Part 3
And, therefore, he must suffer everlasting death. I'll write a paper on it and send it to Pastor Kahlbauch. He is the cause of it. Why did he fool us with the joy of good works.--If he can't answer me I won't go to Sunday-school any longer and won't let them confirm me.
WENDLA.
Why don't you tell your trouble to your dear parents? Let yourself be confirmed, it won't cost you your head. If it weren't for our horrid white dresses and your long trousers one might be more spiritual.
MELCHIOR.
There is no sacrifice! There is no self-denial! I see the good rejoice in their hearts, I see the evil tremble and groan--I see you, Wendla Bergmann, shake your locks and laugh while I am as melancholy as an outlaw.--What did you dream, Wendla, when you lay in the grass by the brook?
WENDLA.
----Foolishness----nonsense.----
MELCHIOR.
With your eyes open?
WENDLA.
I dreamed I was a poor, poor beggar girl, who was turned out in the street at five o'clock in the morning. I had to beg the whole long day in storm and bad weather from rough, hard-hearted people. When I came home at night, shivering from hunger and cold, and without as much money as my father coveted, then I was beaten----beaten----
MELCHIOR.
I know that, Wendla. You have the silly children's stories to thank for that. Believe me, such brutal men exist no longer.
WENDLA.
Oh yes, Melchior, you're mistaken. Martha Bessel is beaten night after night, so that one sees the marks of it the next day. Oh, but it must hurt! It makes one boiling hot when she tells it. I'm so frightfully sorry for her that I often cry over it in my pillows at night. For months I've been thinking how one can help her.----I'd take her place for eight days with pleasure.
MELCHIOR.
One should complain of her father at once. Then the child would be taken away from him.
WENDLA.
I, Melchior, have never been beaten in my life----not a single time. I can hardly imagine what it means to be beaten. I have beaten myself in order to see how one felt then in one's heart----It must be a gruesome feeling.
MELCHIOR.
I don't believe a child is better for it.
WENDLA.
Better for what?
MELCHIOR.
For being beaten.
WENDLA.
With this switch, for instance! Ha! but it's tough and thin.
MELCHIOR.
That would draw blood!
WENDLA.
Would you like to beat me with it once?
MELCHIOR.
Who?
WENDLA.
Me.
MELCHIOR.
What's the matter with you, Wendla?
WENDLA.
What might happen?
MELCHIOR.
Oh, be quiet! I won't beat you.
WENDLA.
Not if I allow you?
MELCHIOR.
No, girl!
WENDLA.
Not even if I ask you, Melchior?
MELCHIOR.
Are you out of your senses?
WENDLA.
I've never been beaten in my life!
MELCHIOR.
If you can ask for such a thing----
WENDLA.
Please----please----
MELCHIOR.
I'll teach you to say please! (_He hits her._)
WENDLA.
Oh, Lord, I don't notice it in the least!
MELCHIOR.
I believe you----through all your skirts----
WENDLA.
Then strike me on my legs!
MELCHIOR.
Wendla! (_He strikes her harder._)
WENDLA.
You're stroking me! You're stroking me!
MELCHIOR.
Wait, witch, I'll flog Satan out of you!
(_He throws the switch aside and beats her with his fists so that she breaks out with a frightful cry. He pays no attention to this, but falls upon her as if he were crazy, while the tears stream heavily down his cheeks. Presently he springs away, holds both hands to his temples and rushes into the depths of the wood crying out in anguish of soul._)
## ACT II
SCENE FIRST.
_Evening in Melchior's study. The window is open, a lamp burns on the table.--Melchior and Moritz on the divan._
MORITZ.
Now I'm quite gay again, only a little bit excited.----But during the Greek lesson I slept like the besotted Polyphemus. I'm astonished that the pronunciation of the ancient tongue doesn't give me the earache.----To-day I was within a hair of being late----My first thought on waking was of the verbs in I1/4I¹----Himmel--Herrgott--Teufel-- Donnerwetter, during breakfast and all along the road I conjugated until I saw green.----I must have popped off to sleep shortly after three. My pen made a blot in the book. The lamp was smoking when Mathilde woke me; the blackbirds in the elder bushes under the window were chirping so happily----and I felt so inexpressibly melancholy. I put on my collar and passed the brush through my hair.----One feels it when one imposes upon nature.
MELCHIOR.
May I roll you a cigarette?
MORITZ.
