Honor: A Play in Four Acts - LightNovelsOnl.com
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Robert. Now I'm ready!
Trast. I'll go with you.
Robert. You?
Trast. Have I the right?
Robert. (_Hesitatingly_) Good, come!
Frau Heinecke. (_Tenderly, in tears_) Robert!
Robert. (_Tries to conceal his excitement_) I--shall come--again--to say--good-bye! Now I have something important to do. (_He goes towards the door_)
Frau Heinecke. (_At the door, wringing her hands_) Herr Kurt and him!
Oh, there'll be trouble!
Trast. (_Aside_) Shh! ss.h.!.+--Well, are we off?
Robert. (_To his mother, in great excitement, tenderly_) And if we--don't see each other--(_Controlling himself_) Good! We'll go!
(_Both go out as_
THE CURTAIN FALLS.)
ACT IV.
Scene:--_Same as in Act II_.
(Trast, Wilhelm _and_ Robert _discovered_. Robert _carries a portfolio under his arm._)
Wilhelm. (_Aside to_ Trast) I have strict orders not to let Herr Heinecke in.
Trast. Nor me?
Wilhelm. Oh, with the Count it is a different matter.
Trast. Thank you for the trust you put in me. Herr Heinecke is accompanied by me. I shall be responsible for his presence here. We shall wait for the Herr Councillor.
Wilhelm. But----
Trast. Which do you prefer--specie or paper? (_Looking for money in his pocket-book_) Is the whole house empty?
Wilhelm. The Herr Councillor has gone to the factory, the Gnadige Frau has a headache, the Gnadiges Fraulein has gone to the city--Herr Kurt likewise.
Trast. Together?
Wilhelm. Oh, they never go together--Herr Kurt wanted to countermand the invitation--because--(_Indicates_ Robert)
Trast. (_Gives him money_) Good! That's all!
Wilhelm. Nothing further, sir?
Trast. Go.
(Wilhelm _bows and goes out_)
Trast. Come here, my boy.
Robert. What do you want?
Trast. What do I want? You know I never want anything. These things don't affect me. But the question is: What do you want here--in this house?
Robert. I want to settle my account.
Trast. Of course--we know that--But, inasmuch as you are willing to forego the generous handshake that the workman usually gets at this proud moment, I should think you would send the accounts to the office--and--(_With gesture of finality_)
Robert. That would be simple enough.
Trast. My dear man, let me talk to you as a friend!
Robert. Go ahead, talk!
Trast. You are pursuing a phantom!
Robert. Really?
Trast. No one has touched your honor.
Robert. Really!
Trast. Because n.o.body in the world could do it.
Robert. Really, really!
Trast. This thing that you call honor--this mixture of shame, and "tempo," and--honesty and pride, things you have acquired through a civilized existence and as a result of your own loyalty, why this can no more be taken away from you by a piece of treachery than your generosity or your judgment! Either it is a part of yourself or else it doesn't exist at all. The sort of honor that can be destroyed by a blow from a fop's glove has nothing to do with you! That is nothing but a mirror for the dandies, a plaything for the indolent and a perfume to the boulevardier.
Robert. You talk like someone trying to make a virtue out of necessity.
Trast. Perhaps--because every virtue is a direct result of necessity.
Robert. And my family?
