Volume 12 / Act 2 — SCENE I

The COLONEL'S summer parlor. In the foreground on the right IDA and ADELAIDE, next to ADELAIDE the COLONEL, all sitting. In front of them a table with coffee set.

COLONEL (in conversation with ADELAIDE, laughing).

A splendid story, and cleverly told! I am heartily glad that you are with us, dear Adelaide. Now, at any rate, we shall talk about something else at table besides this everlasting politics! H'm! The professor has not come today. He never used to miss our coffee-hour.

[Pause; ADELAIDE and IDA look at each other. IDA sighs.]

ADELAIDE.

Perhaps he has work to do.

IDA.

Or he is vexed with us because I am going to the fête tonight.

COLONEL (irritably).

Nonsense, you are not his wife nor even openly his fiancée. You are in your father's house and belong in my circle.—H'm! I see he treasures it up against me that I did some plain speaking the other day. I think I was a little impatient.

ADELAIDE (nodding her head).

Yes, a little, I hear.

IDA.

He is worried about the way you feel, dear father.

COLONEL.

Well, I have reason enough to be vexed; don't remind me of it. And that, in addition, he lets himself be mixed up in these elections, is unpardonable.

[Walks up and down.]

But you had better send for him, Ida.

IDA rings. Enter CARL.

IDA.

Our compliments to the professor and we are waiting coffee for him.

[Exit CARL.]

COLONEL.

Well, that about waiting was not quite necessary. Why, we have finished our coffee.

ADELAIDE.

Ida has not finished yet.

IDA.

Hush!

ADELAIDE.

Why did he ever let himself be put up as candidate? He has plenty to do as it is.

COLONEL.

Pure ambition, girls. The devil of ambition possesses these young men. He impels them as steam does a locomotive.

IDA.

No, father, he never thought of himself in the matter.

COLONEL.

It does not stand out quite so nakedly as, "I must make a career for myself," or "I wish to become a famous man." The procedure is more delicate. The good friends come along and say: "Your duty to the good cause requires you to—it is a crime against your country if you do not—it is a sacrifice for you but we demand it." And so a pretty mantle is thrown around vanity, and the candidate issues forth—from pure patriotism of course! Don't teach an old soldier worldly wisdom. We, dear Adelaide, sit calmly by and laugh at such weaknesses.

ADELAIDE.

And are indulgent toward them when we have so good a heart as you.

COLONEL.

Yes, one profits by experience.

Enter CARL.

CARL.

Mr. von Senden and two other gentlemen.

COLONEL.

What do they want? Pleased to see them!

[Exit CARL.]

Allow me to have them shown in here, children. Senden never stays long. He is a roving spirit.

[The ladies rise.]

IDA.

The hour is again spoiled for us.

ADELAIDE.

Don't mind it; we shall have all the more time to dress.

[Exeunt IDA and ADELAIDE on the left.]

Enter SENDEN, BLUMENBERG, a third gentleman.

SENDEN.

Colonel, we come on behalf of the committee for the approaching election to notify you that that committee has unanimously voted to make you, Colonel, our party's candidate.

COLONEL. Me?

SENDEN.

The committee begs you to accept this nomination so that the necessary announcement can be made to the voters at this evening's fête.

COLONEL.

Are you in earnest, dear Senden? Where did the committee get such an idea?

SENDEN.

Colonel, our president, who had previously agreed to run for our town, found that it would be more advantageous to be candidate from a provincial district; apart from him no one of our townsmen is so well known and so popular with the citizens as yourself. If you accede to our request our party is certain of victory; if you refuse, there is every probability that our opponents will have their own way. You will agree with us that such an eventuality must be avoided under all circumstances.

COLONEL.

I see all that; but, on personal grounds, it is impossible for me to help our friends in this matter.

SENDEN (to the others).

Let me explain to the Colonel certain things which will possibly make him look favorably on our request.

[Exeunt BLUMENBERG and the other gentlemen into the garden, where they are visible from time to time.]

