C.D. Warner, et al., comp. The Library of the World’s Best Literature.
An Anthology in Thirty Volumes. 1917.
A Christmas Present
By Arthur Schnitzler (1862–1931)
A
Gabrielle—I’m trying to find a cab.
Anatol—But it’s raining.
Gabrielle—That’s the reason. I’ve been buying presents.
Anatol—Let me carry some of them … please.
Gabrielle—It doesn’t matter.
Anatol—I insist.[He captures one.]But hadn’t you better wait here in shelter? We shall find a cab just as quickly.
Gabrielle—You really mustn’t trouble.
Anatol—Let me be a little attentive for once in a way.
Gabrielle—I’ll wait here a minute to see if one passes. Or I’ll be grateful for the umbrella.[He tries for another parcel.]No, I can manage that, thanks. It’s not at all heavy.[But she surrenders it.]Oh, very well then!
Anatol—Won’t you believe that I like being polite?
Gabrielle—As one only notices it when it’s raining, and I haven’t an umbrella …
Anatol—And it’s Christmas Eve, and dark too…! Warm weather for Christmas, isn’t it?
Gabrielle—Very.[They take their stand looking out for a cab to pass.]Marvelous to see you at all.
Anatol—I’ve not been to call once this year … is that what you mean?
Gabrielle[with much indifference]—Oh, haven’t you?
Anatol—The fact is I’ve not been anywhere much. How is your husband … and how are the dear children?
Gabrielle—Why ask that? You don’t in the least want to know.
Anatol—You read me like a book.
Gabrielle—It’s such very large print.
Anatol—I wish you knew more of it … by heart.
Gabrielle[with a toss of her head]—Don’t say things like that.
Anatol—They just spring from me.
Gabrielle—Give me my parcels. I’ll walk on.
Anatol—Oh, don’t be angry … I’ll be as prim and proper as you please.
Gabrielle—There’s a cab. No, it’s full. Oh, dear, shall I have to wait long?[He is standing mum.]Do say something.
Anatol—I’m longing to … but the censorship is so strict.
Gabrielle—You can tell me your news, can’t you? It’s ages since we met. What are you doing now?
Anatol—As usual … nothing.
Gabrielle—Nothing?
Anatol—Rather less than nothing.
Gabrielle—Isn’t that a pity?
Anatol—Why say that … when you don’t in the least care?
Gabrielle—You shouldn’t take that for granted.
Anatol—If I’m wasting my life, whose fault is it? Whose, would you mind telling me?
Gabrielle—I’d better go on. Give me my parcels.
Anatol[mischievously]—I didn’t imply it was anyone’s fault in particular. I just wanted your valuable opinion.
Gabrielle[with a touch of feeling]—You idler!
Anatol—Don’t despise idlers. They’re the last word in civilization. But I’m not idling to-night. I’m as busy as you are.
Gabrielle—What with?
Anatol—I’m out to buy Christmas presents, too.
Gabrielle—Are you?
Anatol—If I could find anything worth buying. I’ve been looking at the shops for weeks. They haven’t a notion amongst ’em.
Gabrielle—That’s what the good customer has to supply. But, bless me! an idle person like you ought to be thinking out his presents all the summer.
Anatol—How could I? How can I tell in the summer whom I may be making up to at Christmas? And the shops will be shut in an hour or two, and I’m still empty-handed!
Gabrielle—Could I help?
Anatol—Oh, you are a darling! What’s my best shop?
Gabrielle—Well, you must know that. We’ll take the cab there when we find it.
Anatol—Thank you for passing the Darling … it’s my favorite word.
Gabrielle—I ignored it.
Anatol—Very well … I’m prim and proper again.
Gabrielle—Where shall we go when the cab comes? What sort of a present? Who’s it for?
Anatol—Now … how shall I tell you?
Gabrielle—It’s for a woman, of course.
Anatol—Didn’t I say you could read me like a book?
Gabrielle—What sort of a woman?
Anatol—There, again! How do you women sort yourselves out?
Gabrielle—Is it a woman I know?
Anatol—Not at all.
Gabrielle—Not … a woman I should call on?
Anatol—Never.
Gabrielle—No … I thought as much.
