In the small latticed windows there are
flowers. On right, a writing-table and bookshelf. Left, a sofa with
rose-coloured curtains above in the form of a baldachino. Tables
and chairs in Old German style. At the back, a door. Outside the
country can be seen and the poorhouse, a dark, unpleasant building
with black, uncurtained windows. Strong sunlight. The LADY is
sitting on the sofa working.]
MOTHER (standing with a book bound in rose-coloured cloth in her
hand.) You won't read your husband's book?
LADY. Not that one. I promised not to.
MOTHER. You don't want to know the man to whom you've entrusted
your fate?
LADY. What would be the use? We're all right as we are.
MOTHER. You make no great demands on life?
LADY. Why should I? They'd never be fulfilled.
MOTHER. I don't know whether you were born full of worldly wisdom,
or foolishness.
LADY. I don't know myself.
MOTHER. If the sun shines and you've enough to eat, you're content.
LADY. Yes. And when it goes in, I make the best of it.
MOTHER. To change the subject: did you know your husband was being
pressed by the courts on account of his debts?
LADY. Yes. It happens to all writers.
MOTHER. Is he mad, or a rascal?
LADY. He's neither. He's no ordinary man; and it's a pity I can
tell him nothing he doesn't know already. That's why we don't speak
much; but he's glad to have me near him; and so am I to be near
him.
MOTHER. You've reached calm water already? Then it can't be far to
the mill-race! But don't you think you'd have more to talk of, if
you read what he has written?
LADY.
Pages:
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74