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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Road to Damascus, by August Strindberg
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: The Road to Damascus
+       A Trilogy
+
+Author: August Strindberg
+
+Commentator: Gunnar Ollen
+
+Translator: Esther Johanson and Graham Rawson
+
+Release Date: September, 2005 [EBook #8875]
+Posting Date: August 8, 2009
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ROAD TO DAMASCUS ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Nicole Apostola
+
+
+
+
+
+THE ROAD TO DAMASCUS
+
+A TRILOGY
+
+
+By August Strindberg
+
+
+English Version By Graham Rawson
+
+With An Introduction By Gunnar Ollen
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+     INTRODUCTION
+     PART ONE
+     PART TWO
+     PART THREE
+
+
+
+
+INTRODUCTION
+
+Strindberg's great trilogy _The Road to Damascus_ presents many
+mysteries to the uninitiated. Its peculiar changes of mood, its gallery
+of half unreal characters, its bizarre episodes combine to make it a
+bewilderingly rich but rather 'difficult' work. It cannot be recommended
+to the lover of light drama or the seeker of momentary distraction. _The
+Road to Damascus_ does not deal with the superficial strata of human
+life, but probes into those depths where the problems of God, and death,
+and eternity become terrifying realities.
+
+Many authors have, of course, dealt with the profoundest problems
+of humanity without, on that account, having been able to evoke our
+interest. There may have been too much philosophy and too little art in
+the presentation of the subject, too little reality and too much soaring
+into the heights. That is not so with Strindberg's drama. It is a
+trenchant settling of accounts between a complex and fascinating
+individual--the author--and his past, and the realistic scenes have
+often been transplanted in detail from his own changeful life.
+
+In order fully to understand _The Road to Damascus_ it is therefore
+essential to know at least the most important features of that
+background of real life, out of which the drama has grown.
+
+Parts I and II of the trilogy were written in 1898, while Part III was
+added somewhat later, in the years 1900-1901. In 1898 Strindberg had
+only half emerged from what was by far the severest of the many crises
+through which in his troubled life he had to pass. He had overcome
+the worst period of terror, which had brought him dangerously near the
+borders of sanity, and he felt as if he could again open his eyes and
+breathe freely. He was not free from that nervous pressure under which
+he had been working, but the worst of the inner tension had relaxed and
+he felt the need of taking a survey of what had happened, of summarising
+and trying to fathom what could have been underlying his apparently
+unaccountable experiences. The literary outcome of this settling of
+accounts with the past was _The Road to Damascus_.
+
+_The Road to Damascus_ might be termed a marriage drama, a mystery
+drama, or a drama of penance and conversion, according as preponderance
+is given to one or other of its characteristics. The question then
+arises: what was it in the drama which was of deepest significance to
+the author himself? The answer is to be found in the title, with its
+allusion to the narrative in the Acts of the Apostles of the journey of
+Saul, the persecutor, the scoffer, who, on his way to Damascus, had an
+awe-inspiring vision, which converted Saul, the hater of Christ, into
+Paul, the apostle of the Gentiles. Strindberg's drama describes the
+progress of the author right up to his conversion, shows how stage by
+stage he relinquishes worldly things, scientific renown, and above all
+woman, and finally, when nothing more binds him to this world, takes the
+vows of a monk and enters a monastery where no dogmas or theology, but
+only broadminded humanity and resignation hold sway. What, however,
+in an inner sense, distinguishes Strindberg's drama from the Bible
+narrative is that the conversion itself--although what leads up to it
+is convincingly described, both logically and psychologically--does
+not bear the character of a final and irrevocable decision, but on
+the contrary is depicted with a certain hesitancy and uncertainty. THE
+STRANGER'S entry into the monastery consequently gives the impression of
+being a piece of logical construction; the author's heart is not wholly
+in it. From Strindberg's later works it also becomes evident that his
+severe crisis had undoubtedly led to a complete reformation in that it
+definitely caused him to turn from worldly things, of which indeed he
+had tasted to the full, towards matters divine. But this did not
+mean that then and there he accepted some specific religion, whether
+Christian or other. One would undoubtedly come nearest to the author's
+own interpretation in this respect by characterising _The Road to
+Damascus_ not as a drama of conversion, but as a drama of struggle,
+the story of a restless, arduous pilgrimage through the chimeras of
+the world towards the border beyond which eternity stretches in solemn
+peace, symbolised in the drama by a mountain, the peaks of which reach
+high above the clouds.
+
+In this final settling of accounts one subject is of dominating
+importance, recurring again and again throughout the trilogy; it is that
+of woman. Strindberg him, of course, become famous as a writer about
+women; he has ruthlessly described the hatreds of love, the hell that
+marriage can be, he is the creator of _Le Plaidoyer d'un Fou_ and
+_The Dance of Death_, he had three divorces, yet was just as much a
+worshipper of woman--and at the same time a diabolical hater of her
+seducing qualities under which he suffered defeat after defeat. Each
+time he fell in love afresh he would compare himself to Hercules, the
+Titan, whose strength was vanquished by Queen Omphale, who clothed
+herself in his lion's skin, while he had to sit at the spinning wheel
+dressed in women's clothes. It can be readily understood that to a man
+of Strindberg's self-conceit the problem of his relations with women
+must become a vital issue on the solution of which the whole Damascus
+pilgrimage depended.
+
+In 1898, when Parts I and II of the trilogy were written, Strindberg
+had been married twice; both marriages had ended unhappily. In the year
+1901, when the wedding scenes of Part III were written, Strindberg had
+recently experienced the rapture of a new love which, however, was soon
+to be clouded. It must not be forgotten that in his entire emotional
+life Strindberg was an artist and as such a man of impulse, with the
+spontaneity and naivity and intensity of a child. For him love had
+nothing to do with respectability and worldly calculations; he liked to
+think of it as a thunderbolt striking mortals with a destructive force
+like the lightning hurled by the almighty Zeus. It is easy to understand
+that a man of such temperament would not be particularly suited for
+married life, where self-sacrifice and strong-minded patience may be
+severely tested. In addition his three wives were themselves artists,
+one an authoress, the other two actresses, all of them pronounced
+characters, endowed with a degree of will and self-assertion, which,
+although it could not be matched against Strindberg's, yet would have
+been capable of producing friction with rather more pliant natures than
+that of the Swedish dramatist.
+
+In the trilogy Strindberg's first wife, Siri von Essen, his marriage to
+whom was happiest and lasted longest (1877-1891), and more especially
+his second wife, the Austrian authoress Frida Uhl (married to him
+1893-1897) have supplied the subject matter for his picture of THE LADY.
+In the happy marriage scenes of Part III we recognise reminiscences from
+the wedding of Strindberg, then fifty-two, and the twenty-three-year-old
+actress Harriet Bosse, whose marriage to him lasted from 1901 until
+1904.
+
+The character of THE LADY in Parts I and II is chiefly drawn from
+recollections--fairly recent when the drama was written--of Frida
+Uhl and his life with her. From the very beginning her marriage to
+Strindberg had been most troublous. In the autumn of 1892 Strindberg
+moved from the Stockholm skerries to Berlin, where he lived a rather
+hectic Bohemian life among the artists collecting in the little tavern
+'Zum Schwarzen Ferkel.' He made the acquaintance of Frida Uhl in the
+beginning of the year 1893, and after a good many difficulties was able
+to arrange for a marriage on the 2nd May on Heligoland Island,
+where English marriage laws, less rigorous than the German, applied.
+Strindberg's nervous temperament would not tolerate a quiet and peaceful
+honeymoon; quite soon the couple departed to Gravesend via Hamburg.
+Strindberg was too restless to stay there and moved on to London. There
+he left his wife to try to negotiate for the production of his plays,
+and journeyed alone to Sellin, on the island of Ruegen, after having
+first been compelled to stop in Hamburg owing to lack of money.
+Strindberg stayed on Ruegen during the month of July, and then left for
+the home of his parents-in-law at Mondsee, near Salzburg in Austria,
+where he was to meet his wife. But when she was delayed a few days on
+the journey from London, Strindberg impatiently departed for Berlin,
+where Frida Uhl followed shortly after. About the same time an action
+was brought for the suppression of the German version of _Le Plaidoyer
+d'un Fou_ as being immoral. This book gives an undisguised, intensely
+personal picture of Strindberg's first marriage, and was intended by him
+for publication only after his death as a defence against accusations
+directed against him for his behaviour towards Siri von Essen.
+Strindberg was acquitted after a time, but before that his easily fired
+imagination had given him a thorough shake-up, which could only hasten
+the crisis which seemed to be approaching. After a trip to Bruenn, where
+Strindberg wrote his scientific work _Antibarbarus_, the couple arrived
+in November at the home of Frida Uhl's grandparents in the little
+village of Dornach, by the Upper Danube; here the wanderings of 1893 at
+last came to an end. For a few months comparative peace reigned in the
+artists' little home, but the birth of a daughter, Kerstin, in May,
+brought this tranquillity to a sudden end. Strindberg, who had lived in
+a state of nervous depression since the 1880's, felt himself put on one
+side by the child, and felt ill at ease in an environment of, as he put
+it in the autobiographical _The Quarantine Master_, 'articles of food,
+excrements, wet-nurses treated like milch-cows, cooks and decaying
+vegetables.' He longed for cleanliness and peace, and in letters to
+an artist friend he spoke of entering a monastery. He even thought of
+founding one himself in the Ardennes and drew up detailed schemes for
+rules, dress, and food. The longing to get away and common interests
+with his Parisian friend (a musician named Leopold Littmansson)
+attracted Strindberg to Paris, where he settled down in the beginning of
+the autumn 1894. His wife joined him, but left again at the close of the
+autumn. In reality Strindberg was at this time almost impossible to live
+with. Persecution mania and hallucinations took possession of him and
+his morbid suspicions knew no bounds. In spite of this he was half
+conscious that there was something wrong with his mental faculties, and
+in the beginning of 1895, assisted by the Swedish Minister, he went by
+his own consent to the St. Louis Hospital in Paris. During his chemical
+experiments, in which among other things he tried to produce gold, he
+had burnt his hands, so that he had to seek medical attention on that
+account also. He wrote about this in a letter:
+
+'I am going to hospital because I am ill, because my doctor has sent me
+there, and because I need to be looked after like a child, because I
+am ruined.... And it torments me and grieves me, my nervous system is
+rotten, paralytic, hysterical....'
+
+Never before had Strindberg lived in such distress as at this period,
+both physically and mentally. With shattered nerves, sometimes over
+the verge of insanity, without any means of existence other than what
+friends managed to scrape together, separated from his second wife, who
+had opened proceedings for divorce, far from his native land and without
+any prospects for the future, he was brought to a profound religious
+crisis. With almost incredible fortitude he succeeded in fighting his
+way through this difficult period, with the remarkable result that the
+former Bohemian, atheist, and scoffer was gradually able to emerge with
+the firm assurance of a prophet, and even enter a new creative period,
+perhaps mightier than before. One cannot help reflecting that a man
+capable of overcoming a crisis of such a formidable character and of
+several years' duration, as this one of Strindberg's had been, with
+reason intact and even with increased creative power, in reality, in
+spite of his hypersensitive nervous system, must have been an unusually
+strong man both physically and mentally.
+
+Upon trying to define more closely what actual relation the play has
+to those events of Strindberg's restless life, of which we have given a
+rough outline, we find that for the most part the author has undoubtedly
+made use of his own experiences, but has adapted, combined and added to
+them still more, so that the result is a mixture of real experience and
+imagination, all moulded into a carefully worked out artistic form.
+
+If to begin with, we dwell for a while on Part I it is evident that
+the hurried wanderings of THE STRANGER and THE LADY between the street
+corner, the room in the hotel, the sea and the Rose Room with the
+mother-in-law, have their foundation--often in detail--in Strindberg's
+rovings with Frida Uhl. I will give a few examples. In a book by Frida
+Uhl about her marriage to the Swedish genius (splendid in parts but not
+very reliable) she recalls that the month before her marriage she took
+rooms at Neustaedtische Kirchstrasse 1, in Berlin, facing a Gothic church
+in Dorotheenstrasse, situated at the cross-roads between the post
+office in Dorotheenstrasse and the cafe 'Zum Schwarzen Ferkel' in
+Wilhelmstrasse. This Berlin environment appears to be almost exactly
+reproduced in the introductory scene of Part I, where THE STRANGER and
+THE LADY meet outside a little Gothic church with a post office and
+cafe adjoining. The happy scenes by the sea are, of course, pleasant
+recollections from Heligoland, and the many discussions about money
+matters in the midst of the honeymoon are quite explicable when we know
+how the dramatist was continually haunted by money troubles, even
+if occasionally he received a big fee, and that this very financial
+insecurity was one of the chief reasons why Frida Uhl's father opposed
+the marriage. Again, the country scenes which follow in Part I, shift
+to the hilly country round the Danube, with their Catholic Calvaries
+and expiation chapels, where Strindberg lived with his parents-in-law in
+Mondsee and with his wife's grandparents in Dornach and the neighbouring
+village Klam, with its mill, its smithy, and its gloomy ravine. The Rose
+Room was the name he gave to the room in which he lived during his stay
+with his mother-in-law and his daughter Kerstin in Klam in the autumn
+of 1896, as he has himself related in one of his autobiographical books
+_Inferno_. In this way we could go on, showing how the localities which
+are to be met with in the drama often correspond in detail to the places
+Strindberg had visited in the course of his pilgrimage during the years
+1893-1898. Space prevents us, however, from entering on a more detailed
+analysis in this respect.
+
+That THE STRANGER represents Strindberg's _alter ego_ is evident in many
+ways, even apart from the fact that THE STRANGER'S wanderings from place
+to place, as we have already seen, bear a direct relation to those of
+Strindberg himself. THE STRANGER is an author, like Strindberg; his
+childhood of hate is Strindberg's own; other details--such as for
+instance that THE STRANGER has refused to attend his father's funeral,
+that the Parish Council has wanted to take his child away from him, that
+on account of his writings he has suffered lawsuits, illness, poverty,
+exile, divorce; that in the police description he is characterised as
+a person without a permanent situation, with uncertain income; married,
+but had deserted his wife and left his children; known as entertaining
+subversive opinions on social questions (by _The Red Room_, _The New
+Realm_ and other works Strindberg became the great standard-bearer
+of the Swedish Radicals in their campaign against conventionalism
+and bureaucracy); that he gives the impression of not being in full
+possession of his senses; that he is sought by his children's guardian
+because of unpaid maintenance allowance--everything corresponds to the
+experiences of the unfortunate Strindberg himself, with all his bitter
+defeats in life and his triumphs in the world of letters.
+
+Those scenes where THE STRANGER is uncertain whether the people he sees
+before him are real or not--he catches hold of THE BEGGAR'S arm to feel
+whether he is a real, live person--or those occasions when he appears
+as a visionary or thought-reader--he describes the kitchen in his wife's
+parental home without ever having seen it, and knows her thoughts before
+she has expressed them--have their deep foundation in Strindberg's
+mental make-up, especially as it was during the period of tension in the
+middle of the 1890's, termed the Inferno period, because at that time
+Strindberg thought that he lived in hell. Our most prominent student
+of Strindberg, Professor Martin Lamm, wrote about this in his work on
+Strindberg's dramas:
+
+'In order to understand the first part of _The Road to Damascus_ we
+must take into consideration that the author had not yet shaken off his
+terrifying visions and persecutionary hallucinations. He can play with
+them artistically, sometimes he feels tempted to make a joke of them,
+but they still retain for him their "terrifying semi-reality." It is
+this which makes the drama so bewildering, but at the same time so
+vigorous and affecting. Later, when depicting dream states, he creates
+an artful blend of reality and poetry. He produces more exquisite works
+of art, but he no longer gives the same anguished impression of a soul
+striving to free itself from the meshes of his _idees fixes_.'
+
+With his hypersensitive nervous system Strindberg, like THE STRANGER,
+really gives the impression of having been a visionary. For instance,
+his author friend Albert Engstroem, has told how one evening during
+a stay far out in the Stockholm skerries, far from all civilisation,
+Strindberg suddenly had a feeling that his little daughter was ill, and
+wanted to return to town at once. True enough, it turned out that
+the girl had fallen ill just at the time when Strindberg had felt the
+warning. As regards thought-reading, it appears that at the slightest
+change in expression and often for no perceptible reason at all,
+Strindberg would draw the most definite conclusions, as definite as
+from an uttered word or an action. This we have to keep in mind, for
+instance, when judging Strindberg's accusations against his wife in _Le
+Plaidoyer d'un Fou_, the book which THE LADY in _The Road to Damascus_
+is tempted to read, in spite of having been forbidden by THE STRANGER,
+with tragic results. In Part III of the drama Strindberg lets THE
+STRANGER discuss this thought-reading problem with his first wife. THE
+STRANGER says:
+
+'We made a mistake when we were living together, because we accused
+each other of wicked thoughts before they'd become actions; and lived in
+mental reservations instead of realities. For instance, I once noticed
+how you enjoyed the defiling gaze of a strange man, and I accused you of
+unfaithfulness';
+
+to which THE LADY, to Strindberg's satisfaction, has to reply:
+
+'You were wrong to do it, and right. Because my thoughts were sinful.'
+
+As regards the other figures in the gallery of characters in Part I,
+we have already shown THE LADY as the identical counterpart in all
+essentials of Strindberg's second wife, Frida Uhl. Like the latter THE
+LADY is a Catholic, has a grandfather, Dr. Cornelius Reisch--called THE
+OLD MAN in the drama--whose passion is shooting; and a mother, Maria
+Uhl, with a predilection for religious discourses in Strindberg's own
+style; another detail, the fact that she was eighteen years old before
+she crossed to the other shore to see what had shimmered dimly in the
+distant haze, corresponds with Frida Uhl's statement that she had been
+confined in a convent until she was eighteen and a half years old.
+On the other hand, the chief female character of the drama does not
+correspond to her real life counterpart in that she is supposed to have
+been married to a doctor before eloping with THE STRANGER, Strindberg.
+Here reminiscences from Strindberg's first marriage play a part. Siri
+von Essen, Strindberg's first wife, was married to an officer, Baron
+Wrangel, and both the Wrangels received Strindberg kindly in their home
+as a friend. Love quickly flared up between Siri von Essen-Wrangel
+and Strindberg. She obtained a divorce from her husband and married
+Strindberg. Baron von Wrangel shortly afterwards married again, a cousin
+of Siri von Essen. Knowing these matrimonial complications we understand
+how Strindberg must have felt when, on the point of leaving for
+Heligoland to marry Frida Uhl, he met his former wife's (Siri von Essen)
+first husband, Baron Wrangel, on Lehrter Station in Berlin, and found
+that, like Strindberg himself, he was on a lover's errand. Knowing all
+this we need not be surprised at the extremely complicated matrimonial
+relations in _The Road to Damascus_, where, for example, for the sake
+of THE STRANGER, THE DOCTOR obtains a divorce from THE LADY in order to
+marry THE STRANGER'S first wife. In addition to Baron Wrangel a doctor
+in the town of Ystad, in the south of Sweden--Dr. Eliasson who attended
+Strindberg during his most difficult period--has stood as a model for
+THE DOCTOR. We note in particular that the description of the doctor's
+house enclosing a courtyard on three sides, tallies with a type of
+building which is characteristic of the south of Sweden. When THE DOCTOR
+ruthlessly explains to THE STRANGER that the asylum, 'The Good Help,'
+was not a hospital but a lunatic asylum, he expresses Strindberg's own
+misgivings that the St. Louis Hospital, of which, as mentioned above,
+Strindberg was an inmate in the beginning of the year 1895, was really
+to be regarded as a lunatic asylum.
+
+Even minor characters, such as CAESAR and THE BEGGAR have their
+counterparts in real life, even though in the main they are fantastic
+creations of his imagination. The guardian of his daughter, Kerstin, a
+relative of Frida Uhl's, was called Dr. Caesar R. v. Weyr. Regarding THE
+BEGGAR it may be enough to quote Strindberg's feelings when confronted
+with the collections made by his Paris friends:
+
+'I am a beggar who has no right to go to cafes. Beggar! That is the
+right word; it rings in my ears and brings a burning blush to my cheeks,
+the blush of shame, humiliation, and rage!
+
+'To think that six weeks ago I sat at this table! My theatre manager
+addressed me as Dear Master; journalists strove to interview me, the
+photographer begged to be allowed to sell my portrait. And now: a
+beggar, a branded man, an outcast from society!'
+
+After this we can understand why Strindberg in _The Road to Damascus_
+apparently in such surprising manner is seized by the suspicion that he
+is himself the beggar.
+
+We have thus seen that Part I of _The Road to Damascus_ is at the same
+time a free creation of fantasy and a drama of portrayal. The elements
+of realism are starkly manifest, but they are moulded and hammered into
+a work of art by a force of combinative imagination rising far above
+the task of mere descriptive realism. The scenes unroll themselves in
+calculated sequence up to the central asylum picture, from there to
+return in reverse order through the second half of the drama, thus
+symbolising life's continuous repetition of itself, Kierkegaard's
+_Gentagelse_. The first part of _The Road to Damascus_ is the one most
+frequently produced on the stage. This is understandable, having regard
+to its firm structure and the consistency of its faith in a Providence
+directing the fortunes and misfortunes of man, whether the individual
+rages in revolt or submits in quiet resignation.
+
+The second part of _The Road to Damascus_ is dominated by the scenes of
+the great alchemist banquet which, in all its fantastic oddity, is
+one of the most suggestive ever created on the ancient theme of the
+fickleness of fortune. It was suggested above that there were two
+factors beyond all others binding Strindberg to the world and making him
+hesitate before the monastery; one was woman, from whom he sets himself
+free in Part II, after the birth of a child--precisely as in his
+marriage to Frida Uhl--the other was scientific honour, in its highest
+phase equivalent, to Strindberg, to the power to produce gold. Countless
+were the experiments for this purpose made by Strindberg in his
+primitive laboratories, and countless his failures. To the world-famous
+author, literary honour meant little as opposed to the slightest
+prospect of being acknowledged as a prominent scientist. Harriet Bosse
+has told me that Strindberg seldom said anything about his literary
+work, never was interested in what other people thought of them, or
+troubled to read the reviews; but on the other hand he would often, with
+sparkling eyes and childish pride, show her strips of paper, stained at
+one end with some golden-brown substance. 'Look,' he said, 'this is
+pure gold, and I have made it!' In face of the stubborn scepticism of
+scientific experts Strindberg was, however, driven to despair as to his
+ability, and felt his dreams of fortune shattered, as did THE STRANGER
+at the macabre banquet given in his honour--a banquet which was, as a
+matter of fact, planned by his Paris friends, not, as Strindberg would
+have liked to believe, in honour of the great scientist, but to the
+great author.
+
+In Part I of _The Road to Damascus_, THE STRANGER replies with a
+hesitating 'Perhaps' when THE LADY wants to lead him to the protecting
+Church; and at the end of Part II he exclaims: 'Come, priest, before I
+change my mind'; but in Part III his decision is final, he enters the
+monastery. The reason is that not even THE LADY in her third incarnation
+had shown herself capable of reconciling him to life. The wedding day
+scenes just before, between Harriet Bosse and the ageing author, form,
+however, the climax of Part III and are among the most poetically moving
+that Strindberg has ever written.
+
+Besides having his belief in the rapture of love shattered, THE
+STRANGER also suffers disappointment at seeing his child fall short of
+expectations. The meeting between the daughter Sylvia and THE STRANGER
+probably refers to an episode from the summer of 1899, when Strindberg,
+after long years of suffering in foreign countries, saw his beloved
+Swedish skerries again, and also his favourite daughter Greta, who had
+come over from Finland to meet him. Contrary to the version given in the
+drama, the reunion of father and daughter seems to have been very happy
+and cordial. However, it is typical of the fate-oppressed Strindberg
+that in his work even the happiest summer memories become tinged with
+black. Once and for all the dark colours on his palette were the most
+intense.
+
+The final entry into the monastery was more a symbol for the struggling
+author's dream of peace and atonement than a real thing in his life. It
+is true he visited the Benedictine monastery, Maredsous, in Belgium in
+1898, and its well stocked library came to play a certain part In the
+drama, but already he realised, after one night's sojourn there, that he
+had no call for the monastic life.
+
+Seen as a whole the trilogy marks a turning point in Strindberg's
+dramatic production. The logical, calculated concentration of his
+naturalistic work of the 1880's has given way to a freer form of
+composition, in which the atmosphere has come to mean more than the
+dialogue, the musical and dreamlike qualities more than conciseness.
+_The Road to Damascus_ abounds with details from real life, reproduced
+in sharply naturalistic manner, but these are not, as things were in
+his earlier works viewed by the author _a priori_ as reality but become
+wrapped in dreamlike mystery. Just as with _Lady Julia_ and _The Father_
+Strindberg ushered in the naturalistic drama of the 1880's, so in the
+years around the turn of the century he was, with his symbolist cycle
+_The Road to Damascus_, to break new ground for European drama which had
+gradually become stuck in fixed formulas. _The Road to Damascus_ became
+a landmark in world literature both as a brilliant work of art and as
+bearer of new stage technique.
+
+GUNNAR OLLEN
+
+Translated by ESTHER JOHANSON
+
+
+
+
+
+THE ROAD TO DAMASCUS
+
+
+
+
+PART I.
