THE LONELY WAY (continued 2)

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.

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

It had been arranged that we were to go away together. Everything was ready. We meant to leave the place secretly because, quite naturally, your mother shrank from any kind of statement or explanation. Our intention was to write and explain after we had been gone a few days. The hour of our start had already been settled. He ... who later became her husband, had just gone to Vienna for a couple of days in order to get certain documents. The wedding was to take place in a week. (Pause) Our plans were all made. We had agreed on everything. The carriage that was to pick us up a little ways off had already been hired. In the evening we bade each other good-night, fully convinced that we should meet next morning, never to part again.—It turned out differently.—You mustn't keep in mind that it was your mother. You must listen to me as if my story dealt with perfect strangers. ... Then you can understand everything.

FELIX

I am listening.

JULIAN

I had come to Kirchau in June, one beautiful Summer morning—with him.... You know about that, don't you? I meant to stay only a few days. But I stayed on and on. More than once I tried to get away while it was still time. But I stayed. (Smiling) And with fated inevitability we slipped into sin, happiness, doom, betrayal—and dreams. Yes, indeed, there was more of those than of anything else. And after that last farewell, meant to be for a night only—as I got back to the little inn and started to make things ready for our journey—only then did I for the first time become really conscious of what had happened and was about to happen. Actually, it was almost as if I had just waked up. Only then, in the stillness of that night, as I was standing at the open window, did it grow clear to me that next morning an hour would come by which my whole future must be determined. And then I began to feel ... as if faint shiverings had been streaming down my body. Below me I could see the stretch of road along which I had just come. It ran on and on through the country, climbing the hills that cut off the view, and losing itself in the open, the limitless.... It led to thousands of unknown and invisible roads, all of which at that moment remained at my disposal. It seemed to me as if my future, radiant with glory and adventure, lay waiting for me behind those hills—but for me alone. Life was mine—but only this one life. And in order to seize it and enjoy it fully—in order to live it as it had been shaped for me by fate—I needed the carelessness and freedom I had enjoyed until then. And I marveled almost at my own readiness to give away the recklessness of my youth and the fullness of my existence.... And to what purpose?—For the sake of a passion which, after all, despite its ardor and its transports, had begun like many others, and would be destined to end like all of them.

FELIX

Destined to end...? Must come to an end?

JULIAN

Yes. Must. The moment I foresaw the end, I had in a measure reached it. To wait for something that must come, means to go through it a thousand times—to go through it helplessly and needlessly and resentfully. This I felt acutely at that moment. And it frightened me. At the same time I felt clearly that I was about to act like a brute and a traitor toward a human being who had given herself to me in full confidence.—But everything seemed more desirable—not only for me, but for her also—than a slow, miserable, unworthy decline. And all my scruples were submerged in a monstrous longing to go on with my life as before, without duties or ties. There wasn't much time left for consideration. And I was glad of it. I had made up my mind. I didn't wait for the morning. Before the stars had set, I was off.

FELIX

You ran away....

JULIAN

Call it anything you please.—Yes, it was a flight, just as good and just as bad, just as precipitate and just as cowardly as any other—with all the horrors of being pursued and all the joys of escaping. I am hiding nothing from you, Felix. You are still young, and it is even possible that you may understand it better than I can understand it myself to-day. Nothing pulled me back. No remorse stirred within me. The sense of being free filled me with intoxication.... At the end of the first day I was already far away—much farther than any number of milestones could indicate. On that first day her image began to fade away already—the image of her who had waked up to meet painful disillusionment, or worse maybe. The ring of her voice was passing out of my memory.... She was becoming a shadow like others that had been left floating much farther behind me in the past.

FELIX

Oh, it isn't true! So quickly could she not be forgotten. So remorselessly could you not go out in the world. All this is meant as a sort of expiation. You make yourself appear what you are not.

JULIAN

I am not telling you these things to accuse or defend myself. I am simply telling you the truth. And you must hear it. It was your mother, and I am the man who deserted her. And there is something more I am compelled to tell you. On the very time that followed my flight I must look back as the brightest and richest of any I have ever experienced. Never before or after have I reveled to such an extent in the splendid consciousness of my youth and my freedom from restraint. Never have I been so wholly master of my gifts and of my life.... Never have I been a happier man than I was at that very time.

FELIX (calmly)

And if she had killed herself?

JULIAN

I believe I should have thought myself worth it—in those days.

FELIX

And so you were, perhaps, at that time.—And she thought of doing it, I am sure. She wanted to put an end to the lies and the qualms, just as hundreds of thousands of girls have done before. But millions fail to do it, and they are the most sensible ones. And I am sure she also thought of telling the truth to him she took to husband. But, of course, the way through life is easier when you don't have to carry a burden of reproach or, what is worse, of forgiveness.

JULIAN

And if she had spoken....

FELIX

Oh, I understand why she didn't. It had been of no use to anybody. And so she kept silent: silent when she got back from the wedding—silent when her child was born—silent when, ten years later, the lover came to her husband's house again—silent to the very last.... Fates of that kind are to be found everywhere, and it isn't even necessary to be—depraved, in order to suffer them or invoke them.

JULIAN

And there are mighty few whom it behooves to judge—or to condemn.

