 Section 13 of Mother Earth, Volume 1, Number 2, April 1906. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Mother Earth, Volume 1, Number 2, April 1906. Section 13, The Moral Demand, A Comedy in One Act by Otto Erich Hartleben. Translated from the German for Mother Earth. Const. Rita Rivera, Concertsinger. Read by Alicia Messiah. Bertha, read by Elsie Selwyn. Friedrich Stierwald, owner of a firm of CW Stierwald's Sons in Röldelstadt. Read by Larry Wilson. Stage Directions, read by Fahm. Time, end of the 19th century. Place, a large German fashionable bathing resort. Scene, Brita's Boudoir, a small room eloquently furnished in Louis XVI's style. In the background, a broad open door with draperies which leads into an anti-chamber. To the right, a piano, in front of which stands a large comfortable stool. Rita enters the anti-chamber, attired in an elaborate ball toilet. She wears a grey silk cloak, a lace fico, and a parasol. Gaeli tripping toward the front, she sings. Les envoyés du paradis sont les mescales mes amis. She lays the parasol on the table and takes off her long white gloves, all the while singing the melody. She interrupts herself and calls aloud. Bertha! Bertha! O betelina! O betelina! Bertha walks through the middle. My lady, your pleasure. Rita has taken off her cloak and stands in front of the mirror. She is still humming the melody absent-mindedly. Bertha takes off Rita's raps. Rita turns around merrily. Tell me, Bertha, why does not the electric bell ring? I must always sing first, must always squander all my flute notes first air I can entice you to come. What do you suppose that costs? With that I can immediately arrange another charity matinee. Terrible thing, isn't it? Yes, the man has not yet repaired it. O betelina, why has the man not yet repaired it? Yes, the man intended to come early in the morning. The man has often wanted to do so. He does not seem to possess a strong character. She points to her cloak. Dust it well before placing it in a wardrobe. The dust is simply terrible in this place. And this they call a fresh air resort. Has anybody called? Yes, my lady, to count. He has... Yes, I mean anyone else. No, no one. Hmm, let me have my dressing gown. Bertha goes to the sleeping chamber to the left. Rita steps in front of the mirror singing softly. Listen for ye, duperity. How long did he wait? What? I would like to know how long he waited. An hour. Rita, to herself. He does not love me anymore. Loudly. But during that time he must have at least repaired the bell. He is of no use whatever. The count came directly from the matinee and asked me where your ladieship had gone to dine. Naturally I did not know. Did he ask anything else? No, he looked at the photographs. Rita, in the door. Well, and does he expect to come again today? Yes, certainly at four o'clock. Rita looks at the clock. Oh, but that's boring. Now it is already half past three. One cannot even drink coffee in peace. Harry Bertha, prepare the coffee. Bertha leaves the room carrying the articles of attire. Rita after a pause singing a melancholy melody. Friedrich Steeleoud, a man very carefully dressed in black, about thirty years of age, with a black crepe around his stiff hat, enters from the rear into the antechamber, followed by Bertha. But the lady is not well. Please tell the lady that I am passing through here and that I must speak with her about a very pressing matter. It is absolutely necessary. Please. He gives her money and his card. Yes, I shall take your card, but I fear she will not receive you. Why not? Oh yes, just go. This morning she sang at a charity matinee and so... I know, I know, listen. Rita's singing has grown louder. Don't you hear how she sings? Oh, do go. Bertha shaking her head. Well then, wait a moment. She passes through the room to the half-opened door of the sleeping apartment. Knox. Dear lady! Rita from within. Well, what's the matter? Bertha at the door. Oh, this gentleman here. He wishes to see you very much. He is passing through here. Come in. Bertha disappears. Friedrich has walked up to the middle door where he remains standing. Well, who is it? Friedrich. Hmm, I shall come immediately. Bertha comes out and looks at Friedrich in surprise. My lady wishes you to await her. She walks away after having taken another glance at Friedrich. Friedrich looks about embarrassed and shyly. Rita enters, attired in a tasteful dressing-gown, but remains standing in the door. Friedrich bows, softly. Good day. Rita looks at him with an ironical smile and remains silent. You remember me, don't you? Strange. You come to see me. What has become of your good training? Have you lost all sense of shame? Friedrich stretches out his hand as if imploring. Oh, I beg of you. I beg of you, not this tone. I really came to explain everything to you, everything, and possibly to set things right. You, with me. She shakes her head. Incredible! But please, since you are here, sit down. With what can you serve me? Miss Hottenbach, I really should... Pardon me, my name is Rivera. Rita Rivera. I know you call yourself by that name now, but you won't expect me, an old friend of your family, to make use of this romantic, theatrical name? For me you are