KARL-LUDWIG’S WINDOW

A DRAMA IN ONE ACT

THE GRÄFIN VON JAGDSTEIN (his mother).

SCENE:—“Karl-Ludwig’s Room” in the Schloss Jagdstein, on the outskirts of a town in Eastern Europe.

TIME:—An evening in Carnival Week, the present day.

A room furnished in medieval style. In the centre a massive tiled stove of old-German pattern, over which, on a broad shelf, a large clock. Above the clock a painting of a man in sixteenth-century costume. Immediately to Left, in a deep embrasure, a window with a high window-seat. Immediately on Right of stove an old iron-clamped door, approached by two steps. The Walls to Left and Right are hung with faded tapestry. In the foreground a long oak table, with chairs right, left and centre, and a low armchair on Left of stage. On the table are high-stemmed goblets and wine bottles, and a decanter of cognac with some smaller glasses.

THE GRÄFIN, in an old Court costume, and BARON RABEL, also in some Court attire of a bygone age, are discovered. Both wear little black velvet masks. The BARON bows low to the lady, who makes him a mock curtsy. They remove their masks.

GRÄFIN (seating herself at left of table). Of course we old birds are the first to be ready. Light a cigar, Baron, and make yourself at your ease while the young folks are completing their costumes.

BARON (seating himself at table). At my ease in this room I could never be. It makes my flesh creep every time I enter it. I am what the world calls a parvenu (lights cigar), a man of today, or perhaps I should say of this afternoon, while your family is of the day before yesterday and many yesterdays before that. Naturally I envy you your ancestry, your title, your position, but there is one thing I do not envy you.

GRÄF. (helping herself to wine). And that is—?

BAR. Your horrible creepy traditions.

GRÄF. You mean Karl-Ludwig, I suppose. Yes, this room is certainly full of his associations. There is his portrait, and there is the window from which he was flung down. Only it is more than a tradition: it really happened.

BAR. That makes it all the more horrible. I am a man who belongs to a milder age, and it sickens me to think of the brutal deed that was carried through in this room. How his enemies stole in upon him and took him unawares, and how they dragged him screaming to that dreadful window.

GRÄF. Not screaming, I hope; cursing and storming, perhaps. I don’t think a Von Jagdstein would scream even in a moment like that.

BAR. The bravest man’s courage might be turned to water, looking down at death from that horrid window. It makes one’s breath go even to look down in safety; one can see the stones of the courtyard fathoms and fathoms below.

GRÄF. Let us hope he hadn’t time to think about it. It would be the thinking of it that would be so terrible.

BAR. (with a shudder). Ah, indeed! I assure you the glimpse down from that window has haunted me ever since I looked.

GRÄF. The window is not the only thing in the room that is haunted. They say that whenever one of the family is going to die a violent death that door swings open and shuts again of its own accord. It is supposed to be Karl-Ludwig’s ghost coming in.

BAR. (with apprehensive glance behind him). What an unpleasant room! Let us forget its associations and talk about something more cheerful. How charming Fräulein Isadora is looking tonight. It is a pity her betrothed could not get leave to come to the ball with her. She is going as Elsa, is she not?

GRÄF. Something of the sort, I believe. She’s told me so often that I’ve forgotten.

BAR. You will be fortunate in securing such a daughter-in-law, is it not so?

GRÄF. Yes, Isadora has all the most desirable qualifications: heaps of money, average good looks, and absolutely no brains.

BAR. And are the young people very devoted to each other?

GRÄF. I am a woman of the world, Baron, and I don’t put too high a value on the sentimental side of things, but even I have never seen an engaged couple who made less pretence of caring for one another. Kurt has always been the naughty boy of the family, but he made surprisingly little fuss about being betrothed to Isadora. He said he should never marry any one he loved, so it didn’t matter whom I married him to.

BAR. That was at least accommodating.

GRÄF. Besides the financial advantages of the match the girl’s aunt has a very influential position, so for a younger son Kurt is doing rather well.

BAR. He is a clever boy, is he not?

GRÄF. He has that perverse kind of cleverness that is infinitely more troublesome than any amount of stupidity. I prefer a fool like Isadora. You can tell beforehand exactly what she will say or do under any given circumstances, exactly on what days she will have a headache, and exactly how many garments she will send to the wash on Mondays.

BAR. A most convenient temperament.

GRÄF. With Kurt one never knows where one is. Now, being in the same regiment with the Archduke ought to be of some advantage to him in his career, if he plays his cards well. But of course he’ll do nothing of the sort.

BAR. Perhaps the fact of being betrothed will work a change in him.

GRÄF. You are an optimist. Nothing ever changes a perverse disposition. Kurt has always been a jarring element in our family circle, but I don’t regard one unsatisfactory son out of three as a bad average. It’s usually higher.