FELIX

I don't presume to do so. And it doesn't even occur to me that I am now to behold deceivers and deceived where, a few hours ago, I could only see people who were dear to me and whose relationships to each other were perfectly pure. And it is absolutely impossible for me to feel myself another man than I have deemed myself until to-day. There is no power in all this truth.... A vivid dream would be more compelling than this story out of bygone days, which you have just told me. Nothing has changed—nothing whatever. The thought of my mother is as sacred to me as ever. And the man in whose house I was born and raised, who surrounded my childhood and youth with care tenderness, and whom my mother—loved.... He means just as much to me now as he ever meant—and perhaps a little more.

JULIAN

And yet, Felix, however powerless this truth may seem to you—there is one thing you can take hold of in this moment of doubt: it was as my son your mother gave birth to you....

FELIX

At a time when you had run away from her.

JULIAN

And as my son she brought you up.

FELIX

In hatred of you.

JULIAN

At first. Later in forgiveness, and finally—don't forget it—in friendship toward me.... And what was in her mind that last night?—Of what did she talk to you?—Of those days when she experienced the greatest happiness that can fall to the share of any woman.

FELIX

As well as the greatest misery.

JULIAN

Do you think it was mere chance which brought those very days back to her mind that last evening?... Don't you think she knew that you would go to me and ask for that picture?... And do you think your wish to see it could have any other meaning than of a final greeting to me from your mother?... Can't you understand that, Felix?... And in this moment—don't try to resist—you have it before your eyes—that picture you held in your hand yesterday: and your mother is looking at you.—And the glance resting on you, Felix, is the same one that rested on me that passionate and sacred day when she fell into my arms and you were conceived.—And whatever you may feel of doubt or confusion, the truth has now been revealed to you once for all. Thus your mother willed it, and it is no longer possible for you to forget that you are my son.

FELIX

Your son.... That's nothing but a word. And it's cried in a desert.—Although I am looking at you now, and although I know that I am your son, I can't grasp it.

JULIAN

Felix...!

FELIX

Since I learned of this, you have become a stranger to me. (He turns away)

CURTAIN

THE FOURTH ACT

The garden belonging to Mr. von Sala's house. At the left is seen the white, one-storied building, fronted by a broad terrace, from which six stone steps lead down into the garden. A wide door with panes of glass leads from the terrace into the drawing-room. A small pool appears in the foreground, surrounded by a semi-circle of young trees. From that spot an avenue of trees runs diagonally across the stage toward the right. At the opening of the avenue, near the pool, stand two columns on which are placed the marble busts of two Roman emperors. A semi-circular stone seat with back support stands under the trees to the right of the pool. Farther back glimpses of the glittering fence are caught through the scanty leafage. Back of the fence, the woods on a gently rising hillside are turning red. The autumnal sky is pale blue. Everything is quiet. The stage remains empty for a few moments.

Sala and Johanna enter by way of the terrace. She is in black. He has on a gray suit and carries a dark overcoat across his shoulders. They descend the steps slowly.

SALA

I think you'll find it rather cool. (He goes back into the room, picks up a cape lying there, and puts it around Johanna's shoulders; little by little they reach the garden)

JOHANNA

Do you know what I imagine?... That this day is our own—that it belongs to us alone. We have summoned it, and if we wanted, we could make it stay.... All other people live only as guests in the world to-day. Isn't that so?... The reason is, I suppose, that once I heard you speak of this day.

SALA

Of this...?

JOHANNA

Yes—while mother was still living.... And now it has really come. The leaves are red. The golden mist is lying over the woods. The sky is pale and remote—and the day is even more beautiful, and sadder, than I could ever have imagined. And I am spending it in your garden, and your pool is my mirror. (She stands looking down into the pool) And yet we can no more make it stay, this golden day, than the water here can hold my image after I have gone away.

SALA

It seems strange that this clear, mild air should be tinged with a suggestion of winter and snow.

JOHANNA

Why should it trouble you? When that suggestion has become reality here, you are already in the midst of another Spring.

SALA

What do you mean by that?

JOHANNA

Oh, I suppose that where you go they have no winter like ours.

SALA (pensively)

No, not like ours. (Pause) And you?

JOHANNA

I...?

SALA

What are you going to do, I mean, when I am gone?

JOHANNA

When you are gone...? (She looks at him, and he stands staring into the distance) Haven't you gone long ago? And at bottom, are you not far away from me even now?

SALA

What are you saying? I am here with you.... What are you going to do, Johanna?

JOHANNA

I have already told you. Go away—just like you.

SALA (shakes his head)

JOHANNA

As soon as possible. I have still the courage left. Who knows what may become of me later, if I stay here alone.

SALA

As long as you are young, all doors stand open, and the world begins outside every one of them.

JOHANNA

But the world is wide and the sky infinite only as long as you are not clinging to anybody. And for that reason I want to go away.

SALA

Away—that's so easily said. But preparations are needed for that purpose, and some sort of a scheme. You use the word as if you merely had to put on wings and fly off into the distance.

JOHANNA

To be determined is—the same as having wings.

SALA

Are you not at all afraid, Johanna?

JOHANNA

A longing free from fear would be too cheap to be worth while.

SALA

Where will it lead you?

JOHANNA

I shall find my way.

SALA

You can choose your way, but not the people that you meet.

JOHANNA

Do you think me ignorant of the fact that I cannot expect only beautiful experiences? What is ugly and mean must also be waiting for me.

SALA

And how are you going to stand it?—Will you be able to stand it at all?