now, as here to fore, the daughter of the esteemed house of Hottenbach, with which I... With which your father transacts business, I know. With which I now am myself associated. Is it possible, and your father? If I had the slightest inkling of your address, yes, even your present name, I should not have missed to announce to you the sudden death of my father. Rita, after Paul's. Oh, he is dead. I see you still wear mourning. How long ago is it? Half a year. Since then I am looking for you, and I hope you will not forbid me to address you now as of your, with that name which is so highly esteemed in our native city. Rita, smiling friendly. Your solemnity is delightful, golden, but sit down. Freedrake remains standing. He is hurt. I must confess, Miss Hottenbach, that I was not prepared for such a reception from you. I hope that I might expect after these four or five years that you would receive me differently than with this. With this, how shall I say? Toleration. No, with this arrogance. How? Freedrake controlling himself. I beg your pardon. I am sorry to have said that. Rita, after a Paul's, hostile. You wish to be taken seriously? She sits down with the gesture of the hand. Please, what have you to say to me? Much, oh, very much. He also sits down. But you are not well today? Not well? What makes you say so? Yes, the maid told me so. The maid. She is a useful person. That makes me think. You certainly expect to stay here some time, do you not? With your permission. I have much to tell you. I thought so. Bertha! Bertha! Do you suppose one could get an electric bell repaired here? Impossible. Bertha enters. My lady? Bertha, when the count comes, now I am really sick. Bertha nods. Very well. She leaves. And where is the coffee? I shall famish. Bertha, outside. Immediately. The...the count, did you say? Yes, quite a fine fellow, otherwise. But we're not fitting now. I wanted to say, I am passionately fond of electric bells. You know they have a fabulous charm for me. One only needs to touch them softly. Ever so softly, with the small finger. And still cause a terrible noise. Fine, is it not? You wanted to talk about serious matters, it seems so to me. Yes, and I beg of you, Miss Erna. Erna? Erna. Oh, well. I beg of you, be really and truly serious, yes? Listen to what I have to say to you. Be assured that it comes from an honest warm heart. During the years in which I have not seen you, I have grown to be a serious man. Perhaps too serious for my age. But my feelings for you have remained young. Quite young. Do you hear me, Erna? Rita, leaning back in the rocking chair with a sigh. I hear. And you know, Erna, how I have always loved you from my earliest youth. Yes, even sooner than I myself suspected. You know that, yes? Rita is silent and does not look at him. When I was still a fully schoolboy, I already called you my betrothed. And I could not but think otherwise than that I would someday call you my wife. You certainly know that, don't you? Yes, I know it. Well then, you ought to be able to understand what dreadful feelings overcame me when I discovered sooner than you, or the world, the affection of my father for you. That was, no, you cannot grasp it. Rita looks at him searchingly. Sooner than I in all the world. Oh, a great deal sooner. That was, that time was the beginning of the hardest, innermost struggles for me. What was I to do? Ah, Miss Erna, we people are really... Yes, yes. We are dreadfully slow-minded. How seldom one of us can really live as he would like to. Must we not always and forever consider others and our surroundings? Must? Well, yes, we do so at least. And when it is our own father. For look here, Erna. I never would have been able to oppose my father. I was used, as you well know, from childhood to always look up to my father with the greatest respect. He used to be severe, my father, proud and inaccessible, but if I may be permitted to say so, he was an excellent man. Well? Yes, indeed. You must remember that it was he alone who established our business by means of his powerful energy and untiring diligence. Only now I myself have undertaken the management of the establishment. I am able to see what an immense work he has accomplished. Yes, he was an able businessman. With every respect, ability personified, and he had grown to be fifty-two years of age, and was still, ah, still, ah, how shall I say? Still able. Well, yes, I mean a vigorous man in his best years. For fifteen years he had been a widower. He had worked, worked unceasingly, and then the house was well established. He could think of placing some of the work upon younger shoulders. He could think of enjoying his life once more. That is. And he thought he had found in you the one who would bring back to him youth and the joy of life. Yes, but then you ought to—oh, it is not worthwhile. How? I should have been man enough to say. No, I forbid it. That is folly of age. I, your son, forbid it. I demand her for myself. The young fortune is meant for me, not for you. No, Erna, I could not do that. I could not do that. No. I, the young clerk, with no future before me. No. My entire training and my conceptions urge me to consider it my duty to simply stand aside and stifle