(Enter ISADORA, dressed as Elsa, followed by PHILIP, a blond loutish youth, in the costume of a page, Henry III period.)

ISADORA. I hope we haven’t kept you waiting. I’ve been helping Viktoria; she’ll be here presently.

(They sit at table. PHILIP helps himself to wine.)

GRÄF. We mustn’t wait much longer; it’s nearly half-past eight now.

BAR. I’ve just been saying, what a pity the young Kurt could not be here this evening for the ball.

ISA. Yes, it is a pity. He is only a few miles away with his regiment, but he can’t get leave till the end of the week. It is a pity, isn’t it?

GRÄF. It is always the way: when one particularly wants people they can never get away.

ISA. It’s always the way, isn’t it?

GRÄF. As for Kurt, he has a perfect gift for never being where you want him.

(Enter KURT, in undress Cavalry uniform. He comes rapidly into the room.)

GRÄF. (rising with the others). Kurt! How come you to be here? I thought you couldn’t get leave.

(KURT kisses his mothers hand, then that of ISADORA, and bows to the two men.)

KURT. I came away in a hurry (pours out a glass of wine) to avoid arrest. Your health, everybody. (Drains glass thirstily.)

GRÄF. To avoid arrest!

BAR. Arrest!

(KURT throws himself wearily into armchair, Left of Stage, The others stand staring at him.)

GRÄF. What do you mean? Arrest for what?

KURT (quietly). I have killed the Archduke.

GRÄF. Killed the Archduke! Do you mean you have murdered him?

KURT. Scarcely that: it was a fair duel.

GRÄF. (wringing her hands). Killed the Archduke in a duel! What an unheard-of scandal! Oh, we are ruined!

BAR. (throwing his arms about). It is unbelievable! What, in Heaven’s name, were the seconds about to let such a thing happen?

KURT (shortly). There were no seconds.

GRÄF. No seconds! An irregular duel? Worse and worse! What a scandal! What an appalling scandal!

BAR. But how do you mean—no seconds?

KURT. It was in the highest degree desirable that there should be no seconds, so that if the Archduke fell there would be no witnesses to know the why and wherefore of the duel. Of course there will be a scandal, but it will be a sealed scandal.

GRÄF. Our poor family! We are ruined.

BAR. (persistently). But you are alive. You will have to give an account of what happened.

KURT. There is only one way in which my account can be rendered.

BAR. (after staring fixedly at him). You mean—?

KURT (quietly). Yes. I escaped arrest only by giving my parole to follow the Archduke into the next world as soon as might be.

GRÄF. A suicide in our family! What an appalling affair. People will never stop talking about it.

ISA. It’s very unfortunate, isn’t it?

GRÄF. (crossing over to ISADORA). My poor child!

(ISADORA dabs at her eyes.)

(Enter VIKTORIA, dressed in Italian peasant costume.)

VIK. I’m so sorry to be late. All these necklaces took such a time to fasten. Hullo, where did Kurt spring from?

(KURT rises.)

GRÄF. He has brought some bad news.

VIK. Oh, how dreadful. Anything very bad? It won’t prevent us from going to the ball, will it? It’s going to be a particularly gay affair.

(A faint sound of a totting bell is heard.)

KURT. I don’t fancy there will be a ball tonight. The news has come as quickly as I have. The bells are tolling already.

BAR. (dramatically). The scandal is complete!

GRÄF. I shall never forgive you, Kurt.

VIK. But what has happened?

KURT. I should like to say a few words to Isadora. Perhaps you will give us till nine o’clock to talk things over.

GRÄF. I suppose it’s the proper thing to do under the circumstances. Oh, why should I be afflicted with such a stupid son!

(Exit the GRÄFIN, followed by the BARON, who waves his arms about dramatically, and by PHILIP and VIKTORIA. PHILIP is explaining matters in whispers to the bewildered VIKTORIA as they go out.)

ISA. (stupidly). This is very unfortunate, isn’t it?

KURT. (leaning across table with sudden animation as the door closes on the others). Isadora, I have come to ask you to do something for me. The search party will arrive to arrest me at nine o’clock and I have given my word that they shall not find me alive. I’ve got less than twenty minutes left. You must promise to do what I ask you.

ISA. What is it?

KURT. I suppose it’s a strange thing to ask of a woman I’m betrothed to, but there’s really no one else who can do it for me. I want you to take a message to the woman I love.

ISA. Kurt!

KURT. Of course it’s not very conventional, but I knew her and loved her long before I met you, ever since I was eighteen. That’s only three years ago, but it seems the greater part of my life. It was a lonely and unhappy life, I remember, till she befriended me, and then it was like the magic of some old fairy-tale.

ISA. Do I know who she is?

