<^JvV 
 
 THE 
 
 RIGHT TO LOVE 
 
 DR.MAX NORDAU 
 
 
CORNELL 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 Joseph Whitmore Barry 
 dramatic library 
 
 THE GIFT OF 
 TWO FRIENDS 
 
 OF Cornell University 
 1934 
 
arV10122 
 
 Comall Unlvaralty Library 
 
 ,. 3 1924 031 325 511 
 olin.anx >^ ^ ■ ■ 
 
Cornell University 
 Library 
 
 The original of tliis bool< is in 
 tine Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924031325511 
 
THE RIGHT TO LOVE 
 
SIUDENTS DO A NORDAU DRAMA. 
 
 On Friday afternoon the senior students of the 
 American Academy of Dramatic Arts added to 
 the dramatic experience, if not to the gayety, of 
 the town by presenting at thg Empire Theatre a 
 problem play by Max Nordau, entitled The Right 
 to LoTe. The eminent and very discouraging 
 philosopher decides that In certain circumstances 
 people have not the right to love — but the ques- 
 tion of whether or not Mr. Nordau has the right 
 to write for the stage while apparently ignorant 
 of all the laws of the drama is debatable. The 
 Right to Love is an uncommonly bad play archi- 
 tecturally, and the problem that it presents is by 
 no means amazingly new. But for all that the 
 Academy conferred a public benefit by producing 
 the drama — which had never before been acted 
 in America and likely never will be again. The 
 students assuredly bring most Interesting dra- 
 matic curios — if not treasures— to the local stage. 
 The Right to Love, which is in four acts, was 
 translated by Mary J. Safford. The cast was as 
 follows: V'-'V-' '<^^i 
 
 Joseph Wahrmnnd .{^ : . . . Fraak Dekum 
 
 Otto Bardeuholm Sydney Francis Kice 
 
 Doctor Ruttner Henrv Gonklin 
 
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THE RIGHT TO LOVE 
 
 DR. MAX NORDAU 
 
 ENGLISH TRANSLATION 
 
 BY 
 
 MARY J. SAFFORD 
 
 l\;iERlJMllLLLiLKARY, 
 NEW YORK. 
 
 ^ntljotijeb (Sbition 
 
 SOLD BY THE 
 
 MEKOANTILE LIBEAEY, 
 NEW YOBK. 
 
 D331760 
 
 F. TENNYSON NEELY 
 
 PUBLISHER 
 NEW YORK CHICAGO, 
 
j\Ls6iiY 
 
 THE WORKS OF 
 
 Dr. MAX NORDAU, 
 
 Author of " Degeneration," Etc. 
 12mo, cloth, $1.50 Per Volume, 
 
 The Comedy of Sentiment. 
 Tbe Ailment of the Century. 
 
 The Right to Love. 
 
 For sale everywhere, or will be sent, 
 post-paid, to any address in the United 
 States, Canada or Mexico, on receipt of 
 price. 
 
 F. TENNYSON NEELY, 
 
 Publisher, 
 NEW YORK. CHICAGO. 
 
 Copyright, 1895, 
 By F. TENNYSON NEELY. 
 
September Sth, i8gj. 
 Dear Mr, Neely : 
 
 I return, with thanks, the manuscript of the trans- 
 lation of " The Right to Love." It is very well done. 
 I have found it necessary to change hut a few words. 
 I beg to express to the translator my gratitude. 
 
 With regard to pirated editions of some of my ear- 
 lier books, I thank you very much for your kind advice 
 and am quite willing to leave matters entirely in your 
 own hands. 
 
 You are on the spot and you know better than I the 
 best course to take to defend my interests. By this 
 time you know that " The Farce of Feeling " is the 
 novel I call in English "The Comedy of Sentiment," 
 for which we have already agreed as to the publica- 
 tion of an American edition by you. 
 
 Of my new novels you shall hear all particulars as 
 soon as I think it desirable and advantageous to put 
 them before the public. 
 
 With kindest regards I am. 
 
 Yours very sincerely. 
 
 To F. Tennyson Neely, Esq., 
 114 Fifth Ave., N. Y. 
 
DEDICATED TO 
 
 HER EXCELLENCY MADAM OLGA VON NOVIKOFF 
 
 BORN VON KIR^EFF 
 
 BY 
 THE AUTHOR 
 
IN PLACE OF A PREFACE. 
 To Her Excellency Madam von 
 
 NORDAU OF Moscow. 
 
 My kind friend : 
 
 If I write your name in the pediment of this 
 book, it is not because I am persuaded that I 
 " Xagievt enl vtjdv speipa " you (you can be 
 addressed in the language of Homer), but 
 because in your amiability and unduly great 
 modesty you assure me that you do not con- 
 sider the play unworthy of you. Therefore I 
 beg you to see in my dedication no overwean- 
 ing self-appreciation, but a proof, though in- 
 adequate, of the reverence which I pay to 
 your mind, your soul, your character. 
 
 You certainly do not suspect, my gracious 
 friend, that this dedication has prevented my 
 doing something which afterwards I should 
 probably have regretted. 
 
 " The Right to Love " has met with the most 
 
X IN PLACE OF A PREFACE. 
 
 favorable reception on every German stage 
 upon which it has been produced — true, the 
 number is not yet large. Prominent and 
 weighty periodicals have praised it with little 
 reservation and without stint. Yet a few con- 
 temptible mortals who (by their own confes- 
 sion) wished to avenge themselves upon the 
 author of " Degeneration," have made the 
 greatest efforts to stifle it under falsehoods, 
 calumny, and vulgarity. 
 
 I know that a sensible man ought to have 
 nothing to do with such persons. Yet I was 
 on the eve of succumbing to the temptation of 
 dealing with these worthless folk in a preface 
 to the edition of my drama in book form. 
 
 The thought that the play is to be dedi- 
 cated to you came to the aid of my reason, 
 and strengthened it for the conquest of 
 temper. 
 
 I must not show the noble-minded foreigner, 
 who knows and reveres German literature as 
 the Pantheon of Lessing, Goethe, Schiller, and 
 Heine, the neglected corners of this proud 
 structure. 
 
IN PLACE OF A PREFACE. XI 
 
 For the sake of your name I have exercised 
 self-control, and avoided a rashness in which I 
 should have surrendered too much of my dig- 
 nity. Accept my thanks for the beautiful 
 influence which you have unconsciously ex- 
 erted, and permit me to lay at your feet this 
 expression of my homage. 
 
 Max Nordau. 
 
PERSONAGES. 
 
 Joseph Wahrmund, Merchant. 
 
 Otto Bardenholm, Assessor. 
 
 Doctor BOttner. 
 
 Madam Bertha Wahrmund, wife of 
 
 Joseph Wahrmund. 
 Madam Fridorp, her mother. 
 Madam Burkhard, Artist. 
 Minna, servant in the Wahrmund family. 
 Lena, Madam Fridorp 's housekeeper. 
 Governess in Joseph Wahrmund's employ 
 
 (silent). 
 
 Bessie, 7 years old, ) Wahrmund's children. 
 Louise, 5 years old, ) 
 
PLACE. 
 
 In the first scene, 
 Heringsdorf. 
 
 In the second, 
 LiCHTERFELDS. 
 
 In the third and the fourth, 
 Berlin. 
 
 TIME. 
 The Present Day. 
 
 No interval between the third and the fourth 
 acts. 
 
SOLD BY THE 
 
 ^EW YORK. 
 
 THE RIGHT TO LOVE. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 Veranda in front of Wahrtnund's villa at 
 Heringsdorf The back and the left-hand wall 
 are half glass. The back affords a view of the 
 sea, the left a stretch of the beach and the downs. 
 In the centre of the back wall is a door to which 
 three steps lead from the outside. At the right 
 is a door leading into the living-rooms of the 
 villa. In the right-hand corner at the back is a 
 round table, and in the right-hand corner at the 
 front stands a square one. A t the left are several 
 arm-chairs and rocking-chairs. 
 
 Scene I. 
 
 Minna. Wahrmund. 
 
 Minna. 
 {Holds a duster in her hand and is putting the 
 furniture in order.) 
 
2 THE RIGHT TO LOVE. 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 {Shaking the veranda door on the outside, then 
 rapping on the panes.) 
 Minna ! oh, Minna ! 
 
 Minna (calling. 
 Yes, yes ; I'm coming directly. {Runs to the 
 door and opens it.) 
 
 Wahrmund {entering). 
 Why, confound it, who has locked this door 
 again? I said that it was always to be left 
 open during the day ! 
 
 Minna {moving the chairs about). 
 Yes, but my mistress ordered us to keep it 
 locked. 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 {Puts his hat and sun umbrella on the round 
 table. Grumbling^ 
 
 Always the same story. I never can have 
 my own way. Has nothing come from Berlin ? 
 
 Minna. 
 Yes, a box. {She brings it from the square 
 table:) 
 
THE RIGHT TO LOVE. 3 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 Ah! That's it. 
 
 Minna. 
 Shall I open it ? 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 I'll attend to that myself. {Takes out a pen- 
 knife). 
 
 Minna. 
 
 I'll get a kitchen knife. 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 
 That isn't necessary. It's very lightly 
 
 nailed. But you can bring a large glass of 
 
 water. 
 
 Minna. 
 
 {Exit through the door at the right.) 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 
 {Prying open the lid of the box with his pen- 
 knife^ 
 
 I was afraid it might come too late — snap — 
 Deuce take the blade ! Well, no harm done 
 — if the thing only pleases Bertha. 
 
 Minna. 
 {Enters with a tumbler of water ^ 
 
4 THE RIGHT TO LOVE. 
 
 Wahrmund {raising the lid). 
 There ! Perfectly fresh. Put the glass on 
 the table, {He takes out of the box a large 
 bouquet of gypsophila and, after removing the 
 sheet of paper wrapped around it, places it care- 
 fully in the tumbler, and gives the paper to 
 Minna.) Throw that away. 
 
 Minna {exit). 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 {Takes his hat and umbrella from the round 
 table, on which the bouquet now stands alone, 
 and carries it to the square table. Here he looks 
 at the mail which has been delivered, three let- 
 ters and two newspapers. He puts one of the 
 letters back on the table, tucks the newspapers, 
 after tearing off the. wrappers, under his arm, 
 opens the letters, hastily glances over the lines, 
 and thrusts them into his pocket at the entrance 
 of Bertha and Bardenholm.) 
 
THE RIGHT TO LOVE. 5 
 
 Scene II. 
 Wahrmund. Bertha. Bardenholm. 
 {Bertha enters through the door at the right ; 
 Bardenholm follows her.) 
 
 Bertha. 
 Oh ! It's very warm again to-day. {Sits 
 down in an arm-chair at the left and fans her- 
 self with her handkerchief^ 
 
 Bardenholm. 
 We walked rapidly. And it is tiresome to 
 wade through the sand. 
 
 Bertha. 
 {Has taken off her hat and rises to put it 
 down.) 
 
 Bardenholm. 
 Oh, permit me ! {Eagerly takes her hat from 
 her hand and hurries to the round table with 
 it.) 
 
 Bertha. 
 {Gazing out through the glass and speaking 
 over her shoulder to Wahrmund^ No letters 
 to-day ? 
 
6 THE RIGHT TO LOVE. 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 One from your mother. {Gives it to her.) 
 
 Bertha. 
 {Takes and opens it without looking at Wahr- 
 mund.) 
 
 Wahrmund {standing beside her). 
 Well ? What does mother write ? Is she 
 well? Will she come? 
 
 Bertha {ungraciously). 
 How am I to guess the contents ? Let me 
 read it first. 
 
 Wahrmund {aside to Bardenholni). 
 My wife is nervous again to-day. 
 
 Bardenholm. 
 We must deal with her so much the more 
 tenderly. Michelet says : " Woman is a 
 wounded creature." 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 Michelet is a simpleton. 
 
 Bardenholm. 
 Oh, no ! Michelet is a finely strung artist 
 nature. 
 
THE RIGHT TO LOVE. J 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 ( With good-humored sarcasm^ 
 Yes, he can be called that, too. 
 
 Bertha. 
 {Putting the letter into her pocket^ 
 Mother sends her love. She is well, but too 
 lazy to come here. 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 Indeed ! Well ! As she chooses. It was 
 your idea. I thought at once that the sea air 
 would not be good for her rheumatism. 
 
 Bertha. 
 Of course, your opinions are always exactly 
 the reverse of mine. 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 Never mind, Bertha. We won't dispute 
 over it. But — where are you leaving your 
 hat again ? 
 
 Bardenholm. 
 {Who has officiously brought a stool and placed 
 it at Bertha's feet, starting up.) 
 
 Pardon me. There wasn't a speck of dust 
 
8 THE RIGHT TO LOVE. 
 
 on the table when I put the hat there. I 
 treat the lady's belongings reverently. 
 Bertha {sharply to Wahrmund). 
 I really think you would do better to attend 
 to your own affairs. 
 
 Wahrmund (^pleasantly). 
 There you go again. I only said it to make 
 you look over there. 
 
 Bertha. 
 {Glances at the round table. Springing up and 
 running to it^ 
 
 Oh, how charming! This is too lovely. 
 {Taking the bouquet and examining it.) But 
 who told you that gypsophila was my favorite 
 flower ? 
 
 Bardenholm (hesitatingly). 
 Oh— I ?— how 
 
 Bertha, 
 You probably sent to Berlin for it ? Such a 
 bouquet cannot be had here. 
 Bardenholm. 
 Unfortunately I am not the giver — I deeply 
 regret it. 
 
THE RIGHT TO LOVE. 9 
 
 Bertha {astonished). 
 You are not the giver ? Then who 
 
 Wahrmund {smiling). 
 I suppose you will not think of me ? 
 
 Bertha {disappointed). 
 You ? {Puts the bouquet down and returns to 
 her arm-chair^ 
 
 Wahrmund {as before). 
 Does it gratify you less now ? 
 
 Bertha {irritably). 
 Don't talk nonsense ! At any rate I thank 
 you. What put it into your head so sud- 
 denly ? 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 
 Don't you know what day this is? 
 
 Bertha {looking at hitd). 
 
 Monday 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 No — I mean the date. 
 
 Bertha {wonder ingly). 
 The second of August— («/j?^r a brief pause 
 of reflection, carelessly) — oh, yes. 
 
lO THE RIGHT TO LOVE. 
 
 Wahrmund {fo Bardenholni). 
 Our wedding-day. 
 
 Bertha (with a forced smile). 
 That's such an old story. 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 (Approaching and trying to embrace her, gal- 
 lantly^ 
 
 It will ever remain new to me. 
 
 Bertha (repulsing him). 
 Don't ! You know I don't like tender 
 speeches. 
 
 Wahrmund (stepping back). 
 It has not always been so. When, eight 
 years ago to-day, we took the night train for 
 Munich — the full moon was shining into the 
 carriage windows — we did not sleep 
 
 Bertha. 
 Don't be so wanting in good taste. 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 Well, well, don't be troubled ; I shan't com- 
 promise you. 
 
THE RIGHT TO LOVE. II 
 
 Bardenholm. 
 ( Wko meanwhile has been looking at the bou- 
 quet^ 
 
 A charming little flower. What do you call 
 it?" 
 
 Bertha. 
 Gypsophila. 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 And in the Tyrol — the evening in the herds- 
 man's hut — when you heard the cow-bells 
 tinkling in the distance. Do you remember 
 how sentimental you were then ? 
 
 Bertha. 
 I remember nothing. 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 Nonsense — you are only pretending — such 
 moments are never forgotten. 
 
 Bertha. 
 I recollect only one thing — that during the 
 whole journey I was terribly homesick for my 
 mother. 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 I thank you. Very complimentary to me. 
 
12 THE RIGHT TO LOVE. 
 
 {To Bardenkolm.) If I may give you a bit of 
 advice, my dear Assessor : don't marry. Be- 
 lieve me: don't marry. 
 
 Bardenholm. 
 But your example is not calculated to alarm 
 me. If one could be sure of faring as you 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 Yes, yes. Everything looks far more beau- 
 tiful from a bird's-eye view. 
 Bertha. 
 You are right to complain. You know, if 
 
 you long for liberty 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 Bravo ! Now you are turning me out of 
 doors. A strange celebration of this anniver- 
 sary. 
 
 Bardenholm. 
 
 You worship dates, Wahrmund. 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 Certain dates. 
 
 Bardenholm. 
 That comes from the holy awe of the mid- 
 dle and the last. It's a mercantile custom. 
 
THE RIGHT TO LOVE. 1 3 
 
 Bertha. 
 A Philistine custom. 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 Philistine ! Mercantile ! A prosaic para- 
 phrase of Schiller's words. Ah, may love be 
 forever verdant — well, I must say 
 
 Bertha {turning the conversation). 
 Oh, look ! there's another man shooting the 
 sea-gulls. It's abominable to allow it. 
 
 Bardenholm {approaching her). 
 Are you not a little intolerant? Why 
 grudge the poor jaded residents of the great 
 cities, who come here to rest their worn-out 
 nerves, a little pleasure in shooting? 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 {Goes to the bouquet, passes his hand over it, 
 takes a chair, and opens a newspaper; but from 
 time to time glances at the two speakers.) 
 
 Bertha. 
 Fie, how heartless ! Have you no pity for 
 the poor birds ? They animate the landscape 
 so bewitchingly, when they soar through the 
 
14 THE RIGHT TO LOVE. 
 
 air or hover over the sea. Why not let the 
 pretty creatures enjoy their lives? 
 
 Bardenholm (laughing). 
 Madam, one could worship your artless 
 
 egotism. 
 
 Bertha. 
 Egotism? Because I would like to protect 
 the gulls from cruel sportsmen? 
 
 Bardenholm. 
 Certainly. Unconscious egotism, it is true. 
 You make yourself the advocate of the gulls, 
 not on their account, but your own. They 
 afford you pleasure. You enjoy watching 
 their graceful flight, the picturesque white 
 speck relieved against the pale ' blue sky and 
 the dark blue sea. 
 
 Bertha. 
 Is that wrong? 
 
 Bardenholm. 
 Not at all. Selfishness is not wrong. I 
 consider healthy egotism natural and justifi- 
 able. For our object in life is to obtain as 
 many pleasurable emotions as possible. But 
 
THE RIGHT TO LOVE. 1 5 
 
 do you not say to yourself that the hunteir 
 derives as much pleasure from his game as 
 you do from the sight of the sailing gulls? 
 
 Bertha. 
 The world is not created solely for the 
 sportsman. 
 
 Bardenholm. 
 Nor solely for you. Egotism confronts 
 egotism, and the stronger is in the right. 
 
 Bertha. 
 The stronger conquers. 
 
 Bardenholm. 
 Conquers, or is in the right — it's the same 
 thing. 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 I must remark — -I don't look at it from so 
 lofty a philosophical standpoint, but practi- 
 cally — that shooting gulls seems to me an 
 innocent amusement. 
 
 Bardenholm {sneeringly). 
 Because the gulls are not marketable creat- 
 ures? 
 
l6 THE RIGHT TO LOVE. 
 
 Warhmund. 
 No. Because the sportsman on the beach 
 doesn't hit them. 
 
 Scene III. 
 The Same. Madam Burkhard, Dr. 
 
 BUTTNER. 
 
 Madam Burkhard. 
 
 {Appears at the door of the veranda and half 
 opens it. She is dressed with elegant simplicity 
 — a red-and-white silk blouse, a loosely-tied blue 
 cravat, and a velvet cap on her short curly 
 hair.) *- 
 
 May we come in? 
 
 Bertha. 
 {Rising and going to meet her^ 
 Certainly, Madam Burkhard, certainly. 
 
 Madam Burkhard {entering). 
 
