Enter MRS GABOR with the tea.
MRS GABOR. Tea is ready, boys. Good evening, Herr Stiefel. How are you?
MORITZ. Fine, thank you, Frau Gabor. I’ve been listening to the mysteries in your garden.
MRS GABOR. You don’t look too good. Are you ill?
MORITZ. It’s nothing. I’ve been getting to bed rather late recently.
MELCHIOR. He studied all night, Mother.
MRS GABOR. You shouldn’t do that, Herr Stiefel. You should look after yourself. Your health is more important than school work. Take long walks in the fresh air. At your age that’s more important than a good mark in Middle High German.
MORITZ. Yes, I’ll go for walks. You’re right. I can always study while I walk. Why didn’t I think of that before? But I’d still have to do the written work at home.
MELCHIOR. You can do your written work here; that way it’ll be easier for both of us. – Mother, you know my classmate Max von Trenk? He died today. Of a cerebral haemorrhage. Hans Rilow was with him. He went straight from Trenk’s deathbed to the Headmaster to break the news. ‘The whole class will attend the funeral,’ said the Head. ‘In the meantime, Rilow, I seem to remember that you have two hours’ detention owing from last week.’ – Hans was stunned.
MRS GABOR. What book is that, Melchior?
MELCHIOR. Goethe’s Faust.
MRS GABOR. Have you read it?
MELCHIOR. Not all of it.
MORITZ. We’re just in the middle of the Witches’ Sabbath.
MRS GABOR. At your age I would have waited another year or two.
MELCHIOR. I know of no other book that has so many beautiful passages. Why shouldn’t I read it?
MRS GABOR. Because you don’t understand it.
MELCHIOR. How do you know, Mother? I’m well aware that I’m not yet qualified to fully comprehend this work in all its transcendent glory, but . . .
MORITZ. We always read it together, that makes it much easier to follow.
MRS GABOR. You’re old enough to decide what is good for you and what isn’t. Do what you think best according to your conscience. I would always rather put my trust in you than some rigid educational doctrine. – Just remember: even beautiful things can be harmful if one lacks the maturity to understand them. – If you need anything else, boys, come and call me. I’ll be in my bedroom. (Exit.)
MORITZ. I think your mother means the scene where Faust seduces Gretchen.
MELCHIOR. Did we dwell on it any longer than necessary?
MORITZ. Faust himself could not have been more detached.
MELCHIOR. Let’s face it, Goethe’s masterpiece does not reach its zenith in that sad little episode.7 But the way people go on about it – you’d think the whole world revolved around penis and vagina.
MORITZ. To be honest, Melchior, since I read your essay I feel as though it does. I found it in my history book on the first day of the holidays. I locked the door and flipped through the pages like a frightened owl flying through a burning forest – I think I read most of it with my eyes shut.8 What affected me most was what you wrote about the girl. I can’t stop thinking about it. You know, Melchior, it must be so much sweeter to be the ravished than the ravisher. To submit in innocence to such sweet violation must be the summit of human happiness.
MELCHIOR. I couldn’t just submit to happiness – like a beggar accepting charity.
MORITZ. Why not?
MELCHIOR. I could never enjoy anything that I hadn’t had to struggle for.
MORITZ. But would that still be enjoyment, Melchior? – The pleasure the girl experiences is like the ecstasy of the gods. Her instinct is to resist – until the very last moment when she is suddenly swept away by rapture. Her feelings are pure, like the mountain spring that gushes from a rock. She lifts the sweet chalice to her lips – a cup untouched by human hand before hers – and drinks the flickering nectar, drop by drop. – The satisfaction a man experiences must be rather stale in comparison.
MELCHIOR. Think of it like that if you wish, but keep your thoughts to yourself. I prefer not to think about it at all.
Scene Two
The BERGMANNS’ living room. Early morning.
MRS BERGMANN (enters wearing hat and coat, a basket under her arm, her face beaming). Wendla! Wendla!
WENDLA (enters in her underskirt and corset). What’s the matter, Mother?
MRS BERGMANN. You’re up already. That’s sweet of you.
WENDLA. Have you been out this morning?