Thanks, I don't smoke.----If it only keeps on this way! I will work and work until my eyes fall out of my head.----Ernest RA¶bel has failed three times since vacation; three times in Greek, twice with Knochenbruch; the last time in the history of literature. I have been first five times in this lamentable conflict, and from to-day it does not bother me!----RA¶bel will not shoot himself. RA¶bel has no parents who sacrifice everything for him. If he wants he can become a soldier, a cowboy or a sailor. If I fail, my father will feel the blow and Mamma will land in the madhouse. One can't live through a thing like that!----Before the examination I begged God to give me consumption that the cup might pass me by untouched. He passed me by, though to-day His aureole shines in the distance, so that I dare not lift my eyes by night or day.----Now that I have grasped the bar I shall swing up on it. The natural consequence will be that I shall break my neck if I fall.
MELCHIOR.
Life is a worthless commonplace. It wouldn't have been a bad idea if I had hanged myself in the cradle.----Why doesn't Mamma come with the tea!
MORITZ.
Your tea will do me good, Melchior!----I'm shivering. I feel so strangely spiritualized. Touch me once, please. I see,--I hear,--I feel, much more acutely----and yet everything seems like a dream----oh, so harmonious.----How still the garden stretches out there in the moonlight, so still, so deep, as if it extended to eternity. From out the bushes step indefinable figures that slip away in breathless officiousness through the clearings and then vanish in the twilight. It seems to me as if a counsel were to be held under the chestnut tree.----Shall we go down there, Melchior?
MELCHIOR.
Let's wait until we have drunk our tea.
MORITZ.
The leaves whisper so busily.----It's just as if I heard my dead grandmother telling me the story of the aEurooeQueen Without a Head.aEuro¯ There was once a wonderfully beautiful Queen, beautiful as the sun, more beautiful than all the maidens in the country. Only, unfortunately, she came into the world without a head. She could not eat, not drink, not kiss. She could only communicate with her courtiers by using her soft little hand. With her dainty feet she stamped declarations of war and orders for executions. Then, one day, she was besieged by a King, who, by chance, had two heads, which, year in and year out, disputed with one another so violently that neither could get a word in edgewise. The Court Conjurer-in-chief took off the smallest of these heads and set it upon the Queen's body. And, behold, it became her extraordinarily well! Therefore, the King and the Queen were married, and the two heads disputed no longer, but kissed each other upon the brow, the cheeks and the mouth, and lived thereafter through long, long years of joy and peace.----Delectable nonsense! Since vacation I can't get the headless Queen out of my mind. When I see a pretty girl, I see her without a head----and then presently, I, myself appear to be the headless Queen.----It is possible that someone may be set over me yet.
(_Frau Gabor comes in with the steaming tea, which she sets before Melchior and Moritz on the table._)
FRAU GABOR.
Here, children, here's a mouthful for you. Good-evening, Herr Stiefel, how are you?
MORITZ.
Thank you, Frau Gabor.----I'm watching the dance down there.
FRAU GABOR.
But you don't look very good----don't you feel well?
MORITZ.
It's not worth mentioning. I went to bed somewhat too late last night.
MELCHIOR.
Only think, he worked all through the night.
FRAU GABOR.
You shouldn't do such things, Herr Stiefel. You ought to take care of yourself. Think of your health. Don't set your school above your health. Take plenty of walks in the fresh air. At your age, that is more important than a correct use of middle high German.
MORITZ.
I will go walking. You are right. One can be industrious while one is taking a walk. Why didn't I think of that myself!----The written work I shall still have to do at home.
MELCHIOR.
You can do your writing here; that will make it easier for both of us.----You know, Mamma, that Max von Trenk has been down with brain fever!----To-day at noon Hans Rilow came from von Trenk's deathbed to announce to Rector Sonnenstich that von Trenk had just died in his presence. aEurooeIndeed?aEuro¯ said Sonnenstich, aEurooehaven't you two hours from last week to make up? Here is the beadle's report. See that the matter is cleared up once for all! The whole class will attend the burial.aEuro¯----Hans was struck dumb.
FRAU GABOR.
What book is that you have, Melchior?
MELCHIOR.
aEurooeFaust.aEuro¯
FRAU GABOR.
Have you read it yet?
MELCHIOR.
Not to the end.
MORITZ.
We're just at the Walpurgisnacht.
FRAU GABOR.
If I were you I should have waited for one or two years.
MELCHIOR.
I know of no book, Mamma, in which I have found so much beauty. Why shouldn't I read it?