 Good morning. {Shakes hands with Bertha. 
 
 Wahrmund bows without rising, and continues 
 
 to read the paper. Dr. Buttner appears at the 
 
 open door of the veranda and bows. Barden- 
 
THE RIGHT TO LOVE. 1 7 
 
 holm shakes hands with him. Then he goes up 
 to Wahrmund, who holds out one finger to him. 
 To Bertha^ You have been taking a drill in 
 walking to-day, as I saw just now. 
 
 Bertha. 
 Yes, we were up on the downs at^d are quite 
 tired. {To Madam Burkhard.) Meanwhile, 
 you have probably been employed in a less 
 military fashion. 
 
 Madam Burkhard. 
 I've been working a little. 
 
 Bertha. 
 What progress have you made with your 
 sunset ? It promised to be very beautiful. 
 
 Madam Burkhard. 
 It is going on very well. I have still several 
 days to paint on it. 
 
 Bertha. 
 But won't you sit down a little while ? 
 
 Madam Burkhard. 
 No, thank you. I am going directly. 
 
1 8 THE RIGHT TO LOVE. 
 
 Bertha. 
 Just a minute. 
 
 Madam Burkhard. 
 If you insist upon it. {Sits down. Bertha 
 does the same) 
 
 Biittner. 
 Is there anything interesting in the papers, 
 Wahrmund ? 
 
 Wahrmund {coldly). 
 I don't think that we are interested in the 
 same subjects. If you would like to have the 
 paper 
 
 Buttner. 
 Oh, no, thank you. I am glad that I'm not 
 obliged to read any here. {Chats with Bar- 
 denholm.) 
 
 Madam Burkhard {to Bertha). 
 It's time to go in bathing. Won't you join 
 me, Madam Wahrmund ? 
 
 Bertha. 
 No. I'm not going in to-day. 
 
THE RIGHT TO LOVE. I9 
 
 Madam Burkhard. 
 Indeed ? What a pity ! Then I must act 
 the siren all alone. It's too stupid. Well, 
 you'll never catch me at a German resort 
 again. This ridiculous separation of the 
 sexes — that's why I like Ostend and Trouville. 
 
 Bertha. 
 My husband has never wanted to go there 
 with me. 
 
 Madam Burkhard.' 
 Probably he prefers to go alone. 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 You are mistaken, madam. Immodesty 
 affords me no amusement. 
 
 Madam Burkhard. 
 Immodesty ? Because friends can bathe 
 together ? Because a woman is permitted to 
 have strong and attentive protectors? You 
 are a famous swimmer and diver — don't you 
 regret that you can't go into the water with 
 your wife ? 
 
20 THE RIGHT TO LOVE. 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 Most men hardly go to Ostend and Trou- 
 ville to bathe with their own wives. 
 
 Madam Burkhard. 
 And suppose they don't ? What of it ? Do 
 not women dance with strangers ? And are 
 we not less covered in a ball-gown than in a 
 bathing-dress ? 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 With your opinions, madam, you must like 
 Cameron even better than Ostend and Trou- 
 ville. 
 
 Madam Burkhard. 
 Why? 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 Because there men and women have even 
 less restraint while bathing — namely, no bath- 
 ing costumes at all. I suppose that is your 
 ideal ? 
 
 Madam Burkhard. 
 There you are very much mistaken. It 
 might do with savages, but civilized people 
 are so ugly naked. 
 
THE RIGHT TO LOVE. 21 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 But if they were sufficiently beautiful it 
 would disturb you no further ? 
 
 Madam Burkhard. 
 Not in the least. 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 I cannot soar to that height of absence of 
 prejudice. And — don't take offence at my 
 frankness — I cannot appreciate it in others. 
 
 Bertha. 
 My husband is so terribly narrow-minded in 
 these matters. 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 Thank the Lord for it ! 
 
 Madam Burkhard. 
 Don't be imposed upon, dear Madam 
 Wahrmund. Gentlemen merely pretend that 
 they think so. Men and women bathing in 
 the sea together — fie, how improper ! But to 
 lie on the downs for hours watching us 
 through a spyglass — that's perfectly right. 
 Their rigid morality permits it. 
 
22 THE RIGHT TO LOVE. 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 That doesn't hit me, for I 
 
 Madam Burkhard. 
 No. I am speaking in general terms, merely 
 to show you that people here are not one whit 
 better than in Ostend and Trouville. We are 
 only a little more hypocritical and sanctimoni- 
 ous. But I believe in frankness. {Rising.) So, 
 as you can't come with me {Bertha makes a 
 gesture of regret with her hand), I must go 
 alone to join the angels of virtue. Farewell 
 till we next meet. 
 
 {Exit. Buttner, after bowing, follows her.) 
 
 Scene IV. 
 
 Wahrmund. Bertha. Bardenholm. 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 Frankness ! She believes in frankness. I 
 call it shamelessness. 
 
 Bertha {vehemently). 
 How can you use such a word ! 
 
THE RIGHT TO LOVE. 23 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 Do you want to uphold the woman ? She 
 is an abomination to me. 
 
 Bertha. 
 And you show it plainly enough. You are 
 actually rude to the lady. 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 Well, at the worst she won't come here 
 again. That misfortujie can be endured. 
 
 Bertha. 
 I should deeply regret it. She is a beauti- 
 ful, clever, talented woman. I prize her ac- 
 quaintance. 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 I hope it will end when we leave here. 
 
 Bertha. 
 Perhaps you will forbid me to be in her 
 society ? 
 
 Wahrmund {^gravely). 
 You are no child, and I have nothing to for- 
 bid. .But you must perceive yourself that this 
 woman is no companion for you. 
 
24 THE RIGHT TO LOVE. 
 
 Bardenholm. 
 Excuse my interrupting this exchange of 
 
 opinions 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 Yes. Express yourself 
 
 Bardenholm. 
 Since the acquaintance came through me, 
 you really judge Madam Burkhard too 
 severely. 
 
 Bertha. 
 Unjust and unkind. 
 
 Bardenholm. 
 She is an artist of reputation. 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 A woman of reputation, too, but — a bad 
 one. 
 
 Bardenholm. 
 Good heavens ! we must allow artists to have 
 a somewhat freer view of life. 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 H'm. Yes. So say all the dissolute women 
 who strum or daub a little. 
 
THE RIGHT TO LOVE. 2$ 
 
 Bardenholtn. 
 Madam Burkhard is no amateur. 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 I don't say that she is. But I don't believe 
 that her pictures are any the better because 
 she smokes, uses doubtful language, and drags 
 her lover about with her like a poodle. 
 
 Bardenholm. 
 Artistic activity requires play of feeling and 
 imagination, and they probably exclude com- 
 monplace matronly propriety. 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 
 Indeed ? Well, according to my knowledge, 
 
 the patroness of music is a saint, and some of 
 
 the greatest artists of the Renaissance — I've 
 
 forgotten their names, it's true — were monks. 
 
 Bardenholm. 
 Morality is somewhat conventional. Society 
 really does overlook much in the more active 
 emotional life and more vivid power of imag- 
 ination of artists. The code of laws of moral- 
 ity has a special paragraph for them. So we 
 
26 THE RIGHT TO LOVE. 
 
 are not justified in condemning them as im- 
 moral for acts which probably would be so in 
 others. 
 
 Bertha. 
 Madam Burkhard visits the best families. 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 Yes, people who would struggle for Beelze- 
 bub himself, if he should chance to be the 
 fashion. 
 
 Bertha. 
 Beelzebub — no, really, that is exasperating! 
 
 So an artist 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 For aught I care she may be a female 
 Raphael. I insist that that does not justify 
 her in creating a public scandal. 
 
 Bertha. 
 Public. That is the point. She just answered 
 that remark in advance. You want sham and 
 hypocrisy. Her crime is that she does not 
 dissimulate. 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 Certainly. That is her crime. And it is a 
 
THE RIGHT TO LOVE. 27 
 
 serious one. Her wretched flirtations with her 
 Dr. Biittner concern her and her relatives. 
 They are nothing to me, so long as she keeps 
 them out of sight, as decency requires. But 
 when she flaunts these miserable scandals be- 
 fore the eyes of the world they become my 
 affair. They inflict a personal injury upon 
 me, by, for instance, unsettling my wife's ideas 
 of morality. 
 
 Bertha. 
 You need not fear that. I know perfectly 
 well what to think of Madam Burkhard. 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 Indeed ! Well, out with your opinion. 
 
 Bertha {excitedly). 
 I think that she is a brave woman. She 
 loves a man and has the courage to acknowl- 
 edge her love. She could as easily assume 
 the semblance of virtue as all the secret sin- 
 ners in fashionable drawing-rooms, whose af- 
 fairs, as you say, are no concern of yours. But 
 she disdains to do so. She is too proud to 
 play such a farce for the sake of other people. 
 
28 THE RIGHT TO LOVE, 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 But — Bertha ! You forget that the woman 
 is married. 
 
 Bertha. 
 I do not forget it. Her husband is a horror. 
 A dull-witted vulgarian, who does not under- 
 stand this woman. 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 What this woman wants is not difficult to 
 understand. 
 
 Bertha. 
 No. She wants her share of the joys of 
 life. She wants happiness and love. That is 
 the first and most sacred right of every creat- 
 ure. 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 My dear Assessor, what must you think 
 when you hear my wife talk in this way ! 
 
 Bardenholm. 
 Oh, I think that she allows herself to be 
 carried away by her natural generosity, and, 
 perhaps, takes up the cause of the accused 
 woman rather more energetically than 
 
THE RIGHT TO LOVE. 29 
 
 Bertha. 
 What, Assessor Bardenholm, don't you agree 
 with me ? 
 
 Bardenholm. 
 Yes, that is 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 Oh, then I am curious 
 
 Bardenholm. 
 The fact is, that Madam Burkhard is per- 
 haps somewhat imprudent. She might make 
 some concessions to prevailing custom. 
 
 Bertha. 
 Yes, yes ; hide, dissemble, lie 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 I consider discretion a mitigating circum- 
 stance of depravity. 
 
 Bertha. 
 Bravo ! That's the pocket edition of your 
 Philistine morality. 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 I should like to know yours. 
 
3b THE RIGHT TO LOVE. 
 
 Bertha. 
 I make no secret of it. The command of 
 the heart stands first. 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 And what of the ten commandments ? 
 
 Bardenholm. 
 They are not up-to-date. 
 
 Bertha. 
 Madam Burkhard loves Dr. Biittner. 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 Then she ought to get a divorce from her 
 husband and marry him. That's the purpose 
 for which the law of divorce was invented. 
 
 Bertha. 
 Perhaps her husband cannot do without her. 
 Perhaps he is willing to permit everything 
 if only he can keep her, and she remains out 
 of compassion for him. 
 
 Bardenholm. 
 That happens sometimes. 
 
THE RIGHT TO LOVE. 3 1 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 
 What happens far more frequently is that 
 the poor man has blind confidence in his wife 
 and that she basely deceives him. But no mat- 
 ter — Madam Burkhard can go to the deuce 
 with her Biittner. I am only sorry that you 
 speak of the rights of this fast woman. When 
 people marry and have children, they have no 
 rights, nothing but anathematized duty, and 
 the obligation of being respectable. 
 Bertha. 
 
 That is monstrous. So a woman who has 
 the misfortune to be married 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 She probably sought the misfortune very 
 
 zealously 
 
 Bertha. 
 Must cease to be a thinking, feeling creat- 
 ure — she must have no heart, no brain, no 
 eyes — she must become a chattel 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 Enough. Drop the subject before the chil- 
 dren. 
 
32 THE RIGHT TO LOVE. 
 
 Scene V. . 
 The Same. Bessie, Louise, and the 
 
 Governess. 
 Bessie and Louise enter through the door at 
 the right, where the governess remains stand- 
 ing. Louise goes to Bardenholm, who takes 
 her in his lap and pets her. 
 
 Bessie {to Bertha). 
 Mamma, may we go and look for shells? 
 
 Bertha. 
 Yes, child. (Kisses her.) 
 
 Bessie. 
 (Exit. Stopping in the middle of the veranda^ 
 May we go bare-foot ? 
 
 Bertha. 
 Yes, child. 
 
 Bessie. 
 (Claps her hands joyfully, runs to a chair, 
 sits down, and begins to take off her shoes.) 
 
 Bertha. 
 (Starting up and hastening to Iter.) 
 Not here ! Fie, how naughty ! Come, I'll 
 
THE RIGHT TO LOVE. 33 
 
 take off your shoes and stockings. {Exit 
 with both children through the door at the 
 right^ 
 
 Scene VI. 
 Wahrmund. Bardenholm. 
 
 Bardenholm. 
 They are charming children. 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 Yes. With two such rosy little faces in 
 the house — one knows for what he is living. 
 
 Bardenholm. 
 So we ought to marry. 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 Of course — if we desire to have children ; 
 only we must clearly understand one thing: 
 Those who once possess children must sacri- 
 fice everything to them — independence, lib- 
 erty, inclinations, everything, and consider 
 their prosperity sufficient compensation for 
 every sacrifice. Whoever cannot be content 
 with this does wrong to bring children into 
 the world. 
 3 
 
34 THE RIGHT TO LOVE. 
 
 Scene VII. 
 The Same. Bertha. The Children. 
 The Governess. 
 Bertha enters with an embroidery frame ; the 
 children follow bare-footed. They run merrily 
 across the veranda and out through the central 
 door. The governess follows. 
 
 Bertha. 
 {Calling after them, through the door.) 
 But don't go into the water. Be good and 
 stay on the beach. And come back here at 
 one o'clock. {Returns to her chair^ 
 
 Bardenholm. 
 {Looks after the children^ 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 You ought not to have let the little ones go 
 alone. 
 
 Bertha. 
 The governess is with them. 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 She is a little clumsy. You should not 
 depend upon her. 
 
THE RIGHT TO LOVE. 35 
 
 Bertha. 
 Ah ! Now you want to teach me my mater- 
 nal duties. 
 
 Wahrmund {after a short pause). 
 Do you know I am sorry that your mother 
 is not coming ? 
 
 Bertha. 
 
 All at once ? 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 Yes. Perhaps she might have put you in a 
 somewhat better humor. 
 
 Bertha. 
 Whose fault is it that I am out of temper ? 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 Well, that is good. {Rises, approaches Bar- 
 denholm and also looks after the children. 
 After another pause.) I don't feel quite easy. 
 I'll watch them myself. 
 
 Bertha. . 
 You are at liberty to do so. 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 {Takes his hat and sun umbrella. Patting 
 
36 THE RIGHT TO LOVE. 
 
 Bardenholm on the shoulder as he passes out.) 
 Don't marry, Assessor; take my advice, don't 
 marry {exit). 
 
 Scene VIII. 
 
 Bardenholm. Bertha. 
 
 Bardenholm (calling after him). 
 No danger, my dear Wahrmund. {Watches 
 him a short time, then pushes a chair beside 
 Bertha, who has begun to embroider, and sits 
 down. After a short pause, during which he 
 has watched her.) Did you invite your mother 
 to come here ? 
 
 Bertha {without looking up). 
 Yes. 
 
 Bardenholm. 
 You naughty angel. Then we should never 
 have been a moment alone. 
 
 Bertha. 
 That was the very reason. 
 
 Bardenholm. 
 But why should you grudge me these brief 
 minutes of happiness? 
 
THE RIGHT TO LOVE. 37 
 
 Bertha. 
 I am afraid. 
 
 Bardenholm. 
 Afraid ? Of me ? 
 
 Bertha. 
 Of you. Of myself. 
 
 Bardenholm. 
 Have we ever done any wrong ? 
 
 Bertha. 
 No. It is not that. 
 
 Bardenholm. 
 Does it harm any one if often during the day 
 I sit on the sand at your feet and read aloud 
 to you, or if in the evening we stroll over the 
 downs, gazing silently out at the sea, glittering 
 in the moonlight, and I feel your warm hand 
 on my arm ? Is it not sweet ? 
 
 Bertha. 
 Too sweet ; too dangerously sweet. (A short 
 pause.) I have often intended to say : Go, Bar- 
 denholm. Leave Heringsdorf. I often think 
 I have the power to ask this of you — in the 
 
38 THE RIGHT TO LOVE. 
 
 morning, when I rise ; before I have seen you. 
 Then you come, you speak to me, and I can- 
 not. Bardenholm, you ought to do it unasked. 
 You ought to have pity on me. 
 
 Bardenholm. 
 Have pity on me. I love you. Bertha. 
 {Moves close to her and clasps her hand.) 
 
 Bertha {quickly withdraws it). 
 Sit a little farther away. {Bardenholm sigh- 
 ing, moves back^ You ought not to say that 
 to me, Bardenholm. 
 
 Bardenholm. 
 Yet, just now you yourself so eloquently de- 
 fended the right of every human being to love 
 and happiness. You were so bewitching. I 
 longed to kneel before you and kiss your feet. 
 
 Bertha. 
 When I speak so, I am really trying to con- 
 vince myself. But I have never yet wholly 
 succeeded. 
 
 Bardenholm. 
 Have prejudices power over you, you who 
 
THE RIGHT TO LOVE. 39 
 
 think so independently, judge so unrestrained- 
 ly — over such a free, broad soul ? 
 
 Bertha. 
 Prejudices — I believe I could conquer them. 
 It is not that. 
 
 Bardenholm. 
 If not, what is it, then ? 
 
 Bertha, 
 
 Bardenholm, I cannot lie. I cannot dissim- 
 ulate. I can do nothing secretly and hide it 
 from others. 
 
 Bardenholm. 
 
 That is a noble trait in your character, but 
 it must not be exaggerated. We live in a so- 
 ciety of dull Philistines and hypocrites. If we 
 offend their prejudices, they crush us. Soci- 
 ety is stronger than we. It is an honorable 
 warfare, if we use against it the only weapon 
 at our command to fight the thousand-eyed, 
 thousand-tongued, thousand-fisted monster : a 
 little shrewdness and caution. {A short pause^ 
 You do not employ them enough. That is 
 wrong. If I may be permitted to say so to 
 
40 THE RIGHT TO LOVE. 
 
 you, you really treat Wahrmund too badly. 
 It must finally make him suspicious. 
 
 Bertha. 
 I am sorry for it myself afterwards — but 
 what can I do ? It is stronger than my will. 
 This dull, contented composure, this lack of 
 perception that I am struggling, wavering, 
 suffering, are enough to drive one mad. I 
 should often like to shriek aloud, to cry out to 
 his face: "Are you blind? Are you deaf? 
 Don't you see that you are losing me ? Why 
 don't you defend yourself ? " 
 
 Bardenholm. 
 He certainly has confidence. 
 
 Bertha. 
 I don't thank him for it. Such confidence 
 is an insult. I am not old, I am not uglier 
 than other women 
 
 Bardenholm {moving nearer). 
 You are bewitching 
 
 Bertha. 
 Sit a little further away. He ought to know 
 
THE RIGHT TO LOVE. 4I 
 
 that I can be exposed to temptation. But he 
 doesn't trouble himself about it. He is so 
 sure of victory — so grotesquely self-complacent 
 — it is unbearable ! 
 
 Bardenholm. 
 But so convenient. He himself invited me 
 to spend the vacation here with you. 
 
 Bertha. 
 Convenient ! Convenient ! I don't value 
 this convenience. And you, Bardenholm ? 
 
 Bardenholm. 
 Good heavens! everything has two sides. 
 On the one hand, it would certainly be more 
 agreeable to me if he were suspicious and bru- 
 tal — then I could defy and contend with him — 
 that would be chivalrous — I should stand in a 
 finer attitude. But for you, for your peace, it 
 is surely better as it is. 
 