JOHANNA

Of course, I am not going to tell the truth always as I have done to you. I shall have to lie—and I think of it with pleasure. I shall not always be in good spirits, nor always sensible. I shall make mistakes and suffer. That's the way it has to be, I suppose.

SALA

Of all this you are aware in advance, and yet...?

JOHANNA

Yes.

SALA

And why?... Why are you going away, Johanna?

JOHANNA

Why am I going away?... I want a time to come when I must shudder at myself. Shudder as deeply as you can only when nothing has been left untried. Just as you have had to do when you looked back upon your life. Or have you not?

SALA

Oh, many times. But just in such moments of shuddering there is nothing left behind at all—everything is once more present. And the present is the past. (He sits down on the stone seat)

JOHANNA

What do you mean by that?

SALA (covers his eyes with his hand and sits silent)

JOHANNA

What is the matter? Where are you anyhow?

[A light wind stirs the leaves and makes many of them drop to the ground.

SALA

I am a child, riding my pony across the fields. My father is behind and calls to me. At that window waits my mother. She has thrown a gray satin shawl over her dark hair and is waving her hand at me.... And I am a young lieutenant in maneuvers, standing on a hillock and reporting to my colonel that hostile infantry is ambushed behind that wooded piece of ground, ready to charge, and down below us I can see the midday sun glittering on bayonets and buttons.... And I am lying alone in my boat adrift, looking up into the deep-blue Summer sky, while words of incomprehensible beauty are shaping themselves in my mind—words more beautiful than I have ever been able to put on paper.... And I am resting on a bench in the cool park at the lake of Lugano, with Helen sitting beside me; she holds a book with red cover in her hand; over there by the magnolia, Lillie is playing with the light-haired English boy, and I can hear them prattling and laughing.... And I am walking slowly back and forth with Julian on a bed of rustling leaves, and we are talking of a picture which we saw yesterday. And I see the picture: two old sailors with worn-out faces, who are seated on an overturned skiff, their sad eyes directed toward the boundless sea. And I feel their misery more deeply than the artist who painted them; more deeply than they could have felt it themselves, had they been alive.... All this—all of it is there—if I only close my eyes. It is nearer to me than you, Johanna, when I don't see you and you keep quiet.

JOHANNA (stands looking at him with wistful sympathy)

SALA

The present—what does it mean anyhow? Are we then locked breast to breast with the moment as with a friend whom we embrace—or an enemy who is pressing us? Has not the word that just rings out turned to memory already? Is not the note that starts a melody reduced to memory before the song is ended? Is your coming to this garden anything but a memory, Johanna? Are not your steps across that meadow as much a matter of the past as are the steps of creatures dead these many years?

JOHANNA

No, it mustn't be like that. It makes me sad.

SALA (with a return to present things)

Why?... It shouldn't, Johanna. It is in hours like those we know, that we have lost nothing, and that in reality we cannot lose anything.

JOHANNA

Oh, I wish you had lost and forgotten everything, so that I might be everything to you!

SALA (somewhat astonished)

Johanna....

JOHANNA (passionately)

I love you. (Pause)

SALA

In a few days I shall be gone, Johanna. You know it—you have known it right along.

JOHANNA

I know. Why do you repeat it? Do you think, perhaps, that all at once I may begin to clutch at you like a love-sick thing, dreaming of eternities?—No, that isn't my way—oh, no!... But I want to tell you once at least that I am fond of you. May I not for once?—Do you hear? I love you. And I wish that sometime later on you may hear it just as I am saying it now—at some other moment no less beautiful than this—when we two shall no longer be aware of each other.

SALA

Indeed, Johanna, of one thing you may be sure: that the sound of your voice shall never leave me.—But why should we talk of parting forever? Perhaps we shall meet again sooner or later ... in three years ... or in five.... (With a smile) Then you have become a princess perhaps, and I may be the ruler of some buried city.... Why don't you speak?

JOHANNA (pulls the cape more closely about her)

SALA

Do you feel cold?

JOHANNA

Not at all.—But now I must go.

SALA

Are you in such a hurry?

JOHANNA

It is getting late. I must be back before my father gets home.

SALA

How strange! To-day you are hurrying home, fearful of being too late, lest your father get worried. And in a couple of days....

JOHANNA

Then he will no longer be waiting for me. Farewell, Stephan.

SALA

Until to-morrow, then.

JOHANNA

Yes, until to-morrow.

SALA

You'll come through the garden gate, of course?

JOHANNA

Wasn't that a carriage that stopped before the house?

SALA

The doors are locked. Nobody can get out into the garden.

JOHANNA

Good-by, then.

SALA

Until to-morrow.

JOHANNA

Yes. (She is about to go)

SALA

Listen, Johanna.—If I should say to you now: stay!

JOHANNA

No, I must go now.

SALA

That was not what I meant.

JOHANNA

What then?

SALA

I mean, if I should beg you to stay—for—a long time?

JOHANNA

You have a peculiar way of jesting.

SALA

I am not jesting.

JOHANNA

Do you forget, then, that you—are going away?

SALA

I am not bound in any respect. There is nothing to prevent me from staying at home if I don't feel like going away.

JOHANNA

For my sake?

SALA

I didn't say so. Maybe for my own sake.

JOHANNA

No, you mustn't give it up. You would never forgive me if I took that away from you.

SALA

Oh, you think so? (Watching her closely) And if both of us were to go?

JOHANNA

What?

SALA

If you should risk going along with me? Well, it takes a little courage to do it, of course. But you would probably not be the only woman. The Baroness Golobin is also going along, I hear.