FRAU GABOR.
Because you can't understand it.
MELCHIOR.
You can't know that, Mamma. I feel very well that I am not yet able to grasp the work in its entirety----
MORITZ.
We always read together; that helps our understanding wonderfully.
FRAU GABOR.
You are old enough, Melchior, to be able to know what is good and what is bad for you. Do what you think best for yourself. I should be the first to acknowledge your right in this respect, because you have never given me a reason to have to deny you anything. I only want to warn you that even the best can do one harm when one isn't ripe enough in years to receive it properly.----I would rather put my trust in you than in conventional educational methods.----If you need anything, children, you, Melchior, come up and call me. I shall be in my bedroom.
(_Exit._)
MORITZ.
Your Mamma means the story of Gretchen.
MELCHIOR.
Weren't we discussing it just a moment ago!
MORITZ.
Faust himself cannot have deserted her in cold blood!
MELCHIOR.
The masterpiece does not end with this infamous action!----Faust might have promised the maiden marriage, he might have forsaken her afterwards, but in my eyes he would have been not a hair less worthy of punishment. Gretchen might have died of a broken heart for all I care.----One sees how this attracts the eyes continually; one might think that the whole world turned on sex![2]
MORITZ.
To be frank with you, Melchior, I have almost the same feeling since I read your explanation.----It fell at my feet during the first vacation days. I was startled. I fastened the door and flew through the flaming lines as a frightened owl flies through a burning wood----I believe I read most of it with my eyes shut. Your explanation brought up a host of dim recollections, which affected me as a song of his childhood affects a man on his deathbed when heard from the lips of another. I felt the most vehement pity over what you wrote about maidens. I shall never lose that sensation. Believe me, Melchior, to suffer a wrong is sweeter than to do a wrong. To be overcome by such a sweet wrong and still be blameless seems to me the fullness of earthly bliss.
MELCHIOR.
I don't want my bliss as alms!
MORITZ.
But why not?
MELCHIOR.
I don't want anything for which I don't have to fight!
MORITZ.
Is it enjoyable then, Melchior?----The maiden's enjoyment is as that of the holy gods. The maiden controls herself, thanks to her self-denial. She keeps herself free from every bitterness until the last moment, in order that she may see the heavens open over her in an instant. The maiden fears hell even at the moment that she perceives a blooming paradise. Her feeling is as pure as a mountain spring. The maiden holds a cup over which no earthly breath has blown as yet; a nectar chalice, the contents of which is spilled when it flames and flares.----The enjoyment that the man finds in that, I think, is insipid and flat.
MELCHIOR.
You can think what you like about it, but keep your thoughts to yourself----I don't like to think about it.
SCENE SECOND.
_A Dwelling Room._
FRAU BERGMANN.
(_Enters by the center door. Her face is beaming. She is without a hat, wears a mantilla on her head and has a basket on her arm._)
Wendla! Wendla!
WENDLA.
(_Appears in petticoats and corset in the doorway to the right._)
What's the matter, Mother?
FRAU BERGMANN.
You are up already, child? Now, that is nice of you!
WENDLA.
You have been out already?
FRAU BERGMANN.
Get dressed quickly!----You must go down to Ina's at once. You must take her this basket!
WENDLA.
(_Dressing herself during the following conversation._)
You have been to Ina's?--How is Ina?--Is she ever going to get better?
FRAU BERGMANN.
Only think, Wendla, last night the stork paid her a visit and brought her a little baby boy!
WENDLA.
A little boy?----A little boy!----Oh, that's lovely!----That's the cause of that tedious influenza!
FRAU BERGMANN.
A fine little boy!
WENDLA.
I must see him, Mother. That makes me an aunt for the third time----aunt to a little girl and two little boys!
FRAU BERGMANN.
And what little boys!----It always happens that way when one lives so near the church roof!----To-morrow will be just two years since she went up the steps in her mull gown.
WENDLA.
Were you there when he brought him?
FRAU BERGMANN.
He had just flown away again.----Won't you put on a rose?
WENDLA.
Why couldn't you have been a little earlier, Mother?
FRAU BERGMANN.
I almost believe he brought you something, too----a breastpin or something.
WENDLA.
It's really a shame!
FRAU BERGMANN.
But, I tell you, he brought you a breastpin!
WENDLA.
I have breastpins enough----
FRAU BERGMANN.
Then be happy, child. What do you want besides?
WENDLA.
