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Франк Ведекинд

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SCENE SECOND

A Dwelling Room

Frau Bergmann

(Enters by the center door. Her face is beaming. She is without a hat, wears a mantilla on her head and has a basket on her arm.)

Wendla! Wendla!

Wendla

(Appears in petticoats and corset in the doorway to the right.)

What's the matter, Mother?

Frau Bergmann

You are up already, child? Now, that is nice of you!

Wendla

You have been out already?

Frau Bergmann

Get dressed quickly!–You must go down to Ina's at once. You must take her this basket!

Wendla

(Dressing herself during the following conversation.)

You have been to Ina's?—How is Ina?—Is she ever going to get better?

Frau Bergmann

Only think, Wendla, last night the stork paid her a visit and brought her a little baby boy!

Wendla

A little boy?–A little boy!–Oh, that's lovely!–That's the cause of that tedious influenza!

Frau Bergmann

A fine little boy!

Wendla

I must see him, Mother. That makes me an aunt for the third time–aunt to a little girl and two little boys!

Frau Bergmann

And what little boys!–It always happens that way when one lives so near the church roof!–To-morrow will be just two years since she went up the steps in her mull gown.

Wendla

Were you there when he brought him?

Frau Bergmann

He had just flown away again.–Won't you put on a rose?

Wendla

Why couldn't you have been a little earlier, Mother?

Frau Bergmann

I almost believe he brought you something, too–a breastpin or something.

Wendla

It's really a shame!

Frau Bergmann

But, I tell you, he brought you a breastpin!

Wendla

I have breastpins enough–

Frau Bergmann

Then be happy, child. What do you want besides?

Wendla

I would have liked so much to have known whether he flew through the window or down the chimney.

Frau Bergmann

You must ask Ina. Ha! You must ask Ina that, dear heart! Ina will tell you that fast enough. Ina talked with him for a whole half hour.

Wendla

I will ask Ina when I get there.

Frau Bergmann

Now don't forget, sweet angel! I'm interested myself to know if he came in through the window or by the chimney.

Wendla

Or hadn't I better ask the chimney-sweep?–The chimney-sweep must know best whether he flew down the chimney or not.

Frau Bergmann

Not the chimney-sweep, child; not the chimney-sweep. What does the chimney-sweep know about the stork! He'd tell you a lot of foolishness he didn't believe himself–Wha–what are you staring at down there in the street?

Wendla

A man, Mother,–three times as big as an ox!–with feet like steamboats–!

Frau Bergmann

(Rushing to the window.)

Impossible! Impossible!

Wendla

(At the same time.)

He holds a bedslat under his chin and fiddles “Die Wacht am Rhein” on it–there, he's just turned the corner.–

Frau Bergmann

You are, and always will be a foolish child!–To frighten your old simple mother that way!–Go get your hat! I wonder when you will understand things. I've given up hope of you.

Wendla

So have I, Mother dear, so have I. It's a sad thing about my understanding.–I have a sister who has been married for two and a half years, I myself have been made an aunt for the third time, and I haven't the least idea how it all comes about.–Don't be cross, Mother dear, don't be cross! Whom in the world should I ask but you! Please tell me, dear Mother! Tell me, dear Mother! I'm ashamed for myself. Please, Mother, speak! Don't scold me for asking you about it. Give me an answer–How does it happen?–How does it all come about?–You cannot really deceive yourself that I, who am fourteen years old, still believe in the stork.

Frau Bergmann

Good. Lord, child, but you are peculiar!–What ideas you have!–I really can't do that!

Wendla

But why not, Mother?–Why not?–It can't be anything ugly if everybody is delighted over it!

Frau Bergmann

O–O God protect me!–I deserve–Go get dressed, child, go get dressed!

Wendla

I'll go–And suppose your child went and asked the chimney-sweep?

Frau Bergmann

But that would be madness!–Come here, child, come here, I'll tell you! I'll tell you everything–O Almighty Goodness!–only not to-day, Wendla!–To-morrow, the next day, next week–any time you want, dear heart–

Wendla

Tell me to-day, Mother; tell me now! Right away!–Now that I have seen you so frightened I can never be peaceful until you do.

Frau Bergmann

I can't do it, Wendla.

Wendla

Oh, why can't you, Mother dear!–I will kneel here at your feet and lay my head in your lap. You can cover my head with your apron and talk and talk, as if you were entirely alone in the room. I won't move, I won't cry, I will bear all patiently, no matter what may come.