JOHANNA

Are you talking seriously?

SALA

Quite seriously. I ask if you care to go with me on that journey ... as my wife, of course, seeing that we have to consider externals like that, too.

JOHANNA

I should...?

SALA

Why does that move you so deeply?

JOHANNA

With you?—With you...?

SALA

Don't misunderstand me, Johanna. That's no reason why you should be tied to me for all time. When we get back, we can bid each other good-by—without the least ado. It is a very simple matter. For all your dreams cannot be fulfilled by me—I know that very well.... You need not give me an answer at once. Hours like these turn too easily into words that are not true the next day. And I hope I may never hear you speak one word of that kind.

JOHANNA (who has been looking at Sala as if she wanted to drink up every one of his words) No, I am not saying anything—I am not saying anything.

SALA (looking long at her)

You are going to think it over, and you'll let me know to-morrow morning?

JOHANNA

Yes. (She looks long at him)

SALA

What is the matter?

JOHANNA

Nothing.—Until to-morrow. Farewell. (He accompanies her to the garden gate, through which she disappears)

SALA (comes back and stands looking into the pool)

Just as if I wanted to find her image in it.... What could it be that moved her so deeply?... Happiness?... No, it wasn't happiness.... Why did she look at me like that? Why did she seem to shrink? There was something in her glance like a farewell forever. (He makes a sudden movement as of fright) Has it come to that with me?... But how can she know?... Then others must know it too...! (He stands staring into space; then he ascends the terrace slowly and goes into the drawing-room, from which he returns a few moments later accompanied by Julian)

JULIAN

And you want to leave all these splendors so soon?

SALA

They'll be here when I come back, I hope.

JULIAN

I hope you will, for the sake of both of us.

SALA

You say that rather distrustingly....

JULIAN

Well, yes—I am thinking of that remarkable article in the Daily Post.

SALA

Concerning what?

JULIAN

What is going on at the Caspian Sea.

SALA

Oh, are the local papers also taking that up?

JULIAN

The conditions in certain regions through which you have to pass seem really to be extremely dangerous.

SALA

Exaggerations. We have better information than that. According to my opinion there is nothing back of those articles but the petty jealousy of English scientists. What you read had been translated from the Daily News. And it's fully three weeks since it appeared there.—Have you seen Felix, by the way?

JULIAN

He was at my house only last night. And this morning I called on the Wegrats. He wanted to have a look at that picture of his mother which I painted twenty-three years ago.—And one thing and another led to my telling him everything.

SALA

Oh, you did? (Thoughtfully) And how did he take it?

JULIAN

It stirred him rather more than I had thought possible.

SALA

Well, I hope you didn't expect him to fall into your arms as the recovered son does in the play.

JULIAN

No, of course not.—I told him everything, without any attempt at sparing myself. And for that reason he seemed to feel the wrong done to his mother's husband more strongly than anything else. But that won't last very long. He'll soon understand that, in the higher sense, no wrong has been done at all. People of Wegrat's type are not made to hold actual possession of anything—whether it be wives or children. They mean a refuge, a dwelling place—but never a real home. Can you understand what I mean by that? It is their mission to take into their arms creatures who have been worn out or broken to pieces by some kind of passion. But they never guess whence such creatures come. And while it is granted them to attract and befriend, they never understand whither those creatures go. They exist for the purpose of sacrificing themselves unconsciously, and in such sacrifices they find a happiness that might seem a pretty poor one to others.... You are not saying a word?

SALA

I am listening.

JULIAN

And have no reply to make?

SALA

Oh, well—it is possible to grind out scales quite smoothly even when the fiddle has got a crack....

[It is growing darker. Felix appears on the terrace.

SALA

Who is that?

FELIX (on the terrace)

It's me. The servant told me ...

SALA

Oh, Felix! Glad you came.

FELIX (coming down into the garden)

Good evening, Mr. von Sala.—Good evening, Mr. Fichtner.

JULIAN

Good evening, Felix.

SALA

I am delighted to see you.

FELIX

What magnificent old trees!

SALA

Yes, a piece of real woods—all you have to do is to forget the fence.—What brought you anyhow? I didn't expect you until to-morrow morning. Have you really made up your mind already?

JULIAN

Am I in the way?

FELIX

Oh, no. There is nothing secret about it.—I accept your offer, Mr. von Sala, and ask if you would be kind enough to speak to Count Ronsky.

SALA (shaking Felix by the hand)

I am glad of it.... (To Julian) It has to do with our Asiatic venture.

JULIAN

What?—You intend to join the expedition?

FELIX

Yes.

SALA

Have you already talked it over with your father?

FELIX

I shall do so to-night.—But that's a mere formality. I am determined, provided no other obstacles appear....

SALA

I shall speak to the Count this very day.

FELIX

I don't know how to thank you.

SALA

There is no reason at all. In fact, I don't have to say another word. The Count knows everything he needs to know about you.

VALET (appearing on the terrace)

There is a lady asking if you are at home, sir.

SALA

Didn't she give her name?—You'll have to excuse me a moment, gentlemen. (He goes toward the valet, and both disappear into the house)

JULIAN

You are going away?

FELIX

Yes. And I am very happy this occasion has offered itself.

JULIAN

Have you also informed yourself concerning the real nature of this undertaking?

FELIX

It means at any rate genuine activity and the opening of wider worlds.

