*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 79218 *** STEWART KIDD MODERN PLAYS Edited by Frank Shay EYES THAT CANNOT SEE EYES THAT CANNOT SEE A PLAY IN ONE ACT By ALBERT GNUDTZMANN Translated from the Danish by Arvid Paulson [Illustration] CINCINNATI STEWART KIDD COMPANY PUBLISHERS COPYRIGHT, 1923, BY STEWART KIDD COMPANY [Illustration] _All rights reserved_ EYES THAT CANNOT SEE is fully protected by copyright and no performance may be given without the consent of the translator, Mr. Arvid Paulson, who may be addressed in care of the publishers. Printed in the United States of America THE CAXTON PRESS TO THE MEMORY OF MY FRIEND RICHARD MANSFIELD 2ND, WHO DIED IN THE SERVICE OF HIS COUNTRY, I DEDICATE THE ENGLISH VERSION OF THIS PLAY. --A. P. DRAMATIS PERSONÆ HAMMELEV, _a public school teacher_ MRS. HAMMELEV, _his wife_ ANTON, _their son_ LOUISE THORSEN KIRSTEN The action of the play takes place in the living quarters of the Hammelevs in a Danish country school. Produced at the Royal Theatre in Copenhagen for the first time on the tenth of September, 1903. THE STAGE A living-room at the Hammelevs’, with low ceiling and antique furniture. In the background two windows, through which is seen a garden. Between the windows an old-fashioned linen closet. By the windows, on the right, a platform with a sewing-table. A bird-cage with a canary bird stands on the window-sill; white curtains; a number of flower pots. Doors on each side of the stage. To the right a big chiffonier. Nearer the footlights a smoking-table, above which, on the wall, hangs a pipe-rack with pipes. On the left a sofa; in front of it stands a table with a rocking-chair and a couple of other chairs. Above the sofa hangs a mirror; on each side of the mirror portraits of Luther and Melanchthon; underneath these, photographs of members of the family. The room has the stamp of cozy homeliness--sunshine outside--the sun rays pour into the room in broad streams through the windows. EYES THAT CANNOT SEE SCENE I (_Mrs. Hammelev and Kirsten. They are drinking coffee at the centre table, which is covered with a small tablecloth_.) KIRSTEN Yes, Lavst’s promised. The carriage will be there, I’m sure. It’s all been arranged. MRS. HAMMELEV Thank you very much, Kirsten. And remember now, it is the 8.20 train. KIRSTEN Oh, yes, yes-- MRS. HAMMELEV (_eagerly_) And the carriage should be at the station in plenty of time. I should say eight o’clock at the latest. So it must leave here at seven. KIRSTEN Oh, it don’t take no more than a half hour to get there. MRS. HAMMELEV I am always so afraid that something may happen. And if we should come late! You must remember, Kirsten, that he is quite helpless. And in a railroad station, especially, in the midst of people who think only of themselves. KIRSTEN Yes--I wonder sometimes how he can travel like that, all alone, without gettin’ into trouble, the poor boy! How helpless a man is without a pair of eyes to see with! MRS. HAMMELEV Everything is in God’s power, Kirsten. And then you must know that by this time he has become accustomed to helping himself. It is now seven years since the misfortune came upon him. KIRSTEN Heavens! Is it really? Yes, time flies--indeed it does! I remember very well the time when you and Mr. Hammelev took him to the doctor, and you was told that poor Anton was goin’ to lose his eyesight. Both me and Furst felt awful sorry over it. MRS. HAMMELEV (_painfully touched_) Yes, Kirsten, but-- KIRSTEN (_without interruption_) It was an awful and terrible thing to think of! Such a nice-lookin’ boy as he was! He had that curly hair of his that suited him so fine--and them beautiful eyes of his--oh, what beautiful eyes he had, anyhow! Poor Anton! Yes, we used to always call him “poor little Anton”, ’cause he wasn’t very strong. But he was a pretty big lad at that time. Wasn’t he just goin’ to graduate? Let’s see--he graduated from high school when-- MRS. HAMMELEV Twice--two years in succession he failed, and he used to be the first one in his class, and then--(_Pauses_.) But, God be praised, he has amounted to something in spite of all. He has turned out to be a very clever boy--although he took up a different profession than we had wanted him to. KIRSTEN Yes, both Mr. Hammelev and you wanted him to study to be a minister, didn’t you? And what’s a musician! And _you_ was a minister’s daughter! MRS. HAMMELEV Musician! But, Kirsten, my son is not an ordinary musician. He is an artist--yes--you know what that means, don’t you, Kirsten? He plays in big halls where people gather just to hear music. Have I never read to you what has been said of him in the newspapers? KIRSTEN Yes, thanks, and I must say it was a real pleasure and comfort for me to hear, ’specially when it’s a person you have no right to expect too much from; that Fate has struck like him and who must bend to the will of our Lord, as long as it’s got to be. But it’s awful sad to think that His choice should fall on poor Anton. I always thought, when I saw him, that he was made to live in sunshine and light all the time. And to think that he should have to wander in darkness!--as it is written in the Bible. MRS. HAMMELEV (_half to herself_) Yes, Kirsten, there was a time when I thought as you do. Many a night I have lain awake, struggling with God for my child. I wouldn’t let him go until He blessed me. And when I saw that Anton’s sight, with every day that passed, grew dimmer and dimmer, there was a moment when I turned against Him, and in my foolishness wanted Him to account for His acts. At times I almost thought it would be best if He would take the child back to Him. KIRSTEN (_with sincerity_) Perhaps it would have been best. MRS. HAMMELEV No, Kirsten, it wouldn’t. And I shall never forgive myself that I once in a dark moment let Anton understand that I did think so. Now it has dawned upon me that God nevertheless has heard my prayers. He has given my son new light; but He has lighted it in the depth of his soul. _There_ grow flowers and sparkle springs as pure as neither you nor I have imagination to dream of, Kirsten. (_Noise outside of voices of children, mingled with the clatter of their wooden shoes._) I suppose school is over. KIRSTEN (_rising from her chair_) Good heavens! Is it that late? Oh, I got to be goin’! MRS. HAMMELEV Oh, no. Stay a while, Kirsten. Mr. Hammelev will be in soon. We’ll have another cup of coffee. SCENE II (_Hammelev enters from the left. An elderly man with a kindly, somewhat tired expression