 Bertha. 
 For my peace ! Do you believe that I could 
 be at ease when I knew that I was deceiving 
 some one? Would you be untroubled with 
 
42 THE RIGHT TO LOVE. 
 
 such a consciousness ? Would you be able to 
 clasp my husband's hand if {hesitates^ 
 
 Bardenholm. 
 I love you, Bertha, and I see nothing else. 
 That is the nature of the struggle for women ; 
 it rages even between brothers. Love is 
 stronger than any bond of friendship. And, 
 finally, why should I have scruples? I am 
 robbing your husband of nothing. He has 
 had the fairest years of your life, your fresh 
 youth and innocence. 
 
 Bertha. 
 Ah ! Bardenholm, do not remind me of it. 
 
 Bardenholm. 
 He has his children, who are all in all to 
 him and who supply the place of. everything. 
 He told me so just now. He never possessed 
 your heart, your soul. 
 
 Bertha. 
 Never, Bardenholm, I swear it. There has 
 always been a void within — the world be- 
 lieved me happy because I lived comfortably. 
 
THE RIGHT TO LOVE. 43 
 
 wore pretty dresses, entertained, went to water- 
 ing-places. Our marriage was considered a 
 model one — and all the time I felt that I 
 was wandering alone at night in a wilderness 
 with neither companion, path, nor goal. There 
 was a sense of dissatisfaction which never left 
 me. I had a constant longing for something 
 unknown. I lacked — I knew not what. Now 
 I do know. {In a loiver tone.) I knew it on 
 the evening when you were first introduced 
 to me. 
 
 Bardenholm. 
 Oh, Bertha! And yet ? 
 
 Bertha. 
 I dare not. If I were free — alas ! Mothers 
 do not know what they are doing when they 
 marry their daughters to the first comer, 
 merely to know that they are provided for. 
 Then, if the right man comes, it is too late. 
 
 Bardenholm. 
 That can no longer be changed. Let us at 
 least take from life what we can still obtain. 
 
44 THE RIGHT TO LOVE. 
 
 (He moves nearer, seizes her hand, and kisses it 
 passionately. She withdraws it) 
 
 Bertha. 
 Take what we can still obtain. Yes, yes. 
 A single moment of rapture. And what 
 then? 
 
 Bardenholm. 
 What then ? We shall always have had 
 this moment. And its memory will be ours 
 forever. 
 
 Bertha. 
 A sorrow's crown of sorrow is the thought 
 of happier things. 
 
 Bardenholm. 
 That is a paradox which Dante brought into 
 fashion. It is wholly false. A sunny memory 
 will illumine an entire life. 
 
 Bertha. 
 Will a sunny memory satisfy you ? 
 
 Y Bardenholm. 
 
 It must, if I can have nothing more. 
 
THE RIGHT TO LOVE, 45 
 
 Bertha. 
 It will not suffice for me. So {beseechingly) 
 leave me, Bardenholm. It is better so. For 
 you as well as for me. There are so many- 
 girls who are free, who can love you, make 
 you happy ; why choose me, who 
 
 Bardenholm. 
 Because I love you and no one else. 
 
 Bertha. 
 For how long ? 
 
 Bardenholm. 
 Forever. 
 
 Bertha. 
 You say that. And later — you will have 
 one more conquest on your list, while my 
 portion will be despair. No, no. 
 
 Bardenholm. 
 You are cruel, cruel, cruel ! 
 
 Bertha. 
 Cruel! Because I deny myself happiness 
 to have peace ? {yery tenderly^ Bardenholm, 
 why do you ask what is impossible ? Why 
 
46 THE RIGHT TO LOVE. 
 
 will you not remain my friend as before ? 
 {Bardenholm, disappointed, draws back a littler) 
 It is so beautiful a relation, so pure and free 
 from reproach. I will be your most devoted 
 friend, your most grateful pupil. You enlarge 
 my circle of vision — you develop my intellect — 
 you open to me the perception of everything 
 beautiful. Bardenholm, I have always felt 
 the greatest pleasure when you read aloud 
 and explained anything to me and when we 
 went together into the old Museum and I 
 learned to see through your eyes all the beau- 
 ties which will remain forever hidden from the 
 dull Philistine. After such hours I have never 
 felt remorse. Why should it not remain so 
 always ? 
 
 Bardenholm. 
 
 Ask your own heart, your own nerves, 
 
 whether that would be possible. Do not try 
 
 to rebel against the most powerful law of 
 
 nature. It is infinitely stronger than our poor 
 
 will. 
 
 Bertha. 
 
 But surely it ought not to be so. I must 
 
THE RIGHT TO LOVE. 47 
 
 not be yours. Ah, if I had but known you 
 earlier, when I was free, or never ! I am too 
 good for a mere caprice. Yet I cannot be 
 more to you. 
 
 Bardenholm. 
 A caprice. Bertha ! What proof of my love 
 do you desire? What can I do to convince 
 you ? Do you want my life ? Is it my fault 
 that you are not free ? Is it not my despair? 
 {Bertha secretly wipes her eyes.) It haunts me 
 day and night. I strive to relieve my heart 
 in verse, but it is of no avail. 
 
 Bertha {looking up eagerly). 
 Oh, have you written another poem ? Oh, 
 pray, pray read it, Bardenholm. 
 
 Bardenholm. 
 {Draws a sheet of paper from his pocket and 
 reads, simply, but with deep emotiorC). 
 
 Fain would I battle for thy sake. 
 
 But may I dare? 
 I must my voice a whisper make, 
 
 Thy name to bear. 
 
48 THE RIGHT TO LOVE. 
 
 Fain would I shout in ringing tone, 
 " Come, love ! Be mine ! " 
 
 Did I not see " No " written on 
 Thy face divine. 
 
 Fain would I earn, mine own, for thee. 
 
 Thy daily food. 
 What joy to gain, 'mid penury, 
 
 Thy livelihood — 
 Show thee the might of my strong arm ! 
 
 But when I see 
 His and thy children's eyes, alarm 
 
 And grief meet me. 
 
 What may I dare then ? From afar 
 
 Only love thee. 
 E'en as we love some distant star, 
 
 All hopelessly ; 
 Think with fond yearning of thee, Sweet, 
 
 And grieve o'er fate. 
 While sobbing vainly at thy feet, 
 
 " Too late ! Too late ! " 
 
 Bertha {mournfully). 
 Too late, too late— Oh, Otto, Otto ! 
 
THE RIGHT TO LOVE. 49 
 
 Bardenholm. 
 {Starts up and tries to embrace her.) 
 
 Bertha. 
 
 {Also rises hastily and moves several steps 
 away.) 
 
 For heaven's sake, take care! We are in a 
 glass house. 
 
 Bardenholm. 
 {Lets himself fall into the chair, sighing 
 heavily^ 
 
 Unfortunately. 
 
 Bertha. 
 ( With her forehead pressed against the glass 
 wall.) 
 Happily. 
 
 ( The curtain falls.) 
 4 
 
ACT II. 
 
 {Madam Fridorp's drawing-room. Plainly 
 furnished in homely style. Flowers. Cage with 
 canaries. Doors at the right and rear. Two 
 windows at the left.) 
 
 Scene I. 
 
 Madam Fridorp. Lena. 
 
 {Madam Fridorp sits at a window embroider- 
 ing. Lena stands before her^ 
 
 Lena. 
 
 {Takes a large fish out of a basket which she 
 has set on the floor ^ 
 
 Just look at this pike. Isn't he a beauty, a 
 royal pike ? Isn't he a splendid fellow ? 
 
 Madam Fridorp. 
 Yes, Lena, indeed he is. 
 
 Lena. 
 He's fit for the king's table. And he cost 
 
52 THE RIGHT TO LOVE. 
 
 sixty cents. What do you suppose the fish- 
 wife asked for him ? 
 
 Madam Fridorp. 
 
 Well? 
 
 Lena. 
 
 She asked seventy-five. " What ! " I said, 
 " seventy-five cents for a pike ? Maybe he's a 
 titled pike ? " " So he is," she said. I offered 
 her thirty cents, and she abused me roundly. 
 But I paid her back in her own coin, and at 
 last she let me have him for sixty cents. 
 Isn't that splendid ? 
 
 Madam Fridorp. 
 Yes, Lena. 
 
 Lena. 
 No one can get such good bargains as L 
 You say so yourself. 
 
 Madam Fridorp. 
 That's true, Lena. 
 
 Lena. 
 ( Taking two apples out of the basket^ 
 And just see these apples. They'll tickle 
 the children, though they were a bit dear. 
 
THE RIGHT TO LOVE. 53 
 
 Four pennies apiece. But they were the 
 finest ones in the whole market. And I 
 saved it on the pike. 
 
 Madam Fridorp. 
 ( Who has looked out of the window^ 
 Capital, Lena ; but now carry it into the 
 kitchen and go to the door. Mr. Wahrmund 
 is coming. 
 
 {Exit Lena with the basket. Directly after, 
 a bell is heard.) 
 
 Scene II. 
 
 Madam Fridorp. Wahrmund. Lena. 
 
 (Wahrmund enters. Lena follows him. 
 Madam Fridorp goes to meet Wahrmund. 
 Both shake hands cordially^ 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 
 Good morning, mother. How are you ? 
 
 Well? 
 
 Madam Fridorp. 
 
 Did you come alone? 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 Bertha and the children will take the next 
 
54 THE RIGHT TO LOVE. 
 
 train. I wanted to get here before them. 
 Well, how have you been? 
 
 Madam Fridorp. 
 Very well, thank you. 
 
 Lena. 
 She says so, Mr. Wahrmund. But my 
 mistress has had_ her rheumatic pains again 
 terribly. 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 Has she? Poor mother. Next year we'll 
 go to Wildbad with you. 
 
 Lena. 
 Yes, that will do her good. 
 
 Madam Fridorp. 
 No, no. You shall not go to any dull 
 springs on my account. How brown you 
 have grown at the seashore! 
 
 Lena. 
 Like the dragoons after the manoeuvres, sir. 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 My wife will bring you something, Lena. 
 
THE RIGHT TO LOVE. 55 
 
 Lena. 
 Thank you kindly, sir. She is a darling. 
 What is it? 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 You'll see presently. This trifle is for you, 
 mother. {Gives her a gold locket^ 
 
 Madam Fridorp. 
 No — really — you ought not. {Has opened 
 the locket^ Charming — Bertha in the middle, 
 Bessie and Louise leaning against her — you 
 behind them — you are a little indistinct. 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 I am a minor consideration. If only Bertha 
 and the children are good. 
 
 Lena. 
 
 {Who !ias looked over Madam Fridorp' s 
 s/wulder.) 
 
 Indeed they are. Little Louise is so sweet 
 that a body would like to bite her. 
 
 Madam Fridorp. 
 Yes, Lena, but go now, or you won't have 
 everything ready. 
 
56 THE RIGHT TO LOVE. 
 
 Lena. 
 Oh, there's no trouble about that. One, 
 two, three, and away. You know how I man- 
 age. {^Exit^ 
 
 Scene III. 
 
 Madam Fridorp. Wahrmund, 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 It was time. 
 
 Madam Fridorp. 
 One must have patience with an old servant. 
 Just think, I've had her for thirty-two years. 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 Yes. — It was a pity you did not come, mother. 
 You would have liked Heringsdorf. {Sits 
 down.) 
 
 Madam Fridorp. 
 Oh, you are really too kind — but I am not 
 fond of travelling. 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 Travelling ! That little railway journey ! 
 
THE RIGHT TO LOVE. 57 
 
 Madam Fridorp. 
 I am happiest in my own home, with my 
 flowers and my birds. They need me. 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 And I? 
 
 Madam Fridorp. 
 You ? You have each other, you have your 
 children, your friends. A dull old woman can 
 only be in your way. 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 
 (^Clasping her hand and kissing it.) 
 
 How can you talk so, mother. You know 
 
 that you have never been in our way, and now 
 
 less than ever. You would not have been 
 
 superfluous at Heringsdorf. 
 
 Madam Fridorp. 
 How could I have served you ? 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 I will tell you, mother. 
 
58 THE RIGHT TO LOVE. 
 
 Scene IV. 
 
 Lena. 
 {Comes in with the fish.) 
 1 must show you the pike which you are 
 to eat to-night, Mr. Wahrmund ; isn't he a 
 splendid fellow ? 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 Yes ; but I shall not stay to supper. 
 
 Madame Fridorp and Lena. 
 {At the same time). 
 You won't stay ? What — you won't stay, 
 Mr. Wahrmund ? 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 No. I must go back to town. 
 
 Lena. 
 And won't Madam Bertha be here either ? 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 Yes ; my wife and the children will enjoy 
 your pike. 
 
 Lena. 
 Well, that was a scare. What should we 
 
THE RIGHT TO LOVE, 59 
 
 have done with the splendid fish and the roast 
 duck ? People take so much trouble to get a 
 nice supper — just ask my mistress now. 
 
 Madam Fridorp. 
 Very well, Lena ; but now go. 
 
 Lena. 
 Yes, I am going at once. Too bad, too bad, 
 that Mr. Wahrmund won't stay. {Exit.) 
 
 Madam Fridorp. 
 What were we saying? 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 I was telling you that you would have been 
 very useful in Heringsdorf. 
 
 Lena {rushing in again). 
 One thing more, sir. I know very well how 
 my mistress got her rheumatism again. ( Wahr- 
 mund rises and paces excitedly up and down.) 
 She's constantly at my heels. {She follows 
 close behind Wahrmund^ In the cellar, in the 
 damp laundry — everywhere. Talk to her about 
 it, Mr. Wahrmund. She won't listen to me. 
 When a lady has a Lena, she can depend upon 
 
6o THE RIGHT TO LOVE. 
 
 her, and need not make herself ill by watch- 
 ing and 
 
 Wahrmud {vehemently). 
 Confound it, this really ought — can't we 
 have a moment undisturbed ? 
 
 Lena. 
 {Stands still in the middle of the room, with 
 her mouth wide open in amazement^ 
 
 Madam Fridorp {soothingly). 
 Go, Lena, go, and don't come back until I 
 call you. 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 {Furiously to Lena, who still stands motionless, 
 looking from one to the other ^ 
 
 Didn't you understand ? You are to go, and 
 stay outside till you are called. 
 
 Lena. 
 {Exit, banging the door violently behind her.) 
 
THE RIGHT TO LOVE. 6 1 
 
 Scene V. 
 
 Madam Fridorp. Wahrmund. 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 {Still pacing up and dozvn.) 
 It's enough to drive one mad. I came by an 
 earlier train in order to talk with you a few 
 minutes alone — and now this silly gabbler ! 
 
 Madam Fridorp. 
 Come, come, don't be so upset by it. She'll 
 stay outside now. My good Lena is a little 
 forward. We have always had a great deal of 
 patience with her. 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 I am patient, too, but there is a limit to 
 everything. {Paces up and down several times 
 more and then sits down again.) 
 
 Madam Fridorp. 
 Well, never mind, it won't happen again. 
 So you thought that I might have been useful 
 in Heringsdorf. 
 
62 THE RIGHT TO LOVE. 
 
 Wahrmund {significantly). 
 Yes. I think it would have done Bertha 
 good to have you with her. 
 
 Madam Fridorp. 
 You say that so strangely — isn't the child 
 well? 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 Oh, yes — that is, as far as I can see. Out- 
 wardly there is no evidence that anything is 
 the matter. But perhaps I don't understand 
 it. There may be some hidden evil. 
 
 Madam Fridorp. 
 You alarm me. Speak plainly — what is it ? 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 You need not be alarmed, mother. For, as 
 I said, Bertha's bodily health seems excellent. 
 But for some time a change has taken place in 
 her which I can't explain. 
 
 Madam Fridorp. 
 A change ! In what does it consist ? 
 
 Wahrmund {somewhat hesitatingly). 
 I don't know exactly where to begin. Ber- 
 
THE RIGHT TO LOVE. 63 
 
 tha was never what is called a lively per- 
 son. 
 
 Madam Fridorp. 
 No. She was always grave. 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 She was grave and silent, but pleasant. I 
 could feel that she cared for me, that her heart 
 was mine. She was interested in everything 
 that concerned me. She even asked questions 
 frequently about my business affairs, though 
 she did not understand them. 
 
 Madam Fridorp. 
 How should she ? 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 Of course. In short, she evidently regarded 
 my affairs as her own. 
 
 Madam Fridorp. 
 And so they are. 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 I think so too. But now the state of affairs 
 is entirely different. Bertha is constantly out 
 of temper. She does not say a word to me all 
 
64 THE RIGHT TO LOVE. 
 
 day ; if I speak to her she scarcely answers, or 
 irritably flings a few nervous words at me ; 
 she never looks at me when I enter or leave 
 the room — will you believe it, mother ? I can't 
 get her to cast a glance at me. Is this living ? 
 Need I submit to it ? 
 
 Madam Fridorp. 
 Well, well, I hope it is not so bad as you 
 say. Probably you exaggerate a little. 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 Exaggerate ? You know that is not my 
 way. I have intentionally avoided making my 
 colors too dark. I assure you, mother, I don't 
 know what I ought to do. When I ask: 
 " Bertha, what is the matter ? " she answers, 
 "Nothing. What should be the matter?" 
 " You are out of spirits," I remark. " I am as 
 I can be. I probably have no reason to re- 
 joice." " What troubles you ? " " Let me 
 alone." And that's all I can get out of her. I 
 try to guess her wishes, to anticipate them. I 
 offered lately to increase her pocket money. 
 " I don't spend what I have now." That was 
 
THE RIGHT TO LOVE. 65 
 
 her only reply. I surprise her with gifts of 
 jewelry — she scarcely thanks me, does not look 
 at them, and does not wear them. She has 
 the handsomest gowns, and yet dresses so 
 plainly that she actually reflects discredit upon 
 me. 
 
 Madam Fridorp. 
 
 You really ought not to blame her for her 
 simplicity. 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 
 Yes, if it is intended to annoy me. 
 
 Madam Fridorp. 
 That is imagination. 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 No, mother, believe me, it is no imagina- 
 tion. 
 
 Madam Fridorp. 
 I cannot understand it. Perhaps Bertha 
 needs more amusement. 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 I thought so too. But it can't be that. 
 Judge for yourself. I go into society with her, 
 though I would far rather stay at home. I 
 
66 THE RIGHT TO LOVE. 
 
 attend the theatre with her five nights in the 
 week to see the craziest plays, whose authors 
 ought to have their ears boxed. There, it is 
 true, she seems to be happy a few minutes. I 
 am thoroughly enraged, but I stifle it ; for I'm 
 satisfied, if only anything pleases her. She 
 goes every day to the Museum and the art 
 exhibitions — I don't object. True, I can't ac- 
 company her, for during the day I have no 
 time. Besides, I don't care much for all the 
 modern pictures — but she can go. She has 
 whatever company, too, that she prefers. Then 
 she returns home completely exhausted, and 
 is as irritable as she can be. Can't be touched 
 without gloves. That isn't because she needs 
 more amusement ? 
 
 Madam Fridorp. 
 You do not know how much what you tell 
 me grieves me. 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 I have no wish to grieve you, mother ; I am 
 pouring out my heart to you because I hope 
 that you will be able to change the condition 
 
THE RIGHT TO LOVE. 6/ 
 
 of affairs. I don't know how to help myself. 
 Speak a sensible word to Bertha. Bring her 
 to reason. Good heavens ! I certainly am not 
 exacting ; she really does not have a hard time 
 with me — all I want is peace. I desire no 
 grumbling in my house. After working and 
 worrying all day, I want to see a pleasant face 
 at home. You know, mother, that we have 
 made the acquaintance at Heringsdorf of a 
 Madam Burkhard, an artist, who deceives her 
 husband in the most scandalous way. The 
 man notices nothing, or pretends he does not 
 — his wife is so loving to him. At first I de- 
 spised the fellow, then I laughed at him ; but at 
 last there were moments when I almost asked 
 myself whether it is not more desirable for the 
 husband to have a smooth, ever-smiling sinner, 
 than an intolerably peevish angel of virtue. 
 