COLONEL.

But, Senden, how could you put me in this embarrassing position! You know that for years Oldendorf has frequented my house and that it will be extremely unpleasant for me openly to oppose him.

SENDEN.

If the professor is really so devoted to you and your household, he has now the best opportunity to show it. It is a foregone conclusion that he will at once withdraw.

COLONEL.

I am not quite so sure of that; he is very stubborn in many ways.

SENDEN.

If he do not withdraw such egotism can scarcely still be called stubbornness. And in such a case you would scarcely be under obligations to him; obligations, Colonel, which might work injury to the whole country. Besides, he has no chance of being elected if you accept, for you will defeat him by a majority not large but sure.

COLONEL.

Are we so perfectly certain of this majority!

SENDEN.

I think I can guarantee it. Blumenberg and the other gentlemen have made very thorough inquiries.

COLONEL.

It would serve the professor quite right if he had to withdraw in my favor.—But no—no; it will not do at all, my friend.

SENDEN.

We know, Colonel, what a sacrifice we are asking of you, and that nothing could compensate you for it save the consciousness of having done your country a great service.

COLONEL.

To be sure.

SENDEN.

It would be so regarded in the capital, too, and I am convinced that your entering the House would also cause pleasure in other circles than those of your numerous friends and admirers.

COLONEL.

I should meet there many old friends and comrades. (Aside.) I should be presented at Court.

SENDEN.

The minister of war asked very warmly after you the other day; he too must have been one of your companions in arms.

COLONEL.

Yes indeed! As young blades we served in the same company and played many mad pranks together. It would be a pleasure to see him now in the House, drawing his honest face into dark lines. He was a wild devil in the regiment, but a fine boy.

SENDEN.

Nor will he be the only one to receive you with open arms.

COLONEL.

In any case, I should have to think the matter over.

SENDEN.

Don't be angry, Colonel, if I urge you to decide. This evening we have to introduce their candidate to our citizen guests. It is high time, or all is lost.

COLONEL (hesitating).

Senden, you put a knife to my throat!

[SENDEN, from the door, motions the gentlemen in the garden to come in.]

BLUMENBERG.

We venture to urge you, knowing that so good a soldier as you, Colonel, makes up his mind quickly.

COLONEL (after struggling inwardly).

Well, so be it, gentlemen, I accept! Tell the committee I appreciate their confidence. This evening we will talk over details.

BLUMENBERG.

We thank you, Colonel. The whole town will be rejoiced to hear of your decision.

COLONEL.

Good-by until this evening.

[Exeunt the visitors;

COLONEL alone, thoughtfully.]

I fear I ought not to have accepted so quickly; but I had to do the minister of war that favor. What will the girls say to it? And Oldendorf?

[Enter OLDENDORF.]

There he is himself.

[Clears his throat.]

He will be astonished. I can't help it, he must withdraw. Good morning, Professor, you come just at the right moment.

OLDENDORF (hastily).

Colonel, there is a report in town that Mr. von Senden's party have put you up as their candidate. I ask for your own assurance that you would not accept such a nomination.

COLONEL.

And, supposing the proposition had been made to me, why should I not accept as well as you? Yes, rather than you; for the motives that would determine me are sounder than your reasons.

OLDENDORF.

So there is some foundation then to the rumor?

COLONEL.

To be frank, it is the truth. I have accepted. You see in me your opponent.

OLDENDORF.

Nothing so bad has yet occurred to trouble our relations. Colonel, could not the memory of a friendship, hearty and undisturbed for years, induce you to avoid this odious conflict?

COLONEL.

Oldendorf, I could not act otherwise, believe me. It is your place now to remember our old friendship. You are a younger man, let alone other relationships; you are the one now to withdraw.

OLDENDORF (more excitedly).

Colonel, I have known you for years. I know how keenly and how deeply you feel things and how little your ardent disposition fits you to bear the petty vexations of current politics, the wearing struggle of debates. Oh, my worthy friend, do listen to my exhortations and take back your consent.

