THE LONELY WAY

(Der Einsame Weg)

A DRAMA IN FIVE ACTS
1903

PERSONS

PROFESSOR WEGRAT } President of the Academy of Plastic Arts

GABRIELLE } His wife
FELIX
JOHANNA
} Their children
JULIAN FICHTNER
STEPHAN VON SALA
IRENE HERMS
DR. FRANZ REUMANN } A physician
FICHTNER'S VALET
SALA'S VALET
A MAID AT THE WEGRATS'

THE LONELY WAY

THE FIRST ACT

The little garden attached to Professor Wegrat's house. It is almost surrounded by

buildings, so that no outlook of any kind is to be had. At the right in the garden stands
the small two-storied house with its woodwork veranda, to which lead three wooden
steps. Entries are made from the veranda as well as from either side of the house.

1
Near the middle of the stage is a green garden table with chairs to match, and also a
more comfortable armchair. A small iron bench is placed against a tree at the left.
Johanna is walking back and forth in the garden when Felix enters, wearing the
uniform of a uhlan.

JOHANNA (turning about)

Felix!

FELIX
Yes, it's me.

JOHANNA
How are you?—And how have you been able to get another furlough?

FELIX
Oh, it won't last long.—And how's mamma?

JOHANNA
Doing pretty well the last few days.

FELIX
Do you think she would be scared if I dropped in on her unexpectedly?

JOHANNA
No. But wait a little just the same. She's asleep now. I have just come from her
room.—How long are you going to stay, Felix?

FELIX
To-morrow night I'm off again.

JOHANNA (staring into a fancied distance)

Off....

FELIX

2
 Oh, it sounds big! But one doesn't get so very far off—not in any respect.

JOHANNA
And you have wanted it so badly.... (Pointing to his uniform) Now you've got it.
And are you not satisfied?

FELIX
Well, at any rate it is the most sensible thing I have gone into so far. For now I
feel at least that I might achieve something under certain circumstances.

JOHANNA
I believe you would make good in any profession.

FELIX
I have my doubts whether I could get anywhere as a lawyer or an engineer. And
on the whole I feel a good deal better than ever before. Often it seems to me as if
I hadn't been born at the right time. I think I should have come into the world
while there was still so much of order left in it, that one could venture all sorts of
things one couldn't possibly venture nowadays.

JOHANNA
Oh, but you are free—you've got place to move.

FELIX
Only within certain limits.

JOHANNA
They are a great deal wider than these at any rate.

FELIX (looking around with a smile)

Well, this is not a prison.... Really, the garden has turned out quite pretty. How
bare it looked when we were children.—What's that? A row of peach trees? That
doesn't look bad at all.

JOHANNA
One of Dr. Reumann's ideas.

FELIX
3
 Yes, I should have guessed it.

JOHANNA
Why?

FELIX
Because I can't believe any member of our family capable of such a useful
inspiration. What are his chances anyhow?—I mean in regard to that
professorship at Gratz?

JOHANNA
I don't know anything about it. (She turns away)

FELIX
I suppose mamma is outdoors a good deal these fine days?

JOHANNA
Yes.

FELIX
Are you still reading to her? Do you try to divert her a little? To cheer her up?

JOHANNA
Just as if it were such an easy thing!

FELIX
But you have to put some spunk into it, Johanna.

JOHANNA
Yes, Felix, it's easy for you to talk.

FELIX
What do you mean?

JOHANNA (speaking as if to herself)

I don't know if you'll be able to understand me.

4
FELIX (smiling)
Why should it all at once be so hard for me to understand you?

JOHANNA (looking calmly at him)

Now when she is sick, I don't love her as much as before.

FELIX (startled)
What?

JOHANNA
No, it's impossible that you could quite understand. All the time she is getting
farther away from us.... It is as if every day a new set of veils dropped down
about her.

FELIX
And what is the meaning of it?

JOHANNA (continues to look at him in the same calm way)

FELIX
You think...?

JOHANNA
You know, Felix, that I never make any mistakes in things of that kind.

FELIX
I know, you say...?

JOHANNA
When poor little Lillie von Sala had to die, I was aware of it in advance—before
the rest of you knew that she was sick even.

FELIX
Yes, you had had a dream—and you were nothing but a child.

JOHANNA
I didn't dream it. I knew it. (Brusquely) It's something I can't explain.
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FELIX (after a pause)
And papa—has he resigned himself to it?

JOHANNA
Resigned himself?—Do you think he too can see those veils coming down?

FELIX (having first shaken his head slightly)

Nothing but imagination, Johanna—I am sure.—But now I want to.... (Turning
toward the house) Papa hasn't come home yet?

JOHANNA
No. As a rule he's very late these days. He has an awful lot to do in the Academy.

FELIX
I'll try not to wake her up—I'll be careful. (He goes out by way of the veranda)

[While alone for a while, Johanna seats herself on the garden bench with her
hands clasped across her knees. Sala enters. He is forty-five, but looks younger.
Slender to the verge of leanness, and smooth-shaven. His brown hair, which has
begun to turn gray at the temples, and which he wears rather long, is parted on
the right side. His features are keen and energetic; his eyes, gray and clear.

SALA
Good evening, Miss Johanna.

JOHANNA
Good evening, Mr. von Sala.

SALA
They told me your mother was having a little nap, and so I permitted myself to
come out here in the meantime.

JOHANNA
Felix just got here.

SALA

6
 Well? Have they already granted him another furlough? In my days they were
stricter in that regiment. However, we were then stationed near the border—
somewhere in Galicia.

JOHANNA
I can never keep in mind that you have gone through that kind of thing too.

SALA
Yes, it's long ago now. And it didn't last more than a couple of years. But it was
good fun as I look back at it now.

JOHANNA
Like almost everything else you have experienced.

SALA
Like much of it.

JOHANNA
Won't you sit down?

SALA
Thank you. (He seats himself on the support of the armchair) Am I permitted?
(Johanna having nodded assent, he takes a cigarette from his case and lights it)

JOHANNA
Are you already settled in your new place, Mr. von Sala?

SALA
I move in to-morrow.

JOHANNA
And it gives you a great deal of pleasure, doesn't it?

SALA
That would be a little premature.

JOHANNA

7
 Are you superstitious?

SALA
Well, for that matter—yes.—But that was not what I had in mind. I only take
possession temporarily, not for good.

JOHANNA
Why not?

SALA
I'm going abroad—for a prolonged stay.

JOHANNA
Oh? You are to be envied. I wish I could do the same—go here and there in the
world, and not bother myself about a single human being.

SALA
Still at it?

JOHANNA
Still at it.... What do you mean?

SALA
Oh, I recall how the same kind of schemes for traveling used to occupy your mind
when you were nothing but a little girl. What was it you wanted to become?—A
ballet dancer, I think. Wasn't that it? A very famous one, of course.

JOHANNA
Why do you say that as if it were nothing at all to be a ballet dancer? ( Without
looking at him) You, in particular, Mr. von Sala, should not be talking like that.

SALA
Why not I, in particular?

JOHANNA (glances up calmly at him)

SALA

8
 I don't quite make out what you mean, Miss Johanna.... Unless I must.... (Simply)
Johanna, did you know at the time that I was looking at you?

JOHANNA
When?

SALA
Last year, when you were in the country, and I came out once and stayed over
night in your attic. It was bright moonlight, and I thought I could see a fairy
gliding back and forth in the meadow.

JOHANNA (nods with a smile)

SALA
And it was for me?

JOHANNA
Oh, I saw you very well, where you stood behind the curtain.

SALA (after a brief pause)

I suppose you will never dance like that for other people?

JOHANNA
Why not?—I have already. And then, too, you were looking on. Of course, it was
a good while ago.—It happened on one of the Greek islands. A large number of
men stood in a circle around me ... you were one of them ... and I was a slave girl
from Lydia.

SALA
A princess in captivity.

JOHANNA (earnestly)
Don't you believe in such things?

SALA
If you want me to—certainly.

JOHANNA (still very serious)

9
 You should believe everything in which the rest cannot believe.

SALA
When the time comes for it, I suppose I shall.

JOHANNA
You see—I can rather believe anything than that I should now be in the world for
the first time. And there are moments when I recall quite clearly all sorts of
things.

SALA
And at that time you had such a moment?

JOHANNA
Yes, a year ago, when I was dancing for you in the meadow that moonlit summer
night. I am sure it was not the first time, Mr. von Sala. (After a short pause, with
a sudden change of tone) Where are you going anyhow?

SALA (falling into the same tone)

To Bactria, Miss Johanna.

JOHANNA
Where?

SALA
To Bactria. That's quite a remarkable country, and what's most remarkable about
it is that it doesn't exist any longer. What it means is that I am joining an
expedition which will start next November. You have read of it in the papers,
haven't you?

JOHANNA
No.

SALA
The proposition is to make excavations where it is supposed the ancient Ecbatana
stood once—some six thousand years ago. That goes even farther back than your
Lydian period, you see.

10
JOHANNA
When did you get hold of this idea?

SALA
Only a few days ago. Conversationally, so to speak. Count Ronsky, who is at the
head of the matter, inspired me with a great desire to go. That wasn't very hard,
however. He stirred an old longing within me. (With more spirit) Think of it,
Miss Johanna: to be watching with your own eyes the gradual rising of such a
buried city out of the ground—house by house, stone by stone, century by
century. No, it wasn't meant that I should pass away until I had had this wish of
mine fulfilled.

JOHANNA
Why talk of dying then?

SALA
Is there ever a blissful moment in any decent man's life when he can think of
anything else in his innermost soul?

JOHANNA
I don't suppose a single wish of yours was ever left unfulfilled.

SALA
Not a single one...?

JOHANNA
I know that you have also had many sad experiences. But frequently I believe you
have longed for those too.

SALA
Longed for them...? You may be right, perhaps, in saying that I enjoyed them
when they came.

JOHANNA
How perfectly I understand that! A life without sorrow would probably be as bare
as a life without happiness. (Pause) How long ago is it now?

11
SALA
What are you thinking of?

JOHANNA
That Mrs. von Sala died?

SALA
It's seven years ago, almost to a day.

JOHANNA
And Lillie—the same year?

