ACT I
A drawing-room in the Empire style in Count Kellinghausen's house. In front, on the left, a fireplace; to the left, in the background, a door to the inner apartments; to the right, back, a door into the front passage; in the foreground, on the right, a window. In the centre of back wall a wide opening between two columns, partly closed by an old Gobelins tapestry. On the right a sofa, table and chairs. On the left, in front of the fireplace, several low seats. Near the middle, placed diagonally, a writing-table with shelves; beside the table two seats with low backs and a comfortable arm-chair. Old portraits and coloured prints on the walls.
Holtzmann is seated at the back of the room, a portfolio on his lap. Conrad ushers in Baron Ludwig.
Conrad (in the doorway).
If your Excellency will kindly come this way--the doctor is with Madame von Kellinghausen.
Baron Ludwig.
Ah? In that case perhaps I had better----
Conrad.
Madame von Kellinghausen will be here in a moment, your Excellency. The other gentleman has already been announced. (Indicating Holtzmann.)
Baron Ludwig.
Very well. (Conrad goes out.)
Holtzmann (rises and makes a deep bow).
Baron Ludwig.
(Bowing slightly in return wanders about the room and at last pauses before Holtzmann.) I beg your pardon but--surely I know your face.
Holtzmann.
Very likely, your Excellency. My name is Holtzmann, private secretary to Baron Richard von Völkerlingk.
Baron Ludwig.
Indeed? I am so seldom at my brother's. The fact is--er, well. Yesterday was election-day at Lengenfeld, by the way. The papers were full of it this morning. It seems to cause a good deal of surprise that Count Kellinghausen should not only have withdrawn in favour of my brother, but should actually have gone about canvassing for him. I daresay that's an exaggeration, though?
Holtzmann.
On the contrary, your Excellency. The Count has been down in the country electioneering for weeks.
Baron Ludwig.
Really? And you were with him, I suppose?
Holtzmann (with a dry smile).
Very much so, your Excellency. I should be sorry to be answerable for all the nonsense I've had to talk and write!
Baron Ludwig.
H'm--just so. Nonsense always wins. Who said that, by the way? Julian the Apostate, wasn't it?
Holtzmann.
No, your Excellency. Talbot.
Baron Ludwig.
Julian might have said it. The losing side always philosophises.
Holtzmann.
I hope we sha'n't be on the losing side.
Baron Ludwig.
H'm. What is your profession?
Holtzmann.
Theology, your Excellency.
Baron Ludwig.
And how long do you think it will be before it lands you in socialism?
Holtzmann (offended).
Excellency!
Baron Ludwig.
My dear sir, look at the examples! I remember a predecessor of yours at my brother's--a theological student also, I believe. Well, he landed with both feet in the middle of the Socialist camp.
Holtzmann.
Yes, I know, your Excellency. You mean Meixner.
Baron Ludwig.
That reminds me--I hear the fellow has actually been taking a leading hand in the fight against my brother.
Holtzmann.
The report is true.
Baron Ludwig.
Well, I hope you hit back hard.
Holtzmann.
That is what I was there for, your Excellency.
Enter Beata and Dr. Kahlenberg.
Beata.
I hadn't dared to hope that your Excellency would answer my summons so promptly.
Baron Ludwig (kissing her hand).
My dear Countess, your summons was a command--and one I was only too happy to obey. (Beata turns to Holtzmann.) Ah, good-morning, my dear doctor.
Kahlenberg.
Good-morning, your Excellency. How is it you haven't been in lately to let me look you over? A guilty conscience, eh?
Baron Ludwig.
Lack of time, doctor. Give me a day of twenty-five hours, and I'll devote one of them to consulting my physician.
Kahlenberg.
Who will order you to rest during the other twenty-four.
Baron Ludwig.
We all get that order sooner or later, doctor--and from a chief we have to obey. (In a low voice.) How is the Countess?
Kahlenberg (same tone).