COLONEL.

Let that be my concern. I am an old block of hard timber. Think of yourself, dear Oldendorf. You are young, you have fame as a scholar; your learning assures you every success. Why, in another sphere of activity, do you seek to exchange honor and recognition for naught but hatred, mockery, and humiliation? For with such views as yours you cannot fail to harvest them. Think it over. Be sensible, and withdraw.

OLDENDORF.

Colonel, could I follow my own inclinations I should do so on the spot. But in this contest I am under obligations to my friends. I cannot withdraw now.

COLONEL (excitedly).

Nor can I withdraw, lest I harm the good cause. We are no further now than in the beginning. (Aside.) Obstinate fellow!

[Both walk up and down on opposite sides of the stage.]

You have not the least chance whatever of being elected, Oldendorf; my friends are sure of having the majority of the votes. You are exposing yourself to a public defeat. (Kindly.) I should dislike having you of all people beaten by me; it will cause gossip and scandal. Just think of it! It is perfectly useless for you to conjure up the conflict.

OLDENDORF.

Even if it were such a foregone conclusion as you assume, Colonel, I should still have to hold out to the end. But as far as I can judge the general sentiment, the result is by no means so certain. And think, Colonel, if you should happen to be defeated—

COLONEL (irritated).

I tell you, that will not be the case.

OLDENDORF.

But if it should be? How odious that would be for both of us! How would you feel toward me then! I might possibly welcome a defeat in my heart; for you it would be a terrible mortification, and, Colonel, I dread this possibility.

COLONEL.

For that very reason you should withdraw.

OLDENDORF.

I can no longer do so; but there is still time for you.

COLONEL (vehemently).

Thunder and lightning, sir, I have said yes; I am not the man to cap it with a no!

[Both walk up and down.]

That appears to end it, Professor! My wishes are of no account to you; I ought to have known that! We must go our separate ways. We have become open opponents; let us be honest enemies—

OLDENDORF (seizing the COLONEL'S hand).

Colonel, I consider this a most unfortunate day; for I see sad results to follow. Rest assured that no circumstances can shake my love and devotion for you.

COLONEL.

We are drawn up in line of battle, as it were. You mean to let yourself be defeated by an old military man. You shall have your desire.

OLDENDORF.

I ask your permission to tell Miss Ida of our conversation.

COLONEL (somewhat uneasy).

You had better not do that just now, Professor. An opportunity will come in due time. At present the ladies are dressing. I myself will say what is necessary.

OLDENDORF.

Farewell, Colonel, and think of me without hard feelings.

COLONEL.

I will try my best, Professor.

[Exit OLDENDORF.]

He has not given in! What depths of ambition there are in these scholars!

Enter IDA, ADELAIDE.

IDA.

Was not that Edward's voice?

COLONEL.

Yes, my child.

ADELAIDE.

And he has gone away again! Has anything happened?

COLONEL.

Well, yes, girls. To make a long story short, Oldendorf does not become member for this town, but I.

ADELAIDE} (together.) You, Colonel? IDA } You, father?

IDA.

Has Edward withdrawn?

ADELAIDE.

Is the election over?

COLONEL.

Neither one nor the other. Oldendorf has proved his much-vaunted devotion to us by not withdrawing, and election day is not yet past. But from what I hear there is no doubt that Oldendorf will be defeated.

IDA.

And you, father, have come out before everybody as his opponent?

ADELAIDE.

And what did Oldendorf say to that, Colonel?

COLONEL.

Don't excite me, girls! Oldendorf was stubborn, otherwise he behaved well, and as far as that is concerned all is in order. The grounds which determined me to make the sacrifice are very weighty. I will explain them to you more fully another time. The matter is decided; I have accepted; let that suffice for the present.

IDA.

But, dear father—

COLONEL.

