Well, I read the first part, and had begun on the second, when I concluded to go no further.
And you really looked no further than the first? Absolutely no further?
No.
Can you swear to that?
I can!
Then swear!
I swear! Are you satisfied?
Yes, thank heaven! But you must not imagine for a moment that the book contains anything I am ashamed of; on the contrary, I consider it so sacred I would not have it desecrated by a stranger's eye. About four years ago, something occurred within me--within my soul. No one knows--no one could even guess, and no one shall ever know.
No one? Not even I?
No, not even you. But where is the book? Give it to me!
[Turns up stage and takes it from her bosom.] Here it is.
How shall I ever thank you?
I want you to do me one favor. Will you promise me?
If it's in my power, certainly!
Then I must first confess to you. A few moments ago, when papa questioned me, I deceived him. I was attacked last night--yes--but not by a man, but by a woman--a Lithuanian woman. George, that woman was my mother!
But I understood your mother was dead.
No, no; that is not so. Not one of you ever told me the truth. On the day of my confirmation I was waylaid by that very same woman--I cannot have been mistaken.
Come, tell me, how did it happen?
I was walking along quietly--'twas already dawning--when suddenly a gaunt form arose from the ditch beside the road. I looked, and saw before me a miserable beggarwoman, who called out to me in a trembling voice: "Marie--Madame--Daughter!" I turned cold in fear and horror, and, unable to utter one sound, I began to run; and I ran, ran, ran, and behind me I only heard her agonizing call: "My Marie--my daughter!" And so, I ran away from my own mother. And now, after a few hours' thought, I realize I did wrong. I must see her and speak to her, and learn from her own lips who and what I am; and as papa has forbidden me to leave this house--I would go in spite of him, but I have a fear--I beg of you, George, dear, go to her, I implore you, find her for me--she cannot be far away, and----
And then?
Then bring her to me, into the garden, or, better still, into this room towards evening, when papa and mama are calling on the old pastor----
Marie, I cannot do that!
The first time I ask a favor of you--and you say you cannot do it?
Marie, dear, listen to me! You have been so kind to me of late--and that has not always been so; but if you had sacrificed for me even more than your own comfort and rest, I--I could not do it--I could not deceive your father and mother, for I fear the consequences.
Then can't you understand that, a foundling though I am, a desire might come over me to see my own mother, though she be but a common beggar and an outcast? That I might want to lay my head on her shoulder and be petted and fondled, and cry myself to sleep on mine--on my own mother's breast?
Are you not fondled, are you not petted--has mama not always been kind to you?
Yes, but it is not the same--not the same. Never have I felt the desire, the demand within me for my own flesh and blood, as just now.
But why just now?
[Imploringly.] Because my heart is bursting. Oh, George!
I cannot. I dare not do it!
Then you refuse me?
You know I must!!
Then have you forgotten what took place in there, in your heart, four years ago?
[Pause.]
Marie, you have read my manuscript!
Yes, I read it. Will you do it now?
Marie, you have sworn falsely!!!
[Shrugging her shoulders.] Will you do as I ask?
'Tis well! I will do as you ask!!!!
[Curtain.]
The same scene as Act I.
[Marie,seated, with some linen in her lap, at the sewing-machine, looking dreamily out of the window.]
[In door R.]
May I come in, Miss Marie?
Oh, is that you? Yes, come in!
I see you are working on Miss Gertrude's wedding outfit. How beautiful, fit for a princess. But what I wanted to ask you: Madame has given me the menu for the wedding feast, and as to fish, it calls for carp. Now you know I am economical, but carp--common carp----
Why, carp is a very fine fish----
Oh yes, and good enough for--say--your wedding feast; but not good enough for Miss Gertrude.
For my wedding feast even carp is too good.
Oh no; carp is not too good for you, though it may be good enough--and do you know I will prepare a special Polish sauce--but Miss Gertrude--she must have deep sea fish. Now will you see Madame about that, please?
Very well, I will speak to mama about it.