on his face_.) MRS. HAMMELEV Kirsten is here, pa! HAMMELEV So I see, mother, I see. (_Goes to Kirsten and shakes hands with her_.) How do you do, Kirsten? I hear that your husband will drive to the station for us to-night. I want to thank you for your kindness. KIRSTEN Oh, that’s nothin’ to thank us for, Mr. Hammelev. It ain’t the season of the year when we use our horses much. HAMMELEV No, oh no--now that you’ve got the hay in, I guess you don’t. But it isn’t the first time we have had reason to thank you and your husband. Since we haven’t any horse and carriage, we ought to be thankful that we have such kind and helpful neighbors. (_Goes to the pipe-rack, takes down a pipe, and fills it with tobacco_.) Well, Kirsten, I suppose you know what a great day it was in school to-day? KIRSTEN Oh, yes, I can imagine, Mr. Hammelev. It is in a way a day of rejoicin’--we can’t say nothin’ else. The Lord has dealt severe with you, so we are glad when He helps you along a little and makes it easier for you. MRS. HAMMELEV (_who has been serving the coffee, interrupting_) You’ll take a cup of coffee, too, won’t you, pa? HAMMELEV (_who has lighted his pipe_) Yes, thanks; we can always drink a little coffee. (_Sits, smokes, and drinks his coffee_.) Yes, you see the cross we have to bear, Kirsten--we ought never to complain of that. (_Good-naturedly_.) At your house you don’t complain, anyhow, I don’t think. Do you, Kirsten?--You haven’t anything to complain of. KIRSTEN (_knocks under the table, from superstition_) I’d better knock on wood before it’s too late. HAMMELEV Yes, do that, Kirsten. Well, I won’t say that we have anything to complain of over here, either. We get our daily bread. And now this great joy when our son comes home. We haven’t seen him for four years. KIRSTEN Is it as long as that? MRS. HAMMELEV (_to herself_) Four long years! HAMMELEV Yes, it has always been worst for mother, of course. You see, I have the school and the church singing to think of. But she has to sit alone here in this room day after day. Then, of course, her thoughts go far, far off--we all know how it is. I often say to mother: “Mother, I have a hundred little children to take care of every day.” That means a hundred little hearts and a hundred little brains that I must keep watch over. And so I say to mother, it seems to me as if she ought to be able to keep track of at least herself. But it is easy enough to find fault. Sorrow is a weed that it is not so easy to pull up by the roots. KIRSTEN Yes, if I’d had such a misfortune to think of, I don’t know what I’d have done. HAMMELEV But now mother will get her reward for all she has gone through, poor mother. To-night he’ll be here in this room, he whom she is always thinking of. She hasn’t even slept during the last half-dozen nights. MRS. HAMMELEV (_smiling_) Now you are exaggerating again, pa! HAMMELEV Well, well--you haven’t had very much sleep. A little with one eye is about all, if we should sum it up. And there has been such a house-cleaning and scrubbing and frying and baking, as if the vicar himself was expected. The boy’s room is fixed for him; it is just as it was when he was at home last, excepting, of course, that everything is newly washed and cleaned and polished. KIRSTEN But when he ain’t able to see it-- HAMMELEV No, he can’t see it. But the blind instinctively feel what we others see. They can, for instance, enjoy a beautiful landscape. The color rays work on their skin, you understand, Kirsten. It is just as if they were taking a sort of bath in all the beauty. And then, of course, they have the sense of smell. Well, now--and there are twelve new shirts and twelve pairs of socks for him on his bed. Those he can get a great deal of pleasure from. Would you like to see them, Kirsten? MRS. HAMMELEV (_somewhat impatiently_) Oh, that’s nothing-- HAMMELEV Yes, Kirsten, just to make mother feel ashamed, I’ll show you how diligent she has been. She knows how to do these things. She has a linen closet that would make many a woman envious. KIRSTEN Yes, we sure have to have clothes on our body. HAMMELEV Yes, Kirsten; but you and your husband no doubt have more than we. Come along now; I’ll show you what mother has made for our boy. KIRSTEN (_puts away her coffee-cup, rises, shakes hands with both_) Yes, all right. Well--thank you ever so much for the coffee. (_All three go out, right. At the same moment are seen, through the windows in the background, Anton Hammelev and Louise Thorsen, approaching by the roadway outside_.) SCENE III (_Anton Hammelev and Louise Thorsen enter from the left. Anton is a young man in his twenties. He has the appearance of an artist--face smooth-shaven and hair rather long. In spite of his blindness he moves about in the room without any apparent difficulty. Louise is in her thirties--a weary and somewhat faded and passée woman. It is apparent that she is trying to improve her appearance with the use of powder and paint. She is quite well dressed. She gives the impression of being of an amiable though timid disposition, and she has a sad look in her eyes_.) ANTON (_merrily_) You never thought, Louise, that _I_ should ever lead _you_. Did you notice how well I knew the way? And I know where every piece of furniture stands in this room. (_Points_.) There stands mother’s sewing-table--and there are father’s pipes. Am I not right? You may ask me about every little thing if you wish. I can tell you where every picture hangs on the wall. Do you want to try? LOUISE (_pleadingly_) No, Anton, not now. ANTON Why not? You haven’t lost your courage, have you? LOUISE We shouldn’t have done this, I think. If you had come alone, you could have explained to your parents much better. ANTON (_somewhat impatiently_) If I could ever get you to understand why I have arranged it as I have! What do you think my parents are, anyhow? Do you think they’ll assault me? Assault a defenseless woman--eh? LOUISE No, of course not. But--I don’t know--when I look about in this room it seems to me as if I had entered it to steal something that doesn’t belong to me. ANTON Oh, is it that way? Listen now, Louise. Who do you suppose knows the old folks best--you or I? LOUISE Why--you, of course, but-- ANTON Well, then let it be so. Now, don’t you think it would be best to let me do as I think fit? (_More quietly_.) I’ll tell you, Louise, my parents have hitherto not been used to see anything but a child in me! “Poor little Anton,” they always used to call me, even after I had gone