In the meantime, two other persons have appeared on the right section of the staircase; both of them have stopped at once and observed the strange scene below: a man and a woman. One can recognize them: ERICH VON STROHEIM and HENNY PORTEN. He is impressive, wears a red dressing gown over a gray vest and pants as the only hint at a costume. She wears an evening dress with a velvet stole.
As they appear, PORTEN loudly claps her handbag shut and VON STROHEIM pulls up the zipper in back of her dress, then fastens his collar button: “As I said …” But it now becomes unclear how they belong together; they stand two steps apart.
The noise of the handbag has made one of the two downstairs gradually quiet down. “Don’t turn around!” he says to the other.
The other immediately turns around and sees the three persons standing on the staircase. “No corpse,” he says to the other. “You can turn around: everyone is alive.”
The other turns around, then he rubs his eyes fervently.
“Don’t you believe me?” the first one asks.
“I just wasn’t prepared for such a bright light,” he replies. “I didn’t know that it was so late already. We’ve lost all track of time with our talking!”
“We?” the first one asks at once.
“I,” answers the other.
Pause.
“Yes, me too,” the first one says.
PORTEN is rocking back and forth on the stairway, plays with her stole; the others are rather quiet.
PORTEN slowly proceeds farther down the stairway, grazes VON STROHEIM with her stole, then exaggerates the way she steps around him. VON STROHEIM quickly overtakes her, stops with his back to her as if to block her path. PORTEN smooths down the back collar of his dressing gown, which was turned up, blows softly on his neck, and walks on. Where the two sections of the staircase join, VON STROHEIM stops next to BERGNER and bends over her neck from the back. She slowly turns around with lowered eyelids, puts her arms around his neck, leans her head against his chest. PORTEN has come closer, touches BERGNER’S hip with the handbag. BERGNER turns her head toward her, frees herself from VON STROHEIM, with slow movements takes the handbag from PORTEN and dreamily hangs it over her own shoulder, and in the same manner offers her hand to VON STROHEIM, palm up. He suggests a kiss on the palm, then takes a step aside so that PORTEN, who in the meantime has stepped behind him, now “takes her turn” and bends over the hand which BERGNER has turned over. PORTEN gives the incident a different interpretation by only looking at the hand over which she is bent. She straightens up, keeps the hand in hers, and guides it to VON STROHEIM as if she wanted to point out something on it to him. VON STROHEIM nods as though he saw it too. This nodding, however, gradually becomes a sign that he agrees to the following: PORTEN guides BERGNER’S hand under VON STROHEIM’S vest and moves it caressingly around, BERGNER suddenly withdraws the hand and lets it drop. But it is PORTEN who emits a brie scream. She makes a small curtsy in front of BERGNER and then suggests a bow in front of VON STROHEIM. Then she takes a step back, squints at one of the two — one doesn’t know at whom — and proceeds to go down the few steps into the room.
GEORGE and JANNINGS have been the audience in the meantime. But when PORTEN begins to walk down, they become alert and begin to count simultaneously: “One, two, three …” PORTEN slowly descends into the room. “Four, five, seven!” She was just about to place her foot on the sixth step, now she hesitates as if she might fall, then runs back up the steps. She begins to walk down again. “One, two, three, four, five, six, and seven!” But there is also an eighth step and PORTEN, thinking she had reached level ground, stumbles, staggers into the room, gasps for air, and quickly runs back upstairs as if she had been repulsed. She snuggles up to VON STROHEIM.
“Courage! Get up your courage!” they call to her from below. They whistle the way one whistles to a°dog.
VON STROHEIM puts his arm around her, supports her by the shoulder, proceeds to lead her slowly downstairs. Her eyes are closed.
The two below have started counting again. “One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine!” At “eight” VON STROHEIM and PORTEN have safely arrived downstairs, but at “nine” they walk down one more step, one that does not exist. They bounce on the floor, go half down to their knees, stagger. PORTEN wants to run back but VON STROHEIM, who is also unsteady on his feet, leads her to a sofa. He eases her down, but while he is doing so she clutches him, feels with one hand for the sofa, and then lets herself gradually down. She slowly leans back and sits there with tightly closed eyes, immobile, while VON STROHEIM walks step by step to the table where JANNINGS and GEORGE sit and watch. Hesitating after each movement, both hands propped up on it, he gradually sits down in the fauteuil without a footstool. He wants to lean back, stops, sits there quietly with open eyes. He blinks rapidly, with long pauses in between.
The audience now looks up to BERGNER. She stands there with lowered eyelids. GEORGE and JANNINGS tiptoe quickly to the stairs and, each holding a finger to the other’s mouth, lie down parallel to the lowest step, one on his back, the other on his stomach. BERGNER comes down the stairs and steps over stomach and back on the floor. She is already on her way to the table. As GEORGE and JANNINGS get up and wipe the dust off each other’s clothes, she has already settled in the easy chair, taken the cozy off the teapot, poured tea for herself, and, without looking up, brought the cup to her lips — as if she had done all that in one single movement.
GEORGE and JANNINGS Walk black to the table, confused.)
GEORGE
Once more: I offer you my fauteuil. (BERGNER makes no reply.) May I offer you my fauteuil?
BERGNER
(As if asleep) On the streets the insurmountable filth, the frost, the snowstorms, the immense distances …