Beloved Sisters Page #9

Announcement.

Announcement.

Karl Eugen,

proud Duke of Wrttemberg,

is dead.

What?

The Duke is dead.

Charlotte.

My veneration, Master.

Many thanks.

Now I no longer have to hide.

It's Schiller.

I've arrived home.

She says she's writing a novel.

She wants your help.

A novel.

As if just anyone could write one.

And she wants to publish it anonymously,

so she doesn't believe in it herself.

It's just Madame von Beulwitz's way of

emancipating herself from her husband.

She has great respect

for the art of writing.

You once said she's talented yourself.

That involved short stories.

Pithy little observations.

A novel is something very different.

Still, I'd like to have her around me.

She could help us so much.

Why not write to me directly if she wants

to use me as midwife for her novel?

She just wants to hide

from the chaos in her life.

The planned divorce...

The almost public love affair

with Dalberg in Mannheim.

A new love here, there...

- Her husband mustn't know.

- Or he won't agree to a divorce.

No, I'm not in favor of her coming here.

- How much higher?

- Fourth or fifth floor.

- And who are you?

- She's my sister.

- What can I do?

- The midwife is on the way.

Get some hot water

and towels for the birth.

They're in the study.

Don't wake him up, please,

he's been working all night.

Hurry up!

- I'm so scared, Line.

- Breathe in.

And breathe out, slowly.

Lollo, you have to scream.

Yes, you have to scream.

Scream or I'll pinch your cheeks.

Lollo, breathe, faster.

Breathe.

Can you see anything yet?

- Do come in.

- How's it going?

We've done it.

That's right.

Like that. That's exactly right.

What a wife you have there.

And what a sister she has.

Don't you want to put your son's

birth announcement in the journal?

Why not? Good idea.

On September 14th...

On September 14th, 1793,

after four years of marriage, Charlotte

and Friedrich had their first son,

Karl Friedrich Ludwig Schiller.

A s Caroline promptly observed, that day,

according to the new French calendar,

was the 22nd day of the month Fructidor

in the second year of the Republic.

- We have to hurry, dear man.

- The coach is mighty drafty, mind.

I have to make sure

the leaflets get to Tbingen.

You've given me

the greatest day of my life.

I gave her some more money.

The money is Dalberg's.

Beulwitz will never know.

Lollo, I won't go back to him. I can't.

There's no more respect between us.

We stopped being a couple ages ago,

but he refuses to agree to a divorce.

He will. Be patient.

Just stay with us.

We've doubled the print run.

People are snatching them

out of our hands.

It'll be even better

than the first issue.

Dear Lord, make him return

in good health to us both.

- To all three of us.

- Yes, to all three of us.

Amen.

But why?

Why one last time?

You know what?

You look like you've grown taller.

He's so proud.

And he can be.

He's such a sweet boy.

Want some tea?

You really should ask your mother-in-law

for some money.

Why?

Her two daughters

both live with you now.

You feed them, don't you?

I mean...

Am I not allowed to say that?

That one hangs around here all day.

Without doing any work.

Mama, that's enough.

What is this?

I'll tell you something,

Caroline's paid three thalers a week

since she got here.

And where does she get that money?

Not from her husband, that's obvious.

Lunch is ready.

Requesting to be excused

from household work for a few hours.

Won't you eat with us?

No, thank you.

There's some tea left

on the stove, Lollo.

- I'll heat up the stove.

- I did that two hours ago.

Thanks.

He bit me.

Just like you always did.

Money, money, money.

Don't you start.

My student attendance in Jena

has dropped recently from 400 to 30.

For every lecture

I get five thalers less than before.

The audience will fit

in our quarters one day.

Fritz, the baby's sleeping.

Come in. That was fast.

Come in, eat some lunch.

Have a seat.

- How kind.

- Leave the door open.

I promised Wolzogen and Krner

to write, within five years,

two classical tragedies

and half a dozen long poems,

if you can find me a rich patron.

I'm fed up with begging.

Years later Caroline will remember

how hot it was that November day

when Schiller

read the first draft of her novel.

The heat has been

building up in the attic flat.

She's had a headache all morning.

She doesn't really know

whether it's the weather or her nerves.

Your prose handwriting

is different from that in your letters.

Why "Agnes von Lilien"? (of Lilies)

Make the sentences shorter.

Look.

This relative clause is redundant.

Why not put the foster-father's tale

in direct speech?

From here.

I'd have to put it all in direct speech.

No, don't use consistent concepts.

Do it differently every time.

Literature can cope with inconsistencies.

And don't adopt this fateful female tone

every time you want to generate tension.

In the scene by the fireplace the reader

gets all the dark forebodings he needs

to expect the next installment eagerly.

- Trust your talent.

- You trust my talent, then I will too.

AGNES VON LILIEN

ANONYMOUS:

- Can I take it out?

- Certainly.

"A big illuminated house

showed me the way in the dark night."

It lay in solitude,

surrounded by only few outbuildings.

"'This is where you will see your mother, '

Charles said to me."

Are you listening?

The mother.

"'We have nearly

reached our destination.'"

The small door led to a long corridor

sparingly lit by a single lamp.

"Charles opened a side door

and told me to go in."

"I entered a dark room."

Charles locked the door behind me,

ordering me to wait.

A few moments later

a door opened opposite me,

"revealing a dim light,

and a voice called out to me..."

"'Come in, my dear Agnes,

your mother is expecting you impatiently.'"

That's all for this month, my friends.

To be continued.

- No, no.

- Well, yes.

God, I'm aching

for the next installments.

I'm deeply moved.

What charming brazenness to stop there.

It's like music taking you

on its wings and carrying you away.

Must I wait another week

for it to continue?

No, a month, my son.

Yes, Father.

But how damned modern.

I bet the author is a big name.

A really big name.

This play with destiny and the readers'

hearts could be by you, n'est-ce pas?

Madame, I wish I had written it,

but unfortunately...

Krner,

maybe it's someone we both know

and who is laughing up his sleeve.

Perhaps.

Who could be the master

who wrote this novel?

Caroline, remember I told you,

"You will write glorious prose, Madame,

and amaze all your male colleagues."

Why else sign it "Anonymous"?

May I open a window to relieve

our collective breathing organs

from this unbearable tension

of suspense and concern?

I knew it!

The print run's been increased sixfold!

Line, it's freezing in here.

Keep the door to the stairs closed.

It's still going,

but you have to put wood on it.

I'm so happy to be here.

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