SALA
Yes, Lillie died a month later. Do you often think of Lillie, Miss Johanna?

JOHANNA
Quite often, Mr. von Sala. I have never had a girl friend since that time. (As if to
herself) She too would have to be called "miss" now. She was very pretty. She
had black hair with a bluish glint in it like your wife, and the same clear eyes that
you have, Mr. von Sala. (As if to herself) "Then both of them walked hand in
hand along the gloomy road that leads through sunlit land...."

SALA
What a memory you have, Johanna.

JOHANNA
Seven years ago that was.... Remarkable!

SALA
Why remarkable?

JOHANNA
You are building a house, and digging out submerged cities, and writing queer
poetry—and human beings who once meant so much to you have been rotting in
their graves these seven years—and you are still almost young. How
incomprehensible the whole thing is!

12
 SALA
"Thou that livest on, cease thou thy weeping," says Omar Nameh, who was born
at Bagdad in the year 412 of the Mohammedan era as the son of a cobbler. For
that matter, I know a man who is only thirty-eight. He has buried two wives and
seven children, not to speak of grandchildren. And now he is playing the piano in
a shabby little Prater1 restaurant, while artists of both sexes show off their tights
and their fluttering skirts on the platform. And recently, when the pitiful
performance had come to an end and they were turning out the lights, he went
right on, without apparent reason, and quite heedless of everything, playing away
on that frightful old rattle-box of his. And then Ronsky and I asked him over to
our table and had a chat with him. And then he told us that the piece he had just
played was his own composition. Of course, we complimented him. And then his
eyes lit up, and he asked us in a voice that shook: "Gentlemen, do you think my
piece will make a hit?" He is thirty-eight years old, and his career has come to an
end in a small restaurant where his public consists of nurse-girls and non-
commissioned officers, and his one longing is—to get their applause!

REUMANN (enters)
Good evening, Miss Johanna. Good evening, Mr. von Sala. (Shakes hands with
both of them at the same time) How are you?

SALA
Fine. You don't suppose one must be your victim all the time because one has had
the honor of consulting you once?

REUMANN
Oh, I had forgotten all about it. However, there are people who feel just that way.
—I suppose your mother is having a little rest, Miss Johanna?

JOHANNA (who apparently has been startled by the few words exchanged between the
physician and Sala, and who is looking intently at the latter) She is probably awake
by this time. Felix is with her.

REUMANN
Felix...? You haven't telegraphed for him, have you?

JOHANNA
Not that I know of. Who could have...?

13
REUMANN
I only wondered. Your father is inclined to get frightened.

JOHANNA
There they are now.

MRS. WEGRAT (enters from the veranda with Felix)

How are you, my dear Doctor? What do you think of the surprise I have just had?

[All the men shake hands.

MRS. WEGRAT
Good evening, Mr. von Sala.

SALA
I am delighted to see you looking so well, Mrs. Wegrat.

MRS. WEGRAT
Yes, I am doing a little better. If only the gloomy season were not so close at
hand.

SALA
But now the finest time of the year is coming. When the woods sparkle with red
and yellow, and a golden mist lies on the hills, and the sky grows pale and remote
as if it were scared by its own infinity...!

MRS. WEGRAT
Yes, that ought to be worth seeing once more.

REUMANN (reproachfully)
Mrs. Wegrat....

MRS. WEGRAT
Pardon me—but thoughts of that kind will come. (Brightening up a little) If I
only knew how much longer I might count on my dear doctor?

REUMANN

14
 I can reassure you on that score, madam: I shall stay in Vienna.

MRS. WEGRAT
What? Has the matter been settled already?

REUMANN
Yes.

MRS. WEGRAT
So another man has actually been called to Gratz?

REUMANN
No, not that way. But the other man, who was practically sure of the place, has
broken his neck climbing a mountain.

FELIX
But then your chances should be better than ever. Whom could they possibly
consider besides you?

REUMANN
I suppose my chances wouldn't be bad. But I have preferred to forgo them.

MRS. WEGRAT
How?

REUMANN
I won't accept the call.

MRS. WEGRAT
Is that out of superstition?

FELIX
Or out of pride?

REUMANN

15
 Neither. But the thought of having another man's misfortune to thank for my own
advancement would be extremely painful to me. Half my life would be spoiled
for me. That is neither superstition nor pride, you see, but just commonplace,
small-minded vanity.

SALA
You're a subtle one, Doctor.

MRS. WEGRAT
Well, all I gather is that you are going to stay. Which shows how mean your
thoughts grow when you are sick.

REUMANN (changing the subject on purpose)

Well, Felix, how do you find life in a garrison?

FELIX
Fine.

MRS. WEGRAT
So you are really satisfied, boy?

FELIX
I feel very thankful to all of you. Especially to you, mamma.

MRS. WEGRAT
Why to me especially? After all, the decision lay with your father in the last
instance.

REUMANN
He would, of course, have preferred to see you choose a more peaceful calling.

SALA
Oh, but to-day there is none more peaceful.

FELIX
That's where you are right, Mr. von Sala.—By the by, I was to give you the
regards of Lieutenant-Colonel Schrotting.

16
SALA
Thank you. Does he still remember me?

FELIX
Not he alone. We are constantly being reminded of you—at every meal, in fact.
Yours is among the pictures of former officers that hang in the mess rooms.

WEGRAT (enters)
Good evening.—Why, Felix, are you here again? What a surprise!

FELIX
Good evening, papa. I have applied for a two-day furlough.

WEGRAT
Furlough ... furlough? A real one? Or is it another one of those little brilliant
tricks?

FELIX (cheerfully and without taking offence)

I am not in the habit of fibbing, papa, am I?

WEGRAT (in the same tone)

I meant no offense, my boy. Even if you had been guilty of deserting the flag,
your longing to see your mother would be sufficient excuse for you.

MRS. WEGRAT
To see his parents, you mean.

WEGRAT
Of course—to see us all. But as you are a little under the weather, you come
foremost just now.—Well, how are you getting along, Gabrielle? Better, are you
not? (In a low voice, almost timidly) My love.... (He strokes her brow and hair)
Love.... The air is so mild.

SALA
We are having a wonderful Autumn.

REUMANN

17
 Have you just got away from the Academy, Professor?

WEGRAT
Yes. Now, when I am also the president of it, there is a whole lot to do—and all
of it is not pleasant or grateful. But I seem to be made for it, as they have insisted.
And I suppose it will have to go on this way. (With a smile) As somebody once
called me—an art-official.

SALA
Don't be so unjust to yourself, Professor.

MRS. WEGRAT
You must have been walking all that long way home again?

WEGRAT
I even went out of my way some distance—to pass across the old Turkish fort. 2 I
am awfully fond of that road. On evenings like this the whole city lies beneath
you as if bathed in a silvery mist.—By the by, Gabrielle, I have some greetings to
deliver. I met Irene Herms.

MRS. WEGRAT
Is she in Vienna?

WEGRAT
Just passing through. She intends to call on you.

SALA
Has she still got an engagement at Hamburg?

WEGRAT
No, she has left the stage, she told me, and is now living in the country with her
married sister.

JOHANNA
I saw her once in a play of yours, Mr. von Sala.

SALA

18
 Then you must have been a very small girl indeed.

JOHANNA
She played a Spanish princess.

SALA
Unfortunately. For princesses were not at all in her line. She has never in her life
been able to treat verse properly.

REUMANN
And you can still bear that in mind, Mr. von Sala—that some lady on some
occasion happened to handle your verse badly?

SALA
Well, why shouldn't I, my dear Doctor? If you were living at the center of the
earth, you would know that all things are of equal weight. And were you floating
in the center of the universe, you would suspect that all things are of equal
importance.

MRS. WEGRAT
How does she look anyhow?

WEGRAT
She is still very pretty.

SALA
Has she preserved her resemblance to that portrait of hers which is hanging in the
Museum?

FELIX
What portrait is that?

JOHANNA
Is her portrait really in the Museum?

SALA

19
 Oh, you know it. In the catalogue it is labeled "Actress"—just "Actress." A young
woman in the costume of a harlequin, over which she has draped a Greek toga,
while at her feet lie a confused heap of masks. With her staring glance turned
toward the spectators, she stands there all alone on an empty, dusky stage,
surrounded by odd pieces of misfit scenery—one wall of a room, a forest piece,
part of an old dungeon....

FELIX
And the background shows a southern landscape with palms and plane trees...?

SALA
Yes, and it is partly raised so that still farther off you can see a pile of furniture,
steps, goblets, chandeliers—all glittering in full daylight.

FELIX
But that's Julian Fichtner's picture?

SALA
Exactly.

FELIX
I had not the slightest idea that the figure of that woman was meant for Irene
Herms.

WEGRAT
Twenty-five years have passed since he painted that picture. It caused a
tremendous sensation at the time. It was his first big success. And to-day I
suppose there are lots of people who no longer remember his name.—Come to
think of it, I asked Irene Herms about him. But strange to say, not even his
"perennial best girl" could tell where in this world he happens to be straying.

FELIX
I talked with him only a few days ago.

WEGRAT
What? You have seen Julian Fichtner? He was in Salzburg?—When?

FELIX

20
 Only about three or four days ago. He looked me up, and we spent the evening
together.

[Mrs. Wegrat throws a quick glance at Dr. Reumann.

WEGRAT
How is he doing? What did he tell you?

FELIX
He has turned rather gray, but otherwise he didn't seem to have changed at all.

WEGRAT
How long can it be now since he left Vienna? Two years, isn't it?

MRS. WEGRAT
A little more.

FELIX
He has traveled far and wide.

SALA
Yes, now and then I have had a postcard from him.

WEGRAT
So have we. But I thought you and he were corresponding regularly.

SALA
Regularly? Oh, no.

JOHANNA
Isn't he a friend of yours?

SALA
As a rule I have no friends. And if I have any, I repudiate them.

JOHANNA
But you used to be quite intimate with him.
21
SALA
He with me rather than I with him.

FELIX
What do you mean by that, Mr. von Sala?

JOHANNA
Oh, I can understand it. I suppose you have had the same experience with most
people.

SALA
Something very much like it, at least.