my affection as I did. As I already told you even before, any other person had an idea of the intentions of my father. I gradually grew away from you. Gradually, yes, I recollect. You suddenly became formal. Indeed, very nice. I thought— Bertha comes with the coffee and serves. Will you take a cup with me? Friedrich thoughtlessly. I thought—oh, pardon me. I thank you. I hope it will not disturb you if I drink my coffee while you continue. Please. Embarrassed. I thought it a proper thing. I hoped that my cold and distant attitude would check a possible existing affection for me. Possible existing affection? Fine. Now you are beginning to lie. She jumps up and walks nervously through the room. As though you had not positively known that. Stepping in front of him. What did you take me for when I kissed you? Friedrich, very much frightened, also rises. Oh, Erna, I always— You were delightful, delightful. Still the same bashful boy who does not dare. She laughs and sits down again. Delightful. Friedrich, after a silence, hesitatingly. Well, are you going to allow me to call you Erna again? As of your? As of your. She soles, then gaily. Ah, if you care too. Yes, may I? Oh yes, Fritz, that's better, isn't it? It sounds more natural, eh? Friedrich presses her hand and soles. Yes, really. You take a heavy load from me. Everything that I want to say to you can be done so much better in the familiar tone. Oh, have you still so much to say to me? Well, but now tell me first. How was it possible for you to undertake such a step? What prompted you to leave so suddenly? Erna, Erna, how could you do that? How I could? Ask me that. Do you really not know it? Oh yes, I do know it. But it takes so much to do that. Not more than was in me. One thing I must confess to you, although it was really bad of me, but I knew no way out of it. I felt relieved after you had gone. Well then, that was your heroism. Do not misunderstand me. I knew my father had... Yes, yes, but do not talk about it anymore. You are right. It was boyish of me. It did not last long, and then I mourned for you. Not less than your parents. Oh, Erna, if you would see your parents now. They have aged terribly. Your father has lost his humor altogether and is giving full vent to his old passion for red wine. Your mother is always ailing, hardly ever leaves the house. And both, even though they never lose a word about it, cannot reconcile themselves to the thought that their only child left them. Rita, after a pause, awakens from her meditation. Harshly. Perhaps you were sent by my father. No. Why? Then I would show you the door. Erna. Who ventured to pay his debts with me. How so? What do you mean? Oh, let's drop that. Times were bad. But today, the house of Hottenbach enjoys its good old standing, as you say, and has overcome the crisis. Then your father must have had some consideration without me. Well then. And Rudeltstadt still stands on the old spot. That's the main thing. Let us talk about something else. I beg of you. No. No, Erna. What you allude to, that... Do you really believe my father had... Your father had grown used to buy and attain everything in life through money. Why not buy me also? And he had already received the promise, not from me, but from my father. But I am free. I ran away and am my own mistress. Young girl, all alone, down with the gang. Friedrich is silent and holds his head. Rita steps up to him and touches his shoulder in a friendly manner. Don't be sad. At that time your father was the stronger, and life is not otherwise. After all, one must assert oneself. But he robbed you of your happiness. Who knows? It is just as well. Is that possible? Do you call that happiness, this being alone? Yes. That is my happiness. My freedom, and I love it with jealousy, for I fought for it myself. A great happiness. Outside of family ties, outside the ranks of respectable society. Rita laughs alone, but without bitterness. Respectable society. Yes, I fled from that, thank heaven. But if you do not come in the name of my father, what do you want here? Why do you come? For what purpose? What do you want of me? Runa, you ask that in a strange manner. Well, yes. I have a suspicion that you begrudge me my liberty. How did you find me anyway? Yes, that was hard enough. Rita Rivera is not so unknown. Rita Rivera? Oh no. How often have I read that name these last years, in the newspapers in Berlin, on various placards in large letters? But how could I ever have thought that you were meant to buy it? Why did you not go to the winter garden when you were in Berlin? I never frequent such places. Pardon me, oh I always forget the old customs. Oh please, please dear Irma, not in this tone of voice. Which tone? Irna, do not make matters so difficult for me. See, after I had finally discovered through an agency in Berlin, and after hunting a long time that you were the famous Rivera, I was terribly shocked at first. Terribly sad. And for a moment I thought of giving up everything. My worst fears were over. I had the assurance that you lived in good, and as I now see, in comfortable circumstances. But on the other hand, I had to be prepared that you might have grown as strange to the world in which I live, and