THE SWEET YOUNG MISS AND THE POET
A small room, furnished with taste and comfort. Red curtains half-darken the room. A large writing-table strewn with books and papers. A piano against the wall. The Sweet Young Miss and the Poet are disclosed. They are just entering. The Poet closes the door.
Poet
(Kisses her) My darling!
Miss
(With hat and coat) Oh! It’s very pretty here! Only you can’t see anything!
Poet
Your eyes will have to get used to this semi-darkness.—Those sweet eyes—
(Kisses her eyes)
Miss
But there won’t be time enough.
Poet
Why not?
Miss
Because I can only stop a moment.
Poet
But, you can take your hat off, can’t you?
Miss
Just for the sake of a minute?
Poet
(Takes the pin out of her hat which he removes)
And your coat—
Miss
The idea!—I have to leave right away.
Poet
But you must rest a while first. We have been walking for three hours.
Miss
Riding, you mean.
Poet
Yes, we rode home—but we ran around for a full three hours in the country. Now come, sit down, child … wherever you like—here at my desk;—no, that’s not comfortable. Sit down on the sofa.—That’s it. (He presses her down) If you are very tired, you may as well lie down. So. (He stretches her out on the sofa) There, put your head on the cushion.
Miss
(Laughing) But I’m not tired at all!
Poet
You merely imagine you’re not. So—and if you are sleepy, you can go to sleep. I shall be very quiet. And what’s more I can play you a lullaby … one of my own…
(He goes to the piano)
Miss
One of yours.
Poet
Yes.
Miss
But I thought, Robert, you were a professor.
Poet
I? But I told you I was a writer. But what made you think of that?
Miss
Because you said the piece you are playing is your own.
Poet
Yes … perhaps it is, perhaps it isn’t. But that doesn’t matter. Well? Anyway it doesn’t matter who composed it, if only it is beautiful. Don’t you agree?
Miss
Of course … it must be beautiful … that’s the chief thing!—
Poet
Do you know what I meant by that?
Miss
By what?
Poet
By what I just said.
Miss
(Sleepily) Of course I do.
Poet
(Gets up, goes to her, and strokes her hair) You didn’t understand a word.
Miss
I’m not as stupid as that.
Poet
Certainly you are, but that is just the reason why I love you. It is so beautiful, when girls are stupid. I mean in the way you are.
Miss
Go on, you are talking nonsense.
Poet
Angel, little one! Isn’t it comfy on this soft, Persian couch cover?
Miss
Indeed, it is. Won’t you play something else on the piano?
Poet
No, I’d rather stay near you.
(Caressing her)
Miss
But hadn’t you better light the lamp?
Poet
Oh, no… The dim light is so restful. We were as if bathed in sunbeams all day. Now we’ve just climbed out of the bath and slipped on … the twilight like a bathrobe—(Laughs) No—that ought to be expressed differently… Don’t you think so?
Miss
I don’t know.
Poet
(Moves slightly away from her) Absolutely divine, this stupidity!
(He takes out a notebook, and writes a few words in it)
Miss
What are you doing? (She turns toward him) What are you writing?
Poet
(Softly) Sun, bath, twilight, cloak … so… (He puts the notebook back. Aloud) Nothing… Now tell me, sweetheart, wouldn’t you like something to eat or drink?
Miss
I’m not thirsty, but I am hungry.
Poet
Hm … it would suit me better, if you were thirsty. I have some cognac at home, but I have to send out for food.
Miss
Can’t you send somebody?
Poet
That is difficult, my servant isn’t here now—but, wait a minute—I will go myself … what would you like?
Miss
Oh, really don’t bother; I have to go home anyway.
Poet
Child, that’s out of the question. Now I will tell you something; when we leave, we will go together somewhere for supper.
Miss
Oh, no. I haven’t time for that. And, then, where could we go? Somebody we know might see us.
Poet
Do you know such a lot of people?
Miss
Well, it takes only one to make trouble for us.
Poet
Why trouble?
Miss
Well, suppose mother should hear about it…
Poet
We can go somewhere, where no one can see us. There are plenty of restaurants with private dining-rooms.
Miss
(Singing) “Let’s dine in a chambre separée!”
Poet
Have you ever been in a private dining-room?
Miss
To tell the truth—yes.
Poet
Who was the happy man?
Miss
Oh, it wasn’t the way you imagine… I went with a friend and her fiancé. They took me along.
Poet
And you expect me to believe that?
Miss
You needn’t believe it!
Poet
(Close to her) Did you blush? You can hardly see anything. I can’t even distinguish your features. (He touches her cheeks with his hands) But even so I recognize you.
Miss
Well, be careful that you don’t take me for some one else.
Poet
It is strange, I don’t seem to remember how you look.
Miss
Thank you!
Poet
(Seriously) It is almost uncanny. I can’t imagine any longer how you look—In a certain way I have already forgotten you—Now, if I couldn’t remember even the sound of your voice … what would you do then?—Something near and far away at the same time … it’s uncanny.
Miss
What are you talking about?
Poet
Nothing, my angel, nothing. Where are your lips?…
(He kisses her)
Miss
Wouldn’t it be better to light the lamp?
Poet
No… (Very tenderly) Tell me, do you love me?
Miss
Very much … oh, so much!
Poet
Have you ever loved any one as much as me?
Miss
I told you already that I didn’t.
Poet
But…
(He sighs)
Miss
He was my fiancé.
Poet
I’d rather you wouldn’t think of him now.
Miss
Why … what’s the difference … look…
Poet
We might imagine now that we were in a palace in India.
Miss
I’m sure people there wouldn’t be as wicked as you are.
Poet
How idiotic! Perfectly divine—Ah, if you only know what you are to me…
Miss
Well?