JOHANNA
Yes, one can see it from what you write, too.

SALA
I hope so. Otherwise it might just as well have been written by somebody else.

WEGRAT
Did he say when he would be back in Vienna?

FELIX
Soon, I think. But he didn't say very definitely.

JOHANNA
I should like to see Mr. Fichtner again. I am fond of that kind of people.

WEGRAT
What do you mean by "that kind of people"?

JOHANNA
Who are always arriving from some far-off place.

WEGRAT

22
 But as a rule he never arrived from far-off places when you knew him, Johanna....
He was living right here.

JOHANNA
What did it matter whether he was living here or elsewhere?—Even when he
came to see us daily, it was always as if he had just arrived from some great
distance.

WEGRAT
Oh, of course....

FELIX
I had often the same feeling.

WEGRAT
Well, it's strange how he has been knocking about in the world—these last few
years at least.

SALA
Don't you think his restlessness goes farther back? Were you not students
together in the Academy?

WEGRAT
Yes. And to know him properly, you must have known him then. There was
something fascinating about him as a young man, something that dazzled. Never
have I known anybody whom the term "of great promise" fitted so completely.

SALA
Well, he has kept a whole lot of it.

WEGRAT
But think of all he might have achieved!

REUMANN
I believe that what you might achieve you do achieve.

WEGRAT

23
 Not always. Julian was undoubtedly destined for higher things. What he lacked
was the capacity for concentration, the inward calm. He could never feel at home
for good anywhere. And the misfortune has been that in his own works, too, he
has lived only as a transient, so to speak.

FELIX
He showed me a couple of sketches he had made recently.

WEGRAT
Good?

FELIX
To me there was something gripping about them.

MRS. WEGRAT
Why gripping? What kind of pictures were they?

FELIX
Landscapes. And as a rule very pleasant ones at that.

JOHANNA
Once in a dream I saw a Spring landscape, very sunlit and soft, and yet it made
me weep.

SALA
Yes, the sadness of certain things lies much deeper than we commonly suspect.

WEGRAT
So he's working again? Then, perhaps, we may expect something out of the
ordinary.

SALA
In the case of anybody who has been an artist once you are never safe against
surprises.

WEGRAT

24
 That's it, Mr. von Sala. That's where the great difference lies. In the case of an
official you can feel perfectly safe on that score. (With cheerful self-contempt)
Such a one paints every year his nice little picture for the exhibition, and couldn't
possibly do anything else.

REUMANN
It is still open to question who do most for the advancement of life and art:
officials like you, Professor, or—our so-called men of genius.

WEGRAT
Oh, I have not the least intention to play the modest one. But as to men of genius
—we had better not talk of them at all. There you are dealing with a world by
itself, lying outside of all discussion—as do the elements.

REUMANN
My opinion, I must confess, is utterly different.

WEGRAT
Oh, it's of no use discussing anybody but those who have distinct limitations. And
what I have found is—that he who knows his own limitations best is the better
man. And on this point I have pretty good reason for self-respect.—Do you feel
chilly, Gabrielle?

MRS. WEGRAT
No.

WEGRAT
But you had better pull the shawl a little closer about you, and then we should
have a little exercise—in so far as it's possible in here.

MRS. WEGRAT
All right.—Please, Doctor, give me your arm. You haven't paid the least attention
to your patient yet.

REUMANN
At your service!

25
 [The rest start ahead, Johanna walking with her brother, and Wegrat with Sala.
Dr. Reumann and Mrs. Wegrat seem about to follow, when she suddenly stops.

MRS. WEGRAT
Did you notice his eyes light up—I mean, the eyes of Felix, when they were
talking of him? It was most peculiar.

REUMANN
Men of Mr. Fichtner's type appear undoubtedly very interesting to young people.
They seem to carry with them an odor of romance.

MRS. WEGRAT (shaking her head)

And he looked him up.... It is perfectly clear that he went to Salzburg just to see
him again. I suppose he is beginning to feel a little deserted.

REUMANN
Why not pay a visit to a young friend when one happens to be near the place
where he is living? I can see nothing peculiar in that.

MRS. WEGRAT
Perhaps you are right. Perhaps I might have looked at the matter in the same way
not long ago. But now, in the face of.... No, Doctor, I am not going to be
sentimental.

REUMANN
I don't object to sentiment, but to nonsense.

MRS. WEGRAT (smiling)

Thank you.—However, I have occasion to think of many different things. And it
is no reason for taking it too seriously, my dear friend. You know, of course, that
I told you everything merely that I might have a kind and sensible man with
whom to discuss the past—and not at all to be absolved of any guilt.

REUMANN
To give happiness is more than being free of guilt. And as this has been granted
you, it is clear that you have made full atonement—if you'll pardon the use of
such a preposterously extravagant term.

26
MRS. WEGRAT
How can you talk like that?

REUMANN
Well, am I not right?

MRS. WEGRAT
Just as if I couldn't feel how all of us, deceivers and deceived, must seem equally
contemptible to you in particular!

REUMANN
Why to me in particular...? What you call contempt, madam—supposing I did
feel anything like it—would, after all, be nothing but disguised envy. Or do you
think I lack the desire to conduct my life as I see most other people conducting
theirs? I simply haven't the knack. If I am to be frank, madam—the deepest
yearning of all within me is just to be a rogue: a fellow who can dissemble,
seduce, sneer, make his way over dead bodies. But thanks to a certain
shortcoming in my temperament, I am condemned to remain a decent man—and
what is still more painful perhaps: to hear everybody say that I am one.

MRS. WEGRAT (who has been listening with a smile)

I wonder whether you have told the truth about what is keeping you here in
Vienna?

REUMANN
Certainly. Indeed, I have no other reason. I have no right to have any other. Don't
let us talk any more of it.

MRS. WEGRAT
Are we not such good friends that I can talk calmly with you of everything? I
know what you have in mind. But I believe that it might be in your power to drive
certain illusions and dreams out of the soul of a young girl. And it would be such
a comfort to me if I could leave you for good among these people, all of whom
are so near to me, and who yet know nothing whatever about each other—who
are hardly aware of their mutual relationships even, and who seem fated to flitter
away from each other to God knows where.

REUMANN

27
 We'll talk of those things, madam, when it's time to do so.

MRS. WEGRAT
Of course, I regret nothing. I believe I have never regretted anything. But I have a
feeling that something is out of order. Perhaps it's nothing but that strange
glimmer in the eyes of Felix which has caused all this unrest within me. But isn't
it peculiar—uncanny almost—to think that a man like him may go through the
world with all his senses open and yet never know whom he has to thank for
being in the world?

REUMANN
Don't let us indulge in generalities, Mrs. Wegrat. In that way you can set the most
solid things shaking and swaying until the steadiest eyes begin to grow dizzy. My
own conclusion is this: that a lie which has proved strong enough to sustain the
peace of a household can be no less respectable than a truth which could do
nothing but destroy the image of the past, fill the present with sorrow, and
confuse the vision of the future. (He goes out with Mrs. Wegrat)

JOHANNA (entering with Sala)

In this way one always gets back to the same spot. I suppose your garden is
bigger, Mr. von Sala?

SALA
My garden is the whole wide woods—that is, for people whose fancy is not
restrained by a light fence.

JOHANNA
Your villa has grown very pretty.

SALA
Oh, you know it then?

JOHANNA
A little while ago I saw it again for the first time in three years.

SALA
But three years ago they hadn't put in the foundations yet.

28
JOHANNA
To me it was already standing there.

SALA
How mysterious....

JOHANNA
Not at all. If you will only remember. Once we made an excursion to Dornbach 3
—my parents, and Felix, and I. There we met you and Mr. Fichtner, and it
happened on the very spot where your house was to be built. And now everything
looks just as you described it to us then.

SALA
But how did you happen to be in that vicinity?

JOHANNA
Since mamma was taken sick I have often had to take my walks alone....

SALA
And when was it you passed by my house?

JOHANNA
Not long ago—to-day.

SALA
To-day?

JOHANNA
Yes. I went all around it.

SALA
Oh? All around it?—Did you also notice the little gate that leads directly into the
woods?

JOHANNA

29
 Yes.—But from that spot the house is almost invisible. The leafage is very thick.
—Where have you placed those busts of the Roman emperors?

SALA
They stand on columns at the opening of an avenue of trees. Right by is a small
marble bench, and in front of the bench a little pool has been made.

JOHANNA (nodding)
Just as you told us that time.... And there is a greenish gray glitter on the water—
and in the morning the shadow from the beech tree falls across it.... I know. (She
looks up at him and smiles; both go out together)

CURTAIN

THE SECOND ACT

In the home of Julian Fichtner. A pleasant, rather distinguished room in a state of

slight disorder. Books are piled on two chairs, while on another chair stands an open
traveling bag. Julian is seated at a writing desk, from the drawers of which he is
taking out papers. Some of these he destroys, while others are thrown into the waste-
paper basket.

VALET (announcing)
Mr. von Sala. (He goes out)

30
SALA (enters. His custom to walk up and down while talking asserts itself strikingly
during the following scene. Now and then he sits down for a moment, often only on
the arm of a chair. At times he stops beside Julian, putting his hand on the latter's
shoulder while speaking. Two or three times during the scene he puts his hand to the
left side of his chest, in a manner suggesting discomfort of some kind. But this gesture
is not sharply accentuated)

JULIAN
I am delighted. (They shake hands)

SALA
So you got back early this morning?

JULIAN
Yes.

SALA
And mean to stay...?

JULIAN
Haven't decided yet. Things are a little upset, as you see. And I fear they'll never
be quite in shape again. I intend to give up this place.

SALA
Too bad. I have become so accustomed to it. In what direction are you going to
move?

JULIAN
It's possible that I don't take any new quarters at all for a while, but just keep on
moving about as I have been doing the last few years. I am even considering to
have my things sold at auction.

SALA
That's a thought which gets no sympathy from me.

JULIAN

31
 Really, I haven't got much sympathy for it myself. But the material side of the
question has to be considered a little, too. I have been spending too much these
last years, and it has to be evened up somehow. Probably I'll settle down again
later on. Sometime one must get back to peace and work, I suppose.—Well, how
goes it with you? What are our friends and acquaintances doing?

