Mother Earth, Vol. 1 No. 2, April 1906

(Friedrich looks about embarrassed and shyly.)

(Rita enters attired in a tasteful dressing gown, but remains standing in the door.)

Friedrich (bows; softly): Good day.

(Rita looks at him with an ironical smile and remains silent.)

Friedrich: You remember me? Don't you?

Rita (quietly): Strange. You—come to see me? What has become of your good training? (Laughs.) Have you lost all sense of shame?

Friedrich (stretches out his hand, as if imploring): Oh, I beg of you, I beg of you; not this tone! I really came to explain everything to you, everything. And possibly to set things aright.

Rita: You—with me! (She shakes her head.) Incredible! But, please, since you are here, sit down. With what can you serve me?

Friedrich (seriously): Miss Hattenbach, I really should–

Rita (lightly): Pardon me, my name is Revera. Rita Revera.

Friedrich: I know that you call yourself by that name now. But you won't expect me, an old friend of your family, to make use of this romantic, theatrical name. For me you are now, as heretofore, the daughter of the esteemed house of Hattenbach, with which I–

Rita (quickly and sharply): With which your father transacts business, I know.

Friedrich (with emphasis): With which I now am myself associated.

Rita: Is it possible? And your father?

Friedrich (seriously): If I had the slightest inkling of your address, yes, even your present name, I should not have missed to announce to you the sudden death of my father.

Rita (after pause): Oh, he is dead. I see you still wear mourning. How long ago is it?

Friedrich: Half a year. Since then I am looking for you, and I hope you will not forbid me to address you now, as of yore, with that name, which is so highly esteemed in our native city.

Rita (smiling friendly): Your solemnity—is delightful. Golden! But sit down.

Friedrich (remains standing; he is hurt): I must confess, Miss Hattenbach, that I was not prepared for such a reception from you. I hoped that I might expect, after these four or five years, that you would receive me differently than with this—with this—how shall I say?

Rita: Toleration.

Friedrich: No, with this arrogance.

Rita: How?

Friedrich (controlling himself): I beg your pardon. I am sorry to have said that.

Rita (after a pause, hostile): You wish to be taken seriously? (She sits down, with a gesture of the hand) Please, what have you to say to me?

Friedrich: Much. Oh, very much. (He also sits down.) But—you are not well to-day?

Rita: Not well? What makes you say so?

Friedrich: Yes, the maid told me so.

Rita: The maid—she is a useful person. That makes me think. You certainly expect to stay here some time, do you not?

Friedrich: With your permission. I have much to tell you.

Rita: I thought so. (Calling loudly) Bertha! Bertha! Do you suppose one could get an electric bell repaired here? Impossible.

Bertha (enters): My lady?

Rita: Bertha, when the Count comes—now I am really sick.

Bertha (nods): Very well. (She leaves.)

Rita (calls after her): And where is the coffee? I shall famish.

Bertha (outside): Immediately.

Friedrich: The—the Count—did you say?

Rita: Yes, quite a fine fellow otherwise, but—would not fit in now. I wanted to say: I am passionately fond of electric bells. You know they have a fabulous charm for me. One only needs to touch them softly, ever so softly, with the small finger, and still cause a terrible noise. Fine—is it not? You wanted to talk about serious matters. It seems so to me.

Friedrich: Yes. And I beg of you, Miss Erna–

Rita: Erna?

Friedrich: Erna!

Rita: Oh, well!

Friedrich (continuing): I beg of you; be really and truly serious. Yes? Listen to what I have to say to you. Be assured that it comes from an honest, warm heart. During the years in which I have not seen you, I have grown to be a serious man—perhaps, too serious for my age—but my feelings for you have remained young, quite young. Do you hear me, Erna?

Rita (leaning back in the rocking chair, with a sigh): I hear.

Friedrich: And you know, Erna, how I have always loved you from my earliest youth, yes, even sooner than I myself suspected. You know that, yes?

(Rita is silent and does not look at him.)

Friedrich: When I was still a foolish schoolboy I already called you my betrothed, and I could not but think otherwise than that I would some day call you my wife. You certainly know that, don't you?

Rita (reserved): Yes, I know it.

