COMMISSIONER. In her way, she certainly seems a very decent person.

SCHMETTAU. Absolutely. Since it was my belief that His Highness must learn to know life, I could not find a better place. [To the Commissioner.] We understand each other?

COMMISSIONER. Certainly.

SCHMETTAU. Every guarantee against vulgarity; everything tip-top. Now picture it to yourself. I do all a man possibly can and this inconceivably awful scandal happens.

COMMISSIONER. It is the old story. These people have no tact.

SCHMETTAU. That doesn't help me any. I am not trying to mix in your business. That never occurred to me. But this does not help me one bit. The whole blame attaches to me. I simply will be told that such things should not have happened. That is an unheard of business.

COMMISSIONER [to Assessor]. For which you are to blame.

SCHMETTAU. Had I a suspicion that this was contemplated, I would have informed you.

COMMISSIONER. If you only had!

SCHMETTAU. Who would think of such things? We all take it for granted that the police first of all respect protection!

STROEBEL. On my word of honor Herr Baron. Not even in my dreams did I think of an occurrence like this.

SCHMETTAU. [squares his shoulders]. Is it so difficult for you to think?

COMMISSIONER. That's just what I say. If a man knows his work thoroughly these things come to him. But people who are interested in the uplift movements are always in the clouds.

SCHMETTAU. This Lieutenant or whatever that fellow was, behaved as though he was collecting material for a socialist newspaper. His Highness was hardly in the house five minutes when there was a loud ringing. Then, someone in heavy shoes ran up against the door like a drunken sailor. Madame de Hauteville breaks into the room and cries, "Your Highness, how unfortunate I am. The police are here," she says. "Leave them alone," I say, "they will go away presently." "Impossible," she says, "I can never permit His Highness to be found by the police in my place. I will take the blame upon myself entirely." Fancy the tact of that woman! "Impossible," she says, "that His Highness should be caught in my place."

COMMISSIONER. Really, very decent!

SCHMETTAU. Indeed it is. Immediately it dawns on me that she is right. The situation is getting terrible. That policeman is likely to demand His Highness' identification. What shall we do? Madame says, "For Heaven's sake hide in the wardrobe!" Outside, that fool is making quite a rumpus. He knocks, rings, shouts and barks. The neighborhood is getting aroused and heads are popping out from right and left and in the midst of this terrible commotion, there we stand—Highness and I. What shall we do? A few moments later, His Highness is cramped beside me in the wardrobe, in between different pieces of woman's apparel. With great difficulty we are able to draw our breath.

STROEBEL. If I had only had an inkling about it.

COMMISSIONER [angrily]. The police are expected to grasp conditions.

SCHMETTAU. Then what followed? In heavy-nailed shoes the men go from room to room. Doors are opened and slammed. The fellows use loud and coarse language, and three or four times they stand in front of the wardrobe. Upon my word, I actually feel how His Highness is perspiring. Just picture to yourself the situation if that brute had opened the closet! Just picture that and you can realize how much courage I had!

COMMISSIONER. You must have suffered terribly.

SCHMETTAU. What I suffered does not matter. In such moments one does not think of anything else but Highness. What an outrage! Finally the steps disappear. Madame Hauteville, who throughout behaved most decently and whose conduct was above reproach, is led away and Highness and I can leave the wardrobe where we spent an entire twenty minutes. And now I ask again, "How can such mistakes happen?"

COMMISSIONER [to Assessor]. You shall find the answer to this.

SCHMETTAU. Upstairs the woman is still in her cell. The newspapers are full of the scandal, and Highness suffers agonies when he realizes the possibilities which can develop at any moment.

COMMISSIONER. Herr Baron, you need not worry any longer. Now I am taking the matter entirely into my hands. [Consulting his watch, he speaks with affected calmness.] It is now a quarter to one. This evening at eight o'clock Madame de Hauteville will be set free and everything will be so arranged that her discharge will arouse no suspicion.

STROEBEL. But how are you going to do it ...?

COMMISSIONER. The details of this arrangement are your affair.

CURTAIN



ACT III

(Beermann's library. Elegantly furnished. A desk is backed up against a large bay-window on the right. Opposite is a large book- case, and next to this a sofa. A long double door with small French panes somewhat to the left. On the left of stage a small table and a few comfortable leather chairs. On the right a simple door.

Beermann enters through the middle door. He goes to the desk, unlocks a drawer and takes out the diary of Hauteville. He looks carefully about him, then picks out a volume of an encyclopedia from the book-case, opens it quickly and places the diary inside. He seats himself and begins to read. At this moment the center door is opened slowly, and Frau Beermann stands on the threshold.)

FRAU BEERMANN. Are you alone, Fritz?

BEERMANN [frightened, slams the book so that the diary is concealed in it]. Goodness, you did frighten me!

FRAU BEERMANN. I did not know how nervous you were until yesterday.

BEERMANN. Oh, what, nervous? I am over-worked and irritable. Every single day, I have to prepare a new speech.

FRAU BEERMANN. Is it in that work that I disturbed you? Pardon me.

BEERMANN. Do you want anything?

FRAU BEERMANN. I just wanted to have a few serious words with you.

