box 22/4
16.4. Literatur
332
THE INTERNATIONAL
this is he! You came amongst that group, like a soul from
CLEM.—(Vered.)—Please! Must you always rouse me
another world.
from my illusions?
CLEM.—I hope so. And I thank heaven that somehow yon
MARG.—Tell me truly, Clem, wouldn't you be proud if your
didn't seem to be altogether one of them, either. No. When¬
hancee, your wife, were to become a great and famous writer?
ever I call to mind that junto—the Russian girl, for instance,
CLEM.—I have already told you. I am rooted in my de¬
who because of her close-cropped hair gave the appearance
cision. And I promise you that if you begin scribbling or
of a student—except that she did not wear a cap—
publishing poems in which you paint your passions for me,
MARG.—Baranzewitsch is a very gifted painter.
and sing to the world the progress of our love—it’s all up with
CLEM.—No doubt. You pointed her out to me one day
our wedding, and off I go.
in the picture gallery. She was standing on a ladder at the
MARG.—You threaten—you, who have had a dozen well¬
time, copying. And then the fellow with the Polish name—
known affairs.
MARG.—(Beginning.) Zrkd—
CLEM.—My dear, well-known or not, I didn't tell any¬
CLEM.—Spare yourself the pains. You don't have to use
body. I didn't bring out a book whenever a woman aban¬
it now any more. He read something at the cafe while I was
doned herself on my breast, so that any Tom, Dick or Harry
there, without putting himself out the least bit.
could buy it for a gulden and a half. There’s the rub. I know
there are peoplé who thrive by it, but, as for me, I find it
MARG.—He’s a man of extraordinary talent. T’il vouch
for it.
extremely coarse. It’s more degrading to me than if you
were to pose as a Greck goddess in flesh-colored tights at
CLEM.—Oh, no doubt. Everybody is talented at the café.
Ronacher’s. A Greek statue like that doesn't say Mew.“ But
And then that yokel, that intolerable—
a writer who makes copy of everything, goes beyond the
MARG.—Who?
merely humorous.
CLEM.—You know whom I mean. That fellow who per¬
MARG.—(Nervously.) Dearest, you forget that the poet
sisted in making tactless observations about the aristocracy.
does not always tell the truth.
MARG.—Gilbert. You must mean Gilbert.
CLEM.—And suppose he only vaporizes. Does that make
CLEM.—Nes. Of course, I don't feel called upon to make a
it any better?
brief for my class. Profligates crop up everywhere, even
MARG.—It isn't called vaporizing; it's distillation.“
among writers, I understand. But, don't you know it was
CLEM.—What sort of an expression is that!
very bad taste on his part while one of us was present?
MARG.—We disclose things we never experienced, things
MARG.—That’s just like him.
we dreamed—plainly invented.
CLEM.—I had to hold myseif in check not to strike him.
CLEM.—Don't say “we' any more, Margaret. Thank good¬
ness, that is past.
MARG.—In spite of that, he was quite interesting. And,
then, you mustn't forget he was raving jealous of you.
MARG.—Who knows?
CLEM.—What?
CLEM.—I thought I noticed that, too. (Pause.)
MARG.—Good heavens, they were all jealous of you. Nat¬
MARG.— (Tenderly.) Clement, I must tell you all.
CLEM.—What is it?
urally enough—you were so unlike them. They all paid court
to me because I wouldn't discriminate in favor of any one
MARG.—It is not past; I haven't given up my writing.
CLEM.—Why?
of them. You certainly must have noticed that, eh? Why are
you laughing?
MARG.—I'm still going on with my writing, or, rather, I’ve
CLEM.—Comical—is no word for it! If some one had
finished writing another book. Yes, the impulse is stronger
prophesied to me that I was going to marry a regular fre¬
than most people realize. I really believe I should have gone
quenter of the Café Maximilian—I fancied the two young
to pieces if it hadn't been for my writing.
CLEM.—What have you written now?
painters most. They’d have made an incomparable vaudeville
team. Do you know, they resembled each other so much and
MARG.—A novel. The weight was too heavy to be borne.
owned everything they possessed in common—and, if I'm not
It might have dragged me down—down. Until today, I tried
mistaken, the Russian on the ladder along with the rest.
to hide it from you, but it had to come out at last. Künigel
MARG.—I don't bother myself with such things.
is immensely taken with it.
CLEM.—Who's Künigel?
CLEM.—And, then, both must have been Jews?
MARG.—Why so?
MARG.—My publisher.
CLEM.—Then it’s been read already.
CLEM.—Oh, simply because they always jested in such a
MARG.—Ves, and lots more will read it. Clement, you
way. And their enunciation.
MARG.—Nou may spare your anti-Semitic remarks.
will have cause to be proud, believe me.
CLEM.—Now, sweetheart, don't be touchy. I know that
CLEM.—You're mistaken, my dear. I think—but, tell me,
what’s it about?
your blood is not untainted, and I have nothing whatever
MARG.—I can't tell you right off. The no#el contains the
against the Jews. I once had a tutor in Greek who was a Jew.
greatest part, so to speak, and all that can be said of the great¬
Honest and truly. He was a capital fellow. One meets all
est part.
sorts and conditions of people. I don't in the least regret
CLEM.—My compliments!
having made the acquaintance of your associates in Munich.
MARG.—That’s why I'm going to promise you never to
It’s all in the weave of our life experience. But I can't help
pick up a pen any more. I don't need to.
thinking that I must have appeared to you like a hero come
CLEM.—Margaret, do you love me?
to rescue you in the nick of time.
MARG.—What a question! You and you only. Though I
MARG—Ves, so you did. My Clem! Clem! (Embraces
have scen a great deal, though I have gadded about a great
him.)
deal, I have experienced comparatively little. I have waited
CLEM.—What are you laughing at?
MARG—Something’s just occurred to me.
all my life for your coming.
CLEM.—What:
CLEM.—Well, let me have the book.
MARG.—Why—why? What do yot mean?
MARG.—Abandoned on thy breast and—