Friedrich: Well, then you ought to be able to understand what dreadful feelings overcame me when I discovered, sooner than you or the world, the affection of my father for you. That was—no, you cannot grasp it.

Rita (looks at him searchingly): Sooner than I and all the world?

Friedrich: Oh, a great deal sooner … that was.... That time was the beginning of the hardest innermost struggles for me. What was I to do? (He sighs deeply.) Ah, Miss Erna, we people are really–

Rita: Yes, yes.

Friedrich: We are dreadfully shallow-minded. How seldom one of us can really live as he would like to. Must we not always and forever consider others—and our surroundings?

Rita: Must?

Friedrich: Well, yes, we do so, at least. And when it is our own father! For, look here, Erna, I never would have been able to oppose my father! I was used, as you well know, from childhood to always look up to my father with the greatest respect. He used to be severe, my father, proud and inaccessible, but—if I may be permitted to say so, he was an excellent man.

Rita: Well?

Friedrich (eagerly): Yes, indeed! You must remember that it was he alone who established our business by means of his powerful energy and untiring diligence. Only now I myself have undertaken the management of the establishment. I am able to see what an immense work he has accomplished.

Rita (simply): Yes, he was an able business man.

Friedrich: In every respect! Ability personified, and he had grown to be fifty-two years of age and was still, still—how shall I say?

Rita: Still able.

Friedrich: Well, yes; I mean a vigorous man in his best years. For fifteen years he had been a widower, he had worked, worked unceasingly, and then—the house was well established—he could think of placing some of the work upon younger shoulders. He could think of enjoying his life once more.

Rita (softly): That is–

Friedrich (continuing): And he thought he had found, in you, the one who would bring back to him youth and the joy of life.

Rita (irritated): Yes, but then you ought to—(Breaks off.) Oh, it is not worth while.

Friedrich: How? I should have been man enough to say: No, I forbid it; that is a folly of age. I, your son, forbid it. I demand her for myself. The young fortune is meant for me—not for you?–No, Erna, I could not do that. I could not do that.

Rita: No.

Friedrich: I, the young clerk, with no future before me!

Rita: No!

Friedrich: My entire training and my conceptions urged me to consider it my duty to simply stand aside and stifle my affection, as I did—as I already told you even before any other person had an idea of the intentions of my father. I gradually grew away from you.

Rita (amused): Gradually—yes, I recollect. You suddenly became formal. Indeed, very nice!

Friedrich: I thought–

(Bertha comes with the coffee and serves.)

Rita: Will you take a cup with me?

Friedrich (thoughtlessly): I thought–(Correcting himself) pardon me! I thank you!

Rita: I hope it will not disturb you if I drink my coffee while you continue.

Friedrich: Please (embarrassed). I thought it a proper thing. I hoped that my cold and distant attitude would check a possible existing affection for me.

Rita: Possible existing affection! Fie! Now you are beginning to lie! (She jumps up and walks nervously through the room.) As though you had not positively known that! (Stepping in front of him) Or what did you take me for when I kissed you?

Friedrich (very much frightened, also rises): O, Erna, I always–

Rita (laughs): You are delightful! Delightful! Still the same bashful boy—who does not dare—(she laughs and sits down again.) Delightful.

Friedrich (after a silence, hesitatingly): Well, are you going to allow me to call you Erna again, as of yore?

Rita: As of yore. (She sighs, then gaily) If you care to.

Friedrich (happy): Yes? May I?

Rita (heartily): O, yes, Fritz. That's better, isn't it? It sounds more natural, eh?

Friedrich (presses her hand and sighs): Yes, really. You take a heavy load from me. Everything that I want to say to you can be done so much better in the familiar tone.

Rita: Oh! Have you still so much to say to me?

Friedrich: Well—but now tell me first: how was it possible for you to undertake such a step. What prompted you to leave so suddenly? Erna, Erna, how could you do that?

Rita (proudly): How I could? Can you ask me that? Do you really not know it?

Friedrich (softly): Oh, yes; I do know it, but—it takes so much to do that.

Rita: Not more than was in me.

Friedrich: One thing I must confess to you, although it was really bad of me. But I knew no way out of it. I felt relieved after you had gone.

Rita: Well, then, that was your heroism.