SALA
So you haven't seen anybody yet?

JULIAN
Not one. And you are the only one I have written about my being here.

SALA
And you have not yet called on the Wegrats?

JULIAN
No. I even hesitate to go there.

SALA
Why?

JULIAN
After a certain age it would perhaps be better never to put your foot in any place
where your earlier years were spent. It is so rare to find things and people the
same as when you left them. Isn't that so?—Mrs. Gabrielle is said to have
changed considerably in the course of her sickness. That's what Felix told me at
least. I should prefer not to see her again. Oh, you can understand that, Sala.

SALA (rather surprised)

Of course, I understand. How long is it you have had no news from Vienna?

JULIAN
I have constantly started ahead of my mail. Not a single letter has overtaken me
during the last fortnight. (Alarmed) What has happened?

SALA
Mrs. Gabrielle died a week ago.

32
JULIAN
Oh! (He is deeply moved; for a while he walks back and forth; then he resumes
his seat and says after a pause) Of course, it was to be expected, and yet....

SALA
Her death came easily.... You know how those left behind always pretend to
know such things with certainty. Anyhow, she fell asleep quietly one night and
never woke up again.

JULIAN (in low voice)

Poor Gabrielle!—Did you see anything of her toward the end?

SALA
Yes, I went there almost daily.

JULIAN
Oh, did you?

SALA
Johanna asked me. She was literally afraid of being alone with her mother.

JULIAN
Afraid?

SALA
The sick woman inspired her with a sort of horror. She has calmed down a little
now.

JULIAN
What a strange creature.... And how does our friend, the professor, bear up under
his loss? Resigned to the will of God, I suppose?

SALA
My dear Julian, the man has a position. I fear we cannot grasp that, we who are
Gods by the grace of the moment—and also less than men at times.

JULIAN

33
 Of course, Felix is not here?

SALA
I talked with him less than an hour ago, and informed him that you were here. It
made him very happy to have you call on him in Salzburg.

JULIAN
It looked so to me. And he did me a lot of good. For that matter, I have really
thought of settling down in Salzburg.

SALA
For ever?

JULIAN
For a while. On account of Felix, too. His unspoiled nature affects me very
pleasantly—it makes me actually feel younger. Were he not my son, I might
almost envy him—and not on account of his youth alone. (With a smile) Thus
there is nothing left for me but to love him. I must say that I feel a little ashamed
at having to do it incognito, so to speak.

SALA
Are not these feelings a little belated in their appearance?

JULIAN
Oh, I suppose they were there long before I knew. And, you know, I saw the
youngster for the first time when he was ten or eleven years old, and it was only
then I learned that he was my son.

SALA
It must have been a strange meeting between you and Mrs. Gabrielle, ten years
after you had committed that piece of hideous perfidy—as our ancestors used to
put it.

JULIAN
It wasn't strange even. It came about quite naturally. Shortly after my return from
Paris I happened to meet Wegrat on the street. Of course, we had heard of each
other from time to time, and we met as old friends. There are people who seem
born to a fate of that kind.... And as for Gabrielle....
34
SALA
She had forgiven you, of course?

JULIAN
Forgiven...? It was more or less than that. Only once did we talk of the past—she
without reproach, and I without regret: as if the whole story had happened to
somebody else. And after that never again. I might have thought some miracle
had wiped those earlier days out of her memory. In fact, as far as I am concerned,
there seemed to be no real connection between that quiet matron and the creature
I had once loved. And as for the youngster—well, you know—at first I didn't care
more for him than I might have cared for any other pretty and gifted child.—Of
course, ten years ago my life had a different aspect. I was still clinging to so many
things which since then have slipped away from me. It was only in the course of
time that I became more and more drawn to the house, until at last I began to feel
at home there.

SALA
I hope you never took offense at my gradual discovery of the true state of affairs.

JULIAN
You, at any rate, didn't think me very sensible....

SALA
Why not? I too find that family life in itself is quite attractive. Only it ought, after
all, to be experienced in one's own family.

JULIAN
You know very well that I have frequently felt something like actual shame at the
incongruity of that relationship. It was in fact one of the things that drove me
away. Of course, there were a lot of other things that pressed on me at the time.
Especially that I couldn't make a real success out of my work.

SALA
But you hadn't been exhibiting anything for a long time.

JULIAN

35
 It wasn't external success I had in mind. I could never get into the right mood any
more, and I hoped that traveling would help me again, as it had done so often in
earlier years.

SALA
And how did you fare? We have heard so little of you here. You might really
have written me a little more frequently and fully. For you know, of course, that I
care a great deal more for you than for most other people. We have such a knack
of giving each other the right cue—don't you think? There are sentimental people
who speak of such a relation as friendship. And it is not impossible that we used
to address each other by our Christian names some time during the last century,
or that you may even have wept your fill on my shoulder. I have missed you more
than once during these two years—honestly! On my lonely walks I have quite
frequently thought of our pleasant chats in the Dornbach park, where we were in
the habit of disposing temporarily of (quoting) "what is most lofty and profound
in this our world."—Well, Julian, from where do you come anyhow?

JULIAN
From the Tyrol? During the Summer I made long tours on foot. I have even
turned mountain climber in my old days. I spent a whole week at one of those
pasturing grounds in the Alps.... Yes, I have been up to all sorts of things. It's a
wonder what you can do when you are all alone.

SALA
And you have really been all alone?

JULIAN
Yes.

SALA
All these last years?

JULIAN
If I don't count a few nonsensical interruptions—yes.

SALA
But there should have been no difficulty in that respect.

36
JULIAN
I know. But I cannot rest satisfied with what is still offered me of that kind of
thing. I have been badly spoiled, Sala. Up to a certain period my life passed away
in a constant orgy of tenderness and passion, and of power, you might say. And
that is all over. Oh, Sala, what pitiful fictions I have had to steal, and beg, and
buy, during these last years! It gives me nausea to look back at it, and it horrifies
me to look ahead. And I ask myself: can there really be nothing left of all that
glow with which I once embraced the world but a sort of silly wrath because it's
all over—because I—I—am no less subject to human laws than anybody else?

SALA
Why all this bitterness, Julian? There is still a great deal to be had out of this
world, even when some of the pleasures and enjoyments of our earlier years have
begun to appear tasteless or unseemly. And how can you, of all people, miss that
feeling, Julian?

JULIAN
Snatch his part from an actor and ask him if he can still take pleasure in the
beautiful scenery surrounding him.

SALA
But you have begun to work again while you were traveling?

JULIAN
Hardly at all.

SALA
Felix told us that you had brought some sketches from your trunk in order to
show him.

JULIAN
He spoke of them?

SALA
Yes, and nothing but good.

JULIAN

37
 Really?

SALA
And as you showed those things to him, you must have thought rather well of
them yourself.

JULIAN
That was not the reason why I let him see them. (Walking back and forth) I must
tell you—at the risk of having you think me a perfect fool.

SALA
Oh, a little more or less won't count. Speak out.

JULIAN
I wanted him at least not to lose faith in me. Can you understand that? After all,
he is nearer to me than the rest. Of course, I know—to everybody, even to you, I
am one who has gone down, who is finished—one of those whose only talent was
his youth. It doesn't bother me very much. But to Felix I want to be the man I was
once—just as I still am that man. When he learns sometime that I am his father,
he must be proud of it.

SALA
When he learns it...?

JULIAN
I have no intention to keep it hidden from him forever. Now, when his mother is
dead, less than ever. Last time I talked to him, it became clear to me, not only that
it would be right, but that it would almost be a duty, to tell him the truth. He has a
mind for essentials. He will understand everything. And I shall have a human
being who belongs to me, who knows that he belongs to me, and for whose sake
it is worth while to keep on living in this world. I shall live near him, and be with
him a good deal. Once more I shall have my existence put on a solid basis, so to
speak, and not hung in mid-air, as it is now. And then I shall be able to work
again—work as I did once—as when I was a young man. Work, that is what I am
going to do—and all of you will turn out to have been wrong—all of you!

SALA

38
 But to whom has it occurred to doubt you? If you could only have heard us talk of
you a little while ago, Julian. Everybody expects that, sooner or later, you—will
find yourself again completely.

JULIAN
Well, that's enough about me, more than enough. Pardon me. Let us hear
something about yourself at last. I suppose you have already moved into your
new house?

SALA
Yes.

JULIAN
And what plans have you for the immediate future?

SALA
I am thinking of going to Asia with Count Ronsky.

JULIAN
With Ronsky? Are you going to join that expedition about which so much has
been written?

SALA
Yes. Some such undertaking has been tempting me for a long time. Are you
perhaps familiar with the Rolston report on the Bactrian and Median excavations
of 1892?

JULIAN
No.

SALA
Well, it is positively staggering. Think of it—they suspect that under the refuse
and the dust lies a monster city, something like the present London in extent. At
that time they made their way into a palace, where the most wonderful paintings
were found. These were perfectly preserved in several rooms. And they dug out
stairways—built of a marble that is nowhere to be found nowadays. Perhaps it
was brought from some island which since then has sunk beneath the sea. Three
hundred and twelve steps glittering like opals and leading down into unknown
39
 depths.... Unknown because they ceased digging after they had reached the three
hundred and twelfth step—God only knows why! I don't think I can tell you how
those steps pique my curiosity.

JULIAN
But it has always been asserted that the Rolston expedition was lost?

SALA
No, not quite as bad as that. Out of twenty-four Europeans, eight got back after
three years in spite of all—and half a dozen of them had been lost before they
ever got there. You have to pass through pretty bad fever belts. And at that time
they had to face an attack of the Kurds, too, by which several were done for. But
we shall be much better equipped. Furthermore, at the border we shall be joined
by a Russian contingent which is traveling under military escort. And here, too,
they think of putting a military aspect on the affair. As to the fever—that doesn't
scare me—it can't do me any harm. As a young man I spent a number of
particularly dangerous Summer nights in the thermae of Caracalla—you know, of
course, what boggy ground that is—and remained well.

JULIAN
But that doesn't prove anything.