+
+English Version by Graham Rawson
+
+
+CHARACTERS
+
+     THE STRANGER
+     THE LADY
+     THE BEGGAR
+     THE DOCTOR
+     HIS SISTER
+     AN OLD MAN
+     A MOTHER
+     AN ABBESS
+     A CONFESSOR
+
+     less important figures
+     FIRST MOURNER
+     SECOND MOURNER
+     THIRD MOURNER
+     LANDLORD
+     CAESAR
+     WAITER
+
+     non-speaking
+     A SMITH
+     MILLER'S WIFE
+     FUNERAL ATTENDANTS
+
+
+SCENES
+
+     SCENE I     Street Corner     SCENE XVII
+     SCENE II    Doctor's House    SCENE XVI
+     SCENE III   Room in an Hotel  SCENE XV
+     SCENE IV    By the Sea        SCENE XIV
+     SCENE V     On the Road       SCENE XIII
+     SCENE VI    In a Ravine       SCENE XII
+     SCENE VII   In a Kitchen      SCENE XI
+     SCENE VIII  The 'Rose' Room   SCENE X
+     SCENE IX    Convent
+
+
+First Performance in England by the Stage Society at the Westminster
+Theatre, 2nd May 1937
+
+CAST
+
+     THE STRANGER        Francis James
+     THE LADY            Wanda Rotha
+     THE BEGGAR          Alexander Sarner
+     FIRST MOURNER       George Cormack
+     SECOND MOURNER      Kenneth Bell
+     THIRD MOURNER       Peter Bennett
+     FOURTH MOURNER      Bryan Sears
+     FIFTH MOURNER       Michael Boyle
+     SIXTH MOURNER       Stephen Patrick
+     THE LANDLORD        Stephen Jack
+     THE DOCTOR          Neil Porter
+     HIS SISTER          Olga Martin
+     CAESAR              Peter Land
+     A WAITER            Peter Bennett
+     AN OLD MAN          A. Corney Grain
+     A MOTHER            Frances Waring
+     THE SMITH           Norman Thomas
+     THE MILLER'S WIFE   Julia Sandham
+     AN ABBESS           Natalia Moya
+     A CONFESSOR         Tristan Rawson
+
+     PRODUCER            Carl H. Jaffe
+     ASSISTANT PRODUCER  Ossia Trilling
+
+
+
+SCENE I
+
+STREET CORNER
+
+[Street Corner with a seat under a tree; the side-door of a small Gothic
+Church nearby; also a post office and a cafe with chairs outside it.
+Both post office and cafe are shut. A funeral march is heard off,
+growing louder sand then fainter. A STRANGER is standing on the edge
+of the pavement and seems uncertain which way to go. A church clock
+strikes: first the four quarters and then the hour. It is three o'clock.
+A LADY enters and greets the STRANGER. She is about to pass him, but
+stops.]
+
+STRANGER. It's you! I almost knew you'd come.
+
+LADY. You wanted me: I felt it. But why are you waiting here?
+
+STRANGER. I don't know. I must wait somewhere.
+
+LADY. Who are you waiting for?
+
+STRANGER. I wish I could tell you! For forty years I've been waiting for
+something: I believe they call it happiness; or the end of unhappiness.
+(Pause.) There's that terrible music again. Listen! But don't go, I beg
+you. I'll feel afraid, if you do.
+
+LADY. We met yesterday for the first time; and talked for four hours.
+You roused my sympathy, but you mustn't abuse my kindness on that
+account.
+
+STRANGER. I know that well enough. But I beg you not to leave me. I'm a
+stranger here, without friends; and my few acquaintances seem more like
+enemies.
+
+LADY. You have enemies everywhere. You're lonely everywhere. Why did you
+leave your wife and children?
+
+STRANGER. I wish I knew. I wish I knew why I still live; why I'm here
+now; where I should go and what I should do! Do you believe that the
+living can be damned already?
+
+LADY. No.
+
+STRANGER. Look at me.
+
+LADY. Hasn't life brought you a single pleasure?
+
+STRANGER. Not one! If at any time I thought so, it was merely a trap to
+tempt me to prolong my miseries. If ripe fruit fell into my hand, it was
+poisoned or rotten at the core.
+
+LADY. What is your religion--if you'll forgive the question?
+
+STRANGER. Only this: that when I can bear things no longer, I shall go.
+
+LADY. Where?
+
+STRANGER. Into annihilation. If I don't hold life in my hand, at least I
+hold death.... It gives me an amazing feeling of power.
+
+LADY. You're playing with death!
+
+STRANGER. As I've played with life. (Pause.) I was a writer. But in
+spite of my melancholy temperament I've never been able to take anything
+seriously--not even my worst troubles. Sometimes I even doubt whether
+life itself has had any more reality than my books. (A De Profundis is
+heard from the funeral procession.) They're coming back. Why must they
+process up and down these streets?
+
+LADY. Do you fear them?
+
+STRANGER. They annoy me. The place might be bewitched. No, it's not
+death I fear, but solitude; for then one's not alone. I don't know who's
+there, I or another, but in solitude one's not alone. The air grows
+heavy and seems to engender invisible beings, who have life and whose
+presence can be felt.
+
+LADY. You've noticed that?
+
+STRANGER. For some time I've noticed a great deal; but not as I used to.
+Once I merely saw objects and events, forms and colours, whilst now I
+perceive ideas and meanings. Life, that once had no meaning, has begun
+to have one. Now I discern intention where I used to see nothing but
+chance. (Pause.) When I met you yesterday it struck me you'd been sent
+across my path, either to save me, or destroy me.
+
+LADY. Why should I destroy you?
+
+STRANGER. Because it may be your destiny.
+
+LADY. No such idea ever crossed my mind; it was largely sympathy I felt
+for you.... Never, in all my life, have I met anyone like you. I have
+only to look at you for the tears to start to my eyes. Tell me, what
+have you on your conscience? Have you done something wrong, that's never
+been discovered or punished?
+
+STRANGER. You may well ask! No, I've no more sins on my conscience than
+other free men. Except this: I determined that life should never make a
+fool of me.
+
+LADY. You must let yourself be fooled, more or less, to live at all.
+
+STRANGER. That would seem a kind of duty; but one I wanted to get out
+of. (Pause.) I've another secret. It's whispered in the family that I'm
+a changeling.
+
+LADY. What's that?
+
+STRANGER. A child substituted by the elves for the baby that was born.
+
+LADY. Do you believe in such things?
+
+STRANGER. No. But, as a parable, there's something to be said for it.
+(Pause.) As a child I was always crying and didn't seem to take to
+life in this world. I hated my parents, as they hated me. I brooked no
+constraint, no conventions, no laws, and my longing was for the woods
+and the sea.
+
+LADY. Did you ever see visions?
+
+STRANGER. Never. But I've often thought that two beings were guiding
+my destiny. One offers me all I desire; but the other's ever at hand
+to bespatter the gifts with filth, so that they're useless to me and
+I can't touch them. It's true that life has given me all I asked of
+it--but everything's turned out worthless to me.
+
+LADY. You've had everything and yet are not content?
+
+STRANGER. That is the curse....
+
+LADY. Don't say that! But why haven't you desired things that transcend
+this life, that can never be sullied?
+
+STRANGER. Because I doubt if there is a beyond.
+
+LADY. But the elves?
+
+STRANGER. Are merely a fairy story. (Pointing to a seat.) Shall we sit
+down?
+
+LADY. Yes. Who are you waiting for?
+
+STRANGER. Really, for the post office to open. There's a letter for
+me--it's been forwarded on but hasn't reached me. (They sit down.) But
+tell me something of yourself now. (The Lady takes up her crochet work.)
+
+LADY. There's nothing to tell.
+
+STRANGER. Strangely enough, I should prefer to think of you like that.
+Impersonal, nameless--I only do know one of your names. I'd like to
+christen you myself--let me see, what ought you to be called? I've got
+it. Eve! (With a gesture towards the wings.) Trumpets! (The funeral
+march is heard again.) There it is again! Now I must invent your age,
+for I don't know how old you are. From now on you are thirty-four--so
+you were born in sixty-four. (Pause.) Now your character, for I don't
+know that either. I shall give you a good character, your voice reminds
+me of my mother--I mean the idea of a mother, for my mother never
+caressed me, though I can remember her striking me. You see, I was
+brought up in hate! An eye for an eye--a tooth for a tooth. You see this
+scar on my forehead? That comes from a blow my brother gave me with
+an axe, after I'd struck him with a stone. I never went to my father's
+funeral, because he turned me out of the house when my sister married.
+I was born out of wedlock, when my family were bankrupt and in mourning
+for an uncle who had taken his life. Now you know my family! That's
+the stock I come from. Once I narrowly escaped fourteen years' hard
+labour--so I've every reason to thank the elves, though I can't be
+altogether pleased with what they've done.
+
+LADY. I like to hear you talk. But don't speak of the elves: it makes me
+sad.
+
+STRANGER. Frankly, I don't believe in them; yet they're always making
+themselves felt. Are these elves the souls of the unhappy, who still
+await redemption? If so, I am the child of an evil spirit. Once I
+believed I was near redemption--through a woman. But no mistake could
+have been greater: I was plunged into the seventh hell.
+
+LADY. You must be unhappy. But this won't go on always.
+
+STRANGER. Do you think church bells and Holy Water could comfort me?
+I've tried them; they only made things worse. I felt like the Devil when
+he sees the sign of the cross. (Pause.) Let's talk about you now.
+
+LADY. There's no need. (Pause.) Have you been blamed for misusing your
+gifts?
+
+STRANGER. I've been blamed for everything. In the town I lived in no one
+was so hated as I. Lonely I came in and lonely I went out. If I entered
+a public place people avoided me. If I wanted to rent a room, it would
+be let. The priests laid a ban on me from the pulpit, teachers from
+their desks and parents in their homes. The church committee wanted
+to take my children from me. Then I blasphemously shook my fist... at
+heaven!
+
+LADY. Why did they hate you so?
+
+STRANGER. How should I know! Yet I do! I couldn't endure to see men
+suffer. So I kept on saying, and writing, too: free yourselves, I will
+help you. And to the poor I said: do not let the rich exploit you.
+And to the women: do not allow yourselves to be enslaved by the men.
+And--worst of all--to the children: do not obey your parents, if they
+are unjust. What followed was impossible to foresee. I found that
+everyone was against me: rich and poor, men and women, parents and
+children. And then came sickness and poverty, beggary and shame,
+divorce, law-suits, exile, solitude, and now.... Tell me, do you think
+me mad?
+
+LADY. No.
+
+STRANGER. You must be the only one. But I'm all the more grateful.
+
+LADY (rising). I must leave you now.
+
+STRANGER. You, too?
+
+LADY. And you mustn't stay here.
+
+STRANGER. Where should I go?
+
+LADY. Home. To your work.
+
+STRANGER. But I'm no worker. I'm a writer.
+
+LADY. I know. But I didn't want to hurt you. Creative power is something
+given you, that can also taken away. See you don't forfeit yours.
+
+STRANGER. Where are you going?
+
+LADY. Only to a shop.
+
+STRANGER (after a pause). Tell me, are you a believer?
+
+LADY. I am nothing.
+
+STRANGER. All the better: you have a future. How I wish I were your old
+blind father, whom you could lead to the market place to sing for his
+bread. My tragedy is I cannot grow old that's what happens to children
+of the elves, they have big heads and never only cry. I wish I were
+someone's dog. I could follow him and never be alone again. I'd get a
+meal sometimes, a kick now and then, a pat perhaps, a blow often....
+
+LADY. Now I must go. Good-bye. (She goes out.)
+
+STRANGER (absent-mindedly). Good-bye. (He remains on the seat. He takes
+off his hat and wipes his forehead. Then he draws on the ground with his
+stick. A BEGGAR enters. He has a strange look and is collecting objects
+from the gutter.) White are you picking up, beggar?
+
+BEGGAR. Why call me that? I'm no beggar. Have I asked you for anything?
+
+STRANGER. I beg your pardon. It's so hard to judge men from appearances.
+
+BEGGAR. That's true. For instance, can you guess who I am?
+
+STRANGER. I don't intend to try. It doesn't interest me.
+
+BEGGAR. No one can know that in advance. Interest commonly comes
+afterwards--when it's too late. Virtus post nummos!
+
+STRANGER. What? Do beggars know Latin?
+
+BEGGAR. You see, you're interested already. Omne tulit punctum qui
+miscuit utile dulci. I have always succeeded in everything I've
+undertaken, because I've never attempted anything. I should like to call
+myself Polycrates, who found the gold ring in the fish's stomach. Life
+has given me all I asked of it. But I never asked anything; I grew tired
+of success and threw the ring away. Yet, now I've grown old I regret it.
+I search for it in the gutters; but as the search takes time, in default
+of my gold ring I don't disdain a few cigar stumps....
+
+STRANGER. I don't know whether this beggar's cynical or mad.
+
+BEGGAR. I don't know either.
+
+STRANGER. Do you know who I am?
+
+BEGGAR. No. And it doesn't interest me.
+
+STRANGER. Well, interest commonly comes afterwards.... You see you tempt
+me to take the words out of your mouth. And that's the same thing as
+picking up other people's cigars.
+
+BEGGAR. So you won't follow my example?
+
+STRANGER. What's that scar on your forehead?
+
+BEGGAR. I got it from a near relation.
+
+STRANGER. Now you frighten me! Are you real? May I touch you? (He
+touches his arm.) There's no doubt of it.... Would you deign to accept
+a small coin in return for a promise to seek Polycrates' ring in another
+part of the town? (He hands him a coin.) Post nummos virtus.... Another
+echo. You must go at once.
+
+BEGGAR. I will. But you've given me far too much. I'll return
+three-quarters of it. Now we owe one another nothing but friendship.
+
+STRANGER. Friendship! Am I a friend of yours?
+
+BEGGAR. Well, I am of yours. When one's alone in the world one can't be
+particular.
+
+STRANGER. Then let me tell you you forget yourself...
+
+BEGGAR. Only too pleased! But when we meet again I'll have a word of
+welcome for you. (Exit.)
+
+STRANGER (sitting down again and drawing in the dust with his stick).
+Sunday afternoon! A long, dank, sad time, after the usual Sunday dinner
+of roast beef, cabbage and watery potatoes. Now the older people are
+testing, the younger playing chess and smoking. The servants have gone
+to church and the shops are shut. This frightful afternoon, this day of
+rest, when there's nothing to engage the soul, when it's as hard to meet
+a friend as to get into a wine shop. (The LADY comes back again, she
+is noun wearing a flower at her breast.) Strange! I can't speak without
+being contradicted at once!
+
+LADY. So you're still here?
+
+STRANGER. Whether I sit here, or elsewhere, and write in the sand
+doesn't seem to me to matter--as long so I write in the sand.
+
+LADY. What are you writing? May I see?
+
+STRANGER. I think you'll find: Eve 1864.... No, don't step on it.
+
+LADY. What happens then?
+
+STRANGER. A disaster for you... and for me.
+
+LADY. You know that?
+
+STRANGER. Yes, and more. That the Christmas rose you're wearing is a
+mandragora. Its symbolical meaning is malice and calumny; but it was
+once used in medicine for the healing of madness. Will you give it me?
+
+LADY (hesitating). As medicine?
+
+STRANGER. Of course. (Pause.) Have you read my books?
+
+LADY. You know I have. And that it's you I have to thank for giving me
+freedom and a belief in human rights and human dignity.
+
+STRANGER. Then you haven't read the recent ones?
+
+LADY. No. And if they're not like the earlier ones I don't want to.
+
+STRANGER. Then promise never to open another book of mine.
+
+LADY. Let me think that over. Very well, I promise.
+
+STRANGER. Good! But see you keep your promise. Remember what happened
+to Bluebeard's wife when curiosity tempted her into the forbidden
+chamber....
+
+LADY. You see, already you make demands like those of a Bluebeard. What
+you don't see, or have long since forgotten, is that I'm married, and
+that my husband's a doctor, and that he admires your work. So that his
+house is open to you, if you wish to be made welcome there.
+
+STRANGER. I've done all I can to forget it. I've expunged it from my
+memory so that it no longer has any reality for me.
+
+LADY. If that's so, will you come home with me to-night?
+
+STRANGER. No. Will you come with me?
+
+LADY. Where?
+
+STRANGER. Anywhere! I have no home, only a trunk. Money I sometimes
+have--though not often. It's the one thing life has capriciously refused
+me, perhaps because I never desired it intensely enough. (The LADY
+shakes her head.) Well? What are you thinking?
+
+LADY. I'm surprised I'm not angry with you. But you're not serious.
+
+STRANGER. Whether I am or not's all one to me. Ah! There's the organ! It
+won't be long now before the drink shops open.
+
+LADY. Is it true _you_ drink?
+
+STRANGER. Yes. A great deal! Wine makes my soul from her prison, up into
+the firmament, where she what has never yet been seen, and hears what
+men never yet heard....
+
+LADY. And the day after?
+
+STRANGER. I have the most delightful scruples of conscience! I
+experience the purifying emotions of guilt and repentance. I enjoy the
+sufferings of the body, whilst my soul hovers like smoke about my head.
+It is as if one were suspended between Life and Death, when the spirit
+feels that she has already opened her pinions and could fly aloft, if
+she would.
+
+LADY. Come into the church for a moment. You'll hear no sermon, only the
+beautiful music of vespers.
+
+STRANGER. No. Not into church! It depresses me because I feel I don't
+belong there.... That I'm an unhappy soul and that it's as impossible
+for me to re-enter as to become a child again.
+
+LADY. You feel all that... already?
+
+STRANGER. Yes. I've got that far. I feel as if I lay hacked in pieces
+and were being slowly melted in Medea's cauldron. Either I shall be sent
+to the soap-boilers, or arise renewed from my own dripping! It depends
+on Medea's skill!
+
+LADY. That sounds like the word of an oracle. We must see if you can't
+become a child again.
+
+STRANGER. We should have to start with the cradle; and this time with
+the right child.
+
+LADY. Exactly! Wait here for me whilst I go into the church. If the cafe
+were open I'd ask you please not to drink. But luckily it's shut.
+
+(The LADY exits. The STRANGER sits down again and draws in the sand.
+Enter six funeral attendants in brown with some mourners. One of them
+carries a banner with the insignia of the Carpenters, draped in brown
+crepe; another a large axe decorated with spruce, a third a cushion with
+a chairman's mallet. They stop outside the cafe and wait.)
+
+STRANGER. Excuse me, whose funeral have you been attending?
+
+FIRST MOURNER. A house-breaker's. (He imitates the ticking of a clock.)
+
+STRANGER. A real house-breaker? Or the insect sort, that lodges in the
+woodwork and goes 'tick-tick'?
+
+FIRST MOURNER. Both--but mainly the insect sort. What do they call them?
+
+STRANGER (to himself). He wants to fool me into saying the death-watch
+beetle. So I won't. You mean a burglar?
+
+SECOND MOURNER. No. (The clock is again heard ticking.)
+
+STRANGER. Are you trying to frighten me? Or does the dead man work
+miracles? In that case I'd better explain that my nerves are good, and
+that I don't believe in miracles. But I do find it strange that the
+mourners wear brown. Why not black? It's cheap and suitable.
+
+THIRD MOURNER. To us, in our simplicity, it looks black; but if Your
+Honour wishes it, it shall look brown to you.
+
+STRANGER. A queer company! They give me an uneasy feeling I'd like to
+ascribe to the wine I drank yesterday. If I were to ask if that were
+spruce, you'd probably say--well what?
+
+FIRST MOURNER. Vine leaves.
+
+STRANGER. I thought it would not be spruce! The cafe's opening, at last!
+(The Cafe opens, the STRANGER sits at a table and is served with wine.
+The MOURNERS sit at the other tables.) They must have been glad to be
+rid of him, if the mourners start drinking as soon as the funeral's
+over.
+
+FIRST MOURNER. He was a good-for-nothing, who couldn't take life
+seriously.
+
+STRANGER. And who probably drank?
+
+SECOND MOURNER. Yes.
+
+THIRD MOURNER. And let others support his wife and children.
+
+STRANGER. He shouldn't have done so. Is that why his friends speak so
+well of him now? Please don't shake my table when I'm drinking.
+
+SECOND MOURNER. When I'm drinking, I don't mind.
+
+STRANGER. Well, I do. There's a great difference between us! (The
+MOURNERS whisper together. The BEGGAR comes back.) Here's the beggar
+again!
+
+BEGGAR (sitting down at a table). Wine. Moselle!
+
+LANDLORD (consulting a police last). I can't serve you: you've not paid
+your taxes. Here's your name, age and profession, and the decision of
+the court.
+
+BEGGAR. Omnia serviliter pro dominatione! I'm a free man with a
+university education. I refused to pay taxes because I didn't want to
+become a member of parliament. Moselle!
+
+LANDLORD. You'll get free transport to the poor house, if you don't get
+out.
+
+STRANGER. Couldn't you gentlemen settle this somewhere else. You're
+disturbing your patrons.
+
+LANDLORD. You can witness I'm in the right.
+
+STRANGER. No. The whole thing's too distressing. Even without paying
+taxes he has the right to enjoy life's small pleasures.
+
+LANDLORD. So you're the kind who'd absolve vagabonds from their duties?
+
+STRANGER. This is too much! I'd have you know that I'm a famous man.
+(The LANDLORD and MOURNERS laugh.)
+
+LANDLORD. Infamous, probably! Let me look at the police list, and see if
+the description tallies: thirty-eight, brown hair, moustache, blue eyes;
+no settled employment, means unknown; married, but has deserted his wife
+and children; well known for revolutionary views on social questions:
+gives impression he is not in full possession of his faculties.... It
+fits!
+
+STRANGER (rising, pale and taken aback). What?
+
+LANDLORD. Yes. It fits all right.
+
+BEGGAR. Perhaps he's on the list. And not me!
+
+LANDLORD. It looks like it. In any case, both of you had better clear
+out.
+
+BEGGAR (to the STRANGER). Shall we?
+
+STRANGER. We? This begins to look like a conspiracy.
+
+(The church bells are heard. The sun comes out and illuminates the
+coloured rose window above the church door, which is now opened,
+disclosing the interior. The organ is heard and the choir singing Ave
+Maris Stella.)
+
+LADY (coming from the church). Where are you? What are you doing? Why
+did you call me? Must you hang on a woman's skirts like a child?
+
+STRANGER. I'm afraid now. Things are happening that have no natural
+explanation.
+
+LADY. But you were afraid of nothing. Not even death!
+
+STRANGER. Death... no. But of something else, the unknown.
+
+LADY. Listen. Give me your hand. You're ill, I'll take you to a doctor.
+Come!
+
+STRANGER. If you like. But tell me: is this carnival, or... reality?
+
+LADY. It's real enough.
+
+STRANGER. This beggar must be a wretched fellow. Is it true he resembles
+me?
+
+LADY. He will, if you go on drinking. Now go to the post office and get
+your letter. And then come with me.
+
+STRANGER. No, I won't. It'll only be about lawsuits.
+
+LADY. If not?
+
+STRANGER. Malicious gossip.
+
+LADY. Well, do as you wish. No one can escape his fate. At this moment
+I feel a higher power is sitting in judgment on us and has made a
+decision.
+
+STRANGER. You feel that, too! I heard the hammer fall just now; and the
+chairs being pushed back. The clerk's being sent to find me! Oh, the
+suspense! No, I can't follow you.
+
+LADY. Tell me, what have you done to me? In the church I found I
+couldn't pray. A light on the altar was extinguished and an icy wind
+blew in my face when I heard you call me.
+
+STRANGER. I didn't call you. But I wanted you.
+
+LADY. You're not as weak as you pretend. You have great strength; and
+I'm afraid of you....
+
+STRANGER. When I'm alone I've no strength at all; but if I can find
+a single companion I grow strong. I shall be strong now; and so I'll
+follow you.
+
+LADY. Perhaps you can free me from the werewolf.
+
+STRANGER. Who's he?
+
+LADY. That's what I call him.
+
+STRANGER. Count on me. Killing dragons, freeing princesses, defeating
+werewolves--that is Life!
+
+LADY. Then come, my liberator!
+
+(She draws her veil over her face, kisses him on the mouth and hurries
+out. The STRANGER stands where he is for a moment, surprised and
+stunned. A loud chord sung by women's voices, rather like a cry, is
+heard from the church. The rose window suddenly grows dark and the tree
+above the seat is shaken by the wind. The MOURNERS rise and look at the
+sky, as if they could see something terrifying. The STRANGER hurries out
+after the LADY.)
+
+
+SCENE II
+
+DOCTOR'S HOUSE
+
+[Courtyard enclosed on three sides by a single-storied house with a
+tiled roof. Small windows in all three facades. Right, verandah with
+glass doors. Left, climbing roses and bee-hives outside the windows. In
+the middle of the courtyard a woodpile in the form of a cupola. A well
+beside it. The top of a walnut tree is seen above the central facade
+of the house. In the corner, right, a garden gate. By the well a large
+tortoise. On right, entrance below to a wine-cellar. An ice-chest and
+dust-bin. The DOCTOR'S SISTER enters from the verandah with a telegram.]
+
+SISTER. Now misfortune will fall on your house.
+
+DOCTOR. When has it not, my dear sister?
+
+SISTER. This time.... Ingeborg's coming and bringing... guess whom?
+
+DOCTOR. Wait! I know, because I've long foreseen this, even desired it,
+for he's a writer I've always admired. I've learnt much from him and
+often wished to meet him. Now he's coming, you say. Where did Ingeborg
+meet him?
+
+SISTER. In town, it seems. Probably in some literary _salon_.
+
+DOCTOR. I've often wondered whether this man was the boy of the same
+name who was my friend at school. I hope not; for he seemed one that
+fortune would treat harshly. And in a life-time he'll have given his
+unhappy tendencies full scope.