No worse. (To Beata.) And now, my dear lady, I must be off--but what's the matter?
Beata (joyously excited, a paper in her hand).
Oh, nothing--nothing--nothing----
Kahlenberg (in a tone of friendly reproach).
You know I've warned you----
Beata.
Not to feel, not to think, not to laugh, not to cry--not to live, in short, dear doctor!
Kahlenberg.
Well, I don't object to the laughing.
Beata.
It's just as well you don't, for it's a habit you couldn't break me of. There is so much to laugh at in this vale of tears! Well, good-bye, doctor! (Kahlenberg goes out.) Beata (to Baron Ludwig). This will interest you too. Herr Holtzmann--you know Herr Holtzmann?--has just brought me the returns from Lengenfeld. Only fancy, your brother has a majority of a hundred and thirty-one! Think of that!
Baron Ludwig.
Don't let us be too sanguine.
Beata.
Oh----
Holtzmann.
Six districts are still to be heard from, Countess, and we know that four of these belong to the Socialists. It is still doubtful if we can gain a majority.
Beata (concealing her disappointment).
And when do you expect to hear the final result?
Holtzmann.
At any moment now.
Beata.
And when you do hear----
Holtzmann.
I will jump into a cab and bring you the news instantly.
Beata.
Thank you so 'much. (Gives him her hand.) Is Baron Völkerlingk at home?
Holtzmann.
He went for a ride. I daresay I shall find him on my return.
Beata.
Remember me to him, won't you? (Holtzmann takes leave with a bow.)
Baron Ludwig.
What do you hear from Kellinghausen? He is still at Lengenfeld, I hear.
Beata.
I have just had a letter. Now that the elections are over he means to take a day's shooting, and then he is coming home--free from his party-duties for the first time in years!
Baron Ludwig.
And what does the Egeria of the party say to such a state of things?
Beata.
Do you mean me, your Excellency?
Baron Ludwig.
I mean the woman at whose delightful dinner-table the fate of more than one important bill has been decided. Now that Kellinghausen has retired into private life, do you mean to keep up the little political dinners we've always been so much afraid of?
Beata.
I hope so, your Excellency. And if you care to beard the lion in his den, I shall be charmed to send you an invitation. You haven't dined with us in an age. I've always fancied that the estrangement between your brother and yourself might be the cause of our seeing so little of you.
Baron Ludwig.
My dear Countess, those eyes of yours see through everything; and I read in them all the answers I might make to that question. Ah, well--Richard had the good luck, the unspeakable good luck, to win your friendship, and under your influence, to develop into the man he is!
Beata.
I know how to listen when clever men are talking. That is the secret of what you call my influence.
Baron Ludwig.
You think so?--Well--there was Richard, dabbling in poetry and politics, in archæology and explorations, like the typical noble amateur. He had a fortune from his mother, while I was poor. But in one respect I was richer than he; for he married a fool who dragged him down to the level of her own silly snobbishness. But then you came--and lifted him up again. Then all his dormant powers awoke--he discovered his gift as a speaker, he became the mouthpiece of the party, he got into the Reichstag, and----
Beata.
And dropped out again.
Baron Ludwig.
Exactly. And the estrangement between us dates from that time. It was reported that government had left him in the lurch, and I was thought to be more or less responsible.
Beata.
At all events, his career was cut short. And he failed again at the next election.
Baron Ludwig.
And now your friendship has helped him to success.
Beata.
My husband's friendship, you mean.
Baron Ludwig.
In my loveless household I know too little of the power of woman to pronounce definitely on that point.
Beata.
You do well to suspend your judgment.
Baron Ludwig.
Ah, now you are displeased with me. I am sorry. I might be of use to you.
Beata.
If you wish to be of use to me you can do so by becoming your brother's friend. It was to ask you this that I sent for you.
Baron Ludwig.
Countess, I wonder at your faith in human nature!