Leave me in peace, Ida, I have other things to think of. This evening I am to speak in public; that is, so to say, the custom at such elections. Don't worry, my child, we'll get the better of the professor and his clique.

[Exit COLONEL toward the garden. IDA and ADELAIDE stand facing each other and wring their hands.]

IDA.

What do you say to that?

ADELAIDE.

You are his daughter—what do you say?

IDA.

Not possible!—Father! Scarcely had he finished explaining to us thoroughly what petty mantles ambition assumes in such elections—

ADELAIDE.

Yes, he described them right vividly, all the little wraps and cloaks of vanity.

IDA.

And within an hour he lets them throw the cloak about himself. Why, it is terrible! And if father is not elected? It was wrong of Edward not to give in to father's weakness. Is that your love for me, Professor? He, too, never thought of me!

ADELAIDE.

Shall I tell you what? Let us hope that they both fail. These politicians! It was bad enough for you when only one was in politics; now that both have tasted of the intoxicating drink you are done for. Were I ever to come into a position to make a man my master, I should impose upon him but one condition, the wise rule of conduct of my old aunt: Smoke tobacco, my husband, as much as you please; at most it will spoil the walls; but never dare to look at a newspaper—that will spoil your character.

[KORB appears at the door.]

What news do you bring, Korb?

KORB (hastily, mysteriously).

It isn't true!

ADELAIDE (the same). What isn't true?

KORB.

That he has a fiancée. He has no idea of it. His friend says he has but one lady-love.

ADELAIDE (eagerly).

Who is she?

KORB. His newspaper.

ADELAIDE (relieved).

Ah, indeed. (Aloud.)

One can see by that how many falsehoods people tell. It is good, dear Korb.

[Exit KORB.]

IDA. What isn't true?

ADELAIDE (sighing).

Well, that we women are cleverer than men. We talk just as wisely and I fear are just as glad to forget our wisdom at the first opportunity. We are all of us together poor sinners!

IDA.

You can joke about it. You never knew what it was to have your father and the man you loved oppose each other as enemies.

ADELAIDE.

Do you think so! Well, I once had a good friend who had foolishly given her heart to a handsome, high-spirited boy. She was a mere child and it was a very touching relationship: knightly devotion on his part and tender sighings on hers. Then the young heroine had the misfortune to become very jealous, and so far forgot poetry and deportment as to give her heart's chosen knight a box on the ear. It was only a little box, but it had fateful consequences. The young lady's father had seen it and demanded an explanation. Then the young knight acted like a perfect hero. He took all the blame upon himself and told the alarmed father that he had asked the young lady to kiss him—poor fellow, he never had the courage for such a thing!—and the blow had been her answer. A stern man was the father; he treated the lad very harshly. The hero was sent away from his family and his home, and the heroine sat lonely in her donjon-tower and mourned her lost one.

IDA.

She ought to have told her father the truth.

ADELAIDE.

Oh, she did. But her confession made matters only worse. Years have gone by since then, and the knight and his lady are now old people and have become quite sensible.

IDA (smiling).

And, because they are sensible, do they not love each other any longer?

ADELAIDE.

How the man feels about it, dear child, I cannot tell you exactly. He wrote the lady a very beautiful letter after the death of her father—that is all I know about it. But the lady has greater confidence than you, for she still hopes. (Earnestly.) Yes, she hopes; and even her father permitted that before he died—you see, she still hopes.

IDA (embracing her).

And who is the banished one for whom she still hopes?

ADELAIDE.

Hush, dearest, that is a dark secret. Few persons living know about it; and when the birds on the trees of Rosenau tell each other the story they treat it as a dim legend of their forefathers. They then sing softly and sorrowfully, and their feathers stand on end with awe. In due time you shall learn all about it; but now you must think of the fête, and of how pretty you are going to look.

IDA.

On the one hand the father, on the other the lover—how will it end?

ADELAIDE.

Do not worry. The one is an old soldier, the other a young statesman; two types that we women have wound around our little fingers from time immemorial! [Both leave.]