+
+SISTER. Don't let him come here. Go out. Say you're engaged.
+
+DOCTOR. No. One can't escape one's fate.
+
+SISTER. But you've never bowed your head to anyone! Why crawl before
+this spectre, and call him fate?
+
+DOCTOR. Life has taught me to. I've wasted time and energy in fighting
+the inevitable.
+
+SISTER. But why allow your wife to behave like this? She'll compromise
+you both.
+
+DOCTOR. You think so? Because, when I made her break off her engagement
+I held out false hopes to her of a life of freedom, instead of the
+slavery she'd known. Besides, I could never love her if I were in a
+position to give her orders.
+
+SISTER. You'd be friends with your enemy?
+
+DOCTOR. Oh...!
+
+SISTER. Will you let her bring someone into the house who'll destroy
+you? If you only knew how I hate that man.
+
+DOCTOR. I do. His last book's terrible; and shows a certain lack of
+mental balance.
+
+SISTER. They ought to shut him up.
+
+DOCTOR. Many people have said so, but I don't think him bad enough.
+
+SISTER. Because you're eccentric yourself, and live in daily contact
+with a woman who's mad.
+
+DOCTOR. I admit abnormality has always had a strong attraction for me,
+and originality is at least not commonplace. (The syren of a steamer is
+heard.) What was that?
+
+SISTER. Your nerves are on edge. It's only the steamer. (Pause.) Now, I
+implore you, go away!
+
+DOCTOR. I ought to want to; but I'm held fast. (Pause.) From here I can
+see his portrait in my study. The sunlight throws a shadow on it that
+changes it completely. It makes him look like.... Horrible! You see what
+I mean?
+
+HATER. The devil! Come away!
+
+DOCTOR. I can't.
+
+SISTER. Then at least defend yourself.
+
+DOCTOR. I always do. But this time I feel a thunder storm gathering. How
+often have I tried to fly, and not been able to. It's as if the earth
+were iron and I a compass needle. If misfortune comes, it's not of my
+fee choice. They've come in at the door.
+
+SISTER. I heard nothing.
+
+DOCTOR. I did! Now I can see them, too! He _is_ the friend of my
+boyhood. He got into trouble at school; but I was blamed and punished.
+He was nick-named Caesar, I don't know why.
+
+SISTER. And this man....
+
+DOCTOR. That's what always happens. Caesar! (The LADY comes in.)
+
+LADY. I've brought a visitor.
+
+DOCTOR. I know, and he's welcome.
+
+LADY. I left him in the house, to wash.
+
+DOCTOR. Well, are you satisfied with your conquest?
+
+LADY. I think he's the unhappiest man I ever met.
+
+DOCTOR. That's saying a great deal.
+
+LADY. Yes, there's enough unhappiness for all of us.
+
+DOCTOR. There is! (To his SISTER.) Would you ask him to come out here?
+(His SISTER goes out.) Have you had an interesting time?
+
+LADY. Yes. I met a number of strange people. Have you had many patients?
+
+DOCTOR. No. The consulting room's empty this morning. I think the
+practice is going down.
+
+LADY (kindly). I'm sorry. Tell me, oughtn't that woodpile to be taken
+into the house? It only draws the damp.
+
+DOCTOR (without reproach). Yes, and the bees should be killed, too; and
+the fruit in the garden picked. But I've no time to do it.
+
+LADY. You're tired.
+
+DOCTOR. Tired of everything.
+
+LADY (without bitterness). And you've a wife who can't even help you.
+
+DOCTOR (kindly). You mustn't say that, if I don't think so.
+
+LADY (turning towards the verandah). Here he is!
+
+(The STRANGER comes in through the verandah, dressed in a way that makes
+him look younger than before. He has an air of forced candour. He seems
+to recognise the doctor, and shrinks back, but recovers himself.)
+
+DOCTOR. You're very welcome.
+
+STRANGER. It's kind of you.
+
+DOCTOR. You bring good weather with you. And we need it; for it's rained
+for six weeks.
+
+STRANGER. Not for seven? It usually rains for seven if it rains on St.
+Swithin's. But that's later on--how foolish of me!
+
+DOCTOR. As you're used to town life I'm afraid you'll find the country
+dull.
+
+STRANGER. Oh no. I'm no more at home there than here. Excuse me asking,
+but haven't we met before--when we were boys?
+
+DOCTOR. Never.
+
+(The LADY has sat down at the table and is crocheting.)
+
+STRANGER. Are you sure?
+
+DOCTOR. Perfectly. I've followed your literary career from the first
+with great interest; as I know my wife has told you. So that if we _had_
+met I'd certainly have remembered your name. (Pause.) Well, now you can
+see how a country doctor lives!
+
+STRANGER. If you could guess what the life of a so-called liberator's
+like, you wouldn't envy him.
+
+DOCTOR. I can imagine it; for I've seen how men love their chains.
+Perhaps that's as it should be.
+
+STRANGER (listening). Strange. Who's playing in the village?
+
+DOCTOR. I don't know. Do you, Ingeborg?
+
+LADY. No.
+
+STRANGER. Mendelssohn's Funeral March! It pursues me. I never know
+whether I've heard it or not.
+
+DOCTOR. Do you suffer from hallucinations?
+
+STRANGER. No. But I'm pursued by trivial incidents. Can't you hear
+anyone playing?
+
+DOCTOR. Yes.
+
+LADY. Someone _is_ playing. Mendelssohn.
+
+DOCTOR. Not surprising.
+
+STRANGER. No. But that it should be played precisely at the right place,
+at the right time.... (He gets up.)
+
+DOCTOR. To reassure you, I'll ask my sister. (Exit through the
+verandah.)
+
+STRANGER (to the LADY). I'm stifling here. I can't pass a night under
+this roof. Your husband looks like a werewolf and in his presence you
+turn into a pillar of salt. Murder has been done in this house; the
+place is haunted. I shall escape as soon as I can find an excuse.
+
+(The DOCTOR comes back.)
+
+DOCTOR. It's the girl at the post office.
+
+STRANGER (nervously). Good. That's all right. You've an original house.
+That pile of wood, for instance.
+
+DOCTOR. Yes. It's been struck by lightning twice.
+
+STRANGER. Terrible! And you still keep it?
+
+DOCTOR. That's why. I've made it higher out of defiance; and to give
+shade in summer. It's like the prophet's gourd. But in the autumn it
+must go into the wood shed.
+
+STRANGER (looking round). Christmas roses, too! Where did you get them?
+They're flowering in summer! Everything's upside down here.
+
+DOCTOR. They were given me by a patient. He's not quite sane.
+
+STRANGER. Is he staying in the house?
+
+DOCTOR. Yes. He's a quiet soul, who ponders on the purposelessness
+of nature. He thinks it foolish for hellebore to grow in the snow and
+freeze; so he puts the plants in the cellar and beds them out in the
+spring.
+
+STRANGER. But a madman... in the house. Most unpleasant!
+
+DOCTOR. He's very harmless.
+
+STRANGER. How did he lose his wits?
+
+DOCTOR. Who can tell. It's a disease of the mind, not the body.
+
+STRANGER. Tell me--is he here--now?
+
+DOCTOR. Yes. He's free to wander in the garden and arrange creation. But
+if his presence disquiets you, we can shut him up.
+
+STRANGER. Why aren't such poor devils put out of--their misery?
+
+DOCTOR. It's hard to know whether they're ripe....
+
+STRANGER. What for?
+
+DOCTOR. For what's to come.
+
+STRANGER. There _is_ nothing. (Pause.)
+
+DOCTOR. Who knows!
+
+STRANGER. I feel strangely uneasy. Have you medical material...
+specimens... dead bodies?
+
+DOCTOR. Oh yes. In the ice-box--for the authorities, you know. (He pulls
+out an arm and leg.) Look here.
+
+STRANGER. No. Too much like Bluebeard!
+
+DOCTOR (sharply). What do you mean by that? (Looking at the LADY.) Do
+you think I kill my wives?
+
+STRANGER. Oh no. It's clear you don't. Is this house haunted, too?
+
+DOCTOR. Oh yes. Ask my wife.(He disappears behind the wood pile where
+neither the STRANGER nor the LADY can see him.)
+
+LADY. You needn't whisper, my husband's deaf. Though he can lip read.
+
+STRANGER. Then let me say that I've never known a more painful
+half-hour. We exchange the merest commonplaces, because none of us has
+the courage to say what he thinks. I suffered so that the idea came to
+me of opening my veins to get relief. But now I'd like to tell him the
+truth and have done with it. Shall we say to his face that we mean to go
+away, and that you've had enough of his foolishness?
+
+LADY. If you talk like that I'll begin to hate you. You must behave
+under any circumstances.
+
+STRANGER. How well brought up you are! (The DOCTOR now becomes visible
+to the STRANGER and the LADY, who continue their conversation.) Come
+away with me, before the sun goes down. (Pause.) Tell me, why did you
+kiss me yesterday?
+
+LADY. But....
+
+STRANGER. Supposing he could hear what we say! I don't trust him.
+
+DOCTOR. What shall we do to amuse our guest?
+
+LADY. He doesn't care much for amusement. His life's not been happy.
+
+(The DOCTOR blows a whistle. The MADMAN comes into the garden. He wears
+a laurel wreath and his clothes are curious.)
+
+DOCTOR. Come here, Caesar.
+
+STRANGER (displeased). What? Is he called Caesar?
+
+DOCTOR. No. It's a nickname I gave him, to remind me of a boy I was at
+school with.
+
+STRANGER (disturbed). Oh?
+
+DOCTOR. He was involved in a strange incident, and I got all the blame.
+
+LADY (to the STRANGER). You'd never believe a boy could have been so
+corrupt.
+
+(The STRANGER looks distressed. The MADMAN comes nearer.)
+
+DOCTOR. Caesar, come and make your bow to our famous writer.
+
+CAESAR. Is this the great man?
+
+LADY (to the DOCTOR). Why did you let him come, if it annoys our guest?
+
+DOCTOR. Caesar, you must behave. Or I shall have to whip you.
+
+CAESAR. Yes. He is Caesar, but he's not great. He doesn't even know
+which came first, the hen or the egg. But I do.
+
+STRANGER (to the LADY). I shall go. Is this a trap? What am I to think?
+In a minute he'll unloose his bees to amuse me.
+
+LADY. Trust me... whatever happens! And turn your face away when you
+speak.
+
+STRANGER. This werewolf never leaves us.
+
+DOCTOR (looking at his watch). You must excuse me for about an hour.
+I've a patient to visit. I hope the time won't hang on your hands.
+
+STRANGER. I'm used to waiting, for what never comes....
+
+DOCTOR (to the MADMAN). Come along, Caesar. I must lock you up in the
+cellar. (He goes out with the MADMAN.)
+
+STRANGER (to the LADY). What does that mean? Someone's pursuing me! You
+told me your husband was well disposed towards me, and I believed you.
+But he can't open his mouth without wounding me. Every word pricks like
+a goad. Then this funeral march... it's really being played! And here,
+once more, Christmas roses! Why does everything follow in an eternal
+round? Dead bodies, beggars, madmen, human destinies and childhood
+memories? Come away. Let me free you from this hell.
+
+LADY. That's why I brought you here. Also that it could never be said
+you'd stolen the wife of another. But one thing I must ask you: can I
+put my trust in you?
+
+STRANGER. You mean in my feelings?
+
+LADY. I don't speak of them. We're taking them for granted. They'll
+endure as long as they'll endure.
+
+STRANGER. You mean in my position? Large sums are owed me. All I have to
+do is to write or telegraph....
+
+LADY. Then I will trust you. (Putting away her work.) Now go straight
+out of that door. Follow the syringa hedge till you find a gate. We'll
+meet in the next village.
+
+STRANGER (hesitating). I don't like leaving the back way. I'd rather
+have fought it out with him here.
+
+LADY. Quick!
+
+STRANGER. Won't you come with me?
+
+LADY. Yes. But then I must go first. (She turns and blows a kiss towards
+the verandah.) My poor werewolf!
+
+
+SCENE III
+
+ROOM IN AN HOTEL
+
+[The STRANGER enters followed by the LADY. A WAITER.]
+
+STRANGER (who is carrying a suitcase). Is no other room free?
+
+WAITER. No.
+
+STRANGER. I don't want this one.
+
+LADY. But it's the only one: the other hotels are all full.
+
+STRANGER (to the WAITER). You can go. (The LADY sinks on to a chair
+without taking off her hat and coat.) What is it you want?
+
+LADY. I wish you'd kill me.
+
+STRANGER. I don't wonder! Thrown out of hotels, because we're not
+married, and pestered by the police, we're forced to come to this place,
+the last I'd have wished. To this very room, number eight.... Someone
+must be against me!
+
+LADY. Is this eight?
+
+STRANGER. What? Have you been here before?
+
+LADY. Have you?
+
+STRANGER. Yes.
+
+LADY. Then let's get away. Onto the road, into the woods. It doesn't
+matter where.
+
+STRANGER. I should like to. But after this terrible time I'm as tired as
+you are. I felt this was to be our journey's end. I resisted, I tried to
+go in the opposite direction, but trains were late, or we missed them,
+and we had to come here. To this room! The devil's in it--at least what
+I call the devil. But I'll be even with him yet.
+
+LADY. It seems we'll never find peace on earth again.
+
+STRANGER. Nothing's been changed. The dying Christmas roses. (Looking
+at two pictures.) There he is again. And that's the Hotel Breuer in
+Montreux. I've stayed there, too.
+
+LADY. Did you go to the post office?
+
+STRANGER. I thought you'd ask me that. I did. And as an answer to five
+letters and three telegrams I found a telegram saying that my publisher
+had gone away for a fortnight.
+
+LADY. Then we're lost.
+
+STRANGER. Very nearly.
+
+LADY. The waiter will be back in five minutes and ask for our passports.
+Then the landlord will come up and tell us to go.
+
+STRANGER. Then only one course remains.
+
+LADY. Two.
+
+STRANGER. The second's impossible.
+
+LADY. What is the second?
+
+STRANGER. To go to your parents in the country.
+
+LADY. You're beginning to read my thoughts.
+
+STRANGER. We no longer have any secrets from one another.
+
+LADY. Then the whole dream's at an end.
+
+STRANGER. It maybe.
+
+LADY. You must telegraph again.
+
+STRANGER. I ought to, I know. But I can't stir from here. I no longer
+believe that what I do can succeed. Someone's paralysed me.
+
+LADY. And me! We decided never to speak of the past and yet we drag it
+with us. Look at this carpet. Those flowers seem to form....
+
+STRANGER. Him! It's him. He's everywhere. How many hundred times has
+he.... Yet I see someone else in the pattern of the table cloth. No,
+it's an illusion! Any moment now I'll hear my funeral march--then
+everything will be complete. (Listening.) There!
+
+LADY. I hear nothing.
+
+STRANGER. Am I... am I....
+
+LADY. Shall we go home?
+
+STRANGER. The last place. The worst of all! To arrive like an
+adventurer, a beggar. Impossible!
+
+LADY. Yes, I know, but.... No, it would be too much. To bring shame,
+disgrace and sorrow to the old people, and to see you humiliated, and
+you me! We could never respect one another again.
+
+STRANGER. It would be worse than death. Yet I feel it's inevitable, and
+I begin to long for it, to get it over quickly, if it must be.
+
+LADY (taking out her work). But I don't want to be reviled in your
+presence. We must find another way. If only we were married--and divorce
+would be easy, because my former marriage isn't recognised by the laws
+of the country in which it was contracted.... All we need do is to go
+away and be married by the same priest... but that would be wounding for
+you!
+
+STRANGER. It would match the rest! For this honeymoon's becoming a
+pilgrimage!
+
+LADY. You're right! The landlord will be here in five minutes to turn us
+out. There's only one way to end such humiliations. Of our own free will
+we must accept the worst.... I can hear footsteps!
+
+STRANGER. I've foreseen this and am ready. Ready for everything. If I
+can't overcome the unseen, I can show you how much I can endure.... You
+must pawn your jewellery. I can buy it back when my publisher gets home,
+if he's not drowned bathing or killed in a railway accident. A man as
+ambitious as I must be ready to sacrifice his honour first of all.
+
+LADY. As we're agreed, wouldn't it be better to give up this room? Oh,
+God! He's coming now.
+
+STRANGER. Let's go. We'll run the gauntlet of waiters, maids and
+servants. Red with shame and pale with indignation. Animals have their
+lairs to hide in, but we are forced to flaunt our shame. (Pause.) Let
+down your veil.
+
+LADY. So this is freedom!
+
+STRANGER. And I... am the liberator. (Exeunt.)
+
+
+SCENE IV
+
+BY THE SEA
+
+[A hut on a cliff by the sea. Outside it a table with chairs. The
+STRANGER and the LADY are dressed in less sombre clothing and look
+younger than in the previous scene. The LADY is doing crochet work.]
+
+STRANGER. Three peaceful happy days at my wife's side, and anxiety
+returns!
+
+LADY. What do you fear?
+
+STRANGER. That this will not last long.
+
+LADY. Why do you think so?
+
+STRANGER. I don't know. I believe it must end suddenly, terribly.
+There's something deceptive even the sunshine and the stillness. I feel
+that happiness if not part of my destiny.
+
+LADY. But it's all over! My parents are resigned to what we've done. My
+husband understands and has written a kind letter.
+
+STRANGER. What does that matter? Fate spins the web; once more I
+hear the mallet fall and the chairs being pushed back from the
+table--judgment has been pronounced. Yet that must have happened before
+I was born, because even in childhood I began to serve my sentence.
+There's no moment in my life on which can look back with happiness.
+
+LADY. Unfortunate man! Yet you've had everything you wished from life!
+
+STRANGER. Everything. Unluckily I forgot to wish for money.
+
+LADY. You're thinking of that again.
+
+STRANGER. Are you surprised?
+
+LADY. Quiet!
+
+STRANGER. What is it you're always working at? You sit there like one of
+the Fates and draw the threads through your fingers. But go on. The most
+beautiful of sights is a woman bending over her work, or over her child.
+What are you making?
+
+LADY. Nothing. Crochet work.
+
+STRANGER. It looks like a network of nerves and knots on which you've
+fixed your thoughts. The brain must look like that--from within.
+
+LADY. If only I thought of half the things you imagine.... But I think
+of nothing.
+
+STRANGER. Perhaps that's why I feel so contented when I'm with you. Why,
+I find you so perfect that I can no longer imagine life without you! Now
+the clouds have blown away. Now the sky is clear! The wind soft--feel
+how it caresses us! This is Life! Yes, now I live. And I feel my spirit
+growing, spreading, becoming tenuous, infinite. I am everywhere, in the
+ocean which is my blood, in the rocks that are my bones, in the trees,
+in the flowers; and my head reaches up to the heavens. I can survey the
+whole universe. I _am_ the universe. And I feel the power of the Creator
+within me, for I am He! I wish I could grasp the all in my hand and
+refashion it into something more perfect, more lasting, more beautiful.
+I want all creation and created beings to be happy, to be born without
+pain, live without suffering, and die in quiet content. Eve! Die with me
+now! This moment, for the next will bring sorrow again.
+
+LADY. I'm not ready to die.
+
+STRANGER. Why not?
+
+LADY. I believe there are things I've not yet done. Perhaps I've not
+suffered enough.
+
+STRANGER. Is that the purpose of life?
+
+LADY. It seems to be. (Pause.) Now I want to ask one thing of you.
+
+STRANGER. Well?
+
+LADY. Don't blaspheme against heaven again, or compare yourself with the
+Creator, for then you remind me of Caesar at home.
+
+STRANGER (excitedly). Caesar! How can you say that...?
+
+LADY. I'm sorry if I've said anything I shouldn't. It was foolish of me
+to say 'at home.' Forgive me.
+
+STRANGER. You were thinking that Caesar and I resemble one another in
+our blasphemies?
+
+LADY. Of course not.
+
+STRANGER. Strange. I believe you when you say you don't mean to hurt me;
+yet you _do_ hurt me, as all the others do. Why?
+
+LADY. Because you're over-sensitive.
+
+STRANGER. You say that again! Do you think I've sensitive hidden places?
+
+LADY. No. I didn't mean that. And now the spirits of suspicion and
+discord are coming between us. Drive them away--at once.
+
+STRANGER. You mustn't say I blaspheme if I use the well-known words:
+See, we are like unto the gods.
+
+LADY. But if that's so, why can't you help yourself, or us?
+
+STRANGER. Can't I? Wait. As yet we've only seen the beginning.
+
+LADY. If the end is like it, heaven help us!
+
+STRANGER. I know what you fear; and I meant to hold back a pleasant
+surprise. But now I won't torment you longer. (He takes out a registered
+letter, not yet opened.) Look!
+
+LADY. The money's come!
+
+STRANGER. This morning. Who can destroy me now?
+
+LADY. Don't speak like that. You know who could.
+
+STRANGER. Who?
+
+LADY. He who punishes the arrogance of men.
+
+STRANGER. And their courage. That especially. This was my Achilles'
+heel; I bore with everything, except this fearful lack of money.
+
+LADY. May I ask how much they've sent?
+
+STRANGER. I don't know. I've not opened the letter. But I do know about
+how much to expect. I'd better look and see. (He opens the letter.)
+What? Only an account showing I'm owed nothing! There's something
+uncanny in this.
+
+LADY. I begin to think so, too.
+
+STRANGER. I know I'm damned. But I'm ready to hurl the curse back at him
+who so nobly cursed me.... (He throws up the letter.) With a curse of my
+own.
+
+LADY. Don't. You frighten me.
+
+STRANGER. Fear me, so long as you don't despise me! The challenge
+has been thrown down; now you shall see a conflict between two great
+opponents. (He opens his coat and waistcoat and looks threateningly
+aloft.) Strike me with your lightning if you dare! Frighten me with your
+thunder if you can!
+
+LADY. Don't speak like that.
+
+STRANGER. I will. Who dares break in on my dream of love? Who tears the
+cup from my lips; and the woman from my arms? Those who envy me, be
+they gods or devils! Little bourgeois gods who parry sword thrusts with
+pin-pricks from behind, who won't stand up to their man, but strike at
+him with unpaid bills. A backstairs way of discrediting a master before
+his servants. They never attack, never draw, merely soil and decry!
+Powers, lords and masters! All are the same!
+
+LADY. May heaven not punish you.
+
+STRANGER. Heaven's blue and silent. The ocean's silent and stupid.
+Listen, I can hear a poem--that's what I call it when an idea begins to
+germinate in my mind. First the rhythm; this time like the thunder
+of hooves and the jingle of spurs and accoutrements. But there's a
+fluttering too, like a sail flapping.... Banners!
+
+LADY. No. It's the wind. Can't you hear it in the trees?
+
+STRANGER. Quiet! They're riding over a bridge, a wooden bridge. There's
+no water in the brook, only pebbles. Wait! Now I can hear them, men and
+women, saying a rosary. The angels' greeting. Now I can see--on what
+you're working--a large kitchen, with white-washed walls, it has three
+small latticed windows, with flowers in them. In the left-hand corner a
+hearth, on the right a table with wooden seats. And above the table, in
+the corner, hangs a crucifix, with a lamp burning below. The ceiling's
+of blackened beams, and dried mistletoe hangs on the wall.
+
+LADY (frightened). Where can you see all that?
+
+STRANGER. On your work.
+
+LADY. Can you see people there?
+
+STRANGER. A very old man's sitting at the table, bent over a game bag,
+his hands clasped in prayer. A woman, so longer young, kneels on the
+floor. Now once more I hear the angels' greeting, as if far away. But
+those two in the kitchen are as motionless as figures of wax. A veil
+shrouds everything.... No, that was no poem! (Waking.) It was something
+else.
+
+LADY. It was reality! The kitchen at home, where you've never set foot.
+That old man was my grandfather, the forester, and the woman my mother!
+They were praying for us! It was six o'clock and the servants were
+saying a rosary outside, as they always do.
+
+STRANGER. You make me uneasy. Is this the beginning of second sight?
+Still, it was beautiful. A snow-white room, with flowers and mistletoe.
+But why should they pray for us?
+
+LADY. Why indeed! Have we done wrong?
+
+STRANGER. What is wrong?
+
+LADY. I've read there's no such thing. And yet... I long to see my
+mother; not my father, for he turned me out as he did her.
+
+STRANGER. Why should he have turned your mother out?
+
+LADY. Who can say? The children least of all. Let us go to my home. I
+long to.
+
+STRANGER. To the lion's den, the snake pit? One more or less makes no
+matter. I'll do it for you, but not like the Prodigal Son. No, you shall
+see that I can go through fire and water for your sake.
+
+LADY. How do you know...?
+
+STRANGER. I can guess.
+
+LADY. And can you guess that the path to where my parents live in the
+mountains is too steep for carts to use?
+
+STRANGER. It sounds extraordinary, but I read or dreamed something of
+the kind.
+
+LADY. You may have. But you'll see nothing that's not natural, though
+perhaps unusual, for men and women are a strange race. Are you ready to
+follow me?
+
+STRANGER. I'm ready--for anything!
+
+(The LADY kisses him on the forehead and makes the sign of the cross
+simply, timidly and without gestures.)
+
+LADY. Then come!
+
+
+SCENE V
+
+ON THE ROAD
+
+[A landscape with hills; a chapel, right, in the far distance on a rise.
+The road, flanked by fruit trees, winds across the background. Between
+the trees hills can be seen on which are crucifixes, chapels and
+memorials to the victims of accidents. In the foreground a sign post
+with the legend, 'Beggars not allowed in this parish.' The STRANGER and
+the LADY.]
+
+LADY. You're tired.
