine, of course, that the end was so near--and I don't think she could guess it either. To-day it seems rather peculiar to me that, on that very evening, she had to talk so much of days long gone by.

JULIAN

And of this little picture, too?

FELIX

It's a very good one, I understand.

JULIAN (_as if trying to remember_)

Where did I put it? Wait now.... (_He goes to a book case, the lower part of which has solid doors; these he opens, disclosing several shelves piled with portfolios_) I painted it in the country--in the little house where your grandparents used to live.

FELIX

I know.

JULIAN

You can hardly recall the old people, I suppose?

FELIX

Very vaguely. They were quite humble people, were they not?

JULIAN

Yes. (_He has taken a big portfolio from one of the shelves_) It ought to be in this portfolio. (_He puts it on the writing desk and opens it; then he sits down in front of it_)

FELIX (_stands behind him, looking over his shoulder_)

JULIAN

Here is the house in which they lived--your grandparents and your mother. (_He goes through the sketches, one by one_) And here is a view of the valley seen from the cemetery.

FELIX

In Summer....

JULIAN

Yes.--And here is the little inn at which your father and I used to stop.... And here.... (_He looks in silence at the sketch; both remain silent for a long while_)

FELIX (_picking up the sketch_)

How old was my mother at the time?

JULIAN (_who remains seated_)

Eighteen.

FELIX (_going a few steps away and leaning against the bookcase in order to get better light on the picture_)

A year before she was married, then.

JULIAN

It was done that very year. (_Pause_)

FELIX

What a strange look that meets me out of those eyes.... There's a smile on her lips.... It's almost as if she were talking to me....

JULIAN

What was it your mother told you--that last evening?

FELIX

Not very much. But I feel as if I knew more than she had told me. What a queer thought it is, that as she is now looking at me out of this picture, so she must have been looking at you once. It seems as if there was a certain timidity in that look. Something like fear almost.... In such a way you look at people out of another world, for which you long, and of which you are afraid nevertheless.

JULIAN

At that time your mother had rarely been outside the village.

FELIX

She must have been different from all other women you have met, wasn't she?--Why don't you say anything? I am not one of those men who cannot understand--who won't understand that their mothers and sisters are women after all. I can easily understand that it must have been a dangerous time for her--and for somebody else as well. (_Very simply_) You must have loved my mother very much?

JULIAN

You have a curious way of asking questions.--Yes, I did love her.

FELIX

And those moments must have been very happy ones, when you sat in that little garden with its overgrown fence, holding this canvas on your knees, and out there on the bright meadow, among all those red and white flowers, stood this young girl with anxiously smiling eyes, holding her straw hat in one hand.

JULIAN

Your mother talked of those moments that last evening?

FELIX

Yes.--It is childish perhaps, but since then it has seemed impossible to me that any other human being could ever have meant so much to you as this one?

JULIAN (_more and more deeply moved, but speaking very quietly_) I shall not answer you.--In the end I should instinctively be tempted to make myself appear better than I am. You know very well how I have lived my life--that it has not followed a regulated and direct course like the lives of most other people. I suppose that the gift of bestowing happiness of the kind that lasts, or of accepting it, has never been mine.

FELIX

That's what I feel. It is what I have always felt. Often with something like regret--or sorrow almost. But just people like you, who are destined by their very nature to have many and varied experiences--just such people should, I think, cling more faithfully and more gratefully to memories of a tender, peaceful sort, like this--rather than to more passionate and saddening memories.--Am I not right?

JULIAN

Maybe you are.

FELIX

My mother had never before mentioned this picture to me. Isn't it strange?... That last night she did it for the first time.--We were left alone on the veranda. The rest had already bid me good-by.... And all of a sudden she began to talk about those summer days of long, long ago. Her words had an undercurrent of meanings which she probably did not realize. I believe that her own youth, which she had almost ceased to understand, was unconsciously taking mine into its confidence. It moved me more deeply than I can tell you.--Much as she cared for me, she had never before talked to me like that. And I believe that she had never been quite so dear to me as in those last moments.--And when finally I had to leave, I felt that she had still much more to tell me.--Now you'll understand why I had such a longing to see this picture.--I have almost the feeling that it might go on talking to me as my mother would have done--if I had only dared to ask her one more question!