SALA
Oh yes, a little. There I came across a Roman girl whose home was right by the
Appian Way. She caught the fever and died from it.... To be sure, I am not as
young as I was then, but so far I have been perfectly well.

JULIAN (who has already smoked several cigarettes, offers one to Sala) Don't you
smoke?
SALA
Thanks. Really, I shouldn't. Only yesterday Dr. Reumann told me I mustn't....
Nothing particular—my heart is a little restless, that's all. Well, a single one won't
do any harm, I suppose.

VALET (enters)
Miss Herms, sir. She's asking whether she can see you.

JULIAN

40
 Certainly. Ask her to come in.

VALET (goes out)

IRENE HERMS (enters. She is about forty-three, but doesn't look it. Her dress is simple
and in perfect taste. Her movements are vivacious, and at times almost youthful in
their swiftness. Her hair is deeply blonde in color and very heavy. Her eyes are
merry, good-humored most of the time, and easily filled with tears. She comes in with
a smile and nods in a friendly manner to Sala. To Julian, who has gone to meet her,
she holds out her hand with an expression on her face that is almost happy) Good
evening. Well? (She has the habit of pronouncing that "well" in a tone of sympathetic
inquiry) So I did right after all in keeping my patience a couple of days more. Here
I've got you back now. (To Sala) Can you guess the length of time we haven't seen
each other?

JULIAN
More than three years.

IRENE (nods assent and permits him at last to withdraw his hand from hers) In all our
lives that has never happened before. And your last letter is already two months old. I
call it "letter" just to save my face. But it was only a view-card. Where in the world
have you been anyhow?

JULIAN
Sit down, won't you? I'll tell you all about it. Won't you take off your hat? You'll
stay a while, I hope?

IRENE
Of course.—And the way you look! (To Sala) Fine, don't you think? I've always
known that a gray beard would make him look awfully interesting.

SALA (to Julian)

Now you'll have nothing but pleasantries to listen to. Unfortunately I shall have to
be moving.

IRENE
You're not leaving on my account, I hope?

SALA

41
 How can you imagine such a thing, Miss Herms?

IRENE
I suppose you are bound for the Wegrats'?—What do you think of it, Julian? Isn't
it dreadful? (To Sala) Please give them my regards.

SALA
I'm not going there now. I'm going home.

IRENE
Home? And you say that in such a matter-of-fact way? I understand you are now
living in a perfect palace.

SALA
No, anything but that. A modest country house. It would give me special
pleasure, Miss Herms, if sometime you would make sure of it in person. My
garden is really pretty.

IRENE
Have you fruit trees, too, and vegetables?

SALA
In this respect I can only offer you a stray cabbage and a wild cherry tree.

IRENE
Well, if my time permit, I shall make a point of coming out there to have a look at
your villa.

JULIAN
Must you leave again so soon?

IRENE
Certainly. I have to get home again. Only this morning I had a letter from my
little nephew—and he's longing for me. A little rascal of five, and he, too, is
longing already. What do you think of that?

SALA

42
 And you are also longing to get back, I suppose?

IRENE
It isn't that. But I'm beginning to get accustomed to Vienna again. As I'm going
about the streets here, I run across memories at every corner.—Can you guess
where I was yesterday, Julian? In the rooms where I used to live as a child. It
wasn't easy by any means, as a lot of strangers are living there now. But I got into
the rooms just the same.

SALA (with amicable irony)

How did you manage it, Miss Herms?

IRENE
I sneaked in under a pretext. I pretended to believe that there was a room to be let
—for a single elderly lady. But at last I fell to weeping so that I could see the
people thought me out of my mind. And then I told them the true reason for my
coming there. A clerk in the post-office is living there now with his wife and two
children. One of these was such a nice little chap. He was playing railroad with an
engine that could be wound up, and that ran over one of my feet all the time....
But I can see that all this doesn't interest you very much, Mr. von Sala.

SALA
How can you interrupt yourself like that, Miss Herms, just when it is most
exciting? I should have loved to hear more about it. But now I must really go,
unfortunately. Good-by, Julian.—Then, Miss Herms, I may count on a visit from
you. (He goes out)

IRENE
Thank God!

JULIAN (smiling)
Do you still have the same antipathy for him?

IRENE
Antipathy?—I hate him! Nothing but your incredible kindness of heart would let
him come near you. For you have no worse enemy.

JULIAN

43
 Where did you get that idea?

IRENE
My instinct tells me—you can feel such things.

JULIAN
I fear, however, that even now you cannot judge him quite objectively.

IRENE
Why not?

JULIAN
You can't forgive him that you failed in one of his plays ten years ago.

IRENE
Unfortunately it's already twelve years ago. And it wasn't my fault. For my
opinion in regard to his so-called poetry is, that it's nonsense. And I am not the
only one who thinks so, as you know. But you don't know him, of course. To
appreciate that gentleman in all his glory, you must have enjoyed him at a
rehearsal. (Imitating Sala) Oh, madam, that's verse—it's verse, dear madam....
Only when you have heard that kind of thing from him can you understand how
limitless his arrogance is.... And everybody knows, by the way, that he killed his
wife.

JULIAN (amused)
But, girl, who in the world put such horrible ideas into your head?

IRENE
Oh, people don't die willy-nilly like that, at twenty-five....

JULIAN
I hope, Irene, that you don't talk like this to other people?

IRENE
What would be the use? Everyone knows it but you. And I for my part have no
reason to spare Mr. von Sala, who for twenty years has pursued me with his jeers.

JULIAN
44
 And yet you are going to call on him?

IRENE
Of course. Beautiful villas interest me very much. And they tell me his is
ravishing. If you were only to see people who....

JULIAN
Hadn't killed anybody....

IRENE
Really, we show him too much honor in talking so long about him. That ends it.
—Well, Julian? How goes it? Why haven't you written me oftener? Is it possible
you didn't dare?

JULIAN
Dare...?

IRENE
Were you forbidden, I mean?

JULIAN
I see.—Nobody can forbid me anything.

IRENE
Honestly? You live all by yourself?

JULIAN
Yes.

IRENE
I'm delighted. I can't help it, Julian, but I am delighted. Although it's sheer
nonsense. This day, or the next, there'll be something new going on.

JULIAN
Those days are past.

IRENE

45
 If it were only true!—Can I have a cup of tea?

JULIAN
Certainly. The samovar is right there.

IRENE
Where?—Oh, over there. And the tea?—Oh, I know! (She opens a small
cupboard and brings out what she needs; during the next few minutes she is busy
preparing the tea)

JULIAN
So you are really going to stay here only a couple of days more?

IRENE
Of course. I have done all my ordering. You understand, in my sister's house out
there one doesn't need to dress up.

JULIAN
Tell me about it. How do you like it out there?

IRENE
Splendidly. Oh, it's bliss merely to hear nothing more about the theater.

JULIAN
And yet you'll return to it sometime.

IRENE
That's where you are completely mistaken. Why should I? You must remember
that I have now reached the goal of all my desires: fresh air, and woods right by;
horseback riding across meadows and fields; early morning seated in the big park,
dressed in my kimono, and nobody daring to intrude. To put it plainly: no people,
no manager, no public, no colleagues, no playwrights—though, of course, all are
not as arrogant as your precious Sala.—Well, all this I have attained at last. I live
in the country. I have a country house—almost a little palace, you might say. I
have a park, and a horse, and a kimono—to use as much as I please. It isn't all
mine, I admit—except the kimono, of course—but what does that matter? In the
bargain, I live with the best people one could hope to find in this world. For my
brother-in-law is, if possible, a finer fellow than Lora herself even.
46
JULIAN
Wasn't he rather making up to you once?

IRENE
I should say he was! He wanted to marry me at any cost. Of course!—It was
always in me that they were at first—I mean that they always have beenin love
with me. But as a rule the clever ones have gone over to Lora. In fact, I have
always felt a little distrustful toward you because you never fell in love with Lora.
And how much she is ahead of me—well, you know, and it's no use talking of it.
What all don't I owe to Lora!... If it hadn't been for her...!—Well, it's with them I
have been living the last half year.

JULIAN
The question is only how long you are going to stand it.

IRENE
How long...? But, Julian, I must ask you what there could be to make me leave
such a paradise and return to the morass where I (in a lowered voice) spent
twenty-five years of my life. What could I possibly expect out of the theater
anyhow? I am not made for elderly parts. The heroic mother, the shrewish dame
and the funny old woman are equally little to my liking. I intend to die as "the
young lady from the castle"—as an old maid, you might say—and if everything
goes right, I shall appear to the grandchildren of my sister some hundred years
from now as the Lady in White. In a word, I have the finest kind of a life ahead of
me.—Why are you laughing?

JULIAN
It pleases me to see you so jolly again—so youthful.

IRENE
It's the country air, Julian. You should try it yourself for a good long while. It's
glorious! In fact, I think I have missed my true calling. I'm sure the good Lord
meant me for a milkmaid or farm girl of some kind. Or perhaps for a young
shepherd. I have always looked particularly well in pants.—There now. Do you
want me to pour a cup for you at once? (She pours the tea) Have you nothing to
go with it?

JULIAN

47
 I think there must still be a few crackers left in my bag. (He takes a small
package out of his traveling bag)

IRENE
Thanks. That's fine.

JULIAN
This is quite a new fancy of yours, however.

IRENE
Crackers...?

JULIAN
No, nature.

IRENE
How can you say so? I have always had a boundless love for nature. Don't you
recall the excursions we used to make? Don't you remember how once we fell
asleep in the woods on a hot Summer afternoon? And don't you ever think of that
shrine of the Holy Virgin, on the hill where we were caught by the storm?... Oh,
mercy! Nature is no silly illusion. And still later—when I struck the bad days and
wanted to kill myself for your sake, fool that I was ... then nature simply proved
my salvation. Indeed, Julian! I could still show you the place where I threw
myself on the grass and wept. You have to walk ten minutes from the station,
through an avenue of acacias, and then on to the brook. Yes, I threw myself on
the grass and wept and wailed. It was one of those days, you know, when you had
again sent me packing from your door. Well, and then, when I had been lying half
an hour in the grass, and had wept my fill, then I got up again—and began to
scamper all over the meadow. Just like a kid, all by myself. Then I wiped my eyes
and felt quite right again. (Pause) Of course, next morning I was at your door
again, setting up a howl, and then the story began all over again.