Poet
Don’t always push me away, I’m not going to hurt you—
Miss
My corset hurts me.
Poet
(Simply) Take it off.
Miss
Yes. But you must behave.
Poet
Of course!
Miss
(Rises, and takes off her corset in the darkness)
Poet
(Sits in the meantime on the sofa) Tell me, aren’t you at all curious to know my name?
Miss
Yes, what is it?
Poet
I’d rather not tell you my real name, but the name I go by.
Miss
What is the difference?
Poet
I mean the name I use as a writer.
Miss
Oh, you don’t write under your real name?
Poet
(Close to her)
Miss
Oh … stop … don’t.
Poet
What fragrance! How sweet.
(He kisses her breasts)
Miss
You are tearing my chemise.
Poet
Away with it … away with it … everything is superfluous.
Miss
Oh, Robert.
Poet
And now enter into our Indian palace.
Miss
Tell me first—do you really love me?
Poet
I adore you. (Kisses her passionately) I adore you, my sweetheart, my springtime … my…
Miss
Robert … Robert…
Poet
It was heaven… My name is…
Miss
Robert—oh, my Robert!
Poet
I call myself Biebitz.
Miss
Why do you call yourself Biebitz?
Poet
My name is not Biebitz—I just use it as a pseudonym … well, don’t you recognize the name?
Miss
No.
Poet
You don’t know the name Biebitz? Ah—Perfectly divine! Really? You are just pretending you don’t know it, aren’t you?
Miss
No really, I never heard it.
Poet
Don’t you ever go to the theater?
Miss
Oh, yes—I was at the opera only the other day with—you know, with one of my friends and her uncle, to hear Cavalleria Rusticana.
Poet
Hm, you don’t go then to see plays.
Miss
I never get tickets for them.
Poet
I’ll send you a ticket soon.
Miss
Oh, do! And don’t forget it. But for something funny.
Poet
Oh … something funny … you don’t care to see anything sad?
Miss
Not very much.
Poet
Not even if it is a play of mine.
Miss
A play of yours? Do you write for the theater?
Poet
Let me light a candle now. I haven’t seen you since you have become my best beloved—Angel!
(He lights a candle)
Miss
Don’t. I’m ashamed. Give me a cover at least.
Poet
Later!
(He approaches her with the light, and looks at her a long while)
Miss
(Covering her face with her hands) Go away, Robert!
Poet
You are beautiful, you are Beauty itself. You are Nature herself. You are the simplicity which is holy.
Miss
Ouch! You are dropping wax on me. Look, why aren’t you more careful?
Poet
(Puts the candle away) You are that for which I have long sought. You love me for my own sake. You would love me even if I were only a counter-jumper. That’s balm to one’s heart. I must confess I was suspicious until this moment. Tell me, honestly, you didn’t have any notion that I am Biebitz?
Miss
Oh, pshaw, I don’t even know what you are talking about. I never heard of any Biebitz.
Poet
What is fame! No, forget what I have told you. Forget even the name. I am Robert and I want to remain Robert to you. I was only joking. (Lightly) I am not a writer at all. I’m a clerk, and in the evening I play the piano in a dancehall.
Miss
But now I’m all mixed up … and the way you look at one. What is the matter, yes, what do you mean?
Poet
It is very strange—something that has never happened to me, sweetheart; I am on the verge of tears. You move me deeply. We ought to live together. Will you? We will be very much in love with each other.
Miss
Is it true about the dancehall?
Poet
Yes, but don’t ask any more about it. If you love me, don’t ask me anything. Tell me, can’t you get away for a few weeks?
Miss
How do you mean get away?
Poet
Well, I mean, leave home?
Miss
How absurd! How could I! What would mother say? And without me everything would be topsy-turvy at home in no time.
Poet
It would be so wonderful to live with you a few weeks, all alone with you, somewhere far away, in the forest, in the world of nature… Nature. And then, some day, “Good-by”—each going, without the other knowing where.
Miss
You are talking already about saying good-by. And I thought that you loved me such a lot.
Poet
That is just the reason—(Bends over her, and kisses her upon the forehead.) You sweet darling!
Miss
Please, hold me tight. I feel so cold.
Poet
I fancy it’s time for you to dress. Wait, I’ll light a few more candles for you.
Miss
(Rising) Don’t look this way.
Poet
No. (At the window) Tell me, child, are you happy?
Miss
What do you mean?
Poet
I mean are you happy the way things are in general?
Miss
Well, they might be better.
Poet
You misunderstand me. You have told me enough about your conditions at home. I know you are not a princess. Leaving all that aside, do you feel alive. Do you feel life pulsing through you?
Miss
Come, have you a comb?
Poet
(Goes to the dressing-table, hands her a comb, and watches her) Good Lord, how lovely you look!
Miss
Please … don’t!
Poet
Please, stay a while yet. I’ll get something for supper, and…
Miss
But it is awfully late already.
Poet
It is not yet nine.
Miss
Dear me, I must hurry. Please!
Poet
When shall I see you again?
Miss
When would you like to see me?
Poet
To-morrow.
Miss
What day is to-morrow?
Poet
Saturday.
Miss
Oh, then I can’t. I must take my little sister to her guardian.
Poet
Then Sunday … hm … Sunday … on Sunday … now I’ll have to explain something to you.—I’m not Biebitz, but Biebitz is a friend of mine. I’ll introduce him to you sometime. Biebitz’s play will be given Sunday. I’ll send you tickets, and take you home after the performance. You will tell me then how you liked the play. Won’t you?
Miss
Here you are talking about this Biebitz again.—I don’t understand what it is all about.
Poet
I won’t know you really, until I know what impression the play made on you.
Miss
Now … I’m ready.
Poet
Come, sweetheart.
(They go out)