JULIAN

And couldn't those things be found in connection with more hopeful prospects?

FELIX

That's possible. But I don't care to wait.

[Sala and Irene enter.

IRENE (still on the terrace, talking to Sala)

I couldn't leave Vienna without keeping my promise.

SALA

And I thank you for it, Miss Herms.

IRENE (descending into the garden with Sala)

You have a wonderful place here.—How do you do, Julian? Good evening, Lieutenant.

SALA

You should have come earlier, Miss Herms, so that you could have seen it in full sunlight.

IRENE

Why, I was here two hours ago. But it was like an enchanted castle. It was impossible to get in. The bell didn't ring at all.

SALA

Oh, of course! I hope you pardon. If I had had the slightest idea....

IRENE

Well, it doesn't matter. I have made good use of my time. I went on through the woods as far as Neustift and Salmansdorf.⁶ And then I got out and followed a road that I remembered since many years ago. (She looks at Julian) I rested on a bench where I sat once many, many years ago, with a close friend. (Smilingly) Can you guess, Mr. Fichtner? The outlook is wonderful. Beyond the fields you have a perfect view of the whole city as far as the Danube.

SALA (pointing to the stone seat)

Won't you sit down here for a while, Miss Herms?

IRENE

Thanks. (She raises her lorgnette to study the busts of the two emperors) It makes one feel quite Roman.... But I hope, gentlemen, I haven't interrupted any conference.

SALA

Not at all.

IRENE

I have that feeling, however. All of you look so serious.—I think I'll rather leave.

SALA

Oh, you mustn't, Miss Herms.—Is there anything more you want to ask me about that affair of ours, Felix?

FELIX

If Miss Herms would pardon me for a minute....

IRENE

Oh, certainly—please!

SALA

You'll excuse me, Miss Herms....

FELIX

It is a question of what I should do in regard to my present commission.—(He is still speaking as he goes out with Sala)

IRENE

What kind of secrets have those two together? What's going on here anyhow?

JULIAN

Nothing that can be called a secret. That young fellow is also going to join the expedition, I hear. And so they have a lot of things to talk over, of course.

IRENE (who has been following Felix and Sala with her eyes) Julian—it's he.

JULIAN (remains silent)

IRENE

You don't need to answer me. The matter has been in my mind all the time.... The only thing I can't understand is why I haven't discovered it before. It is he.—And he is twenty-three.—And I who actually thought when you drove me away: if only he doesn't kill himself!... And there goes his son.

JULIAN

What does that help me? He doesn't belong to me.

IRENE

But look at him! He is there—he's alive, and young, and handsome. Isn't that enough? (She rises) And I who was ruined by it!

JULIAN

How?

IRENE

Do you understand? Ruined....

JULIAN

I have never suspected it.

IRENE

Well, you couldn't have helped me anyhow. (Pause) Good-by. Make an excuse for me, please. Tell them anything you want. I am going away, and I don't want to know anything more.

JULIAN

What's the matter with you? Nothing has changed.

IRENE

You think so?—To me it is as if all these twenty-three years had suddenly undergone a complete change.—Good-by.

JULIAN

Good-by—for a while.

IRENE

For a while? Do you care?—Really?—Do you feel sad, Julian?—Now I am sorry for you again. (Shaking her head) Of course, that's the way you are. So what is there to do about it?

JULIAN

Please control yourself. Here they are coming.

SALA (returns with Felix)

Now we're all done.

FELIX

Thank you very much. I shall have to leave now.

IRENE

And to-morrow you are already going away again?

FELIX

Yes, Miss Herms.

IRENE

You're also going toward the city now, Lieutenant, are you not? If you don't object, I'll take you along.

FELIX

That's awfully kind of you.

SALA

What, Miss Herms...? This is a short visit indeed.

IRENE

Yes, I have still a few errands to do. For to-morrow I must return to the wilderness. And probably it will be some time before I get to Vienna again.—Well, Lieutenant?

FELIX

Good-by, Mr. Fichtner. And if I shouldn't happen to see you again....

JULIAN

Oh, we'll meet again.

IRENE

Now the people will say: look at the lieutenant with his mamma in tow. (She gives a last glance to Julian)

SALA (accompanies Irene and Felix up the steps to the terrace)

JULIAN (remains behind, walking back and forth; after a while he is joined by Sala) Have you no doubt that your appeal to Count Ronsky will be effective?

SALA

I have already received definite assurances from him, or I should never have aroused any hopes in Felix.

JULIAN

What caused you to do this, Sala?

SALA

My sympathy for Felix, I should say, and the fact that I like to travel in pleasant company.

JULIAN

And did it never occur to you, that the thought of losing him might be very painful to me?

SALA

What's the use of that, Julian? It is only possible to lose what you possess. And you cannot possess a thing to which you have not acquired any right. You know that as well as I do.

JULIAN

Does not, in the last instance, the fact that you need somebody give you a certain claim on him?—Can't you understand, Sala, that he represents my last hope?... That actually I haven't got anything or anybody left but him?... That wherever I turn, I find nothing but emptiness?... That I am horrified by the loneliness awaiting me?