BEERMANN. But not necessarily at this moment. To-morrow or ...

EFFIE. [opening the glass door, calls in]. Oh, papa, did you forget?

BEERMANN [uneasily]. Forget what?

EFFIE. [entering]. Weren't we to see the Indian dancer to-day?

BEERMANN. Well, it can't be done to-day.

EFFIE. That's a shame; I wanted so much to see her and to-night is her last appearance.

BEERMANN. Then we will wait until the next one comes along.

EFFIE. I don't see why just we have to have this bad luck.

BEERMANN [with emphasis]. Because I have more important things to do than to watch your hop, skip and jump.

EFFIE. [jolly]. Oh, aren't you cranky?

BEERMANN. I am not at all disposed for such nonsense.

EFFIE. [going over to the desk, picks up the volume of the encyclopedia.] All this comes from your politics; now I will simply confiscate your ammunition.

BEERMANN [excited]. Give me that book.

EFFIE. [jumping away]. No, no, papa, you will only get sick.

BEERMANN [shouts]. I forbid these stupid jokes. Put that book down.

FRAU BEERMANN. What is the matter?

BEERMANN. I never could tolerate disobedient children, that's all.

EFFIE. [placing the book on the desk]. Oh, pardon me, papa.

BEERMANN [grasps the volume tightly and places it in the book- case]. All fooling has its limits; don't forget that.

EFFIE. Now I suppose as a punishment, we can't see the dancer.

BEERMANN. Really I would rather go with you than—sit here, but it is absolutely impossible.

FRAU BEERMANN. Go now, darling; I must talk to papa alone.

BEERMANN. But I haven't the time.

FRAU BEERMANN [positively]. That much of it you have.

EFFIE. Good-bye, papa dear. [Goes out.]

FRAU BEERMANN [Seats herself on the sofa next to the book-case. Beermann stands leaning with his back against the desk. Through the large window the evening sun can be seen so that Beermann's face is in its light, while Frau Beermann sits in the half-dusk.]

BEERMANN. Lena dear, do we really have ...?

FRAU BEERMANN. We do.

BEERMANN. Can't it be postponed?

FRAU BEERMANN. I have postponed it many a year, but now it is high time.

BEERMANN. [disturbed]. Many a year? What are you referring to?

FRAU BEERMANN. I have a request to make to you.

BEERMANN. With pleasure. ...

FRAU BEERMANN. Don't make a laughing-stock of your family.

BEERMANN. In what way?

FRAU BEERMANN. Don't make a laughing stock of your family, I beg you.

BEERMANN. Please don't talk in riddles.

FRAU BEERMANN. These are not very great riddles to you.

BEERMANN. Speak plainly, won't you?

FRAU BEERMANN. No. I am not going to speak more plainly.

BEERMANN. As your husband, I demand it.

FRAU BEERMANN. N-no.

BEERMANN. That is very sad. There should be no secrets at all between husband and wife.

FRAU BEERMANN. Is this a principle again? Fancy all these great secrets! [Beermann shrugs his shoulders.] No. Now take it for granted that I know a thing or two about you.

BEERMANN [with anxiety]. You?

FRAU BEERMANN. Several things. Some which you must know only too well. After all, that principle of yours has not been violated. There remain no secrets whatever between us.

BEERMANN. I assure you I shall not rack my brains about it.

FRAU BEERMANN. Nor would I want you to regard me as sitting in judgment on your acts.

BEERMANN [with a false pathos]. Instead of telling me freely and frankly of the gossip you have heard about me; then I could defend myself.

FRAU BEERMANN. That is just what I want to avoid. To me it appears somewhat childish when a man tries to justify ...

BEERMANN [just as before]. In this manner, the lowest gossip can destroy the happiness of any family.

FRAU BEERMANN [seriously]. Fritz, really, there is no one listening to us just now.

BEERMANN. You are not taking me in earnest.

FRAU BEERMANN. No, and it is our good fortune that I am not. At least, my good fortune.

BEERMANN. You call that good fortune? I might have expected something different from you.

FRAU BEERMANN. No, sir, you did not. If you will be honest with me, you will admit that. This many a year, we have been playing a common farce. You acted the true Christian head of the family and I the all-believing audience.

BEERMANN. How nice!

FRAU BEERMANN. Not nice but it's true. Perhaps the fault is not entirely ours, for we learned it from our parents. You men are supposed to impress us with your greatness and we women are to stand by and admire.

BEERMANN. Do you find that impossible?

FRAU BEERMANN. Even the best Christian family principles must have some foundation. What was I supposed to admire?

BEERMANN. You ask that now?

FRAU BEERMANN. Perhaps I gave it up sooner than others. But that is due to our relationship. We were always together. Where is a man to get pose and character enough to last him for twenty-four hours every day?

BEERMANN. So that is about your conception of our married life?

FRAU BEERMANN. That is it exactly.

BEERMANN. And after all the years ...

FRAU BEERMANN. I acquired it rather early.

BEERMANN. Now, after twenty-six years you declare that you are unhappy.

