The First Warning
(Första Varningen)
A Comedy in One Act
1893
CHARACTERS
The HUSBAND, thirty-seven (Axel Brunner)
The WIFE, thirty-six (Olga Brunner)
ROSE, fifteen
The BARONESS, her mother, forty-seven
A MAID
The scene is laid in Germany, about 1890.
A German dining-room, with a rectangular dinner-table occupying the middle of the floor. A huge wardrobe stands at the right. There is an oven of glazed bricks.
The door in the background stands open, disclosing a landscape with vineyards, above which appears a church spire.
At the left is a door papered like the rest of the wait. A travelling-bag is placed on a chair by the wardrobe.
The WIFE is writing at the table, on which lie a bunch of flowers and a pair of gloves.
HUSBAND. [Entering] Good morning—although it’s noon already. Did you sleep well?
WIFE. Splendidly, considering the circumstances.
HUSBAND. Yes, we might have broken away a little earlier from that party last night....
WIFE. I seem to remember that you made the same remark a number of times during the night....
HUSBAND. [Playing with the flowers] Do you really remember that much?
WIFE. I remember also that you got mad because I sang too much.... Please don’t spoil my flowers!
HUSBAND. Which previously belonged to the Captain, I suppose?
WIFE. Yes, and which probably belonged to the gardener before the florist got them. But now they are mine.
HUSBAND. [Throwing away the flowers] It’s a nice habit they have in this place—of sending flowers to other people’s wives.
WIFE. I think it would have been well for you to go to bed a little earlier.
HUSBAND. I am perfectly convinced that the Captain was of the same opinion. But as my one choice was to stay and be made ridiculous, or go home alone and be made equally ridiculous, I preferred to stay....
WIFE.... And make yourself ridiculous.
HUSBAND. Can you explain why you care to be the wife of a ridiculous man? I should never care to be the husband of a ridiculous woman.
WIFE. You are to be pitied!
HUSBAND. Right you are. Frequently I have thought so myself. But do you know what is the most tragical feature of my ridiculousness?
WIFE. I am sure your own answer will be much cleverer than any one I could give.
HUSBAND. It is—that I am in love with my wife after fifteen years of marriage....
WIFE. Fifteen years! Have you begun to use a pedometer?
HUSBAND. For the measurement of my thorny path, you mean? No. But you, who are dancing on roses, might do well in counting your steps To me you are still as young as ever—unfortunately—while my own hair is turning grey. But as we are of the same age, my looks should tell you that you must be growing old yourself....
WIFE. And that is what you are waiting for?
HUSBAND. Exactly. How many times have I not wished that you were old and ugly, that you were pock-marked, that your teeth were gone, just to have you to myself and be rid of this worry which never leaves me!
WIFE. How charming! And once you had me old and ugly, then everything would be so very peaceful until you began to worry about somebody else, and I was left to enjoy all that peace alone, by myself.
HUSBAND. No!
WIFE. Yes! It has been well proved that your love loses its fervour the moment you have no reason to be jealous. Do you remember last summer, when there was not a soul on that island but we two? You were away all day, fishing, hunting, getting up an appetite, putting on flesh—and developing a self-assurance that was almost insulting.
HUSBAND. And yet I recall being jealous—of the hired man.
WIFE. Merciful Heavens!
HUSBAND. Yes, I noticed that you couldn’t give him an order without making conversation; that you couldn’t send him out to cut some wood without first having inquired about the state of his health, his future prospects, and his love-affairs.... You are blushing, I think?
WIFE. Because I am ashamed of you....
HUSBAND... Who....
WIFE.... Have no sense of shame whatever.
HUSBAND. Yes, so you say. But will you please tell me why you hate me?
WIFE. I don’t hate you. I simply despise you! Why? Probably for the same reason that makes me despise all men as soon as they—what do you call it?—are in love with me. I am like that, and I can’t tell why.
HUSBAND. So I have observed, and my warmest wish has been that I might hate you, so that you might love me. Woe is the man who loves his own wife!
WIFE. Yes, you are to be pitied, and so am I, but what can be done?