Beata.
Human nature has never deceived me.
Baron Ludwig.
One would adore you for saying that if one hadn't so many other reasons for doing so!
Beata (laughing).
Pretty speeches at our age?
Baron Ludwig.
You may talk of my age, but not of yours.
Beata.
Look at the grey hair--here, on my temples; and my medicine-bottles over there. I never stir without them now.
Baron Ludwig.
I have been distressed to hear of your illness.
Beata.
Yes, my heart bothers me--an old story. My heart is tired--and I--I'm not. And when I drive it too hard it grows a little restive now and then. But it doesn't matter! (Enter Ellen.) Is that you, Ellen? Come in, dear.
Ellen (in skating dress).
Mother, dear, I didn't know you had a visitor. How do you do, your Excellency?
Baron Ludwig.
How do you do, young lady? Dear me dear me what have you been growing into?
Ellen.
Into life, your Excellency!
Baron Ludwig.
Ha--very good--very neat. So many people just grow past it.
Beata.
And how was the skating, dear?
Ellen.
Oh, heavenly. Norbert and I simply flew. Poor Miss Mansborough--we left her miles behind!
Beata.
Well, run away now. Take off your fur jacket--you're too warm.
Ellen.
Good-bye, your Excellency.
Baron Ludwig.
Au revoir, little Countess. (Ellen goes out.)
Baron Ludwig.
What a little wonder you've made of her!
Beata.
She is developing, isn't she?
Baron Ludwig.
And my nephew Norbert--you have developed him too. A very comprehensive piece of work. (Beata laughs.)
Baron Ludwig.
If only he doesn't stray from the path you've marked out for him.
Beata.
Ah--you are thinking of that pamphlet of his?
Baron Ludwig (nods).
An attack on duelling, I understand? Well, it's no business of mine.
Beata.
He is not as immature as you think.
Baron Ludwig.
Indeed?
Enter Conrad.
Conrad (announcing).
Baron von Brachtmann, his Highness Prince Usingen.
Baron Ludwig.
The pillars of the state! Brachtmann especially. This is something for me to remember, Countess.
Enter Brachtmann and Prince. Conrad goes out.
Brachtmann.
My dear Countess----
Beata.
I am so glad to see you. And you, Prince. Always faithful to the cause?
Prince.
Yes, Countess; as far as fidelity is consonant with perfect inactivity. Glad to shake hands between two rounds, your Excellency.
Baron Ludwig.
Our encounters are not sanguinary, your Highness.
Prince.
No although one adversary occasionally cuts another. (Laughter.)
Brachtmann.
We ventured to call, Countess, because we fancied that Völkerlingk would keep you posted as to the news from Lengenfeld.
Beata.
Baron Völkerlingk has done me no such honour. But--by the merest accident--his secretary was here just now. Here are the latest returns. (Hands him the paper.)
Brachtmann (bending over the paper).
H'm, h'm----
Prince.
Let me see.
Brachtmann.
Well, we'll hope for the best. Kellinghausen's personal popularity has secured a conservative majority till now; but now that he has withdrawn in favour of another man--even though that man is Völkerlingk--the result is more than doubtful.
Baron Ludwig.
I confess, Countess, that even if Kellinghausen looked upon his politics merely as a branch of sport, I don't quite understand his sacrificing his career to my brother.
Beata.
My husband is very easy-going. He has no ambition. They had bothered him dreadfully at their committee-meetings about things he didn't understand--at least he said he didn't. The truth is, it probably bored him.
Brachtmann.
But how about his fanatical devotion to the party? If we are all monomaniacs on that subject, he is certainly the worst. He felt more keenly than any of us what the party lost in losing your brother (to Baron Ludwig)--he realised our need of Völkerlingk's efficiency and energy. He saw what a great power was lying idle. Doesn't that explain his action?
Baron Ludwig.