I would have liked so much to have known whether he flew through the window or down the chimney.
FRAU BERGMANN.
You must ask Ina. Ha! You must ask Ina that, dear heart! Ina will tell you that fast enough. Ina talked with him for a whole half hour.
WENDLA.
I will ask Ina when I get there.
FRAU BERGMANN.
Now don't forget, sweet angel! I'm interested myself to know if he came in through the window or by the chimney.
WENDLA.
Or hadn't I better ask the chimney-sweep?----The chimney-sweep must know best whether he flew down the chimney or not.
FRAU BERGMANN.
Not the chimney-sweep, child; not the chimney-sweep. What does the chimney-sweep know about the stork! He'd tell you a lot of foolishness he didn't believe himself----Wha----what are you staring at down there in the street?
WENDLA.
A man, Mother,----three times as big as an ox!----with feet like steamboats----!
FRAU BERGMANN.
(_Rushing to the window._)
Impossible! Impossible!
WENDLA.
(_At the same time._)
He holds a bedslat under his chin and fiddles aEurooeDie Wacht am RheinaEuro¯ on it----there, he's just turned the corner.----
FRAU BERGMANN.
You are, and always will be a foolish child!----To frighten your old simple mother that way!----Go get your hat! I wonder when you will understand things. I've given up hope of you.
WENDLA.
So have I, Mother dear, so have I. It's a sad thing about my understanding.----I have a sister who has been married for two and a half years, I myself have been made an aunt for the third time, and I haven't the least idea how it all comes about.----Don't be cross, Mother dear, don't be cross! Whom in the world should I ask but you! Please tell me, dear Mother! Tell me, dear Mother! I'm ashamed for myself. Please, Mother, speak! Don't scold me for asking you about it. Give me an answer----How does it happen?----How does it all come about?----You cannot really deceive yourself that I, who am fourteen years old, still believe in the stork.
FRAU BERGMANN.
Good. Lord, child, but you are peculiar!----What ideas you have!----I really can't do that!
WENDLA.
But why not, Mother?----Why not?----It can't be anything ugly if everybody is delighted over it!
FRAU BERGMANN.
O----O God protect me!----I deserve----Go get dressed, child, go get dressed!
WENDLA.
I'll go----And suppose your child went and asked the chimney-sweep?
FRAU BERGMANN.
But that would be madness!----Come here, child, come here, I'll tell you! I'll tell you everything----O Almighty Goodness!----only not to-day, Wendla!----To-morrow, the next day, next week----any time you want, dear heart----
WENDLA.
Tell me to-day, Mother; tell me now! Right away!----Now that I have seen you so frightened I can never be peaceful until you do.
FRAU BERGMANN.
I can't do it, Wendla.
WENDLA.
Oh, why can't you, Mother dear!----I will kneel here at your feet and lay my head in your lap. You can cover my head with your apron and talk and talk, as if you were entirely alone in the room. I won't move, I won't cry, I will bear all patiently, no matter what may come.
FRAU BERGMANN.
Heaven knows, Wendla, that I am not to blame! Heaven knows it!----Come here in God's name! I will tell you, child, how you came into this world.----Listen to me, Wendla.----
WENDLA.
(_Under the apron._)
I'm listening.
FRAU BERGMANN.
(_Extatically._)
But it's no use, child!----I can't justify it. I deserve to be put into prison----to have you taken from me.
WENDLA.
Take heart, Mother!
FRAU BERGMANN.
Listen, then----!
WENDLA.
(_Trembling under the apron._)
O God! O God!
FRAU BERGMANN.
In order to have a child----do you understand me, Wendla?
WENDLA.
Quick, Mother, I can't stand it much longer.
FRAU BERGMANN.
In order to have a child----one must love--the man--to whom one is married--love him, I tell you--as one can only love a man! One must love him so much with one's whole heart, so--so that one can't describe it! One must love him, Wendla, as you at your age are still unable to love----Now you know it!
WENDLA.
(_Getting up._)
Great----God----in heaven!
FRAU BERGMANN.
Now you know what an ordeal awaits you!
WENDLA.
And that is all?
FRAU BERGMANN.
As true as God helps me!----Take your basket now and go to Ina. You will get chocolate and cakes there.----Come, let's look you over, the laced shoes, the silk gloves, the sailor blouse, the rose in your hair--your dress is really becoming much too short for you, Wendla!
WENDLA.
Did you get meat for lunch, Mother?
FRAU BERGMANN.