HUSBAND. Nothing. We have roved and roamed for seven years, hoping that some circumstance, some chance, might bring about a change. I have tried to fall in love with others, and have failed. In the meantime your eternal contempt and my own continued ridiculousness have stripped me of all courage, all faith in myself, all power to act. Six times I have run away from you—and now I shall make my seventh attempt. [He rises and picks up the travelling-bag.
WIFE. So those little trips of yours were attempts to run away?
HUSBAND. Futile attempts! The last time I got as far as Genoa. I went to the galleries, but saw no pictures—only you. I went to the opera, but heard nobody—only your voice back of every note. I went to a Pompeian café, and the one woman that pleased me looked like you—or seemed to do so later.
WIFE. [Revolted] You have visited places of that kind?
HUSBAND. Yes, that far have I been carried by my love—and by my virtue, which has embarrassed me by making me ridiculous.
WIFE. That’s the end of everything between us two!
HUSBAND. So I suppose, as I can’t make you jealous.
WIFE. No, I don’t know what it is to be jealous—not even of Rose, who loves you to distraction.
HUSBAND. How ungrateful of me not to notice it! On the other hand, I have had my suspicions of the old Baroness, who is all the time finding excuses for visiting that big wardrobe over there. But as she is our landlady, and the furniture belongs to her, I may be mistaken as to the motive that makes our rooms so attractive to her.... Now I’ll get dressed, and in half an hour I shall be gone—without any farewells, if you please!
WIFE. You seem rather afraid of farewells.
HUSBAND. Particularly when you are concerned in them!
He goes out. The WIFE remains alone a few moments. Then ROSE enters. She is carelessly dressed, and her hair is down. A scarf wrapped about her head and covering her cheeks and chin indicates toothache. There is a hole on the left sleeve of her dress, which ends half-way between her knees and her ankles.
WIFE. Well, Rose!—What’s the matter, child?
ROSE. Good morning, Mrs. Brunner. I have such a toothache that I wish I were dead!
WIFE. Poor little thing!
ROSE. To-morrow is the Corpus Christi festival, and I was to walk in the procession—and to-day I should be binding my wreath of roses, and Mr. Axel has promised to help me with it.... Oh, those teeth!
WIFE. Let me see if there are any signs of decay—open your mouth now!—What wonderful teeth you have! Perfect pearls, my dear child! [She kisses ROSE on the mouth.
ROSE. [Annoyed] You mustn’t kiss me, Mrs. Olga! You mustn’t! I don’t want it! [She climbs up on the table and puts her feet on one of the chairs] Really, I don’t know what I want! I should have liked to go to that party yesterday—but I was forced to stay at home all by myself in order to get my lessons done—just as if I were nothing but a child—and then I have to sit on the same bench with those kids! But all the same I won’t let the Captain chuck me under the chin any longer, for I am no child! No, I am not! And if my mother tries to pull my hair again—I don’t know what I’ll do to her!
WIFE. What’s the matter, my dear Rose? What has happened, anyhow?
ROSE. I don’t know what is the matter, but I have shooting pains in my head and in my teeth, and I feel as if I had a red-hot iron in my back—and I am disgusted with life. I should like to drown myself. I should like to run away, and go from one fair to another, and sing, and be insulted by all sorts of impudent fellows....
WIFE. Listen, Rose! Listen to me now!
ROSE. I wish I had a baby! Oh, I wish it were not such an awful shame to have a baby! Oh, Mrs. Olga [She catches sight of the travelling-bag] Who is going away?
WIFE. My... my husband.
ROSE. Then you have been nasty to him again, Mrs. Olga.—Where is he going? Is he going far away? When will he be back?
WIFE. I—I know nothing at all!
ROSE. Oh, you don’t? Haven’t you asked him even? [She begins to ransack the bag] But I—I can see that he is going far away, because here is his passport. Very far, I am sure! How far, do you think?—Oh, Mrs. Olga, why can’t you be nice to him, when he is so kind to you?
[She throws herself weeping into the arms of Mrs. Brunner.
WIFE. Now, now, my dear child! Poor little girl—is she crying? Poor, innocent heart!
ROSE. I like Mr. Axel so much!
WIFE. And you are not ashamed of saying so to his own wife? And you want me to console you—you, who are my little rival?—Well, have a good cry, my dear child. That helps a whole lot.
ROSE. [Tearing herself away] No! If I don’t want to cry, I don’t have to! And if it suits me to pick up what you are throwing away, I’ll do so!—I don’t ask any one’s permission to like anybody or anything!