I needn't tell you, Herr von Brachtmann, how pleasant it is to hear my brother praised. I quite realise how much you need him at this particular moment with the debate on the civil code pending, and the serious questions likely to come up in connection with it. (To Beata.) But that Kellinghausen should have consented to withdraw, even in such an emergency-- I have so often heard him say, Countess, that it was the duty of a landed proprietor to represent the district in which his property lay. He said it was the only justification of a representative government.
Beata.
But you know you, all say that!
Prince.
My dear Countess, the revolutionary spirit has entered into our traditions, and the modern idea of making a revolution is to gird at existing institutions. Why deprive us of such an innocent amusement?
Baron Ludwig.
Really, Prince--pardon me--but since, by birth and political affiliations, you are a supporter of existing institutions, would it not be well to speak of them less flippantly?
Prince.
Why, my dear Baron?--Countess, shall I show you the attitude of the modern state toward its citizens? Here we are: the state with its hand in its pocket, the citizen with his fist clenched. And the only way to unclench the citizen's fist is for the state to pull something out of its pocket. There's the situation in a nutshell. It's a matter of taste whether one respects such an institution or not.
Brachtmann.
You know. Baron, he is the spoiled child of the party.
Prince.
Its prodigal son, you mean. I squandered all my original ideas long ago, and am living on the husks of the feudal tradition. But we are boring Madame von Kellinghausen. (The three men rise.)
Beata.
Good-bye, Prince--Herr von Brachtmann. (To Baron Ludwig.) Whenever your solitude weighs on you, come in and let me give you a cup of tea.
Baron Ludwig.
You are very good. But I am afraid it is too late to begin.
Beata.
It is never too late to renew an old friendship.
Baron Ludwig.
Thank you. (Goes out with the two other men.) Ellen enters.
Ellen.
(Throwing her arms about her mother's neck.) Mother! You dear little mamma!
Beata.
Well, madcap--what is it now?
Ellen.
Oh, nothing, nothing. I'm so happy, that's all.
Beata.
What are you happy about, dear?
Ellen.
I don't know--does one ever?
Beata.
Has anything in particular happened?
Ellen.
No; nothing. That is--Norbert said-- Oh, yes to be sure; we met Uncle Richard.
Beata.
Ah--where?
Ellen.
In the Zoo. On horseback. He sent his love and said he would be in before dinner. Norbert is coming too. Mother, is it true that Uncle Richard is such a wonderful speaker? Norbert says he can do what he likes with people.
Beata.
Some people--but only those whose thoughts he can turn into feelings, or whose feelings he can turn into thoughts. Do you understand?
Ellen.
Oh, yes! You mean, one can give only to those who have something to give in return?
Beata.
Yes.
Ellen.
But he must have great power--I am sure of it! He's always so quiet, and says so little--yet one feels there's a great fire inside--and sometimes it blazes up.
Beata (laughing).
What do you know about it?
Ellen.
Oh, I know. It's just the same with-- Mother, how can people bear life sometimes? It's so beautiful one simply can't breathe!
Beata (with emotion).
Yes, it is beautiful. And even when it's nothing but pain and fear and renunciation, even then it's still beautiful, Ellen.
Ellen (alarmed).
Mother--what is the matter?
Beata.
Nothing, dear. I'm only a little tired. (She goes to the door.)
Conrad enters.
Conrad.
Baron Norbert. (Goes out.)
Norbert enters.
Norbert.
How d'ye do, Aunt Beata? How are you to-day?
Beata (wearily).
Very well, thanks.
Ellen (anxiously).
No, not very well. (Beata signs her to be silent.)
Norbert.
This is Thursday. Ellen and I were to read I Promessi Sposi together; but if I might say a word to you first----
Beata.
Presently, Norbert. Wait for me here.
Ellen.
Don't you want me, mother?
Beata.
No, dear. Stay with Norbert. I shall be back in a moment. (She goes out.)
Ellen (looking after her).