SALA

And what could it help you if he stayed? And even if he felt something like filial tenderness toward you, how could that help you?... How can he or anybody else help you?... You say that loneliness horrifies you?... And if you had a wife by your side to-day, wouldn't you be lonely just the same?... Wouldn't you be lonely even if you were surrounded by children and grandchildren?... Suppose you had kept your money, your fame and your genius—don't you think you would be lonely for all that?... Suppose we were always attended by a train of bacchantes—nevertheless we should have to tread the downward path alone—we, who have never belonged to anybody ourselves. The process of aging must needs be a lonely one for our kind, and he is nothing but a fool who doesn't in time prepare himself against having to rely on any human being.

JULIAN

And do you imagine, Sala, that you need no human being?

SALA

In the manner I have used them they will always be at my disposal. I have always been in favor of keeping at a certain distance. It is not my fault that other people haven't realized it.

JULIAN

In that respect you are right, Sala. For you have never really loved anybody in this world.

SALA

Perhaps not. And how about you? No more than I, Julian.... To love means to live for the sake of somebody else. I don't say that it is a more desirable form of existence, but I do think, at any rate, that you and I have been pretty far removed from it. What has that which one like us brings into the world got to do with love? Though it include all sorts of funny, hypocritical, tender, unworthy, passionate things that pose as love—it isn't love for all that.... Have we ever made a sacrifice by which our sensuality or our vanity didn't profit?... Have we ever hesitated to betray or blackguard decent people, if by doing so we could gain an hour of happiness or of mere lust?... Have we ever risked our peace or our lives—not out of whim or recklessness—but to promote the welfare of someone who had given all to us?... Have we ever denied ourselves an enjoyment unless from such denial we could at least derive some comfort?... And do you think that we could dare to turn to any human being, man or woman, with a demand that any gift of ours be returned? I am not thinking of pearls now, or annuities, or cheap wisdom, but of some piece of our real selves, some hour of our own existence, which we have surrendered to such a being without at once exacting payment for it in some sort of coin. My dear Julian, we have kept our doors open, and have allowed our treasures to be viewed—but prodigal with them we have never been. You no more than I. We may just as well join hands, Julian. I am a little less prone to complain than you are—that's the whole difference.... But I am not telling you anything new. All this you know as well as I do. It is simply impossible for us not to know ourselves. Of course, we try at times conscientiously to deceive ourselves, but it never works. Our follies and rascalities may remain hidden to others—but never to ourselves. In our innermost souls we always know what to think of ourselves.—It's getting cold, Julian. Let's go indoors.

(They begin to ascend the steps to the terrace)

JULIAN

All that may be true, Sala. But this much you have to grant me. If there be anybody in the world who has no right to make us pay for the mistakes of our lives, it is a person who has us to thank for his own life.

SALA

There is no question of payment in this. Your son has a mind for essentials, Julian. You have said so yourself. And he feels that to have done nothing for a man but to put him into the world, is to have done very little indeed.

JULIAN

Then, at least, everything must become as it was before he knew anything at all. Once more I shall become to him a human being like anybody else. Then he will not dare to leave me.... I cannot bear it. How have I deserved that he should run away from me?... And even if all that I have held for good and true within myself—even if, in the end, my very fondness for this young man, who is my son—should prove nothing but self-delusion—yet I love him now.... Do you understand me, Sala? I love him, and all I ask is that he may believe it before I must lose him forever....

[It grows dark. The two men pass across the terrace and enter the drawing-room. The stage stands empty a little while. In the meantime the wind has risen somewhat. Johanna enters by the avenue of trees from the right and goes past the pool toward the terrace. The windows of the drawing-room are illumined. Sala has seated himself at a table. The valet enters the room and serves him a glass of wine. Johanna stops. She is apparently much excited. Then she ascends two of the steps to the terrace. Sala seems to hear a noise and turns his head slightly. When she sees this, Johanna hurries down again and stops beside the pool. There she stands looking down into the water.

CURTAIN

THE FIFTH ACT

The garden at the Wegrats'.

REUMANN (sits at a small table and writes something in his notebook)

JULIAN (enters quickly by way of the veranda)

Is it true, Doctor?

REUMANN (rising)

Yes, it's true.

JULIAN

She has disappeared?

REUMANN

Yes, she has disappeared. She has been gone since yesterday afternoon. She has left no word behind, and she has taken nothing at all with her—she has simply gone away and never returned.

JULIAN

But what can have happened to her?

REUMANN

We have not been able to guess even. Perhaps she has lost her way and will come back. Or she has suddenly made up her mind—if we only knew to what!

JULIAN

Where are the others?

REUMANN

We agreed to meet here again at ten. I visited the various hospitals and other places where it might be possible to find some trace.... I suppose the professor has made a report to the police by this time.

FELIX (enters quickly)

Nothing new?

REUMANN

Nothing.

JULIAN (shakes hands with Felix)

REUMANN

From where do you come?

FELIX

I went to see Mr. von Sala.

REUMANN

Why?

FELIX

I thought it rather possible that he might have a suspicion, or be able to give us some kind of direction. But he knows nothing at all. That was perfectly clear. And if he had known anything—had known anything definite—he would have told me. I am sure of that. He was still in bed when I called on him. I suppose he thought I had come about my own matter. When he heard that Johanna had disappeared, he turned very pale.... But he doesn't know anything.

WEGRAT (enters)

Anything?

[All the others shake their heads. Julian presses his hand.

WEGRAT (sitting down)

They asked me to give more details, something more tangible to go by. But what is there to give?... I have nothing.... The whole thing is a riddle to me. (Turning to Julian) In the afternoon she went out for a short walk as usual.... (To Felix) Was there anything about her that attracted attention?... It seems quite impossible to me that she could have had anything in mind when she left the house—that she could know already—that she was going away forever.