 Madam Fridorp {offended). 
 How can you even mention Bertha in the 
 
 same breath with such a person ? 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 Don't be angry, mother. You know how I 
 
68 THE RIGHT TO LOVE. 
 
 reverence Bertha's character — she is your 
 daughter {he kisses her hand) — but the compar- 
 ison forced itself upon me. 
 
 Madam Fridorp. 
 Such a comparison 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 Besides — it is not so much for my own sake. 
 I am ci man, and can endure everything. But 
 it is on account of others. The servants, our 
 acquaintances, the neighbors, must see it. 
 People will talk about us. I won't have it. 
 No gossip, no scandal. That is horrible to me. 
 And the children. Especially the children. 
 Fortunately Louise notices nothing yet. But 
 Bessie is a sensible child. She sees that her 
 mother sits at the table in silence, looking into 
 her plate, and treats me as if I were empty air. 
 She looks surprised and troubled. Mother, 
 this must not be. Such a spectacle will poison 
 her childhood and darken her whole life. She 
 must have no memories of discord in her par- 
 ents' house. If there is no other way, I would 
 rather send Bertha away to travel with the 
 
THE RIGHT TO LOVE, 69 
 
 children or place the little girls in a boarding- 
 school. They must not see their mother quar- 
 rel with their father. 
 
 Madam Fridorp. 
 But how has this happened ? You have 
 usually agreed with each other so well. 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 Do I know ? {Rises and goes to the window. 
 In a subdued voice — slowly^ I can only tell 
 you that matters have been especially bad 
 during the last few weeks. Bertha even ap- 
 pears to feel a personal abhorrence of me. It 
 is very difficult for me to speak of this, but I 
 ought to confide everything to you ; nay, I 
 must. Bertha repulses me — after eight years 
 of wedlock — ^just think 
 
 Madam Fridorp {nods sadly). 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 If I entreat, she says : " Are you not 
 ashamed to beg? " If I grow vehement — you 
 understand that we cannot always control our- 
 selves — she becomes furious, declares that she 
 
70 THE RIGHT TO LOVE. 
 
 is neither an Oriental slave, nor — oh ! I don't 
 know what — spare me the repetition of it. 
 Perhaps she will tell, if you question her. 
 What shall I do now ? I don't know any 
 course to pursue. 
 
 Madam Fridorp. 
 I cannot explain it. There must be some 
 illness. Perhaps the child is nervous. 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 I have thought of that, too. I was going 
 to consult our physician. But it seemed as 
 if I ought first to tell you. 
 
 Madam Fridorp. 
 I should not like to vex you — but are you 
 perfectly sure that there is not some little 
 fault on your side ? 
 
 Wahrmund {wounded). 
 Oh, mother ! 
 
 Madam Fridorp. 
 Are you not a little vehement — a little 
 irritated ? 
 
THE RIGHT TO LOVE. ^\ 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 I am not aware of it. You know that I 
 have a quiet nature 
 
 Madam Fridorp. 
 Yet you were very angry with Lena just 
 now. 
 
 Wahrmund {sharply). 
 I see that you are taking Bertha's part in 
 advance. I ought to have expected it. Of 
 course I am the culprit. It's always the lamb 
 that muddies the water. 
 
 Madam Fridorp. 
 You see, now you are getting roused again. 
 I really do not wish to vex you. I am only 
 trying to find an explanation for something 
 which is incomprehensible to me, so it is 
 natural to ask whether you may not 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 Well, it is certainly possible that the fault 
 is mine ; ask her of what she complains. 
 That is why I have come to you. She will 
 surely be frank with her mother, and you will 
 then tell me what troubles her. If it depends 
 
^2 THE RIGHT TO LOVE. 
 
 upon me, there shall be a change. That I 
 promise you. I want peace, and the children 
 must have peace and happiness about them. 
 I should almost be glad if it were proved that 
 I am the delinquent. Then I should under- 
 stand it. Now I cannot explain Bertha's 
 conduct. And it is very uncomfortable to 
 confront something absolutely incomprehen- 
 sible. {A bell rings^ There they are al- 
 ready. Now, mother, you know the state of 
 affairs. Do what you can, I beg you. I hope 
 you can set everything straight. 
 
 Madam Fridorp {presses his hand). 
 Rely upon me. 
 
 Scene VI. 
 The Same. Bertha. Bessie. Louise. 
 
 Lena. 
 Bertha enters with Bessie and Louise, Lena 
 stops at the door and casts timid side glances at 
 Wahrmund. Bertha and the two children run 
 quickly to Madam Fridorp, who has risen, and 
 embrace her. Wahrmund stands at the first 
 window, watching the group. 
 
THE RIGHT TO LOVE. 73 
 
 Bertha. 
 How do you do, mamma ? 
 
 Madam Fridorp. 
 How do you do, child ? Well, here you are 
 again. {Looks at her closely^ 
 
 Bertha. 
 Why do you scan me so closely ? 
 
 Madam Fridorp. 
 You look perfectly well. 
 
 Bertha. 
 Why shouldn't I ? There's nothing the 
 matter with me. 
 
 Madam Fridorp. 
 Don't boast, child ; don't boast. 
 
 Louise. 
 I've brought you a shell, grandma. {Gives 
 it to her.) I dug it up for you myself on the 
 beach, with the spade. 
 
 Madam Fridorp. 
 {Kisses her and takes the shelly 
 Why, the sweet little darling. Did she 
 think of her grandma ? Thank you, dear 
 
74 THE RIGHT TO LOVE. 
 
 child, thank you ; it's a wonderfully pretty 
 shell. 
 
 Louise (^eagerly). 
 Yes, grandma ; and a boy wanted to take 
 it away from me, but I wouldn't let him 
 have it. 
 
 Madam Fridorp. 
 That was a naughty boy, Lulie. 
 
 Louise. 
 He was a very naughty boy. 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 {Who meanwhile has been kissing Bessie^ 
 There, I must go now. 
 
 Bertha. 
 
 ( Who has been watching Louise with a smile, 
 becomes grave again.) 
 
 Madam Fridorp. 
 So you really will not stay to supper ? 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 I cannot. I have urgent business in town. 
 I'll see you again soon, mother. {Shakes 
 hands with her. To Bertha^ And don't 
 
THE RIGHT TO LOVE. 75 
 
 come home too late, please, on account of 
 the children. The evenings are already per- 
 ceptibly cool. {Takes his hat and cane.) 
 
 Bertha {carelessly). 
 I know, I know. 
 
 Madam Fridorp. 
 [Moves to go with him^ 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 No, stay here, mother. {Exit.) 
 
 Scene VII. 
 The Same {without Wahrmund). 
 
 Lena. 
 {Hastily moves aside to let Wahrmund pass, 
 then comes into the room and stands before 
 Bertha, who is taking off her hat and cloak. 
 Lena carries both to a table^ 
 
 Bertha. 
 I have brought you something too, my good 
 Lena. A silver bracelet. Here. {She gives it 
 to her.) 
 
76 THE RIGHT TO LOVE. 
 
 Lena. 
 
 {Looks at the bracelet with delight, seizes 
 the hand of Bertha, who struggles against her, 
 and kisses it) 
 
 You have always remained our darling treas- 
 ure. You are always my kind little mistress, 
 whose baby dresses I washed. But Mr. 
 Wahrmund — I don't know what ailed him just 
 now — ^he stormed at me so — my dead master 
 never did it. And he was a councillor. And 
 I didn't deserve it either. {She wipes her eyes!) 
 
 Bertha. 
 ( Turns to Madam Fridorp in surprise) 
 What was it? 
 
 Madam Fridorp. 
 Oh, nothing ! Be quiet, Lena ; there was no 
 harm meant. You mustn't keep coming in 
 when visitors are here. 
 
 Lena. 
 Mr. Wahrmund is no stranger. 
 
 Madam Fridorp. 
 It's just the same. Go now, Lena. 
 
THE RIGHT TO LOVE. "JJ 
 
 Lena. 
 Come, little folks, come into the garden; I'll 
 show you some beautiful asters and dahlias. 
 {Exit with the children!) 
 
 Scene VIII. 
 
 Madam Fridorp. Bertha. 
 
 Bertha, 
 What happened ? 
 
 Madam Fridorp. 
 Oh, Wahrmund was a little hasty. He gave 
 Lena to understand, somewhat harshly, that 
 she was interrupting us, and you know how 
 sensitive the old woman is. 
 
 Bertha. 
 But what an idea, to speak angrily to an old 
 servant ! Especially when it is not in one's 
 own house. 
 
 Madam Fridorp. 
 Why, Bertha, do you make a distinction be- 
 tween your house and mine? 
 
78 THE RIGHT TO LOVE. 
 
 Bertha. 
 It is a sad want of tact to play the master 
 here. 
 
 Madam Fridorp. 
 How severely you judge him ! 
 
 Bertha (impatiently). 
 Oh — let us talk about something else. 
 
 Madam Fridorp {gravely). 
 No, my child, we will keep to this subject. 
 You treat your husband strangely. 
 
 Bertha {startled). 
 Do you think so ? 
 
 Madam Fridorp. 
 Yes. I do think so. {A short pause.) And 
 he thinks so too. 
 
 Bertha. 
 How do you know that ? Has he told you 
 so? 
 
 Madam Fridorp. 
 Yes. 
 
 Bertha. 
 Indeed? How did he happen to do so ? 
 
THE RIGHT TO LOVE. 79 
 
 Madam Fridorp. 
 Frankly — he has complained of you. 
 
 Bertha. 
 Behind my back? To slander me to my 
 mother ? Fie, how cowardly ! 
 
 Madam Fridorp. 
 Why, child, you are crazy. He behaved 
 very properly and sensibly. To whom should 
 he pour out his heart, if not to me? 
 
 Bertha. 
 To whom ? To me. If he has any com- 
 plaint to make he ought to tell me so frankly, 
 like a man. I shall know how to answer him. 
 
 Madam Fridorp. 
 That is exactly what he wished to avoid. 
 And he did perfectly right. If you are so 
 angry with me, what would you do to him? 
 You would certainly scratch his eyes out. 
 
 Bertha {irritably). 
 Well, if you can believe that of me — you 
 have certainly allowed yourself to be turned 
 against your own child. 
 
80 THE RIGHT TO LOVE. 
 
 Madam Fridorp. 
 Don't talk nonsense. I am your mother, 
 and you are my darling Bertha. But for that 
 very reason your irritability pains me. You 
 must keep the peace. What complaint have 
 you to make against your husband ? 
 
 Bertha. 
 I have not complained of him, but he of 
 me. What charge has he brought? 
 
 Madam Fridorp. 
 You are unkind to him; you do not look 
 at him. 
 
 Bertha {laughing nervously). 
 That is true. What am I to do? Cast 
 languishing glances at him? Ogle him? 
 
 Madam Fridorp. 
 I do not say that, though he does some- 
 thing very like it. 
 
 Bertha. 
 He shows suiificient lack of good taste. 
 He serves as a warning example to me. 
 
THE RIGHT TO LOVE. 8 1 
 
 Madam Fridorp. 
 Don't make foolish jests, Bertha ; this is no 
 time for them. He says that you do not 
 speak to him, and scarcely answer. 
 
 Bertha {impatiently). 
 Well, mamma, if you insist upon knowing 
 the whole story — it is possible that I am very 
 silent. What am I to talk about ? Business 
 affairs? I care no more for them than for 
 last year's weather predictions. What else? 
 He has no taste for anything except his 
 athletics and feats of strength. They don't 
 interest me. Every opinion I express he 
 considers exaggerated and absurd, and meets 
 with a stolid, narrow-minded Philistine oppo- 
 sition. If a play affects me, and I wish to 
 speak of it, I receive the answer: "Oh, non- 
 sense, crazy trash!" He does not read the 
 books which occupy my attention, art bores 
 him — what can I do except keep my thoughts 
 to myself? 
 
 Madam Fridorp. 
 That is very arrogant, Bertha. Wahrmund 
 6 
 
82 THE RIGHT TO LOVE. 
 
 has a great deal of sound sense and experience 
 of life. He is under no obligation to be a his- 
 torian of art and literature. 
 
 Bertha. 
 And I'm under no obligation to act as 
 speechmaker at table, it seems to me. (Short 
 pause ; then vehemently^ But what does he 
 really want ? I keep his house, I care for the 
 children ; when he comes home he finds the 
 meals ready and his favorite dishes; I worry 
 over the servants, I rack my brains daily about 
 the bill of fare — I think I do my entire duty. 
 
 Madam Fridorp. 
 No, Bertha, that is not all. A housekeeper 
 does the same. Men do not marry for that. 
 
 Bertha (suddenly). 
 Mamma, why did you marry me? 
 
 Madam Fridorp. 
 A strange question. You were twenty — we 
 were living on my widow's pension — ^you had 
 not a penny 
 
THE RIGHT TO LOVE. 83 
 
 Bertha. 
 I was a healthy human being — I had brains, 
 a heart — one can get along with them. 
 
 Madam Fridorp. 
 Indeed ? And suppose I had died like your 
 poor father ? Then you would have been alone 
 in the world. What would have become of 
 you ? 
 
 Bertha. 
 I should have worked. I should have stud- 
 ied medicine. Perhaps I might now have 
 been independent. 
 
 Madam Fridorp. 
 Wahrmund is certainly right when he thinks 
 you 'eccentric. The world is not made for 
 such opinions. A penniless girl is a thousand 
 times more apt to go to ruin than to obtain 
 an independent position. A girl must marry. 
 
 Bertha. 
 
 Yes, so long as mothers take that view, 
 
 woman's position cannot improve. A woman 
 
 is a human being. We have the right to live 
 
 for ourselves. But we are thrown at the head 
 
84 THE RIGHT TO LOVE. 
 
 of the first man who comes along. He is good 
 enough for us. 
 
 Madam Fridorp. 
 The first man who comes along ! That cer- 
 tainly was not your case, child. You obtained 
 a kind, handsome, prosperous husband 
 
 Bertha. 
 
 Who does not suit me, and whom I do not 
 suit. 
 
 Madam Fridorp. 
 
 Indeed ? This is the first time I have heard 
 of it. You did not think so when you were 
 engaged to Wahrmund. You were as happy 
 in it as I. 
 
 Bertha {vehemently). 
 
 What does an inexperienced, foolish girl 
 know ? People are always telling her that she 
 must marry, that it is horrible to be an old 
 maid — the greatest disgrace, the greatest mis- 
 fortune. She sees her mother fretting and 
 grieving — of course she wishes to relieve her 
 from anxiety. Then a man comes. She con- 
 stantly hears : A brilliant match ! A rich hus- 
 
THE RIGHT TO LOVE. 8$ 
 
 band ! A great piece of good fortune ! The 
 mother is happy to get rid of her daughter so 
 well — and the girl takes him. 
 
 Madam Fridorp. 
 My child, you are very ungrateful. Your 
 mother did not wish to get rid of you. She 
 desired to secure your happiness, and, accord- 
 ing to human judgment, the conditions for it 
 existed in your marriage. 
 
 Bertha. 
 The conditions for it never exist when the 
 choice is not freely made, and the heart does 
 not speak. Marriage is then no joy. 
 
 Madam Fridorp. 
 Marriage is not solely a joy. 
 
 Bertha. 
 Indeed ? What is it then ? 
 
 Madam Fridorp. 
 A duty, a social mission. 
 
 Bertha. 
 Something like obligatory military service 
 translated into the female gender ? To be rid- 
 
86 THE RIGHT TO LOVE. 
 
 died with shot for your king and country, and 
 fall shouting : " Huzza ! " No, I thank you. 
 
 Madam Fridorp. 
 I believe you have become a Socialist, Ber- 
 tha. 
 
 Bertha. 
 That wouldn't be the worst thing that could 
 happen. All discontented people become 
 Socialists. 
 
 Madam Fridorp. 
 Yes ; but why are you discontented ? 
 
 Bertha. 
 Oh, let that pass, mamma. With your idea 
 of marriage — duty — social mission — you would 
 not understand me. 
 
 Madam Fridorp. 
 Another case of the child being wiser than 
 the parent. 
 
 Bertha. 
 That is true. If I should say to you : Life 
 has not only duties, but rights, I should of 
 course be considered eccentric again. 
 
THE RIGHT TO LOVE. 8/ 
 
 Madam Fridorp. 
 Rights ? What do you mean ? 
 
 Bertha. 
 I mean the right of satisfying the heart. 
 
 Madam Fridorp. 
 Of course you have that right. But you 
 possess something still better than the right. 
 You have the thing itself. You have your 
 husband, your children — what satisfaction does 
 your heart still lack? 
 
 Bertha. 
 
 Suppose that does not content the heart ? 
 Suppose it needs still more in order to be hap- 
 py ? Have we not the right to strive for hap- 
 piness, even though we must disregard so-called 
 duty? 
 
 Madam Fridorp. 
 
 My child, you doubtless think that what 
 you are saying is the very newest philosophy. 
 But it is as old as the world. In the decade 
 of the forties, when I was a very young girl, 
 I read it in George Sand's novels. That's 
 
88 THE RIGHT TO LOVE. 
 
 fifty years ago, and it was nonsense then. 
 There is no happiness outside of duty ; who- 
 ever tells you the contrary is deceiving you. 
 In the fulfilment of your duty you will find all 
 that your heart needs for its satisfaction. Of 
 course if you heed all your whims and fancies, 
 and cherish them, you can easily imagine that 
 you lack this thing or that. But you must 
 not. A married woman ought to renounce 
 fantastic dreams. She can if she chooses. 
 
 Bertha. 
 And suppose she cannot? 
 
 Madam Fridorp, 
 Whoever cannot, ought not to marry at 
 
 all. 
 
 Bertha. 
 Mamma, why did you marry me ? 
 
 Madam Fridorp. 
 I have already told you once. Besides — if 
 I had not, wherein would you be any better 
 
 off to-day? 
 
 Bertha. 
 
 I should be free, and if the right man 
 
 came- 
 
THE RIGHT TO LOVE. 89 
 
 Madam Fridorp. 
 
 The right man ? How do you imagine 
 
 him ? 
 
 Bertha. 
 
 A man who loves me and whom I love, not 
 
 from duty, but with rapture, A man who 
 
 understands me, who inspires me, who unfolds 
 
 my intellect, to whom I look up 
 
 Madam Fridorp. 
 In short, the fairy prince. My dear Bertha, 
 every girl expects him, but he never comes. 
 
 Bertha. 
 But suppose he does? 
 
 Madame Fridorp. 
 I waited for him till I was thirty-four years 
 old, but he did not appear. Then when your 
 father proposed to me, I was well satisfied 
 with him. He was no fairy prince. We 
 were not romantically in love with each other. 
 But we were good, loyal friends, and remained 
 so until I closed his eyes in death. That is 
 the right man. If you had desired to wait for 
 the fairy prince, he would never have come. 
 
90 THE RIGHT TO LOVE, 
 
 Bertha {softly). 
 Suppose he has come ? 
 
 {The following must be very quickly acted^ 
 
 Madam Fridorp. 
 {Stares at her suddenly^ 
 
 Child 
 
 Bertha. 
 What? 
 
 Madam Fridorp. 
 
 ( With increasing excitement^ 
 
 Child! 
 
 Bertha {timidly). 
 Mamma? 
 
 Madam Fridorp. 
 
 Something is happening 
 
 Bertha {remains silent). 
 