Frau Bergmann

Heaven knows, Wendla, that I am not to blame! Heaven knows it!–Come here in God's name! I will tell you, child, how you came into this world.–Listen to me, Wendla.–

Wendla

(Under the apron.)

I'm listening.

Frau Bergmann

(Extatically.)

But it's no use, child!–I can't justify it. I deserve to be put into prison–to have you taken from me.

Wendla

Take heart, Mother!

Frau Bergmann

Listen, then–!

Wendla

(Trembling under the apron.)

O God! O God!

Frau Bergmann

In order to have a child–do you understand me, Wendla?

Wendla

Quick, Mother, I can't stand it much longer.

Frau Bergmann

In order to have a child–one must love—the man—to whom one is married—love him, I tell you—as one can only love a man! One must love him so much with one's whole heart, so—so that one can't describe it! One must love him, Wendla, as you at your age are still unable to love–Now you know it!

Wendla

(Getting up.)

Great–God–in heaven!

Frau Bergmann

Now you know what an ordeal awaits you!

Wendla

And that is all?

Frau Bergmann

As true as God helps me!–Take your basket now and go to Ina. You will get chocolate and cakes there.–Come, let's look you over, the laced shoes, the silk gloves, the sailor blouse, the rose in your hair—your dress is really becoming much too short for you, Wendla!

Wendla

Did you get meat for lunch, Mother?

Frau Bergmann

The Good God protect and bless you–I will find an opportunity to add a handbreadth of flounces to the bottom.

SCENE THIRD

Hans Rilow

(With a light in his hand, fastens the door behind him and opens the lid.)

“Have you prayed to-night, Desdemona?” (He takes a reproduction of the Venus of Palma Vecchio from his bosom.)–Thou wilt not appear to me after the Our Father, darling,–as in that moment of anticipated bliss when I saw thee contemplatively expectant of someone's coming, lying in Jonathan Schlesinger's shop window–just as enticing as thou art now, with these supple limbs, these softly arched hips, these plump, youthful breasts.–Oh how intoxicated with joy the great master must have been when his glance strayed over the fourteen-year-old original stretched out upon the divan!

Wilt thou not visit me for awhile in my dreams? I will receive thee with widely open arms and will kiss thee until thou art breathless. Thou drawest me onward as the enchanted princess in her deserted castle. Portals and doors open themselves as if by an unseen hand, while the fountain in the park below begins to splash joyously–

“It is the cause!–It is the cause!” The frightful beating in my breast shows thee that I do not murder thee from frivolous emotion. The thought of my lonely nights is strangling me. I swear to thee, child, on my soul, that it is not satiety which rules me. Who could ever boast of being satiated of thee!

But thou suckest the marrow from my bones, thou bendest my back, thou robbest my youthful eyes of their last spark of brilliancy.–Thou art so arrogant toward me in thy inhuman modesty, so galling with thy immovable limbs!–Thou or I! And I have won the victory.

Suppose I count them–all those who sleep, with whom I have fought the same battle here–: Psyche by Thumann—another bequest from the spindle-shanked Mademoiselle Angelique, that rattlesnake in the paradise of my childhood; Io by Corregio; Galathea by Lossow; then a Cupid by Bouguereau; Ada by J. van Beers—that Ada whom I had to abduct from a secret drawer in Papa's secretary in order to incorporate in my harem; a trembling, modest Leda by Makart, whom I found by chance among my brother's college books–seven, thou blooming candidate for death, have preceded thee upon this path to Tartarus. Let that be a consolation unto thee, and seek not to increase my torments at this enormity by that fleeting look.

Thou diest not for thy sins, thou diest on account of mine!–As protection against myself I go to my seventh wife-murder with a bleeding heart. There is something tragic in the rôle of Bluebeard. I believe the combined sufferings of his murdered wives did not equal the torments he underwent each time he strangled one of them.

But my thoughts will become more peaceful, my body will strengthen itself, when thou, thou little devil, residest no longer in the red satin padding of my jewel case. In place of thee, I will indulge in wanton joyousness with Bodenhausen's Lurlei or Linger's Forsaken One, or Defregger's Loni—so I should be all the quicker! But a quarter of a year more, perhaps thy unveiled charms, sweet soul, would begin to consume my poor head as the sun does a pat of butter. It is high time to declare the divorce from bed and board.