And you are not offended?
Oh no!
For, after all, you know, you are only a foundling.
Oh yes, I know.
But we all love you, Miss Marie, and----
Thank you. But have you seen Mr. von Harten this morning?
No, I have not! But I have some good news for you--the assistant pastor has fallen deeply in love with you.
Yes?
And he is going to ask for your hand!!! I always said you were a lucky girl. Just think, you may be a St. John's-bride.
And what is a St. John's-bride?
Youdon't know that, Miss Marie? Well, I'll tell you. It is written in the new seal of Solomonis: "Whoever shall give or receive their first kiss on St. John's eve, their love is sealed and they will be faithful unto death." So it is written in the new seal of Solomonis.
[Enter C., hands behind her, with bouquet.]
Marie, I have something for you. No, first I want Katie to leave the room. Go now, go!!!
Oh, I am going--I am going!!!!!!!!![Exit.]
Shut your eyes now! [Mariedoes so, asGertrudeholds bouquet toMarie'sface.] Now what is it?
The tulip-tree! the first blossoms from our manzanillo-tree! It blooms--it blooms!!! [Burying her face in the flowers.]
Are you glad, Marie?
Yes, darling, so glad!!! Thank you!
And do you know who picked them?--George!
For me?
Why, of course, for you!
He--did this--for me?
He would do even more than that for me, I am sure!
Oh yes, certainly! But where is he now?
I don't know!
Did he say he had to go somewhere?
Yes, he had to go out on the fields, he said--and that was quite some time ago. I wanted to accompany him, I begged and begged, but he flatly refused to let me go.
[Breathing heavily.] Oh!!!!!!!!
I don't know how it is; but to-day he is acting so strangely. Papa has asked for him several times--and do you know, dear, at times he is not at all pleasant to me!
But why should he----
That's just it! why should he? Oh, if I only knew--if I was only certain he loved me--and then, another thing--I don't know if I should tell you--I have a growing fear, some other girl will take him away from me.
[With forced laugh.] Away from you, dear? how could that be possible?
Oh yes, you may laugh; but at times, when he looks at me, I see a strange look come in his eyes. Half affection--half pity--and I don't want to be pitied! Why should he? Am I not happy?
[Caressing her.] Yes, dear; you ought to be very, very happy.
But I cannot rid myself of the fear, perhaps he really loves another and is only taking compassion on me! Oh, if I only knew----
But, my darling----
For you see, I am still so young--and think, how ill-mannered I was only this morning! I was so sorry afterwards--but I do love to laugh. [Laughs.]
[With strange y desperate tone of voice.] And you shall laugh--laugh--laugh--so--so!!!!!!!
Mama, too, insists that my love for him is only that of a child and not of a woman and a bride; but you see she would rather I'd not marry at all and so remain at home with her all my life. But you will be good to her, won't you? You will soon be her only one.
I----?
Why yes!
I shall soon know whose only one I am!
What are you saying?
[AsGeorgeenters.] There he is!
[Gertruderuns towards him.Marietakes a few steps, then hesitates and stops.]
[Pulling him, as she runs towards him.] Oh, George!!! [Then] Confound you!
[Reproachfully.]Gertrude!!!!!!
[Crushed.] Why, what did I say?
[Lovingly.] Now listen to me, little one. Such language may be excusable in your papa, but never in my bride.
[Pouting.] Everything I say seems to displease you. You never find fault with Marie! You can go and marry her!!!
Marie does not want to marry me.
My very best thanks, George!
For what?
[Picking up bouquet.] For this!
Oh, don't mention it.
Were you out in the fields?
Yes.
Yes, papa is angry with you, too. He is looking for you!
Oh yes--I know----! Well?
In what direction did you go?
I have been everywhere.
And have you found----?
What was he to find?
Yes, what was I to find? But, children, your tulip-tree is certainly a strange fellow. There he stands, blooming alone, like the last rose of summer----
My great-grandfather brought it from South America!
[ToMarie.] And that is why you love it so, because it is so foreign and strange?