 Madam Fridorp, 
 You — you are thinking of some one. 
 
 Bertha. 
 {Throws herself into Madam Fridorp' s arms 
 and hides her face on her bosom.) 
 
 Madam Fridorp. 
 For heaven's sake — what am I to learn — 
 
THE RIGHT TO LOVE. 9 1 
 
 how was it possible — speak. {Rushes to the 
 door and bolts it). 
 
 Bertha. 
 He is our neighbor — lives on the story 
 above us — he obtained an introduction and is 
 passionately in love with me. 
 
 Madam Fridorp. 
 And you have the courage to tell me so ? 
 
 Bertha. 
 Shall I not be frank to my own mother ? 
 
 Madam Fridorp. 
 Go on — the whole truth — what has hap- 
 pened ? 
 
 Bertha. 
 We were in Heringsdorf 
 
 Madam Fridorp. 
 And does Wahrmund notice nothing ? 
 
 Bertha. 
 I don't know — nor do I care 
 
 Madam Fridorp. 
 You are out of your senses. 
 
92 THE RIGHT TO LOVE. 
 
 Bertha. 
 He shall know it. I will make no secret 
 of the fact. 
 
 Madam Fridorp. 
 Bertha, you are mad ! 
 
 Bertha. 
 Why ? Because I will not dissemble and 
 deceive ? Or do you also recommend cheat- 
 ing and hypocrisy ? 
 
 Madam Fridorp. 
 What has come over you, Bertha ? But 
 who is the scoundrel who has turned your 
 brain ? 
 
 Bertha. 
 Don't call him a scoundrel, mamma. 
 
 Madam Fridorp. 
 He is a scoundrel. An honorable man does 
 not pay attention to married women. What 
 does he want of you ? Probably he has a 
 great contempt for you, or he would not ex- 
 pect you to forget your duty. 
 
THE RIGHT TO LOVE. 93 
 
 Bertha. 
 You wrong him. His intentions are serious. 
 
 Madam Fridorp. 
 What does that mean ? 
 
 Bertha. 
 He wishes me to be his through life. 
 
 Madam Fridorp. 
 And you believe that ? 
 
 Bertha. 
 He swears it. Why should he deceive me ? 
 
 Madam Fridorp. 
 Even were it true, a woman cannot forsake 
 her husband and children. 
 
 Bertha. 
 I shall not forsake my children. Barden- 
 holm loves them. 
 
 Madam Fridorp. 
 Bardenholm ? 
 
 Bertha. 
 That is his name. Under his guidance their 
 
94 THE RIGHT TO LOVE. 
 
 intellectual development would be very dif- 
 ferent. 
 
 Madam Fridorp. 
 And do you believe that Wahrmund would 
 let you have the children ? 
 
 Bertha. 
 He knows that they will have the best train- 
 ing with me. 
 
 Madam Fridorp. 
 
 And you could make up your mind so coolly 
 to break your husband's heart ? 
 
 Bertha. 
 He will console himself. 
 
 Madam Fridorp. 
 Silence, unhappy child ! I will hear no 
 more. I forbid you to see this unprincipled 
 man again. Do you hear? This must end. 
 I'll come to town to-morrow or the day after. 
 You must take a journey — a long journey. 
 Wahrmund is prepared for it. I will go with 
 you, old and feeble as I am. You must be 
 your former self. You must recover your 
 senses. 
 
THE RIGHT TO LOVE. 95 
 
 Bertha. 
 Mamma, if you would see Bardenholm, if 
 you would listen to him 
 
 Madam Fridorp. 
 You dare not 
 
 Bertha. 
 It is useless to part us. It is too late. 
 
 Madam Fridorp. 
 (Putting her hand on her lips.) 
 Hush, unhappy child, hush ! Even if — you 
 are not accountable. In your present condi- 
 tion no blame can be imputed to you. You 
 are ill. Even if Wahrmund should learn — he 
 will understand. Oh, God ! oh, God ! 
 
 Lena {shaking the door outside). 
 Is it locked ? 
 
 Madam Fridorp {excitedly). 
 What is it ? 
 
 Lena. 
 Open it. 
 
 Madam Fridorp. 
 What do you want ? 
 
96 THE RIGHT TO LOVE. 
 
 Lena. 
 It's getting cold for the children. 
 
 Madam Fridorp. 
 Go, Bertha, open it. My limbs seem para- 
 lyzed. {Bertha goes to the door.) The poor 
 children ! 
 
 ( The curtain falls.) 
 
ACT III. 
 
 Room in Bardenholm's apartments. Door at 
 the right and at the back. Mantelpiece at the 
 left. On the wall above, a group of weapons — 
 rapier, fencing-mask, revolver. In the right- 
 hand corner of the fire-place, a Turkish divan. 
 Arm-chairs, smoking-table, with box of cigars, 
 rack for pipes. At the right, in front, a cottage 
 piano with a mirror above it. In the centre, a 
 drawing-room table with books and albums. In 
 the rear, an itagtre with books, bric-a-brac, li- 
 queur-stand and glasses, tumblers, framed photo- 
 graphs. 
 
 Scene I. 
 Bardenholm. Dr. BOttner. 
 Buttner, half reclining on the divan. Barden- 
 holm. standing before him with his back to the 
 mantelpiece. 
 
 Bardenholm. 
 {Offering him the box of cigars^ 
 Light a cigar, Buttner. And smoke it rever- 
 7 
 
98 THE RIGHT TO LOVE. 
 
 ently. I give these only to friends who are 
 suffering recent love troubles. 
 
 Biittner. 
 {Chooses a cigar, lights it, and smokes silently^ 
 
 Bardenholm. 
 {After a pause, during which he has watched 
 him) 
 
 At least sigh, if you don't speak. It is a 
 relief. 
 
 Biittner. 
 It's easy for you to laugh. 
 
 Bardenholm. 
 And still easier for you. Only you won't 
 perceive it. {Pause.) Will you take a glass of 
 Chartreuse ? It really belongs with this cigar. 
 
 Buttner. 
 Thank you, with pleasure. 
 
 Bardenholm. 
 
 {Brings the Chartreuse and two glasses from 
 the itagire, and fills them. Both drink) 
 
 Now keep a stiff upper lip. We mustn't 
 give way for such a foolish affair. 
 
THE RIGHT TO LOVE. 99 
 
 Biittner. 
 Such an infamous creature ! 
 
 Bardenholm. 
 Bravo ! You said that just like Salvini. 
 
 Biittner ibises and seizes his hat). 
 If you constantly make these bad jokes 
 
 Bardenholm. 
 Oh, come ! Don't take offence so quickly. 
 ( Takes away his hat and pushes him back on the 
 divan.) Seriously then — has Madam Burk- 
 hard broken with you ? 
 
 Biittner. 
 Brutally. I expostulated with her about 
 little Hergenrath. 
 
 Bardenholm. 
 That was a strange idea. Surely you were 
 not jealous? 
 
 Biittner. 
 
 Well ! perhaps not really jealous — . But 
 
 she made a show of herself with him and 
 
 rendered me ridiculous. Besides, I could not 
 
 keep silence. But at my first words she ex- 
 
lOO THE RIGHT TO LOVE. 
 
 claimed : " What do you want ? To preach 
 morality to me? My husband can manage 
 that better. Besides I will confine myself to 
 no one admirer." " If you would only confine 
 yourself to one" I replied. That wasn't bad, 
 was it? She laughed scornfully and said: 
 " Mon cher, you are beginning to be terribly 
 tiresome. Let us part in peace before you 
 grow utterly rusty." 
 
 Bardenholm. 
 Very acute, that woman. 
 
 Buttner. 
 You understand that I was furious. 
 
 Bardenholm. 
 Of course. 
 
 Buttner. 
 I left her. When I came back in the after- 
 noon 
 
 Bardenholm. 
 What? You went there again? 
 
 Buttner. 
 Oh, I thought it was only a whim. I was 
 
THE RIGHT TO LOVE. lOI 
 
 going in as usual when the maid came forward 
 and said, " My mistress isn't in." I heard her 
 at the same instant talking and laughing in 
 the studio ! " You are joking," I said to the 
 girl, grasping the handle of the door. But 
 the serpent, whom I have warmed with my 
 fees, planted herself in front of it, saying 
 insolently : " My mistress isn't at home to 
 you, and says expressly that you're not to 
 trouble yourself any more about her." Well, 
 what do you think of that ? 
 
 Bardenholm. 
 
 Excellent, old fellow, excellent. You are 
 
 an ungodly man. If you had a spark of faith 
 
 in you, you would be uttering a thanksgiving. 
 
 Biittner. 
 
 For being sacrificed to a Hergenrath ! 
 
 Bardenholm. 
 Little Hergenrath is by no means a bad 
 fellow. Besides, I should never be jealous of 
 a successor. Only of a predecessor. 
 Biittner. 
 But I love this miserable creature. 
 
I02 THE RIGHT TO LOVE. 
 
 Bardenholm. 
 Biittner, you are using the language of the 
 Middle Ages. Does a son of the nineteenth 
 century express himself in such an old-fash- 
 ioned way? {Imitating him.) "I love this 
 miserable creature." A genuine Minnesinger. 
 Such words should always be sung. Come, 
 say it again. I'll accompany you on the 
 
 piano. 
 
 Biittner. 
 
 You are a heartless miscreant. You don't 
 
 know how one feels after wearing a woman's 
 
 uniform two years. 
 
 Bardenholm. 
 Yes, I know it well. Such things become a 
 pleasant custom — as Goethe would say. But 
 after two years one must at last think of being 
 transferred to another regiment. 
 
 Buttner. 
 I had not yet grown weary of the garrison. 
 
 Bardenholm. 
 That's just why I blame you. Madam 
 Burkhard is beginning to age. 
 
THE RIGHT TO LOVE. I03 
 
 Biittner. 
 Which, you see, does not prevent various 
 people from circling around her. 
 
 Bardenholm. 
 Of course. She is fashionable, famous, and 
 especially does not lack readiness to make 
 advances. You won't take offence at my 
 frankness ? 
 
 Biittner. 
 You are a strange comforter. 
 
 Bardenholm. 
 Just the one you need, old fellow. Your 
 melancholy tone is base ingratitude to your 
 lucky star. Man, don't you know that in 
 love, as well as in war, the first thing to be 
 considered is to secure a line of retreat ? The 
 great difficulty in such relations is always to 
 get clear of them. You now have the unde- 
 served good fortune of not falling upon the 
 usual burdock, but a clever woman, who 
 smoothly wheels away from you ; yet you 
 still make an ado. You merit being con- 
 demned to lifelong hard labor in the service 
 
104 THE RIGHT TO LOVE. 
 
 of a beautiful woman. But now I'll be serious 
 again, for I really sympathize with you when 
 I see you so melancholy. What do you 
 really desire ? What could have been the end 
 of this relation ? May I be perfectly frank ? 
 
 Biittner. 
 Still franker than before ? I am curious. 
 
 Bardenholm. 
 
 I assure you that I have long wanted to 
 discuss the matter with you. {Sits down on 
 the divan beside kim.) You had completely 
 lost the perspective of the matter. The 
 woman is an over-ripe orange. She is rich, 
 while you are poor — it was really becoming 
 compromising. 
 
 Biittner {furiously). 
 
 Who would have dared 
 
 Bardenholm. 
 It's useless to be angry. We must always 
 expect gossip. An affair with a woman who 
 is the fashion is all very well. But it must be 
 as brief as an anecdote, or the whole effect is 
 lost. 
 
THE RIGHT TO LOVE. 10$ 
 
 Buttner. 
 The effect? What effect? 
 
 Bardenholm. 
 Don't be so foolish. You have no rich 
 uncle, so far as I know. 
 
 Buttner. 
 Unfortunately. 
 
 Bardenholm. 
 Of course your object is to make a good 
 match — ^you are now thirty — ^you must stick to 
 that in earnest. Your affair with Madam Burk- 
 hard has given you prestige. Only it lasted 
 entirely too long. It was quite time that it 
 should come to an end. Now mix diligently 
 among truffles and champagne people. Get 
 invitations to the houses of commercial mag- 
 nates and choose among the daughters of the 
 land. But you must not appear as the Knight 
 of the Sorrowful Countenance ; for if you 
 yourself betray that it was she who gave the 
 walking ticket, you will not hypnotize wealthy 
 heiresses — they will laugh at you. Do you 
 understand ? 
 
I06 THE RIGHT TO LOVE. 
 
 Biittner. 
 I abhor all women. 
 
 Bardenholm. 
 Nonsense. They are the very prettiest 
 things. which nature ever invented. Only we 
 must know how to make the right use of 
 them. 
 
 (A knock at the door on the right.) 
 
 Biittner, 
 Isn't somebody knocking? 
 
 {Both listen. The knock is repeated.) 
 
 Bardenholm {starting up). 
 Yes, indeed. It's madness. You'll excuse 
 me, Biittner, won't you ? 
 
 Biittner. 
 A private visitor. 
 
 Bardenholm {nods). 
 And I expect Kalwert in fifteen minutes. 
 But it can't be helped. 
 
 Biittner (^oing). 
 Oh, women, women ! 
 
THE RIGHT TO LOVE. I07 
 
 Bardenholm. 
 {Accompanies Buttner to the door, bolts it, 
 then hurries to the door at the right and opens 
 it.) 
 
 Scene II, 
 
 Bardenholm. Bertha. 
 
 Bertha. 
 
 {Enters closely veiled^ 
 
 Bardenholm. 
 {Bolting the door, embracing Bertha.) 
 Bertha ! At this hour ! 
 
 Bertha. 
 Am I interrupting you? 
 
 Bardenholm. 
 Never ! But how imprudent ! Biittner was 
 just with me. I had scarcely time to get him 
 out. You really must be more cautious. 
 
 Bertha. 
 
 Cautious? Oh, I am thoroughly tired of it. 
 
 {Sinks wearily on the divan. Bardenholm takes 
 
 off her hat and veil and carries them to the 
 
 drawing-room table, kisses her on the hair). I 
 
I08 THE RIGHT TO LOVE. 
 
 seem to myself so contemptible when I go in 
 and out secretly, obliged to glance around to 
 watch whether any one sees me. Why must 
 I tremble before every eye ? Why ? 
 
 Bardenholm. 
 
 {Sitting down by her side and taking her hand, 
 tenderly^ 
 
 Because it is the necessary condition of our 
 happiness. Our connection 
 
 Bertha. 
 No. Not that horrible word ! You must 
 never use it. 
 
 Bardenholm (smiling. 
 You little touch-me-not. What is there in a 
 word? 
 
 Bertha. 
 There are words which contain a universe 
 of shame. 
 
 Bardenholm. 
 Very well. I will erase it from my vocabu- 
 lary. What I desired to say is this : I would 
 far rather live with you on a desert island 
 where we were the only human beings and 
 
THE RIGHT TO LOVE. I09 
 
 could rejoice in our love in the presence of the 
 sun, the blue sky, and the sea. But we are 
 not exactly Mr. and Mrs. Robinson Crusoe. 
 We are residents of the capital, and surround- 
 ed by a thousand watchful eyes. Happily our 
 position is not made difficult for us. Only we 
 must not defy chance. 
 
 Bertha. 
 Tell me, Otto, does it please you to see me 
 play a farce of dissimulation ? 
 
 Bardenholm. 
 Since it can't be helped 
 
 Bertha. 
 Don't you feel uneasy, when you see how 
 well I can perform it ? Does not a fear arise 
 in your mind that I might some time practise 
 the art on you ? 
 
 Bardenholm. 
 Oh, I know you too well for that. {Kisses 
 her hand.) 
 
 Bertha. 
 Whoever has lied once, can lie again. Were 
 
no THE RIGHT TO LOVE. 
 
 I in your place, I would never trust a woman who 
 
 deceives. 
 
 Bardenholm, 
 
 I know why you do it. I know how difficult 
 it is for you to dissemble. It is a great sacri- 
 fice which you make for me, the most touch- 
 ing proof of your love. Besides, you are mis- 
 taken in believing that dissimulation, under 
 all circumstances, is dishonorable. The choic- 
 est human beings have always regarded it as a 
 necessity to hide their higher lives from the 
 gaze of the common herd. They have claimed 
 it as a privilege of their superiority, proudly to 
 exclude ordinary mortals from their most pri- 
 vate acts and feelings. Think of the Eleusi- 
 nian mysteries. We, too, have our Eleusinian 
 mystery {stroking her hair). You are my fair 
 secret. Bertha. Surely you must know the 
 lofty sensation of moving amid common mor- 
 tals and saying to yourself : I know something 
 marvellously beautiful of which you are not 
 aware; I have something precious which you 
 do not possess. It would be a profanation, if 
 this should cease. 
 
THE RIGHT TO LOVE. Ill 
 
 Bertha, 
 You can represent everything in very 
 beautiful colors ; I am accustomed to that ; 
 but, Otto, you are aware that your Eleusinian 
 mysteries afford me no pleasure. Clear, open 
 relations are a thousand times dearer to me 
 than the most poetic secret. 
 
 Bardenholm. 
 Now you are again thinking in just as com- 
 monplace a way as — {Bertha turns from him 
 pouting. Bardenholm takes her hand and draws 
 the struggling figure toward him.) Well, I 
 didn't say anything. You see, my sweet lit- 
 tle Bertha, I only want to make you compre- 
 hend the necessities of our situation, and not 
 uselessly rebel against them. We might have 
 so much pleasure, and you poison every mo- 
 ment of happiness with the most foolish self- 
 torment. Is this sensible ? 
 
 Bertha. 
 We might have so much pleasure — certainly 
 — I feel that too — at least I hope so — other- 
 wise — but then matters ought not to remain 
 
112 THE RIGHT TO LOVE. 
 
 as they are. Have you no desire for a change, 
 Otto? 
 
 Bardenholm. 
 To speak frankly, no. At the utmost I 
 would wish you a somewhat more easy tem- 
 perament. I am perfectly content, so long as 
 I have you. 
 
 Bertha {vekemently). 
 But you do not have me. Nor I you. That 
 is just it. I feel so horribly unsupported, 
 adrift, unconnected with the world. I have 
 broken with the past ; I see no future ; I know 
 not to whom I belong, or what I ought to do. 
 When I am downstairs, the feeling often seizes 
 me that I must go far, far away, where no one 
 knows me. I move about my rooms and sud- 
 denly ask myself: " What am I doing here? " 
 I seem like a person in a strange house, and 
 imagine that some one will enter, look at me 
 in surprise, and ask: "What do you want?" 
 And when — when I am not alone, it is far, far 
 worse. That is why you must never wonder 
 if I come unexpectedly. 
 
THE RIGHT TO LOVE. II3 
 
 Bardenholm {draws her to Mm). 
 You sweet creature. 
 
 Bertha {releasing herself). 
 This state of affairs can last no longer. 
 The conflict will kill me. My body below, 
 my soul here — it is impossible. Either one 
 thing or the other. 
 
 Bardenholm. 
 Either one thing or the other ! You are a 
 radical little creature. Your " either one thing 
 or the other" can have but two interpreta- 
 tions. " Either " we must be romantic simple- 
 tons, and drown ourselves in the Segelsee like 
 a little cloak-maker with her tailor apprentice, 
 who have read shilling shockers till their 
 heads are turned, " or " we must be heroic 
 simpletons and put an end to all torture by 
 renouncing each other. I have no fancy for 
 either the romance or the heroism. 
 
 Bertha. 
 But surely there is a third possibility, and 
 the simplest one of all, I wonder that you 
 don't think of it. 
 
 s 
 
114 THE RIGHT TO LOVE. 
 
 Bardenholm. 
 The fact is — I don't see this third possibil- 
 ity. 
 