WIFE. Well, well, well! But are you so sure that he likes you?
ROSE. [Throwing herself into the elder woman’s arms again, weeping] No, I am not.
WIFE. [Tenderly, as if talking to a baby] And now perhaps you want me to ask Mr. Axel to like you? Is that what Mrs. Olga has to do?
ROSE. [Weeping] Ye-es!—And he mustn’t go away! He mustn’t!—Please be nice to him, Mrs. Olga! Then he won’t go away.
WIFE. What in the world am I going to do, you little silly?
ROSE. I don’t know. But you might let him kiss you as much as he wishes.... I was watching you in the garden the other day, when he wanted, and you didn’t—and then I thought....
BARONESS. [Entering] Sorry to disturb you, madam, but with your permission I should like to get into the wardrobe.
WIFE. [Rising] You’re perfectly welcome, Baroness.
BARONESS. Oh, there is Rose.—So you are up again, and I thought you were in bed!—Go back to your lessons at once.
ROSE. But you know, mamma, we have no school to-morrow because of the festival.
BARONESS. You had better go anyhow, and don’t bother Mr. and Mrs. Brunner all the time.
WIFE. [Edging toward the door in the background] Oh, Rose is not bothering us at all. We couldn’t be better friends than we are.... We were just going into the garden to pick some flowers, and then we meant to try on the white dress Rose is to wear to-morrow.
ROSE. [Disappears through the door in the background with a nod of secret understanding to the WIFE] Thank you!
BARONESS. You are spoiling Rose fearfully.
WIFE. A little kindness won’t spoil anybody, and least of all a girl like Rose, who has a remarkable heart and a head to match it.
The BARONESS is digging around in the wardrobe for something. The WIFE stands in the doorway in the rear. Entering by the door at the left with a number of packages, the HUSBAND exchanges a glance of mutual understanding with his wife. Then hath watch the BARONESS smilingly for a moment. At last the WIFE goes out, and the HUSBAND begins to put his packages into the travelling-bag.
BARONESS. Pardon me for disturbing you.... I’ll be through in a moment....
HUSBAND. Please don’t mind me, Baroness.
BARONESS. [Emerging from the wardrobe] Are you going away again, Mr. Brunner?
HUSBAND. I am.
BARONESS. Far?
HUSBAND. Perhaps—and perhaps not.
BARONESS. Don’t you know?
HUSBAND. I never know anything about my own fate after having placed it in the hands of another person.
BARONESS. Will you pardon me a momentary impertinence, Mr. Brunner?
HUSBAND. That depends.... You are very friendly with my wife, are you not?
BARONESS. As friendly as two women can be with each other. But my age, my experience of life, my temperament.... [She checks herself abruptly] However—I have seen that you are unhappy, and as I have suffered in the same way myself, I know that nothing but time will cure your disease.
HUSBAND. Is it really I who am diseased? Is not my behaviour quite normal? And is not my suffering caused by seeing other people behave abnormally or—pathologically?
BARONESS. I was married to a man whom I loved.... Yes, you smile! You think a woman cannot love because.... But I did love him, and he loved me, and yet—he loved others, too. I suffered from jealousy so that—so that—I made myself insufferable. He went into the war—being an officer, you know—and he has never returned. I was told that he had been killed, but his body was never found, and now I imagine that he is alive and bound to another woman.—Think of it! I am still jealous of my dead husband. At night I see him in my dreams together with that other woman.... Have you ever known torments like that, Mr. Brunner?
HUSBAND. You may be sure I have!—But what makes you think that he is still alive?
[He begins to arrange his things in the travelling-bag.
BARONESS. A number of circumstances combined to arouse my suspicions at one time, but for years nothing happened to revive them. Then you came here four months ago, and, as a strange fate would have it, I noticed at once a strong resemblance between you and my husband. It served me as a reminder. And as my dreams took on flesh and blood, so to speak, my old suspicions turned into certainty, and now I really believe that he is alive? I am in a constant torment of jealousy—and that has enabled me to understand you.
HUSBAND. [Becoming attentive, after having listened for a while with apparent indifference] You say that I resemble your husband.—Won’t you be seated, Baroness?