JULIAN

Ask it now.... Do ask it, Felix.

FELIX (_who becomes aware of the emotion betrayed in the voice of Julian, looks up from the picture_)

JULIAN

I believe that it can still tell you a great many things.

FELIX

What is the matter?

JULIAN

Do you want to keep that picture?

FELIX

Why...?

JULIAN

Well ... take it. I don't give it to you. As soon as I have settled down again, I shall want it back. But you shall have a look at it whenever you want. And I hope matters will be so arranged that you won't have far to go either.

FELIX (_with his eyes on the picture_)

It grows more alive every second.... And that look was directed at you.... That look...? Can it be possible that I read it right?

JULIAN

Mothers have their adventures, too, like other women.

FELIX

Yes, indeed, I believe it has nothing more to hide from me.

[_He puts down the picture. Then a long pause follows. At last Felix puts on his coat._

JULIAN

Are you not going to take it along?

FELIX

Not just now. It belongs to you much more than I could guess.

JULIAN

And to you ...

FELIX

No, I don't want it until this new thing has become fully revealed to me. (_He looks Julian firmly in the eyes_) I don't quite know where I am. In reality, of course, there has been no change whatever. None--except that I know now what I ...

JULIAN

Felix!

FELIX

No, that was something I could never have guessed. (_Looks long at Julian with an expression of mingled tenderness and curiosity_) Farewell.

JULIAN

Are you going?

FELIX

I need badly to be by myself for a while.--Until to-morrow.

JULIAN

Yes, and no longer, Felix. To-morrow I shall come to your--I'll call on _you_, Felix.

FELIX

I shall be waiting for you. (_He goes out_)

JULIAN (_stands quite still for a moment; then he goes to the writing desk and stops beside it, lost in contemplation of the picture_)

CURTAIN

THE THIRD ACT

_A room at the Wegrats' adjoining the veranda. The outlook is, of course, determined by the location._

JOHANNA (_is seated on a stool with her hands folded in her lap_)

SALA (_enters_)

Good morning, Johanna.

JOHANNA (_rises, goes to meet him, and draws him close to herself_) Are you coming for the last time?

SALA

For the last time? What an idea! There has not been the slightest change in our arrangements. To-day is the seventh of October, and the ship will leave Genoa on the twenty-sixth of November.

JOHANNA

Some day you will suddenly have disappeared. And I shall be standing by the garden door, and nobody will come to open it.

SALA

But that sort of thing is not needed between us two.

JOHANNA

No, indeed--bear that in mind.

FELIX (_enters_)

Oh, is that you, Mr. von Sala? (_They shake hands_) Well, how far have you got with your preparations?

SALA

There are hardly any needed. I shall pack my trunk, pull down the shades, lock the doors--and be off for the mysteries of far-away. There is something I want to ask you apropos of that, Felix. Would you care to come along?

FELIX (_startled_)

If I care.... Are you asking seriously, Mr. von Sala?

SALA

There is just so much seriousness in my question as you wish to put into it.

FELIX

What does it mean anyhow? If I want to go along to Asia? What use could they have for me in a venture of that kind?

SALA

Oh, that's pretty plain.

FELIX

Is the expedition not going to be one of purely scientific character?

SALA

Yes, that's what it is meant for, I suppose. But it is quite possible that various things may happen that would make the presence of some young men like you very desirable.

FELIX

Men like me...?

SALA

When Rolston went out there seven years ago, a lot of things happened which were not provided for in the original program. And they had to fight a regular battle, on a small scale, in the Kara-Kum district, not far from the river Amu-Daria.

REUMANN (_who has entered while Sala was speaking_)

To those who had to stay behind forever the scale of your battle was probably large enough. (_All greet each other and shake hands without letting the conversation be interrupted_)

SALA

In that respect you are probably right, Doctor.

FELIX

Pardon me, Mr. von Sala, but does this come from you alone? Is it just a sudden notion--or something more?