FELIX

Perhaps though....

WEGRAT

Of course, she was very reserved—especially of late, since the death of her mother.... I wonder if it could be that?... Would you think that possible, Doctor?

REUMANN (shrugs his shoulders)

FELIX

Did any one of us really know her? And who takes a real interest in another person anyhow?

REUMANN

It is apparently fortunate that such is the case. Otherwise we should all go mad from pity or loathing or anxiety. (Pause) Now I must get around to my patients. There are a few calls that cannot be postponed. I shall be back by dinner-time. Good-by for a while. (He goes out)

WEGRAT

To think that you can watch a young creature like her grow up—can see the child turn into girl, and then into a young lady—can speak hundreds of thousands of words to her.... And one day she rises from the table, puts on hat and coat, and goes ... and you have no idea as to whether she has slipped away—if into nothingness or into a new life.

FELIX

But whatever may have happened, father—she wanted to get away from us. And in that fact, I think, we should find a certain consolation.

WEGRAT (shakes his head in perplexity)

Everything is fluttering away—willingly or unwillingly—but away it goes.

FELIX

Father, we can't tell what may have happened. It's conceivable, at least, that Johanna may have formed some decision which she does not carry out. Perhaps she will come back in a few hours, or days.

WEGRAT

You believe ... you think it possible, do you?

FELIX

Possible—yes. But if she shouldn't come—of course, father, I shall give up the plan of which I told you yesterday. Under circumstances like these I couldn't think of going so far away from you for such a long time.

WEGRAT (to Julian)

And now he's going to sacrifice himself for my sake!

FELIX

Perhaps I could arrange to have myself transferred here.

WEGRAT

No, Felix, you know very well that I couldn't accept such a thing.

FELIX

But it's no sacrifice. I assure you, father, that I stay with you only because I can't go away from you now.

WEGRAT

Oh, yes, Felix, you can—you will be able. And you are not to stay here for my sake—you mustn't. I could never be sure that it would prove of any help to me to have you give up a plan which you have taken hold of with such enthusiasm. I think it would be inexcusable of you to draw back, and wicked of me to permit it. You must be happy at having found a way at last, by which you may reach all you have longed for. It makes me happy, too, Felix. If you missed this opportunity, you would regret it all your life.

FELIX

But so much may have changed since yesterday—such a tremendous lot—for you and for me.

WEGRAT

For me, perhaps.... But never mind. I won't stand it—I will not accept such a sacrifice. Of course, I might accept it, if I could find it of any special advantage to myself. But I shouldn't have you any more than if you were gone away ... less ... not at all. This fate that has descended on us must not add to its inherent power what is still worse—that it makes us do in our confusion what is against our own natures. Sometime we always get over every disaster, no matter how frightful it be. But whatever we do in violation of our innermost selves can never be undone. (Turning to Julian) Isn't that true, Julian?

JULIAN

You are absolutely right.

FELIX

Thanks, father. I feel grateful that you make it so easy for me to agree with you.

WEGRAT

That's good, Felix.... During the weeks you will remain in Europe we shall be able to talk over a lot of things—more perhaps than in the years gone by. Indeed, how little people know about each other!... But I am getting tired. We stayed awake all night.

FELIX

Won't you rest a while, father?

WEGRAT

Rest.... You'll stay at home, Felix, won't you?

FELIX

Yes, I shall wait right here. What else is there to do?

WEGRAT

I'm racking my brain until it's near bursting.... Why didn't she say anything to me? Why have I known so little about her? Why have I kept so far away from her? (He goes out)

FELIX

How that man has been belied—all his life long—by all of us.

JULIAN

There is in this world no sin, no crime, no deception, that cannot be atoned. Only for what has happened here, there should be no expiation and no forgetfulness, you think?

FELIX

Can it be possible that you don't understand?... Here a lie has been eternalized. There is no getting away from it. And she who did it was my mother—and it was you who made her do it—and the lie am I, and such I must remain as long as I am passing for that which I am not.

JULIAN

Let us proclaim the truth then, Felix.—I shall face any judge that you may choose, and submit to any verdict passed on me.—Must I alone remain condemned forever? Should I alone, among all that have erred, never dare to say: "It is atoned"?

FELIX

It is too late. Guilt can be wiped out by confession only while the guilty one is still able to make restitution. You ought to know yourself, that this respite expired long ago.

SALA (enters)

FELIX

Mr. von Sala!—Have you anything to tell us?

SALA

Yes.—Good morning, Julian.—No, stay, Julian. I am glad to have a witness. (To Felix) Are you determined to join the expedition?

FELIX

I am.

SALA

So am I. But it is possible that one of us must change his mind.

FELIX

Mr. von Sala...?

SALA

It would be a bad thing to risk finding out that you have started on a journey of such scope with one whom you would prefer to shoot dead if you knew him completely.

FELIX

Where is my sister, Mr. von Sala?

SALA

I don't know. Where she is at this moment, I don't know. But last evening, just before you arrived, she had left me for the last time.

FELIX

Mr. von Sala....

