Roses: Four One-Act Plays.

by Hermann Sudermann.

The Present Day

_The action takes place at a small pavilion situated in the park belonging to an old castle_.

STREAKS OF LIGHT

_An octagonal pavilion of the Rococo period, the three front walls of which are cut off by the proscenium. Ceiling and walls are cracked and spotted by rain, and bear the marks of long disuse. At the back, in the centre, a large doorway. The gla.s.s door is thrown wide open; the shutters behind are closed. On the right and left, in the oblique walls of the room, are windows, the shutters of which are also closed.

Through the blinds at the door and the right window, sunbeams in streaks of light penetrate the semi-darkness of the room._

_On the left, in the foreground, a Louis Sixteenth sofa with table and gilded chairs to match. On the wall above, an old mirror. Near the sofa, a tapestried doorway. A chandelier wrapped in a dusty gauze covering is suspended from the ceiling. A four-post bed with hangings of light net takes up the right side of the stage. In the foreground, in front of the bed, a table with plates, gla.s.ses, wine-decanters, and provisions on it. A coffee percolator stands under the table. In the middle of the stage, a little to the right, a chaise-longue. At the head of it, a small table. Between the large door and the windows, dusty marble busts on dilapidated pedestals. Above them, on the walls, a collection of various sorts of weapons. The Oriental rugs which are thrown about the floor and over the chaise-longue contrast strangely with the faded splendour of the past._

_The whole room is decorated with roses. On the table at the left is a bronze vessel of antique design overflowing with roses. Garlands of roses hang from the chandelier and encircle the bedposts. On the small table near the chaise-longue, a large, flat dish, also filled with roses. In fact wherever there is any place for these flowers, they have been used in profusion._

_Part of the table which stands in front of the sofa is covered by a napkin, upon which are seen a bottle of wine and the remains of a luncheon for one. It is a sultry afternoon in midsummer._

Julia _lies on the chaise-longue, asleep. She is a beautiful woman, about twenty-five years of age, intractable and pa.s.sionate, with traces of a bourgeois desire to be "romantic." She is dressed in white, flowing draperies, fantastically arranged._

_A tower clock strikes four. Then the bells of the castle are heard ringing. Both seem to be at a distance of about two hundred paces._

Pierre _enters cautiously through the tapestried doorway at the left.

He is a fashionably dressed, aristocratic young fellow who has been petted and spoiled. He is effeminate, cowardly, arrogant, and is trying to play the pa.s.sionate man, although inwardly cold and nervous._

Julia.

(_Laughs in her sleep. Her laughter dies out in groans._) Pierre!

Pierre! Help! Pierre!

Pierre (_bending over her_).

Yes, yes. What is it?

Julia.

Nothing-- (_Laughs and goes on sleeping_).

Pierre (_straightening up_).

Whew How hot it is! (_He stares at_ Julia, _his face distorted by fear and anger, and beats his forehead. Then indicating the outstretched form of the woman._) Beautiful!--You beautiful animal--you! (_Kneels_.

Julia _holds out her arms to him, but he evades her embrace._) Stop!

Wake up!

Julia (_tearfully_).

Please let me sleep.

Pierre.

No! Wake up! I've only come for a moment. It's tea-time, and I have to go back to the house.

Julia.

Please stay!

Pierre.

No, mamma will be asking for me. I have to be there for tea.

Julia (_pettishly_).

I have a headache. I want some black coffee!

Pierre.

Then make it yourself. The gardener is cleaning the orchid rooms in the hot-house, and he has no time for you now.

Julia.

He never has time for me!--And the meals that his wife cooks are simply abominable!--And the wine is always warm!--Do, for mercy's sake, steal the key to the icehouse!

Pierre.

But you know that I can't!--I always bring you all the ice that I can manage to take from the table. If I insist upon having the key, the housekeeper will tell mamma.

Julia.

But I won't drink warm wine--so there! That's what gives me these headaches.

Pierre.

Your headaches, I want to tell you, come from the roses. Ugh!--this nasty smell from the withered ones--sour--like stale tobacco smoke--why, it burns the brains out of one's head!

Julia.

See here, dearie, you let the roses alone! That was our agreement, you know--basketsful, every morning! I wish the gardener would bring even more! That's what he's bribed for.--More! More! Always more!

Pierre.

See here, if you were only reasonable----

Julia.