[It is growing dark.

JULIAN
Why do you still think of all that?

IRENE

48
 But you do it, too. And who has proved the more stupid of us two in the end?
Who? Ask yourself, on your conscience. Who?... Have you been more happy
with anybody else than with me? Has anybody else clung to you as I did? Has
anybody else been so fond of you?... No, I am sure. And as to that foolish affair
into which I stumbled during my engagement abroad—you might just as well
have overlooked it. Really, there isn't as much to that kind of thing as you men
want to make out—when it happens to one of us, that is to say. (Both drink of
their tea)

JULIAN
Should I get some light?

IRENE
It's quite cosy in the twilight like this.

JULIAN
"Not much to it," you say. Perhaps you are right. But when it happens to
anybody, he gets pretty mad as a rule. And if we had made up again—it would
never have been as before. It's better as it is. When the worst was over, we
became good friends once more, and so we have been ever since. And that is a
pretty fine thing, too.

IRENE
Yes. And nowadays I'm quite satisfied. But at that time...! Oh, mercy, what a time
that was! But you don't know anything about it, of course. It was afterward I
began really to love you—after I had lost you through my own thoughtlessness. It
was only then I learned how to be faithful in the true sense. For anything that has
happened to me since then.... But it's asking too much that a man should
understand that kind of thing.

JULIAN
I understand quite well, Irene. You may be sure.

IRENE
And besides I want to tell you something: it was nothing but a well-deserved
punishment for both of us.

JULIAN

49
 For both of us?

IRENE
Yes, that's what I have figured out long ago. A well-deserved punishment.

JULIAN
For both of us?

IRENE
Yes, for you, too.

JULIAN
But what do you mean by that?

IRENE
We had deserved no better.

JULIAN
We...? In what way?

IRENE (very seriously)

You are so very clever otherwise, Julian. Now what do you say—do you think it
could have happened as it did—do you think I could have made a mistake like
that—if we—had had a child? Ask yourself on your conscience, Julian—do you
believe it? I don't, and you don't either. Everything would have happened in a
different way. Everything. We had stayed together then. We had
had more children. We had married. We might be living together now. I shouldn't
have become an old-maidish "young lady from the castle," and you wouldn't have
become....

JULIAN
An old bachelor.

IRENE
Well, if you say it yourself. And the main thing is this: we had a child. I had a
child. (Pause)

JULIAN (walking back and forth)

50
 What's the use, Irene? Why do you begin to talk of all those forgotten things
again...?

IRENE
Forgotten?

JULIAN
... Things gone by.

IRENE
Yes, they are bygone, of course. But out there in the country you have plenty of
time. All sorts of things keep passing through your head. And especially when
you see other people's children—Lora has two boys, you know—then you get all
sorts of notions. It almost amounted to a vision not long ago.

JULIAN
What?

IRENE
It was toward evening, and I had walked across the fields. I do it quite often, all
by myself. Far and wide there was nobody to be seen. And the village down
below was quite deserted, too. And I walked on and on, always in direction of the
woods. And suddenly I was no longer alone. You were with me. And between us
was the child. We were holding it by the hands—our little child. (Angrily, to keep
herself from crying) It's too silly for anything! I know, of course, that our child
would be a gawky youngster of twenty-three by now—that it might have turned
into a scamp or a good-for-nothing girl. Or that it might be dead already. Or that
it had drifted out into the wide world, so that we had nothing left of it—oh, yes,
yes.... But we should have had it once, for all that—once there would have been a
little child that seemed rather fond of us. And.... (She is unable to go on; silence
follows)

JULIAN (softly)
You shouldn't talk yourself into such a state, Irene.

IRENE
I am not talking myself into anything.

51
JULIAN
Don't brood. Accept things as they are. There have been other things in your life
—better things, perhaps. Your life has been much richer than that of a mere
mother could ever have been.... You have been an artist.

IRENE (as if to herself)

I don't care that much for it.

JULIAN
A great, famous one—that means something after all. And your life has brought
you many other exquisite experiences—since the one with me. I am sure of it.

IRENE
What have I got left of it? What does it amount to? A woman who has no child
has never been a woman. But a woman who once might have had one—who
should have had one, and who—(with a glance at him)—has never become a
mother, she is nothing but—oh! But that's what a man cannot understand! It is
what not one of them can understand! In this respect the very best one of the lot
will always remain something of a cad. Is there one of you who knows how many
of his own offspring have been set adrift in the world? I know at least that there
are none of mine. Can you say as much?

JULIAN
And if I did know....

IRENE
How? Have you got one really?—Oh, speak, please! You can tell me, Julian,
can't you? Where is it? How old is it? A boy? Or a girl?

JULIAN
Don't question me.... Even if I had a child, it wouldn't belong to you anyhow.

IRENE
He has a child! He has a child! (Pause) Why do you permit it to be drifting
around in the world then?

JULIAN

52
 You yourself have given the explanation: in this respect the very best of us
remains always something of a cad. And I am not the best one at that.

IRENE
Why don't you go and get it?

JULIAN
How could it be any of my concern? How could I dare to make it my concern?
Oh, that's enough.... (Pause) Do you want another cup of tea?

IRENE
No, thanks. No more now. (Pause; it is growing darker) He has a child, and I
have never known it! (Protracted silence)

VALET (enters)
JULIAN
What is it?

VALET
Lieutenant Wegrat asks if you are at home, sir?

JULIAN
Certainly. Ask him in.

VALET (goes out after having turned on the light)

IRENE
Young Wegrat?—I thought he had already left again.—The poor chap! He
seemed utterly stunned.

JULIAN
I can imagine.

IRENE
You visited him at Salzburg?

JULIAN

53
 Yes, I happened to be there a couple of days last August.

FELIX (enters, dressed as a civilian)

Good evening.—Good evening, Miss Herms.

IRENE
Good evening, Lieutenant.

JULIAN
My dear Felix—I was going to call on you—this very evening. It's extremely nice
of you to take the trouble.

FELIX
I have to be off again the day after to-morrow, and so I wasn't sure whether I
could find any chance at all to see you.

JULIAN
Won't you take off your coat?—Think of it, I didn't have the slightest idea.... It
was Sala who told me—less than an hour ago.

[Irene is looking from one to the other.

FELIX
We didn't dream of this when we took that walk in the Mirabell Gardens 4 last
summer.

JULIAN
Was it very sudden?

FELIX
Yes. And I, who couldn't be with her.... Late that evening I had to leave, and she
died during the night.

IRENE
Say rather that she didn't wake up again next morning.

FELIX

54
 We owe a lot of thanks to you, Miss Herms.

IRENE
Oh, please...!

FELIX
It always gave my mother so much pleasure to have you with her, chatting, or
playing the piano to her.

IRENE
Oh, don't mention my playing...!

[A clock strikes.

IRENE
Is it that late? Then I have to go.

JULIAN
What's the hurry, Miss Herms?

IRENE
I'm going to the opera. I have to make good use of the few days I shall still be
here.

FELIX
Shall we see you at our house again, Miss Herms?

IRENE
Certainly.—You'll have to leave before me, won't you?

FELIX
Yes, my furlough will be up....

IRENE (as if en passant)

How long have you been an officer anyhow, Felix?

FELIX

55
 For three years really—but I didn't apply for a commission until this year—a little
too late, perhaps.

IRENE
Too late? Why?—How old are you, Felix?

FELIX
Twenty-three.

IRENE
Oh! (Pause) But when I saw you four years ago as a volunteer, I thought at once
you would stay in the service.—Do you remember, Julian, I told you so at the
time?

JULIAN
Yes....

FELIX
That must have been in the summer, the last time you called on us.

IRENE
I think so....

FELIX
Many things have changed since then.

IRENE
Indeed! Those were still happy days.—Don't you think so, Julian? For we haven't
met either since we spent those beautiful summer evenings in the garden of the
Wegrats.

JULIAN (nods assent)

IRENE (stands again looking now at Julian and now at Felix; brief pause) Oh, but now
it's high time for me to be gone.—Good-by. Remember me at home, Lieutenant.—
Good-by, Julian. (She goes out, accompanied to the door by Julian)

FELIX

56
 Haven't you made some changes here?

JULIAN
Not to my knowledge. And how could you know anyhow? You have only been
here two or three times.

FELIX
Yes. But the last time at one of the most important moments in my life. I came
here to get your advice.

JULIAN
Well, everything has turned out in accordance with your wish. Even your father
has resigned himself to it.

FELIX
Yes, he has resigned himself. Of course, he would have preferred to see me
continue my technical studies. But now he has seen that it is quite possible to lead
a sensible life in uniform too—without any debts or duels. In fact, my life is
almost too smooth. However, there is at least more to anticipate for one of us than
for most people. And that's always something.

JULIAN
And how are things at home?

FELIX
At home.... Really, it's almost as if that word had lost its meaning.

JULIAN
Has your father resumed his duties again?

FELIX
Of course. Two days later he was back in his studio. He is wonderful. But I can't
quite understand it.... Am I disturbing you, Mr. Fichtner? You were putting your
papers in order, I think.

JULIAN
Oh, there's no hurry about that. They're easily put in order. Most of them I burn.

57
FELIX
Why?

JULIAN
It's more sensible, don't you think, to destroy things one hardly cares to look at
any more?

FELIX
But doesn't it make you rather sad to clean out your past like that?

JULIAN
Sad?... No, it's entirely too natural a process for that.

FELIX
I can't see it that way. Look here. To burn a letter, or a picture, or something of
that kind, immediately after you have got it—that seems quite natural to me. But
something at all worthy of being kept as a remembrance of some poignant joy or
equally poignant sorrow would seem incapable of ever losing its significance
again. And especially in the case of a life like yours, that has been so rich and so
active.... It would seem to me that at times you must feel something like—awe in
the face of your own past.

JULIAN
Where do you get such thoughts—you, who are so young?

FELIX
They just came into my head this minute.

JULIAN
You are not so very much mistaken, perhaps. But there is something else besides,
that makes me want to clean house. I am about to become homeless, so to speak.