MRS BERGMANN. Get dressed quickly, child. I want you to hurry over to your sister with this basket.
WENDLA (getting dressed). You’ve been to see Ina? – How is she? – Still not better?
MRS BERGMANN. Just think, Wendla. The stork paid her a visit last night and brought her a little baby boy.
WENDLA. A boy? – A boy! – Oh, that’s wonderful – So that’s why she had the flu for so long!
MRS BERGMANN. Such a lovely boy!
WENDLA. I must go and see him! – So now I’ve become an auntie for the third time – with one niece and two nephews!
MRS BERGMANN. And such wonderful boys! – Well, that’s what happens when you live so close to the church. It’s such a short distance to fly. It’s only two years since your sister climbed the steps to the altar in her wedding dress.
WENDLA. Were you there when the stork arrived?
MRS BERGMANN. I just missed him. He had just flown away. – Why don’t you pin a rose on your dress?
WENDLA. Couldn’t you have got there a bit sooner, Mother?
MRS BERGMANN. I think he brought something for you as well. A brooch or something like that!
WENDLA. That’s a real pity!
MRS BERGMANN. I told you, he brought you a brooch!
WENDLA. I’ve got enough brooches . . .
MRS BERGMANN. Then you should be content, child. What more do you want?
WENDLA. I would have liked to know whether he flew in through the window or came down the chimney.
MRS BERGMANN. You must ask Ina. Yes, you must ask Ina, my precious! Ina will tell you everything in detail. She spoke to him for at least half an hour.
WENDLA. I’ll ask Ina when I get there.
MRS BERGMANN. And don’t forget. I’d like to know myself whether he came through the window or the chimney.
WENDLA. Or perhaps I should ask the chimney sweep? – The chimney sweep would know best whether he uses the chimney or not.
MRS BERGMANN. Not the chimney sweep, child, don’t ask the chimney sweep. What does he know about the stork! He’ll only tell you a lot of nonsense he doesn’t believe himself. – What’s the matter? What are you staring at?
WENDLA. A man, Mother – three times bigger than an ox, with a giant’s feet and a bedstead under his chin which he plays like a fiddle . . .
MRS BERGMANN (coming to the window to look). I don’t believe it!
WENDLA. You’re too late, he’s just turned the corner . . .
MRS BERGMANN. You really are a silly little girl! Giving your gullible old mother such a fright! – Come on now, put on your hat. When will you ever grow up and have a bit of sense? – I’ve given up hope.
WENDLA. So have I, Mother, so have I. – I really don’t have much sense. Here I am with a sister who’s been married two years, I’ve become an auntie for the third time and I still have no idea how it all happens . . . Don’t be cross, Mother, don’t be cross! You are the only one in the world I can ask. Please, Mother, tell me! How does it work? How does it all come about? I’m fourteen now. You can’t seriously expect me to believe in the stork.
MRS BERGMANN. Good heavens, child, you are strange! – You have the silliest ideas! – I can’t tell you that!
WENDLA. But why not, Mother? Why not? It can’t be that terrible if everyone is so happy about it!
MRS BERGMANN. Dear God, help me! I deserve to . . . Come, Wendla, put on your coat.
WENDLA. I’m going. – What if I were to go and ask the chimney sweep?
MRS B
ERGMANN. You’re driving me mad! Come, child, come here. I’ll tell you everything . . . oh, dear God! – But not today, Wendla! – Tomorrow or the day after or next week . . . whenever you want, precious . . .
WENDLA. Tell me today, Mother, tell me now! This minute! – Now that I’ve seen how shocked you are, I won’t have any peace until I know.
MRS BERGMANN. I can’t, Wendla.
WENDLA. Why can’t you, Mummy? – I’ll kneel down by your feet and put my head in your lap. You can cover my head with your apron and then you just talk – as if you were completely alone in the room. I won’t flinch, I won’t scream, I’ll just listen patiently to whatever you have to say.
MRS BERGMANN. Heaven knows, Wendla, I’m not to blame. Heaven is my witness. Come here then. I’ll tell you how you came into the world. – Listen, Wendla . . .