KURT. You must have guessed that long ago. Your aunt will easily be able to get you an opportunity for speaking to her, and you must mention no name, give no token. Just say “I have a message for you.” She will know who it comes from.

ISA. I shall be dreadfully frightened. What is the message? KURT. Just one word: “Good-bye.”

ISA. It’s a very short message, isn’t it?

KURT. It’s the longest message one heart ever sent to another. Other messages may fade away in the memory, but Time will keep on repeating that message as long as memory lasts. Every sunset and every night-fall will say good-bye for me.

(The door swings open, and then slowly closes of its own accord. KURT represses a shiver.)

ISA. (in a startled voice). What was that? Who opened the door?

KURT. Oh, it’s nothing. It does that sometimes when—when—under circumstances like the present. They say it’s old Karl-Ludwig coming in.

ISA. I shall faint!

KURT (in an agonized voice). Don’t you do anything of the sort. We haven’t time for that. You haven’t given me your promise; oh, do make haste. Promise you’ll give the message! (He seizes both her hands.)

ISA. I promise.

KURT. (kissing her hands). Thank you. (With a change to a lighter tone.) I say, you haven’t got a loaded revolver on you, have you? I came away in such a hurry I forgot to bring one.

ISA. Of course I haven’t. One doesn’t take loaded revolvers to a masquerade ball.

KURT. It must be Karl-Ludwig’s window then. (He unbuckles his sword and throws it into the armchair.) Oh, I forgot. This miniature mustn’t be found on me. Don’t be scandalized if I do a little undressing. (He picks up an illustrated paper from a stool near stove and gives it to ISADORA to hold open in front of her.) Here you are. (He proceeds to unbutton his tunic at the neck and breast and removes a miniature which is hung round his neck. He gazes at it for a moment, kisses it, gazes again, then drops it on the floor and grinds it to pieces with his heel. Then he goes to window, opens it and looks down.) I wish the night were darker; one can see right down to the flagstones of the courtyard. It looks awful, but it will look fifty times more horrible in eight minutes’ time. (He comes back to table and seats himself on its edge.) As I rode along on the way here it seemed such an easy thing to die, and now it’s come so close I feel sick with fear. Fancy a Von Jagdstein turning coward. What a scandal, as my dear mother would say. (He tries to pour out some brandy, but his hand shakes too much.) Do you mind pouring me out some brandy? I can’t steady my hand. (ISADORA fills a glass for him.) Thanks. No (Pushing it away), I won’t take it; if I can’t have my own courage I won’t have that kind. But I wish I hadn’t looked down just now. Don’t you know what it feels like to go down too quickly in a lift, as if one was racing one’s inside and winning by a neck? That’s what it will feel like for the first second, and then—(He hides his eyes a moment in his hands. ISADORA falls back in her chair in a faint. KURT looks up suddenly at clock.)

KURT. Isadora! Say that the clock is a minute fast! (He looks towards her.) She’s fainted. Just what she would do. She isn’t a brilliant conversationalist, but she was some one to talk to. How beastly lonely it feels up here. Not a soul to say, “Buck up, Kurt, old boy!” Nothing but a fainting woman and Karl-Ludwig’s ghost. I wonder if his ghost is watching me now. I wonder if I shall haunt this room. What a rum idea. (Looks again at clock and gives a start.) I can’t die in three minutes’ time. O God! I can’t do it. It isn’t the jump that I shrink from now—it’s the ending of everything. It’s too horrible to think of. To have no more life! Isadora and the Baron and millions of stupid people will go on living, every day will bring them something new, and I shall never have one morsel of life after these three minutes. I can’t do it. (Falls heavily into chair, left of table.) I’ll go away somewhere where no one knows me; that will be as good as dying. I told them they should not find me here alive. Well, I can slip away before they come. (He rises and moves towards door; his foot grinds on a piece of the broken miniature. He stoops and picks it up, looks hard and long at it, then drops it through his fingers. He turns his head slowly towards the clock and stands watching it. He takes handkerchief from his sleeve and wipes his mouth, returns handkerchief to sleeve, still watching the clock. Some seconds pass in silence. . . . The clock strikes the first stroke of nine. KURT turns and walks to the window. He mounts the window-seat and stands with one foot on the sill, and looks out and down. He makes the sign of the Cross . . . throws up his arms and jumps into space.)

(The door opens and the GRÄFIN enters, followed by an OFFICER. They look at the swooning ISADORA, then round the room for KURT.)

GRÄF. He is gone!

OFFICER. He gave me his word that I should find him here at nine o’clock, and that I should come too late to arrest him. It seems he has tricked me!

GRÄF. A Von Jagdstein always keeps his word.

(She stares fixedly at the open window. The OFFICER follows the direction of her gaze, goes over to window, looks out and down. He turns back to the room, straightens himself and salutes.)

CURTAIN