Oh, Norbert!
Norbert.
Is she really worse?
Ellen.
No, she is just the same as usual. But at night--oh, Norbert, she's never in bed. All night she wanders, wanders. When I hear her coming, I lie quite still. If she knew I was awake she might not come any more. She never touches me, but just bends over and strokes my pillow, oh, so softly! And she breathes so hard, as if it hurt her--and then gradually she grows quiet again. When you see her in the daytime, so gay and dear and busy, so full of other people's pleasures, you'd never guess the misery she endures. Oh, Norbert, you do love her, don't you?
Norbert.
I believe I love her better than my own mother.
Ellen.
No, no, Norbert, that's wicked. You mustn't say that.
Norbert.
Perhaps not, but I can't help feeling it. And why shouldn't I, after all? When I was a boy my father was everything to me--after that he was always travelling, and I was left to my own devices. There are so many things that puzzle a chap when there's no one to talk them over with. It's different with girls, I suppose. At first I used to go to my mother: she's always found life simple enough. Visits, and parties, and church--she looks upon church-going as another kind of visiting--well, do you know what she said to me? "In the first place, my dear boy, your trousers are shocking. What you need is a good tailor. Then you ought to take up lawn tennis--and after that, we'll see." Well, that didn't help me much. And then your mother took pity on me. Again and again she's let me sit up half the night, talking things over with her.
Ellen.
And now you and she have got something to say to each other again. What is it, Norbert? Do tell me! Why can't I help you as well as mother?
Norbert.
Perhaps you'd like to do my examination papers for me?
Ellen.
Nonsense; it's not that.--But you don't care for me any more.
Norbert.
You silly child!
Ellen.
You told me you did once--long ago--but since then--you've never once----
Norbert.
Listen, dear. I made an awful ass of myself that day. Do you know what I did? I called on your father to ask his permission to marry you.
Ellen.
And you never told me?
Norbert.
Luckily your father was out--and as for your mother--well, she simply laughed at me!
Ellen.
Oh!
Norbert.
Oh, you know how your mother laughs at one. It doesn't hurt. "Dear boy," she said, in the kindest way, "it's too soon to talk of such things to Ellen. You must give her time to grow up." And I gave her my word I would; and you see I've kept it.
Ellen.
And if mother should----
Beata enters.
Beata.
Ellen, dear, go to Miss Mansborough. It's time for your reading. Norbert will come in a moment.
Ellen.
Yes, mother. (Goes out.)
Beata (who has been watching them closely).
By the way, Norbert--what about that promise you made me?
Norbert.
I've kept it, Aunt Beata.
Beata.
Then you want to talk to me about something else?
Norbert.
Yes. The storm-signals are up. My college club has turned on me: one, two, three, and out you go!
Beata.
Not in disgrace?
Norbert.
I'm not so sure. I got an official letter yesterday from the committee, asking me if I was the author of a pamphlet called "The Ordeal."
Beata.
Why did you write it under an assumed name?
Norbert.
Only on my father's account.
Beata.
If you disguised yourself at all, you ought to have done so more thoroughly.
Norbert.
Why, Aunt Beata! Haven't you often told me that every reformer must have the courage of his convictions?
Beata.
Yes; but I've no sympathy with unnecessary martyrdom. Keep a cool head, dear boy, and don't be drawn into controversy just yet. Haven't I often told you that this college duelling you rail against is only a preparation for the real battle of life--the battle of ideas and beliefs? You'll come to that later--ask your father how it is!
Norbert.
Oh, father--of course he's only interested in big things.
Beata.
What does he say to your article?
Norbert.
Immature.
Beata.
Was he vexed?
Norbert.
When I asked him if it annoyed him, he laughed and said:--"I know the world too well to agree with you. But you must work out the problem for yourself. I sha'n't interfere."
Beata.
Well, what more do you want? Did you expect him to go into raptures?
Norbert.