+
+STRANGER. I won't deny it. But it's humiliating to confess I'm hungry,
+because the money's gone. I never thought that would happen to me.
+
+LADY. It seems we must be prepared for anything, for I think we've
+fallen into disfavour. My shoe's split, and I could weep at our having
+to go like this, looking like beggars.
+
+STRANGER (pointing to the signpost). And beggars are not allowed in this
+parish. Why must that be stuck up in large letters here?
+
+LADY. It's been there as long as I can remember. Think of it, I've not
+been back since I was a child. And In those days I found the way short
+and the hills lower. The trees, too, were smaller, and I think I used to
+hear birds singing.
+
+STRANGER. Birds sang all the year for you then! Now they only sing in
+the spring--and autumn's not far off. But in those days you used to
+dance along this endless way of Calvaries, plucking flowers at the feet
+of the crosses. (A horn in the distance.) What's that?
+
+LADY. My grandfather coming back from shooting. A good old man. Let's go
+on and reach the house by dark.
+
+STRANGER. Is it still far?
+
+LADY. No. Only across the hills and over the river.
+
+STRANGER. Is that the river I hear?
+
+LADY. The river by which I was born and brought up. I was eighteen
+before I crossed over to this bank, to see what was in the blue of the
+distance.... Now I've seen.
+
+STRANGER. You're weeping!
+
+LADY. Poor old man! When I got into the boat, he said: My child, beyond
+lies the world. When you've seen enough, come back to your mountains,
+and they will hide you. Now I've seen enough. Enough!
+
+STRANGER. Let's go. It's beginning to grow dusk already. (They pick up
+their travelling capes and go on.)
+
+
+SCENE VI
+
+IN A RAVINE
+
+[Entrance to a ravine between steep cliffs covered with pines. In the
+foreground a wooden shanty, a broom by the door with a ramshorn hanging
+from its handle. Left, a smithy, a red glow showing through its open
+door. Right, a flourmill. In the background the road through the ravine
+with mill-stream and footbridge. The rock formations look like giant
+profiles.]
+
+[On the rise of the curtain the SMITH is at the smithy door and the
+MILLER'S WIFE at the door of the mill. When the LADY enters they sign
+to one another and disappear. The clothing of both the LADY and the
+STRANGER is torn and shabby.]
+
+STRANGER. They're hiding, from us, probably.
+
+LADY. I don't think so.
+
+STRANGER. What a strange place! Everything seems conspire to arouse
+disquiet. What's that broom there? And the horn with ointment? Probably
+because it's their usual place, but it makes me think of witchcraft.
+Why is the smithy black and the mill white? Because one's sooty and the
+other covered with flour; yet when I saw the blacksmith by the light of
+his forge and the white miller's wife, it reminded me of an old poem.
+Look at those giant faces.... There's your werewolf from whom I saved
+you. There he is, in profile, see!
+
+LADY. Yes, but it's only the rock.
+
+STRANGER. Only the rock, and yet it's he.
+
+LADY. Shall I tell you why we can see him?
+
+STRANGER. You mean--it's our conscience? Which pricks us when we're
+hungry and tired, and is silent when we've eaten and rested. It's
+horrible to arrive in rags. Our clothes are torn from climbing through
+the brambles. Someone's fighting against me.
+
+LADY. Why did you challenge him?
+
+STRANGER. Because I want to fight in the open; not battle with unpaid
+bills and empty purses. Anyhow: here's my last copper. The devil take
+it, if there is one! (He throws it into the brook.)
+
+LADY. Oh! We could have paid the ferry with it. Now we'll have to talk
+of money when we reach home.
+
+STRANGER. When can we talk of anything else?
+
+LADY. That's because you've despised it.
+
+STRANGER. As I've despised everything....
+
+LADY. But not everything's despicable. Some things are good.
+
+STRANGER. I've never seen them.
+
+LADY. Then follow me and you will.
+
+STRANGER. I'll follow you. (He hesitates when passing the smithy.)
+
+LADY (who has gone on ahead). Are you frightened of fire?
+
+STRANGER. No, but... (The horn is heard in the distance. He hurries past
+the smithy after the LADY.)
+
+
+SCENE VII
+
+IN A KITCHEN
+
+[A large kitchen with whitewashed walls. Three windows in the corner,
+right, so arranged that two are at the back and one in the right wall.
+The windows are small and deeply recessed; in the recesses there are
+flower pots. The ceiling is beamed and black with soot. In the left
+corner a large range with utensils of copper, iron and tin, and wooden
+vessels. In the corner, right, a crucifix with a lamp. Beneath it a
+four-cornered table with benches. Bunches of mistletoe on the walls.
+A door at the back. The Poorhouse can be seen outside, and through the
+window at the back the church. Near the fire bedding for dogs and a
+table with food for the poor.]
+
+[The OLD MAN is sitting at the table beneath the crucifix, with his
+hands clasped and a game bag before him. He is a strongly-built man of
+over eighty with white hair and along beard, dressed as a forester. The
+MOTHER is kneeling on the floor; she is grey-haired and nearly fifty;
+her dress is of black-and-white material. The voices of men, women and
+children can be clearly heard singing the last verse of the Angels'
+Greeting in chorus. 'Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us poor sinners,
+now and in the hour of death. Amen.']
+
+OLD MAN and MOTHER. Amen!
+
+MOTHER. Now I'll tell you, Father. They saw two vagabonds by the river.
+Their clothing was torn and dirty, for they'd been in the water. And
+when it came to paying the ferryman, they'd no money. Now they're drying
+their clothes in the ferryman's hut.
+
+OLD MAN. Let them stay there.
+
+MOTHER. Don't forbid a beggar your house. He might be an angel.
+
+OLD MAN. True. Let them come in.
+
+MOTHER. I'll put food for them on the table for the poor. Do you mind
+that?
+
+OLD MAN. No.
+
+MOTHER. Shall I give them cider?
+
+OLD MAN. Yes. And you can light the fire; they'll be cold.
+
+MOTHER. There's hardly time. But I will, if you wish it, Father.
+
+OLD MAN (looking out of the window). I think you'd better.
+
+MOTHER. What are you looking at?
+
+OLD MAN. The river; it's rising. And I'm asking myself, as I've done for
+seventy years--when I shall reach the sea.
+
+MOTHER. You're sad to-night, Father.
+
+OLD MAN.... et introibo ad altare Dei: ad Deum qui laetificat juventutem
+meam. Yes. I do feel sad.... Deus, Deus meus: quare tristis es anima
+mea, et quare conturbas me.
+
+MOTHER. Spera in Deo....
+
+(The Maid comes in, and signs to the MOTHER, who goes over to her. They
+whisper together and the maid goes out again.)
+
+OLD MAN. I heard what you said. O God! Must I bear that too!
+
+MOTHER. You needn't see them. You can go up to your room.
+
+OLD MAN. No. It shall be a penance. But why come like this: as
+vagabonds?
+
+MOTHER. Perhaps they lost their way and have had much to endure.
+
+OLD MAN. But to bring her husband! Is she lost to shame?
+
+MOTHER. You know Ingeborg's queer nature. She thinks all she does is
+fitting, if not right. Have you ever seen her ashamed, or suffer from a
+rebuff? I never have. Yet she's not without shame; on the contrary. And
+everything she does, however questionable, seems natural when she does
+it.
+
+OLD MAN. I've always wondered why one could never be angry with her. She
+doesn't feel herself responsible, or think an insult's directed at her.
+She seems impersonal; or rather two persons, one who does nothing but
+ill whilst the other gives absolution.... But this man! There's no one
+I've hated from afar so much as he. He sees evil everywhere; and of no
+one have I heard so much ill.
+
+MOTHER. That's true. But it may be Ingeborg's found some mission in this
+man's life; and he in hers. Perhaps they're meant to torture each other
+into atonement.
+
+OLD MAN. Perhaps. But I'll have nothing to do with at seems to me
+shameful. This man, under my roof! Yet I must accept it, like everything
+else. For I've deserved no less.
+
+MOTHER. Very well then. (The LADY and the STRANGER come in.) You're
+welcome.
+
+LADY. Thank you, Mother. (She looks over to the OLD MAN, who rises and
+looks at the STRANGER.) Peace, Grandfather. This is my husband. Give him
+your hand.
+
+OLD MAN. First let me look at him. (He goes to the STRANGER, puts his
+hands on his shoulders and looks him in the eyes.) What motives brought
+you here?
+
+STRANGER (simply). None, but to keep my wife company, at her earnest
+desire.
+
+OLD MAN. If that's true, you're welcome! I've a long and stormy life
+behind me, and at last I've found a certain peace in solitude. I beg you
+not to trouble it.
+
+STRANGER. I haven't come here to ask favours. I'll take nothing with me
+when I go.
+
+OLD MAN. That's not the answer I wanted; for we all need one another. I
+perhaps need you. No one can know, young man.
+
+LADY. Grandfather!
+
+OLD MAN. Yes, my child. I shan't wish you happiness, for there's no such
+thing; but I wish you strength to bear your destiny. Now I'll leave you
+for a little. Your mother will look after you. (He goes out.)
+
+LADY (to her mother). Did you lay that table for us, Mother?
+
+MOTHER. No, it's a mistake, as you can imagine.
+
+LADY. I know we look wretched. We were lost in the mountains, and if
+grandfather hadn't blown his horn...
+
+MOTHER. Your grandfather gave up hunting long ago.
+
+LADY. Then it was someone else.... Listen, Mother, I'll go up now to the
+'rose' room, and get it straight.
+
+MOTHER. Do. I'll come in a moment.
+
+(The LADY would like to say something, cannot, and goes out.)
+
+STRANGER (to the MOTHER). I've seen this room already.
+
+MOTHER. And I've seen you. I almost expected you.
+
+STRANGER. As one expects a disaster?
+
+MOTHER. Why say that?
+
+STRANGER. Because I sow devastation wherever I go. But as I must go
+somewhere, and cannot change my fate, I've lost my scruples.
+
+MOTHER. Then you're like my daughter--she, too, has no scruples and no
+conscience.
+
+STRANGER. What?
+
+MOTHER. You think I'm speaking ill of her? I couldn't do that of my own
+child. I only draw the comparison, because you know her.
+
+STRANGER. But I've noticed what you speak of in Eve.
+
+MOTHER. Why do you call Ingeborg Eve?
+
+STRANGER. By inventing a name for her I made her mine. I wanted to
+change her....
+
+MOTHER. And remake her in your image? (Laughing.) I've been told that
+country wizards carve images of their victims, and give them the names
+of those they'd bewitch. That was your plan: by means of this Eve, that
+you yourself had made, you intended to destroy the whole Sex!
+
+STRANGER (looking at the MOTHER in surprise). Those were damnable words!
+Forgive me. But you have religious beliefs: how can you think such
+things?
+
+MOTHER. The thoughts were yours.
+
+STRANGER. This begins to be interesting. I imagined an idyll in the
+forest, but this is a witches' cauldron.
+
+MOTHER. Not quite. You've forgotten, or never knew, that a man deserted
+me shamefully, and that you're a man who also shamefully deserted a
+woman.
+
+STRANGER. Frank words. Now I know where I am.
+
+MOTHER. I'd like to know where I am. Can you support two families?
+
+STRANGER. If all goes well.
+
+MOTHER. All doesn't--in this life. Money can be lost.
+
+STRANGER. But my talent's capital I can never lose.
+
+MOTHER. Really? The greatest of talents has been known to fail...
+gradually, or suddenly.
+
+STRANGER. I've never met anyone who could so damp one's courage.
+
+MOTHER. Pride should be damped. Your last book was much weaker.
+
+STRANGER. You read it?
+
+MOTHER. Yes. That's why I know all your secrets. So don't try to deceive
+me; it won't go well with you. (Pause.) A trifle, but one that does us
+no good here: why didn't you pay the ferryman?
+
+STRANGER. My heel of Achilles! I threw my last coin away. Can't we speak
+of something else than money in this house?
+
+MOTHER. Oh yes. But in this house we do our duty before we amuse
+ourselves. So you came on foot because you had no money?
+
+STRANGER (hesitating). Yes....
+
+MOTHER (smiling). Probably nothing to eat?
+
+STRANGER (hesitating). No....
+
+MOTHER. You're a fine fellow!
+
+STRANGER. In all my life I've never been in such a predicament.
+
+MOTHER. I can believe it. It's almost a pity. I could laugh at the
+figure you cut, if I didn't know it would make you weep, and others with
+you. (Pause.) But now you've had your will, hold fast to the woman who
+loves you; for if you leave her, you'll never smile again, and soon
+forget what happiness was.
+
+STRANGER. Is that a threat?
+
+MOTHER. A warning. Go now, and have your supper.
+
+STRANGER (pointing at the table for the poor). There?
+
+MOTHER. A poor joke; which might become reality. I've seen such things.
+
+STRANGER. Soon I'll believe anything can happen--this is the worst I've
+known.
+
+MOTHER. Worse yet may come. Wait!
+
+STRANGER (cast down). I'm prepared for anything.
+
+(Exit. A moment later the OLD MAN comes in.)
+
+OLD MAN. It was no angel after all.
+
+MOTHER. No good angel, certainly.
+
+OLD MAN. Really! (Pause.) You know how superstitious people here are. As
+I went down to the river I heard this: a farmer said his horse shied at
+'him'; another that the dogs got so fierce he'd had to tie them up. The
+ferryman swore his boat drew less water when 'he' got in. Superstition,
+but....
+
+MOTHER. But what?
+
+OLD MAN. It was only a magpie that flew in at her window, though it was
+closed. An illusion, perhaps.
+
+MOTHER. Perhaps. But why does one often see such things at the right
+time?
+
+OLD MAN. This man's presence is intolerable. When he looks at me I can't
+breathe.
+
+MOTHER. We must try to get rid of him. I'm certain he won't care to stay
+for long.
+
+OLD MAN. No. He won't grow old here. (Pause.) Listen, I got a letter
+to-night warning me about him. Among other things he's wanted by the
+courts.
+
+MOTHER. The courts?
+
+OLD MAN. Yes. Money matters. But, remember, the laws of hospitality
+protect beggars and enemies. Let him stay a few days, till he's got over
+this fearful journey. You can see how Providence has laid hands on him,
+how his soul is being ground in the mill ready for the sieve....
+
+MOTHER. I've felt a call to be a tool in the hands of Providence.
+
+OLD MAN. Don't confuse it with your wish for vengeance.
+
+MOTHER. I'll try not to, if I can.
+
+OLD MAN. Well, good-night.
+
+MOTHER. Do you think Ingeborg has read his last book?
+
+OLD MAN. It's unlikely. If she had she'd never have married a man who
+held such views.
+
+MOTHER. No, she's not read it. But now she must.
+
+
+SCENE VIII
+
+THE 'ROSE' ROOM
+
+[A simple, pleasantly furnished room in the forester's house. The walls
+are colour-washed in red; the curtains are of thin rose-coloured
+muslin. In the small latticed windows there are flowers. On right, a
+writing-table and bookshelf. Left, a sofa with rose-coloured curtains
+above in the form of a baldachino. Tables and chairs in Old German
+style. At the back, a door. Outside the country can be seen and the
+poorhouse, a dark, unpleasant building with black, uncurtained windows.
+Strong sunlight. The LADY is sitting on the sofa working.]
+
+MOTHER (standing with a book bound in rose-coloured cloth in her hand.)
+You won't read your husband's book?
+
+LADY. Not that one. I promised not to.
+
+MOTHER. You don't want to know the man to whom you've entrusted your
+fate?
+
+LADY. What would be the use? We're all right as we are.
+
+MOTHER. You make no great demands on life?
+
+LADY. Why should I? They'd never be fulfilled.
+
+MOTHER. I don't know whether you were born full of worldly wisdom, or
+foolishness.
+
+LADY. I don't know myself.
+
+MOTHER. If the sun shines and you've enough to eat, you're content.
+
+LADY. Yes. And when it goes in, I make the best of it.
+
+MOTHER. To change the subject: did you know your husband was being
+pressed by the courts on account of his debts?
+
+LADY. Yes. It happens to all writers.
+
+MOTHER. Is he mad, or a rascal?
+
+LADY. He's neither. He's no ordinary man; and it's a pity I can tell
+him nothing he doesn't know already. That's why we don't speak much; but
+he's glad to have me near him; and so am I to be near him.
+
+MOTHER. You've reached calm water already? Then it can't be far to the
+mill-race! But don't you think you'd have more to talk of, if you read
+what he has written?
+
+LADY. Perhaps. You can leave me the book, if you like.
+
+MOTHER. Take it and hide it. It'll be a surprise if you can quote
+something from his masterpiece.
+
+LADY (hiding the book in her bag). He's coming. If he's spoken of he
+seems to feel it from afar.
+
+MOTHER. If he could only feel how he makes others suffer--from afar.
+(Exit left.)
+
+(The LADY, alone for an instant, looks at the book and seems taken
+aback. She hides it in her bag.)
+
+STRANGER (entering). Your mother was here? You were speaking of me, of
+course. I can almost hear her ill-natured words. They cut the air and
+darken the sunshine. I can almost divine the impression of her body in
+the atmosphere of the room, and she leaves an odour like that of a dead
+snake.
+
+LADY. You're irritable to-day.
+
+STRANGER. Fearfully. Some fool has restrung my nerves out of tune, and
+plays on them with a horse-hair bow till he sets my teeth on edge....
+You don't know what that is! There's someone here who's stronger than
+I! Someone with a searchlight who shines it at me, wherever I may be. Do
+they use the black art in this place?
+
+LADY. Don't turn your back on the sunlight. Look at this lovely country;
+you'll feel calmer.
+
+STRANGER. I can't bear that poorhouse. It seems to have been built there
+solely for me. And a demented woman always stands there beckoning.
+
+LADY. Do you think they treat you badly here?
+
+STRANGER. In a way, no. They feed me with tit-bits, as if I were to be
+fattened for the butcher. But I can't eat because they grudge it me, and
+I feel the cold rays of their hate. To me it seems there's an icy wind
+everywhere, although it's still and hot. And I can hear that accursed
+mill....
+
+LADY. It's not grinding now.
+
+STRANGER. Yes. Grinding... grinding.
+
+LADY. Listen. There's no hate here. Pity, at most.
+
+STRANGER. Another thing.... Why do people I meet cross themselves?
+
+LADY. Only because they're used to praying in silence. (Pause.) You had
+an unwelcome letter this morning?
+
+STRANGER. Yes. The kind that makes your hair rise from the scalp, so
+that you want to curse at fate. I'm owed money, but can't get paid.
+Now the law's being set in motion against me by... the guardians of my
+children, because I've not paid alimony. No one has ever been in such
+a dishonourable position. I'm blameless. I could pay my way; I want to,
+but am prevented! Not my fault; yet my shame! It's not in nature. The
+devil's got a hand in it.
+
+LADY. Why?
+
+STRANGER. Why? Why is one born into this world an ignoramus, knowing
+nothing of the laws, customs and usage one inadvertently breaks? And
+for which one's punished. Why does one grow into a youth full of high
+ambition only to be driven into vile actions one abhors? Why, why?
+
+LADY (who has secretly been looking at the book: absent-mindedly). There
+must be a reason, even if we don't know it.
+
+STRANGER. If it's to humble one, it's a poor method. It only makes me
+more arrogant. Eve!
+
+LADY. Don't call me that.
+
+STRANGER (starting). Why not?
+
+LADY. I don't like it. You'd feel as I do, if I called you Caesar.
+
+STRANGER. Have we got back to that?
+
+LADY. To what?
+
+STRANGER. Did you mention that name for any reason?
+
+LADY. Caesar? No. But I'm beginning to find things out.
+
+STRANGER. Very well! Then I may as well fall honourably by my own
+hand. I am Caesar, the school-boy, for whose escapade your husband, the
+werewolf, was punished. Fate delights in making links for eternity.
+A noble sport! (The LADY, uncertain what to do, does not reply.) Say
+something!
+
+LADY. I can't.
+
+STRANGER. Say that he became a werewolf because, as a child, he lost
+his belief in the justice of heaven, owing to the fact that, though
+innocent, he was punished for the misdeeds of another. But if you say
+so, I shall reply that I suffered ten times as much from my conscience,
+and that the spiritual crisis that followed left me so strengthened that
+I've never done such a thing again.
+
+LADY. No. It's not that.
+
+STRANGER. Then what is it? Do you respect me no longer?
+
+LADY. It's not that either.
+
+STRANGER. Then it's to make me feel my shame before you! And it would be
+the end of everything between us.
+
+LADY. No!
+
+STRANGER. Eve.
+
+LADY. You rouse evil thoughts.
+
+STRANGER. You've broken your vow: you've been reading my book!
+
+LADY. I have.
+
+STRANGER. Then you've done wrong.
+
+LADY. My intention was good.
+
+STRANGER. The results even of your good intentions are terrible! You've
+blown me into the air with my own petard. Why must all our misdeeds come
+home to roost--both boyish escapades and really evil action? It's fair
+enough to reap evil where one has sown it. But I've never seen a good
+action get its reward. Never! It's a disgrace to Him who records all
+sins, however black or venial. No man could do it: men would forgive.
+The gods... never!
+
+LADY. Don't say that. Say rather _you_ forgive.
+
+STRANGER. I'm not small-minded. But what have I forgive you?
+
+LADY. More than I can say.
+
+STRANGER. Say it. Perhaps then we'll be quits.
+
+LADY. He and I used to read the curse of Deutertonomy over you... for
+you'd ruined his life.
+
+STRANGER. What curse is that?
+
+LADY. From the fifth book of Moses. The priests chant it in chorus when
+the fasts begin.
+
+STRANGER. I don't remember it. What does it matter--a curse more or
+less?
+
+LADY. In my family those whom we curse, are struck.
+
+STRANGER. I don't believe it. But I do believe that evil emanates from
+this house. May it recoil upon it! That is my prayer! Now, according to
+custom, it would be my duty to shoot myself; but I can't, so long as I
+have other duties. You see, I can't even die, and so I've lost my last
+treasure--what, with reason, I call my religion. I've heard that man can
+wrestle with God, and with success; but not even job could fight against
+Satan. (Pause.) Let's speak of you....
+
+LADY. Not now. Later perhaps. Since I've got to know your terrible
+book--I've only glanced at it, only read a few lines here and there--I
+feel as if I'd eaten of the tree of knowledge. My eyes are opened and I
+know what's good and what's evil, as I've never known before. And now
+I see how evil you are, and why I am to be called Eve. She was a mother
+and brought sin into the world: it was another mother who brought
+expiation. The curse of mankind was called down on us by the first,
+a blessing by the second. In me you shall not destroy my whole sex.
+Perhaps I have a different mission in your life. We shall see!
+
+STRANGER. So you've eaten of the tree of knowledge? Farewell.
+
+LADY. You're going away?
+
+STRANGER. I can't stay here.
+
+LADY. Don't go.
+
+STRANGER. I must. I must clear up everything. I'll take leave of the old
+people now. Then I'll come back. I shan't be long. (Exit.)
+
+LADY (remains motionless, then goes to the door and looks out. She sinks
+to her knees). No! He won't come back!
+
+Curtain.
+
+
+SCENE IX
+
+CONVENT
+
+[The refectory of an ancient convent, resembling a simple whitewashed
+Romanesque church. There are damp patches on the walls, looking like
+strange figures. A long table with bowls; at the end a desk for the
+Lector. At the back a door leading to the chapel. There are lighted
+candles on the tables. On the wall, left, a painting representing the
+Archangel Michael killing the Fiend.]
+
+[The STRANGER is sitting left, at a refectory table, dressed in the
+white clothing of a patient, with a bowl before him. At the table,
+right, are sitting: the brown-clad mourners of Scene I. The BEGGAR. A
+woman in mourning with two children. A woman who resembles the Lady, but
+who is not her and who is crocheting instead of eating. A Man very like
+the Doctor, another like the Madman. Others like the Father, Mother,
+Brother. Parents of the 'Prodigal Son,' etc. All are dressed in white,
+but over this are wearing costumes of coloured crepe. Their faces are
+waxen and corpse-like, their whole appearance queer, their gestures
+strange. On the rise of the curtain all are finishing a Paternoster,
+except the STRANGER.]
+
+STRANGER (rising and going to the ABBESS, who is standing at a serving
+table). Mother. May I speak to you?
+
+ABBESS (in a black-and-white Augustinian habit). Yes, my son. (They come
+forward.)
+
+STRANGER. First, where am I?
+
+ABBESS. In a convent called 'St. Saviour.' You were found on the hills
+above the ravine, with a cross you'd broken from a calvary and with
+which you were threatening someone in the clouds. Indeed, you thought
+you could see him. You were feverish and had lost your foothold. You
+were picked up, unhurt, beneath a cliff, but in delirium. You were
+brought to the hospital and put to bed. Since then you've spoken wildly,
+and complained of a pain in your hip, but no injury could be found.
+
+STRANGER. What did I speak of?
+
+ABBESS. You had the usual feverish dreams. You reproached yourself with
+all kinds of things, and thought you could see your victims, as you
+called them.
+
+STRANGER. And then?
+
+ABBESS. Your thoughts often turned to money matters. You wanted to pay
+for yourself in the hospital. I tried to calm you by telling you no
+payment would be asked: all was done out of charity....
+
+STRANGER. I want no charity.
+
+ABBESS. It's more blessed to give than to receive; yet a noble nature
+can accept and be thankful.
+
+STRANGER. I want no charity.
+
+ABBESS. Hm!
+
+STRANGER. Tell me, why will none of those people sit at the same table
+with me? They're getting up... going....
+
+ABBESS. They seem to fear you.
