POET: Oh . . .
ACTRESS: What's the matter?
POET: The light.--But we don't need any. Look, it's quite bright. Marvelous! [ACTRESS suddenly sinks down on her knees before window, with folded hands.] What's the matter? [No answer.] What are you doing?
ACTRESS: [Indignant.] Can't you see I'm praying?
POET: Do you believe in God?
ACTRESS: Of course, I'm no bloody heathen.
POET: I see.
ACTRESS: Come along, kneel next to me. You might pray for once, too. It won't put a dent in your halo. [POET kneels next to her and embraces her.] Libertine! [Gets up.] Do you happen to know whom I was praying to?
POET: To God, I suppose.
ACTRESS: [With great irony.] Yes! I was praying to you.
POET: Then why did you look out of the window?
ACTRESS: I'd rather you told me where you've dragged me to--you seducer!
POET: But, my dear child, this was your idea. You wanted to go to the country--and this place especially.
ACTRESS: Well, wasn't it a good idea?
POET: Certainly; it's enchanting here. When you consider that it's only two hours from Vienna--and then this utter solitude. And what lovely country!
ACTRESS: Gorgeous, isn't it? You could write a great deal here if you had any talent.
POET: Have you been here before?
ACTRESS: Have I been here before? Ha! I've lived here for years!
POET: With whom?
ACTRESS: With Fritz, of course.
POET: I see.
ACTRESS: How I adored that man!
POET: So you've told me.
ACTRESS: A thousand pardons--I can just as well go if I bore you!
POET: You bore me? . . . You haven't the faintest idea what you mean to me . . . You're a whole world in itself . . . You are divine, you are genius itself . . . You are . . . you are godly simplicity . . . Truly, you . . . But you shouldn't talk about Fritz now.
ACTRESS: There must have been an aberration. There!
POET: It's fine of you to admit that.
ACTRESS: Come here, give me a kiss! [POET kisses her.] Now let's say goodnight! Farewell, my pet!
POET: What do you mean, "farewell"?
ACTRESS: Well, I'm going to bed.
POET: That's alright, but as for this "good night" business . . . where am I supposed to spend the night?
ACTRESS: There are surely many other rooms in this house.
POET: Other rooms don't attract me. Anyway, I'd better light up here, hadn't I?
ACTRESS: Yes.
POET: [Lights a candle on the night-table.] What a pretty room . . . the people here are very pious . . . lots of holy pictures . . . it would be interesting to spend some time among these natives . . . it's another world altogether. We know so little about other people, actually.
ACTRESS: Stop talking rot and hand me my purse from the table.
POET: Here, my only beloved! [ACTRESS takes a little framed picture from her purse and puts it on the night-table.] What's that?
ACTRESS: That's the Madonna.
POET: You always carry her with you?
ACTRESS: Certainly, she's my talisman. Now go, Robert!
POET: You're joking. Can't I help you?
ACTRESS: No, you can go.
POET: When shall I come back?
ACTRESS: In ten minutes.
POET: [Kisses her.] So long, then!
ACTRESS: Where will you go?
POET: I'll walk up and down in front of the window. I'm very fond of walking about outdoors at night. My best ideas come to me that way. And especially near you, enveloped--so to speak--in my longing for you . . . enmeshed in your art.
ACTRESS: You talk like an idiot.
POET: [Hurt.] Some women would have said . . . like a poet.
ACTRESS: Now hurry up and go. But don't start any flirtation with the chambermaid. [POET goes. ACTRESS undresses. She hears the POET clattering down the wooden stairs, and later hears his footsteps outside the window. As soon as she is undressed, she goes to the windwo, looks down below where he is standing, and whispers to him.] Come! [POET rushes upstairs and into the room, just as she has slipped into bed and blown out the candle, and locks the door.] There, now you can sit down next to me and tell me things.
POET: Don't you want me to shut the window? Aren't you cold?
ACTRESS: Oh, no.
POET: What do you want me to tell you?
ACTRESS: Well, whom are you unfaithful to at this moment?
POET: Unfortunately to no one, just yet.
ACTRESS: Well, console yourself, I'm deceiving somebody too.
POET: I don't doubt that.
ACTRESS: And who do you think it is?
POET: My dear, how can I possibly know.
ACTRESS: Well, guess.
POET: Wait . . . your director.
ACTRESS: Darling, I'm not a chorus-girl.
POET: Well, I just thought . . .
ACTRESS: Guess again.
POET: You're deceiving your leading man . . . Benno--
ACTRESS: Ha! He doesn't love any woman . . . didn't you know that? He's having an affair with the postman!
POET: You don't say!
ACTRESS: Come, give me a kiss. [POET throws his arms about her.] What do you think you're doing?
POET: Well, don't torture me so.
ACTRESS: Listen, Robert, I have a suggestion. Lie down next to me.
POET: Sold!
ACTRESS: Hurry, hurry!
POET: See here, if I'd have had my way, I'd have been there long ago . . . Listen.
ACTRESS: What?
POET: The crickets are chirping outside.
ACTRESS: You're crazy, my pet, there aren't any crickets hereabouts.