Wait and see, Aunt Beata! I mean to suffer for my convictions. I mean to brave persecution. Is that a laughing matter?
Beata.
Come! Come! No bragging--not even about persecution. It's intoxicating at first, but the after-taste is bitter.
Norbert.
Don't make fun of me, Aunt Beata.
Beata.
Heaven forbid! You know I don't disapprove of your article.
Norbert.
How could you? Isn't it all yours?
Beata.
I don't understand anything about duelling.
Norbert.
No, but my ideas are yours--every one of them. All I've said about self-restraint--about striving toward an harmonious whole--about the Greek ideal of freedom--and how posterity will smile at our struggles--it's all yours, Aunt Beata, every word of it.
Beata.
Don't tell your father! And besides, it isn't. My ideas have got twisted in that wild young brain of yours. And it might annoy him to think that I had put them there----
Norbert.
Oh, Aunt Beata, I know what you really think. But, of course, if you don't want me to, I----
Enter Conrad.
Conrad (announcing).
Baron Völkerlingk.
Enter Richard. Conrad goes out.
Richard.
Well, dear friend? What sort of a night have you had? Not good, I'm afraid.
Beata.
There's no use in trying to deceive you. Have you just come from your own house?
Richard.
Yes.
Beata.
Well? Telegrams?
Richard.
None for the last two hours. Well, Norbert, you here, as usual? (To Beata.) So you have the younger generation on your hands too?
Beata (laughing).
So much the better, since the older shows itself so seldom nowadays.
Richard.
Ah, well----
Beata.
Good-bye, Norbert dear.
Norbert (kissing Beata's hand).
Good-bye, father. (Richard nods to him. Norbert goes out.)
Beata.
Will you dine with me to-day, Richard? (Richard shakes his head.)
Beata.
Just we two?
Richard.
I can't: my wife has a dinner: an ambassador and his wife, two lights of the Church, and others of the same feather. I must show myself on such occasions, to keep up appearances.
Beata.
I'm sorry. I should have liked to have you with me--to-day. How do you stand the suspense? Perhaps I don't show it--but I'm in a fever.
Richard.
It's telling on me too. The fact is, any poor devil of a mountebank is a king compared to one of us. He does his trick and gets his pay.--Oh, this last fortnight! If you'd seen me driven about from village to village like a travelling quack! Freedom and hot words, free beer and hot sausages! And, to cap the climax, a fellow who used to be my private secretary leading the campaign against me! Bah--it was horrible. As for Michael, with his Olympian calm, he saw only the humorous side of it. (Laughing.)
Beata.
I wonder he let you leave before the election.
Richard.
He thought I ought not to make myself too cheap. I quite agreed with him, and took myself off. Hang the democracy!
Beata.
If only the noblemen who want to rule could get on without it!
Richard.
They could, if the spirit of the age hadn't turned them into demagogues.
Beata.
Did Holtzmann do as well as you expected?
Richard.
Admirably. But he's been going about with such a long face lately that he's rather got on my nerves.--I heard you had told him to come back when the returns are in--may I wait for him here?--When one thinks that something will come in at that door presently--something dressed like Holtzmann, looking like Holtzmann--and that that something will be Fate--nothing more or less than Fate!
Beata.
And if he comes in and says--or rather, if he doesn't say anything? Remember, Richard, even if that happens, you've got to go on living!
Richard.
Of course. Why not? It's all in the day's work. An Indian penitent was once asked: "Why do you go on living?" And his answer was: "Because I am dead."--Oh, I don't mean to be ungrateful. As long as I have you, dear--as long as you are here to live my life with me, to give it colour and meaning and purpose--let come what may, nothing else matters.
Beata.
Don't say that--don't----
Richard.
Am I exaggerating? Why, ever since we-- How long ago is it that we met for the first time, in the wood at Tarasp? Fifteen years?
Beata.
It seems like yesterday.
Richard.