Brrr! I feel a Heliogablus within me? Moritura me salutat! Maiden, maiden, why dost thou press thy knees together?–Why now of all times?–In face of the inscrutable eternity?–A movement and I will spare thy life!–A womanly emotion, a sign of passion, of sympathy, maiden!–I will frame thee in gold, and hang thee over my bed! Doest thou not guess that only thy chastity begets my debauchery?–Woe, woe, unto the inhuman ones!–

One always perceives that they received an exemplary education–It is just so with me.

“Have you prayed to-night, Desdemona?”

My heart contracts,–madness!–St. Agnes also died for her reserve and was not half as naked as thou!–Another kiss upon thy blooming body–upon thy childish swelling breast—upon thy sweetly rounded—thy cruel knees–

“It is the cause, it is the cause, my soul, Let me not name it to you, you chaste stars! It is the cause!”–

(The picture falls into the depths, he shuts the lid.)

FOURTH SCENE

A haymow. Melchior lies on his back in the fresh hay. Wendla comes up the ladder

Wendla

Here's where you've hid yourself?–They're all hunting for you. The wagon is outside again. You must help. There's a storm coming up.

Melchior

Go away from me! Go away from me!

Wendla

What's the matter with you?–Why are you hiding your face?

Melchior

Out! out! I'll throw you down on the floor below.

Wendla

Now for certain I'm not going.—(Kneels down by him.) Why won't you come out with me into the meadow, Melchior?–Here it is hot and dark. Suppose we do get wet to the skin, what difference will that make to us!

Melchior

The hay smells so fine.–The sky outside must be as black as a pall–I only see the brilliant poppy on your breast–and I hear your heart beating–

Wendla

Don't kiss me, Melchior!–Don't kiss me!

Melchior

Your heart–I hear beating–

Wendla

People love–when they kiss–Don't, don't!

Melchior

Oh, believe me, there's no such thing as love! Everything is selfishness, everything is egotism!–I love you as little as you love me.

Wendla

Don't–don't, Melchior!–

Melchior

Wendla!

Wendla

Oh, Melchior!–Don't, don't–

FIFTH SCENE

Frau Gabor

(Sits writing.)

Dear Herr Stiefel:—After twenty-four hours of consideration and reconsideration of all you have written me, I take up my pen with a heavy heart. I cannot furnish you with the necessary amount for the voyage to America—I give you my word of honor. In the first place, I have not that much to my credit, and in the second place, if I had, it would be the greatest sin imaginable for me to put into your hands the means of accomplishing such an ill-considered measure. You will be doing me a bitter wrong, Herr Stiefel, if you see a sign of lack of love in my refusal. On the contrary, it would be the greatest neglect of my duty as your motherly friend were I to allow myself to be affected by your temporary lack of determination, so that I also lost my head and blindly followed my first fleeting impulse. I am very ready—in case you desire it—to write to your parents. I should seek to convince your parents that you have done what you could during this quarter, that you have exhausted your strength, that a rigorous judgment of your case would not only be inadvisable, but might be in the greatest degree prejudicial to your mental and bodily health.

That you imply a threat to take your own life in case flight is impossible for you, to speak plainly, has somewhat surprised me. No matter how undeserving is a misfortune, Herr Stiefel, one should never choose improper means to escape it. The way in which you, to whom I have always done only good, want to make me responsible for a possible frightful action on your part, has something about it which, in the eyes of an evil-thinking person, might be misconstrued very easily. I must confess that this outbreak of yours—you who know so well what one owes to oneself—is the last thing for which I was prepared. However, I cherish the strong conviction that you are laboring yet too much under the shock of your first fright to be able to understand completely your action.

And, therefore, I hope with confidence that these words of mine will find you already in better spirits. Take up the matter as it stands. In my opinion it is unwise to judge a young man by his school record. We have too many examples of bad students becoming distinguished men, and, on the other hand, of brilliant students not being at all remarkable in life. At any rate, I can assure you that your misfortune, as far as it lies with me, shall make no difference in your association with Melchior. On the contrary, it will afford me the greatest pleasure to see my son going with a young man who, let the world judge him as it will, is able to win my fullest sympathy.

And, therefore, hold your head high, Herr Stiefel!–Such a crisis as this comes to all of us and will soon be surmounted. If all of us had recourse to dagger or poison in such cases, there would soon be no men left in the world. Let me hear from you right soon again, and accept the heartfelt greetings of your unchanged

Motherly friend,
Fanny G.