FRAU BEERMANN. No, Fritz, it has not led us to unhappiness. There has been no sudden shattering of an ideal. Our marriage was not an ideal and ... don't feel offended ... your personality was never so immaculate, that one stain more or less would spoil the effect.

BEERMANN [excited]. But there must be some sort of reason back of all these reproaches?

FRAU BEERMANN. If you think them reproaches, then we do not understand each other.

BEERMANN. What else are they?

FRAU BEERMANN. I meant it merely as a request. Do not bring your family into ridicule.

BEERMANN. You are playing hide and seek all the time. In what way am I likely to do that?

FRAU BEERMANN. With your moral priesthood to which you have absolutely no right.

BEERMANN. No right?

FRAU BEERMANN. Not the slightest one. But you are creating enemies who will make a laughing-stock of us all, if they find out certain things. Those things can be found out whether we like it or not.

BEERMANN [forced laughter]. Lena dear, I believe you are jealous.

FRAU BEERMANN [quietly]. Jealous, of what? [Short pause.] I hope that you credit me with at least good taste enough not to be jealous of my so-called right, and ... otherwise what can I lose? No, Fritz, I am not jealous. [Short pause, it is getting darker.] I had to get accustomed to it; that's true. This secrecy, the petty lies and the false gravity irritated me a little bit too much at first, but I made an effort so that I could still retain a feeling of comradeship. I overcame it daily, because—well because I never really took you seriously. [Pause.]

BEERMANN [with, a false pathos]. Lena, dear, do you realize what things you are saying?

FRAU BEERMANN. Yes, fully.

BEERMANN [as above]. That is dreadful. Every word is a ... catastrophe! I have until today, I have until this hour, believed in our established quiet happiness. Now shall all this pass away?

FRAU BEERMANN. Nothing but your confidence in my blindness shall pass away.

BEERMANN. Think it over. There can be no real family life after people lose faith in each other.

FRAU BEERMANN. Oh, a person gets used even to that.

BEERMANN. No. Lena, listen. Someone has been telling you tales and I cannot defend myself, because I don't know what I am accused of. You must tell me everything right now. I demand it of you.

FRAU BEERMANN. If I wanted to do that, I would have to begin "many, many years ago ..."

BEERMANN. Well, why didn't you do it then?

FRAU BEERMANN. You can well understand, I had my reasons.

BEERMANN. For such silence there can be no reasons.

FRAU BEERMANN. I could shut my eyes and remain silent. That was my privilege. But if I had spoken out and permitted you to appease me ... no, that was something beyond me. To do that I would have been obliged to lie and for that I, for one, have not the ability. [Beermann makes a motion.] No, do not interrupt me. These things will have no consequences as long as I do not wish them to, but if I should name them, then they would have.

BEERMANN. Then shall I let this suspicion rest upon me?

FRAU BEERMANN. Yes.

BEERMANN. How coldly you speak. If what you suspect were true, you could not be so indifferent about it.

FRAU BEERMANN. Do the by-laws of your society prescribe that in cases like these the wife shall be unhappy?

BEERMANN. Imagine! The many years that you and I have lived together and you had these suspicions right along and never said a word about them. Why do you speak today?

FRAU BEERMANN. Because you have reached the point where our friendship for one another may break. Everything I see and hear from you now hurts me. You speak in a tone of strictness, which must be unpleasant even to you. For weeks past there has been nothing around me but lies. What you say to me, all that you say to the children, and what you preached here publicly last night. Every word hurts my ears and urges me to contradict you; I am silent and by doing that I endorse your lies.

BEERMANN. But, Lena ...

FRAU BEERMANN. Finally when your every glance is artificial, each motion of yours is a pose. Then it is unbearable. Add to that my anxiety for our children. How shall they still retain faith in us, if through an accident their eyes are opened? I had remained silent all this time for their sake and now you are inviting the whole world to speak. I cannot continue to live this life of worry and hypocrisy. All that I have already overcome awakens again and appears to me more ugly than ever before. I do not know if I can still believe in your good fellowship and remain your friend. [She rises and goes slowly to the door.]

BEERMANN. I do not seem to know you any more. During our entire married life, you have not spoken as seriously as in the last fifteen minutes.

FRAU BEERMANN. That perhaps was my great mistake. But I have paid for it. [She opens the door.]

BEERMANN. Lena dear, have you nothing further to tell me?

FRAU BEERMANN. I just beg of you; do not bring your family into ridicule. [Exit.]

BEERMANN [For a while remains standing; lost in thought; then he turns on the electric light, sighing, goes over to the bookcase, takes out the volume of the encyclopedia wherein the diary of Madams de Hauteville is hidden, opens it and reads standing. A knock on the door. Frightened, he quickly hides the diary in his side pocket.]

BEERMANN. Come in. [Justizrat Hauser enters on the left.]

HAUSER. Lord; good evening.

BEERMANN [hurrying toward him]. Lord; how glad I am that you have come.

HAUSER. Has anything happened?

BEERMANN. N ... no.

HAUSER. I received your message that you must see me tonight without fail.

BEERMANN. Yes, I was at your house twice.

HAUSER. Unfortunately, I was not there. [He has taken off his overcoat and is laying it on a chair.] Tell me, you seem to me all upset.