 Bertha. 
 We have still another choice than to kill 
 ourselves, or to renounce each other — we can 
 surely peacefully belong to each other, 
 
 Bardenholm ^joyfully). 
 At last ! That is what I, too, say constantly. 
 Why torment ourselves? Matters are very 
 well as they are. We will let them remain, 
 and enjoy our lives. 
 
 Bertha. 
 You will not understand me. When I say 
 that we must belong to each other, I mean 
 openly before the whole world, so that we need 
 no longer play hide-and-seek, but can acknowl- 
 edge each other. 
 
 Bardenholm. 
 I admire your courage. Bertha; I am ashamed 
 to confess that I do not possess it. I am an 
 official. In my position I must regard a thou- 
 
THE RIGHT TO LOVE. II5 
 
 sand things. Probably you do not consider 
 what a terrible scandal there would be 
 
 Bertha, 
 It would last a few weeks, then the waves 
 of oblivion would close over it. Such things 
 happen every day, and if, afterwards, we live 
 quietly and modestly together, we shall soon 
 be forgotten. 
 
 Bardenholm. 
 Forgotten ? When we daily present to the 
 world the spectacle of an unlawful connection? 
 
 Bertha {starting up). 
 Unlaw — could you suppose? {Goes to the 
 table and takes her hat and veil^ 
 
 Bardenholm. 
 {Grasping her arm, surprised.) 
 Then — what do you mean ? — I don't under- 
 stand you. 
 
 Bertha {struggling). 
 
 Let me alone. I am going. 
 Bardenholm. 
 I will not let you go. You must explain. 
 {Leads her to the divan.) 
 
Il6 THE RIGHT TO LOVE. 
 
 Bertha. 
 {Sinks down upon it and covers her face with 
 her hands.) 
 
 I have what I deserve. 
 
 Bardenholm. 
 Forgive me, Bertha. I did not mean to 
 offend you. You said that we must play hide- 
 and-seek no longer — that we must acknowl- 
 edge each other. That can only mean 
 
 Bertha. 
 
 {Removing her hands from her face.) 
 
 Well? 
 
 Bardenholm 
 
 {Gazes at her in silence^ 
 
 Bertha. 
 Is it really so entirely beyond all sensible 
 reasoning, or do you wish not to understand 
 me? 
 
 Bardenholm. 
 Bertha, I assure you 
 
 Bertha. 
 To put an end to all difficulties, you need 
 only — give me your name. 
 
THE RIGHT TO LOVE. I17 
 
 Bardenholm {startled). 
 Ah ! {Looks at her a moment, rises, and 
 paces up and down the room several times in 
 silence^ So that is what you think. I ought 
 to marry you ! That idea certainly could not 
 have entered my head. 
 
 Bertha, 
 It seems to me the most obvious step. 
 
 Bardenholm. 
 To marry you ! You are not free. 
 
 Bertha. 
 A divorce can be obtained. 
 
 Bardenholm. 
 
 Do you think that is so simple a matter? 
 In the first place, there will be a long, unplea- 
 sant law-suit. Who is to commence it ? You 
 cannot, for you have no charge to bring 
 against him. 
 
 Bertha. 
 
 Of course it must be he who sues for the 
 divorce. He probably will when he learns 
 the truth. 
 
Il8 THE RIGHT TO LOVE. 
 
 Bardenholm. 
 
 Yes, but then you will be accused of adult- 
 ery; I of being your accomplice. We shall 
 appear in court as criminals; for months our 
 names will be dragged through all the sewers ; 
 at last you will be condemned — that is, the 
 divorce will be granted against you. What 
 will become of my career I don't know, and, 
 at any rate, even then I cannot marry you. 
 Bertha. 
 
 What ? You cannot marry me then ? 
 Bardenholm. 
 
 Of course not. When a divorce is granted 
 against a woman on account of adultery she 
 is not allowed to marry her partner in guilt. 
 
 Bertha. 
 That is infamous. 
 
 Bardenholm. 
 What can I do to help you ? That is the 
 state of the case. It is the law. 
 Bertha. 
 And is there no expedient ? Has the law 
 no exception ? 
 
THE RIGHT TO LOVE. 1 19 
 
 Bardenholm. 
 No — that is, under certain circumstances 
 there is a dispensation, but it cannot be relied 
 upon. Why think of such absurd things at 
 all ? Even if we suppose that there is no 
 legal obstacle to our union, still we could not 
 marry each other. {Sits down on the divan 
 beside Bertha^ Let us be sensible. I have 
 nothing. My salary is all the means on which 
 I can depend. I have barely enough to pay 
 my expenses and wear respectable neckties 
 and gloves. You, too, have no fortune. On 
 what are we to live ? 
 
 Bertha. 
 I shall make no extravagant demands. 
 Peace of mind and definite relations are all 
 that I desire. I will cost you nothing. I'll 
 work, earn money. 
 
 Bardenholm. 
 
 Child, that is absurd. It is so easy to say : 
 
 I'll work, I will earn money. But it's just as 
 
 if you were to say : I will fly, or I'll wake the 
 
 dead. No ; don't deceive yourself about it. 
 
I20 THE RIGHT TO LOVE. 
 
 Our lot would be poverty and wretchedness ; 
 and never will I drag you down to such a 
 fate. You are accustomed to live in luxury, 
 at least since your marriage 
 
 Bertha. 
 This wealth humiliates me. I hate it. 
 
 Bardenholm. 
 Yes. People often pretend or say so when 
 they possess it ; but I should not like to put 
 the haters of wealth to the test. At any 
 rate, I should never forgive myself for tearing 
 you from the comfortable circumstances which 
 suit you. Your beauty needs to be adorned 
 with gems and elegant toilettes. Your refined 
 taste demands an artistic frame for your life. 
 
 Bertha. 
 What a doll you must consider me, if you 
 believe that I prize such external things ! 
 
 Bardenholm. 
 The rose does not know what it needs for 
 its growth, but the gardener must understand. 
 I should not like to experience the moment 
 
THE RIGHT TO LOVE. 121 
 
 when I must see your fair brow clouded by 
 
 sordid cares. {Kisses her on the forehead. 
 
 She passively submits^ And this is not all. 
 
 My conscience would never permit me to tear 
 
 you from your children. 
 
 Bertha {excitedly). 
 
 My children ? Why should I part from 
 
 them ? 
 
 Bardenholm. 
 
 You are jesting. If the divorce is granted 
 against you, the children will be taken from 
 you and given to their father. 
 Bertha. 
 
 Their father will never take them from me. 
 He loves them too dearly. 
 
 Bardenholm. 
 That is a conjecture. 
 
 Bertha {after a short pause). 
 What do you want to show me, Otto? That 
 there are diflSculties to be overcome ? I know 
 it. But love conquers all things. 
 Bardenholm. 
 That is a form of speech. 
 
122 THE RIGHT TO LOVE. 
 
 Bertha. 
 Indeed? But only when love itself is a 
 form of speech. True love has the power 
 and the will to struggle for its satisfaction. 
 Otto, was it not you who in verse cried out to 
 me : " Fain would I battle for thy sake " ? 
 
 Bardenholm, 
 Remember the next line also : " But may I 
 dare ? " I dare not, I dare not. 
 
 Bertha. 
 Ah, if I were but at the beginning of our 
 acquaintance again ! 
 
 Bardenholm. 
 Do you repent ? 
 
 Bertha. 
 That depends upon you. 
 
 Bardenholm, 
 I promised you love, and love you will ever 
 find with me. Your great, your only fault is 
 that yo-U take everything far too seriously. 
 Why regard our exquisite little idyl so tragi- 
 cally ? 
 
THE RIGHT TO LOVE. 1 23 
 
 Bertha. 
 A little idyl ? 
 
 Bardenholm. 
 It need not be anything else. You have 
 often called yourself my pupil. I wish you 
 were really so. I wish I could impart my 
 views to you. Be somewhat Pagan. Serve 
 the gods of Greece a little. Become conscious 
 of your human rights. You are young ; you are 
 beautiful ; you need love. Where is the wrong 
 of loving and being loved ? Nature smiles ap- 
 proval and sanction. If commonplace moral- 
 ity looks askance at it, do not allow yourself 
 to be disturbed. Loftier minds stand above 
 it. Look around you. In every drawing- 
 room you will find women who do not deny 
 themselves the pleasure of plucking all the 
 flowers which bloom along their life-path. 
 And a perfect radiance of cheerfulness sur- 
 rounds them. You alone make your heart 
 heavy. You yourself conjure up spectres and 
 then shudder with horror when they surround 
 you. {Looks at the clock.) 
 
124 THE RIGHT TO LOVE. 
 
 Bertha. 
 How can I help it, when I am continually- 
 obliged to ask myself : What will come next ? 
 
 Bardenholm. 
 You forget that love is its own object. It 
 need not lead to anything beyond. We will 
 love each other to-morrow, as we loved each 
 other yesterday. This prospect wholly satis- 
 fies me. 
 
 Bertha. 
 And suppose that our secret is discovered ? 
 
 Bardenholm. 
 It must not be discovered. It cannot be, if 
 you use proper caution. 
 
 Bertha. 
 But if it should be? Then what will be- 
 come of me? 
 
 Bardenholm. 
 Bertha, do you believe that I love you ? 
 
 Bertha. 
 Should I be kere, if I did not ? 
 
THE RIGHT TO LOVE. 12$ 
 
 Bardenholm, 
 Well, then, you must also have confidence in 
 me. Whatever may happen, I am a man, and 
 I know what I owe you. {Bertha presses his 
 hand.) But I repeat: Nothing will happen, 
 nothing at all. Your fancies needlessly darken 
 the fairest moments of our lives. 
 
 Bertha. 
 Fancies ! When I ask how this must end? 
 
 Bardenholm. 
 We won't rack our brains about it. Life 
 has solutions which the most vivid imagina- 
 tion will not suggest. We will let the god 
 who watches over lovers provide for us, and 
 meanwhile keep up our spirits. {Glances at 
 the clock again.) 
 
 Bertha. 
 You are looking at the clock for the second 
 time. 
 
 Bardenholm. 
 Yes, my sweet little Bertha. My friend 
 Kalwert is coming at four o'clock to attend to 
 some business we have together. He is the 
 
126 THE RIGHT TO LOVE. 
 
 soul of punctuality. You can understand that 
 I should not like to have him find you with me. 
 
 Bertha (slowly rising). 
 So I must~go.? 
 
 Bardenholm. 
 Unfortunately. 
 
 Bertha. 
 {Reluctantly approaching the table, half aside.) 
 Go — always go. And again we have come 
 to no conclusion. And I had so much to say 
 to you. 
 
 Bardenholm. 
 {Handing her her hat and veil^ 
 You shall come again, child, you shall come 
 again. 
 
 Bertha. 
 {Irresolute, struggling with herself.) 
 I shall come again ? You don't know — we 
 must form some decision quickly 
 
 Bardenholm. 
 {Pushing her gently toward the door, smiling^ 
 Is there really so much haste ? 
 
THE RIGHT TO LOVE. 1 27 
 
 Bertha. 
 
 {Arranging her hat and veil before the window, 
 hesitating^ 
 
 I was at my mother's yesterday. Oh, Otto ! 
 she wants to travel in the south — I am to go 
 
 with 
 
 Bardenholm. 
 
 ( Who has scarcely listened, goes to the side door, 
 opens it, puts his head out, then hurriedly draws 
 it back, embraces Bertha, and leads her toward 
 the entrance. In a low tone as they walk.) 
 
 We will discuss the matter further — and 
 meanwhile be happy, child, be happy, and 
 trust me. 
 
 Scene III. 
 Bardenholm {alone). 
 
 Bardenholm. 
 {Stands in the middle of the room. Aside.) 
 Marry! Incredible! {Goes to the mantel- 
 piece and thoughtfully lights a cigar ^ Why, if 
 one cannot be safe from matrimony, even with 
 
 married women 
 
 {The curtain falls.) 
 
ACT IV. 
 
 Very elegant boudoir in the Wahrmund apart- 
 ments. Rose-colored silk hangings arranged in 
 the form of a tent. Thick carpet. Pink toilet- 
 table, with Venetian mirror at the left. Beside 
 it a large three-leaved Psyche looking-glass. 
 Tall lamp with pink shade. In the middle of 
 the wall at the right a mantel-piece with a 
 ■mirror above and silver candelabra. Pink 
 hanging-lamp suspended from the ceiling. Be- 
 low it a circular seat covered with pink silk. 
 Plants in the centre. Sofa and arm-chairs at 
 the right near the rear. Doors at the back and 
 the left. Two windows at the right. A pink 
 silk portiere across the door at the back which 
 leads into the drawing-room. 
 
 Scene I. 
 Bertha. Wahrmund. 
 Bertha. 
 {^Enters in her hat, cloak, and veil, and begins 
 
130 THE RIGHT TO LOVE. 
 
 to take off her veil before the Psyche. Wahr- 
 mund comes in directly after, gloved^ 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 Oh ! are you going out ? 
 
 Bertha. 
 {Starts, turns hastily, then turns back again 
 to the mirror. Sullenly?) 
 No. I've just come home. 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 {Approaches her ; he is drawing off his 
 gloves.') 
 
 Just ? What do you call just ? 
 
 Bertha. 
 A minute ago. 
 
 Wahrmund {pleasantly^ 
 Perhaps a quarter of an hour. 
 
 Bertha. 
 Oh, let me alone. When I say just, I don't 
 mean a quarter of an hour. 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 That is impossible. 
 
THE RIGHT TO LOVE. 131 
 
 Bertha. 
 Why should it be impossible ? 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 Surely you have no invisible cap, child ? 
 Or have you ? In that case I should often 
 beg you to loan it to me for business pur- 
 poses. 
 
 Bertha. 
 ( Wko meanwhile has laid aside her wraps?) 
 Don't talk nonsense. 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 Well, if you haven't an invisible cap, you 
 must have come down the chimney like a 
 little witch on a broom-stick. 
 
 Bertha. 
 You are in a very jovial mood to-day. I 
 don't feel at all cheerful. 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 Unfortunately, you never do lately. But I 
 should like to know why you tell me that you 
 have just come home. 
 
132 THE RIGHT TO LOVE. 
 
 Bertha (very impatiently). 
 
 Then ask Minna, who opened the door for 
 
 me a minute ago, if you don't believe me. 
 
 That's enough for the present, isn't it? {Takes 
 
 a book from the dressing-table and sits down on 
 
 the sofa) 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 
 That's strange. No, child, I won't question 
 Minna. Do you know that I have been 
 standing in the hall below talking with the 
 landlord since quarter of four? No living 
 creature could have passed me unseen. Be- 
 sides, during this quarter of an hour not a 
 human being entered the house except a 
 young man, whom I think I have seen with 
 Bardenholm. Well, what do you say now ? 
 {Bertha remains silent and pretends to read. 
 Wahrmund sits down on the sofa by her side, 
 covers the page with his hand^ and says coax- 
 ingly.) Now, Bertha, confess. You were 
 going out, and I came at an inconvenient 
 time. Go without hesitation. I v/on't even 
 ask where, if you don't care to tell me volun- 
 tarily. 
 
THE RIGHT TO LOVE. 1 33 
 
 Bertha. 
 
 {Starting up angrily and going to the seat in 
 the centre of the room.) 
 
 No, I tell you, no. I was not going out, I 
 had come home. 
 
 Wahrmund {very gravely). 
 That is not true. You wound me deeply, 
 Bertha. I have never known you to be a liar. 
 
 Bertha {furiously'). 
 Liar! 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 I can use no other word. You did not 
 enter the house from the street. That is cer- 
 tain. 
 
 Bertha {intensely excited). 
 Well, then, no, I did not come from the 
 street, but from upstairs. 
 
 Wahrmund {astonished). 
 From upstairs? 
 
 Bertha. 
 From the third story. From Bardenholm. 
 
 {Paused 
 
134 THE RIGHT TO LOVE, 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 {Slowly, in broken sentences}^ 
 
 You were with Bardenholm ! Yes, now I 
 understand why you did not wish to confess 
 the truth at once — You yourself feel how 
 imprudent it was to go to his apartments. 
 Bertha, you ought not to do this — consider, 
 if any one in the house should see you — what 
 gossip there would be. Other people do not 
 know you as I do, — they will not have the 
 
 confidence I 
 
 Bertha. 
 
 {JVho has been struggling with herself, in a 
 subdued voice, but firmly^ 
 
 Your confidence is not justified. 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 What do you mean ? 
 
 Bertha, 
 Bardenholm and I love each other. 
 
 Wahrmund (starting up). 
 What? 
 
 Bertha. 
 I have long wished to tell you so. Now 
 
THE RIGHT TO LOVE. 13S 
 
 you know. I will have no more secrets. I 
 
 am no liar. 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 
 {(flenching his fists, stammers^ 
 
 What — you have — you are 
 
 Bertha. 
 
 Try to keep cool. You cannot undo what 
 
 is done. 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 
 {Rushing upon her and seizing her violently 
 
 by the wrists.) 
 
 Wretch ! Oh ! wretch ! 
 
 Bertha {shrieking). 
 Let me go. Oh ! you are breaking my arm ! 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 {Pressing his hand passionately on her lips.) 
 Silence ! Unhappy woman ! 
 
 Bertha {struggling, shrieks). 
 Let me go. Help ! 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 {Between his set teeth.) 
 Silence, I say, no scandal ; the maids will 
 come. 
 
136 THE RIGHT TO LOVE, 
 
 Bertha {^panting). 
 If you want no scandal — let me go. 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 
 (Hurls her back upon the divan, paces in the 
 utmost excitement up and down the room, often 
 pausing and hesitating^ 
 
 Oh, the wretch ! Here she lives with me 
 — under my roof — kisses my children — ^yet de- 
 ceives, and lies, and wallows in the mire 
 
 Bertha. 
 Kill me, if you wish ; you are stronger than 
 I. But such words 
 
 Wahrmund (stopping). 
 
 What! Outcast, you dare to open your 
 
 mouth ! 
 
 Bertha. 
 
 You are very brave. Keep on ; continue to 
 
 insult me. I have no protector. 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 Then go to your protector. Go to him ! 
 What do you want here ? What have you to 
 seek here ? Begone, wretch, out of my sight ! 
 
THE RIGHT TO LOVE. 1 37 
 
 Bertha. 
 {Rises and goes to the door.) 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 
 {Rushes after her, seizes her by the arm, 
 and drags her roughly back to the seat. She 
 screams^ 
 
 Oh, wanton ! You insist that your shame 
 shall be known to the world. 
 
 Bertha. 
 I wish to go, if you behave like a wild 
 
 animal. 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 You wish to go ! You wish to go ! And 
 you will go, never fear. But first we have a 
 few words more to say to each other — prob- 
 ably the last. 
 
 Bertha. 
 I will not answer until you remember that 
 you are speaking to a woman. 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 A woman ? A vile, faithless wife, who de- 
 ceives her husband! Do you call that a 
 woman ? 
 
138 THE RIGHT TO LOVE. 
 
 Bertha. 
 I have told you the truth. That is not de- 
 ceiving. 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 
 Certainly — because I caught you in your 
 hat and veil, because you were discovered in 
 your treachery, and could not lie your way 
 out of it. But for this accident you would 
 have continued to wear the mask of virtue. 
 Bertha. 
 