through the conservatory. Four years ago, when last I was at home, father couldn’t get it into his head that I, like other men, had to shave and get my hair cut. And I was at that time a big chap--nineteen years old. (_In a temper_.) Good God! Am I then but a child! A helpless, unfortunate, poor being, and can I never grow to be like other human beings! LOUISE You who know so much--you are not as badly off as that! And you know it, too, Anton. ANTON Yes, God help me, Louise! When one is lacking in one of the senses one is a child, an incomplete specimen, three-fourths of a man or hardly that. But let that be as it may! The fact remains that neither father nor mother in their wildest moments of imagination would think that I might become engaged. And I don’t think it would be of any use for me to begin to explain how the whole thing has happened. Even if I should describe you as an angel of God, they would say I was the most foolish being in the world. Just for that very reason they ought to have the chance of seeing for themselves. LOUISE If only we hadn’t met, Anton! It would have been so much better for you. ANTON What nonsense! When once they see you! That’s why I wanted you to come with me and surprise them. LOUISE Oh, God! I only wish I was twenty miles from here. I don’t even know what to say to them. ANTON You don’t need to say anything at all. I’ll talk for you; you’ll see. I’ll say: “Look here, father and mother, this is Louise. She is the woman to whom I owe everything. If it hadn’t been for her I wouldn’t be a human being with a cheery outlook on life--I wouldn’t care to live. I myself have never seen her, but I know so well how she looks. She is fair as the day, and she has a dimple in either cheek--they are just like a couple of little rills where the sunbeams play hide-and-seek. She has also a little bent-up nose--quite a resolute little nose--that always points in the right direction, just like a compass needle. But what is most beautiful about her are her eyes; they are so deep, and yet so clear; one feels so sure there is something beyond their depth--but one can’t see it. And the other little things about her--can’t you see for yourself how fine and nice and good she is?” LOUISE (_pained_) Oh, Anton, but I don’t look like that! ANTON Yes, that is how you do look. I know it. (_Takes hold of both her hands_.) And yet I can’t show them your warm, faithful heart; they’ll have to learn to know that little by little. LOUISE If you would only not make so much of me, Anton! If one of us has anything to be grateful for, it is I. And you know I haven’t hidden anything from you. ANTON (_drops her hands; seriously_) You had nothing to hide, Louise. I know you have had a hard time. But pure metal can’t be spoiled, and you have come out of it all unstained--with your beautiful eyes and your good heart. Perhaps you have cried a great deal. Perhaps others can see the traces in your face--if so, it is an advantage to me to be blind. (_Listens_.) But listen! I can hear the old folks upstairs. I think, perhaps it would be best, if you went out for a second; you need only go outside till I call you. You see--I think I ought to be alone with them the very first moments. LOUISE (_close to him; entreating him_) Anton--don’t you want me to leave you now? Shan’t I-- ANTON (_impatiently_) You must do as I say. Be a sensible girl--don’t be hysterical. Now go, please. LOUISE (_going out to the left_) I’ll do as you wish me to. But if you regret it, remember I told you you shouldn’t do it. (_Anton stands for a moment listening to the steps of his parents overhead. Then he hides himself behind the door to the right, which opens at the same moment_.) SCENE IV (_Kirsten, Mrs. Hammelev, and Hammelev enter from the right_.) KIRSTEN Yes, Lavst will be there in plenty of time to-night, I promise. MRS. HAMMELEV Thank you, Kirsten. You understand, we are a little nervous. But what is-- ANTON (_coming forward with open arms_) Mother! MRS. HAMMELEV (_overwhelmed; sobbing_) Anton! (_She throws herself on his bosom and kisses him passionately._) Oh, Anton, Anton-- HAMMELEV (_who, in his excitement, has taken the pipe from his mouth_) But, Anton, dear--we didn’t expect you until to-night! ANTON Yes, but “poor little Anton” had a notion to surprise you. So we took--so I took an earlier train. (_He feels with one hand in the air, while holding his mother tightly pressed to his bosom with the other._) How do you do, father! HAMMELEV (_pressing his hand_) How are you, dear boy? KIRSTEN Well, I guess I ought to say how do you do, too. I am Kirsten, Lavst’s wife. ANTON (_lets go his mother’s hand and presses Kirsten’s hand in a faltering manner_) How do you do, Kirsten. I suppose everything is the same with you as ever? KIRSTEN Yes, thank the Lord! HAMMELEV But how did you ever get out here, Anton? Didn’t anybody come with you? ANTON (_somewhat embarrassed_) No--well--yes, you see I know the way. And--yes, I’ll tell you-- KIRSTEN Well, I don’t want to disturb you no longer, and there’s no need of no carriage goin’ to the station to-night, I guess. HAMMELEV No, I don’t think so, Kirsten. But thank you just the same for your willingness. Good-bye! And give my regards to your husband! KIRSTEN Good-bye! (_Shakes hands and goes out to the right_.) ANTON Why don’t you say something, mother? Was it too much of a surprise? MRS. HAMMELEV (_moves her hand to her heart; smiles_) Yes, it was a bit sudden--but now.... Oh, Anton--when you are here, you know--don’t you know.... And how well and happy you look! KIRSTEN (_puts her head inside the door_) Excuse me. I just wanted to tell you there is a strange lady standin’ outside here. HAMMELEV (_slightly annoyed_) A strange lady! What does she want, I wonder? Tell her to come in! KIRSTEN (_calls_) Yes, you can come in, if you want to. (_She goes out_.) SCENE V (_Louise comes from the left and remains standing right, inside the door_.) HAMMELEV (_goes towards her_) You wish to speak with me? LOUISE (_falteringly, embarrassed_) Yes--but I thought--perhaps I--ought not to-- ANTON Why, of course you should. (_He feels his way to her, takes her by the hand, and leads her out into the room; the parents seem to be shocked_.) I wanted to tell you first, but as it now has happened differently than I had thought--here is the woman who has helped me to find the way out here to-day. And she has done more than that: she has led me through the darkest moments of my life. MRS. HAMMELEV (_who, in a glance, has taken