BEERMANN. I am upset.

HAUSER. I suppose that is why you sent for me. Well, then, what is it?

BEERMANN. Have a seat, please. [They sit down to the left on the sofa.] I must begin a little way back. ... Have a cigar? [He goes over to the humidor, takes out a box of cigars and offers it to Hauser, who takes one.] I must begin a little way back ... Can you remember the subject we discussed last night?

HAUSER. The genuinely righteous moral life? [He lights his cigar.] Of course, I remember it. Such sermons are not easily forgotten.

BEERMANN. Do you know I got the impression that you have a rather liberal viewpoint.

HAUSER. Liberal?

BEERMANN. I mean that you are not a prude.

HAUSER. I am an old lawyer, you know, and just out of sheer habit contradict people. I made myself blacker than I actually am. So, if you have scruples on my account ...

BEERMANN. I merely mentioned it because you understand life and I must speak to someone who judges more liberally than our narrow minded bourgeois.

HAUSER. More liberally than you judged last night?

BEERMANN. I was overzealous, but don't let us talk about it. I want to ask you for advice. [Short pause.] You lawyers are bound to respect professional secrets?

HAUSER. We must respect them.

BEERMANN. What I am about to tell you, you will probably find most astounding, but it is to be considered absolutely confidential. Even though your client confesses a crime, you are not permitted to divulge the information?

HAUSER. What a careful criminal you are!

BEERMANN. It is possible that you will find this information most unpleasant.

HAUSER [Bends and talks in a low voice]. Now don't worry about me, Beermann. I will know how to protect your interests. The law gives me the right to remain silent in any event.

BEERMANN. Well then ... [nervously runs his fingers through his hair] I really have to begin a little way back. The last few days I have been thinking a great deal about monogamy. I am surely the last person to doubt the high moral value of the marriage vow, but there is something to be said on the other side. It is indeed a very ticklish theme to discuss.

HAUSER. Suppose then that we skip the prologue and the few opening chapters and start at once with the affair of Madame Hauteville.

BEERMANN. How do you know ...?

HAUSER. I suspected. You probably are not the first one who has come to confess to me. Since last night many consciences have been jolted. So you, too, belong to that crowd?

BEERMANN. You ask yourself how such things are possible?

HAUSER. No, sir, I never ask myself such stupid questions.

BEERMANN. You have always believed that an undisturbed happiness prevailed in my family.

HAUSER [quickly]. Beermann, I resent that! Do not try to make yourself interesting.

BEERMANN. Don't take it the wrong way. I am not blaming anybody. I just want to ...

HAUSER. You even want to find moral justification for your immorality.

BEERMANN. I know well enough that it is unjustifiable. I have been saying that to myself a hundred thousand times. Do not think that I overcame my principles so easily.

HAUSER. All you had to overcome was your timidity.

BEERMANN [sighing deeply]. If you only knew.

HAUSER. Of course you did not land on the primrose path with both feet, but you climbed carefully over the fence—just as befits a man of your embonpoint.

BEERMANN. I expected something better from you than mere mocking.

HAUSER. What do you want me to do? Shall I weep because you have sinned? Why? What good would it do you? That is the way of your kind. As long as no one has proofs against you, your virtue must always be under the spotlight, but the very minute you trip up, some peculiar background of justification ought to be invented for the smallest sin. No, my dear friend. The world's moral system will not go to pieces just because you slipped and broke your nose.

BEERMANN. You cannot realize what suffering you are inflicting upon me right now.

HAUSER. Now please don't make long speeches. You did not call me here to grant you absolution. You want me to help you to quash this affair.

BEERMANN [jumps up quickly from his chair]. Yes, you must do that. Good Lord, I beg you. I am in a terrible position. You have not the slightest idea how nervous I am.

HAUSER. Will you please sit down and stop exaggerating?

BEERMANN [sits down]. No man living can have sufficient imagination to enlarge on this. Imagine it! Any moment the police are likely to come here and arrest me.

HAUSER [seriously]. Have you been carrying on so badly at Hauteville's?

BEERMANN. No. Not there. That is not worth while mentioning.

HAUSER. Why then do you fear the police? That's all nonsense. Now just consider everything quietly and calmly. By the way, has your wife any suspicions ...?

BEERMANN. Of this affair? I don't think so. She has just a general one ... but what's the use of bothering with trifles! You know that this stupid woman kept a diary, and that they found it in her apartment.

HAUSER. Assuredly I know it. Without that diary we would not have so many penitents in the City.

BEERMANN. Imagine my position. I know positively that my name is in that book. It means that I am simply done for by the cursed thing.

HAUSER. Is it so certain that your name is in the book?

BEERMANN [loudly]. Yes, sir.

HAUSER. It may be possible that ...

BEERMANN. It is not at all possible. My name is there. Shall I quietly sit and wait until I am ruined? You know that I would be ruined if it became public. Fancy, I, the candidate for the Reichstag; I, the President of the Society for the Suppression of Vice! All the papers would be full of it.

HAUSER. Oh, yes, it would be quite interesting.

BEERMANN. Then think of the consequences here in the City! In the family! Why, I would be killed outright! Lord, how I tried to hammer it into the head of that stupid man in the Police Department so he could understand what terrible mischief this will make.