 It was no accident. If I had not told you 
 to-day, I should have done so to-morrow. I 
 had firmly determined upon it. I wished to 
 play no farce. 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 
 You wished to play no farce. Yet you have 
 played one — for weeks [stops and looks at her ; 
 she is silent), perhaps for months (;she is still 
 silent). You pride yourself apparently upon 
 your frankness — ^you even admire yourself as 
 the heroine of truth, which you have always 
 asserted yourself to be. You have no cause 
 to do so. Your frankness comes too late. 
 It would have been a merit before you 
 
THE RIGHT TO LOVE. 1 39 
 
 had sinned. Then you might have come to 
 me and said : " I love another." That would 
 have been straightforward and honest. But 
 
 after 
 
 Bertha. 
 ( JVM drooping head, softly^ 
 You are right. I ought to have spoken at 
 once. That is my only fault. For that I beg 
 your forgiveness. 
 
 Wahrmund (bitterly). 
 Your only fault ? That you did not confess 
 your sin at once ? And the sin itself seems 
 no fault ? 
 
 Bertha. 
 {Raising her head eagerly). 
 No. It is no fault ; it is no sin. When 
 people love each other they have the right to 
 belong to one another. 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 
 {Gazes at her silently, then sits down in an 
 arm-chair^ 
 
 That disarms me. That certainly puts an 
 end to everything. {A short pause.) And the 
 
I40 THE RIGHT TO LOVE. 
 
 promise you made at the altar? The fidelity 
 you swore to me ? 
 
 Bertha. 
 A promise given half unconsciously by an 
 ignorant young girl, amid music and candle- 
 light, cannot be binding for the whole life. 
 So far as I know, no one at the present day 
 has the right to sell herself as a slave. 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 Did you ever feel yourself a slave with me ? 
 Were you not free ? 
 
 Bertha. 
 The test of my liberty is now made. When 
 you hurl the most cruel insults into my face, 
 and even roughly abuse me, because I obey 
 my own feelings and will, surely you perceive 
 that you are treating me as a slave, and not as 
 an independent human being. You consider 
 me as your property — which I am not. No 
 human being is the property of another. I 
 demand for myself the liberty to obey the 
 voice of my heart. 
 
THE RIGHT TO LOVE. I4I 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 You have not that liberty. There is no 
 liberty to commit a crime. 
 
 Bertha. 
 I have committed none. To deceive you — 
 yes, that was an error. I have entreated your 
 forgiveness for it. But to love — no. That is 
 no crime. That is a human right. 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 {Rising and pacing up and down.) 
 Perhaps I was wrong in allowing myself to 
 be carried away by anger. I really believe 
 that you are not accountable. Your crazy 
 plays, and your gallant, with his fine phrases, 
 have completely turned your brain. Unhappy 
 woman ! Have you ever considered what 
 would become of the world if it followed your 
 theories ? 
 
 Bertha. 
 What do I care about the world ! I don't 
 have to provide for the world, but for myself. 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 Indeed ! And you have provided for yourself 
 
142 THE RIGHT TO LOVE. 
 
 admirably. You can plume yourself upon it. 
 The right to love ! A human right, do you 
 say? No. A brute right. The brute pairs 
 with the first male that woos — a human being 
 does not. The right to love ! If a woman 
 wishes to preserve that, she does not marry, but 
 becomes a wanton. {Bertha rises to go. Wahr- 
 mund forces her down upon the seat again.) 
 No, no ! you must not run away. People who 
 are as strong-minded as you, must be able to 
 hear the truth. The right to love ! I probably 
 possess it as well as you. Have I ever claimed 
 it ? {Bertha is silent^ I, too, probably do not 
 lack temptations. There are pretty women as 
 well as handsome men. I have eyes, like you 
 — but there is such a thing as conscience. We 
 have a sense of duty. We say to ourselves : 
 Stop ! I must not ! 
 
 Bertha. 
 As if reason could govern feeling ! 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 Indeed ? Love is not at once a conflagra- 
 tion. I don't believe in the lightning of your 
 
THE RIGHT TO LOVE, 1 43 
 
 silly novels. At least not among sensible 
 human beings. Love begins in a small way — 
 in the germ it can be stifled with a slight effort 
 of the will. One need merely shun the peril. 
 A woman should think of her children, of her 
 husband. Of course, if the fire is fed and 
 fanned, the flames will rise over your head. 
 Love can grow from any mutual sympathy, if 
 we permit it. But we must rule it. That is 
 our duty. 
 
 Bertha. 
 Your representations come too late. End 
 them. Let us speak no more of the past, and 
 part without resentment on either side. 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 Without resentment ! You have arranged 
 that very pleasantly for yourself. I can under- 
 stand your feeling no resentment against me. 
 I have done you no wrong. 
 
 Bertha. 
 I do not say that you have. 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 I have loved and honored you. {He goes to 
 
144 THE RIGHT TO LOVE. 
 
 the window a moment, struggling to control his 
 overmastering emotion. Turning back again.) 
 I have allowed you to want for nothing, I 
 have lived and labored for you alone. How 
 have you been able to sacrifice me so easily ? 
 
 Bertha. 
 Do not torture me. 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 How can another have made you forget 
 duty, fidelity — all ? What does he offer more 
 than I ? Speak ! What does he offer you 
 more than I ? 
 
 Bertha {resisting). 
 My life was purposeless. You did not aid 
 my mental development. 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 Indeed? That is your grievance. True, I 
 am no elegant, whispering rhetorician. I am 
 a practical man. I don't chatter about real- 
 ism and the dramas of the future. All that 
 twaddle is not worth a moment of my time- 
 But have I ever restricted you in occupying 
 
THE RIGHT TO LOVE. 1 45 
 
 yourself with this chaff? You have been able 
 to surround yourself with everything which 
 promoted your mental development. Have I 
 ever jealously prevented your intercourse with 
 the people who regaled you with all the 
 aesthetic phrases which are apparently neces- 
 sary to your happiness ? 
 
 Bertha. 
 Perhaps that was just the very thing. You 
 did not watch me ! 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 
 Was I to watch you ? Just now you would 
 
 be no one's slave. Now you are suddenly a 
 
 harem odalisque, and I probably ought to 
 
 keep eunuchs to guard you. When a woman 
 
 is "an independent human being," as you 
 
 proudly proclaim yourself, she must do her 
 
 own watching. I am no Turkish pacha. I 
 
 am a German merchant. I trust my wife 
 
 because I respect her. If I am to have no 
 
 confidence in her, it will be simpler and safer 
 
 to turn her out of the house than to watch 
 
 her. 
 
 10 
 
146 THE RIGHT TO LOVE. 
 
 Bertha. 
 Now you have probably said all that was in 
 your heart. I entreat you to let me go. 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 
 I will not keep you. You can go. From 
 this hour you are a stranger to me. The sight 
 of you can only remind me that you have pol- 
 luted this house. {Bertha rises to go.) But 
 one thing more. What is to become of the 
 children ? 
 
 Bertha {starts). 
 
 The children ? — I will take — if they are a 
 burden to you. I will gladly provide for 
 them. 
 
 Wahrmund {scornfully). 
 
 You do not know what you are saying. I 
 will provide for my own children. There is, 
 of course, no question on that score. Our 
 children are girls — do you understand ? 
 Therefore their mother's conduct is not a 
 matter of indifference. The mother's reputa- 
 tion is the best portion of their marriage 
 dowry. In twelve or thirteen years the chil- 
 
THE RIGHT TO LOVE. 1 47 
 
 dren will be old enough to marry. Even then 
 the world will not be converted to your fine 
 theory about the right to love. At least I 
 hope so. I will not have people point their 
 fingers at them and hiss into their ears : " Those 
 are the daughters of the woman who — who 
 left her husband to — to — " Well, you know 
 the rest. {Paces up and down several times^ 
 
 Bertha. 
 My children will have no cause to be 
 ashamed of me. 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 I am of a different opinion. True, there is 
 one way of stopping people's tongues. But 
 only one. Therefore I must ask : " What do 
 you intend to do ? " 
 
 Bertha. 
 Don't trouble yourself about me. 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 You misunderstand me. So far as I am 
 concerned, I shall not trouble myself in the 
 least about you. I have done with you. I 
 
148 THE RIGHT TO LOVE. 
 
 Speak only in the name of the children. You 
 will probably go to your — Assessor ? {Bertha 
 is silent.) I suppose that he loves you — 
 {Bertha is silent) and that he respects you 
 enough, in spite of your treatment of me, to 
 marry you. 
 
 Bertha. 
 You can be sure of it. 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 
 Very well. If he marries you, then the 
 world will at least have nothing to cast in our 
 children's teeth. True, you will still have 
 destroyed the poor little things' home and 
 broken up the family ; but we will hope that 
 they may not realize it — at least during their 
 childhood. 
 
 Bertha. 
 
 They will never lack a mother's love. 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 Nor a father's. But these two halves are 
 very much less than one whole. We will not 
 talk of that. It is now my duty to settle this 
 point. 
 
THE RIGHT TO LOVE. 1 49 
 
 Bertha. 
 What point ? 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 Your — remarrying. That must be arranged 
 between the Assessor and myself. 
 
 Bertha {eagerly). 
 I will not permit it ! No interference ! 
 That is our affair. 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 I am not doing it for my own pleasure. 
 The matter is at least as loathsome to me as 
 to you. But it is unavoidable. In order to 
 marry, you must be divorced from me. For 
 this, legal steps must be taken. I want no 
 scandal. Everything must be done to stifle 
 it. But that is possible only if the Assessor 
 and I act together. I am ready to do every- 
 thing to facilitate obtaining the divorce. We 
 will agree without loss of time about what is 
 to be done. The Assessor is at home. Send 
 Minna up and ask him to come down at once. 
 
 Bertha. 
 I will not. 
 
I50 THE RIGHT TO LOVE. 
 
 Wahrmund (threateningly). 
 You must. You have destroyed my life. I 
 will at least escape from the ruins as quickly 
 as possible. The explanation must take place 
 some time. Let it be immediately. 
 
 Bertha. 
 You will be violent — you will wish to avenge 
 yourself — I will lure him into no trap. 
 
 Wahrmund {bitterly). 
 Your anxiety about him is touching. Be 
 calm. You know I desire to avoid scandal. 
 That will protect him from me. I shall deal 
 with the matter in a purely business-like way. 
 I wish to obtain the statement that he will 
 marry you. Send up to him. {Bertha sits 
 still.) If you won't move — {he goes to the man- 
 tel-piece and rings the bell.) 
 
 Bertha {timidly). 
 What are you doing ? 
 
 Wahrmund {harshly). 
 Minna is coming. Control yourself. I want 
 no servant's gossip so long as it can be avoided. 
 
THE RIGHT TO LOVE. ISI 
 
 Scene II. 
 The Same. Minna. 
 Minna. 
 {Enters through the door in the background 
 and stands there. After a pause.) 
 What do you wish ? 
 
 Bertha. 
 ( Wearily, in a stifled voice^ 
 
 Minna — be so kind — see if 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 ( With repressed anger.) 
 Go up to Assessor Bardenholm's rooms and 
 ask him to come down here for a moment. 
 My wife requests him to do so. 
 Minna. 
 {Glances from Wahrmund to Bertha.) 
 Very well, sir. {Exit.) 
 
 Scene III. 
 
 Bertha. Wahrmund. 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 
 {Pacing up and down, after a pause.) 
 
 The right to love ! Yes. You believed that 
 
152 THE RIGHT TO LOVE. 
 
 you loved me, too. At least you told me so, 
 when we were betrothed. And probably, at 
 that time, you did not lie. You were mis- 
 taken. I hope you will not make a mistake 
 again. It won't do to deceive yourself twice, 
 or your right to love will receive a very differ- 
 ent name. Well, I trust you will be happy 
 with your Assessor {^ery bitterly). He can 
 develop your intellect more than I. Proba- 
 bly he is more gallant, too. That is always a 
 courtier's way. If it only lasts. The husband 
 cannot compete with the courtier! If he is 
 not aided by a little gratitude, a little fidelity 
 on his wife's part, he must, of course, suc- 
 cumb. Well (with a wave of the hand) — that's 
 over. 
 
 Scene IV. 
 The Same. Bardenholm. Minna. 
 
 Minna. 
 {Opens the door at the back without entering^ 
 Please walk in. 
 
 Bardenholm. 
 {Enters hastily. Minna shuts the door behind 
 
THE RIGHT TO LOVE. 1 53 
 
 him. He stops in surprise at the sight of Wahr- 
 mund.) 
 
 Oh ! I thought — I don't wish to interrupt 
 you, Wahrmund. {Makes a movement to turn 
 back^ 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 
 You don't interrupt us. Stay, if you please. 
 We have serious subjects to discuss. 
 
 Bardenholm. 
 {Starts, but quickly regains his composure.) 
 Ah ! in that case — ^pardon me — I have a 
 
 caller — an important business matter — perhaps 
 
 another time. {Attempts to go.) 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 
 {Steps quickly between the door and Barden- 
 holm, with his back toward the door and his face 
 toward Bardenholm.) 
 
 You evidently suspect — so to the point. I 
 know all. 
 
 Bardenholm. 
 
 {Shrinks back a step, gazes at Wahrmund a 
 moment in silence, then says quietly.) 
 
 I am at your service. 
 
154 THE RIGHT TO LOVE. 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 Indeed ! And you think that settles the 
 matter ? 
 
 Bardenholm. 
 
 I repeat : I am ready to give you the proper 
 satisfaction. This, I beheve, spares us the 
 necessity of prolonging this scene. 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 Certainly. That is the correct thing. We 
 must shoot each other. Very prompt. A 
 duel with a deceived husband would make you 
 utterly irresistible. No, Assessor Bardenholm, 
 the matter will be dealt with seriously. 
 
 Bardenholm. 
 I think I am serious enough. 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 I do not agree with you. I will assume that 
 you are a man of honor, though you have 
 basely betrayed my friendship. 
 
 Bardenholm. 
 Sir, I must beg 
 
THE RIGHT TO LOVE. 1 55 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 As a man of honor you will know what 
 remains for you to do. 
 
 Bardenholm. 
 
 I have already told you — when you choose, 
 where you choose, on whatever conditions you 
 choose. 
 
 Wahrmund {angrily). 
 
 Oh, drop these follies. I appeal to your 
 conscience. You can amend nothing with 
 pistols. In the first place, you owe satisfac- 
 tion, not to me, but to this woman, the peace 
 of whose life you have destroyed. 
 
 Bertha. 
 {Who hitherto has sat gazing into vacancy, 
 utters a deep sigh and looks up at Bardenholm^ 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 You have not said one word about your 
 victim. You have not yet asked what I have 
 decided concerning her. 
 
 Bardenholm. 
 Probably I have scarcely the right 
 
156 THE RIGHT TO LOVE. 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 How punctiliously you suddenly weigh your 
 rights. Had you the right basely to betray 
 the friend who gave you implicit confidence ? 
 Had you the right to rob me of my wife, and 
 the children of their mother ? 
 
 Bardenholm. 
 If you use such words {attempts to go). 
 
 Wahrmund {threateningly). 
 You don't stir from this spot until I know 
 how you will atone for the wrong you have 
 done my wife. {Bitterly^ I still say " my 
 wife" from habit 
 
 Bardenholm. 
 ( Who meanwhile has recovered his composure, 
 coldly^ 
 Why — I don't know what you expect from 
 
 me. 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 You have robbed this woman of her honor. 
 But a married woman's honor can be restored, 
 as well as a girl's who has been betrayed, and 
 in the same way — by marrying her. I sup- 
 pose that you are ready to do so. 
 
THE RIGHT TO LOVE. 1 57 
 
 Bardenholm. 
 {Makes a gesture of surprise^ 
 
 Wahrmpnd. 
 Perhaps you are secretly laughing at the 
 comic spectacle of a man who wishes to marry 
 off his own wife. Wait ! The affair will be- 
 come a serious one to you. So — will you do 
 your duty to your victim ? 
 
 Bardenholm. 
 {Coldly, somewhat sarcastically^ 
 
 Your wife will scarcely thank you for this 
 interference. 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 
 I have nothing to do with that. I am ful- 
 filling a duty. I speak as the advocate of my 
 children, who must have no discarded wife for 
 their mother. If you perform your obliga- 
 tions, you will find me ready to settle with 
 you quietly. Finally, I claim no right to 
 detain my wife by force. She is not my 
 chattel. She is a free human being. She 
 can follow her inclination. You have sup- 
 planted me in her heart. I will make room 
 
158 THE RIGHT TO LOVE. 
 
 for you ; I will not stand in the way of your 
 happiness ; I will consent to the divorce. In 
 the eye of the law I will be the criminal — 
 allow myself to be condemned. So the affair 
 can be arranged as a mere formality, without 
 scandal. The children shall spend six months 
 alternately with their mother and with me. 
 {Pause.) Well ? 
 
 Bertha. 
 {Looks up anxiously at Bardenholm.) 
 
 Bardenholm {avoiding her eyes). 
 You cannot possibly expect that without 
 the least preparation 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 ( Vehemently interrupting him.) 
 I think you have had ample time to prepare 
 for the situation. You could not doubt that 
 I should turn out my wife whenever I learned 
 the truth. Will you desert her now, after you 
 have robbed her of family and home? 
 
 Bardenholm. 
 That is a matter to be settled between the 
 
THE RIGHT TO LOVE. 1 59 
 
 lady and myself. This is not the place 
 
 {attempts to go). 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 {Moves to the door, threatening him) 
 Run away ? No, no. We must first come 
 to an understanding. 
 
 Bardenholm. 
 If you put the knife to my throat I shall 
 defend myself. You will gain nothing by 
 force. 
 
 Bertha {in a hollow tone). 
 Enough, let him go. 
 
 Bardenholm, 
 Besides, all this in the lady's presence 
 
 Bertha. 
 {Rises wearily and tries to withdraw.) 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 
 No, no. The " lady " {scornfully) must stay. 
 She is " an independent human being," as she 
 says. She owes it to herself to be present 
 when her own destiny is being discussed. 
 
 {Bertha sinks back again upon the seat) 
 
l6o THE RIGHT TO LOVE. 
 
 Bardenholm. 
 I have nothing to discuss. I seem to have 
 been lured into an ambush. 
 
 Bertha (dully). 
 Not by me. 
 
 Wahrmund {quickly). 
 
 It was I alone. I wanted to make an end 
 
 of the affair — if possible, without scandal. 
 
 Well? 
 
 Bardenholm. 
 
 In your first excitement you speak of turn- 
 ing out your wife — I understand, of course — 
 but when you are calmer 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 {Repressing his rage with difficulty.) 
 Let us have no fine phrases. Are you ready 
 to marry the woman whom you have dishon- 
 ored? 
 
 Bardenholm. 
 But this is really — how can you expect it ? 
 In my position, how can I 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 In your position ? I understand. I will 
 
THE RIGHT TO LOVE. l6l 
 
 agree to pay a sufficient income for the sup- 
 port of my children. 
 
 Bardenholm. 
 {After a short pause, hesitating^ 
 That will certainly make matters easier. 
 True, it is extremely unpleasant to take your 
 money. Of course, it is for your children's 
 support — but you must give me time. I must 
 collect my thoughts. I owe it to my own dig- 
 nity not to appear to yield to violence. I must 
 be able to stand before you, free. {He takes a 
 step toward Bertha, and makes a movement to 
 take her hand.) 
 
 Bertha. 
 {Utters a loud cry, starts up and shrinks back.) 
 Don't touch me ! 
 
 Bardenholm {perplexed). 
 
 Why, then — {to Wahrmund) — you see 
 
 Bertha. 
 Enough ! Go ! Go ! {Sinks into a chair and 
 covers her face with her hands) 
 
 Wahrmund {sternly). 
 Too late! If he was good enough for a 
 
1 62 THE RIGHT TO LOVE. 
 
 lover, he must also be good enough for a hus- 
 band. So much the worse if you now see his 
 baseness for the first time. 
 