+
+STRANGER. Why?
+
+ABBESS. You look so....
+
+STRANGER. I? But what of them? Are they real?
+
+ABBESS. If you mean true, they've a terrible reality. It may be they
+look strange to you, because you're still feverish. Or there may be
+another reason.
+
+STRANGER. I seem to know them, all of them! I see them as if in a
+mirror: they only make as if they were eating.... Is this some drama
+they're performing? Those look like my parents, rather like... (Pause.)
+Hitherto I've feared nothing, because life was useless to me.... Now I
+begin to be afraid.
+
+ABBESS. If you don't believe them real, I'll ask the Confessor to
+introduce you. (She signs to the CONFESSOR who approaches.)
+
+CONFESSOR (dressed in a black-and-white habit of Dominicans). Sister!
+
+ABBESS. Tell the patient who are at that table.
+
+CONFESSOR. That's soon done.
+
+STRANGER. Permit a question first. Haven't we met already?
+
+CONFESSOR. Yes. I sat by your bedside, when you were delirious. At your
+desire, I heard your confession.
+
+STRANGER. What? My confession?
+
+CONFESSOR. Yes. But I couldn't give you absolution; because it seemed
+that what you said was spoken in fever.
+
+STRANGER. Why?
+
+CONFESSOR. There was hardly a sin or vice you didn't take upon
+yourself--things so hateful you'd have had to undergo strict penitence
+before demanding absolution. Now you're yourself again I can ask whether
+there are grounds for your self-accusations.
+
+(The ABBESS leaves them.)
+
+STRANGER. Have you the right?
+
+CONFESSOR. No. In truth, no right. (Pause.) But you want to know in
+whose company you are! The very best. There, for instance, is a madman,
+Caesar, who lost his wits through reading the works of a certain writer
+whose notoriety is greater than his fame. There's a beggar, who won't
+admit he's a beggar, because he's learnt Latin and is free. There, a
+doctor, called the werewolf, whose history's well known. There, two
+parents, who grieved themselves to death over a son who raised his
+hand against theirs. He must be responsible for refusing to follow his
+father's bier and desecrating his mother's grave. There's his unhappy
+sister, whom he drove out into the snow, as he himself recounts, with
+the best intentions. Over there's a woman who's been abandoned with her
+two children, and there's another doing crochet work.... All are old
+acquaintances. Go and greet them!
+
+(The STRANGER has turned his back on the company: he now goes to the
+table, left, and sits down with his back to them. He raises his head,
+sees the picture of the Archangel Michael and lowers his eyes. The
+CONFESSOR stands behind the STRANGER. A Catholic Requiem can be heard
+from the chapel. The CONFESSOR speaks to the STRANGER in a low voice
+while the music goes on.)
+
+          Quantus tremor est futurus
+          Quando judex est venturus
+          Cuncta stricte discussurus,
+          Tuba mirum spargens sonum
+          Per sepulchra regionum
+          Coget omnes ante thronum.
+          Mors stupebit et natura,
+          Cum resurget creatura
+          Judicanti responsura
+          Liber scriptus proferetur
+          In quo totum continetur
+          Unde mundus judicetur.
+          Judex ergo cum sedebit
+          Quidquid latet apparebit
+          Nil inultum remanebit.
+
+(He goes to the desk by the table, right, and opens his breviary. The
+music ceases.)
+
+We will continue the reading.... 'But if thou wilt not hearken unto the
+voice of the Lord thy God all these curses shall overtake thee. Cursed
+shalt thou be in the city, and cursed shalt thou be in the field; cursed
+shalt thou be when thou comest in, and cursed when thou goest out.'
+
+OMNES (in a low voice). Cursed!
+
+CONFESSOR. 'The Lord shall send upon thee vexation and rebuke in all
+that thou settest thy hand for to do, until thou be destroyed, and until
+thou perish quickly, because of the wickedness of thy doings, whereby
+thou hast forsaken me.'
+
+OMNES (loudly). Cursed!
+
+CONFESSOR. 'The Lord shall cause thee to be smitten before thine
+enemies: thou shalt go out one way against them, and flee seven ways
+before them, and shalt be moved into all the kingdoms of the earth. And
+thy carcase shall be meat unto all fowls of the air, and unto the beasts
+of the earth, and no man shall fray them away. The Lord will smite
+thee with the botch of Egypt, the scab and the itch, with madness and
+blindness, that thou shalt grope at noonday, as the blind gropeth in
+darkness. Thou shalt not prosper in thy ways, and thou shalt be only
+oppressed and spoiled evermore, and no man shall save thee. Thou shalt
+betroth a wife, and another man shall lie with her: thou shalt build an
+house, and thou shalt not dwell therein: thou shalt plant a vineyard,
+and shalt not gather the grapes thereof. Thy sons and thy daughters
+shall be given unto another people, and thine eyes fail with longing for
+them; and there shall be no might in thy hand. And thou shalt find no
+ease on earth, neither shall the sole of thy foot have rest: the Lord
+shall give thee a trembling heart, and failing of eyes and sorrow of
+mind. And thy life shall hang in doubt before thee; and thou shalt fear
+day and night. In the morning thou shalt say, would God it were even!
+And at even thou shalt say, would God it were morning! And because thou
+servedst not the Lord thy God when thou livedst in security, thou shalt
+serve him in hunger, in thirst, in nakedness and in want; and He shall
+put a yoke of iron upon thy neck, until He have destroyed thee!'
+
+OMNES. Amen!
+
+(The CONFESSOR has read the above loudly and rapidly, without turning to
+the STRANGER. All those present, except the LADY, who is working, have
+been listening and have joined in the curse, though they have feigned
+not to notice the STRANGER, who has remained with his back to them,
+sunk in himself. The STRANGER now rises as if to go. The CONFESSOR goes
+towards him.)
+
+STRANGER. What was that?
+
+CONFESSOR. The Book of Deuteronomy.
+
+STRANGER. Of course. But I seem to remember blessings in it, too.
+
+CONFESSOR. Yes, for those who keep His commandments.
+
+STRANGER. Hm.... I can't deny that, for a moment, I felt shaken. Are
+they temptations to be resisted, or warnings to be obeyed? (Pause.)
+Anyhow I'm certain now that I have fever. I must go to a real doctor.
+
+CONFESSOR. See he _is_ the right one!
+
+STRANGER. Of course!
+
+CONFESSOR. Who can heal 'delightful scruples of conscience'!
+
+ABBESS. Should you need charity again, you now know where to find it.
+
+STRANGER. No. I do not.
+
+ABBESS (in a low voice). Then I'll tell you. In a 'rose' room, near a
+certain running stream.
+
+STRANGER. That's the truth! In a 'rose' room. Wait; how long have I been
+here?
+
+ABBESS. Three months to-day.
+
+STRANGER. Three months! Have I been sleeping? Or where have I been?
+(Looking out of the window.) It's autumn. The trees are bare; the clouds
+look cold. Now it's coming back to me! Can you hear a mill grinding? The
+sound of a horn? The rushing of a river? A wood whispering--and a
+woman weeping? You're right. Only there can charity be found. Farewell.
+(Exit.)
+
+CONFESSOR (to the Abbess). The fool! The fool!
+
+Curtain.
+
+
+SCENE X
+
+THE 'ROSE' ROOM
+
+[The curtains have been taken down. The windows gape into the darkness
+outside. The furniture has been covered in brown loose-covers and pulled
+forward. The flowers have been taken away, and the large black stove
+lit. The MOTHER is standing ironing white curtains by the light of a
+single lamp. There is a knock at the door.]
+
+MOTHER. Come in!
+
+STRANGER (doing so). Where's my wife?
+
+MOTHER. Where do you come from?
+
+STRANGER. I think, from hell. But where's my wife?
+
+MOTHER. Which of them do you mean?
+
+STRANGER. The question's justified. Everything is, except to me.
+
+MOTHER. There may be a reason: I'm glad you've seen it. Where have you
+been?
+
+STRANGER. Whether in a poorhouse, a madhouse or a hospital, I don't
+know. I should like to think it all a feverish dream. I've been ill: I
+lost my memory and can't believe three months have passed. But where's
+my wife?
+
+MOTHER. I ought to ask you that. When you deserted her, she went
+away--to look for you. Whether she's tired of looking, I can't say.
+
+STRANGER. Something's amiss here. Where's the Old Man?
+
+MOTHER. Where there's no more suffering.
+
+STRANGER. You mean he's dead?
+
+MOTHER. Yes. He's dead.
+
+STRANGER. You say it as if you wanted to add him to my victims.
+
+MOTHER. Perhaps I'm right to do so.
+
+STRANGER. He didn't look sensitive: he was capable of steady hatred.
+
+MOTHER. No. He hated only what was evil, in himself and others.
+
+STRANGER. So I'm wrong there, too! (Pause.)
+
+MOTHER. What do you want here?
+
+STRANGER. Charity!
+
+MOTHER. At last! How was it at the hospital! Sit down and tell me.
+
+STRANGER (sitting). I don't want to think of it. I don't even know if it
+_was_ a hospital.
+
+MOTHER. Strange. Tell me what happened after you left here.
+
+STRANGER. I fell in the mountains, hurt my hip and lost consciousness.
+If you'll speak kindly to me you shall know more.
+
+MOTHER. I will.
+
+STRANGER. When I woke I was in a red iron bedstead. Three men were
+pulling a cord that ran through two blocks. Every time they pulled I
+felt I grew two feet taller....
+
+MOTHER. They were putting in your hip.
+
+STRANGER. I hadn't thought of that. Then... I lay watching my past life
+unroll before me like a panorama, through childhood, youth.... And
+when the roll was finished it began again. All the time I heard a mill
+grinding.... I can hear it still. Yes, here too!
+
+MOTHER. Those were not pleasant visions.
+
+STRANGER. No. At last I came to the conclusion... that I was a
+thoroughgoing scamp.
+
+MOTHER. Why call yourself that?
+
+STRANGER. I know you'd like to hear me say I was a scoundrel. But that
+would seem to me like boasting. It would imply a certainty about myself
+to which I've not attained.
+
+MOTHER. You're still in doubt?
+
+STRANGER. Of a great deal. But I've begun to have an inkling.
+
+MOTHER. That....?
+
+STRANGER. That there are forces which, till now, I've not believed in.
+
+MOTHER. You've come to see that neither you, nor any other man, directs
+your destiny?
+
+STRANGER. I have.
+
+MOTHER. Then you've already gone part of the way.
+
+STRANGER. But I myself have changed. I'm ruined; for I've lost all
+aptitude for writing. And I can't sleep at night.
+
+MOTHER. Indeed!
+
+STRANGER. What are called nightmares stop me. Last and worst: I daren't
+die; for I'm no longer sure my miseries will end, with _my_ end.
+
+MOTHER. Oh!
+
+STRANGER. Even worse: I've grown so to loathe myself that I'd escape
+from myself, if I knew how. If I were a Christian, I couldn't obey the
+first commandment, to love my neighbour as myself, for I should have
+to hate him as I hate myself. It's true that I'm a scamp. I've always
+suspected it; and because I never wanted life to fool me, I've observed
+'others' carefully. When I saw they were no better than I, I resented
+their trying to browbeat me.
+
+MOTHER. You've been wrong to think it a matter between you and others.
+You have to deal with Him.
+
+STRANGER. With whom?
+
+MOTHER. The Invisible One, who guides your destiny.
+
+STRANGER. Would I could see Him.
+
+MOTHER. It would be your death.
+
+STRANGER. Oh no!
+
+MOTHER. Where do you get this devilish spirit of rebellion? If you won't
+bow your neck like the rest, you must be broken like a reed.
+
+STRANGER. I don't know where this fearful stubbornness comes from. It's
+true an unpaid bill can make me tremble; but if I were to climb Mount
+Sinai and face the Eternal One, I should not cover my face.
+
+MOTHER. Jesus and Mary! Don't say such things. You'll make me think
+you're a child of the Devil.
+
+STRANGER. Here that seems the general opinion. But I've heard that those
+who serve the Evil One get honours, goods and gold as their reward. Gold
+especially. Do you think me suspect?
+
+MOTHER. You'll bring a curse on my house.
+
+STRANGER. Then I'll leave it.
+
+MOTHER. And go into the night. Where?
+
+STRANGER. To seek the only one that I don't hate.
+
+MOTHER. Are you sure she'll receive you?
+
+STRANGER. Quite sure.
+
+MOTHER. I'm not.
+
+STRANGER. I am.
+
+MOTHER. Then I must raise your doubts.
+
+STRANGER. You can't.
+
+MOTHER. Yes, I can.
+
+STRANGER. It's a lie.
+
+MOTHER. We're no longer speaking kindly. We must stop. Can you sleep in
+the attic?
+
+STRANGER. I can't sleep anywhere.
+
+MOTHER. Still, I'll say good-night to you, whether you think I mean it,
+or not.
+
+STRANGER. You're sure there are no rats in the attic? I don't fear
+ghosts, but rats aren't pleasant.
+
+MOTHER. I'm glad you don't fear ghosts, for no one's slept a whole night
+there... whatever the cause may be.
+
+STRANGER (after a moment's hesitation). Never have I met a more wicked
+woman than you. The reason is: you have religion.
+
+MOTHER. Good-night!
+
+Curtain.
+
+
+SCENE XI
+
+IN THE KITCHEN
+
+[It is dark, but the moon outside throws moving shadows of the window
+lattices on to the floor, as the storm clouds race by. In the corner,
+right, under the crucifix, where the OLD MAN used to sit, a hunting
+horn, a gun and a game bag hang on the wall. On the table a stuffed bird
+of prey. As the windows are open the curtains are flapping in the wind;
+and kitchen cloths, aprons and towels, that are hung on a line by the
+hearth, move in the wind, whose sighing can be heard. In the distance
+the noise of a waterfall. There is an occasional tapping on the wooden
+floor.]
+
+STRANGER (entering, half-dressed, a lamp in his hand). Is anyone here?
+No. (He comes forward with a light, which makes the play of shadow less
+marked.) What's moving on the floor? Is anyone here? (He goes to the
+table, sees the stuffed bird and stands riveted to the spot.) God!
+
+MOTHER (coming in with a lamp). Still up?
+
+STRANGER. I couldn't sleep.
+
+MOTHER (gently). Why not, my son?
+
+STRANGER. I heard someone above me.
+
+MOTHER. Impossible. There's nothing over the attic.
+
+STRANGER. That's why I was uneasy! What's moving on the floor like
+snakes?
+
+MOTHER. Moonbeams.
+
+STRANGER. Yes. Moonbeams. That's a stuffed bird. And those are cloths.
+Everything's natural; that's what makes me uneasy. Who was knocking
+during the night? Was anyone locked out?
+
+MOTHER. It was a horse in the stable.
+
+STRANGER. Why should it make that noise?
+
+MOTHER. Some animals have nightmares.
+
+STRANGER. What are nightmares?
+
+MOTHER. Who knows?
+
+STRANGER. May I sit down?
+
+MOTHER. Do. I want to speak seriously to you. I was malicious last
+night; you must forgive me. It's because of that I need religion; just
+as I need the penitential garment and the stone floor. To spare you,
+I'll tell you what nightmares are to me. My bad conscience! Whether
+I punish myself or another punishes me, I don't know. I don't permit
+myself to ask. (Pause.) Now tell me what you saw in your room.
+
+STRANGER. I hardly know. Nothing. When I went in I felt as if someone
+were there. Then I went to bed. But someone started pacing up and down
+above me with a heavy tread. Do you believe in ghosts?
+
+MOTHER. My religion won't allow me to. But I believe our sense of right
+and wrong will find a way to punish us.
+
+STRANGER. Soon I felt cold air on my breast--it reached my heart and
+forced me to get up.
+
+MOTHER. And then?
+
+STRANGER. To stand and watch the whole panorama of my life unroll before
+me. I saw everything--that was the worst of it.
+
+MOTHER. I know. I've been through it. There's no name for the malady,
+and only one cure.
+
+STRANGER. What is it?
+
+MOTHER. You know what children do when they've done wrong?
+
+STRANGER. What?
+
+MOTHER. First ask forgiveness!
+
+STRANGER. And then?
+
+MOTHER. Try to make amends.
+
+STRANGER. Isn't it enough to suffer according to one's deserts?
+
+MOTHER. No. That's revenge.
+
+STRANGER. Then what must one do?
+
+MOTHER. Can you mend a life you've destroyed? Undo a bad action?
+
+STRANGER. Truly, no. But I was forced into it! Forced to take, for no
+one gave me the right. Accursed be He who forced me! (Putting his hand
+to his heart.) Ah! He's here, in this room. He's plucking out my heart!
+
+MOTHER. Then bow your head.
+
+STRANGER. I cannot.
+
+MOTHER. Down on your knees.
+
+STRANGER. I will not.
+
+MOTHER. Christ have mercy! Lord have mercy on you! On your knees before
+Him who was crucified! Only He can wipe out what's been done.
+
+STRANGER. Not before Him! If I were forced, I'll recant... afterwards.
+
+MOTHER. On your knees, my son!
+
+STRANGER. I cannot bow the knee. I cannot. Help me, God Eternal.
+(Pause.)
+
+MOTHER (after a hasty prayer). Do you feel better?
+
+STRANGER. Yes.... It was not death. It was annihilation!
+
+MOTHER. The annihilation of the Divine. We call it spiritual death.
+
+STRANGER. I see. (Without irony.) I begin to understand.
+
+MOTHER. My son! You have left Jerusalem and are on the road to Damascus.
+Go back the same way you came. Erect a cross at every station, and stay
+at the seventh. For you, there are not fourteen, as for Him.
+
+STRANGER. You speak in riddles.
+
+MOTHER. Then go your way. Search out those to whom you have something to
+say. First, your wife.
+
+STRANGER. Where is she?
+
+MOTHER. You must find her. On your way don't forget to call on him you
+named the werewolf.
+
+STRANGER. Never!
+
+MOTHER. You'd have said that, as you came here. As you know, I expected
+your coming.
+
+STRANGER. Why?
+
+MOTHER. For no one reason.
+
+STRANGER. Just as I saw this kitchen... in a trance....
+
+MOTHER. That's why I now regret trying to separate you and Ingeborg. Go
+and search for her. If you find her, well and good. If not, perhaps that
+too has been ordained. (Pause.) Dawn's now at hand. Morning has come and
+the night has passed.
+
+STRANGER. Such a night!
+
+MOTHER. You'll remember it.
+
+STRANGER. Not all of it... yet something.
+
+MOTHER (looking out of the window, as if to herself). Lovely morning
+star--how far from heaven have you fallen!
+
+STRANGER (after a pause). Have you noticed that, before the sun rises, a
+feeling of awe takes hold of mankind? Are we children of darkness, that
+we tremble before the light?
+
+MOTHER. Will you never be tired of questioning?
+
+STRANGER. Never. Because I yearn for light.
+
+MOTHER. Go then, and search. And peace be with you!
+
+
+SCENE XII
+
+IN THE RAVINE
+
+[The same landscape as before, but in autumn colouring. The trees have
+lost their leaves. Work is going on at the smithy and the mill. The
+SMITH stands, left, in the doorway; the MILLER'S wife, right. The
+LADY dressed in a jacket with a hat of patent leather; but she is in
+mourning. The STRANGER is in Bavarian alpine kit: short jacket of
+rough material, knickers, heavy boots and alpenstock, green hat with
+heath-cock feather. Over this he wears a brown cloak with a cape and
+hood.]
+
+LADY (entering tired and dispirited). Did a man pass here in a long
+cloak, with a green hat? (The SMITH and the MILLER'S WIFE shake their
+heads.) Can I lodge here for the night? (The SMITH and the MILLER'S WIFE
+again shake their heads: to the SMITH.) May I stand in the doorway for
+a moment and warm myself? (The SMITH pushes her away.) God reward you
+according to your deserts!
+
+(Exit. She reappears on the footbridge, and exit once more.)
+
+STRANGER (entering). Has a lady in a coat and skirt crossed the brook?
+(The SMITH and MILLER'S WIFE shake their heads.) Will you give me
+some bread? I'll pay for it. (The MILLER'S WIFE refuses the money.) No
+charity!
+
+ECHO (imitating his voice from afar). Charity.
+
+(The SMITH and the MILLER'S WIFE laugh so loudly and so long that, at
+length, ECHO replies.)
+
+STRANGER. Good! An eye for an eye--a tooth for a tooth. It helps to
+lighten my conscience! (He enters the ravine.)
+
+
+SCENE XIII
+
+ON THE ROAD
+
+[The same landscape as before; but autumn. The BEGGAR is sitting outside
+a chapel with a lime twig and a bird cage, in which is a starling. The
+STRANGER enters wearing the same clothes as in the preceding scene.]
+
+STRANGER. Beggar! Have you seen a lady in a coat and skirt pass this
+way?
+
+BEGGAR. I've seen five hundred. But, seriously, I must ask you not to
+call me beggar now. I've found work!
+
+STRANGER. Oh! So it's you!
+
+BEGGAR. Ille ego qui quondam....
+
+STRANGER. What kind of work have you?
+
+BEGGAR. I've a starling, that whistles and sings.
+
+STRANGER. You mean, _he_ does the work?
+
+BEGGAR. Yes. I'm my own master now.
+
+STRANGER. Do you catch birds?
+
+BEGGAR. No. The lime twig's merely for appearances.
+
+STRANGER. So you still cling to such things?
+
+BEGGAR. What else should I cling to? What's within us is nothing but
+pure... nonsense.
+
+STRANGER. Is that the final conclusion of your whole philosophy of life?
+
+BEGGAR. My complete metaphysic. The view mad be rather out of date,
+but...
+
+STRANGER. Can you be serious for a moment? Tell me about your past.
+
+BEGGAR. Why unravel that old skein? Twist it up rather. Twist it up. Do
+you think I'm always so merry? Only when I meet you: you're so damnably
+funny!
+
+STRANGER. How can you laugh, with a wrecked life behind you?
+
+BEGGAR. Now he's getting personal! (Pause.) If you can't laugh at
+adversity, not even that of others, you're begging of life itself.
+Listen! If you follow this wheel track you'll come, at last, to the
+ocean, and there the path will stop. If you sit down there and rest,
+you'll begin to take another view of things. Here there are so many
+accidents, religious themes, disagreeable memories that hinder thought
+as it flies to the 'rose' room. Only follow the track! If it's
+muddy here and there, spread your wings and flutter. And talking of
+fluttering: I once heard a bird that sang of Polycrates and his ring;
+how he'd become possessed of all the marvels of this world, but didn't
+know what to do with them. So he sent tidings east and west of the
+great Nothing he'd helped to fashion from the empty universe. I wouldn't
+assert you were the man, unless I believed it so firmly I could take my
+oath on it. Once I asked you whether you knew who I was, and you said
+it didn't interest you. In return I offered you my friendship, but you
+refused it rudely. However, I'm not sensitive or resentful, so I'll give
+you good advice on your way. Follow the track!
+
+STRANGER (avoiding him). You don't deceive me.
+
+BEGGAR. You believe nothing but evil. That's why you get nothing but
+evil. Try to believe what is good. Try!
+
+STRANGER. I will. But if I'm deceived, I've the right to....
+
+BEGGAR. You've no right to do that.
+
+STRANGER (as if to himself ). Who is it reads my secret thoughts, turns
+my soul inside out, and pursues me? Why do you persecute me?
+
+BEGGAR. Saul! Saul! Why persecutest thou Me?
+
+(The STRANGER goes out with a gesture of horror. The chord of the
+funeral march is heard again. The LADY enters.)
+
+LADY. Have you seen a man pass this way in a long cloak, with a green
+hat?
+
+BEGGAR. There was a poor devil here, who hobbled off....
+
+LADY. The man I'm searching for's not lame.
+
+BEGGAR. Nor was he. It seems he'd hurt his hip; and that made him walk
+unsteadily. I mustn't be malicious. Look here in the mud.
+
+LADY. Where?
+
+BEGGAR (pointing). There! At that rut. In it you can see the impression
+of a boot, firmly planted....
+
+LADY (looking at the impression). It's he! His heavy tread.... Can I
+catch him up?
+
+BEGGAR. Follow the track!
+
+LADY (taking his hand and kissing it). Thank you, my friend. (Exit.)
+
+
+SCENE XIV
+
+BY THE SEA
+
+[The same landscape as before, but now winter. The sea is dark blue,
+and on the horizon great clouds take on the shapes of huge heads. In the
+distance three bare masts of a wrecked ship, that look like three white
+crosses. The table and seat are still under the tree, but the chairs
+have been removed. There is snow on the ground. From time to time a
+bell-buoy can be heard. The STRANGER comes in from the left, stops a
+moment and looks out to sea, then goes out, right, behind the cottage.
+The LADY enters, left, and appears to be following the STRANGER'S
+footsteps on the snow; she exits in front of the cottage, right. The
+STRANGER re-enters, right, notices the footprints of the LADY, pauses,
+and looks back, right. The LADY re-enters, throws herself into his arms,
+but recoils.]
+
+LADY. You thrust me away.
+
+STRANGER. No. It seems there's someone between us.
+
+LADY. Indeed there is! (Pause.) What a meeting!
+
+STRANGER. Yes. It's winter; as you see.
+
+LADY. I can feel the cold coming from you.
+
+STRANGER. I got frozen in the mountains.
+
+LADY. Do you think the spring will ever come?
+
+STRANGER. Not to us! We've been driven from the garden, and must wander
+over stones and thistles. And when our hands and feet are bruised, we
+feel we must rub salt in the wounds of the... other one. And then the
+mill starts grinding. It'll never stop; for there's always water.