in Louise; in a voice of anxiety_) Anton--what does this mean? ANTON It means, father and mother, that in the last two years she and I have been one. And we will never separate from each other. HAMMELEV (_with strained kindliness_) So--so you are engaged, poor little Anton? You haven’t written and told us anything about it. ANTON I didn’t want you to worry over me--to know that I--helpless as I was--had bound myself to another human being. I wanted you to _see_ her first. (_Moved_.) For I knew that in the same moment that you saw her, you’d understand it is for our mutual happiness. Isn’t that true when she has chosen to love me? As fine and beautiful as she is! You must understand how much she thinks of me. But you needn’t fear for her sake, I feel sure. I can make her happy; and for her it is happiness to be able to give of her full, rich heart--to give to one who longs with all his soul for sun and light--as I do. MRS. HAMMELEV I think, if we should speak of the richness of heart, that few have as much to give away as you have, Anton. ANTON No, no! don’t compare me with her. Remember--for her the whole world lies open; she need but stretch out her arms. But I--I have nothing to give up, nothing to offer. And there is nobody who asks anything from me, anyhow. Nature has now once for all--it seems to me--given me the right to be a bit selfish.... HAMMELEV We had thought that-- ANTON Yes, father, I might have known that this would come as a great surprise to you. And I know that before long you will love Louise as much as I myself do. HAMMELEV Louise--so that’s her name--your.... And her last name, if I may ask? LOUISE Thorsen. HAMMELEV Louise Thorsen--oh, yes.... (_Heartily_.) Well, well, my dear Anton--and you also, my dear--Louise Thorsen, I suppose I ought to wish you all sorts of health and happiness. (_Approaches Anton with extended hand_.) MRS. HAMMELEV (_goes between them_) Hammelev--I think you first ought to let us speak with the young lady. (_With an emotion that she can hardly conceal_.) May I only say this: Anton knows that I, too, wish him happiness--that nobody could wish him more happiness than I--but it is not more than right that I learn to know her a little better before I-- ANTON (_quietly_) Of course you may, mother. MRS. HAMMELEV You must understand me rightly, Anton. Father and I have been waiting for months for the happy day when you would come home. We spoke of it when we sat here the other evening--we thought of when you would step inside the door--we thought of how it would be with all of us together, the three of us. Now the whole thing will have to be changed. I can’t quite reconcile myself to it at once. Therefore, I want to have a chance to learn to know her first--she, whom you have chosen for yourself. ANTON Yes, mother, since you look at it that way--I think myself it is the best way. For I know very well that when you have talked with her ten minutes you’ll love her as if you had known her for many years. Father and I will take a walk in the garden in the meantime. HAMMELEV Anton ought to go up to his room, too. But you ought to show him that yourself, mother. MRS. HAMMELEV (_nervously_) Do as you like. I-- ANTON (_merrily_) Let’s go out in the garden. I am longing to find out how much the big pear tree has grown that I planted out there myself when I still had my sight. But I tell you this, mother: you mustn’t make Louise regret that she cares for me, poor mole. For if I lose her, I’ll never find my way any more in life. (_Hammelev and Anton go out_.) SCENE VI MRS. HAMMELEV Now we’ll have a talk, we two--it is necessary. You may take off your things--the large hat--the coat. (_Louise takes her coat and hat off and puts them away. She is dressed in a plain, simple dress_.) Yes--I like you so much better without those things on. Now sit down here at the table--right here in front of me. (_They both of them sit down_.) What I am going to tell you now may hurt you. But I trust you understand that nobody could love Anton any more than his mother. Therefore I want to speak openly to you. LOUISE (_bows down her head_) I suppose you want me to call it off with him. MRS. HAMMELEV I had meant to ask you whether you yourself think that you are the kind of wife he ought to have. I don’t know you, of course. But I know him, and I know that he deserves to have a good woman and a woman who is pure. Can you stand before the face of God and say that you are that? You need not answer me. It is God who awaits your answer. LOUISE (_slowly_) I know very well I haven’t always been what I should have been. MRS. HAMMELEV (_mildly_) None of us have. But you must let your own conscience decide whether you can stand with raised head as my son’s bride. If you can not, I beg of you to give him up. Yes, in such a case you _must_. Could you expect me to ask anything else of you? LOUISE (_rocking back and forth in great agony_) I have been so fond of Anton. MRS. HAMMELEV Yes, poor girl! You mustn’t think I am so hard-hearted that I don’t feel sorry for you. But life puts its mark on each one of us. And you have received yours. I saw it on you at once. LOUISE I have often regretted that I gave Anton my promise. I am sorry for his sake. I have often thought that perhaps it would dawn on him some day that I wasn’t fit for him. And I promised myself solemnly--if such a day should come--he should be free from me at once. MRS. HAMMELEV Perhaps--if you had enough strength left. But what about all the years you had taken away from him in the meantime? LOUISE I felt that way because he cared for me and wanted to have me near him. MRS. HAMMELEV But you have no right to think anything like that. We have no right to masquerade, to pretend we are what we are not. And you must remember that my son can’t form an opinion for himself of human beings in the same way that we can. LOUISE (_bravely_) You mustn’t think, Mrs. Hammelev, that I have hidden anything from Anton. MRS. HAMMELEV Hidden! To leave things untold is the same as to hide. LOUISE I have told him everything that I have been--that I was once-- MRS. HAMMELEV (_sharply_) A fallen woman! LOUISE (_bending herself down in silence, as if being struck_) That is a word which is not used by oneself about oneself. (_With strong emotion_.) Yet on the very first day we met I told him I should bring shame and sorrow to him. I told him I had done things that I couldn’t even tell him about, and that I wasn’t worthy of walking by his side in the street. MRS. HAMMELEV You