HAUSER [frightened]. You went to Police Headquarters?

BEERMANN. Of course, I was there.

HAUSER. Did you confess?

BEERMANN. How can you suppose that? [Sits down again.] I spoke for the others. I explained to the official that he is showing up the influential element; that he is injuring the established order of society,—but [he touches his forehead with his palm] that fellow has nothing but police ordinances in his head.

HAUSER. Shouting will not help us a bit. Remain cool and collected. One thing is important, at this moment. Has the diary reached the District Attorney's office?

BEERMANN. No, it has not.

HAUSER. Well, as long as it remains in the Police Department there are still possibilities.

BEERMANN. It is not in the Police Department either.

HAUSER. Of course it is there. Where else should it be?

BEERMANN [indicating his side pocket]. Here.

HAUSER [amazed]. What?

BEERMANN [takes the diary out of his side pocket and places it on the table]. Here it is.

HAUSER. So, this is the celebrated diary of Madame Hauteville. [Beermann nods.] Who gave it to you?

BEERMANN. Nobody. I just took it.

HAUSER. You mean; you sto ...

BEERMANN. ... Stole it, yes, sir.

HAUSER [pulls back his chair and breaks into a loud laugh]. You did that! [He laughs.] ... Say, that's pretty good. Now I am beginning to respect you. Confound it, I would never have given you credit for a stunt like this. [He laughs and slaps his knee.]

BEERMANN. Laugh, while I am dying of fright.

HAUSER. Don't spoil my good impression of you! I am on the point of admiring you. [He laughs again.] Let me apologize. I always held you as a wishy-washy bourgeois and now you go and pull this thing off.

BEERMANN. You had better give me some advice. I have not had a quiet moment since I took the book. I want to destroy it but how can I? If I tear it up the pieces will be found.

HAUSER. Burn it.

BEERMANN. Where? There is no fire in the house, except in the kitchen range. If I hide it, I shall always have to run to and fro to see if it is there, and I feel less safe if I have it on my person. Then I have always a feeling as though that thing were bulging out my pocket; and the police must be missing it by this time.

HAUSER. Oh, tear out the page on which your name appears and send it back anonymously.

BEERMANN. Impossible. My name appears on almost every second page.

HAUSER. Oh ... so.

BEERMANN. What shall I do when the police ask me for the book?

HAUSER. There is only one way; you know nothing about it.

BEERMANN. But they will be dead certain that I have it.

HAUSER. Remain firm. For Heaven's sake don't fall into the trap that by confessing you will improve this fine job. [A loud and prolonged ringing of the electric bell is heard.]

BEERMANN [frightened, exclaims]. There, do you hear that?

HAUSER. Some visitor, I suppose.

BEERMANN. This is no time to make visits. [Anxiously picking up the diary.] What shall I do with the damned thing? [Takes out a volume of the encyclopedia and wants to hide the diary in it but hesitates, and then puts the volume back on the shelf.] Lord, where shall I put it?

HAUSER. Come, give it to me.

BEERMANN [Gives him the book and Hauser puts it in his side pocket.]

HAUSER. No one will search me for it.

BEERMANN. Stay here with me ... please.

HAUSER. If it gives you any pleasure, yes; but man alive, pull yourself together. Suppose it really were the police; you are trembling all over. [A knock on the door.]

BEERMANN [crouching]. Quiet now. [Another knock.] Come in. [Betty comes in from the left and hands Beermann a visiting card.]

BETTY. The gentleman says it is very urgent.

BEERMANN [with a trembling hand Beermann takes up the visiting card and reads]. Professor Wasner. [He sighs audibly and then says with forced vigor.] Show the gentleman up. [Betty exit.]

BEERMANN. And this has been my state of mind for the past six hours.

HAUSER [offering him his hand]. Now be brave, my dear friend, and even if they should come to you, just deny it outright. You'll know how to lie. A man of such rare abilities. ... Good night. [Goes out on the left. In the doorway, he almost collides with Professor Wasner. They greet each other.]

WASNER [wears a cape the left corner thrown picturesquely over his right shoulder, holds a large slouch hat in his hand. His hair is disheveled. His flaxen beard falls on his chest]. I am here in regard to the most remarkable matter a man ever came to consult another about.

BEERMANN [very nervous]. Must it be today, Herr Professor?

WASNER. The situation permits of no delay.

BEERMANN. But it is getting so late.

WASNER. I admit that this is hardly the proper time to make visits. Nevertheless, I entreat you to hear me. [Beermann seats himself at the desk, takes out a large handkerchief and presses it against his forehead. Wasner remains standing and continues.] For many years, as you well know, I undertook the task of collecting all publications which have been undermining public morals. I daresay today, that my collection is most complete and that I have unquestionably proven the harm of pornographic literature. What corrupting influence this temptation has through suggestion and imagination can today no longer be doubted, because—[an impressive pause; Wasner lowers his voice]—I myself fell a victim to it. [Beermann remains in his apathetic attitude. Pause.] I can well understand that you lack words. I, too, became, on account of it, much disgusted with my character. I asked myself if I still have the right to participate in the moral salvation of our people and I have decided affirmatively only after a thorough examination. [Pause.]