SALA

I have received no direct request from anybody to speak of this. But after the conference which took place at the Foreign Department yesterday, and which I attended, I feel entitled to add a little more.--Oh, no secrets at all!--You have probably read, Felix, that a member of the General Staff as well as several artillery and engineering officers are being sent with us in what might be termed a semi-official capacity. On account of the latest news from Asia--which, however, does not seem very reliable to me, as it has come by way of England--it has been decided to secure the additional cooperation of some young line officers, and all arrangements of this kind must be left to private initiative.

FELIX

And there might be a possibility for me...?

SALA

Will you permit me to speak to Count Ronsky?

FELIX

Have you already mentioned my name to him?

SALA

I have received permission to ask whether you could be prepared to board the ship with the rest at Genoa on the twenty-sixth of November.

REUMANN

Do you mean to leave Vienna as soon as that?

SALA (_sarcastically_)

Yes. Why did you look at me like that, Doctor? That glance of yours was a little indiscreet.

REUMANN

In what respect?

SALA

It seemed to say: Yes, you can start, of course, but if you ever come back, that's more than doubtful.

REUMANN

Let me tell you, Mr. von Sala, that in the face of a venture like yours one might well express such doubts quite openly. But are you at all interested in whether you get back or not, Mr. von Sala? I don't suppose you belong to the kind of people who care to put their affairs in order.

SALA

No, indeed. Especially not as, in cases of that kind, it is generally the affairs of others which give you needless trouble. If I were to be interested at all in my own chances, it would be for much more selfish reasons.

JOHANNA

What reasons?

SALA

I don't want to be cheated out of the consciousness that certain moments are my final ones.

REUMANN

There are not many people who share your attitude in that respect.

SALA

At any rate, Doctor, you would have to tell me the absolute truth if I ever asked you for it. I hold that one has the right to drain one's own life to the last drop, with all the horrors and delights that may lie hidden at the bottom of it. Just as it is our evident duty every day to commit every good deed and every rascality lying within our capacity.... No, I won't let you rob me of my death moments by any kind of hocus-pocus. It would imply a small-minded attitude, worthy neither of yourself nor of me.--Well, Felix, the twenty-sixth of November then! That's still seven weeks off. In regard to any formalities that may be required, you need have no worry at all.

FELIX

How long a time have I got to make up my mind?

SALA

There's no reason to be precipitate. When does your furlough end?

FELIX

To-morrow night.

SALA

Of course, you are going to talk it over with your father?

FELIX

With my father.... Yes, of course.--At any rate I'll bring you the answer early to-morrow morning, Mr. von Sala.

SALA

Fine. It would please me very much. But you must bear in mind: it will be no picnic. I expect to see you soon, then. Good-by, Miss Johanna. Farewell, Doctor.

[_He goes out. A brief pause. Those left behind show signs of emotion._

JOHANNA (_rising_)

I'm going to my room. Good-by, Doctor. (_She goes out_)

REUMANN

Have you made up your mind, Felix?

FELIX

Almost.

REUMANN

You'll come across much that is new to you.

FELIX

And my own self among it, I hope--which would be about time.... (_Quoting_) "The mysteries of far-away ..." And will it really come true? Oh, the thrill of it!

REUMANN

And yet you ask time to consider?

FELIX

I hardly know why. And yet ... The thought of leaving people behind and perhaps never seeing them again--and certainly not as they were when you left them; the thought, too, that perhaps your going will hurt them ...

REUMANN

If nothing else makes you hesitate, then every moment of uncertainty is wasted. Nothing is more sure to estrange you from those dear to you than the knowledge that duty condemns you to stay near them. You must seize this unique opportunity. You must go to see Genoa, Asia Minor, Thibet, Bactria.... Oh, it must be splendid! And my best wishes will go with you. (_He gives his hand to Felix_)

FELIX

Thank you. But there will be plenty of time for wishes of that kind. Whatever may be decided, we shall meet more than once before I leave.

REUMANN

I hope so. Oh, of course!