Friedrich: Do not misunderstand me. I knew my father had–

Rita: Yes, yes—but do not talk about it any more.

Friedrich: You are right. It was boyish of me. It did not last long, and then I mourned for you—not less than your parents. Oh, Erna! If you would see your parents now. They have aged terribly. Your father has lost his humor altogether, and is giving full vent to his old passion for red wine. Your mother is always ailing, hardly ever leaves the house, and both, even though they never lose a word about it, cannot reconcile themselves to the thought that their only child left them.

Rita (after a pause, awakens from her meditation, harshly): Perhaps you were sent by my father?

Friedrich: No—why?

Rita: Then I would show you the door.

Friedrich: Erna!

Rita: A man, who ventured to pay his debts with me–

Friedrich: How so; what do you mean?

Rita: Oh—let's drop that. Times were bad. But to-day the house of Hattenbach enjoys its good old standing, as you say, and has overcome the crisis. Then your father must have had some consideration—without me. Well, then.–And Rudolstadt still stands—on the old spot. That's the main thing. But now let us talk about something else, I beg of you.

Friedrich: No, no, Erna. What you allude to, that–do you really believe my father had–

Rita: Your father had grown used to buy and attain everything in life through money. Why not buy me also? And he had already received the promise—not from me, but from my father. But I am free! I ran away and am my own mistress! (With haughtiness.) A young girl, all alone! Down with the gang!

(Friedrich is silent and holds his head.)

Rita (steps up to him and touches his shoulder, in a friendly manner): Don't be sad. At that time your father was the stronger, and–Life is not otherwise. After all, one must assert oneself.

Friedrich: But he robbed you of your happiness.

Rita (jovially): Who knows? It is just as well.

Friedrich (surprised): Is that possible? Do you call that happiness, this being alone?

Rita: Yes. That is MY happiness—my freedom, and I love it with jealousy, for I fought for it myself.

Friedrich (bitterly): A great happiness! Outside of family ties, outside the ranks of respectable society.

Rita (laughs aloud, but without bitterness): Respectable society! Yes. I fled from that—thank Heaven. (harshly) But if you do not come in the name of my father, what do you want here? Why do you come? For what purpose? What do you want of me?

Friedrich: Erna, you ask that in a strange manner.

Rita: Well, yes. I have a suspicion that you—begrudge me my liberty. How did you find me, anyway?

Friedrich: Yes, that was hard enough.

Rita: Rita Revera is not so unknown.

Friedrich: Rita Revera! Oh, no! How often I have read that name these last years—in the newspapers in Berlin, on various placards, in large letters. But how could I ever have thought that you were meant by it?

Rita (laughs): Why did you not go to the "Winter Garden" when you were in Berlin?

Friedrich: I never frequent such places.

Rita: Pardon me! Oh, I always forget the old customs.

Friedrich: Oh, please, please, dear Erna; not in this tone of voice!

Rita: Which tone?

Friedrich: Erna! Do not make matters so difficult for me. See, after I had finally discovered, through an agency in Berlin, and after hunting a long time, that you were the famous Revera, I was terribly shocked at first, terribly sad, and, for a moment, I thought of giving up everything. My worst fears were over. I had the assurance that you lived in good, and as I now see, in comfortable circumstances. But, on the other hand, I had to be prepared that you might have grown estranged to the world in which I live—that we could hardly understand each other.

Rita: Hm! Shall I tell you what was your ideal—how you would have liked to find me again? As a poor seamstress, in an attic room, who, during the four years, had lived in hunger and need—but respectably, that is the main point. Then you would have stretched forth your kind arms, and the poor, pale little dove would have gratefully embraced you. Will you deny that you have imagined it thus and even wished for it?

Friedrich (looks at her calmly): Well, is there anything wrong about it?

Rita: But how did it happen that, regardless of this, of this disappointment, you, nevertheless, continued to search for me?

Friedrich: Thank goodness, at the right moment I recollected your clear, silvery, childlike laughter. Right in the midst of my petty scruples it resounded in my ears, as at the time when you ridiculed my gravity. Do you still remember that time, Erna?

(Rita is silent.)

Bertha (enters with an enormous bouquet of dark red roses): My lady—from the Count.