BARONESS. [Sits down at the table with her back to the public; the HUSBAND takes a chair beside her] He looked like you, and—barring certain weaknesses—his character also....
HUSBAND. He was about ten years older than I.... And he had a scar on his right cheek that looked as if it had been made by a needle....
BARONESS. That’s right!
HUSBAND. Then I met your husband one night in London.
BARONESS. Is he alive?
HUSBAND. I have to figure it out—for the moment I can’t tell.... Let’s see! That was five years ago—in London, as I told you. I had been to a party—men and women—and the atmosphere had been rather depressed. On leaving the place, I joined the first man who gave me a chance to unburden myself. We were en rapport at once, and our chat developed into one of those endless sidewalk conversations, during which he let me have his entire history—having first found out that I came from his own district.
BARONESS. Then he is alive?...
HUSBAND. He was not killed in the war—that much is certain—because he was taken prisoner. Then he fell in love with the mayor’s daughter, ran away with her to England, was deserted by his fair lady, and began to gamble—with constant bad luck. When we separated in the morning hours, he gave me the impression of being doomed. He made me promise that if chance should ever put you in my way after a year had gone by, and provided that he had not in the meantime communicated with me by advertisement in a newspaper I am always reading, I was to consider him dead. And when I met you, I was to kiss you on the hand, and your daughter on the brow, saying on his behalf: “Forgive!”
As he kisses the hand of the BARONESS, ROSE appears on the veranda, outside the open door, and watches them with evident excitement.
BARONESS. [Agitated] Then he is dead?
HUSBAND. Yes, and I should have given you his message a little more promptly, if I had not long ago forgotten the man’s name as well as the man himself. [The BARONESS is pulling at her handkerchief, apparently unable to decide what to say or do] Do you feel better now?
BARONESS. Yes, in a way, but all hope is gone, too.
HUSBAND. The hope of suffering those sweet torments again....
BARONESS. Besides my girl, I had nothing to interest me but my anxiety.... How strange it is that even suffering can be missed!
HUSBAND. You’ll have to pardon me, but I do think that you miss your jealousy more than your lost husband.
BARONESS. Perhaps—because my jealousy was the invisible tie connecting me with that image of my dreams.... And now, when I have nothing left [She takes hold of his hand] You, who have brought me his last message—you, who are a living reminder of him, and who have suffered like me....
HUSBAND. [Becomes restless, rises and looks at his watch] Pardon me, but I have to take the next train—really, I must!
BARONESS. I was going to ask you not to do so. Why should you go? Don’t you feel at home here?
ROSE disappears from the veranda.
HUSBAND. Your house has brought me some of the best hours I have experienced during these stormy years, and I leave you with the greatest regret—but I must Baroness. On account of what happened last night?
HUSBAND. Not that alone—it was merely the last straw.... And now I must pack, if you’ll pardon me.
[He turns his attention to the travelling-bag again.
BARONESS. If your decision is irrevocable.... won’t you let me help you, as no one else is doing so?
HUSBAND. I thank you ever so much, my dear Baroness, but I am almost done.... And I shall ask you to make our leave-taking less painful by making it short.... In the midst of all trouble, your tender cares have been a sweet consolation to me, and I find it almost as painful to part from you as—[The BARONESS looks deeply moved]—from a good mother. I have read compassion in your glances, even when discretion compelled you to remain silent, and I have thought at times that your presence tended to improve my domestic happiness—as your age permitted you to say things that a younger woman would not like to hear from one of her own generation....
BARONESS. [With some hesitation] You must forgive me for saying that your wife is no longer young....
HUSBAND. In my eyes she is.
BARONESS. But not in the eyes of the world.
HUSBAND. So much the better, although, on the other hand, I find her coquetry the more disgusting the less her attractions correspond to her pretensions—and if a moment comes when they begin to laugh at her....
BARONESS. They are doing so already.
HUSBAND. Really? Poor Olga! [He looks thoughtful; then, as a single stroke of a bell is heard from the church tower outside, he pulls himself together] The clock struck. I must leave in half an hour.
BARONESS. But you cannot leave without your breakfast.
HUSBAND. I am not hungry. As always, when starting on a journey, I am so excited that my nerves tremble like telephone wires in very cold weather....