FELIX (_looking hard at him_)

Doctor ... it seems to me there was a final farewell in that pressure of your hand.

REUMANN (_with a smile_)

Is it ever possible to tell whether you will meet again?

FELIX

Tell me, Doctor--did Mr. von Sala interpret your glance correctly?

REUMANN

That has nothing to do with your case anyhow.

FELIX

Will he not be able to go with us?

REUMANN (_with hesitation_)

That's very hard to predict.

FELIX

You have never learned to lie, Doctor.

REUMANN

As the matter stands now, I think you can bring it to a successful conclusion without further assistance.

FELIX

Mr. von Sala called on you a few days ago?

REUMANN

Yes, it was only a while ago. (_Pause_) Well, you can see for yourself that he is not well, can't you?--So God be with you, Felix.

FELIX

Will you continue to befriend this house when I am gone?

REUMANN

Why do you ask questions like that, Felix?

FELIX

You don't mean to come here again?--But why?

REUMANN

I assure you ...

FELIX

I understand ...

REUMANN (_embarrassed_)

What can there be to understand...?

FELIX

My dear Doctor ... I know now ... why you don't want to come to this house any more.... It's another case of somebody else breaking his neck.... Dear friend ...

REUMANN

Good luck to you ... Felix ...

FELIX

And if anybody should call you back ...

REUMANN

Nobody will.... But if I should be _needed_, I can always be found ...

JOHANNA (_comes into the room again_)

REUMANN

Good-by ... Good-by, Miss Johanna ...

JOHANNA

Are you going already, Doctor?

REUMANN

Yes.... Give my regards to your father. Good-by.... (_He shakes her hand_)

JOHANNA (_calmly_)

Did he tell you that Sala is doomed?

FELIX (_hesitates about what to say_)

JOHANNA

I knew it. (_With an odd gesture of deprecation as Felix wants to say something_) And you are going--with or without him?

FELIX

Yes. (_Pause_) There won't be much doing in this place after this.

JOHANNA (_remains unmoved_)

FELIX

And how are you going to live, Johanna?... I mean, how are the two of you going to live--you and father?

JOHANNA (_gives him a look as if his question surprised her_)

FELIX

He is going to be lonely. I think he would feel very grateful if you took a little more interest in him--if you went for a walk for him when there is time for it. And you, too ...

JOHANNA (_brusquely_)

How could that help me or him? What can he be to me or I to him? I was not made to assist people in days of trial. I can't help it, but that's the way I am. I seem to be stirred by a sort of hostility against people who appeal to my pity. I felt it like that all the time mother was sick.

FELIX

No, you were not made for that.... But what were you made for then?

JOHANNA (_shrugs her shoulders and sits down as before, with hands folded in her lap and her eyes staring straight ahead_)

FELIX

Johanna, why do you never talk to me any more as you used to? Have you, then, nothing to tell me? Don't you remember how we used to tell each other everything?

JOHANNA

That was long ago. We were children then.

FELIX

Why can't you talk to me any longer as you did then? Have you forgotten how well we two used to understand each other? How we used to confide all our secrets to each other? What good chums we used to be?... How we wanted to go out into the wide world together?

JOHANNA

Into the wide world.... Oh, yes, I remember. But there is nothing left now of all those words of wonder and romance.

FELIX

Perhaps it depends on ourselves only.

JOHANNA

No, those words have no longer the same meaning as before.

FELIX

What do you mean?

JOHANNA

Into the wide world ...

FELIX

What is the matter, Johanna?

JOHANNA

Once, when we were in the museum together, I saw a picture of which I often think. It has a meadow with knights and ladies in it--and a forest, a vineyard, an inn, and young men and women dancing, and a big city with churches and towers and bridges. And soldiers are marching across the bridges, and a ship is gliding down the river. And farther back there is a hill, and on that hill a castle, and lofty mountains in the extreme distance. And clouds are floating above the mountains, and there is mist on the meadow, and a flood of sunlight is pouring down on the city, and a storm is raging over the castle, and there is ice and snow on the mountains.--And when anybody spoke of "the wide world," or I read that term anywhere, I used always to think of that picture. And it used to be the same with so many other big-sounding words. Fear was a tiger with cavernous mouth--love was a page with long light curls kneeling at the feet of a lady--death was a beautiful young man with black wings and a sword in his hand--and fame was blaring bugles, men with bent backs, and a road strewn with flowers. In those days it was possible to talk of all sorts of things, Felix. But to-day everything has a different look--fame, and death, and love, and the wide world.