Rita (jumps up, nervously excited): Roses! My dark roses! Give them to me! Ah! (She holds them toward Friedrich and asks) Did he say anything?

Bertha: No, said nothing, but–

Friedrich (shoves the bouquet, which she holds up closely to his face, aside): I thank you.

Rita (without noticing him, to Bertha): Well?

Bertha (pointing to the bouquet): The Count has written something on a card.

Rita: His card? Where? (She searches among the flowers) Oh, here! (She reads; then softly to Bertha) It is all right.

(Bertha leaves.)

Rita (reads again): "Pour prendre congé." (With an easy sigh) Yes, yes.

Friedrich: What is the matter?

Rita: Sad! His education was hardly half finished and he already forsakes me.

Friedrich: What do you mean? I do not understand you at all.

Rita (her mind is occupied): Too bad. Now he'll grow entirely stupid.

Friedrich (rises importantly): Erna, answer me. What relationship existed between you and the Count?

Rita (laughs): What business is that of yours?

Friedrich (solemnly): Erna! Whatever it might have been, this will not do any longer.

Rita (gaily): No, no; you see it is already ended.

Friedrich: No, Erna, that must all be ended. You must get out of all this—entirely—and forever.

Rita (looks at him surprised and inquiringly): Hm! Strange person.

Friedrich (grows more eager and walks up and down in the room): Such a life is immoral. You must recognize it. Yes, and I forbid you to live on in this fashion. I have the right to demand it of you.

Rita (interrupts him sharply): Demand? You demand something of me?

Friedrich: Yes, indeed, demand! Not for me—no—in the name of morals. That which I ask of you is simply a moral demand, do you understand, a moral demand, which must be expected of every woman.

Rita: "Must!" And why?

Friedrich: Because—because—because—well, dear me—because—otherwise everything will stop!

Rita: What will stop? Life?

Friedrich: No, but morals.

Rita: Ah, I thank you. Now I understand you. One must be moral because—otherwise morality will stop.

Friedrich: Why, yes. That is very simple.

Rita: Yes—now, please, what would I have to do in order to fulfill your demand? I am curious like a child now, and shall listen obediently. (She sits down again.)

Friedrich (also sits down and grasps her hand, warmly): Well, see, my dear Erna, everything can still be undone. In Rudolstadt everybody believes you are in England with relatives. Even if you have never been there–

Rita: Often enough. My best engagements.

Friedrich: So much the better. Then you certainly speak English?

Rita: Of course.

Friedrich: And you are acquainted with English customs. Excellent. Oh, Erna. Your father will be pleased, he once confessed to me, when he had a little too much wine. You know him: he grows sentimental then.

Rita (to herself): They are all that way.

Friedrich: How?

Rita: Oh, nothing. Please continue. Well—I could come back?

Friedrich: Certainly! Fortunately, during these last years, since you have grown so famous, nobody has–

Rita: I have grown notorious only within a year.

Friedrich: Well, most likely nobody in Rudolstadt has ever seen you on the boards. In one word, you must return.

Rita: From England?

Friedrich: Yes, nothing lies in the way. And your mother will be overjoyed.

Rita: Nay, nay.

Friedrich: How well that you have taken a different name.

Rita: Ah, that is it. Yes, I believe that. Then they know that I am Rita Revera.

Friedrich: I wrote them. They will receive you with open arms. Erna! I beg of you! I entreat you; come with me! It is still time. To-day. You cannot know, but anybody from Rudolstadt who knows might come to the theatre and–

Rita (decidedly): No one from Rudolstadt will do that. They are too well trained for that. You see it by your own person. But go on! If I would care to, if I really would return—what then?

Friedrich: Then? Well, then, you would be in the midst of the family and society again—and then–

Rita: And then?

Friedrich: Then, after some time has elapsed and you feel at home and when all is forgotten, as though nothing had ever happened–

Rita: But a great deal has happened.

Friedrich: Erna, you must not take me for such a Philistine that I would mind that. At heart I am unprejudiced. No, really, I know (softly) my own fault, and I know Life. I know very well, and I cannot ask it of you, that you, in a career like yours, you–

Rita: Hm?