You passed between the dark pine-trunks like an apparition. You wore a pink dress and had Ellen by the hand.
Beata.
She was tired and had begun to cry.
Richard.
I saw that she wanted to be carried.
Beata.
And I was just recovering from an illness, and was too weak to lift her. You raised your hat--no, it was the white cap you wore----
Richard.
Do you remember that?
Beata.
Good heavens, what was I then, and what have you made of me? My own--let me call you that just once, Richard, as I used to do--just once, on this great day--my own! (Richard looks nervously toward the door.)
Beata.
There is no one coming.
Richard.
Let you!
Beata.
What a quiet happy little woman I was! That "happy" is not meant as a reproach, dearest! I have a boundless capacity for happiness, and it kept me company even in the loneliness of my early married life--for in those days Michael didn't take much notice of me. It was you who showed him that I was worth noticing. And so you built up my new life--a hard life to carry, at times, a life bowed under its own wealth as the vine is bowed under its fruit--but how it has grown under your hand, dearest, how it has spread and strengthened!--Now you're laughing at me, Richard.
Richard.
Beata--no one knows as you do how I have blundered and struggled. What are you trying to do? Do you want to give me more faith in myself, or do you really think I've done all that for you?
Beata.
I know every line in your forehead, I watch every look in your eye, I read every thought in your soul--there are some I could wish away, for they only make you miserable--but no one knows as I do what you are, and what you have been to me!
Richard.
When will Michael be here?
Beata.
How suddenly you ask that! You are tormenting yourself again. Dear--dearest--don't look like that! Why, it never really happened--it's been dead and buried for years--dead and buried, every trace of it. No one knows what we were to each other, no one even dreams it. And we're old people now--you and I. Only think, I shall soon be forty! Who is going to ask two old mummies what follies they committed in the year one?
Richard.
You are pretending not to care, Beata. Don't do that!
Beata.
Don't weigh every word I say--just look into my wicked heart. Your conscience has nothing to do with that! And if you're fond of Michael--if we're both fond of him--and why shouldn't we both be fond of him--that dear, good, cheery Michael of ours?--why, that needn't make you probe the depths of your soul for fresh wickedness. I tell you we've paid for everything, even to the uttermost farthing!
Richard.
Do you think so? It seems to me that when a man and a woman have found everything in each other, as we have, when they have been to each other the strength and the meaning and the object of life--when they've resolved to die fighting back to back, together to the last, as you used to say it seems to me that in such a case there isn't much room for expiation. If Purgatory is like that it must be fairly habitable. (Beata laughs.) Ah, now you are flippant.
Beata.
Be thankful that one of us is, dear!
Richard.
I remember when I lost my seat, six years ago--it was a hard knock, I can tell you--everything went under at once--well, I said to myself: This is my punishment. And the idea never left me. While I was wandering about the world, or vegetating down in the country, I actually used to get a kind of comfort out of it. And now? Do you know, I sometimes fancy you wouldn't be altogether sorry if I lost my election again.
Beata (laughingly).
Really? Do you think that?
Richard.
In fact I'm not at all sure you hold with the party any longer.
Beata.
What--I, its Egeria? An elderly party-nymph gone wrong? What a shocking idea!
Richard.
I'm sure of one thing you enjoy looking over our heads.
Beata.
Don't say our heads--don't include yourself with the rest. You think of your duty; they think of their rights. You use the masses in order to serve them. The others think only of power.
Richard.
Oh, as to that--we all want power.
Beata.
Yes: the question is, for whose benefit?--Ah, well, I see I shall have to tell you--you ought to know--the sooner the better, I suppose!
Richard.
Tell me what?
Beata.
Dear--did you really think it was Michael's fondest wish to resign his seat in Parliament, and live only for his horses?
Richard.
I've heard him say so often enough.
Beata.
And so you leaped into the breach--in the interests of the party?
Richard (hesitating).