Anatol—Don’t sneer.
Gabrielle—You have extraordinary tastes. What’s she like … pretty-pretty?
Anatol—Pretty.
Gabrielle—A man is a marvelous creature. Good breeding, good manners, are nothing to you!
Anatol—Oh, a great deal … when they’ll condescend to us. But if they won’t …
Gabrielle—Don’t be silly again. No, you prefer a cheap and easy conquest!
Anatol—I go where I’m appreciated.
Gabrielle—Can she read you like a book?
Anatol—God forbid. But she admires the binding, and takes the rest on trust. While you despise the contents … as if you really knew them!
Gabrielle—I really don’t know what you mean. I can tell you of an excellent shop; I passed it just now. Cases of scent in the window. One with three sorts … Patchouli, Jockey Club, Cherry Blossom. I’m sure that’s the very thing.
Anatol—You’re unkind.
Gabrielle—Well, there was another shop next door … with brooches and suchlike. One with six Parisian diamonds in it … six. Oh, so sparkling! Or a bracelet with charms hung round; or a long bead necklace … quite savage! That’s the sort of thing these ladies like, isn’t it?
Anatol—I’m afraid you know nothing about them.
Gabrielle—Or I can tell you of a hat shop with a style of its own. Their bows are too large, and they put in a feather too many. These persons like to be conspicuous, don’t they?
Anatol—Not at all.
Gabrielle—It’s hard to be helpful. Make a suggestion yourself.
Anatol—You’re waiting to laugh at it.
Gabrielle—I promise I won’t. Let me know what she likes. Is she demure in sealskins?
Anatol—I said you’d laugh.
Gabrielle—I’m not laughing. Tell me about her.
Anatol—I don’t think I can.
Gabrielle—Of course you can. How long have you known her?
Anatol—Oh …
Gabrielle—Well?
Anatol—Ever so long.
Gabrielle—Don’t be so difficult. Tell me all about it.
Anatol—There’s nothing to tell.
Gabrielle—What nonsense! Where did you meet her and what’s she like? What’s her name and her age? Is she tall or short and dark or fair?
Anatol—It’ll only bore you.
Gabrielle—No it won’t. I’ve always wanted to know about that sort of person … what they’re really like.
Anatol—You’ll never know.
Gabrielle—Why not?
Anatol—As long as you fully believe that women you can’t call on don’t really exist at all.
Gabrielle—But I want to learn better. And if no one dares tell me the truth …
Anatol[with a sudden break of tone]—Haven’t you very virtuous ladies a feeling that this other sort of woman … somehow gets the better of you after all?
Gabrielle—That’s a delicate insult.
Anatol—You wouldn’t change places, of course, but … how dare she be so improperly happy?
Gabrielle—Is it the only way then?
Anatol—That’s feminine fellow-feeling, I’m told … and therefore all that’s charming and charitable.
Gabrielle—You’ve learnt to be very sarcastic since we last met.
Anatol[seriously, almost passionately]—Shall I tell you how? Once I used to believe that a good woman so-called was an honest woman. I’ve taken a few knock-down blows with my teeth shut …
Gabrielle—Please don’t be heroic … that’s far worse!
Anatol—Straight blows. I can take a No when it’s honestly meant and said without flinching. But when the eyes say Perhaps and the smile says Wait a little, and what the No means is Yes, Yes, Yes … if only I dared! Then …
Gabrielle[biting her lips]—I think I won’t wait for this cab to come by …
Anatol—Then you’ve your choice between feeling a fool and becoming a cynic.
Gabrielle—… Unless you mean to go on telling me about … about your new friend.
Anatol[back to his bantering humor]—You simply must know, must you?
Gabrielle—Certainly I must. How did you first meet?
Anatol—How does one meet people? In the streets, at the seaside, in an omnibus, sharing an umbrella!
Gabrielle—Never mind how one meets people. How did you meet her … the Her we’re finding a Christmas present for? I’m sure she’s like nobody else.
Anatol—She’s just as like every other girl of her sort as you are like every other woman of yours.
Gabrielle[for the first time really annoyed]—Am I indeed!
Anatol—Oh, don’t be offended. Or as I’m like every other man of mine. Are there a dozen different patterns of any of us altogether?