did tell him that? LOUISE As true as there is a God! I have told him everything. Oh, but he--he only smiled. He understood so well, he said, that I had gone through so many things. But when a woman had the strength to rise again, it tended to prove that she had the real stuff in her--that’s what he said. Then it seemed to him also as if it, in a way, was a sort of counter-balance to his being such a wretched human being. In a way, you understand. For we each had our own misfortune to bear. MRS. HAMMELEV (_passionately_) Don’t you dare to compare his misfortune with yours! God knows my poor boy can not be blamed for what has befallen him. Whereas you have been a bad and weak woman. You have brought your sin and shame upon yourself, and you can not wash yourself clean of it now. I am not judging you--don’t think that! But how could you come out here with him? How could you think that we, his parents, could look on quietly and see him throw himself away on a--a woman who--who was unworthy of him? LOUISE Oh, God! I didn’t think so. I didn’t think so. I begged him again and again to go alone. But he wouldn’t listen to me; he wasn’t satisfied until I promised to go with him. And he kept on saying: “When they only see how much you are to me, they will have to like you as much as I do.” And then--then--I don’t know--then there were moments when I hoped myself it would be as he hoped it would. MRS. HAMMELEV You ought to have known that, in spite of telling him about your life, you are still deceiving him; that everybody else can see with their eyes what he can’t! You also have a bad conscience. It is for that reason you have tried to fix yourself up. But can’t you understand that you are thus holding up my poor little boy as a target for fun-making and mockery and pity? LOUISE (_struggling with her tears_) He told me to fix myself up so that you might like me. I never thought--(_suddenly taking hold of Mrs. Hammelev’s hand_.) You must believe me! I did it all with the best of intentions. MRS. HAMMELEV I readily believe that. But if you really loved Anton, I do not understand why you couldn’t see that you would drag him down with you. But there must be an end to this now. You must give him up. LOUISE (_in a low voice_) Give up! Yes, I suppose I must--I wouldn’t think of standing between him and his parents. Yes, I’ll--I’ll tell him we must part. MRS. HAMMELEV No. You shan’t do that. You need but leave quietly. I’ll speak myself to my son. LOUISE You speak to him! Yes--if you could only get him to listen. But I know him. He’ll want me back, anyway. Do you know that I left him once? No--how could you know that!-- MRS. HAMMELEV You were--you were going to--leave him! LOUISE I wanted to give him back his liberty, as you want me to give it to him now. I explained my reasons for doing it in a letter to him--I have learned the alphabet of the blind. Then I moved to some relatives of mine that I had never spoken to him of. The next day he had found out where I was and came to me. MRS. HAMMELEV Yes, I realize that you have understood how to make him attached to you. It will be a blow to him--yes, I don’t reproach you. LOUISE Reproach me! MRS. HAMMELEV I tell you, I don’t blame you. And if I could give you a helping hand, so that both you and my son could become happy and contented, I would do so. But it wouldn’t be right for me to think of anything else but my son’s future. Remember that I am so much older than you are and have had so many more years’ experience of life. And I have learned that one cannot build a house on sand or dirt. LOUISE (_rising_) Anton’s future shan’t be built on such a foundation. It is better for us--it is better for him to have the sorrow of losing me now. And this time it shall be for ever. There are places where he won’t be able to find me. MRS. HAMMELEV Are you going upstairs to talk to him now? LOUISE (_nods_) Yes, that is one of the conditions I want to make. MRS. HAMMELEV You must believe me--I am doing this with the best of intentions. It is only because I love Anton so much. LOUISE (_with a sorrowful nod_) I know. When one loves some one-- MRS. HAMMELEV (_takes Louise’s hand_) But one thing you must promise me. You must be sensible. You mustn’t do anything rash or foolish. Think of Anton. His life is dark enough as it is. LOUISE I have already taken into consideration everything. Almost as long as I have known Anton have I had on my mind to do what I am going to do now. I shall go--far away--that’s all. And then neither you nor Anton will have to see me any more. (_She goes out to the right. Mrs. Hammelev walks about the room restlessly for a moment; then she seats herself at the table in deep thought_.) SCENE VII (_Hammelev enters from the right_.) HAMMELEV Well, I showed Anton up to the room, mother. I thought he’d long to see--to come up there. If you had only seen how he went around and felt everything! “Oh, God!” he exclaimed, “there hangs the little rack.” And he felt all the books. “There is my ‘Ivanhoe’--and there is Dickens’ ‘Oliver Twist’; and there ‘The Last of the Mohicans’!” He felt all of them by their backs. But the shirts and the socks--you could have saved yourself the trouble of making them, Mother. MRS. HAMMELEV Why? HAMMELEV A person can never get enough of such things, of course, in a way. But he is well looked after in this respect. She, his sweetheart, has sewn and fixed and looked after everything for him. She works, by the way, in a dressmaking establishment. MRS. HAMMELEV (_with an expression of surprise_) She works--she works at a dressmaker’s! HAMMELEV Yes--in one of those large department stores in Copenhagen. She is in charge of the dressmaking department. She makes good money, too, he says. MRS. HAMMELEV (_as before_) Good for her! HAMMELEV And a good thing for him, too. How would they have got along otherwise? MRS. HAMMELEV I should hope Anton does not have to receive anything from anybody. HAMMELEV But he had to do so once. Do you know who kept him alive? When he took lessons from that professor, you know. We thought he was living with that friend of his he wrote about. MRS. HAMMELEV Wasn’t he? HAMMELEV Well, yes--yes, he was, in a way. But his friend most of the time wears skirts, and her name is Louise Thorsen. And it was she who took care of him the best way she could. MRS. HAMMELEV (_passionately_) And stole his youth. For if they shared things with each other, it must have meant that they lived together. HAMMELEV Yes--and what is there to be said? She