SALA

Her farewell words to me were: Until to-morrow. You can see that I had every reason to be surprised this morning, when you appeared at my house. Permit me furthermore to tell you, that yesterday, of all days, I asked Johanna to become my wife—which seemed to agitate her very much. In telling you this, I have by no means the intention of smoothing over things. For my question implied no desire on my part to make good any wrong I might have done. It was apparently nothing but a whim—like so much else. There is here no question of anything but to let you know the truth. This means that I am at your disposal in any manner you may choose.—I thought it absolutely necessary to say all this before we were brought to the point of having to descend into the depths of the earth together, or, perhaps, to sleep in the same tent.

FELIX (after a long pause)

Mr. von Sala ... we shall not have to sleep in the same tent.

SALA

Why not?

FELIX

Your journey will not last that long.

[A very long pause ensues.

SALA

Oh ... I understand. And are you sure of that?

FELIX

Perfectly. (Pause}

SALA

And did Johanna know it?

FELIX

Yes.

SALA

I thank you.—Oh, you can safely take my hand. The matter has been settled in the most chivalrous manner possible.—Well?... It is not customary to refuse one's hand to him who is already down.

FELIX (gives his hand to Sala; then he says)

And where can she be?

SALA

I don't know.

FELIX

Didn't she give you any hint at all?

SALA

None whatever.

FELIX

But have you no conjecture? Has she perhaps established any connections—abroad? Had she any friends at all, of which I don't know?

SALA

Not to my knowledge.

FELIX

Do you think that she is still alive?

SALA

I can't tell.

FELIX

Are you not willing to say anything more, Mr. von Sala?

SALA

I am not able to say anything more. I have nothing left to say. Farewell, and good luck on your trip. Give my regards to Count Ronsky.

FELIX

But we are not seeing each other for the last time?

SALA

Who can tell?

FELIX (holding out his hand to Sala)

I must hurry to my father. I think it my duty to let him know what I have just learned from you.

SALA (nods)

FELIX (to Julian)

Good-by. (He goes out)

[Julian and Sala start to leave together.

JULIAN (as Sala suddenly stops)

Why do you tarry? Let's get away.

SALA

It is a strange thing to know. A veil seems to spread in front of everything.... "Away with you!"—But I don't care to submit to it as long as I am still here—if it be only for another hour....

JULIAN

Do you believe it then?

SALA (looking long at Julian)

Do I believe it...? He behaved rather nicely, that son of yours.... "We shall not have to sleep in the same tent."... Not bad! I might have said it myself....

JULIAN

But why don't you come? Have you perhaps something more to tell after all?

SALA

That's the question I must put to you, Julian.

JULIAN

Sala?

SALA

Because I didn't say anything about a peculiar hallucination I experienced just before coming here. I imagine it was....

JULIAN

Please, speak out!

SALA

What do you think of it? Before I left my house—just after Felix had gone—I went down into my garden—that is to say, I ran through it—in a remarkable state of excitement, as you may understand. And as I passed by the pool, it was exactly as if I had seen on the bottom of it....

JULIAN

Sala!

SALA

There is a blue-greenish glitter on the water, and besides, the shadow of the beech tree falls right across it early in the morning. And by a strange coincidence Johanna said yesterday: "The water can no more hold my image...." That was, in a way, like challenging fate.... And as I passed by the pool, it was as if ... the water had retained her image just the same.

JULIAN

Is that true?

SALA

True ... or untrue ... what is that to me? It could be of interest to me only if I were to remain in this world another year—or another hour at least.

JULIAN

You mean to...?

SALA

Of course, I do. Would you expect me to wait for it? That would be rather painful, I think. (To Julian, with a smile) From whom are you now going to get your cues, my dear friend? Yes, it's all over now.... And what has become of it?... Where are the thermæ of Caracalla? Where is the park at Lugano?... Where is my nice little house?... No nearer to me, and no farther away, than those marble steps leading down to mysterious depths.... Veils in front of everything.... Perhaps your son will discover if the three-hundred and twelfth be the last one—and if not, it won't give him much concern anyhow.... Don't you think he has been acting rather nicely?... I have somehow the impression that a better generation is growing up—with more poise and less brilliancy.—Send your regards to heaven, Julian.

JULIAN (makes a movement to accompany him)

SALA (gently but firmly)

You stay here, Julian. This is the end of our dialogue. Farewell. (He goes out quickly)

FELIX (entering rapidly)

Is Mr. von Sala gone? My father wanted to talk to him.—And you are still here?... Why did Mr. von Sala go? What did he tell you?—Johanna...! Johanna...?

JULIAN

She is dead ... she has drowned herself in the pool.

FELIX (with a cry of dismay)

Where did he go?

JULIAN

I don't think you can find him.

FELIX

What is he doing?

JULIAN

He is paying ... while it's time....

WEGRAT (enters from the veranda)

FELIX (runs to meet him)

Father....

WEGRAT

Felix! What has happened?

FELIX

We must go to Sala's house, father.

WEGRAT

Dead...?

FELIX

Father! (He takes hold of Wegrat's hand and kisses it) My father!

JULIAN (has left the room slowly in the meantime)

WEGRAT

Must things of this kind happen to make that word sound as if I had heard it for the first time...?

CURTAIN

INTERMEZZO

(Zwischenspiel)

A COMEDY IN THREE ACTS

1904

PERSONS

Amadeus Adams } A musical conductor

Cecilia Adams-Ortenburg } His wife, an opera singer

Peter } Their child, five years old

Albert Rhon

Marie } His wife

Sigismund, Prince Maradas-Lohsenstein

Countess Frederique Moosheim } An opera singer

Governess } At the Adamses

Chambermaid

The scene is laid in Vienna at the present day.