Friedrich: Well, that you should have remained entirely faultless. And I do not ask it of you either.

Rita: You do well at that.

Friedrich: I mean, whatever has happened within these four years—lies beyond us, does not concern me—but shall not concern you any longer either. Rita Revera has ceased to be—Erna Hattenbach returns to her family.

Rita: Lovely, very lovely. Hm!—but then, what then? Shall I start a cooking school?

Friedrich (with a gentle reproach): But, Erna! Don't you understand me? Could you think of anything else than– Of course, I shall marry you then.

(Rita looks at him puzzled.)

Friedrich: But that is self-evident. Why should I have looked you up otherwise? Why should I be here? But, dear Erna, don't look so stunned.

Rita (still stares at him): "Simply—marry." Strange. (She turns around towards the open piano, plays and sings softly) Farilon, farila, farilette.

Friedrich (has risen): Erna! Do not torment me!

Rita: Torment? No. That would not be right. You are a good fellow. Give me a kiss. (She rises.)

Friedrich (embraces and kisses her): My Erna! Oh, you have grown so much prettier! So much prettier!

(Rita leans her head on his shoulder.)

Friedrich: But now come. Let us not lose one moment.

(Rita does not move.)

Friedrich: If possible let everything be.... Come! (He pushes her with gentle force) You cry?

Rita (hastily wipes the tears from her eyes, controls herself): O, nonsense. Rita Revera does not cry—she laughs. (Laughs forcedly.)

Friedrich: Erna, do not use that name. I do not care to hear it again!

Rita: Oh—you do not want to hear it any more. You would like to command me. You come here and assume that that which life and hard times have made of me you can wipe out in a half hour! No! You do not know life and know nothing of me. (Harshly) My name is Revera, and I shall not marry a merchant from Rudolstadt.

Friedrich: How is that? You still hesitate?

Rita: Do I look as though I hesitated? (She steps up closer to him.) Do you know, Fred, that during the years after my escape I often went hungry, brutally hungry? Do you know that I ran about in the most frightful dives, with rattling plate, collecting pennies and insults? Do you know what it means to humiliate oneself for dry bread? You see; that has been my school. Do you understand that I had to become an entirely different person or go to ruin? One who owes everything to himself, who is proud of himself, but who no longer respects anything, above all, no conventional measures and weights? And do you understand, Fred, that it would be base on my part were I to follow you to the Philistine?

Friedrich (after a pause, sadly): No, I do not understand that.

Rita (again gaily): I thought so. Shall I dread there every suspicion and tremble before every fool, whereas I can breathe free air, enjoy sunshine and the best conscience. You know that pretty part in the Walküre? (She sings):

"Greet Rudolstadt for me,Greet my father and motherAnd all the heroes....I shall not follow you to them!"

Now you know. (She sits down at the piano again.)

Friedrich (after silence): Even if you have lived through hard times, that still does not give you the right to disregard the duties of morals and customs.

Rita (plays and sings): "Farilon, farila, farilette—"

Friedrich: I cannot understand how you can refuse me, when I offer you the opportunity of returning to ordered circumstances.

Rita: I do not love the "ordered" circumstances. On the contrary, I must have something to train.

Friedrich: And I? I shall never be anything to you any more? You thrust me also aside in your stubbornness.

Rita: But not at all. Why?

Friedrich: How so? Did you not state just now that you would never marry a merchant from Rudolstadt.

Rita: Certainly–

Friedrich: Do you see? You cannot be so cold and heartless towards me? (Flattering) Why did you kiss me before? I know you also yearn in your innermost heart for those times in which we secretly saw and found each other. You also, and, even if you deny it, I felt it before when you cried. (Softly) Erna! Come along, come along with me! Come! Become my dear wife!

Rita (looks at him quietly): No, I shall not do such a thing.

Friedrich (starts nervously; after a pause): Erna! Is that your last word?

Rita: Yes.

Friedrich: Consider well what you say!

Rita: I know what I am about.

Friedrich: Erna! You want—to remain what you are?

Rita: Yes. That's just what I want.

Friedrich (remains for some time struggling, then grasps his hat): Then—adieu! (He hurries toward the left into the bedroom.)

Rita (calls smiling): Halt! Not there.