The Good God protect and bless you----I will find an opportunity to add a handbreadth of flounces to the bottom.
SCENE THIRD.
HANS RILOW.
(_With a light in his hand, fastens the door behind him and opens the lid._)
aEurooeHave you prayed to-night, Desdemona?aEuro¯ (_He takes a reproduction of the Venus of Palma Vecchio from his bosom._)----Thou wilt not appear to me after the Our Father, darling,----as in that moment of anticipated bliss when I saw thee contemplatively expectant of someone's coming, lying in Jonathan Schlesinger's shop window----just as enticing as thou art now, with these supple limbs, these softly arched hips, these plump, youthful breasts.----Oh how intoxicated with joy the great master must have been when his glance strayed over the fourteen-year-old original stretched out upon the divan!
Wilt thou not visit me for awhile in my dreams? I will receive thee with widely open arms and will kiss thee until thou art breathless. Thou drawest me onward as the enchanted princess in her deserted castle. Portals and doors open themselves as if by an unseen hand, while the fountain in the park below begins to splash joyously----
aEurooeIt is the cause!----It is the cause!aEuro¯ The frightful beating in my breast shows thee that I do not murder thee from frivolous emotion. The thought of my lonely nights is strangling me. I swear to thee, child, on my soul, that it is not satiety which rules me. Who could ever boast of being satiated of thee!
But thou suckest the marrow from my bones, thou bendest my back, thou robbest my youthful eyes of their last spark of brilliancy.----Thou art so arrogant toward me in thy inhuman modesty, so galling with thy immovable limbs!----Thou or I! And I have won the victory.
Suppose I count them----all those who sleep, with whom I have fought the same battle here----: Psyche by Thumann--another bequest from the spindle-shanked Mademoiselle Angelique, that rattlesnake in the paradise of my childhood; Io by Corregio; Galathea by Lossow; then a Cupid by Bouguereau; Ada by J. van Beers--that Ada whom I had to abduct from a secret drawer in Papa's secretary in order to incorporate in my harem; a trembling, modest Leda by Makart, whom I found by chance among my brother's college books----seven, thou blooming candidate for death, have preceded thee upon this path to Tartarus. Let that be a consolation unto thee, and seek not to increase my torments at this enormity by that fleeting look.
Thou diest not for thy sins, thou diest on account of mine!----As protection against myself I go to my seventh wife-murder with a bleeding heart. There is something tragic in the rA'le of Bluebeard. I believe the combined sufferings of his murdered wives did not equal the torments he underwent each time he strangled one of them.
But my thoughts will become more peaceful, my body will strengthen itself, when thou, thou little devil, residest no longer in the red satin padding of my jewel case. In place of thee, I will indulge in wanton joyousness with Bodenhausen's Lurlei or Linger's Forsaken One, or Defregger's Loni--so I should be all the quicker! But a quarter of a year more, perhaps thy unveiled charms, sweet soul, would begin to consume my poor head as the sun does a pat of butter. It is high time to declare the divorce from bed and board.
Brrr! I feel a Heliogablus within me? Moritura me salutat! Maiden, maiden, why dost thou press thy knees together?----Why now of all times?----In face of the inscrutable eternity?----A movement and I will spare thy life!----A womanly emotion, a sign of passion, of sympathy, maiden!----I will frame thee in gold, and hang thee over my bed! Doest thou not guess that only thy chastity begets my debauchery?----Woe, woe, unto the inhuman ones!----
One always perceives that they received an exemplary education----It is just so with me.
aEurooeHave you prayed to-night, Desdemona?aEuro¯
My heart contracts,----madness!----St. Agnes also died for her reserve and was not half as naked as thou!----Another kiss upon thy blooming body----upon thy childish swelling breast--upon thy sweetly rounded--thy cruel knees----
aEurooeIt is the cause, it is the cause, my soul, Let me not name it to you, you chaste stars! It is the cause!aEuro¯----
(_The picture falls into the depths, he shuts the lid._)
FOURTH SCENE.
_A haymow. Melchior lies on his back in the fresh hay. Wendla comes up the ladder._
WENDLA.
Here's where you've hid yourself?----They're all hunting for you. The wagon is outside again. You must help. There's a storm coming up.
MELCHIOR.
Go away from me! Go away from me!
WENDLA.
What's the matter with you?----Why are you hiding your face?
MELCHIOR.
Out! out! I'll throw you down on the floor below.
WENDLA.