The Manager. Excuse what? It's absolutely disgusting.
The Father. Yes, sir, but believe me, it has such a strange effect when . . .
The Manager. Strange? Why strange? Where is it strange?
The Father. No, sir; I admire your actors – this gentleman here, this lady; but they are certainly not us!
The Manager. I should hope not. Evidently they cannot be you, if they are actors.
The Father. Just so: actors! Both of them act our parts exceedingly well. But, believe me, it produces quite a different effect on us. They want to be us, but they aren't, all the same.
The Manager. What is it then anyway?
The Father. Something that is . . . That is theirs – and no longer ours . . .
The Manager. But naturally, inevitably. I've told you so already.
The Father. Yes, I understand . . . I understand . . .
The Manager. Well then, let's have no more of it! [Turning to the ACTORS.] We'll have the rehearsals by ourselves, afterwards, in the ordinary way. I never could stand rehearsing with the author present. He's never satisfied! [Turning to FATHER and STEP-DAUGHTER.] Come on! Let's get on with it again; and try and see if you can't keep from laughing.
The Step-Daughter. Oh, I shan't laugh any more. There's a nice little bit coming for me now: you'll see.
The Manager. Well then: when she says "don't think any more of what I've said. I must forget, etc.," you [Addressing the FATHER.] come in sharp with "I understand, I understand"; and then you ask her . . .
The Step-Daughter [interrupting ]. What?
The Manager. Why she is in mourning.
The Step-Daughter. Not at all! See here: when I told him that it was useless for me to be thinking about my wearing mourning, do you know how he answered me? "Ah well," he said, "then let's take off this little frock."
The Manager. Great! Just what we want, to make a riot in the theatre!
The Step-Daughter. But it's the truth!
The Manager. What does that matter? Acting is our business here. Truth up to a certain point, but no further.
The Step-Daughter. What do you want to do then?
The Manager. You'll see, you'll see! Leave it to me.
The Step-Daughter. No sir! What you want to do is to piece together a little romantic sentimental scene out of my disgust, out of all the reasons, each more cruel and viler than the other, why I am what I am. He is to ask me why I'm in mourning; and I'm to answer with tears in my eyes, that it is just two months since papa died. No sir, no! He's got to say to me; as he did say: "Well, let's take off this little dress at once." And I; with my two months' mourning in my heart, went there behind that screen, and with these fingers tingling with shame . . .
The Manager [running his hands through his hair ]. For Heaven's sake! What are you saying?
The Step-Daughter [crying out excitedly ]. The truth! The truth!
The Manager. It may be. I don't deny it, and I can understand all your horror; but you must surely see that you can't have this kind of thing on the stage. It won't go.
The Step-Daughter. Not possible, eh? Very well! I'm much obliged to you – but I'm off!
The Manager. Now be reasonable! Don't lose your temper!
The Step-Daughter. I won't stop here! I won't! I can see you've fixed it all up with him in your office. All this talk about what is possible for the stage . . . I understand! He wants to get at his complicated "cerebral drama," to have his famous remorses and torments acted; but I want to act my part, my part!
The Manager [annoyed, shaking his shoulders ]. Ah! Just your part! But, if you will pardon me, there are other parts than yours: His [Indicating the FATHER.] and hers! [Indicating the MOTHER.] On the stage you can have a character becoming too prominent and overshadowing all the others. The thing is to pack them all into a neat little framework and then act what is actable. I am aware of the fact that everyone has his own interior life which he wants very much to put forward. But the difficulty lies in this fact: to set out just so much as is necessary for the stage, taking the other characters into consideration, and at the same time hint at the unrevealed interior life of each. I am willing to admit, my dear young lady, that from your point of view it would be a fine idea if each character could tell the public all his troubles in a nice monologue or a regular one hour lecture. [Good humoredly. ] You must restrain yourself, my dear, and in your own interest, too; because this fury of yours, this exaggerated disgust you show, may make a bad impression, you know. After you have confessed to me that there were others before him at Madame Pace's and more than once . . .
The Step-Daughter [bowing her head, impressed ]. It's true. But remember those others mean him for me all the same.
The Manager [not understanding ]. What? The others? What do you mean?
The Step-Daughter. For one who has gone wrong, sir, he who was responsible for the first fault is responsible for all that follow. He is responsible for my faults, was, even before I was born. Look at him, and see if it isn't true!
The Manager. Well, well! And does the weight of so much responsibility seem nothing to you? Give him a chance to act it, to get it over!
The Step-Daughter. How? How can he act all his "noble remorses," all his "moral torments," if you want to spare him the horror of being discovered one day – after he had asked her what he did ask her – in the arms of her, that already fallen woman, that child, sir, that child he used to watch come out of school? [SHE is moved. ] [The MOTHER at this point is overcome with emotion, and breaks out into a fit of crying. ALL are touched. A long pause. ]
The Step-Daughter [as soon as the MOTHER becomes a little quieter, adds resolutely and gravely ]. At present, we are unknown to the public. Tomorrow, you will act us as you wish, treating us in your own manner. But do you really want to see drama, do you want to see it flash out as it really did?
The Manager. Of course! That's just what I do want, so I can use as much of it as is possible.
The Step-Daughter. Well then, ask that mother there to leave us.
The Mother [changing her low plaint into a sharp cry ]. No! No! Don't permit it, sir, don't permit it!
The Manager. But it's only to try it.
The Mother. I can't bear it. I can't.
The Manager. But since it has happened already . . . I don't understand!
The Mother. It's taking place now. It happens all the time. My torment isn't a pretended one. I live and feel every minute of my torture. Those two children there – have you heard them speak? They can't speak any more. They cling to me to keep up my torment actual and vivid for me. But for themselves, they do not exist, they aren't any more. And she [Indicating the STEP-DAUGHTER.] has run away, she has left me, and is lost. If I now see her here before me, it is only to renew for me the tortures I have suffered for her too.
The Father. The eternal moment! She [Indicating the STEP-DAUGHTER.] is here to catch me, fix me, and hold me eternally in the stocks for that one fleeting and shameful moment of my life. She can't give it up! And you sir, cannot either fairly spare me it.
The Manager. I never said I didn't want to act it. It will form, as a matter of fact, the nucleus of the whoie first act right up to her surprise. [Indicates the MOTHER.]