BARONESS. Then I’ll make you a cup of coffee. You’ll let me do that, won’t you? And I’ll send up the maid to help you pack.
HUSBAND. Your kindness is so great, Baroness, that I fear being tempted into weaknesses that I should have to regret later on.
BARONESS. You would never regret following my advice—if you only would! [She goes out.
The HUSBAND remains alone for a few moments. Then ROSE enters from the rear with a basketful of roses.
HUSBAND. Good morning, Miss Rose. What’s the matter?
ROSE. Why?
HUSBAND. Why.... Because you have your head wrapped up like that.
ROSE. [Tearing off the scarf and hiding it within her dress] There is nothing the matter with me. I am perfectly well. Are you going away?
HUSBAND. Yes, I am.
The MAID enters.
ROSE. What do you want?
MAID. The Baroness said I should help Mr. Brunner to pack.
ROSE. It isn’t necessary. You can go!
The MAID hesitates.
ROSE. Go, I tell you!
The MAID goes out.
HUSBAND. Isn’t that rather impolite to me, Miss Rose?
ROSE. No, it is not. I wanted to help you myself. But you are impolite when you run away from your promise to help me with the flowers for to-morrow’s festival. Not that I care a bit—as I am not going to the festival to-morrow, because—I don’t know where I may be to-morrow.
HUSBAND. What does that mean?
ROSE. Can’t I help you with something, Mr. Axel? Won’t you let me brush your hat?
[She picks up his hat and begins to brush it.
HUSBAND. No, I can’t let you do that, Miss Rose.
[He tries to take the hat away from her.
ROSE. Let me alone! [She puts her fingers into the hole on her sleeve and tears it open] There, now! You tore my dress!
HUSBAND. You are so peculiar to-day, Miss Rose, and I think your restiveness is troubling your mother.
ROSE. Well, what do I care? I am glad if it troubles her, although I suppose that will hurt you. But I don’t care any more for you than I care for the cat in the kitchen or the rats in the cellar. And if I were your wife, I should despise you, and go so far away that you could never find me again!—You should be ashamed of kissing another woman! Shame on you!
HUSBAND. Oh, you saw me kissing your mother’s hand, did you? Then I must tell you that it was nothing but a final greeting from your father, whom I met abroad after you had seen him for the last time. And I have a greeting for you, too....
He goes to ROSE and puts his hands about her head in order to kiss her brow, but ROSE throws her head back so that her lips meet his. At that moment the WIFE appears on the veranda, shrinks back at what she sees and disappears again.
HUSBAND. My dear child, I meant only to give you an innocent kiss on the brow.
ROSE. Innocent? Ha-ha! Yes, very innocent!—And you believe those fairy-tales mother tells about father, who died several years ago! That was a man, I tell you, who knew how to love, and who dared to make love! He didn’t tremble at the thought of a kiss, and he didn’t wait until he was asked! If you won’t believe me, come with me into the attic, and I’ll let you read the letters he wrote to his mistresses.... Come! [She opens the papered door, so that the stairs leading to the attic become visible] Ha-ha-ha! You’re afraid that I am going to seduce you, and you look awfully surprised... surprised because a girl like me, who has been a woman for three years, knows that there is nothing innocent about love! Do you imagine that I think children are born through the ear? Now I can see that you despise me, but you shouldn’t do that, for I am neither worse nor better than anybody else.... I am like this!
HUSBAND. Go and change your dress before your mother comes, Miss Rose.
ROSE. Do you think I have such ugly arms? Or don’t you dare to look at them?—Now I think I know why why your wife why you are so jealous of your wife!
HUSBAND. Well, if that isn’t the limit!
ROSE. Look at him blush! On my behalf, or on your own? Do you know how many times I have been in love?
HUSBAND. Never!
ROSE. Never with a bashful fellow like you!—Tell me, does that make you despise me again?
HUSBAND. A little!—Take care of your heart, and don’t put it where the birds can pick at it, and where it gets—dirty. You call yourself a woman, but you are a very young woman—a girl, in other words....
ROSE. And for that reason just for that reason.... But I can become a woman....
HUSBAND. Until you have—I think we had better postpone conversations of this kind. Shake hands on that, Miss Rose!
ROSE. [With tears of anger] Never! Never! Oh, you!