 Bardenholm. 
 Sir, I have offered you the satisfaction of a 
 gentleman. It does not suit me to quarrel like 
 
 grooms 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 Don't insult respectable grooms, you elegant 
 scoundrel ! 
 
 Bardenholm. 
 A man who will not fight cannot offer 
 insults. 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 
 (Giving way to his rage.) 
 But he can break bones, {Rushes upon him.) 
 
 Bertha. 
 {Rushing between them zvith a shriek, and 
 clinging to Wahrmund' s uplifted fists.) 
 
 No, no ! — let him go ! Only begone ! — be- 
 gone ! 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 {Struggles to release himself, follows Barden- 
 
THE RIGHT TO LOVE. 1 63 
 
 holm, and in doing so drags the kneeling Bertha 
 •with him^ 
 
 Out ! miserable villain ! 
 
 Bardenholm. 
 ( Who has reached the door and tears it ofien.) 
 Shopkeeper ! [Exit. Bangs the door vio- 
 lently behind him) 
 
 Scene V. 
 Bertha. Wahrmund. 
 
 Bertha. 
 
 {Releases Wahrmund, sinks to the floor and 
 drags herself to the divan, where she tries to col- 
 lect her thoughts) 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 
 ( Walks rapidly up and down the room several 
 times, then goes to the window and throws it 
 open) 
 
 One must ventilate the room a little, after 
 auch a fellow. (Leans out a short time. Then 
 he turns and wipes his forehead with his pocket- 
 handkerchief) Well, are you sufficiently dis- 
 gusted with your cavalier now ? 
 
164 THE RIGHT TO LOVE. 
 
 Bertha. 
 
 {Rousing herself as if from a stupor, in a hol- 
 low tone^ 
 
 No. With myself. {She rises, walks slowly 
 to the wardrobe and opens it. Takes out under- 
 clothing with trembling hands, drops many of 
 the articles, picks them up, and puts them in the 
 
 arm-chair^ 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 
 {Leans with folded arms against the wall at 
 
 the back for some time, watching her ^ 
 
 What are you doing ? 
 
 Bertha {dully, without turning. 
 I am packing. 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 What do you intend to do? 
 
 Bertha. 
 I am going away. 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 Where ? To your mother ? 
 
 Bertha. 
 {Hastily, stopping in her packing^ 
 No. I will not inflict that upon her. 
 
THE RIGHT TO LOVE. 165 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 Indeed ! What will you do, then ? 
 
 Bertha. 
 {Hesitating, with downcast eyes.) 
 I don't know yet. I want to get out of 
 your sight. Away from all who know me. I 
 shall seek some position. As governess. As 
 housekeeper. As nurse. — I don't know. {She 
 stands motionless, staring into vacancy.) 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 
 {Paces up and down several times, sometimes 
 quickly^ sometimes slowly, and then stops before 
 Bertha. Slowly^ 
 
 Well. You will keep a house. You will 
 nurse and rear children. I will make you a 
 proposal : Nurse and rear your own children 
 — keep your own house. 
 
 Bertha. 
 
 {Gazes at him. with dilated eyes, panting for 
 breath^ 
 
 Oh — you — {rushing toward him). You will 
 forgive ? 
 
1 66 THE RIGHT TO LOVE. 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 
 {Hastily retreating a step, stops her with a 
 gesture of his outstretched hand, and answers 
 sternly^ 
 
 You are mistaken I {Bertha lets her head 
 and arms sink loosely^ I will not forgive. You 
 did not understand me. I will explain what 
 I mean. {Bertha sinks into an arm-chair. 
 Wahrmund steps in front of her and says 
 slowly, letting the words fall with a sort of 
 pleasure in self-tortUre^ What I offer you 
 is no forgiveness, but a severe penance. A 
 terrible atonement. You shall stay here. 
 Before the world nothing is to be changed. 
 You shall continue to be Madam Wahr- 
 mund, and to preside at my table. But your 
 guilt will stand between us like a spectre. We 
 shall be strangers to each other. You, who 
 abhor dissimulation, will be forced to play an 
 intolerably wearisome farce, before society, 
 before the children, even before your mother. 
 You will be in the same room with the hus- 
 band whom you have deceived and who judges 
 you, and you will be unable to hide yourself 
 
THE RIGHT TO LOVE. 167 
 
 from his eyes. You will go to social enter- 
 tainments at my side, you will feel my arm 
 shrink with repugnance at the touch of your 
 hand, and you will be compelled to wear a 
 smiling face. Your home will be a prison to 
 you. You would not be a slave. You will 
 be the slave of your own guilt. You see I 
 conceal nothing and palliate nothing. You 
 will suffer bitterly. So, too, shall I. For to 
 me also it will be a constant torture to have 
 the sight of you remind me of everything — to 
 have around me the phantom of a happiness 
 which is lost {as if struggling to repress a 
 thought dawning in his mind, impressively), for- 
 ever lost. This is a hellish torment. And I 
 have not deserved it. But I know why I 
 impose it upon us both — for the children's 
 sake. They must perceive nothing. They 
 must continue to dream their childish dreams 
 of peace and happiness. Because, if people 
 have children, they owe them their lives. 
 You did not consider that. Now, sacrifice 
 yourself for them. This shall be your atone- 
 ment. Perhaps you think it too hard. 
 
l68 THE RIGHT TO LOVE. 
 
 Strengthen yourself by the thought that 
 the children at least will respect you, though 
 — I cannot. Have you the courage to take 
 up your cross ? 
 
 Bertha. 
 {Hiding her face in her hands.) 
 I cannot. It is too hard, 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 Think of the children. 
 
 Bertha {as before). 
 To die — that is the solution. 
 
 Wahrmund {dully). 
 For you — not for the children. 
 {After a pause.) 
 
 Bertha {sobbing). 
 Do with me as you choose. I will atone — • 
 till you forgive. 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 {Makes a gesture of repulse.) 
 {The children are heard entering the ante- 
 room, calling loudly : " Where is mamma?") 
 
THE RIGHT TO LOVE. 169 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 {Puis Ms hand on Bertha's shoulder, saying 
 quickly^ 
 
 Control yourself — the children must not see 
 you so. 
 
 Bertha. 
 {Starts up, stands for an instant as if be- 
 wildered, then passes her hand across her eyes 
 and totters out.) 
 
 Wahrmund. 
 {Looks after her until the door has closed 
 behind her, then sinks slowly into a chair and 
 hides his face in his hands.) 
 
 {The curtain falls.) 
 
 teu.fi HE LIDkARY. 
 NEW YORK, 
 
NEELY'S 
 
 International Library. 
 
 12 MO. CLOTH, SI .25. 
 
 FO»T FBAXWB.— CAPT. CHAS. KING, U. S. A., Author of "The Col- 
 onel's Daughter," "A "Wartime Wooing," etc., etc. "A story to excite 
 the admu-axlon of boys, and stir the blood of old men."— New Torh Herald. 
 " Entertaining every moment."— Boston Olobe. 
 
 THAT EURASIAN— ALEPH BEY. "One of the most extraordinary 
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 —Chicago Times-Herald. " A well written book."— JT. Y, Commercial Ad- 
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 AT MARKET VAIilTE— By GKANT ALLEN, Author of "The Woman 
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 IN STRANGE COMPANY— By GUY BOOTHBY, Author of "On the 
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 novel."— TTorW. "Thoroughly exciting slory. "—Yorlcshire Post. "A 
 novel with a purpose.— CincinwiH Tribune. 
 
 For Sale by all Booksellers, or sent on receipt of Price by the Publisher, 
 
 P. TENNYSON NBBL.Y, Chicago, New York. 
 
 14 
 
^ FORT 
 FRAYNE 
 
 A NEW NOVEL OF 
 
 Rmy lilfe in the ]iiof thmest. 
 
 By CAPTAIN CHARLES KING, U.S.A., 
 
 Antbor of "The Colonel's Daughter," "A 
 Wartime 'Wooing." 
 
 J2MO. CLOTH, $J^. 
 
 NEELY'S INTERNflTiONflL LlBRftRY. 
 
 Captain King Is probably the most popular American novelist of to-day. He always 
 has a good story to tell and tells it wiih spirit. There Is no lack of climaxes, of strong 
 situations, of dramatic incidents. The reader feels the autfaor^s delight in his own stirring 
 story, and Is carried on by the thrlllii^ movement of the plot, to the end. 
 
 Captain King's novels have been sold by the hundreds of thousands. He is known 
 everywhere, and it is because he does not disappoint his readers. He gives them enter- 
 tainii^, exciUng stories that are always full of surprises and end happily. 
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 fiLerald facile, t sometimes, think— and tells a story in a way to excite the 
 
 admiration of boys and stir the blood of old men. He knows how to handle incidents, 
 and does it with skill. I like to read him, and if I had twenty or thirty boys I should 
 buy this book for their delectation." 
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 E'ree Press spirit The reader feels the author's delight in his own stirring plot. 
 
 His novels have been sold by the hundreds of thousands, because he does not disap- 
 point the public. * Fort Frayne ' is fully as exciting as anything that he has yet pub- 
 lished." 
 Boston •* A brisk, bright, military tale, with plenty of movement and it 
 
 Svenf ngr G-azette relates to exciting Incidents at a northwest army post, a couple 
 of decades ago. The personages who figure in the narrative stand out distinctly from 
 its pages and the descriptions are exceedingly graphic." 
 Boston '* Written from memory of the lost manuscript of a drama play to which 
 Ololve others contributed. Most of Its action is in Wyoming. Garrison society, 
 
 soldiers and Sioux Indians, make the scene brilliantly descriptive of army life. The 
 plot is somewhat sensational but it is entertaining every moment. 
 Oresonlan *' A story of modern Indian warfare and modern love affairs in a Wyo- 
 ming fort, and Is full of interest, and lively Interest." 
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 Journal terestlng as any he has written; well constructed and full of admir- 
 able incidents. Captain King makes this story the medium of a defense of the army 
 method of dealing with Indians, or rather a criticism on the Government system of 
 ' treating the wards of a nation and, indeed, he makes out a strong case for the army." 
 'Weekly "Done with his acknowledged skill. The work is probably one of the 
 IVlsconstn best of the many army stories that he has given the readii^ world. 
 
 Breezy and exciting throughout. 
 Benver "Pleasant reading, pure and wholesome. While the plot of thte tale is 
 
 Bepublican not materially dtfferent from the others of this writer. It holds the 
 interest of the reader, and the garrison tragedies, love scenes and comedies are painted 
 with the brush of one who sketches from life, and few writers excel Captain King In 
 the realistic picture of battle scenes." 
 
 For Sale by all Booksellers^ or sent on receipt of Price by the Pi^lisker^ 
 
 P. TENNYSON NEELY, Chicago, New York. 
 
 15 
 
: KING IN 
 : YELLOW. 
 
 By ROBERT W. CHAHBERS. 
 
 Author of "In the Quarter." 
 
 Neely'8 Prismatic Library. 
 
 Buckram, QUt Top 
 
 75 Cents. 
 
 'Expected to make a sensation, charming, full of color and 
 delicately tinted." 
 
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 Elllg aware, in his peculiar field. It is a masterpiece. . . I have read 
 
 many portions several times, captivated by the unapproachable tints of the 
 painting. None but a genius of the highest order could do such work," 
 
 Fbiladelphla Times " Charming, delicate, skillful, vivid." 
 
 Philadelphia 
 Item 
 
 N. T. Commercial "The short prose tale should be a synthesis; it was the 
 Advertiser art of Edgar Poe, it is the art of Mr. Chambers. . . . 
 
 His is beyond question a glorious heritage. . . I fancy the book will create 
 a sensation; . . in any case it is the most notable contribution to literature 
 which has come from an American publisher for many years; and fine as the 
 accomplishment is, 'The King in Yellow' is large in promise. One has a 
 right to expect a great deal from an author of this calibre." 
 
 Times- "The most eccentric little volume of its (little) day. ' The King in 
 Herald Yellow' is subtly fascinating, and compels attention for its style 
 
 and its wealth of strange, imaginative force." 
 
 New Tork " Mr. Robert W. Chambers does not have a system to work up 
 Times to ; he has no fad, save a tendency to write about the marvelous 
 
 and the impossible; painting pictures of romance that have a wild inspira- 
 tion about them. Descriptive powers of no mean quality are perceptible in 
 this volume of stories." 
 
 The New Tork " Mr. Chambers has a great command of words ; he is a good 
 World painter. His situations are most delicately touched and some 
 
 of his descriptions are emuisite. He writes like an artist. He uses colors 
 rather than ideas. . . Tne best drama in the volume means madness. The 
 tenderest fancy is a sad mirage. . . ' The King in Vellow' is a very interest- 
 ing contribution to the present fund of materio-mysticism. . . To read 
 Mr. Chambers' little book is to escape from the actual on poetical wings." 
 
 Minneapolis "They have a mysterious, eerie air about them that is apt to 
 Tribune stimulate the reader's curiosity." 
 
 Cleveland "It is wondrous strong, dramatic, full of color, weird, uncanny, 
 Gazette picturesque, and yet a gem of exquisite coloring, dreamy, sym- 
 
 bolic, exciting." 
 Detroit Journal " ' The King in Yellow ' compels attention." 
 
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 Times ful 1" 
 
 For Sale by all Booksellers, or sent on receipt of Price by the Publisher, 
 
 F. TENNYSON NEEDY, Chicago, New York. 
 
Father 
 
 Stafford 
 
 BY 
 
 ANTHONY HOPE. 
 
 The Most Remarkable of Mr. Hope's Stories. 
 
 Neelu's Prismatic Library. 
 
 Buckram, Gilt Top, 
 
 75cts. 
 
 Minneapolis "This story is in the genuine Hope style, and for that 
 
 Tribune reason will be widely read." 
 
 Public Z/edger " ' Father Stafford ' is extren;iely clever, a bold priva- 
 
 Pblladelpbla teer venturing upon the high seas." 
 
 San Francisco "It is a good story, the strong parts of which are the 
 
 Chronicle conflict between love and conscience on the part of 
 
 a young Anglican priest. The charm of the book, however, lies in the brisk- 
 ness of the dialogue, which is as finely finished as any of Hope's novels. 
 Nashville " 'Father Stafford' is a charming story. The whole book 
 
 Banner sustains the reputation that Anthony Hope has made, 
 
 and adds another proof that as a portrayer of characters of sharp distinctness 
 
 and individuality, he has no superior." 
 Evening " A writer of great merit. . . . Mr. Hope's work has a 
 
 Wisconsin quality of straightforwardness that recommends it to 
 
 readers who have grown tired of the loaded novel." 
 PhilUpsbnrg "This is considered by his critics to be one of the strong- 
 
 Jonrnal est, most beautiful and interesting novels Mr. Hope has 
 
 ever written. There is not a dull line in the entire volume." 
 Aznnsement "The dialogue is bright and worldly, and the other char- 
 
 Gazette acters do not suSer because so prominent is the hero; 
 
 they are well drawn and quite out of the ordinary." 
 Vanity, "A very interesting narrative, and Mr. Hope tells the 
 
 New York story after' that fashion which he would seem to have 
 
 made peculiarly his own." 
 Kansas City "There is something more ihza the romanceof theaction 
 
 Journal to hold the reader's mind. It is one of the author's 
 
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 Every Saturday, " Anthony Hope is a master of dialogue, and to his art in 
 Elgin, III, this particular is due the enticing interest which leads 
 
 the reader on from page to page." 
 Hebrew " The strife between the obligation of a vow of celibacy 
 
 Standard and the promptings of true love are vividly portrayed 
 
 in this little book. ... It contains an admirable description of English 
 
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 Boston Daily "It has enough of the charm of the author's thought and 
 
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 For Sale by all Booksellers, or sent on receipt of Price by the Publisher, 
 
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 n 
 
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 31 
 
P, THE RIGHT TCI LOVE. 
 0L.ICE5 Commissioner McAdoo and In- 
 spector Broolfs apparently had no 
 time to give to theatrical matters last 
 night, and as a result, Max Nordau's 
 "The Right to Love," a drama that makes 
 "Mrs. Warren's Profession" appear as 
 innocuous as a church parlor sociable, 
 ■was produced at the Berkeley Lyceum 
 under the patronage of the Progressive 
 Stage Society in peace and quiet. "The 
 Right to jLove" tells a story , of wifely 
 infidelity that Ipaves nothing to the im- 
 agination, but there is little danger that 
 the public's morals are to suffer. For 
 nearly four hours forty-two persons, 
 chiefly elderly women, sat in studious 
 silence listening to a story of moral 
 gloom and domestic despair in an audi- 
 torium the temperature of which was 
 100 degrees under that of the tempera- 
 ment pictured on the stage. 
 
 "The Right to Love" calls for little 
 dramatic action, save in the fourth and 
 fast acts, where the long suffering hus- 
 band sentences his faithless wife, desert- 
 ed by her ungallant lover, to a life time 
 of loveless misery under his roof. 
 
 The play was creditably enacted by a 
 large cast. Wayne Arey, as the stern 
 but just husband, acted with naturalness 
 and reserve, and showed considerable 
 dramatic power at the climax in the last 
 act. Christine Langtord was the naiughty 
 wife. The Nordau play was followed by a 
 one-act drama by a member of the Pro- 
 gressive Stage Society, Clara Ruge, called 
 "On the Road," which, the stage manager 
 said, was intended tti depict an every-day 
 phase of New York life. In realism and 
 boldness of speech "On the Road" went 
 several steps beyond "The Right to Love," 
 
 How the distress of a young mother 
 over the discovery that her child was 
 being reared on "ideas of socialism and 
 anarchy by a nurse, who was an unlawful 
 wife" illustrated a phase of modern life 
 in New York society which it was difficult 
 for any of the forty-two spectators to 
 make out. 
 
 During the performance the president 
 of the FrDgressive Stage Society asked 
 for funds "to educate the public out of 
 tte idea of mere commercialism in our 
 drama." He said: "Too many persons In 
 New York go to the theatre merely to 
 i drown the thoughts which they do not 
 
 D0BS6SS ' 
 
 When the audience had finished its only 
 laugh of the evening over this Hibernian 
 bull, the president tried to make good by 
 adding: "Of course, I do not mean you 
 ladies and gentlemen; otherwise you 
 would not be here to-night." 
 
 The programme will be repeated to- 
 night. 
 
SIIt^ JS^ettT jj^rk ®ittie;S. 
 
 "All the News That's Fit to Print." 
 
 PUBLISHED EVERT DAT IN THE TEAR. 
 
 NEW YORK, SATURDAY, JAN. 17, 1903. 
 
 MAX NORDAU AS PLAYWRIGHT. 
 
 "The Right to Love" Discussed by the 
 Empire Dramatic Pupils. 
 
 It was a thesis play in four sermons, by 
 the author of " Degeneration," with which 
 the Empire dramatic students chiefly 
 wrestled yesterday afternoon. It was called j 
 " The Right to Love," but quite as good 
 a title would have been a tragic cry of i 
 yesterday's heroine, " Mommer, why did I 
 you marry me! " The thesis is that you i 
 have no right to love, and that mommer 
 has every right to marry you. Nordau is 
 at liis favorite game of knocking at Ibsen, 
 Nlotsche & Co. 
 
 His heroine wa.-s married young for pru- 
 dential reasons to a man for whom she [ 
 does not particularly care; and, indeed, t 
 one quite sympathizes with her here, tor 
 he Is i( paragon of all the established mor- 
 ' alltie.s, without a single redeeming vice. 
 Meeting an affinity, later, she asserts her 
 right to lovo him, to love him so gladly, 
 so freely, and so openly that at last she j 
 tells on herself to her own husband. SVie [ 
 I has no doubt that her affinity will marry 
 ' her gladly, freely, and openly. But when 
 
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