FELIX (_hesitatingly_)

I feel a little scared on your behalf, Johanna.

JOHANNA

Why, Felix?

FELIX

Johanna!--I wish you wouldn't do anything to worry father.

JOHANNA

Does that depend on me alone?

FELIX

I know in what direction your dreams are going, Johanna.--What is to come out of that?

JOHANNA

Is it necessary that something comes out of everything?--I think, Felix, that many people are destined to mean nothing to each other but a common memory.

FELIX

You have said it yourself, Johanna--that you are not made to see other people suffer.

JOHANNA (_shrinks slightly at those words_)

FELIX

Suffer ... and ...

JULIAN (_enters_)

How are you? (_He shakes hands with Felix_)

JOHANNA (_who has risen_)

Mr. Fichtner. (_She holds out her hand to him_)

JULIAN

I could hardly recognize you, Johanna. You have grown into a young lady now.--Has your father not come home yet?

JOHANNA

He hasn't gone out yet. He has nothing to do at the Academy until twelve.

JULIAN

I suppose he's in his studio?

JOHANNA

I'll call him.

[_Julian looks around. As Johanna is about to leave the room, Wegrat enters, carrying his hat and stick._

WEGRAT (_giving his hand to Julian_)

I'm delighted, my dear fellow.

JULIAN

I heard of it only after my arrival here yesterday--through Sala. I don't need to tell you ...

WEGRAT

Thank you very much for your sympathy. I thank you with all my heart.--But sit down, please.

JULIAN

You were going out?

WEGRAT

Oh, it's no hurry. I have nothing to do in the Academy until twelve. Johanna, will you please get a carriage for me, just to be on the safe side?

[_Johanna goes out. Wegrat seats himself, as does Julian. Felix stands leaning against the glazed oven._

WEGRAT

Well, you stayed away quite a while this time.

JULIAN

More than two years.

WEGRAT

If you had only got here ten days earlier, you could have had a last look at her. It came so very suddenly--although it wasn't unexpected.

JULIAN

So I have heard.

WEGRAT

And now you are going to stay right here, I suppose?

JULIAN

A little while. How long I am not yet able to tell.

WEGRAT

Of course not. The making of schedules has never been your line.

JULIAN

No, I have a certain disinclination for that kind of thing. (_Pause_)

WEGRAT

Oh, mercy, my dear fellow ... how often have I not been thinking of you recently!

JULIAN

And I....

WEGRAT

No, you haven't had much chance for it.... But I.... As I enter the building where I now hold office and authority, I remember often how we two young chaps used to sit side by side in the model class, full of a thousand plans and hopes.

JULIAN

Why do you say that in such a melancholy tone? A lot of those things have come true, haven't they?

WEGRAT

Some--yes.... And yet one can't help wanting to be young again, even at the risk of similar sorrows and struggles....

JULIAN

And even at the risk of also having to live through a lot of nice things over again.

WEGRAT

Indeed, those are the hardest things to bear, once they have turned into memories.--You have been in Italy again?

JULIAN

Yes, in Italy too.

WEGRAT

It's a long time now since I was there. Since we made that walk together through the Ampezzo Valley,[5] with the pack on our backs--to Pieve, and then right on to Venice. Can you remember? The sun has never again shone as brightly as it did then.

[5] One of the main routes through the Dolomites, leading from
Southern Tirol into Italy. It is in part identical with the
route outlined by Albert in "Intermezzo," but parts from it at
Cortina to run straight south.

JULIAN

That must have been almost thirty years ago.

WEGRAT

No, not quite. You were already pretty well known at the time. You had just finished your splendid picture of Irene Herms. It was the year before I married.