BEERMANN [absentmindedly]. Yes ... yes ... Herr Professor.

WASNER. You are entitled to know everything. Only spare me the details. Briefly stated, one day I could not view my collection as objectively as usual and thru a friend I was induced to make a most damnable visit. I assure you that I simply loathe that fellow.

BEERMANN. But just why are you telling me all this?

WASNER. Because together we have fought against immorality shoulder to shoulder. I ask you if you still deem me worthy to strive for our common ideal.

BEERMANN. For my part, go as far as you like, I won't stop you.

WASNER. Then you will not deny me your assistance?

BEERMANN. Suppose we discuss all this tomorrow, Herr Professor?

WASNER. Tomorrow will be too late. [Beermann falls back into his chair in an attitude of apathy.] After my false step I became convinced that it is my duty to protect others from this temptation. My feeling of duty became stronger until finally I wrote a letter to be exact—an anonymous letter—to the police, wherein I demanded emphatically that they put an end to the misconduct of this person.

BEERMANN [now attentive.] Really that was not nice.

WASNER. I wanted to assure myself that within I still had the right to belong to the Society for the Suppression of Vice.

BEERMANN. I consider that rather mean. You should always be grateful.

WASNER. This very feeling would have made me feel still more guilty. [Beermann shrugs his shoulders nervously.] But now I come to the reason for my being here. My information had results ... This creature was arrested and today after dinner my false friend comes to tell me that he had not been careful, had mentioned to her my name, and I am certainly indexed in the book she kept. This book was found in her place by the police.

BEERMANN [jumping up]. What's her name?

WASNER. Hauteville.

BEERMANN. So, it is you to whom we are indebted for this scandal. [Angrily.] Do you fully realize what you have accomplished? How many respectable fathers of families you have brought to the very verge of despair?

WASNER. I know it.

BEERMANN. You don't.

WASNER. I came here for that very reason.

BEERMANN [not understanding him]. What?

WASNER. I came here to request you on behalf of the others to call tonight, a meeting of the Executive Committee. The Society must do everything in its power to keep this case out of court.

BEERMANN. Why the devil did you write that anonymous letter?

WASNER. Listen to me, I beg of you. Someone is involved in this who is very dear to you. As soon as I received the information, I hastened to Police Headquarters immediately and wanted to intervene there as the representative of the Society for the Suppression of Vice. But when I mentioned that name I was very formally thrown out. On the steps, whom do you think I met but our mutual friend, Kommerzienrat Bolland! He too had been in the Commissioner's office and had the same bad luck. I told him my troubles and he admitted to me that he also had been lured into the den of this Siren.

BEERMANN. Kommerzienrat!

WASNER. Unfortunately. But that is something I can't at all account for. He hardly could have been led into temptation through a collection of documentary exhibits.

BEERMANN. And what do you want of me now?

WASNER. Our friend sends me to you. He would have come himself but the shock threw him into a sickbed. He entreats you urgently to call a meeting of the Executive Committee, immediately. We have very influential people in our midst who must bring pressure to bear on the Department of the Interior in order to hush up this affair.

BEERMANN. If only you had not written that anonymous letter.

WASNER. I felt a moral duty to do it.

BEERMANN. And now it is our moral duty to patch up this matter. [Betty enters on the left.]

BETTY [hands Beermann a calling card]. The gentleman says it is very urgent.

BEERMANN [reads]. "Assessor Stroebel." [Frightened; to Betty.] Tell him I am out of town. [Betty about to leave.] No, tell him I am sick—or, Betty, show the gentleman up. [Betty goes out.]

WASNER. At what time shall the Executive Committee meet?

BEERMANN [excited]. Oh, leave me alone with your Executive Committee.

WASNER. You must not desert us in our hour of peril. A leader's fate is bound up with his followers according to German tradition.

BEERMANN [as before]. It is all your fault anyway.

WASNER. Shall I then tell our sick friend that we cannot count on your support?

BEERMANN. If I am so situated that I can, I will be over to see him in an hour. I can't promise you more now. [Assessor Stroebel enters on left and remains standing in the doorway.]

STROEBEL [very seriously.] Herr Beermann, I must speak to you privately.

BEERMANN [confused]. You—with me? Well, since you must, I suppose you must.

WASNER. Well, I am going. [Wasner exit left.] [Stroebel enters. Wasner remains standing on the threshold.] The Executive Committee will be called to the sick bed of our friend. We shall await our chairman. [He goes. Stroebel and Beermann remain standing, silent, facing each other.]

STROEBEL. You are surprised, I presume, that I come here at this unusual hour.

BEERMANN. Why should I be surprised?

STROEBEL. You will have to pardon me. The matter which brings me here is unusual and urgent.

BEERMANN. Oh, don't mention it. [A short pause. They both clear their throats.]

STROEBEL. You were in my office this morning ...

BEERMANN. Was I?

STROEBEL. Why, of course you were in my office this morning.

BEERMANN. Oh, yes, yes. I remember we had a short conference. I must ask you to excuse me, Herr Assessor. I am suffering with an awful ringing in the ears. It makes me so forgetful.