SCENE SIXTH

Bergmann's garden in the morning sunlight

Wendla

Why have you slipped out of the room?–To hunt violets!–Because Mother seems to laugh at me.–Why can't you bring your lips together any more?–I don't know.–Indeed I don't know, I can't find words–The path is like a velvet carpet, no pebbles, no thorns.–My feet don't touch the ground.–Oh, how I slept last night!

Here they are.–I become as grave as a nun at communion.–Sweet violets!–Peace, little mother, I will put on my long dress.–Oh God, if somebody would come upon whose neck I could fall and tell!

SCENE SEVEN

Evening twilight. Light clouds in the sky. The path straggles through low bushes and coarse grass. The flow of the stream is heard in the distance.

Moritz

Better and better.–I am not fit. Another may be able to climb to the top. I pull the door to behind me and step into the open.–I don't care enough about it to let myself be turned back.

I haven't succeeded in forcing my way. How shall I force my way now!–I have no contract with God. Let them make out of the thing what they will. I have been forced.–I do not hold my parents answerable. At the same time, the worst must fall upon them. They were old enough to know what they were doing. I was a weakling when I came into the world–or else I would have been wise enough to become another being. Why should I be forced to pay for the fact that the others were here already!

I must have fallen on my head–If anybody makes me a present of a mad dog I'll give him back a mad dog. And if he won't take back his mad dog, then I am human and–

I must have fallen on my head!

Man is born by chance and should not, after mature consideration–It is to shoot oneself dead!

The weather at least has shown itself considerate. The whole day it looked like rain and yet it has held off.–A rare peace rules in nature. Nowhere anything dazzling, exciting. Heaven and earth are like a transparent fabric. And everything seems so happy. The landscape is as sweet as the melody of a lullaby.–“Sleep, little prince, sleep on,” as Fräulein Snandulia sang. It's a shame she holds her elbows so awkwardly!–I danced for the last time at the Cäcilienfest. Snandulia only dances with good matches.–Her silk dress was cut low in front and in the back. In the back, down to her girdle and in the front down–unconscionably low.–She couldn't have worn a chemise.–That might be something able to affect me yet.–More than half curiosity.–It must be a wonderful sensation–a feeling as if one were being carried through the rapids–I should never tell anybody that I was experiencing something untried before–I would act as if I had done it all.—There is something shameful in growing up to be a man without having learned the chief function of masculinity.–You come from Egypt, honorable sir, and have not seen the pyramids?!

I will not cry again to-day. I will not think of my burial again.–Melchior will lay a wreath on my coffin. Pastor Kahlbauch will console my parents. Rector Sonnenstich will cite examples from history.–It is possible that I shall not have a tombstone. I had wanted a snow-white marble urn on a pedestal of black syenite.–Thank God, I shall not miss them. Monuments are for the living, not for the dead.

I should need a whole year to say farewell to everything in my thoughts. I will not cry again. I am so happy to be able to look back without bitterness. How many beautiful evenings I have passed with Melchior!–under the osiers; at the forester's house; on the highway where the five lindens stand; on the Schlossberg, among the restful ruins of the Runenburg.–When the hour comes, I will think with all my might of whipped cream. Whipped cream doesn't stay firm. It falls and leaves a pleasant after-taste.–I had thought men were infinitely worse. I haven't found one who didn't want to do his best. Many have suffered with me on my own account.

I wander to the altar like the ancient Etrurian youth whose dying rattle bought his brothers' prosperity for the coming year.–I experience bit by bit the mysterious awe of liberation. I sob with sorrow over my lot.–Life has turned its cold shoulder to me. I see earnest, friendly glances luring me there in the distance, the headless queen, the headless queen—compassion awaiting me with open arms–Your commands concern minors; I carry my free ticket in myself. If the shell sinks, the butterfly flits from it; the delusion no longer holds.–You should drive no mad bargain with the swindle! The mists close in; life is bitter on the tongue.

Ilse

(In torn clothing, a bright cloth about her head, grabs him by the shoulder from behind.)

What have you lost?

Moritz

Ilse!

Ilse

What are you hunting here?

Moritz

Why did you frighten me so?

Ilse

What are you hunting?–What have you lost?

Moritz

Why did you frighten me so fearfully?

Ilse

I'm coming from town.–I'm going home.

Moritz

I don't know what I've lost.

Ilse

Then seeking won't help you.

Moritz

Sakerment, sakerment!

Ilse

I haven't been home for four days.

Moritz

Restless as a cat!

Ilse

Because I have on my dancing slippers–Mother will make eyes!–Come to our house with me!

