The Joy Of Living (Es Lebe Das Leben) Part 8

Beata.

Come! Come! No bragging--not even about persecution. It's intoxicating at first, but the after-taste is bitter.

Norbert.

Don't make fun of me, Aunt Beata.

Beata.

Heaven forbid! You know _I_ don't disapprove of your article.

Norbert.

How could you? Isn't it all yours?

Beata.

I don't understand anything about duelling.

Norbert.

No, but my ideas are yours--every one of them. All I've said about self-restraint--about striving toward an harmonious whole--about the Greek ideal of freedom--and how posterity will smile at our struggles--it's all yours, Aunt Beata, every word of it.

Beata.

Don't tell your father! And besides, it isn't. My ideas have got twisted in that wild young brain of yours. And it might annoy him to think that I had put them there----

Norbert.

Oh, Aunt Beata, _I_ know what you really think. But, of course, if you don't want me to, I----

_Enter_ Conrad.

Conrad (_announcing_).

Baron Volkerlingk.

_Enter_ Richard. Conrad _goes out_.

Richard.

Well, dear friend? What sort of a night have you had? Not good, I'm afraid.

Beata.

There's no use in trying to deceive you. Have you just come from your own house?

Richard.

Yes.

Beata.

Well? Telegrams?

Richard.

None for the last two hours. Well, Norbert, you here, as usual? (_To_ Beata.) So you have the younger generation on your hands too?

Beata (_laughing_).

So much the better, since the older shows itself so seldom nowadays.

Richard.

Ah, well----

Beata.

Good-bye, Norbert dear.

Norbert (_kissing_ Beata's _hand_).

Good-bye, father. (Richard _nods to him_. Norbert goes out.)

Beata.

Will you dine with me to-day, Richard? (Richard _shakes his head_.)

Beata.

Just we two?

Richard.

I can't: my wife has a dinner: an amba.s.sador and his wife, two lights of the Church, and others of the same feather. I must show myself on such occasions, to keep up appearances.

Beata.

I'm sorry. I should have liked to have you with me--to-day. How do you stand the suspense? Perhaps I don't show it--but I'm in a fever.

Richard.

It's telling on me too. The fact is, any poor devil of a mountebank is a king compared to one of us. He does his trick and gets his pay.--Oh, this last fortnight! If you'd seen me driven about from village to village like a travelling quack! Freedom and hot words, free beer and hot sausages! And, to cap the climax, a fellow who used to be my private secretary leading the campaign against me! Bah--it was horrible. As for Michael, with his Olympian calm, he saw only the humorous side of it. (_Laughing_.)

Beata.

I wonder he let you leave before the election.