is a woman and he a man. And, besides, he is an artist. So we ought not to judge, I think. MRS. HAMMELEV But we must be allowed to have our opinions. We have only this one child. And he is in need of parental love more than other children. HAMMELEV Yes, mother dear, but I think it has been a great fortune for him to have found her. What can _we_ do for him, we two old cronies? We shall soon have enough to do straightening out our own affairs until we meet up there with the great Doctor who opens all eyes. And when we have gone, who would he then have to cling to? No--a young woman like her is what a man like him needs. And the old doctor said that--thank God--should he get children, there was no danger that his affliction would be hereditary. MRS. HAMMELEV But there are greater afflictions that _can_ be inherited. HAMMELEV Yes, I can see that you are not very pleased with the whole thing. Before she took off her coat it seemed to me, too, as if she looked a bit too “cityfied.” But I think she really is a good girl. SCENE VIII (_Anton and Louise come from the right_.) ANTON (_half outside_) No, Louise, you can’t go away like this. If I can’t make you stay, mother must try to. (_He pulls her, in spite of her opposition, into the room_.) Have you ever heard anything like it? Louise wants to go back to the city to-night. LOUISE Yes, I must, Anton. I didn’t have the courage to tell you before. But now--I feel that I know your parents--and.... ANTON Know--know--one can’t learn to know anybody in an hour. Anyhow, it’s strange that your employer wants you to return at once. And just on this occasion! Before, you have always been able to get off whenever you wanted to be with me. LOUISE I have asked to be free too often, dear Anton. Now, you see, they must have grown tired of it in the store. I want to tell you right now that hereafter I am afraid we shall not be able to be together as often as before. ANTON Well, then we must get married. To think that you should be the slave of the yardstick! Now I’ll dictate a letter for you. I’ll say that you cannot be back until the day after to-morrow at the earliest. LOUISE No, it won’t do, Anton--you must not ask me to do it. ANTON But help me, then, father and mother. Can you look on quietly and silently while your daughter-in-law, who has hardly put her foot inside your door, wants to disappear again? HAMMELEV No, we want, of course, to-- MRS. HAMMELEV I think you had best let Louise go, Anton. You mustn’t let her take the risk of losing her position. ANTON And you say that, mother! But don’t you know how I had looked forward to this day--when you would see her--and learn to love her and-- MRS. HAMMELEV You must be sensible, Anton. It might influence your future if she-- ANTON The future! Always the future, always to-morrow and again to-morrow, and please wait like a good child! But God have mercy, I am of course, unreasonable. Go, Louise, go! Hurry, that you will not be late for the train! LOUISE (_sadly_) Are you angry with me now, Anton? ANTON (_softly_) With you--no! I am a bit angry, I suppose. But not with you. I want to tell you this, however, that I will let you go only on one condition: that you soon take a long vacation. And then we’ll come out here again, both of us. Will you promise me that, Louise? LOUISE (_softly patting his hand_) There shall soon be happiness for both of us, Anton. ANTON Y-e-s--I couldn’t be angry with you now. So go upstairs to my room. At the very top of my traveling bag you’ll find a little package. Bring it down to me. There is something in it for you. It was my intention not to give it to you until to-night. But as long as you can’t wait-- LOUISE You shouldn’t spend your money on buying presents for me. ANTON What! I don’t lose anything by it. I don’t ruin myself by it, do I? LOUISE But I would rather you didn’t give me anything. ANTON Is it your intention to make me real angry--seriously angry? I can’t understand what ails you to-day. My parents have seen an engaged couple before. Or do you think, perhaps, that they, in their peasant simplicity, may take offense? LOUISE No, but-- ANTON Well, if you want to leave at once, then go. And take all the time you want while you are upstairs. Five minutes, if you like. There is something I want to speak to mother about in the meantime. Can you find your way to the room? HAMMELEV I’ll show Louise the way. At the same time I’ll show her the room where she was to have slept, if she had stayed over night. ANTON Five minutes, Louise. But no longer. We have yet a few hours till you have to leave for the train. And we will be very greedy of these two hours--we four. LOUISE (_bends over him and kisses him_) Anton, dear, you know I have always wished to do what was best for you. Whatever may happen or whatever I may do, you must always believe in me. Do you hear, Anton--always! (_Louise and Hammelev go out, right_.) SCENE IX ANTON It was only this I wished to tell you, mother: I know that you have made Louise feel sad. MRS. HAMMELEV (_with anxiety_) Has she then told you?-- ANTON She has told me nothing; but don’t you think I know her voice? And there was a false note vibrating in it. Have you anything against her? If you have--tell me. MRS. HAMMELEV (_avoiding the question_) Why, I scarcely know her-- ANTON Then I can only think that you are worried on account of me. It doesn’t seem to you that I ought to take the responsibility of founding a family--I who have to stumble along and feel my way like a mole here in this pitiful world. MRS. HAMMELEV But, my dear boy, how can you say so! ANTON Oh, yes, _it is that_. What else could it be? But now I want to tell you one thing. You who have your sight often think of us blind ones as of feeble-minded beings. We know nothing, we are fit for nothing. But that is where you are mistaken. We are just like other human beings: we can think and dream, can love and hate just like others. You know--sometimes when I stand before an audience, it seems to me as if I were all alone. There is nobody whose soul or thoughts reach me; nobody who can disturb me. I am like the fertile soil that is left to take care of itself; there is an abundance of sunshine saved within me. That is why I feel life so strongly--like something warm and fruitful within me. And it is this feeling that gives me faith; that tells me I have a future awaiting me in spite of all. MRS. HAMMELEV Thank God for that, Anton! Thank God for that! ANTON But perhaps you mean to say that what Louise