Moritz

Where have you been strolling again?

Ilse

With the Priapia!

Moritz

Priapia?

Ilse

With Nohl, with Fehrendorf, with Padinsky, with Lenz, Rank, Spühler—with all of them possible! Kling, kling–things were lively!

Moritz

Do they paint you?

Ilse

Fehrendorf painted me as a pillar saint. I am standing on a Corinthian capital. Fehrendorf, I tell you, is a gibbering idiot. The last time, I trod on one of his tubes. He wiped his brush on my hair. I fetched him a box on the ear. He threw his palette at my head. I upset the easel. He chased me all about the studio, over divans, tables and chairs, with his mahlstick. Behind the stove stood a sketch;–Be good or I'll tear it! He swore amnesty, and—and then kissed me promptly and frightfully, frightfully, I tell you.

Moritz

Where do you spend the night when you stop in town?

Ilse

Yesterday we were at Nohl's.–The day before with Bojokewitsch—Sunday with Oikonomopulos. We had champagne at Padinsky's. Valabregez had sold his “Woman Dead of the Pest.” Adolar drank out of the ash tray. Lenz sang the “Child's Murderer,” and Adolar pounded the guitar out of shape. I was so drunk they had to put me to bed.–Do you go to school yet, Moritz?

Moritz

No, no,–I take my leave of it this quarter.

Ilse

You are right. Ah, how time passes when one earns money!–Do you remember how we used to play robbers?–Wendla Bergmann and you and I and the others, when you used to come out in the evening and drink warm goat's milk at our house?–What is Wendla doing? I haven't seen her since the flood–What is Melchi Gabor doing?–Does he seem as deep thinking as ever?–We used to stand opposite each other during singing.

Moritz

He philosophizes.

Ilse

Wendla came to see us a while ago and brought Mother some presents. I sat that day for Isidor Landauer. He needed me for the Holy Mary, the Mother of God, with the Christ Child. He is a ninny and disagreeable. Hu, like a weathercock!–Have you a katzenjammer?

Moritz

From last night!–We soaked like hippopotami. I staggered home at five o'clock.

Ilse

One need only to look at you.–Were there any girls there?

Moritz

Arabella, the beer nymph, an Andalusian. The landlord let all of us spend the whole night alone with her.

Ilse

One only need look at you, Moritz!–I don't know what a katzenjammer's like. During the last carnival I went three days and three nights without going to bed or taking my clothes off. From the ball to the café, noon at Bellavista; evenings, Tingle-Tangle; night, to the ball. Lena was there, and the fat Viola.–The third night Heinrich found me.

Moritz

Had he been looking for you?

Ilse

He tripped over my arm. I lay senseless in the snow in the street.–That's how I went with him. For fourteen days I didn't leave his lodgings–a dreadful time! In the morning I had to throw on his Persian nightgown and in the evening go about the room in the black costume of a page; white lace ruffles at my neck, my knees and my wrists. Every day he photographed me in some new arrangement–once on the sofa as Ariadne, once as Leda, once as Ganymede, once on all fours as a feminine Nebuchadnezzar. Then he longed for murder, for shooting, suicide and coal gas. Early in the morning he brought a pistol into bed, loaded it full of shot and put it against my breast! A twitch and I'll pull!–Oh, he would have fired, Moritz, he would have fired!–Then he put the thing in his mouth like a blow-pipe.–That awoke the feeling of self-preservation. And then–brrr!–the shot might have gone through my spine.

Moritz

Is Heinrich living yet?

Ilse

How do I know!–Over the bed was a large mirror set into the ceiling. The room seemed as high as a tower and as bright as an opera house. One saw one's self hanging down bodily from heaven. I had frightful dreams at night–O God, O God, if it were only day!–Good-night, Ilse, when you are asleep you will be pretty to murder!

Moritz

Is this Heinrich living yet?

Ilse

Please God, no!–One day, when he went for absinthe, I put on the mantle and ran out into the street. The carnival was over; the police arrested me; what was I doing in man's clothes?–They took me to the Central Station. Nohl, Fehrendorf, Padinsky, Spühler, Oikonomopulos, the whole Priapia came there and bailed me out. They transported me in a cab to Adolar's studio. Since then I've been true to the herd. Fehrendorf is an ape, Nohl is a pig, Bojokewitsch an owl, Loison a hyena, Oikonomopulos a camel–therefore I love one and all of them the same and wouldn't attach myself to anyone else, even if the world were full of archangels and millionaires!