+
+LADY. No doubt what you say is true.
+
+STRANGER. But I'll not yield to the inevitable. Rather than that we
+should lacerate each other I'll gash myself as a sacrifice to the gods.
+I'll take the blame upon me; declare it was I who taught you to break
+your chains. I who tempted you! Then you can lay all the blame on me:
+for what I did, and what happened after.
+
+LADY. You couldn't bear it.
+
+STRANGER. Yes, I could. There are moments when I feel as if I bore all
+the sin and sorrow, all the filth and shame of the whole world. There
+are moments when I believe we are condemned to sin and do bad actions
+as a punishment! (Pause.) Not long ago I lay sick of a fever, and amidst
+all that happened to me, I dreamed that I saw a crucifix without the
+Crucified. And when I asked the Dominican--for there was a Dominican
+among many others--what it could mean, he said: 'You will not allow Him
+to suffer for you. Suffer then yourself!' That's why mankind have grown
+so conscious of their own sufferings.
+
+LADY. And why consciences grow so heavy, if there's no one to help to
+bear the burden.
+
+STRANGER. Have you also come to think so?
+
+LADY. Not yet. But I'm on the way.
+
+STRANGER. Put your hand in mine. From here let us go on together.
+
+LADY. Where?
+
+STRANGER. Back! The same way we came. Are you weary?
+
+LADY. Now no longer.
+
+STRANGER. Several times I sank exhausted. But I met a strange
+beggar--perhaps you remember him: he was thought to be like me. And
+he begged me, as an experiment, to believe his good intentions. I did
+believe--as an experiment--and....
+
+LADY. Well?
+
+STRANGER. It went well with me. And since then I feel I've strength to
+go on my way....
+
+LADY. Let's go together!
+
+STRANGER (turning to the sea). Yes. It's growing dark and the clouds are
+gathering.
+
+LADY. Don't look at the clouds.
+
+STRANGER. And below there? What's that?
+
+LADY. Only a wreck.
+
+STRANGER (whispering). Three crosses! What new Golgotha awaits us?
+
+LADY. They're white ones. That means good fortune.
+
+STRANGER. Can good fortune ever come to us?
+
+LADY. Yes. But not yet.
+
+STRANGER. Let's go!
+
+
+SCENE XV
+
+ROOM IN AN HOTEL
+
+[The room is as before. The LADY is sitting by the side of the STRANGER,
+crocheting.]
+
+LADY. Do say something.
+
+STRANGER. I've nothing but unpleasant things to say, since we came here.
+
+LADY. Why were you so anxious to have this terrible room?
+
+STRANGER. I don't know. It was the last one I wanted. I began to long
+for it, in order to suffer.
+
+LADY. And are you suffering?
+
+STRANGER. Yes. I can no longer listen to singing, or look at anything
+beautiful. During the day I hear the mill and see that great panorama
+now expanding to embrace the universe.... And, at night...
+
+LADY. Why did you cry out in your sleep?
+
+STRANGER. I was dreaming.
+
+LADY. A real dream?
+
+STRANGER. Terribly real. But you see what a curse is on me. I feel I
+must describe it, and to no one else but you. Yet I daren't tell you,
+for it would be rattling at the door of the locked chamber....
+
+LADY. The past!
+
+STRANGER. Yes.
+
+LADY (simply). It's foolish to have any such secret place.
+
+STRANGER. Yes. (Pause.)
+
+LADY. And now tell me!
+
+STRANGER. I'm afraid I must. I dreamed your first husband was married to
+my first wife.
+
+LADY. Only you could have thought of such a thing!
+
+STRANGER. I wish it were so. (Pause.) I saw how he ill-treated my
+children. (Getting up.) I put my hands to his throat.... I can't go
+on.... But I shall never rest till I know the truth. And to know it, I
+must go to him in his own house.
+
+LADY. It's come to that?
+
+STRANGER. It's been coming for some time. Nothing can now prevent it. I
+must see him.
+
+LADY. But if he won't receive you?
+
+STRANGER. I'll go as a patient, and tell him of my sickness....
+
+LADY (frightened). Don't do that!
+
+STRANGER. You think he might be tempted to shut me up as mad! I must
+risk it. I want to risk everything--life, freedom, welfare. I need an
+emotional shock, strong enough to bring myself into the light of day. I
+demand this torture, that my punishment may be in just proportion to my
+sin, so that I shall not be forced to drag myself along under the burden
+of my guilt. So down into the snake pit, as soon as may be!
+
+LADY. Could I come with you?
+
+STRANGER. There's no need. My sufferings will be enough for both.
+
+LADY. Then I'll call you my deliverer. And the curse I once laid on you
+will turn into a blessing. Look! It's spring once more.
+
+STRANGER. So I see. The Christmas rose there has begun to wither.
+
+LADY. But don't you feel spring in the air?
+
+STRANGER. The cold within isn't so great.
+
+LADY. Perhaps the werewolf will heal you altogether.
+
+STRANGER. We shall see. Perhaps he's not so dangerous, after all.
+
+LADY. He's not so cruel as you.
+
+STRANGER. But my dream....
+
+LADY. Let's hope it was only a dream. Now my wool's finished; and with
+it, my useless work. It's grown soiled in the making.
+
+STRANGER. It can be washed.
+
+LADY. Or dyed.
+
+STRANGER. Rose red.
+
+LADY. Never!
+
+STRANGER. It's like a roll of manuscript.
+
+LADY. With our story on it.
+
+STRANGER. In the filth of the roads, in tears and in blood.
+
+LADY. But the story's nearly done. Go and write the last chapter.
+
+STRANGER. Then we'll meet at the seventh station. Where we began!
+
+
+SCENE XVI
+
+THE DOCTOR'S HOUSE
+
+[The scene is more or less as before. But half the wood-pile has been
+taken away. On a seat near the verandah surgical instruments, knives,
+saws, forceps, etc. The DOCTOR is engaged in cleaning these.]
+
+SISTER (coming from the verandah). A patient to see you.
+
+DOCTOR. Do you know who it is?
+
+SISTER. I've not seen him. Here's his card.
+
+DOCTOR (reading it). This outdoes everything!
+
+SISTER. Is it he?
+
+DOCTOR. Yes. Courage I respect; but this is cynicism. A kind of
+challenge. Still, let him come in.
+
+SISTER. Are you serious?
+
+DOCTOR. Perfectly. But, if you care to talk to him a little, in that
+straightforward way of yours....
+
+SISTER. I'd like to.
+
+DOCTOR. Very well. Do the heavy work, and leave the final polish to me.
+
+SISTER. You can trust me. I'll tell him everything your kindness forbids
+you to say.
+
+DOCTOR. Enough of my kindness! Make haste, or I'll get impatient. Shut
+the doors. (His SISTER goes out.) What are you doing at that dustbin,
+Caesar? (CAESAR comes in.) Listen, Caesar, if your enemy were to come
+and lay his head in your lap, what would you do?
+
+CAESAR. Cut it off!
+
+DOCTOR. That's not what I've taught you.
+
+CAESAR. No; you said, heap coals of fire on it. But I think that's a
+shame.
+
+DOCTOR. I think so, too; it's more cruel and more cunning. (Pause.)
+Isn't it better to take some revenge? It heartens the other person,
+lifts the burden off him.
+
+CAESAR. As you know more about it than I, why ask?
+
+DOCTOR. Quiet! I'm not speaking to you. (Pause.) Very well. First cut
+off his head, and then.... We'll see.
+
+CAESAR. It all depends on how he behaves.
+
+DOCTOR. Yes. On how he behaves. Quiet. Get along.
+
+(The STRANGER comes from the verandah: he seems excited but his manner
+betrays a certain resignation. CAESAR has gone out.)
+
+STRANGER. You're surprised to see me here?
+
+DOCTOR (seriously). I've long given up being surprised. But I see I must
+begin again.
+
+STRANGER. Will you permit me to speak to you?
+
+DOCTOR. About anything decent people may discuss. Are you ill?
+
+STRANGER (hesitating). Yes.
+
+DOCTOR. Why did you come to me--of all people?
+
+STRANGER. You must guess!
+
+DOCTOR. I refuse to. (Pause.) What do you complain of?
+
+STRANGER (with uncertainty). Sleeplessness.
+
+DOCTOR. That's not a disease, but a symptom. Have you already seen a
+doctor?
+
+STRANGER. I've been lying ill in an... institution. I was feverish. I've
+a strange malady.
+
+DOCTOR. What was so strange about it?
+
+STRANGER. May I ask this? Can one go about as usual; and yet be
+delirious?
+
+DOCTOR. If you're mad; not otherwise. (The STRANGER lets up, but then
+sits down again.) What was the hospital called?
+
+STRANGER. St. Saviour.
+
+DOCTOR. That's not a hospital.
+
+STRANGER. A convent, then.
+
+DOCTOR. No. It's an asylum. (The STRANGER gets up, the DOCTOR does so,
+too, and calls.) Sister! Shut the front door. And the gate leading to
+the road. (To the STRANGER.) Won't you sit down? I have to keep the
+doors here locked. There are so many tramps.
+
+STRANGER (calms himself). Be frank with me: do you think me... insane?
+
+DOCTOR. No one ever gets a frank answer to that question, as you know.
+And no one who suffers in that way ever believes what he's told. So my
+opinion must be a matter of indifference to you. (Pause.) But if it's
+your soul, go to a spiritual healer.
+
+STRANGER. Could you take his place for a moment?
+
+DOCTOR. I haven't the vocation.
+
+STRANGER. But...
+
+DOCTOR (interrupting). Or the time. We're getting ready for a wedding
+here!
+
+STRANGER. I dreamed it!
+
+DOCTOR. It may ease your mind to know that I've consoled myself, as it's
+called. You may be pleased, it would be natural... but I see, on the
+contrary, it makes you suffer more. There must be a reason. Why, should
+you be upset at my marrying a widow?
+
+STRANGER. With two children?
+
+DOCTOR. Two children! Now we have it! A damnable supposition worthy of
+you. If there were a hell, you should be hell's overseer, for your skill
+in finding means of punishment exceeds my wildest inventions. Yet I'm
+called a werewolf!
+
+STRANGER. It might happen that...
+
+DOCTOR (cutting him short). For a long time, I hated you, because by
+an unforgiveable action you cheated me of my good name. But when I grew
+older and wiser I saw that, although the punishment wasn't earned, I
+deserved it for other things that had never been discovered. Besides,
+you were a boy with enough conscience to be able to punish yourself. So
+you need worry no more about the whole thing. Is that what you wanted to
+speak of?
+
+STRANGER. Yes.
+
+DOCTOR. Then you'll be content, if I let you go? (The STRANGER is about
+to ask a question.) Did you think I'd shut you up? Or cut you in pieces
+with those instruments? Kill you? 'Perhaps such poor devils ought to
+be put out of their misery!' (The STRANGER looks at his watch.) You can
+still catch the boat.
+
+STRANGER. Will you give me your hand?
+
+DOCTOR. Impossible. And what is the use of my forgiving you, if you lack
+the strength to forgive yourself? (Pause.) Some things can only be cured
+by making them undone. So this never can be.
+
+STRANGER. St. Saviour...
+
+DOCTOR. Helped you. You challenged destiny and were broken. There's no
+shame in losing such a fight. I did the same; but, as you see, I've got
+rid of my woodpile. I want no thunder in my home. And I shall play no
+more with the lightning.
+
+STRANGER. One station more, and I shall reach my goal.
+
+DOCTOR. You'll never reach your goal. Farewell!
+
+STRANGER. Farewell!
+
+
+SCENE XVII
+
+A STREET CORNER
+
+[The same as Scene I. The STRANGER is sitting on the seat beneath the
+tree, drawing in the sand.]
+
+LADY (entering). What are you doing?
+
+STRANGER. Writing in the sand... still.
+
+LADY. Can you hear singing?
+
+STRANGER (pointing to the church). Yes. But from there! I've been unjust
+to someone, unwittingly.
+
+LADY. I think our wanderings must be over, now we've come back here.
+
+STRANGER. Where we began... at the street corner, between the inn,
+the church and the post office. By the way... isn't there a registered
+letter for me there, that I never fetched?
+
+LADY. Yes. Because there was nothing but unpleasantness in it.
+
+STRANGER. Or legal matters. (Striking his forehead.) Then that's the
+explanation.
+
+LADY. Fetch it then. In the belief that what it contains is good.
+
+STRANGER (ironically). Good!
+
+LADY. Believe it. Imagine it!
+
+STRANGER (going to the post office). I'll make the attempt.
+
+(The LADY waits on the pavement. The STRANGER comes back with a letter.)
+
+LADY. Well?
+
+STRANGER. I feel ashamed of myself. It's the money.
+
+LADY. You see! All these sufferings, all these tears... in vain!
+
+STRANGER. Not in vain! It looks like spite, what happens here, but it's
+not that. I wronged the Invisible when I mistook...
+
+LADY. Enough! No accusations.
+
+STRANGER. No. It was my own stupidity or wickedness. I didn't want to be
+made a fool of by life. That's why I was! It was the elves...
+
+LADY. Who made the change in you. Come. Let's go.
+
+STRANGER. And hide ourselves and our misery in the mountains.
+
+LADY. Yes. The mountains will hide us! (Pause.) But first I must go and
+light a candle to my good Saint Elizabeth. Come. (The STRANGER shakes
+his head.) Come!
+
+STRANGER. Very well. I'll go through that way. But I can't stay.
+
+LADY. How can you tell? Come. In there you shall hear new songs.
+
+(The STRANGER follows her to the door of the church.)
+
+STRANGER. It may be!
+
+LADY. Come!
+
+THE END.
+
+
+
+
+PART II
+
+
+
+CHARACTERS
+
+     THE STRANGER
+     THE LADY
+     THE MOTHER
+     THE FATHER
+     THE CONFESSOR
+     THE DOCTOR
+     CAESAR
+
+     less important figures
+     MAID
+     PROFESSOR
+     RAGGED PERSON
+     ANOTHER RAGGED PERSON
+     FIRST WOMAN
+     SECOND WOMAN
+     WAITRESS
+     POLICEMAN
+
+
+SCENES
+
+     ACT I  Outside the House
+
+     ACT II  SCENE I   Laboratory
+             SCENE II  The 'Rose' Room
+
+     ACT III SCENE I   The Banqueting Hall
+             SCENE II  A Prison Cell
+             SCENE III The 'Rose' Room
+
+     ACT IV  SCENE I   The Banqueting Hall
+             SCENE II  In a Ravine
+             SCENE III The 'Rose' Room
+
+
+
+
+ACT I
+
+OUTSIDE THE HOUSE
+
+[On the right a terrace, on which the house stands. Below it a road runs
+towards the back, where there is a thick pine wood with heights beyond,
+whose outlines intersect. On the left there is a suggestion of a river
+bank, but the river itself cannot be seen. The house is white and has
+small, mullioned windows with iron bars. On the wall vines and climbing
+roses. In front of the house, on the terrace, a well; at the end of the
+terrace pumpkin plants, whose large yellow flowers hang dozen over the
+edge. Fruit trees are planted along the road, and a memorial cross can
+be seen erected at a spot where an accident occurred. Steps lead
+down from the terrace to the road, and there are flower-pots on the
+balustrade. In front of the steps there is a seat. The road reaches the
+foreground from the right, curving past the terrace, which projects like
+a promontory, and then loses itself in the background. Strong sunlight
+from the left. The MOTHER is sitting on the seat below the steps. The
+DOMINICAN is standing in front of her.]
+
+DOMINICAN [Note: The same character as the CONFESSOR and BEGGAR.]. You
+called me to discuss a family matter of importance to you. Tell me what
+it is.
+
+MOTHER. Father, life has treated me hardly. I don't know what I've done
+to be so frowned upon by Providence.
+
+DOMINICAN. It's a mark of favour to be tried by the Eternal One, and
+triumph awaits the steadfast.
+
+MOTHER. That's what I've often said to myself; but there are limits to
+the suffering one can bear....
+
+DOMINICAN. There are no limits. Suff'ering's as boundless as grace.
+
+MOTHER. First my husband leaves me for another woman.
+
+DOMINICAN. Then let him go. He'll come crawling back again on his bare
+knees!
+
+MOTHER. And as you know, Father, my only daughter was married to
+a doctor. But she left him and came home with a stranger, whom she
+presented to me as her new husband.
+
+DOMINICAN. That's not easy to understand. Divorce isn't recognised by
+our religion.
+
+MOTHER. No. But they'd crossed the frontier, to a land where there are
+other laws. He's an Old Catholic, and he found a priest to marry them.
+
+DOMINICAN. That's no real marriage, and can't be dissolved because it
+never existed. But it can be nullified. Who is your present son-in-law?
+
+MOTHER. Truly, I wish I knew! One thing I do know, and that's enough to
+fill my cup of sorrow. He's been divorced and his wife and children live
+in wretched circumstances.
+
+DOMINICAN. A difficult case. But we'll find a way to put it right. What
+does he do?
+
+MOTHER. He's a writer; said to be famous at home.
+
+DOMINICAN. Godless, too, I suppose?
+
+MOTHER. Yes. At least he used to be; but since his second marriage he's
+not known a happy hour. Fate, as he calls it, seized him with an iron
+hand and drove him here in the shape of a ragged beggar. Ill-fortune
+struck him blow after blow, so that I pitied him at the very moment he
+fled from here. Then he wandered in the woods and, later, lay out in the
+fields where he fell, till he was found by merciful folk and taken to a
+convent. There he lay ill for three months, without our knowing where he
+was.
+
+DOMINICAN. Wait! Last year a man was brought to the Convent of St.
+Saviour, where I'm Confessor, under the circumstances you describe.
+Whilst he was feverish he opened his heart to me, and there was scarcely
+a sin of which he didn't confess his guilt. But when he came to himself
+again, he said he remembered nothing. So to prove him in heart and reins
+I used the secret apostolic powers that are given us; and, as a trial,
+employed the lesser curse. For when a crime's been done in secret, the
+curse of Deuteronomy is read over the suspected man. If he's innocent,
+he goes his way unscathed. But if he's struck by it, then, as Paul
+relates, 'he is delivered unto Satan for the destruction of the flesh,
+that his spirit may be saved.'
+
+MOTHER. O God! It must be he!
+
+DOMINICAN. Yes, it is he. Your son-in-law! The ways of Providence are
+inscrutable. Was he heavily struck by the curse?
+
+MOTHER. Yes. That night he slept here, and was torn from his sleep by an
+unexplained power that, as he told me, turned his heart to ice....
+
+DOMINICAN. Did he have fearful visions?
+
+MOTHER. Yes.
+
+DOMINICAN. And was he harried by those terrible thoughts, of which Job
+says, 'When I say, my bed shall comfort me, then Thou scarest me
+with dreams and terrifiest me with visions; so that my soul chooseth
+strangling, and death rather than life.' That's as it should be. Did it
+open his eyes?
+
+MOTHER. Yes. But only so that his sight was blinded. For his sufferings
+grew so great that he could no longer find a natural explanation for
+them, and as no doctor could cure him, he began to see that he was
+fighting higher conscious powers.
+
+DOMINICAN. Powers that meant him ill, and were therefore themselves
+evil. That's the usual course of things. And then?
+
+MOTHER. He came upon books that taught him that such evil powers could
+be fought.
+
+DOMINICAN. Oh! So he looked for what's hidden, and should remain so! Did
+he succeed in exorcising the spirits that chastised him?
+
+MOTHER. He says he did. And it seems now that he can sleep again.
+
+DOMINICAN. Yes, and he believes what he says. Yet, since he hasn't truly
+accepted the love of truth, God will trouble him with great delusion, so
+that he'll believe what is false.
+
+MOTHER. The fault's his own. But he's changed my daughter: in other days
+she was neither hot nor cold; but now she's on the way to becoming evil.
+
+DOMINICAN. How do the two of them get on?
+
+MOTHER. Half the time, happily; the other half they plague one another
+like devils.
+
+DOMINICAN. That's the way they must go. Plague one another till they
+come to the Cross.
+
+MOTHER. If they don't part again.
+
+DOMINICAN. What? Have they done so?
+
+MOTHER. They've left one another four times, but have always come back.
+It seems as if they're chained together. It would be a good thing if
+they were, for a child's on the way.
+
+DOMINICAN. Let the child come. Children bring gifts that are refreshing
+to tired souls.
+
+MOTHER. I hope it may be so. But it looks as if this one will be an
+apple of discord. They're already quarrelling over its name; they're
+quarrelling over its baptism; and the mother's already jealous of her
+husband's children by his first wife. He can't promise to love this
+child as much as the others, and the mother absolutely insists that he
+shall! So there's no end to their miseries.
+
+DOMINICAN. Oh yes, there is. Wait! He's had dealings with higher powers,
+so that we've gained a hold on him; and our prayers will be more,
+powerful than his resistance. Their effect is as extraordinary as it
+is mysterious. (The STRANGER appears on the terrace. He is in hunting
+costume and wears a tropical helmet. In his hand he has an alpenstock.)
+Is that him, up there?
+
+MOTHER. Yes. That's my present son-in-law.
+
+DOMINICAN. Singularly like the first! But watch how he's behaving. He
+hasn't seen me yet, but he feels I'm here. (He makes the sign of the
+cross in the air.) Look how troubled he grows.... Now he stiffens like
+an icicle. See! In a moment he'll cry out.
+
+STRANGER (who has suddenly stopped, grown rigid, and clutched his
+heart). Who's down there?
+
+MOTHER. I am.
+
+STRANGER. You're not alone.
+
+MOTHER. No. I've someone with me.
+
+DOMINICAN (making the sign of the cross). Now he'll say nothing; but
+fall like a felled tree. (The STRANGER crumples up and falls to the
+ground.) Now I shall go. It would be too much for him if he were to see
+me, But I'll come back soon. You'll see, he's in good hands! Farewell
+and peace be with you. (He goes out.)
+
+STRANGER (raising himself and coming down the steps). Who was that?
+
+MOTHER. A traveller. Sit down; you look so pale.
+
+STRANGER. It was a fainting fit.
+
+MOTHER. You've always new names for it; but they mean nothing fresh. Sit
+down here, on the seat.
+
+STRANGER. No; I don't like sitting there. People are always passing.
+
+MOTHER. Yet I've been sitting here since I was a child, watching life
+glide past as the river does below. Here, on the road, I've watched the
+children of men go by, playing, haggling, begging, cursing and dancing.
+I love this seat and I love the river below, though it does much damage
+every year and washes away the property we inherited. Last spring it
+carried our whole hay crop off, so that we had to sell our beasts. The
+property's lost half its value in the last few years, and when the lake
+in the mountains has reached its new level and the swamp's been drained
+into the river, the water will rise till it washes the house away. We've
+been at law about it for ten years, and we've lost every appeal; so we
+shall be destroyed. It's as inevitable as fate.
+
+STRANGER. Fate's not inevitable.
+
+MOTHER. Beware, if you think to fight it.
+
+STRANGER. I've done so already.
+
+MOTHER. There you go again! You learn nothing from the chastisement of
+Providence.
+
+STRANGER. Oh yes. I've learned to hate. Can one love what does evil?
+
+MOTHER. I've little learning, as you know; but I read yesterday in an
+encyclopaedia that the Eumenides are not evilly disposed.
+
+STRANGER. That's true; but it's a lie they're friendly. I only know one
+friendly fury. My own!
+
+MOTHER. Can you call Ingeborg a fury?
+
+STRANGER. Yes. She is one; and as a fury, she's remarkable. Her talent
+for making me suffer excels my most infernal inventions; and if I escape
+from her hands with my life, I'll come out of the fire as pure as gold.
+
+MOTHER. You've got what you deserve. You wanted to mould her as you
+wished, and you've succeeded.
+
+STRANGER. Completely. But where is this fury?
+
+MOTHER. She went down the road a few minutes ago.
+
+STRANGER. Down there? Then I'll go to meet my own destruction. (He goes
+towards the back.)
+
+MOTHER. So you can still joke about it? Wait! (The MOTHER is left alone
+for a moment, until the STRANGER has disappeared. The LADY then enters
+from the right. She is wearing a summer frock, and is carrying a post
+bag and some opened letters in her hand.)
+
+LADY. Are you alone, Mother?
+
+MOTHER. I've just been left alone.
+
+LADY. Here's the post. This is for job.
+
+MOTHER. What? Do you open his letters?
+
+LADY. All of them, because I want to know who it is I've linked my life
+to. And I want to suppress everything that might minister to his pride.
+In a word, I isolate him, so that he has to keep his own electricity and
+run the danger of being broken to pieces.
+
+MOTHER. How learned you've grown?
+
+LADY. Yes. If he's unwise enough to confide almost everything to me,
+I'll soon hold his fate in my hand. Now, if you please, he's making
+electrical experiments and claims he'll be able to harness the
+lightning, so that it'll give him light, warmth and power. Well, let
+him do as he likes! From a letter that came to-day I see he's even
+corresponding with alchemists.
+
+MOTHER. Does he want to make gold? Is the man sane?
+
+LADY. That's the important question. Whether he's a charlatan doesn't
+matter so much.
+
+MOTHER. Do you suspect it?
+
+LADY. I'd believe any evil of him, and any good, on the same day.
+
+MOTHER. Is there any other news?
+
+LADY. The plans my divorced husband made for a new marriage have gone
+wrong; he's grown melancholic, abandoned his practice and is tramping
+the roads.
+
+MOTHER. Oh! He was always my son-in-law. He had a kind heart under his
+rough manner.
+
+LADY. Yes. I only called him a werewolf in his role as my husband
+and master. As long as I knew he was at peace, and on the way to
+find consolation, I was content. But now he'll torment me like a bad
+conscience.