STROEBEL. But I hope you still remember what we spoke about.

BEERMANN. Very dimly. If you would remind me of it perhaps it will not be so difficult.

STROEBEL. You came on account of the Hauteville case.

BEERMANN. So-o?

STROEBEL. Or the Hochstetter ...

BEERMANN. Well, since you say so, it must be so.

STROEBEL. First I thought you came to express your satisfaction that we had caught this person ...

BEERMANN. No, that was not my purpose.

STROEBEL. I am sure it wasn't. I was quite surprised that you were not satisfied with her arrest.

BEERMANN. Why shouldn't I not be satisfied with her arrest?

STROEBEL [nervously]. But, Herr Beermann, you will recollect how we discussed the diary.

BEERMANN [quickly]. A diary? I know nothing about it.

STROEBEL. You even became quite excited about it.

BEERMANN. I know nothing whatever of any diary. You never showed me any book at all. Of that I am very positive.

STROEBEL [in despair]. It is just my confounded luck to find you in this predicament. You are evidently suffering.

BEERMANN. An awful ringing in my ears—

STROEBEL. I would leave you at once if the least delay were possible. But I simply must speak to you about it tonight. Can't you get relief by taking medicine?

BEERMANN. No medicine can help me. I can only tell you that I do not know anything about any diary.

STROEBEL. Lord, Lord, leave the diary out of it altogether. It is absolutely of no importance.

BEERMANN. It is of no importance?

STROEBEL. Of course, it is safely locked in my desk ...

BEERMANN. Is that so? Well, then I can't understand why you hurried to see me tonight.

STROEBEL [very embarrassed]. But that is exactly what I wanted to explain to you. But how shall I do it? You scarcely remember any more than that you were in my office this morning. It is incredible how misfortune has been persecuting me since noon.

BEERMANN [greatly relieved]. Well, calm yourself, Herr Assessor. It will come out right in the end.

STROEBEL [downcast]. No, it can never come out right.

BEERMANN [soothingly]. Sit down nicely in this chair—so! I'll sit next to you here—so! ... And now let us see about it. [They seat themselves on the left, upstage.] Do you know, I am beginning to feel much better already. So the diary is in your desk.

STROEBEL. For my part, let it be buried a thousand feet deep. For God's sake, don't talk of it any more. It takes us away from my subject.

BEERMANN. That's right. We shan't talk of it any more. Now let me see, I called on you about the Hauteville case. ...

STROEBEL. And on this occasion you demanded that the police suppress the matter.

BEERMANN. Quite true, I did that.

STROEBEL. There you are! And that's why I thought you were mostly interested in avoiding scandal. BEERMANN. In what way?

STROEBEL. Not personally, but from a wholly humanitarian or civic standpoint. You even told me that just because of your position as President of the Society for the Suppression of Vice, you regarded it as your duty to keep this matter out of the courts.

BEERMANN. Only for the common welfare.

STROEBEL. And out of consideration for public opinion. I had the impression that these considerations were of great importance to you.

BEERMANN. And still are. Do you think I change my views? I repeat to you, that I would consider this court trial a misfortune because it would be contrary to the established order of Society.

STROEBEL. Then we are agreed in our principles!

BEERMANN. You too?

STROEBEL. Absolutely.

BEERMANN. I thought that you had ... this forenoon ...

STROEBEL. And I was also mistaken because you didn't seem to remember. But at any rate we agree in our principles. [They shake hands.] Although that does not accomplish anything still it is a great relief to me that we understand each other. I am coming now to the real purpose of my visit. [He clears his throat.] Herr Beermann, I must demand your word of honor that not a syllable of what I tell you will ever pass your lips.

BEERMANN. My sacred word of honor.

STROEBEL. These are official secrets, perhaps even State secrets, and a single careless word might have tremendous consequences.

BEERMANN. You can depend on me.

STROEBEL. Not even to your family.

BEERMANN. Not a breath.

STROEBEL. To tell you: Since you were at my office this morning there were most remarkable developments, quite unique in their way. But I have your word of honor—have I not?

BEERMANN. My sacred word of honor.

STROEBEL [bends low and protects his mouth with his hand and whispers]. That very night when Madame Hauteville's apartment was raided, without our knowledge a very distinguished person was hidden there.

BEERMANN. I can imagine.

STROEBEL [loudly]. You can't imagine it at all. [Whispering.] Our young heir, Prince Emil, was there himself.

BEERMANN [surprised, slapping his thigh]. Now what do you think of that!

STROEBEL [loudly]. You can understand that I am not telling you this as a mere bit of gossip, but certain important reasons compel me to. That which you mentioned before about the reasons of state was fulfilled. Fulfilled to the very letter. All possibilities of prosecuting this person at present have simply gone up in the air.

BEERMANN [starting from his seat]. Then everything is all right.

STROEBEL. There's nothing "all right" about it. Keep your seat, Herr Beermann. Of course our desire to prosecute has disappeared, but the lady in question is still at headquarters and we don't know how to get rid of her.

BEERMANN. Madame Hauteville? [Stroebel nods.] Just forget to lock the door and she'll vanish.