WENDLA (under the apron). I’m listening.
MRS BERGMANN. No, I can’t, child! I can’t be responsible. – I deserve to be put in prison – to have you taken away from me . . .
WENDLA (under the apron). Be brave, Mother!
MRS BERGMANN. Listen, then . . .
WENDLA (under the apron, shaking). Oh God, oh God!
MRS BERGMANN. To have a child – are you listening, Wendla?
WENDLA. Quickly, Mother. I can’t bear it much longer.
MRS BERGMANN. To have a child – you – and the man – to whom you are married – you have to love him, Wendla – do you understand? – you have to love him in a way you can only love a man – you have to love him from the bottom of your heart – in a way you cannot describe – you have to love him, Wendla, in a way that you certainly can’t love at your age . . . Now you know.
WENDLA (getting up). Great God in heaven!
MRS BERGMANN. Now you know the trials you will face one day!
WENDLA. And that’s all?
MRS BERGMANN. As God is my witness! – Now take the basket and run over to Ina. She’ll give you chocolate, and cake too. Come here, just let me look at you one more time. – That princess frock really is getting too short, Wendla!
WENDLA. Have you bought the meat for lunch yet?
MRS BERGMANN. May God bless you and protect you! – I’ll have to sew on that flounce soon.
Scene Three
HANS RILOW in the lavatory at home, holding a reproduction of the Venus of Palma Vecchio.
HANS. Have you prayed tonight, Desdemona?
That look of meditation on your face – it is not the Lord’s Prayer, is it, my sweet? You are contemplating the arrival of a lover, as in that delicious moment when I first came upon you lying in Schlesinger’s shop window – and spied those supple limbs, the soft curve of those hips, those firm youthful breasts. The Great Master must have been drunk with joy as the lithe young model lay stretched out before him on the couch!
Will you visit me in my dreams now and then? I’ll welcome you with outstretched arms and kiss you till you gasp for breath. You’ll take possession of me like an heiress who returns to claim her derelict castle. Doors and gates are opened by invisible hands, and in the gardens below the fountain begins to splash.
It is the cause, it is the cause, my soul!
The terrible pounding in my chest betrays that I do not murder you lightly. My throat tightens when I think of the lonely nights ahead. I swear I am not driven to this by boredom or disgust. What man could flatter himself that he was bored with you? – But you have sucked the marrow from my bones, warped my spine, robbed my young eyes of their sparkle. You exact too high a price with these motionless limbs, this inhuman modesty of yours. One of us must die. And the victory is mine. – It is the cause.
How many beauties have gone this way before you? Giorgione’s Sleeping Venus – bequeathed to me by my spindly governess, Mademoiselle Angelique, that rattlesnake in my childhood’s Garden of Eden. Correggio’s Io, The Source by Ingres, two bathing Susannahs – one of them abducted for my harem from a secret drawer in my father’s desk – a trembling, twitching Leda – discovered by chance amongst my brother’s lecture notes – and Titian’s Profane Love. Let the fate of these seven console you, you rosy-cheeked candidate for death, and do not multiply my torments with those beseeching looks. You must die to expiate my sins, not your own.9 My conscience will be at peace, my body will revive when you, she-devil, no longer nestle among the red silk cushions of my jewel box. Perhaps Goya’s Naked Maya will take your place in that luxurious temple of pleasure – and speed my convalescence.10
Put out the light, and then put out the light.
Why do you press your knees together, my sweet? Even now, as you stand before eternity? One little twitch and I would let you live, one womanly gesture, one flicker of warmth or lechery, and I would frame you in gold and hang you above my bed. Don’t you know that it was only your chastity that turned my desire to cruelty? Woe, woe upon cold-hearted women! It’s clear that you had an impeccable upbringing. – As I did.
Have you prayed tonight, Desdemona?11 One last kiss on those chaste lips, those budding breasts, those cruel knees. You who are about to die, I salute you!
(With mounting excitement.) It is the cause, my soul! Let me not name it to you, you chaste stars!
It is the cause!
At the climax he drops the picture into the depths and closes the lid.
Scene Four
A hayloft. MELCHIOR is lying on his back in the fresh hay.