+
+MOTHER. Have you a conscience?
+
+LADY. I never used to have one. But my eyes have been opened since I
+read my husband's works, and I know the difference between good and
+evil.
+
+MOTHER. But he forbade you to read them, and never foresaw you wouldn't
+obey him.
+
+LADY. Who can foresee all the results of any action?
+
+MOTHER. Have you more bad news in your pocket, Pandora?
+
+LADY. The worst of all! Think of it, Mother, his divorced wife's going
+to marry again.
+
+MOTHER. That ought to be reassuring, to you and to him.
+
+LADY. Didn't you know it was his worst nightmare? That his wife would
+marry again and his children have a stepfather?
+
+MOTHER. If he can bear that alone, I shall think him a strange man.
+
+LADY. You believe he's too sensitive? But didn't he say himself that
+an educated man of the world at the end of the nineteenth century never
+lets himself be put out of countenance!
+
+MOTHER. It's easy to say so; but when things really happen....
+
+LADY. Yet there was a gift at the bottom of Pandora's box that was no
+misfortune. Look, Mother! A portrait of his six-year-old son.
+
+MOTHER (looking at the picture). A lovely child.
+
+LADY. It does one good to see such a charming and expressive picture.
+Tell me, do you think my child will be as beautiful? Well, what do you
+say? Answer, or I'll be unhappy! I love this boy already, but I feel I'd
+hate him if my child's not as lovely as he. Yes, I'm jealous already.
+
+MOTHER. When you came here after your unlucky honeymoon, I'd hoped you'd
+have got over the worst. But now I see it was only a foretaste of what
+was to come.
+
+LADY. I'm ready for anything; and I don't think this knot can ever be
+undone. It must be cut!
+
+MOTHER. But you're only making more difficulties for yourself by
+suppressing his letters.
+
+LADY. In days gone by, when I went through life like a sleep-walker,
+everything seemed easy to me, but I begin to be uncertain now he's
+started to waken thoughts in me. (She puts the letters into the
+post-bag.) Here he is. 'Sh!
+
+MOTHER. One thing more. Why do you let him wear that suit of your first
+husband's?
+
+LADY. I like torturing and humiliating him. I've persuaded him it fits
+him and belonged to my father. Now, when I see him in the werewolf's
+things, I feel I've got both of them in my clutches.
+
+MOTHER. Heaven defend us! How spiteful you've grown!
+
+LADY. Perhaps that was my role, if I have one in this man's life!
+
+MOTHER. I sometimes wish the river would rise and carry us all away
+whilst we're asleep at night. If it were to flow here for a thousand
+years perhaps it would wash out the sin on which this house is built.
+
+LADY. Then it's true that my grandfather, the notary, illegally seized
+property not his own? It's said this place was built with the heritage
+of widows and orphans, the funds of ruined men, the property of dead
+ones and the bribes of litigants.
+
+MOTHER. Don't speak of it any more. The tears of those still living have
+run together and formed a lake. And it's that lake, people say, that's
+being drained now, and that'll cause the river to wash us away.
+
+LADY. Can't it be stopped by taking legal action? Is there no justice on
+earth?
+
+MOTHER. Not on earth. But there is in heaven. And heaven will drown us,
+for we're the children of evildoers. (She goes up the steps.)
+
+LADY. Isn't it enough to put up with one's own tears? Must one inherit
+other people's?
+
+(The STRANGER comes back.)
+
+STRANGER. Did you call me?
+
+LADY. No. I only tried to draw you to me, without really wanting you.
+
+STRANGER. I felt you meddling with my destiny in a way that made me
+uneasy. Soon you'll have learnt all I know.
+
+LADY. And more.
+
+STRANGER. But I must ask you not to lay rough hands on my fate. I am
+Cain, you see, and am under the ban of mysterious powers, who permit no
+mortals to interfere with their work of vengeance. You see this mark
+on my brow? (He removes his hat.) It means: Revenge is mine, saith the
+Lord.
+
+LADY. Does your hat press....
+
+STRANGER. No. It chafes me. And so does the coat. If it weren't that I
+wanted to please you, I'd have thrown them all into the river. When
+I walk here in the neighbourhood, do you know that people call me
+the doctor? They must take me for your husband, the werewolf. And I'm
+unlucky. If I ask who planted some tree: they say, the doctor. If I ask
+to whom the green fish basket belongs: they say, the doctor. And if it
+isn't his then it belongs to the doctor's wife. That is, to you! This
+confusion between him and me makes my visit unbearable. I'd like to go
+away....
+
+LADY. Haven't you tried in vain to leave this place six times?
+
+STRANGER. Yes. But the seventh, I'll succeed.
+
+LADY. Then try!
+
+STRANGER. You say that as if you were convinced I'd fail.
+
+LADY. I am.
+
+STRANGER. Plague me in some other way, dear fury.
+
+LADY. Well, I can.
+
+STRANGER. A new way! Try to say something ill-natured that 'the other
+one's' not said already.
+
+LADY. Your first wife's 'the other one.' How tactful to remind me of
+her.
+
+STRANGER. Everything that lives and moves, everything that's dead and
+cold, reminds me of what's gone....
+
+LADY. Until the being comes, who can wipe out the darkness of the past
+and bring light.
+
+STRANGER. You mean the child we're expecting!
+
+LADY. Our child!
+
+STRANGER. Do you love it?
+
+LADY. I began to to-day.
+
+STRANGER. To-day? Why, what's happened? Five months ago you wanted to
+run off to the lawyers and divorce me; because I wouldn't take you to a
+quack who'd kill your unborn child.
+
+LADY. That was some time ago. Things have changed now.
+
+STRANGER. Why now? (He looks round as if expecting something.) Now? Has
+the post come?
+
+LADY. You're still more cunning than I am. But the pupil will outstrip
+the master.
+
+STRANGER. Were there any letters for me?
+
+LADY. No.
+
+STRANGER. Then give me the wrapper?
+
+LADY. What made you guess?
+
+STRANGER. Give the wrapper, if your conscience can make such fine
+distinctions between it and the letter.
+
+LADY (picking up the letter-bag, which she has hidden behind the seat).
+Look at this! (The STRANGER takes the photograph, looks at it carefully,
+and puts it in his breast-pocket.) What was it?
+
+STRANGER. The past.
+
+LADY. Was it beautiful?
+
+STRANGER. Yes. More beautiful than the future can ever be.
+
+LADY (darkly). You shouldn't have said that.
+
+STRANGER. No, I admit it. And I'm sorry....
+
+LADY. Tell me, are you capable of suffering?
+
+STRANGER. Now, I suffer twice; because I feel when you're suffering. And
+if I wound you in self-defence, it's I who gets fever from the wound.
+
+LADY. That means you're at my mercy?
+
+STRANGER. No. Less now than ever, because you're protected by the
+innocent being you carry beneath your heart.
+
+LADY. He shall be my avenger.
+
+STRANGER. Or mine!
+
+LADY (tearfully). Poor little thing. Conceived in sin and shame, and
+born to avenge by hate.
+
+STRANGER. It's a long time since I've heard you speak like that.
+
+LADY. I dare say.
+
+STRANGER. That was the voice that first drew me to you; it was like that
+of a mother speaking to her child.
+
+LADY. When you say 'mother' I feel I can only believe good of you; but
+a moment after I say to myself: it's only one more of your ways of
+deceiving me.
+
+STRANGER. What ill have I ever really done you? (The LADY is uncertain
+what to reply.) Answer me. What ill have I done you?
+
+LADY. I don't know.
+
+STRANGER. Then invent something. Say to me: I hate you, because I can't
+deceive you.
+
+LADY. Can't I? Oh, I'm sorry for you.
+
+STRANGER. You must have poison in the pocket of your dress.
+
+LADY. Well, I have!
+
+STRANGER. What can it be? (Pause.) Who's that coming down the road?
+
+LADY. A harbinger.
+
+STRANGER. Is it a man, or a spectre?
+
+LADY. A spectre from the past.
+
+STRANGER. He's wearing a black coat and a laurel crown. But his feet are
+bare.
+
+LADY. It's Caesar.
+
+STRANGER (confused). Caesar? That was my nickname at school.
+
+LADY. Yes. But it's also the name of the madman whom my... first husband
+used to look after. Forgive me speaking of him like that.
+
+STRANGER. Has this madman got away?
+
+LADY. It looks like it, doesn't it?
+
+(CAESAR comes in from the back; he wears a black frock coat and is
+without a collar; he has a laurel crown on his head and his feet are
+bare. His general appearance is bizarre.)
+
+CAESAR. Why don't you greet me? You ought to say: Ave, Caesar! For now
+I'm the master. The werewolf, you must know, has gone out of his mind
+since the Great Man went off with his wife, whom he himself snatched
+from her first lover, or bridegroom, or whatever you call him.
+
+STRANGER (to the LADY). That was strychnine for two adults! (To CAESAR)
+Where's your master now--or your slave, or doctor, or warder?
+
+CAESAR. He'll be here soon. But you needn't be frightened of him. He
+won't use daggers or poison. He only has to show himself, for all living
+things to fly from him; for trees to drop their leaves, and the very
+dust of the highway to run before him in a whirlwind like the pillar of
+cloud before the Children of Israel....
+
+STRANGER. Listen....
+
+CAESAR. Quiet, whilst I'm speaking.... Sometimes he believes himself to
+be a werewolf, and says he'd like to eat a little child that's not yet
+born, and that's really his according to the right of priority.... (He
+goes on his way.)
+
+LADY (to the STRANGER). Can you exorcise this demon?
+
+STRANGER. I can do nothing against devils who brave the sunshine.
+
+LADY. Yesterday you made an arrogant remark, and now you shall have it
+back. You said it wasn't fair for invisible ones to creep in by night
+and strike in the darkness, they should come by day when the sun's
+shining. Now they've come!
+
+STRANGER. And that pleases you!
+
+LADY. Yes. Almost.
+
+STRANGER. What a pity it gives me no pleasure when it's you who's
+struck! Let's sit down on the seat--the bench for the accused. For more
+are coming.
+
+LADY. I'd rather we went.
+
+STRANGER. No, I want to see how much I can bear. You see, at every
+stroke of the lash I feel as if a debit entry had been erased from my
+ledger.
+
+LADY. But I can stand no more. Look, there he comes himself. Heavens!
+This man, whom I once thought I loved!
+
+STRANGER. Thought? Yes, because everything's merely delusion. And that
+means a great deal. You go! I'll take the duty on myself of confronting
+him alone.
+
+(The LADY goes up the steps, but does not reach the toy before the
+DOCTOR becomes visible at the back of the stage. The DOCTOR comes in,
+his grey hair long and unkempt. He is wearing a tropical helmet and a
+hunting coat, which are exactly similar to the clothes of the STRANGER.
+He behaves as though he doesn't notice the STRANGER'S presence, and sits
+down on a stone on the other side of the road, opposite the STRANGER,
+who is sitting on the seat. He takes of his hat and mops the sweat from
+his brow. The STRANGER grows impatient.) What do you want?
+
+DOCTOR. Only to see this house again, where my happiness once dwelt and
+my roses blossomed....
+
+STRANGER. An intelligent man of the world would have chosen a time when
+the present inhabitants of the house were away for a short while; even
+on his own account, so as not to make himself ridiculous.
+
+DOCTOR. Ridiculous? I'd like to know which of us two's the more
+ridiculous?
+
+STRANGER. For the moment, I suppose I am.
+
+DOCTOR. Yes. But I don't think you know the whole extent of your
+wretchedness.
+
+STRANGER. What do you mean?
+
+DOCTOR. That you want to possess what I used to possess.
+
+STRANGER. Well, go on.
+
+DOCTOR. Have you noticed that we're wearing similar clothes? Good! Do
+you know the reason? It's this: you're wearing the things I forgot to
+fetch when the catastrophe took place. No intelligent man of the world
+at the end of the nineteenth century would ever put himself into such a
+position.
+
+STRANGER (throwing down his hat and coat). Curse the woman!
+
+DOCTOR. You needn't complain. Cast-off male attire has always been fatal
+ever since the celebrated shirt of Nessus. Go in now and change. I'll
+sit out here and watch, and listen, how you settle the matter alone with
+that accursed woman. Don't forget your stick! (The LADY, who is hurrying
+towards the house, trips in front of the steps. The STRANGER stays where
+he is in embarrassment.) The stick! The stick!
+
+STRANGER. I don't ask mercy for the woman's sake, but for the child's.
+
+DOCTOR (wildly). So there's a child, too. Our house, our roses, our
+clothes, the bed-clothes not forgotten, and now our child! I'm within
+your doors, I sit at your table, I lie in your bed; I exist in your
+blood; in your lungs, in your brain; I am everywhere and yet you can't
+get hold of me. When the pendulum strikes the hour of midnight, I'll
+blow cold, on your heart, so that it stops like a clock that's run down.
+When you sit at your work, I shall come with a poppy, invisible to you,
+that will put your thoughts to sleep, and confuse your mind, so that
+you'll see visions you can't distinguish from reality. I shall lie like
+a stone in your path, so that you stumble; I shall be the thorn that
+pricks your hand when you go to pluck the rose. My soul shall spin
+itself about you like a spider's web; and I shall guide you like an ox
+by means of the woman you stole from me. Your child shall be mine and
+I shall speak through its mouth; you shall see my look in its eyes,
+so that you'll thrust it from you like a foe. And now, beloved house,
+farewell; farewell, 'rose' room--where no happiness shall dwell that I
+could envy. (He goes out. The STRANGER has been sitting on the seat all
+this time, without being able to answer, and has been listening as if he
+were the accused.)
+
+Curtain.
+
+
+
+
+ACT II
+
+SCENE I
+
+LABORATORY
+
+[A Garden Pavilion in rococo style with high windows. In the middle of
+the room there is a large writing desk on which are various pieces of
+chemical and physical apparatus. Two copper wires are suspended from the
+ceiling to an electroscope that is standing on the middle of the table
+and which is provided with a number of bells, intended to record the
+tension of atmospheric electricity.]
+
+[On the table to the left a large old-fashioned frictional electric
+generating machine, with glass plates, brass conductors, and Leyden
+battery. The stands are lacquered red and white. On the right a large
+old-fashioned open fireplace with tripods, crucibles, pincers, bellows,
+etc.]
+
+[In the background a door with a view of the country beyond; it is dark
+and cloudy weather, but the red rays of the sun occasionally shine
+into the room. A brown cloak with a cape and hood is hanging up by the
+fireplace; nearby a travelling bag and an alpenstock. The STRANGER and
+the MOTHER are discovered together.]
+
+STRANGER. Where is... Ingeborg?
+
+MOTHER. You know that better than I.
+
+STRANGER. With the lawyer, arranging a divorce....
+
+MOTHER. Why?
+
+STRANGER. I told you. No, it's so far-fetched, you'll think I'm lying to
+you.
+
+MOTHER. Well, tell me!
+
+STRANGER. She wants a divorce, because I've refused to turn this man
+out, although he's deranged. She says it's cowardly of me....
+
+MOTHER. I don't believe it.
+
+STRANGER. You see! You only believe what you wish; all the rest is lies.
+Well, can you find it in accordance with your interests to believe that
+she's been stealing my letters?
+
+MOTHER. I know nothing of that.
+
+STRANGER. I'm not asking you whether you know of it, but whether you
+believe it.
+
+MOTHER (changing the subject). What are you trying to do here?
+
+STRANGER. I'm making experiments concerning atmospheric electricity.
+
+MOTHER. And that's the lighting conductor, that you've connected to the
+desk!
+
+STRANGER. Yes. But there's no danger; for the bells would ring if there
+were an atmospheric disturbance.
+
+MOTHER. That's blasphemy and black magic. Take care! And what are you
+doing there, in the fireplace?
+
+STRANGER. Making gold.
+
+MOTHER. You think it possible?
+
+STRANGER. You take it for granted I'm a charlatan? I shan't blame you
+for that; but don't judge too quickly. At any moment I expect to get a
+sworn statement of analysis.
+
+MOTHER. I dare say. But what are you going to do if Ingeborg doesn't
+come back?
+
+STRANGER. She will, this time. Later, perhaps, when the child's here,
+she'll cut herself adrift.
+
+MOTHER. You seem very sure.
+
+STRANGER. Yes. As I said, I still am. So long as the bond's not broken
+you can feel it. When it is, you'll feel that unpleasantly clearly, too.
+
+MOTHER. But when you've parted from one another, you may yet both be
+bound to the child. You can't tell in advance.
+
+STRANGER. I've been providing against that by a great interest, that I
+hope will fill my empty life.
+
+MOTHER. You mean gold. And honour!
+
+STRANGER. Precisely! For a man the most enduring of all illusions.
+
+MOTHER. So you'd build on illusions?
+
+STRANGER. On what else should I build, when everything's illusion?
+
+MOTHER. If you ever awake from your dream, you'll find a reality of
+which you've never been able to dream.
+
+STRANGER. Then I'll wait till that happens.
+
+MOTHER. Wait then. Now I'll go and shut the window, before the
+thunderstorm breaks.
+
+STRANGER (going towards the back of the stage). That's going to be
+interesting. (A hunting horn is heard in the distance.) Who's sounding
+that horn?
+
+MOTHER. No one knows; and it means nothing good. (She goes out.)
+
+STRANGER (busying himself with the electroscope, and turning his back on
+the open window as he does so; then taking up a book and reading aloud.)
+'When Adam's race of giants had increased enough for them to consider
+their number sufficient to risk an attack on those above, they began
+to build a tower that was to reach up to Heaven. Those above were then
+seized with fear and, in order to protect themselves, broke up the
+assembled multitude by so confusing their tongues and their minds that
+two people who met could not understand one another, even if they spoke
+the same language Since then, those above rule by discord: divide and
+rule. And the discord is upheld by the belief that the truth has been
+found; but when one of the prophets is believed, he is a lying prophet.
+If on the other hand a mortal succeeds in penetrating the secret of
+those above, no one believes him, and he is struck with madness so that
+no one ever shall. Since then mortals have been more or less demented,
+particularly those who are held to be wise, but madmen are in reality
+the only wise men; for they can see, hear and feel the invisible,
+the inaudible and the intangible, though they cannot relate their
+experiences to others.' Thus Zohar, the wisest of all the books of
+wisdom, and therefore one that no one believes. I shall build no tower
+of Babel, but I shall tempt the Powers into my mousetrap, and send
+them to the Powers below, the subterranean ones, so that they can be
+neutralised. It is the higher Schedim, who have come between mortal
+men and the Lord Zabaoth; and that is why joy, peace and happiness have
+vanished from the earth.
+
+LADY (coming back in despair, throwing herself down in front of the
+STRANGER and putting her arms round his feet and her head on the
+ground.) Help me! Help me! And forgive me.
+
+STRANGER. Get up. In God's name! Get up. Don't do that. What's happened?
+
+LADY. In my anger I've behaved foolishly. I've been caught in my own
+net.
+
+STRANGER (lifting her up). Stand up, foolish child; and tell me what's
+happened.
+
+LADY. I went to the public prosecutor.
+
+STRANGER.... and asked for a divorce....
+
+LADY.... that was my intention; but when I got there, I laid information
+against the werewolf for a breach of the peace and attempted murder.
+
+STRANGER. But he's guilty of neither!
+
+LADY. No, but I laid the information all the same.... And when I was
+there, he came himself to lay information against me for bearing false
+witness. Then I went to the lawyer and he told me that I could expect
+a sentence of at least a month. Think of it, my child will be born in
+prison! How can I escape from that? Help me. You can. Speak!
+
+STRANGER. Yes, I can help you. But, if I do, don't revenge yourself on
+me afterwards.
+
+LADY. How little you know me. But tell me quickly.
+
+STRANGER. I must take the blame on myself, and say I sent you.
+
+LADY. How generous you are! Am I rid of the whole business now?
+
+STRANGER. Dry your eyes, my child, and take comfort. But tell me about
+something else, that's nothing to do with this. Did you leave this purse
+here? (The LADY is embarrassed.) Tell me!
+
+LADY. Has such a thing ever happened before?
+
+STRANGER. Yes. The 'other one' wanted to discover, in this way, whether
+I stole. The first time it happened I wept, because I was still young
+and innocent.
+
+LADY. Oh no!
+
+STRANGER. Now you seem to me the most wretched creature on earth.
+
+LADY. Is that why you love me?
+
+STRANGER. No. You've been stealing my letters, too! Answer, yes! And
+that's why you wanted to prove me a thief with this purse.
+
+LADY. What have you got there, on the table.
+
+STRANGER. Lightning!
+
+(There is a flash of lightning, but no thunder.)
+
+LADY. Aren't you afraid?
+
+STRANGER. Yes, sometimes; but not of what you fear.
+
+(The contorted face of the DOCTOR appears outside the window.)
+
+LADY. Is there a cat in the room? I feel uneasy.
+
+STRANGER. I don't think so. Yet I too have a feeling that there's
+someone here.
+
+LADY (turning and seeing the DOCTOR's face; then screaming and hurrying
+to the STRANGER for protection.) Oh! There he is!
+
+STRANGER. Where? Who?
+
+(The DOCTOR'S face disappears.)
+
+LADY. There, at the window. It's he!
+
+STRANGER. I can see no one. You must be wrong.
+
+LADY. No, I saw him. The werewolf! Can't we be rid of him?
+
+STRANGER. Yes, we could. But it'd be useless, because he has an immortal
+soul, which is bound to yours.
+
+LADY. If I'd only known that before!
+
+STRANGER. It's surely in the Catechism.
+
+LADY. Then let us die!
+
+STRANGER. That was once my religion; but as I no longer believe that
+death's the end, nothing remains but to bear everything--to fight, and
+to suffer!
+
+LADY. For how long must we suffer?
+
+STRANGER. As long as he suffers and our consciences plague us.
+
+LADY. Then we must try and justify ourselves to our consciences; find
+excuses for our frivolous actions, and discover his weaknesses.
+
+STRANGER. Well, you can try!
+
+LADY. You say that! Since I've known he's unhappy I can see nothing but
+his qualities, and you lose when I compare you with him.
+
+STRANGER. See how well it's arranged! His sufferings sanctify him, but
+mine make me abhorrent and laughable! We must face the immutable. We've
+destroyed a soul, so we are murderers.
+
+LADY. Who is to blame?
+
+STRANGER. He who's so mismanaged the fate of men.
+
+(There is a flash of lightning; the electric bells begin to ring.)
+
+LADY. O God! What's that?
+
+STRANGER. The answer.
+
+LADY. Is there a lightning conductor here?
+
+STRANGER. The priest of Baal wishes to coax the lightning from
+heaven....
+
+LADY. Now I'm frightened, frightened of you. You're terrifying.
+
+STRANGER. You see!
+
+LADY. Who are you to defy Heaven, and to dare to play with the destinies
+of men?
+
+STRANGER. Get up and collect your thoughts. Listen to me, believe me,
+and pay me the respect that's my due; and I'll lift both of us high
+above this frog pond, to which we've both descended. I'll breathe on
+your sick conscience so that it heals like a wound. Who am I? A man who
+has done what no one else has ever done; who will overthrow the Golden
+Calf and upset the tables of the money-changers. I hold the fate of the
+world in my crucible; and in a week I can make the richest of the rich
+a poor man. Gold, the most false of all standards, has ceased to rule;
+every man will now be as poor as his neighbour, and the children of men
+will hurry about like ants whose heap has been disturbed.
+
+LADY. What good will that be to us?
+
+STRANGER. Do you think I'll make gold in order to enrich ourselves and
+others? No. I'll do it to paralyse the present order, to disrupt it, as
+you'll see! I am the destroyer, the dissolver, the world incendiary;
+and when all lies in ashes, I shall wander hungrily through the heaps
+of ruins, rejoicing at the thought that it is all my work: that I have
+written the last page of world history, which can then be held to be
+ended.
+
+(The face of the DOMINICAN appears at the open window, without being
+seen by those on the stage.)
+
+LADY. Then that was the real meaning of your last book! It was no
+invention!
+
+STRANGER. No. But in order to write it, I had to link myself with the
+self of another, who could take everything from me that fettered my
+soul. So that my spirit could once more find a fiery blast, on which to
+mount to the ether, elude the Powers, and reach the Throne, in order to
+lay the lamentations of mankind at the feet of the Eternal One.... (The
+DOMINICAN makes the sign of the cross in the air and disappears.) Who's
+here? Who is the Terrible One who follows me and cripples my thoughts?
+Did you see no one?
+
+LADY. No. No one.
+
+STRANGER. But I can feel his presence. (He puts his hand to his heart.)
+Can't you hear, far, far away, someone saying a rosary?
+
+LADY. Yes, I can hear it. But it's not the Angels' Greeting. It's the
+Curse of Deuteronomy! Woe unto us!
+
+STRANGER. Then it must be in the convent of St. Saviour.
+
+LADY. Woe! Woe!
+
+STRANGER. Beloved. What is it?
+
+LADY. Beloved! Say that word again.
+
+STRANGER. Are you ill?
+
+LADY. No, but I'm in pain, and yet glad at the same time. Go and ask my
+mother to make up my bed. But first give me your blessing.
+
+STRANGER. Shall I...?
+
+LADY. Say you forgive me; I may die, if the child takes my life. Say
+that you love me.
+
+STRANGER. Strange: I can't get the word to cross my lips.
+
+LADY. Then you don't love me?
+
+STRANGER. When you say so, it seems so to me. It's terrible, but I fear
+I hate you.
+
+LADY. Then at least give me your hand; as you'd give it to someone in
+distress.