feels for me is nothing but pity; that she will cease to care sooner or later. If that is what you think, I want to tell you something--I want to tell you how we first learned to know each other. MRS. HAMMELEV No, you need not tell me that, Anton. ANTON But I want you to listen to me. You remember, no doubt, a few years ago--I had graduated from the conservatory--had had the best of teachers--and the time came for me when I had to get something to do. But nobody wished to have anything to do with a blind musician--who could not see. So I had to take a position out of town-- MRS. HAMMELEV In the café, yes. ANTON Should we, perhaps, rather say in the barroom. Or in a place still worse. All around me nothing but rough, vulgar, and drunken talk of wanton women and beasts of men. And ’midst all this noise and the smell of liquor I had to sit and play music that was disgusting to me--only for the alms that they cared to throw to me. For it was for alms that I played. Right above the place where I sat there was nailed a sign: “Don’t forget the blind musician!”-- MRS. HAMMELEV My poor boy! My poor, poor boy!-- ANTON It was then that I wrote to you; I had to have a human being to whom I could open my heart. It was for that reason I didn’t or couldn’t spare your feelings. MRS. HAMMELEV Nobody could be nearer to you than your mother. ANTON Do you remember how you answered me? That I should hope and trust that I might come to the place where all eyes are opened and all tears are dried. MRS. HAMMELEV I had fought with God over you. But I thought He wouldn’t listen to my prayers--not as I wished Him to do. It was then I began to think there was only one consolation. ANTON (_nodding_) Death--yes. What else could there have been? Death is charitable, if one will only wait for it. But to wait--that was what seemed so hard to me-- MRS. HAMMELEV For God’s sake, Anton. ANTON Don’t take it so to heart, mother; it is over now--long ago. But that evening, on going home, I searched my way down to the river. Of what importance in life could a poor blind musician ever be? And the Lord would not have turned me away if I had come a little too early to Him, I don’t believe. MRS. HAMMELEV God have mercy! And I could be at rest here at home. Why didn’t I know, why couldn’t I have thought, that you were so much in need! ANTON Probably because nothing happened; because nothing was meant to happen. It is strange to think how often a mere chance can change a whole life. Chance would have it that evening that I went astray and passed through streets where I had never been before. I had fumbled around about an hour’s time when I felt somebody touch my hand, and a woman’s voice asked whether I had trouble in finding my way. I have become used to judging people by their voices, and I said to myself at once: “Here is one who is also in despair and who, like you, is wishing for a river, too.” And I opened my heart to her. MRS. HAMMELEV And that woman--that--was-- ANTON That was Louise--yes. And I wasn’t mistaken in her. She had gone through many things; as much as I had. But she didn’t look for the river any more. She had got over that. Well, I went home with her to her little room. She lived in a hall-room. In the daytime she went out sewing. MRS. HAMMELEV You went home with her--in the middle of the night! ANTON (_with a smile_) Yes, mother. I am not used to finding much difference between day and night. To me it is all one color. And she dared not let me go. Who knows--perhaps I might have found the river, anyhow, then. So she sat up all night and talked to me about life and its joys. MRS. HAMMELEV Life and its joys. And I-- ANTON Yes, mother--that you have given to me. Well, that was not all she did. She didn’t only _speak_ to me. She gave me a place to sleep and she gave me food to eat, so that I shouldn’t have to play any more in the barroom. For fourteen days she shared every penny of her wages with me. And in the afternoon, when she came home from her work, we went out together to look for a position for me. She advertised and put in applications for me, and--thank God! at last I got a position as an organist. Then came the stipend and then the rest. And during all my struggles she remained by my side. MRS. HAMMELEV (_tenderly_) She has been much to you, Anton. ANTON She has been everything to me, mother, everything. Should anybody take her away from me, they’ll take my life at the same time. MRS. HAMMELEV (_frightened, agonized_) Anton--Oh, no-- ANTON Yes, for I would believe God had regretted that He did not let me go into the river that night, after all. (_He rises and gropes his way_.) It’s strange--it seems to me as if the room suddenly had become so different. It is just as if I wasn’t at home here any more. Isn’t that Louise’s steps I hear above me now? SCENE X (_Hammelev comes from the right with a little package_.) HAMMELEV Louise asked me to give you her regards, and say-- ANTON (_full of anxiety_) Asked you to--to say--what? HAMMELEV (_gives him the package_) And she asked me to give you this. ANTON (_takes it_) Thanks--it is the rings. I have bought rings for both of us. Now I must give it to her at once. I hadn’t intended to do it otherwise until to-night. But why doesn’t she come? HAMMELEV She is gone to the station. MRS. HAMMELEV (_screams_) To the station? HAMMELEV (_somewhat surprised_) Yes--she thought it would be better to--she wanted to spare Anton from saying farewell. MRS. HAMMELEV Anton, Anton! She must not go! Oh, God! It is I--it is I who have--she’ll never come back--no, never. (_She wants to run out_.) ANTON (_puts himself intuitively in her way_) Let me go, mother. I’ll stop her. She wouldn’t heed your voice, I fear. (_Goes to the door, but turns on the threshold_.) For I suppose you want us to come back--don’t you? MRS. HAMMELEV (_as if in a trance_) Yes--yes--and never again--never again-- (_Anton goes out, left. Mrs. Hammelev has sunk down on a chair. It is as if something had suddenly broken within her, for she bursts into tears_.) HAMMELEV (_goes over to her; he pats her head and hair_) There--there, mother dear. You loved him too much. Mothers are the only ones who can love so much that they can kill with love. (_He goes to the window and looks out_.) He runs so safely there on the road, as if he still had his sight. Now he stops and calls her. She turns. MRS. HAMMELEV Are they coming back? HAMMELEV Of course they are coming. Now they are speaking to each other. Of course they are coming. MRS. HAMMELEV