HUSBAND. Are we not going to part as friends—we who have had so many pleasant days together during the gloomy winter and the slow spring?
WIFE. [Enters, carrying a tray with the coffee things on it; she seems embarrassed and pretends not to notice ROSE] I thought you might have time to drink a nice cup of coffee before you leave. [ROSE tries to take the tray away from her] No, my little girl, I can attend to this myself.
HUSBAND. [Watching his wife in a questioning and somewhat ironic manner] That was an excellent idea of yours....
WIFE. [Evading his glance] I am glad... that....
ROSE. Perhaps I had better say good-bye now—to Mr. Brunner....
HUSBAND. So you mean to desert me now, Miss Rose....
ROSE. I suppose I must... because... your wife is angry with me.
WIFE. I? Why in the world....
ROSE. You promised to try on my dress....
WIFE. Not at this time, child. You can see that I have other things to do now. Or perhaps you wish to keep my husband company while I get the dress ready?
HUSBAND. Olga!
WIFE. What is it?
ROSE puts her fingers into her mouth, looking at once embarrassed and angry.
WIFE. You had better dress decently, my dear young lady, if you are to go with us to the train.
ROSE remains as before.
WIFE. And suppose you take your flowers with you, if there is to be any demonstration....
HUSBAND. That’s cruel, Olga!
ROSE. [Dropping a curtsey] Good-bye, Mr. Brunner.
HUSBAND. [Shaking hands with her] Good-bye, Miss Rose. I hope you will be happy, and that you will be a big girl soon-a very big girl.
ROSE. [Picking up her flowers] Good-bye, Mrs. Brunner. [As she gets no answer] Good-bye! [She runs out.
HUSBAND and WIFE look equally embarrassed; she tries to avoid looking him in the face.
WIFE. Can I be of any help?
HUSBAND. No, thank you, I am practically done.
WIFE. And there are so many others to help you.
HUSBAND. Let me have a look at you!
[He tries to take hold of her head.
WIFE. [Escaping him] No, leave me alone.
HUSBAND. What is it?
WIFE. Perhaps you think that I am—that I am jealous?
HUSBAND. I think so when you say it, but I could never have believed it before.
WIFE. Of a schoolgirl like that—ugh!
HUSBAND. The character of the object seems immaterial in cases of this kind. I felt jealous of a hired man You saw, then, that....
WIFE. That you kissed her!
HUSBAND. No, it was she who kissed me.
WIFE. How shameless! But minxes like her are regular apes!
HUSBAND. Yes, they take after the grown-up people.
WIFE. You seem to be pleased by her attentions anyhow.
HUSBAND. Little used as I am to such attentions....
WIFE. On the part of young ladies, perhaps—but you seem less timid with the old ones....
HUSBAND. You saw that, too, did you?
WIFE. No, but Rose told me. Apparently you are quite a lady-killer.
HUSBAND. So it seems. It’s too bad that I can’t profit by it.
WIFE. You’ll soon be free to choose a younger and prettier wife.
HUSBAND. I am not aware of any such freedom.
WIFE. Now when I am old and ugly!
HUSBAND. I can’t make out what has happened. Let me have another look at you. [He comes close to her.
WIFE. [Hiding her face at his bosom] You mustn’t look at me!
HUSBAND. What in the world does this mean? You are not jealous of a little schoolgirl or an old widow....
WIFE. I have broken—one of my front teeth. Please don’t look at me!
HUSBAND. Oh, you child!—With pain comes the first tooth, and with pain the first one goes.
WIFE. And now you’ll leave me, of course?
HUSBAND. Not on your life! [Closing the bag with a snap] To-morrow we’ll start for Augsburg to get you a new tooth of gold.
WIFE. But we’ll never come back here.
HUSBAND. Not if you say so.
WIFE. And now your fears are gone?
HUSBAND. Yes—for another week.
BARONESS. [Enters carrying a tray; looks very embarrassed at seeing them together] Excuse me, but I thought....
HUSBAND. Thank you, Baroness, I have had coffee already, but for your sake I’ll have another cup. And if you—[ROSE, dressed in white, appears in the doorway at that moment] and Miss Rose care to keep us company, we have no objection. On the contrary, nothing could please us better, as my wife and I are leaving on the first train to-morrow morning.
Curtain.