FELIX
Why?

JULIAN

58
 I'm giving up my rooms here, and don't know yet what my next step will be. And
so I think it's more pleasant to let these things come to a decent end rather than to
put them in a box and leave them to molder away in a cellar.

FELIX
But don't you feel sorry about a lot of it?

JULIAN
Oh, I don't know.

FELIX
And then you must have mementoes that mean something to other people besides
yourself. Sketches of all kinds, for instance, which I think you have saved to
some extent.

JULIAN
Are you thinking of those little things I showed you in Salzburg?

FELIX
Yes, of those too, of course.

JULIAN
They are still wrapped up. Would you like to have them?

FELIX
Indeed, I should feel very thankful. They seemed to have a particular charm for
me. (Pause) But there's something else I wanted to ask of you. A great favor. If
you will let me....

JULIAN
Tell me, please.

FELIX
I thought you might still have left a picture of my mother as a young girl. A small
picture in water colors painted by yourself.

JULIAN

59
 Yes, I did paint such a picture.

FELIX
And you have still got it?

JULIAN
I guess it can be found.

FELIX
I should like to see it.

JULIAN
Did your mother remember this picture...?

FELIX
Yes, she mentioned it to me the last evening I ever saw her—the evening before
she died. At the time I didn't imagine, of course, that the end was so near—and I
don't think she could guess it either. To-day it seems rather peculiar to me that, on
that very evening, she had to talk so much of days long gone by.

JULIAN
And of this little picture, too?

FELIX
It's a very good one, I understand.

JULIAN (as if trying to remember)

Where did I put it? Wait now.... (He goes to a book case, the lower part of which
has solid doors; these he opens, disclosing several shelves piled with portfolios) I
painted it in the country—in the little house where your grandparents used to live.

FELIX
I know.

JULIAN
You can hardly recall the old people, I suppose?

60
 FELIX
Very vaguely. They were quite humble people, were they not?

JULIAN
Yes. (He has taken a big portfolio from one of the shelves) It ought to be in this
portfolio. (He puts it on the writing desk and opens it; then he sits down in front
of it)

FELIX (stands behind him, looking over his shoulder)

JULIAN
Here is the house in which they lived—your grandparents and your mother. (He
goes through the sketches, one by one) And here is a view of the valley seen from
the cemetery.

FELIX
In Summer....

JULIAN
Yes.—And here is the little inn at which your father and I used to stop.... And
here.... (He looks in silence at the sketch; both remain silent for a long while)

FELIX (picking up the sketch)

How old was my mother at the time?

JULIAN (who remains seated)

Eighteen.

FELIX (going a few steps away and leaning against the bookcase in order to get better
light on the picture)

A year before she was married, then.

JULIAN
It was done that very year. (Pause)

FELIX

61
 What a strange look that meets me out of those eyes.... There's a smile on her
lips.... It's almost as if she were talking to me....

JULIAN
What was it your mother told you—that last evening?

FELIX
Not very much. But I feel as if I knew more than she had told me. What a queer
thought it is, that as she is now looking at me out of this picture, so she must have
been looking at you once. It seems as if there was a certain timidity in that look.
Something like fear almost.... In such a way you look at people out of another
world, for which you long, and of which you are afraid nevertheless.

JULIAN
At that time your mother had rarely been outside the village.

FELIX
She must have been different from all other women you have met, wasn't she?—
Why don't you say anything? I am not one of those men who cannot understand
—who won't understand that their mothers and sisters are women after all. I can
easily understand that it must have been a dangerous time for her—and for
somebody else as well. (Very simply) You must have loved my mother very
much?

JULIAN
You have a curious way of asking questions.—Yes, I did love her.

FELIX
And those moments must have been very happy ones, when you sat in that little
garden with its overgrown fence, holding this canvas on your knees, and out there
on the bright meadow, among all those red and white flowers, stood this young
girl with anxiously smiling eyes, holding her straw hat in one hand.

JULIAN
Your mother talked of those moments that last evening?

FELIX

62
 Yes.—It is childish perhaps, but since then it has seemed impossible to me that
any other human being could ever have meant so much to you as this one?

JULIAN (more and more deeply moved, but speaking very quietly) I shall not answer you.
—In the end I should instinctively be tempted to make myself appear better than I am.
You know very well how I have lived my life—that it has not followed a regulated
and direct course like the lives of most other people. I suppose that the gift of
bestowing happiness of the kind that lasts, or of accepting it, has never been mine.

FELIX
That's what I feel. It is what I have always felt. Often with something like regret
—or sorrow almost. But just people like you, who are destined by their very
nature to have many and varied experiences—just such people should, I think,
cling more faithfully and more gratefully to memories of a tender, peaceful sort,
like this—rather than to more passionate and saddening memories.—Am I not
right?

JULIAN
Maybe you are.

FELIX
My mother had never before mentioned this picture to me. Isn't it strange?... That
last night she did it for the first time.—We were left alone on the veranda. The
rest had already bid me good-by.... And all of a sudden she began to talk about
those summer days of long, long ago. Her words had an undercurrent of meanings
which she probably did not realize. I believe that her own youth, which she had
almost ceased to understand, was unconsciously taking mine into its confidence.
It moved me more deeply than I can tell you.—Much as she cared for me, she had
never before talked to me like that. And I believe that she had never been quite so
dear to me as in those last moments.—And when finally I had to leave, I felt that
she had still much more to tell me.—Now you'll understand why I had such a
longing to see this picture.—I have almost the feeling that it might go on talking
to me as my mother would have done—if I had only dared to ask her one more
question!

JULIAN
Ask it now.... Do ask it, Felix.

FELIX (who becomes aware of the emotion betrayed in the voice of Julian, looks up from
the picture)

63
JULIAN
I believe that it can still tell you a great many things.

FELIX
What is the matter?

JULIAN
Do you want to keep that picture?

FELIX
Why...?

JULIAN
Well ... take it. I don't give it to you. As soon as I have settled down again, I shall
want it back. But you shall have a look at it whenever you want. And I hope
matters will be so arranged that you won't have far to go either.

FELIX (with his eyes on the picture)

It grows more alive every second.... And that look was directed at you.... That
look...? Can it be possible that I read it right?

JULIAN
Mothers have their adventures, too, like other women.

FELIX
Yes, indeed, I believe it has nothing more to hide from me.

[He puts down the picture. Then a long pause follows. At last Felix puts on his
coat.

JULIAN
Are you not going to take it along?

FELIX
Not just now. It belongs to you much more than I could guess.

JULIAN

64
 And to you ...

FELIX
No, I don't want it until this new thing has become fully revealed to me. (He
looks Julian firmly in the eyes) I don't quite know where I am. In reality, of
course, there has been no change whatever. None—except that I know now what
I ...

JULIAN
Felix!

FELIX
No, that was something I could never have guessed. (Looks long at Julian with an
expression of mingled tenderness and curiosity) Farewell.

JULIAN
Are you going?

FELIX
I need badly to be by myself for a while.—Until to-morrow.

JULIAN
Yes, and no longer, Felix. To-morrow I shall come to your—I'll call on you,
Felix.

FELIX
I shall be waiting for you. (He goes out)

JULIAN (stands quite still for a moment; then he goes to the writing desk and stops beside
it, lost in contemplation of the picture)

CURTAIN

65
 THE THIRD ACT

A room at the Wegrats' adjoining the veranda. The outlook is, of course, determined
by the location.

JOHANNA (is seated on a stool with her hands folded in her lap)
SALA (enters)
Good morning, Johanna.

JOHANNA (rises, goes to meet him, and draws him close to herself) Are you coming for
the last time?

SALA
For the last time? What an idea! There has not been the slightest change in our
arrangements. To-day is the seventh of October, and the ship will leave Genoa on
the twenty-sixth of November.

JOHANNA
Some day you will suddenly have disappeared. And I shall be standing by the
garden door, and nobody will come to open it.

SALA
But that sort of thing is not needed between us two.

JOHANNA
No, indeed—bear that in mind.

FELIX (enters)

66
 Oh, is that you, Mr. von Sala? (They shake hands) Well, how far have you got
with your preparations?

SALA
There are hardly any needed. I shall pack my trunk, pull down the shades, lock
the doors—and be off for the mysteries of far-away. There is something I want to
ask you apropos of that, Felix. Would you care to come along?

FELIX (startled)
If I care.... Are you asking seriously, Mr. von Sala?

SALA
There is just so much seriousness in my question as you wish to put into it.

FELIX
What does it mean anyhow? If I want to go along to Asia? What use could they
have for me in a venture of that kind?

SALA
Oh, that's pretty plain.

FELIX
Is the expedition not going to be one of purely scientific character?

SALA
Yes, that's what it is meant for, I suppose. But it is quite possible that various
things may happen that would make the presence of some young men like you
very desirable.

FELIX
Men like me...?

SALA
When Rolston went out there seven years ago, a lot of things happened which
were not provided for in the original program. And they had to fight a regular
battle, on a small scale, in the Kara-Kum district, not far from the river Amu-
Daria.

67
REUMANN (who has entered while Sala was speaking)
To those who had to stay behind forever the scale of your battle was probably
large enough. (All greet each other and shake hands without letting the
conversation be interrupted)

SALA
In that respect you are probably right, Doctor.

FELIX
Pardon me, Mr. von Sala, but does this come from you alone? Is it just a sudden
notion—or something more?

SALA
I have received no direct request from anybody to speak of this. But after the
conference which took place at the Foreign Department yesterday, and which I
attended, I feel entitled to add a little more.—Oh, no secrets at all!—You have
probably read, Felix, that a member of the General Staff as well as several
artillery and engineering officers are being sent with us in what might be termed a
semi-official capacity. On account of the latest news from Asia—which,
however, does not seem very reliable to me, as it has come by way of England—
it has been decided to secure the additional cooperation of some young line
officers, and all arrangements of this kind must be left to private initiative.

FELIX
And there might be a possibility for me...?

SALA
Will you permit me to speak to Count Ronsky?

FELIX
Have you already mentioned my name to him?

SALA
I have received permission to ask whether you could be prepared to board the
ship with the rest at Genoa on the twenty-sixth of November.