Not to me. I have lost Anton for ever. HAMMELEV (_doesn’t hear her_) So that was the trip to the city. (_Goes to open the door_.) Come right in, please. (_Anton and Louise enter_.) Well, Louise--I may call you Louise, may I not? You came to stay, anyhow. ANTON (_quietly_) Louise will stay--yes. Mother will ask her--won’t you, mother? MRS. HAMMELEV Yes, my boy. Now I beg her to stay. And, what’s more--that she will always remain with you. ANTON (_feeling his way_) Where are you, mother? (_He turns intuitively to Louise and takes hold of her._) There--what? No, it’s you, Louise, isn’t it? (_He pulls her close to himself and is entirely taken up with her. Mrs. Hammelev, who had stretched out her arms toward him, lets them sink with an expression of grief on her face_.) HAMMELEV (_seeing it_) Yes, mother dear, now you must be content with me. (_Puts his arms around her waist_.) MRS. HAMMELEV He finds me no longer. We drift from each other in the darkness. How much evil we can do where we wish to do only good! HAMMELEV It is we who have been blind, mother dear. It is we who cannot see.... CURTAIN _Stewart Kidd Dramatic Anthologies_ Fifty Contemporary One-Act Plays Edited by FRANK SHAY and PIERRE LOVING This volume contains FIFTY REPRESENTATIVE ONE-ACT PLAYS of the MODERN THEATER, chosen from the dramatic works of contemporary writers all over the world and is the second volume in the _Stewart Kidd Dramatic Anthologies_, the first being European Theories of the Drama, by Barrett H. Clark, which has been so enthusiastically received. The editors have scrupulously sifted countless plays and have selected the best available in English. One-half the plays have never before been published in book form; thirty-one are no longer available in any other edition. The work satisfies a long-felt want for a handy collection of the choicest plays produced by the art theaters all over the world. It is a complete repertory for a little theater, a volume for the study of the modern drama, a representative collection of the world’s best short plays. CONTENTS AUSTRIA Schnitzler (Arthur)--Literature BELGIUM Maeterlinck (Maurice)--The Intruder BOLIVIA More (Federico)--Interlude DENMARK Wied (Gustave)--Autumn Fires FRANCE Ancey (George)--M. Lamblin Porto-Riche (Georges)--Francoise’s Luck GERMANY Ettinger (Karl)--Altruism von Hofmannsthal (Hugo)--Madonna Dianora Wedekind (Frank)--The Tenor GREAT BRITAIN Bennett (Arnold)--A Good Woman Calderon (George)--The Little Stone House Cannan (Gilbert)--Mary’s Wedding Dowson (Ernest)--The Pierrot of the Minute Ellis (Mrs. Havelock)--The Subjection of Kezia Hankin (St. John)--The Constant Lover INDIA Mukerji (Dhan Gopal)--The Judgment of Indra IRELAND Gregory (Lady)--The Workhouse Ward HOLLAND Speenhoff (J. H.)--Louise HUNGARY Biro (Lajos)--The Grandmother ITALY Giacosa (Giuseppe)--The Rights of the Soul RUSSIA Andreyev (Leonid)--Love of One’s Neighbor Tchekoff (Anton)--The Boor SPAIN Benavente (Jacinto)--His Widow’s Husband Quintero (Serafín and Joaquín Álvarez-)--A Sunny Morning SWEDEN Strindberg (August)--The Creditor UNITED STATES Beach (Lewis)--Brothers Cowan (Sada)--In the Morgue Crocker (Bosworth)--The Baby Carriage Cronyn (George W.)--A Death in Fever Flat Davies (Mary Carolyn)--The Slave with Two Faces Day (Frederick L.)--The Slump Flanner (Hildegard)--Mansions Glaspell (Susan)--Trifles Gerstenberg (Alice)--The Pot Boiler Helburn (Theresa)--Enter the Hero Hudson (Holland)--The Shepherd in the Distance Kemp (Harry)--Boccaccio’s Untold Tale Langner (Lawrence)--Another Way Out MacMillan (Mary)--The Shadowed Star Millay (Edna St. Vincent)--Aria da Capo Moeller (Philip)--Helena’s Husband O’Neill (Eugene)--Ile Stevens (Thomas Wood)--The Nursery Maid of Heaven Stevens (Wallace)--Three Travelers Watch a Sunrise Tompkins (Frank G.)--Sham Walker (Stuart)--The Medicine Show Wellman (Rita)--For All Time Wilde (Percival)--The Finger of God YIDDISH Asch (Sholom)--Night Pinski (David)--Forgotten Souls _Large 8vo, 585 pages. Net, $5.00_ _Send for Complete Dramatic Catalogue_ STEWART KIDD COMPANY PUBLISHERS, CINCINNATI, U. S. A. _Stewart Kidd Dramatic Anthologies_ TWENTY CONTEMPORARY ONE-ACT PLAYS AMERICAN _Edited by_ FRANK SHAY This volume represents a careful and intelligent selection of the best One-act Plays written by Americans and produced by the Little Theatres in America during the season of 1921. They are representative of the best work of writers in this field and show the high level to which the art theatre has risen in America. The editor has brought to his task a love of the theatre and a knowledge of what is best through long association with the leading producing groups. The volume contains the repertoires of the leading Little Theatres, together with bibliographies of published plays and books on the theatre issued since January, 1920. Aside from its individual importance, the volume, together with =Fifty Contemporary One-Act Plays=, will make up the most important collection of short plays published. _In the Book are_ _the following Plays_ _by_ _the following Authors_ Mirage George M. P. Baird Napoleon’s Barber Arthur Cæsar Goat Alley Ernest Howard Culbertson Sweet and Twenty Floyd Dell Tickless Time Susan Glaspell and George Cram Cook The Hero of Santa Maria Kenneth Sawyer Goodman and Ben Hecht All Gummed Up Harry Wagstaff Gribble Thompson’s Luck Harry Greenwood Grover Fata Deorum Carl W. Guske Pearl of Dawn Holland Hudson Finders-Keepers George Kelly Solomon’s Song Harry Kemp Matinata Lawrence Langner The Conflict Clarice Vallette McCauley Two Slatterns and a King Edna St. Vincent Millay Thursday Evening Christopher Morley The Dreamy Kid Eugene O’Neill Forbidden Fruit George J. Smith Jezebel Dorothy Stockbridge Sir David Wears a Crown Stuart Walker _12mo. Silk Cloth $3.75_ _¾ Turkey Morocco $10.00_ _Send for Complete Dramatic Catalogue_ STEWART KIDD COMPANY PUBLISHERS, CINCINNATI, U. S. A. Transcriber’s Note: - Text that was in bold is enclosed by equals signs (=bold=). - Text that was in italics is enclosed by underscores (_italics_). - Text that was in small caps is in all caps (SMALL CAPS). - Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized. - Minor punctuation errors have been changed without notice. - Spelling was retained as in the original except for the following changes: Page 8: “of Luther and Melanchton” to “of Luther and Melanchthon” Page 45: “MRS. HAMMERLEV (tenderly)” to “MRS. HAMMELEV (tenderly)” *** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 79218 ***