that we could hardly understand each other. Shall I tell you what was your ideal? How you would have liked to find me again, as a poor seamstress in an attic room who, during the four years, had lived in hunger and need. But respectively, that is the main point. Then you would have stretched forth your kind arms, and the poor pale little dove would have gratefully embraced you. Were you denied that you have imagined it thus, and even wished for it? Friedrich, let's have her call me. Well, is there anything wrong about it? But how did it happen that, regardless of this disappointment, you nevertheless continued to search for me? Thank goodness at the right moment I recollected your clear, silvery, childlike laughter. Right in the midst of my petty scooples that resounded in my ears, as at the time when you ridiculed my gravity. Do you still remember that time, Erna? Rita is silent. Bertha enters with an enormous bouquet of dark red roses. My lady, from the count. Rita jumps up, nervously excited. Roses! My dog roses! Give them to me! She holds them toward Friedrich and asks, Did he say anything? No, said nothing but... Friedrich shoves the bouquet, which she holds up closely to his face, aside. I thank you. Rita, without noticing him, to Bertha. Well? Bertha pointing to the bouquet. The count has written something on the card. His card? Where? She searches among the flowers. Oh, here! She reads, then softly to Bertha. It is all right. Bertha leaves. Rita reads again. Pour prendre la congé. With an easy sigh. Ah, yes, yes. What is the matter? Sad. His education was hardly half-finished and he already forsakes me. What do you mean? I do not understand you at all. Rita, her mind is occupied. Too bad. Now he'll grow entirely stupid. Friedrich rises importantly. Erna, answer me. What relationship existed between you and the count? What business is that of yours? Erna, whatever it might have been, this will not do any longer. No, no. You see, it has already ended. No, Erna. That must all be ended. You must get out of all this entirely. And forever. Rita looks at him surprised and inquiringly. Hmm, strange person. Friedrich grows more eager and walks up and down in the room. Such a life is immoral. You must recognize it. Yes, and I forbid you to live on in this fashion. I have the right to demand it of you. Demand? You demand something of me? Yes, indeed. Demand. Not for me? No. In the name of morals. That which I ask of you is simply a moral demand. Do you understand? A moral demand which must be expected of every woman. Must. And why? Because. Because. Because, well, dear. Because otherwise, everything will stop. What will stop? Life? No, but morals. Ah, I thank you. Now I understand you. One must be moral because otherwise morality will stop. Why, yes, that is very simple. Yes, now please. What would I have to do in order to fulfill your demand? I am curious like a child now and shall listen obediently. She sits down again. Friedrich also sits down and grasps her hand warmly. Well, you see, my dear Erna, everything can still be undone. In Rudolfstadt, everybody believes you are in England with relatives, even if you have never been there. Often enough, my best engagements. Well, so much the better. Then you certainly speak English. Of course. And you are acquainted with English customs. Excellent. Oh, Erna, your father will be pleased. He once confessed to me when he had a little too much wine. You know him. He grows sentimental then. Rita, to herself. They are all that way. How? Oh, nothing. Please continue. Well, I could come back. Certainly. Fortunately during these last years, since you have grown so famous, nobody has... I had grown notorious only within a year. Well, most likely nobody in Rudolfstadt has ever seen you on the boards. In one word, you must return. From England? Yes, nothing lies in the way. And your mother will be overjoyed. Nay, nay. How well that you have taken a different name. Ah, that is it. Yes, I believe that. Then they know that I am Rita Rivera. I wrote them. They will receive you with open arms. Erna, I beg of you. I entreat you, come with me. It is still time. Today. You cannot know but anybody from Rudolfstadt who knows might come to the theatre and... Rita, decidedly. No one from Rudolfstadt will do that. They are too well trained for that. You see it by your own person. But go on. If I would care to, if I really would return, what then? Then? Well, then you would be in the midst of the family and society again. And then... Then after some time has elapsed and you feel at home, and when all is forgotten, as though nothing had ever happened. But a great deal has happened. Erna, you must not take me for such a Philistine that I would mind that. At heart, I am unprejudiced. No, really. I know my own fault. And I know life. I know very well, and I cannot ask it of you, that you, in a career like yours, you... Well, that you should have remained entirely faultless. And I do not ask it of you either. You do well at that. I mean, whatever has happened within these four years lies beyond us, does not concern me, but shall not concern you any longer either. Rita Rivera has ceased to be. Erna Hatembach returns to her family. Lovely, very