Fifty Contemporary One-Act Plays
Chapter 152 : ADOLF. I'll kiss your hand, if only you won't speak to me any more.THEKLA. A

ADOLF. I'll kiss your hand, if only you won't speak to me any more.

THEKLA. And now you'll go out and get some fresh air before dinner.

ADOLF [_getting up_]. Yes, that will do me good, and afterwards we'll pack up and go away.

THEKLA. No.

[_She moves away from him up to the fireplace on the right._]

ADOLF. Why not? You must have some reason.

THEKLA. The simple reason that I've arranged to be at the reception this evening.

ADOLF. That's it, is it?

THEKLA. That's it right enough. I've promised to be there.

ADOLF. Promised? You probably said that you'd try to come; it doesn't prevent you from explaining that you have given up your intention.

THEKLA. No, I'm not like you: my word is binding on me.

ADOLF. One's word can be binding without one being obliged to respect every casual thing one lets fall in conversation; or did somebody make you promise that you'd go? In that case, you can ask him to release you because your husband is ill.

THEKLA. No, I've no inclination to do so. And, besides, you're not so ill that you can't quite well come along too.

ADOLF. Why must I always come along too? Does it contribute to your greater serenity?

THEKLA. I don't understand what you mean.

ADOLF. That's what you always say when you know I mean something which you don't like.

THEKLA. Re-a-lly? And why shouldn't I like it?

ADOLF. Stop! stop! Don't start all over again--good-by for the present--I'll be back soon; I hope that in the meanwhile you'll have thought better of it.

[_Exit through the central door and then toward the right. Thekla accompanies him to the back of the stage. Gustav enters, after a pause, from the right._]

SCENE III.

[_Gustav goes straight up to the table on the left and takes up a paper without apparently seeing Thekla._]

THEKLA [_starts, then controls herself_]. You?

[_She comes forward._]

GUSTAV. It's me--excuse me.

THEKLA [_on his left_]. Where do you come from?

GUSTAV. I came by the highroad, but--I won't stay on here after seeing that--

THEKLA. Oh, you stay--Well, it's a long time.

GUSTAV. You're right, a very long time.

THEKLA. You've altered a great deal, Gustav.

GUSTAV. But you, on the other hand, my dear Thekla, are still quite as fascinating as ever--almost younger, in fact. Please forgive me. I wouldn't for anything disturb your happiness by my presence. If I'd known that you were staying here I would never have--

THEKLA. Please--please, stay. It may be that you find it painful.

GUSTAV. It's all right as far as I'm concerned. I only thought--that whatever I said I should always have to run the risk of wounding you.

THEKLA [_pa.s.ses in front of him toward the right_]. Sit down for a moment, Gustav; you don't wound me, because you have the unusual gift--which always distinguished you--of being subtle and tactful.

GUSTAV. You're too kind; but how on earth can one tell if--your husband would regard me in the same light that you do.

THEKLA. Quite the contrary. Why, he's just been expressing himself with the utmost sympathy with regard to you.

GUSTAV. Ah! Yes, everything dies away, even the names which we cut on the tree's bark--not even malice can persist for long in these temperaments of ours.

THEKLA. He's never entertained malice against you--why, he doesn't know you at all--and, so far as I'm concerned, I always entertained the silent hope that I would live to see the time in which you would approach each other as friends--or at least meet each other in my presence, shake hands, and part.

GUSTAV. It was also my secret desire to see the woman whom I loved more than my life in really good hands, and, as a matter of fact, I've only heard the very best account of him, while I know all his work as well.

All the same, I felt the need of pressing his hand before I grew old, looking him in the face, and asking him to preserve the treasure which providence had entrusted to him, and at the same time I wanted to extinguish the hate which was burning inside me, quite against my will, and I longed to find peace of soul and resignation, so as to be able to finish in quiet that dismal portion of my life which is still left me.

THEKLA. Your words come straight from your heart; you have understood me, Gustav--thanks.

[_She holds out her hand._]

GUSTAV. Ah, I'm a petty man. Too insignificant to allow of your thriving in my shadow. Your temperament, with its thirst for freedom, could not be satisfied by my monotonous life, the slavish routine to which I was condemned, the narrow circle in which I had to move. I appreciate that, but you understand well enough--you who are such an expert psychologist--what a struggle it must have cost me to acknowledge that to myself.

THEKLA. How n.o.ble, how great to acknowledge one's weaknesses so frankly--it's not all men who can bring themselves to that point.

[_She sighs._] But you are always an honest character, straight and reliable--which I knew how to respect,--but--

GUSTAV. I wasn't--not then, but suffering purges, care enn.o.bles and--and--I have suffered.

THEKLA [_comes nearer to him_]. Poor Gustav, can you forgive me, can you? Tell me.

GUSTAV. Forgive? What? It is I who have to ask you for forgiveness.

THEKLA [_striking another key_]. I do believe that we're both crying--though we're neither of us chickens.

GUSTAV [_softly sliding into another tone_]. Chickens, indeed! I'm an old man, but you--you're getting younger every day.

THEKLA. Do you mean it?

GUSTAV. And how well you know how to dress!