REUMANN

68
 Do you mean to leave Vienna as soon as that?

SALA (sarcastically)
Yes. Why did you look at me like that, Doctor? That glance of yours was a little
indiscreet.

REUMANN
In what respect?

SALA
It seemed to say: Yes, you can start, of course, but if you ever come back, that's
more than doubtful.

REUMANN
Let me tell you, Mr. von Sala, that in the face of a venture like yours one might
well express such doubts quite openly. But are you at all interested in whether
you get back or not, Mr. von Sala? I don't suppose you belong to the kind of
people who care to put their affairs in order.

SALA
No, indeed. Especially not as, in cases of that kind, it is generally the affairs of
others which give you needless trouble. If I were to be interested at all in my own
chances, it would be for much more selfish reasons.

JOHANNA
What reasons?

SALA
I don't want to be cheated out of the consciousness that certain moments are my
final ones.

REUMANN
There are not many people who share your attitude in that respect.

SALA
At any rate, Doctor, you would have to tell me the absolute truth if I ever asked
you for it. I hold that one has the right to drain one's own life to the last drop, with

69
 all the horrors and delights that may lie hidden at the bottom of it. Just as it is our
evident duty every day to commit every good deed and every rascality lying
within our capacity.... No, I won't let you rob me of my death moments by any
kind of hocus-pocus. It would imply a small-minded attitude, worthy neither of
yourself nor of me.—Well, Felix, the twenty-sixth of November then! That's still
seven weeks off. In regard to any formalities that may be required, you need have
no worry at all.

FELIX
How long a time have I got to make up my mind?

SALA
There's no reason to be precipitate. When does your furlough end?

FELIX
To-morrow night.

SALA
Of course, you are going to talk it over with your father?

FELIX
With my father.... Yes, of course.—At any rate I'll bring you the answer early to-
morrow morning, Mr. von Sala.

SALA
Fine. It would please me very much. But you must bear in mind: it will be no
picnic. I expect to see you soon, then. Good-by, Miss Johanna. Farewell, Doctor.

[He goes out. A brief pause. Those left behind show signs of emotion.

JOHANNA (rising)
I'm going to my room. Good-by, Doctor. (She goes out)

REUMANN
Have you made up your mind, Felix?

FELIX
Almost.
70
REUMANN
You'll come across much that is new to you.

FELIX
And my own self among it, I hope—which would be about time.... (Quoting)
"The mysteries of far-away ..." And will it really come true? Oh, the thrill of it!

REUMANN
And yet you ask time to consider?

FELIX
I hardly know why. And yet ... The thought of leaving people behind and perhaps
never seeing them again—and certainly not as they were when you left them; the
thought, too, that perhaps your going will hurt them ...

REUMANN
If nothing else makes you hesitate, then every moment of uncertainty is wasted.
Nothing is more sure to estrange you from those dear to you than the knowledge
that duty condemns you to stay near them. You must seize this unique
opportunity. You must go to see Genoa, Asia Minor, Thibet, Bactria.... Oh, it
must be splendid! And my best wishes will go with you. (He gives his hand to
Felix)

FELIX
Thank you. But there will be plenty of time for wishes of that kind. Whatever
may be decided, we shall meet more than once before I leave.

REUMANN
I hope so. Oh, of course!

FELIX (looking hard at him)

Doctor ... it seems to me there was a final farewell in that pressure of your hand.

REUMANN (with a smile)

Is it ever possible to tell whether you will meet again?

FELIX

71
 Tell me, Doctor—did Mr. von Sala interpret your glance correctly?

REUMANN
That has nothing to do with your case anyhow.

FELIX
Will he not be able to go with us?

REUMANN (with hesitation)

That's very hard to predict.

FELIX
You have never learned to lie, Doctor.

REUMANN
As the matter stands now, I think you can bring it to a successful conclusion
without further assistance.

FELIX
Mr. von Sala called on you a few days ago?

REUMANN
Yes, it was only a while ago. (Pause) Well, you can see for yourself that he is not
well, can't you?—So God be with you, Felix.

FELIX
Will you continue to befriend this house when I am gone?

REUMANN
Why do you ask questions like that, Felix?

FELIX
You don't mean to come here again?—But why?

REUMANN
I assure you ...

72
FELIX
I understand ...

REUMANN (embarrassed)
What can there be to understand...?

FELIX
My dear Doctor ... I know now ... why you don't want to come to this house any
more.... It's another case of somebody else breaking his neck.... Dear friend ...

REUMANN
Good luck to you ... Felix ...

FELIX
And if anybody should call you back ...

REUMANN
Nobody will.... But if I should be needed, I can always be found ...

JOHANNA (comes into the room again)

REUMANN
Good-by ... Good-by, Miss Johanna ...

JOHANNA
Are you going already, Doctor?

REUMANN
Yes.... Give my regards to your father. Good-by.... (He shakes her hand)

JOHANNA (calmly)
Did he tell you that Sala is doomed?

FELIX (hesitates about what to say)

JOHANNA

73
 I knew it. (With an odd gesture of deprecation as Felix wants to say something)
And you are going—with or without him?

FELIX
Yes. (Pause) There won't be much doing in this place after this.

JOHANNA (remains unmoved)

FELIX
And how are you going to live, Johanna?... I mean, how are the two of you going
to live—you and father?

JOHANNA (gives him a look as if his question surprised her)

FELIX
He is going to be lonely. I think he would feel very grateful if you took a little
more interest in him—if you went for a walk for him when there is time for it.
And you, too ...

JOHANNA (brusquely)
How could that help me or him? What can he be to me or I to him? I was not
made to assist people in days of trial. I can't help it, but that's the way I am. I
seem to be stirred by a sort of hostility against people who appeal to my pity. I
felt it like that all the time mother was sick.

FELIX
No, you were not made for that.... But what were you made for then?

JOHANNA (shrugs her shoulders and sits down as before, with hands folded in her lap
and her eyes staring straight ahead)

FELIX
Johanna, why do you never talk to me any more as you used to? Have you, then,
nothing to tell me? Don't you remember how we used to tell each other
everything?

JOHANNA
That was long ago. We were children then.

74
FELIX
Why can't you talk to me any longer as you did then? Have you forgotten how
well we two used to understand each other? How we used to confide all our
secrets to each other? What good chums we used to be?... How we wanted to go
out into the wide world together?

JOHANNA
Into the wide world.... Oh, yes, I remember. But there is nothing left now of all
those words of wonder and romance.

FELIX
Perhaps it depends on ourselves only.

JOHANNA
No, those words have no longer the same meaning as before.

FELIX
What do you mean?

JOHANNA
Into the wide world ...

FELIX
What is the matter, Johanna?

JOHANNA
Once, when we were in the museum together, I saw a picture of which I often
think. It has a meadow with knights and ladies in it—and a forest, a vineyard, an
inn, and young men and women dancing, and a big city with churches and towers
and bridges. And soldiers are marching across the bridges, and a ship is gliding
down the river. And farther back there is a hill, and on that hill a castle, and lofty
mountains in the extreme distance. And clouds are floating above the mountains,
and there is mist on the meadow, and a flood of sunlight is pouring down on the
city, and a storm is raging over the castle, and there is ice and snow on the
mountains.—And when anybody spoke of "the wide world," or I read that term
anywhere, I used always to think of that picture. And it used to be the same with
so many other big-sounding words. Fear was a tiger with cavernous mouth—love
was a page with long light curls kneeling at the feet of a lady—death was a
75
 beautiful young man with black wings and a sword in his hand—and fame was
blaring bugles, men with bent backs, and a road strewn with flowers. In those
days it was possible to talk of all sorts of things, Felix. But to-day everything has
a different look—fame, and death, and love, and the wide world.

FELIX (hesitatingly)
I feel a little scared on your behalf, Johanna.

JOHANNA
Why, Felix?

FELIX
Johanna!—I wish you wouldn't do anything to worry father.

JOHANNA
Does that depend on me alone?

FELIX
I know in what direction your dreams are going, Johanna.—What is to come out
of that?

JOHANNA
Is it necessary that something comes out of everything?—I think, Felix, that many
people are destined to mean nothing to each other but a common memory.

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)

76
 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.

77
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.

78
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?
79
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)

80
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 leftalone.

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.

81
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
82
 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

83
 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.

84
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

85
 —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.

86
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.

87
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?

88
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.

89
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

90
 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
91
 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)

92
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

93
 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

94
 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

95
 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

96
 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

97
 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

98
 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!

99
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

100
 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)

101
 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

102
 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

103
 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.

104
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)

105
 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—

106
 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

107
 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

108
 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!

109
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.

110
 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.

111
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.

112
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

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 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
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 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.
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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.

116
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.

117
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....

118
 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)

119
 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)

120
WEGRAT
Must things of this kind happen to make that word sound as if I had heard it for
the first time...?

CURTAIN

THE LONELY WAY

1 The Prater is at once the Central Park and the Coney Island of Vienna,
plus a great deal more—a park with an area of 2,000 acres bounded by
the Danube on one side and by the Danube Canal on the other, full of all
kinds of amusement places.

2 The place where the Turks fortified themselves before driven from
Vienna by John Sobieski in 1683 is now a small park, "Türkenschanz-
Park," located in Döbling, one of the northwestern quarters of Greater
Vienna. Only a little ways south of this park, and overlooking it, stands
the Astronomical Observatory, not far from which Schnitzler has been
living for a number of years. Numerous references to localities in this
play indicate that he has placed the Wegrat home in that very villa
quarter of Währing, where he himself is so thoroughly at home.

3 A suburb near the western limits of Vienna and not far from the
location indicated for the Wegrat home.

4 The palace of Mirabell is one of the sights of Salzburg, the city near
the Bavarian border, where Felix's regiment was stationed. It is now
used as a museum. The gardens adjoining it are of the formal type so
dear to, and so characteristic of, the eighteenth century.

121
5 One of the main routes through the Dolomites, leading from Southern
Tirol into Italy. It is in part identical with the route outlined by Albert in
"Intermezzo," but parts from it at Cortina to run straight south.

6 Former villages, now suburbs of Vienna, lying still nearer the city
limits than Dornbach, where Sala is living.

122