lovely. But then, what then? Shall I start a cooking school? But, Erna, don't you understand me? Could you think of anything else then? Of course I shall marry you then. Rita looks at him puzzled. But that is self-evident. Why should I have looked you up otherwise? Why should I be here? But dear Erna, don't look so stunned. Rita still stares at him. Simply marry. Strange. She turns around towards the open piano, plays and sings softly. Favelon, favela, favelet. Friedrich has risen. Erna, do not torment me. Torment? No, that would not be right. You are a good fellow. Give me a kiss. She rises. Friedrich embraces and kisses her. My Erna, oh, you have grown so much prettier. So much prettier. Rita leans her head on his shoulder. But now come. One moment. Rita does not move. If possible, let everything be come. He pushes her with gentle force. You cry? Rita hastily wipes the tears from her eyes, controls herself. Oh, nonsense. Rita Rivera does not cry. She laughs. Erna, do not use that name. I do not care to hear it again. Oh, you do not want to hear it anymore. You would like to command me. You come here and assume that that which life and hard times have made of me, you can wipe out in a half hour. No, you do not know life and know nothing of me. My name is Rivera, and I shall not marry a merchant from Rudolt Stop. How is that? You still hesitate? Do I look as though I hesitated? Do you know, Fred, that during the years after my escape I often went hungry, brutally hungry? Do you know that I ran about in the most frightful dives with rattling plate, collecting pennies and insults? Do you know what it means to humiliate oneself for dry bread? You see, that has been my school. Do you understand that I had to become an entirely different person and go to ruin? One who owes everything to himself, who is proud of himself but who no longer respects anything. Above all, no conventional measures and weights. And do you understand, friend, that it would be based on my part? Were I to follow you to the Philistine? Friedrich, after a pause, sadly. No. I do not understand that. Rita, again gaily. I thought so. Shall I dread there every suspicion and tremble before every fool, whereas I can breathe free air, enjoy sunshine, and the best conscience? You know that pretty part in the walker? She sings. Greet, Rudal, stop for me. Greet my father and mother and all the heroes. I shall not follow you to them. Now you know. She sits down at the piano again. Friedrich, after silence. Even if you have lived through hard times, that still does not give you the right to disregard the duties of morals and customs. Rita plays and sings. Far along, far along, far let. Far along, far let. I cannot understand how you can refuse me when I offer you the opportunity of returning to ordered circumstances. I do not love the ordered circumstances. On the contrary, I must have something to train. And I? I shall never be anything to you any more. You thrust me also aside in your stubbornness. But not at all. Why? How so? Did you not state just now what? Certainly. Do you see? You cannot be so cold and heartless towards me. Why did you kiss me before? I know you also yearn in your innermost heart for those times in which we secretly saw and found each other. You also, and even if you denied, I felt it before you cried. Erna, come along. Come along with me. Come. Become my dear wife. Raytown looks at him quietly. No, I shall not do such a thing. Friedrich starts nervously after a pause. Erna, is that your last word? Yes. Consider well what you say. I know what I am about. Erna, you want to remain what you are? Yes. That's what I want. Friedrich remains for some time struggling, then grasps his hat. Then adieu. He hurries towards the lift into the bedroom. Rita calls, smiling. Halt! Not there. Friedrich returns, confused. Pardon me. Poor Fred. Did you stray into my bedroom? There is the door. Pause. Several times he tries to speak. She laughs gently. Then she sings and plays the song from Mamsel Nittush. I mean we. A play la fête. Remnay, babet, et cadet. Christy, la nuit est complète. Farnous, de pêche, babet. T'as d'un profiteur, gross bet. Favelon, favela, favelet. J'ai troupé, dit c'est cadet. J'ai pas peur, dit c'est babet. La roulette, la rue. La roulette, la rue. Friedrich at first listens against his will, even makes a step toward the door. By and by he becomes fascinated and finally is charmed. She finishes. He puts his stiff hat on the table and walks toward her with a blissful smile. Now, you even smile? Did I impress you? Friedrich drops down on his knees in front of her. Oh, Erne, you are the most charming woman on earth. He kisses her hands wildly. Rita stoops down to him softly and merrily. Why run away? Why, if you still love me can you run off? You mule. Oh, I'll remain. I remain with you. It was well that you missed the door. Oh, Erne. But now you call me Rita. Do you understand? Well, are you going to are you going to be good? Rita, Rita, everything you wish. Everything I wish. She kisses him. And now tell me about your moral demand. Yes? You are delightful when you talk about it. So delightful. End of a moral demand. End of Mother Earth Volume 1, Number 2, April 1906.