And because--(suddenly) Beata--there's been some deception? (Beata nods.) Some one has been working against me----?
Beata.
Or for you--as you please.--Sit down beside me, dear; give me both your hands--so! And now listen. I couldn't bear to see your disappointment--your suffering--I suffered with you too intensely! And so--don't look so startled, or I shall lose heart and be afraid to go on.--How shall I tell you?--It's taken me a year a whole year's work. By degrees I persuaded him that he was unsuited to Parliamentary life--gradually I turned him against the pottering routine-work which is the only thing he can do--little by little I made him see what a boon it would be for the country and the party if he would only let you take his place. Till at last he did----
Richard (rising).
Ah----
Beata.
Can you say now that I didn't want you elected? (Richard is silent.) I should never have told you this if I hadn't known that his pride in his heroic feat would make him betray himself sooner or later. (A pause.) After all, think how little he's given up! To him it was only a--pastime--to you it is life. I had no choice, had I? You do see that, don't you? (A pause.) Richard, I may be a very wicked woman, but at least I deserve one look from you!
Richard.
Beata! Beata! What can I say? What can I say? You know how I've always tried to keep our feeling for each other within the bounds--the bounds of-- You know how it was twelve years ago--when I found myself gradually slipping into intimacy with him, I came to you and said: "Either this thing ends here, or I tell him everything. I won't take his hand and play the sneak. If I do, we shall lose our respect for each other as well as our self-respect." And then we hit on this friendship as a way out of it--a way of not losing each other altogether. It wasn't a very honourable solution--but this--this new sacrifice--if I accept this--God! If Holtzmann were to come in now and tell me the other man has won, what a load he would take off my mind!
Beata.
Richard--how can you?
Richard.
Think of it: To-morrow I shall have to make that speech. My position, my convictions, compel me to appear as the spokesman of the highest ideals--and all the while I shall owe my seat to the friend whose holiest ties I have trampled on----
Beata.
And if they were not the holiest----?
Richard (startled).
Beata!
Beata.
Don't turn from me. I've loved you so long!
Richard (clasps her hands).
One thing more. Listen to me. You played too reckless a game. Such things are avenged. No one knows what happened in the past. Twelve years have covered it; but it's ill disturbing the dead. Such things are avenged. Remember that.
Beata.
Well--and what of it?
Richard.
What of it?
Beata.
I shouldn't care--except for Norbert and Ellen. For I mean them to have all the happiness we have missed. Nothing must ever come between-- Hush! That is Holtzmann's voice. (She presses her left hand to her heart.) Quite steady. (She holds out her right hand to Richard.) Feel my pulse it's perfectly steady.
Conrad enters.
Conrad.
Herr Holtzmann----
Enter Holtzmann. Conrad goes out.
Holtzmann (bowing quietly).
We have a majority of twenty votes, Baron. Here are the final returns. (Hands telegram to Richard.)
Richard.
Official?
Holtzmann.
Virtually. As your co-worker, Baron, allow me to offer my congratulations. (Richard turns away without speaking.)
Beata.
You see how overcome he is, dear Herr Holtzmann. Thank you with all my heart. (Gives him her hand.)
Holtzmann (turning to leave the room).
Good-afternoon, Countess.
Richard.
Holtzmann! (Holtzmann pauses.) You've fought a good fight.
Holtzmann.
Oh, as to that----
Richard.
Thank you. (Shakes his hand.)
Holtzmann.
Don't mention it. I did my duty, that's all. (Bows and goes out.)
Beata.
Richard! Isn't the struggle over yet?
Richard.
Beata--you have made me believe--in spite of myself--that--even now--I may be of use to the cause. I shall stick to my work, and try not to think.
Beata.
It may not be as hard as you imagine.
Richard.
Perhaps not. But when the blow falls--if it falls----
Beata.
We'll laugh----
Richard.
And meanwhile----
Beata.
We'll live! (They clasp each other's hands.)