JULIAN

Yes, yes. (_Pause_)

WEGRAT

Do you still recall the summer morning when you went with me to Kirchau for the first time?

JULIAN

Of course.

WEGRAT

How the light buggy carried us through the wide, sun-steeped valley? And do you remember the little garden at Hügelhang, where you became acquainted with Gabrielle and her parents?

FELIX (_with suppressed emotion_)

Father, is the house in which mother used to live still standing?

WEGRAT

No, it's gone long ago. They have built a villa on the spot. Five or six years ago, you know, we went there for the last time to visit the graves of your grandparents. Everything has been changed, except the cemetery.... (_To Julian_) Can you still remember that cool, cloudy afternoon, Julian, when we sat on the lower wall of the cemetery and had such a remarkable talk about the future?

JULIAN

I remember the day very clearly. But I have entirely forgotten what we were talking about.

WEGRAT

Just what we said has passed out of my mind, too, but I can still remember what an extraordinary talk it was.... In some way the world seemed to open up more widely. And I felt something like envy toward you, as I often did in those days. There rose within me a feeling that I, too, could do anything--if I only wanted. There was so much to be seen and experienced--and the flow of life was irresistible. Nothing would be needed but a little more nerve, a little more self-assurance, and then to plunge in. ... Yes, that was what I felt while you were talking. ... And then Gabrielle came toward us along the narrow road from the village, between the acacias. She carried her straw hat in her hand, and she nodded to me. And all my dreams of the future centered in her after that, and once more the whole world seemed fitted into a frame, and yet it was big and beautiful enough. ... Why does the color all of a sudden come back into those things? It was practically forgotten, all of it, and now, when she is dead, it comes to life again with a glow that almost scares me. ... Oh, it were better not to think of it at all. What's the use? What's the use? (_Pause; he goes to one of the windows_)

JULIAN (_struggling to overcome his embarrassment_) It is both wise and brave of you to resume your regular activities so promptly.

WEGRAT

Oh, once you have made up your mind to go on living. ... There is nothing but work that can help you through this sense of being alone--of being _left_ alone.

JULIAN

It seems to me that your grief makes you a little unjust toward--much that is still yours.

WEGRAT

Unjust...? Oh, I didn't mean to. I hope you don't feel hurt, children ...! Felix, you understand me fully, don't you? There is so much, from the very beginning, that draws--that lures--that tears the young ones away from us. We have to struggle to keep our children almost from the very moment they arrive--and the struggle is a pretty hopeless one at that. But that's the way of life: they cannot possibly belong to us. And as far as other people are concerned.... Even our friends come into our lives only as guests who rise from the table when they have eaten, and walk out. Like us, they have their own streets, their own affairs. And it's quite natural it should be so.... Which doesn't prevent us from feeling pleased, Julian--sincerely pleased, when one of them finds his way back to us. Especially if it be one on whom we have put great store throughout life. You may be sure of that, Julian. (_They shake hands_) And as long as you remain in Vienna, I shall see you here quite often, I trust. It will give me genuine pleasure.

JULIAN

I'll be sure to come.

MAID (_enters_)

The carriage is here, Professor. (_She goes out_)

WEGRAT

I'm coming. (_To Julian_) You must have a lot to tell me. You were as good as lost. You understand it will interest me to hear all you have done--and still more what you intend to do. Felix told us the other day about some very interesting sketches you had showed him.

JULIAN

I'll go with you, if you care to have me.

WEGRAT

Thanks. But it would be still nicer of you to stay right here and take dinner with us.

JULIAN

Well ...

WEGRAT

I'll be through very quickly. To-day I have nothing but a few business matters to dispose of--nothing but signing a few documents. I'll be back in three-quarters of an hour. In the meantime the children will keep you company as they used to in the old days. ... Won't you, children?--So you're staying, are you not? Good-by for a little while then. (_He goes out_)

[_Long pause._

FELIX

Why didn't you go with him?

JULIAN

Your mother was without blame. If any there be, it falls on me alone. I'll tell you all about it.

FELIX (_nods_)

JULIAN