WENDLA climbs up the ladder.
WENDLA. So this is where you’ve been hiding! – Everyone is looking for you. The hay wagon has gone back to the field. You have to give us a hand. There’s a thunderstorm brewing.
MELCHIOR. Go away and leave me alone! Go away!
WENDLA. What’s the matter? Why do you hide your face?
MELCHIOR. Go away, I tell you! Or I’ll push you down the ladder.
WENDLA. Now I will certainly stay! (She kneels down beside him.) Why don’t you come along to the meadow with us, Melchior? It’s so close in here. And if we get soaked to the skin – why should we care?
MELCHIOR. The hay smells so good. The sky must be as black as a shroud. – All I can see is the poppy glowing on your breast – and I can hear your heartbeat –
WENDLA. – Don’t kiss me, Melchior! – Don’t kiss me!
MELCHIOR. – Your heart – I can hear it beating –
WENDLA. – You love one another – when you kiss – don’t – don’t! –
MELCHIOR. Believe me, there is no such thing as love! – It’s pure selfishness, pure egotism! – I love you as little as you love me. –
WENDLA. – Don’t – Don’t, Melchior! —
MELCHIOR. – Wendla!
WENDLA. Oh, Melchior – don’t – don’t –
Scene Five
MRS GABOR sitting at a writing desk.
MRS GABOR.
Dear Herr Stiefel!
I have spent twenty-four hours considering and reconsidering everything you have written to me in your letter, and it is with a heavy heart that I take up my pen to reply.
I cannot, I give you my solemn word, obtain the cost of a passage to America for you. In the first place, I do not have so much money at my disposal – and, secondly, even if I had, it would be the most heinous of crimes to provide you with the means for such a reckless undertaking. You would do me a grave injustice, Herr Stiefel, if you interpreted my refusal as a sign of lack of love on my part. It is quite the opposite: I would be neglecting my duty as a friend if I allowed myself to be influenced by your momentary bewilderment and gave in blindly to an impulse of motherly affection.
I will gladly write to your parents, should you wish me to do so. I will seek to persuade them that throughout this term you have worked as hard as you could and exhausted your powers so much that a rigorous judgement of your circumstances would not only be unjust but could also be detrimental to your physical and emotional health.
To be perfectly frank, I was somewhat taken aback by your barely concealed threat that, if you did not obtain the means to
emigrate, you would take your own life. I have never been anything but kind to you, and the manner in which you try to hold me responsible for what would be a terrible crime could be construed, in the minds of ill-disposed persons, as an attempt at blackmail. Since your conduct till now has seemed beyond reproach, I must confess you were the last person of whom I would have expected such a tactic. I am convinced, however, that you were still too much in shock to be fully conscious of what you were doing.
I am confident, therefore, that these words of mine will already find you in a more composed frame of mind. Things are never as bleak as they seem. It is quite wrong in my opinion to judge any young man by his school results. There are too many examples of bad students who become remarkable men in later life, and of brilliant students who never fulfil their potential. Whatever happens, I give you my assurance that your present difficulties will never, so far as it lies in my power, affect your friendship with Melchior. I shall always derive great pleasure from seeing my son in the company of a young man who – however the rest of the world may judge him – has gained my respect and affection.
Hold your head high, Herr Stiefel. We all face crises of one kind or another at some point in our lives and we must try to overcome them. If we all resorted at such times to poison or the dagger, the world would soon be depopulated. Let me hear from you again soon.
With fondest regards from your still devoted maternal friend,
Anna Gabor
Scene Six
WENDLA alone.12
WENDLA. Why did I slip out of the room? – To pick violets! – Because Mother sees me smiling. Why can’t I close my lips any longer? – I don’t know – I simply don’t know, I can’t find the words for it . . . The path feels like velvet – no stones, no thorns. My feet don’t touch the ground. How well I slept last night. – This is where they were. – I feel so solemn – like a nun at communion. – Such beautiful violets! – Calm down, Mother, I’ll wear my sackcloth from now on. – If only there was someone here now whom I could embrace and tell everything!
Spring Awakening Page 6