[Busy with linen.] Perhaps!
No, that is not the reason----
Well then, what is it?
I'm going to tell on you. One day papa took her to the Opera, down in the city; there they saw the African----
"L'Africaine," you mean?
Yes, yes, that's what she called it.
Gertrude, please don't----
In that play occurs a poison-tree--I think----
Yes, a manzanillo-tree!
Yes, yes; and whosoever inhales the odor of its blossoms must die. And do you know what she did? Oh, yes, I did the same--we would go to this tree, smell of its blossoms, and lay down----
To die?
To die.
Now you can imagine, George, how long ago that must have been.
Yes, it was long, long ago. But about four years ago, one day Marie really wanted to die very badly.
[Mariecasts a frightened glance atGeorge,who returns it thoughtfully.]
But we didn't.
No, no, thank heaven. Now, little one, run along and tell papa that I am here.
Marie, will you come, too?
No; I think I will remain here a little while longer.
Then I'll stay, too.
Now, little one----
[Gertrudeexits with a sigh.]
[Quickly and suppressed.] Did you find her? [Georgenods.] Will she come? Why don't you answer?
Marie, when you exacted this promise from me this morning, I did not realize what it meant. I had never seen your--I don't want to speak that word--I had never seen this person until to-day. She must not come to this house, secretly--she must not!!!
George!!!
Take uncle into your confidence, at least.
No, no one--no one but you!!
What do you want with her? You know you belong to this house. Here you have everything your heart desires. Here you have love--here you have----
[Interrupts him.] Bread! Why don't you say it? Yes, here I have bread!
I did not mean to say that.
No; but I did! And do I not earn it, as well as the little love I obtain in this house? I am "The Calamity Child"--and I do not ask for charity.
You seem to be possessed of the very devil to-day!
Perhaps!
I implore you, do not insist. I fear the consequence. You will see! for whatever is done against nature, punishes itself.
And is it against nature when a child cries out for its own mother?
She is not your mother; your mother is in this house.
Gertrude's mother is in this house, not mine. A mother must feel for her child, she must see----
Sh--sh!
[EnterGertrude.]
You two are continually talking in whispers; can't you tellme? It makes me so unhappy!
[Caressing her.] But darling, it is all done for your sake!
[During this,Georgelooks at her disapprovingly, whileMariecasts a timid glance at him.]
[Enters.] At last you have come. Where in thunder have you been all day? It almost seemed to me as if you were trying to avoid me!
But, uncle----
Well, girls, have you prepared the pastor's eggnog?
Oh, I had entirely forgotten it.
Then see to it at once. And don't forget the sugar, you know.
Yes, papa.
And Gertrude dear, you can go and help her. It is time you were learning to do something yourself.
Yes, papa!
I hardly think it will be ready in time to take with you and mama.
Then bring it later--yourself.
[With a glance atGeorge.] Could not Gertrude bring it, papa? I have so much work to do!
No, no, papa!!!
Yes, yes, you shall!--bring it up when done; and mind, you remain at the pastor's as long as your mother and I, this time. Understand?
Oh, papa dear! The last time, the old pastor insisted upon holding my hand in his so long; and they are so cold and clammy, so shriveled and hairy, like the hands of the dead!
Come here, my child. Those hairy hands once christened you, and at your confirmation the same shriveled hands were laid upon your head and invoked for you the blessings of heaven; and would you, after all that, refuse to hold them in your own warm young hands? My daughter, I do not wish to hear that again. [Kisses her.]
[Slowly has approachedGeorge.Softly, aside to him.] You will do as I ask?
And now, leave us.
[MarieandGertrudeexit.]
"Now, then, comes your turn," says the stork to the worm.
[Looking after the girls, turns.] I suppose so, but take a care, uncle, I am not so easily digested.
We shall see! We shall see!
What do you want with me? My financial condition is satisfactory. I have a good position, and my future is assured. I desire to enjoy the results of my own labors, not those of yours.
So, so!