STROEBEL [shaking his head]. No, ... for a great many reasons. Do you think I did not try hard to find a solution? First, if we openly permit her to escape, the whole city will know it tomorrow; the press will take it up and there will be a far greater scandal than the court proceedings would cause. No, sir, at least the letter of the law must be carried out. Madame Hauteville must give a bond. She will be set free and then she must escape. That's the only way we can protect ourselves from criticism. Do you understand me?

BEERMANN. You mean ... about the bail?

STROEBEL. Yes, sir, the bail first of all. But if it were only the bail! Just think! She doesn't want to go at all.

BEERMANN. She does not want to ...?

STROEBEL. No. I gave her another hearing this afternoon and told her that we don't care to bother with her any more. "Listen," I said to her, "you are lucky. Give bail of Five Thousand Marks, and you will be free in ten minutes. There is a ten o'clock train for Brussels tomorrow morning." [The bell in the hall rings.] What do you suppose she said? She laughed. She knows very well why we are so humane, but she will not give a bond of five marks, even if by luck she had it. She says that she has already prepared for a trial. I talked to her politely, then rudely. She will not budge. She laughs and laughs and that's all. [Knock at the door. Maid enters with a visiting card.]

BEERMANN [to the maid]. What does it all mean to-night, at this hour? This is not a hotel. [Takes the card and reads.] Freiherr Bodo von Schmettau, Herr auf Zirnberg?

STROEBEL. Do receive this gentleman, please.

BEERMANN. Now, while we are conferring?

STROEBEL. Yes, now, if you please.

BEERMANN [to the maid]. Ask the gentleman to come in. [Betty exit.]

STROEBEL. He is Adjutant to the young Prince. I told him I was going to see you, and you can realize how upset he is.

BEERMANN. If it affords you pleasure.

STROEBEL. It does. The entire responsibility rests on me and I at least must show that I have left nothing undone. [Knock on the door.]

BEERMANN. Come in. [Schmettau enters.]

SCHMETTAU. Good evening.

STROEBEL [rising. Beermann rises also]. May I introduce you gentlemen? Herr Beermann, the banker—Herr Baron Schmettau.

SCHMETTAU. We have already had a glimpse of each other today.

BEERMANN. Yes, I remember.

SCHMETTAU. You are the President of the Local Morality Club. Before we go further I must tell you that I do not at all agree with those views ...

STROEBEL [interrupting with anxiety]. Herr Baron, may I call your attention to the fact that Herr Beermann, personally, is far above these narrow theories.

SCHMETTAU. I am glad to hear it. Besides as theories they're not so bad.

BEERMANN. As theories! That's what I say.

SCHMETTAU. Well, there you are!

STROEBEL. Herr Beermann is also the candidate of the local Conservative-Liberal Coalition.

SCHMETTAU. Then he is certainly no stickler for high-flown notions. I should be right glad if we understood each other. And how far are you, gentlemen?

STROEBEL. In principles we are agreed.

BEERMANN. Absolutely.

SCHMETTAU. Then we shall have no difficulty in finding the right solution.

STROEBEL. I have taken Herr Beermann into our confidence.

SCHMETTAU. That was a very disagreeable mishap, was it not? Very bad. Whoever has any patriotism can realize it.

BEERMANN. Herr Baron was also ...

SCHMETTAU. Locked in the closet.

STROEBEL. Permit me to revert to the facts. I was just telling Herr Beermann that this Hauteville woman refuses to leave. She boasts that she has not the bail and even if she had it, she would not pay it.

SCHMETTAU. Confound her! She controls the situation.

STROEBEL. Now we come to the most difficult part of it. She says that if she is compelled to leave the city and is deprived of her livelihood, she wants proper damages for it. Of course I told the woman that this, to say the least, was an extortionate demand. Well then, she says, we will have a trial in court.

BEERMANN. The fox! She knows well that's out of the question.

SCHMETTAU. I am very grateful to you for these sentiments.

STROEBEL. I asked what she considered proper damages. "Ten thousand marks," she says. I almost lost my senses. With the necessary bail that would make Fifteen thousand marks.

SCHMETTAU. In the end perhaps that is not so gigantic.

STROEBEL. Who is going to pay it?

SCHMETTAU. Not we, of course. Our state is a poor paymaster.

STROEBEL. Here is a fine mess, which I cannot solve—at least not I. Herr Beermann, you said yourself that your Society for the Suppression of Vice is vitally interested in the undisturbed maintenance of the popular belief in morality. For the members of your Society, it ought to be quite easy to collect that sum. I know of no other way.

BEERMANN [with folded hands he stands in a pensive mood]. The Executive Committee is expecting its chairman. And I know of a professor who alone ought to pay an extra thousand for a letter he wrote. [To the others.] Gentlemen, briefly speaking, I will do it. On behalf of the society, I pledge this sum.

SCHMETTAU. Herr von Beermann, I can only say that you have acted honorably. The House of Emil the Benevolent knows on whom to confer an order. [He offers his hand.]

BEERMANN. But let me assure you, Herr Baron, I did not do it expecting a reward.

CURTAIN

THE END