POET: But you hear them, don't you?
ACTRESS: Oh, hurry up and come!
POET: Here I am. [Goes to her.]
ACTRESS: Now, lie nice and quiet . . . Pst . . . don't budge.
POET: What is the matter with you now?
ACTRESS: I suppose you'd like to have an affair with me, wouldn't you?
POET: That ought to be clear to you by now.
ACTRESS: Well, lots would like to . . .
POET: But it can hardly be denied that at this particular moment I seem to have the best chance.
ACTRESS: Come then, my cricket. I shall call you cricket from now on.
POET: Splendid . . .
ACTRESS: Now, who am I deceiving?
POET: Who? . . . Me, perhaps . . .
ACTRESS: My poor child, you're mentally defective.
POET: Or else someone . . . whom you've never even seen . . . someone you don't know . . . someone who is destined for you and whom you may never find . . .
ACTRESS: For heaven's sake, stop talking fantastic nonsense.
POET: . . . Isn't it strange . . . even you--and one would have thought-- . . . Oh, no, it would rob you of your best quality to . . . come, come . . . come--
* * *
ACTRESS: This is much nicer than acting in idiotic plays . . . don't you think so?
POET: Well, you can be glad at least that you act in good ones now and then.
ACTRESS: You conceited pup, I suppose you're referring to your own again?
POET: I am indeed!
ACTRESS: [Serious.] It really is a heavenly play!
POET: There now, you see?
ACTRESS: Yes, you're a great genius, Robert!
POET: While we're on the subject, you might tell me why you refused to appear day before yesterday. There wasn't a thing the matter with you.
ACTRESS: I wanted to annoy you.
POET: But what for? What have I done to you?
ACTRESS: You were arrogant.
POET: In what way?
ACTRESS: Everybody in the theatre thinks you are.
POET: I see.
ACTRESS: But I tell them: That man has a right to be arrogant.
POET: And what do they say?
ACTRESS: What should they say? I don't discuss things with any of them.
POET: I see.
ACTRESS: They'd like nothing better than to poison me. But they won't get a chance.
POET: Don't think of other people now. Just be happy that we're here together, and tell me that you love me.
ACTRESS: Do you still demand proofs?
POET: Love can't be proved, anyway.
ACTRESS: That's magnificent! What is it that you want, then?
POET: How many have you given proofs to in this way . . . and did you love all of them?
ACTRESS: Oh, no. I've only loved one.
POET: [Embracing her.] My . . .
ACTRESS: Fritz.
POET: My name is Robert. Just what do I mean to you if you're thinking of Fritz now?
ACTRESS: You're a caprice.
POET: I'm glad I know it, at least.
ACTRESS: But come now, aren't you proud?
POET: What have I got to be proud of?
ACTRESS: I think you have some reason to be.
POET: Oh, because of what just . . .
ACTRESS: Yes, my pale little cricket, because of that! Well, how is the chirping coming along? Are they still chirping?
POET: Incessantly. Can't you hear it?
ACTRESS: Certainly I hear it. But they're frogs, my pet.
POET: You're mistaken; frogs croak.
ACTRESS: Certainly they croak.
POET: But not here, my child; there's only chirping done here.
ACTRESS: You are positively the most obstinate person I ever knew. Give me a kiss, my froggy!
POET: Please don't call me that. It makes me nervous.
ACTRESS: Well, what shall I call you?
POET: I have a name, haven't I? Robert.
ACTRESS: Oh, that's so stupid.
POET: Nevertheless, I beg you to call me simply by my own name.
ACTRESS: Very well, then, Robert, give me a kiss . . . Ah! [She kisses him.] Are you satisfied now, Froggy? Hahahaha!
POET: Would you allow me to light a cigarette?
ACTRESS: Give me one, too. [He takes a cigarette case from the night-table, takes out two cigarettes, lights both and gives her one.] By the way, you haven't said a word about my performance yesterday.
POET: What performance?
ACTRESS: Now really!
POET: Oh, yes. But I wasn't at the theatre.
ACTRESS: You will have your little jest.
POET: Nothing of the sort. But as you canceled the performance day before yesterday, I quite naturally assumed that you wouldn't be in full possession of your faculties yesterday either, so I preferred to stay away.
ACTRESS: Well, you missed a lot.
POET: Did I?
ACTRESS: It was sensational. The audience went pale.
POET: Did you actually see them do it?
ACTRESS: Benno said: My child, you acted like a goddess.
POET: Hmmm . . . and sick as a dog day before yesterday.
ACTRESS: Yes, indeed; I was, too. And do you know why? Out of longing for you.
POET: A while ago you told me that you refused to play just to annoy me.
ACTRESS: Oh, what do you know about my love for you? Everything leaves you cold. And I've been tossing about in fever night after night. A hundred and four degrees!
POET: That's pretty high for a caprice.
ACTRESS: A caprice, you call it? I'm dying of love for you and you call it a caprice--?!
POET: And how about Fritz . . . ?
ACTRESS: Fritz? . . . Don't talk to me about that jailbird!