Gabrielle—What’s yours?
Anatol—I, madam, am a Toy Philosopher.
Gabrielle—And mine?
Anatol—You are a Married Lady.
Gabrielle—And what’s she?
Anatol—She? She is just a Dear Little Girl.
Gabrielle—Then let’s hear all about your Dear Little Girl.
Anatol—It’s not that she’s so pretty, or so smart … and certainly not that she’s so clever.
Gabrielle—Never mind what she’s not.
Anatol—She’s as sweet as a wild flower, and as elusive as a fairy tale … and she knows what love means.
Gabrielle—No doubt. These Dear Little Girls have every chance to learn.
Anatol—Quite so, but you’ll never learn what she’s really like. For when you were a dear little girl … of another sort … you knew nothing at all. And now you’re a married lady you think you’re so worldly wise.
Gabrielle—Not at all. I’m quite open-mouthed for your fairy tale. What sort of a castle does the princess live in?
Anatol—Can you imagine a fairy princess in anything but the smartest of drawing-rooms?
Gabrielle[a little tartly]—Thank you, I can.
Anatol—Because this one lives in a little room … with a cheap and nasty wall-paper. With a few Christmas numbers hanging about and a white shaded lamp on her table. You can see the sun set from the window over the roofs and through the chimneys. And in the spring you can almost smell the flowers in a garden across the way.
Gabrielle—It must be a sign of great happiness … looking forward to the spring.
Anatol—Yes, even I feel happy now and then … sitting with her at that window.
Gabrielle—It is getting late. Shall we walk on? You must buy her something. Something to hang on the nasty wall-paper and hide it a little.
Anatol—She thinks it so pretty.
Gabrielle—Why don’t you refurnish the room to your taste?
Anatol—Why should I?
Gabrielle—With a Persian carpet, and …
Anatol—No, no, no … She knows what she likes.
Gabrielle—Is she waiting for you now?
Anatol—Sure to be.
Gabrielle—What will she say when you come?
Anatol—Oh … the right thing.
Gabrielle—She knows your step on the stairs, doesn’t she?
Anatol—I expect so.
Gabrielle—And goes to the door?
Anatol—Yes.
Gabrielle—And puts her arms round your neck, and says … What does she say?
Anatol—The right thing.
Gabrielle—What’s that?
Anatol—It’s just … the right thing to say.
Gabrielle—What was it yesterday?
Anatol—It sounds nothing repeated. I suppose it’s the way that she says it.
Gabrielle—I’ll imagine that. Tell me the words.
Anatol—It is good to have you back again.
Gabrielle—It is good … what?
Anatol—To have you back again.
Gabrielle—That’s very beautiful.
Anatol—You see … she means it.
Gabrielle—And she lives there alone? You can always be with her?
Anatol—She’s quite alone. She has no father or mother.
Gabrielle—And you … are all the world to her?
Anatol[the cynic in him shrugs his shoulders]—I hope so. For the moment.
Gabrielle—I’m afraid I’m getting cold standing still … and all the cabs seem to be full.
Anatol—I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have kept you. Let me see you home.
Gabrielle—Yes … they’ll all be fidgeting. But what about your present?
Anatol—Never mind, I shall find something.
Gabrielle—Will you? But I wanted to help you buy it.
Anatol—No, no, you mustn’t trouble.
Gabrielle—I wish I could be there when you give it her. I wish I could see that little room and that … lucky little girl. There’s a cab empty. Call it, please.
Anatol—Taxi!
Gabrielle—Thank you.[As the cab turns and she moves towards it….]May I send her something?
Anatol—You?
Gabrielle—Take her these flowers. Will you give her a message as well?
Anatol—It’s really most awfully good of you.
Gabrielle—But you will take them to her, and promise to give her the message?
Anatol—Certainly.
Gabrielle—Promise.
Anatol[by this he has opened the cab door]—I promise. Why shouldn’t I?
Gabrielle—This is it …
Anatol—Yes?
Gabrielle—These flowers, dear little girl, are from … someone who might have been as happy as you … if she hadn’t been quite such a coward![She gets in without his help.]Tell him where to drive.