+
+STRANGER. I'd like to, but I can't. Someone in me takes pleasure in your
+agony; but it's not I. I'd like to carry you in my arms and bear your
+suffering for you. But I may not. I cannot!
+
+LADY. You're as hard as stone.
+
+STRANGER (with restrained emotion). Perhaps not. Perhaps not.
+
+LADY. Come to me!
+
+STRANGER. I can't stir from here. It's as if someone had taken
+possession of my soul; and I'd like to kill myself so as to take the
+life of the other.
+
+LADY. Think of your child with joy....
+
+STRANGER. I can't even do that, for it'll bind me to earth.
+
+LADY. If we've sinned, we've been punished! Haven't we suffered enough?
+
+STRANGER. Not yet. But one day we shall have.
+
+LADY (sinking down). Help me. Mercy! I shall faint!
+
+(The STRANGER extends his hand, as if he had recovered from a cramp. The
+LADY kisses it. The STRANGER lifts her up and leads her to the door of
+the house.)
+
+Curtain.
+
+
+SCENE II
+
+THE 'ROSE' ROOM
+
+[A room with rose-coloured walls; it has small windows with iron
+lattices and plants in pots. The curtains are rose red; the furniture is
+white and red. In the background a door leading to a white bed-chamber;
+when this door is opened, a large bed can be seen with a canopy and
+white hangings. On the right the door leading out of the house. On the
+left a fireplace with a coal fire. In front of it a bath tub, covered
+with a white towel. A cradle covered with white, rose-coloured and
+light-blue stuff. Baby clothes are spread out here and there. A green
+dress hangs on the right-hand wall. Four Sisters of Mercy are on their
+knees, facing the door at the back, dressed in the black and white of
+Augustinian nuns. The midwife, who is in black, is by the fireplace.
+The child's nurse wears a peasant's dress, of black and white, from
+Brittany. The MOTHER is standing listening by the door at the back. The
+STRANGER is sitting on a chair right and is trying to read a book. A
+hat and a brown cloak with a cape and hood hang nearby, and on the floor
+there is a small travelling bag. The Sisters of Mercy are singing a
+psalm. The others join in from time to time, but not the STRANGER.]
+
+SISTERS. Salve, Regina, mater misericordiae;
+
+           Vita, dulcedo, et spes nostra, salve.
+           Ad to clamamus, exules filii Evae;
+           Ad to suspiramus gementes et flentes
+           In hac lacrymarum valle.
+
+(The STRANGER rises and goes to the MOTHER.)
+
+MOTHER. Stay where you are! A human being's coming into the world;
+another's dying. It's all the same to you.
+
+STRANGER. I'm not so sure! If I want to go in, I'm not allowed to. And
+when I don't want to, you wish it. I'd like to now.
+
+MOTHER. She doesn't want to see you. Besides, presence here's no longer
+needed. The child matters most now.
+
+STRANGER. For you, yes; but I'm still of most importance to myself.
+
+MOTHER. The doctor's forbidden anyone to go in, whoever they may be,
+because she's in danger.
+
+STRANGER. What doctor?
+
+MOTHER. So your thoughts are there again!
+
+STRANGER. Yes. And it's you who led them! An hour ago you gave me to
+understand that the child couldn't be mine. With that you branded your
+daughter a whore; but that means nothing to you, if you can only strike
+me to the heart! You are almost the most contemptible creature I know!
+
+MOTHER (to the SISTERS). Sisters! Pray for this unhappy man.
+
+STRANGER. Make way for me to go in. For the last time--out of the way.
+
+MOTHER. Leave this room, and this house too.
+
+STRANGER. If I were to do as you ask, in ten minutes you'd send the
+police after me, for abandoning my wife and child!
+
+MOTHER. I'd only do that to have you taken to a convent you know of.
+
+MAID (entering at the back). The Lady's asking you to do something for
+her.
+
+STRANGER. What is it?
+
+MAID. There's supposed to be a letter in the dress she left hanging
+here.
+
+STRANGER (looks round and notices the green dress; he goes over to it
+and takes a letter from the pocket). This is addressed to me, and was
+opened two days ago. Broken open! That's good!
+
+MOTHER. You must forgive someone who's as ill as your wife.
+
+STRANGER. She wasn't ill two days ago.
+
+MOTHER. No. But she is now.
+
+STRANGER. But not two days ago! (Reading the letter.) Well, I'll forgive
+her now, with the magnanimity of the victor.
+
+MOTHER. Of the victor?
+
+STRANGER. Yes. For I've done something no one's ever done before.
+
+MOTHER. You mean the gold....?
+
+STRANGER. Here's a certificate from the greatest living authority. Now
+I'll go and see him myself.
+
+MOTHER. Now!
+
+STRANGER. At your request.
+
+MAID (to the STRANGER). The Lady asks you to come in.
+
+MOTHER. You hear?
+
+STRANGER. No, now I don't want to! You've made your own daughter, my
+wife, into a whore; and branded my unborn child a bastard. You can keep
+them both. You've murdered my honour. There's nothing for me to do but
+to revive it elsewhere.
+
+MOTHER. You can never forgive!
+
+STRANGER. I can. I forgive you--and I shall leave you. (He puts on the
+brown cloak and hat, picks up his stick and travelling bag.) For if I
+were to stay, I'd soon grow worse than I am now. The innocent child,
+whose mission was to ennoble our warped relationship, has been defiled
+by you in his mother's womb and made an apple of discord and a source of
+punishment a revenge. Why should I stay here to be torn to pieces?
+
+MOTHER. For you, duties don't exist.
+
+STRANGER. Oh yes, they do! And the first of them's this: To protect
+myself from total destruction. Farewell!
+
+Curtain.
+
+
+
+
+ACT III
+
+SCENE I
+
+THE BANQUETING HALL
+
+[Room in a hotel prepared for a banquet. There are long tables laden
+with flowers and candelabra. Dishes with peacocks, pheasants in full
+plumage, boars' heads, entire lobsters, oysters, salmon, bundles of
+asparagus, melons and grapes. There is a musicians' gallery with eight
+players in the right-hand corner at the back.]
+
+[At the high table: the STRANGER in a frock coat; next to him a Civil
+Uniform with orders; a professorial Frock Coat with an order; and other
+black Frock Coats with orders of a more or less striking kind. At the
+second table a few Frock Coats between black Morning Coats. At the third
+table clean every-day costumes. At the fourth table dirty and ragged
+figures of strange appearance.]
+
+[The tables are so arranged that the first is furthest to the left and
+the fourth furthest to the right, so that the people sitting at the
+fourth table cannot be seen by the STRANGER. At the fourth table CAESAR
+and the DOCTOR are seated, in shabby clothes. They are the farthest down
+stage. Dessert has just been handed round and the guests have golden
+goblets in front of them. The band is playing a passage in the middle
+of Mendelssohn's Dead March pianissimo. The guests are talking to one
+another quietly.]
+
+DOCTOR (to CAESAR). The company seems rather depressed and the dessert
+came too soon!
+
+CAESAR. By the way, the whole thing look's like a swindle! He hasn't
+made any gold, that's merely a lie, like everything else.
+
+DOCTOR. I don't know, but that's what's being said. But in our
+enlightened age anything whatever may be expected.
+
+CAESAR. There's a professor at the high table, who's supposed to be an
+authority. But what subject is he professor of?
+
+DOCTOR: I've no idea. It must be metallurgy and applied chemistry.
+
+CAESAR. Can you see what order he's wearing?
+
+DOCTOR. I don't know it. I expect it's some tenth rate foreign order.
+
+CAESAR. Well, at a subscription dinner like this the company's always
+rather mixed.
+
+DOCTOR. Hm!
+
+CAESAR. You mean, that we... hm.... I admit we're not well dressed, but
+as far as intelligence goes....
+
+DOCTOR. Listen, Caesar, you're a lunatic in my charge, and you must
+avoid speaking about intelligence as much as you can.
+
+CAESAR. That's the greatest impertinence I've heard for a long time.
+Don't you realise, idiot, that I've been engaged to look after you,
+since you lost your wits?
+
+PROFESSOR (taping his goblet). Gentlemen!
+
+CAESAR. Hear, hear!
+
+PROFESSOR. Gentlemen! Our small society is to-day honoured by the
+presence of the great man, who is our guest of honour, and when the
+committee...
+
+CAESAR (to the DOCTOR). That's the government, you know!
+
+PROFESSOR.... and when the committee asked me to act as interpreter
+and to explain the motives that prompted them I was at first doubtful
+whether I could accept the honour. But when I compared my own incapacity
+with that of others, I discovered that neither lost in the comparison.
+
+VOICES. Bravo!
+
+PROFESSOR. Gentlemen! A century of discovery is ending with the greatest
+of all discoveries--foreseen by Pythagoras, prepared for by Albertus and
+Paracelsus and first carried out by our guest of honour. You will permit
+me to give this feeble expression of our admiration for the greatest man
+of a great century. A laurel crown from the society! (He places a laurel
+frown on the STRANGER'S head.) And from the committee: this! (He hangs
+a shining order round the STRANGER'S neck.) Gentlemen! Three cheers for
+the Great Man who has made gold!
+
+ALL (with the exception of the STRANGER). Hurrah!
+
+(The band plays chords from Mendelssohn's Dead March. During the last
+part of the foregoing speech servants have exchanged the golden goblets
+for dull tin ones, and they now begin to take away the pheasants,
+peacocks, etc. The music plays softly. General conversation.)
+
+CAESAR. Oughtn't we to taste these things before they take them away?
+
+DOCTOR. It all seems humbug, except that about making gold.
+
+STRANGER (knocking on the table). Gentlemen! I've always been proud of
+the fact that I'm not easy to deceive...
+
+CAESAR. Hear, hear!
+
+STRANGER.... that I'm not easily carried away, but I am touched at the
+sincerity so obvious in the great tribute you've just paid me; and when
+I say touched, I mean it.
+
+CAESAR. Bravo!
+
+STRANGER. There are always sceptics; and moments in the life of every
+man, when doubts creep into the hearts of even the strongest. I'll
+confess that I myself have doubted; but after finding myself the object
+this sincere and hearty demonstration, and after taking part in this
+royal feast, for it is royal; and seeing that, finally, the government
+itself...
+
+VOICE. The committee!
+
+STRANGER.... the committee, if you like, has so signally recognised my
+modest merits, I doubt no longer, but believe! (The Civil Uniform creeps
+out.) Yes, gentlemen, this is the greatest and most satisfying moment
+of my life, because it has given me back the greatest thing any man can
+possess, the belief in himself.
+
+CAESAR. Splendid! Bravo!
+
+STRANGER. I thank you. Your health!
+
+(The PROFESSOR gets up. Everyone rises and the company begins to mix.
+Most of the musicians go out, but two remain.)
+
+GUEST (to the STRANGER). A delightful evening!
+
+STRANGER. Wonderful.
+
+(All the Frock Coats creep away.)
+
+FATHER (an elderly, overdressed man with an eye-glass and military
+bearing crosses to the doctor). What? Are you here?
+
+DOCTOR. Yes, Father-in-law. I'm here. I go everywhere he goes.
+
+FATHER. It's too late in the day to call me father-in-law. Besides, I'm
+_his_ father-in-law now.
+
+DOCTOR. Does he know you?
+
+FATHER. No. He's not had that honour; and I must ask you to preserve my
+incognito. Is it true he's made gold?
+
+DOCTOR. So it's said. But it's certain he left his wife while she was in
+childbed.
+
+FATHER. Does that mean I can expect a third son-in-law soon? I don't
+like the idea! The uncertainty of my position makes me hate being
+a father-in-law at all. Of course, I've nothing to say against it,
+since....
+
+(The tables have now been cleared; the cloths and the candelabra have
+been removed, so that the tables themselves, which are merely boards
+supported on trestles, are all that remain. A big stoneware jug has
+been brought in and small jugs of simple form have been put on the high
+table. The people in rags sit down next to the STRANGER at the high
+table; and the FATHER sits astride a chair and stares at him.)
+
+CAESAR (knocking on the table). Gentlemen! This feast has been called
+royal, not on account of the excellence of the service which, on the
+contrary, has been wretched; but because the man, whom we have honoured,
+is a king, a king in the realm of the Intellect. Only I am able to judge
+of that. (One of the people in rags laughs.) Quiet. Wretch! But he's
+more than a king, he's a man of the people, of the humblest. A friend
+of the oppressed, the guardian of fools, the bringer of happiness to
+idiots. I don't know whether he's succeeded in making gold. I don't
+worry about that, and I hardly believe it... (There is a murmur. Two
+policemen come in and sit by the door; the musicians come down and take
+seats at the tables.)... but supposing he has, he has answered all the
+questions that the daily press has been trying to solve for the last
+fifty years.... It's only an assumption--
+
+STRANGER. Gentlemen!
+
+RAGGED PERSON. No. Don't interrupt him.
+
+CAESAR. A mere assumption without real foundation, and the analysis may
+be wrong!
+
+ANOTHER RAGGED PERSON. Don't talk nonsense!
+
+STRANGER. Speaking in my capacity as guest of honour at this gathering I
+should say that it would be of interest to those taking part to hear the
+grounds on which I've based my proof....
+
+CAESAR. We don't want to hear that. No, no.
+
+FATHER. Wait! I think justice demands that the accused should be allowed
+to explain himself. Couldn't our guest of honour tell the company his
+secret in a few words?
+
+STRANGER. As the discoverer I can't give away my secret. But that's not
+necessary, because I've submitted my results to an authority under oath.
+
+CAESAR. Then the whole thing's nonsense, the whole thing! We don't
+believe authorities--we're free-thinkers. Did you ever hear anything
+so impudent? That we should honour a mystery man, an arch-swindler, a
+charlatan, in good faith.
+
+FATHER. Wait a little, my good people!
+
+(During this scene a wall screen, charmingly decorated with palm trees
+and birds of paradise, has been taken away, disclosing a wretched
+serving-counter and stand for beer mugs, behind which a waitress is seen
+dispensing tots of spirits. Scavengers and dirty-looking women go over
+to the counter and start drinking.)
+
+STRANGER. Was I asked here to be insulted?
+
+FATHER. Not at all. My friend's rather loquacious, but he's not said
+anything insulting yet.
+
+STRANGER. Isn't it insulting to be called a charlatan?
+
+FATHER. He didn't mean it seriously.
+
+STRANGER. Even as a joke I think the word arch-swindler slanderous.
+
+FATHER. He didn't use _that_ word.
+
+STRANGER. What? I appeal to the company: wasn't the word he used
+arch-swindler?
+
+ALL. No. He never said that!
+
+STRANGER. Then I don't know where I am--or what company I've got into.
+
+RAGGED PERSON. Is there anything wrong with it?
+
+(The people murmur.)
+
+BEGGAR (comes forward, supporting himself on crutches; he strikes the
+table so hard with his crutch, that some mugs are broken.) Mr. Chairman!
+May I speak? (He breaks some more crockery.) Gentlemen, in this life
+I've not allowed thyself to be easily deceived, but this time I have
+been. My friend in the chair there has convinced me that I've been
+completely deceived on the question of his power of judgment and sound
+understanding, and I feel touched. There are limits to pity and limits
+also to cruelty. I don't like to see real merit being dragged into the
+dust, and this man's worth a better fate than his folly's leading him
+to.
+
+STRANGER. What does this mean?
+
+(The FATHER and the DOCTOR have gone out during this scene without
+attracting attention. Only beggars remain at the high table. Those who
+are drinking gather into groups and stare at the STRANGER.)
+
+BEGGAR. You take yourself to be the man of the century, and accept the
+invitation of the Drunkards' Society, in order to have yourself feted as
+a man of science....
+
+STRANGER (rising). But the government....
+
+BEGGAR. Oh yes, the Committee of the Drunkards' Society have given you
+their highest distinction--that order you've had to pay for yourself....
+
+STRANGER. What about the professor?
+
+BEGGAR. He only calls himself that; he's no professor really, though he
+does give lessons. And the uniform that must have impressed you most was
+that of a lackey in a chancellery.
+
+STRANGER (tearing of the wreath and the ribbon of the order). Very well!
+But who was the elderly man with the eyeglass?
+
+BEGGAR. Your father-in-law!
+
+STRANGER. Who got up this hoax?
+
+BEGGAR. It's no hoax, it's quite serious. The professor came on behalf
+of the Society, for so they call themselves, and asked you whether you'd
+accept the fete. You accepted it; so it became serious!
+
+(Two dirty-looking women carry in a dust-bin suspended from a stick and
+set it down on the high table.)
+
+FIRST WOMAN. If you're the man who makes gold, you might buy two
+brandies for us.
+
+STRANGER. What's this mean?
+
+BEGGAR. It's the last part of the reception; and it's supposed to mean
+that gold's mere rubbish.
+
+STRANGER. If only that were true, rubbish could be exchanged for gold.
+
+BEGGAR. Well, it's only the philosophy of the Society of Drunkards. And
+you've got to take your philosophy where you find it.
+
+SECOND WOMAN (sitting down next to the STRANGER). Do you recognise me?
+
+STRANGER. No.
+
+SECOND WOMAN. Oh, you needn't be embarrassed so late in the evening as
+this!
+
+STRANGER. You believe you're one of my victims? That I was amongst the
+first hundred who seduced you?
+
+SECOND WOMAN. No. It's not what you think. But I once came across a
+printed paper, when I was about to be confirmed, which said that it was
+a duty to oneself to give way to all desires of the flesh. Well, I grew
+free and blossomed; and this is the fruit of my highly developed self!
+
+STRANGER (rising). Perhaps I may go now?
+
+WAITRESS (coming over with a bill). Yes. But the bill must be paid
+first.
+
+STRANGER. What? By me? I haven't ordered anything.
+
+WAITRESS. I know nothing of that; but you're the last of the company to
+have had anything.
+
+STRANGER (to the BEGGAR). Is this all a part of the reception?
+
+BEGGAR. Yes, certainly. And, as you know, everything costs money, even
+honour....
+
+STRANGER (taking a visiting card and handing it to the waitress).
+There's my card. You'll be paid to-morrow.
+
+WAITRESS (putting the card in the dust-bin). Hm! I don't know the name;
+and I've put a lot of such cards into the dust-bin. I want the money.
+
+BEGGAR. Listen, madam, I'll guarantee this man will pay.
+
+WAITRESS. So you'd like to play tricks on me too! Officer! One moment,
+please.
+
+POLICEMAN. What's all this about? Payment, I suppose. Come to the
+station; we'll arrange things there. (He writes something in his
+note-book.)
+
+STRANGER. I'd rather do that than stay here and quarrel.... (To the
+BEGGAR.) I don't mind a joke, but I never expected such cruel reality as
+this.
+
+BEGGAR. Anything's to be expected, once you challenge persons as
+powerful as you have! Let me tell you this in confidence. You'd better
+be prepared for worse, for the very worst!
+
+STRANGER. To think I've been so duped... so...
+
+BEGGAR. Feasts of Belshazzar always end in one way a hand's stretched
+out--and writes a bill. And another hand's laid on the guest's shoulder
+and leads him to the police station! But it must be done royally!
+
+POLICEMAN (laying his hand on the STRANGER). Have you talked enough?
+
+THE WOMEN and RAGGED ONES. The alchemist can't pay. Hurrah! He's going
+to gaol. He's going to gaol!
+
+SECOND WOMAN. Yes, but it's a shame.
+
+STRANGER. You're sorry for me? I thank you for that, even if I don't
+quite deserve it! _You_ felt pity for me!
+
+SECOND WOMAN. Yes. That's also something I learnt from you.
+
+(The scene is changed without lowering the curtain. The stage is
+darkened, and a medley of scenes, representing landscapes, palaces,
+rooms, is lowered and brought forward; so that characters and furniture
+are no longer seen, but the STRANGER alone remains visible and seems to
+be standing stiffly as though unconscious. At last even he disappears,
+and from the confusion a prison cell emerges.)
+
+
+SCENE II
+
+PRISON CELL
+
+[On the right a door; and above it a barred opening, through which a ray
+of sunlight is shining, throwing a patch of light on the left-hand wall,
+where a large crucifix hangs.]
+
+[The STRANGER, dressed in a brown cloak and wearing a hat, is sitting at
+the table looking at the patch of sunlight. The door is opened and the
+BEGGAR is let in.]
+
+BEGGAR. What are you brooding over?
+
+STRANGER. I'm asking myself why I'm here; and then: where I was
+yesterday?
+
+BEGGAR. Where do you think?
+
+STRANGER. It seems in hell; unless I dreamed everything.
+
+BEGGAR. Then wake up now, for this is going to be reality.
+
+STRANGER. Let it come. I'm only afraid of ghosts.
+
+BEGGAR (taking out a newspaper). Firstly, the great authority has
+withdrawn the certificate he gave you for making gold. He says, in this
+paper, that you deceived him. The result is that the paper calls you a
+charlatan!
+
+STRANGER. O God! What is it I'm fighting?
+
+BEGGAR. Difficulties, like other men.
+
+STRANGER. No, this is something else....
+
+BEGGAR. Your own credulity, then.
+
+STRANGER. No, I'm not credulous, and I know I'm right.
+
+BEGGAR. What's the good of that, if no one else does.
+
+STRANGER. Shall I ever get out of this prison? If I do, I'll settle
+everything.
+
+BEGGAR. The matter's arranged; everything's paid for.
+
+STRANGER. Oh? Who paid, then?
+
+BEGGAR. The Society, I suppose; or the Drunkard's Government.
+
+STRANGER. Then I can go?
+
+BEGGAR. Yes. But there's one thing....
+
+STRANGER. Well, what is it?
+
+BEGGAR. Remember, an enlightened man of the world mustn't let himself be
+taken by surprise.
+
+STRANGER. I begin to divine....
+
+BEGGAR. The announcement's on the front page.
+
+STRANGER. That means: she's already married again, and my children have
+a stepfather. Who is he?
+
+BEGGAR. Whoever he is, don't murder him; for he's not to blame for
+taking in a forsaken woman.
+
+STRANGER. My children! O God, my children!
+
+BEGGAR. I notice you didn't foresee what's happened; but why not look
+ahead, if you're so old and such an enlightened man of the world.
+
+STRANGER (beside himself). O God! My children!
+
+BEGGAR. Enlightened men of the world don't weep! Stop it, my son. When
+such disasters happen men of the world... either... well, tell me....
+
+STRANGER. Shoot themselves!
+
+BEGGAR. Or?
+
+STRANGER. No, not that!
+
+BEGGAR. Yes, my son, precisely that! He's throwing out a sheet-anchor as
+an experiment.
+
+STRANGER. This is irrevocable. Irrevocable!
+
+BEGGAR. Yes, it is. Quite irrevocable. And you can live another
+lifetime, in order to contemplate your own rascality in peace.
+
+STRANGER. You should be ashamed to talk like that.
+
+BEGGAR. And you?
+
+STRANGER. Have you ever seen a human destiny like mine?
+
+BEGGAR. Well, look at mine!
+
+STRANGER. I know nothing of yours.
+
+BEGGAR. It's never occurred to you, in all our long acquaintance, to
+ask about my affairs. You once scorned the friendship I offered you, and
+fell straightway into the arms of boon companions. I hope it'll do you
+good. And so farewell, till the next time.
+
+STRANGER. Don't go.
+
+BEGGAR. Perhaps you'd like company when you get out of prison?
+
+STRANGER. Why not?
+
+BEGGAR. It hasn't occurred to you I mightn't want to show myself in
+_your_ company?
+
+STRANGER. It certainly hasn't.
+
+BEGGAR. But it's true. Do you think I want to be suspected of having
+been at that immortal banquet in the alchemist's honour, of which
+there's an account in the morning paper?
+
+STRANGER. He doesn't want to be seen with me!
+
+BEGGAR. Even a beggar has his pride and fears ridicule.
+
+STRANGER. He doesn't want to be seen with me. Am I then sunk to such
+misery?
+
+BEGGAR. You must ask yourself that, and answer it, too.
+
+(A mournful cradle song is heard in the distance.)
+
+STRANGER. What's that?
+
+BEGGAR. A song sung by a mother at her baby's cradle.
+
+STRANGER. Why must I be reminded of it just now?
+
+BEGGAR. Probably so that you can feel really keenly what you've left for
+a chimera.
+
+STRANGER. Is it possible I could have been wrong? If so it's the devil's
+work, and I'll lay down my arms.
+
+BEGGAR. You'd better do that as soon as you can....
+
+STRANGER. Not yet! (A rosary can be heard being repeated in the
+distance.) What's that? (A sustained note of a horn is heard.) That's
+the unknown huntsman! (The chord from the Dead March is heard.) Where am
+I? (He remains where he is as if hypnotised.)
+
+BEGGAR. Bow yourself or break!
+
+STRANGER. I cannot bow!
+
+BEGGAR. Then break.
+
+(The STRANGER falls to the ground. The same confused medley of scenes as
+before.)
+
+Curtain.
+
+
+SCENE III
+
+THE 'ROSE' ROOM
+
+[The same scene as Act I. The kneeling Sisters of Mercy are now reading
+their prayer books, '... exules filii Evae; Ad to suspiramus et flentes
+In hac lacrymarum aalle.' The MOTHER is by the door at the back; the
+FATHER by the door on the right.]
+
+MOTHER (going towards him). So you've come back again?
+
+FATHER (humbly). Yes.
+
+MOTHER. Your lady-love's left you?
+
+RATHER. Don't be more cruel than you need!
+
+MOTHER. You say that to me, you who gave my wedding presents to your
+mistress. You, who were so dishonourable as to expect me, your wife, to
+choose presents for her. You, who wanted my advice about colour and cut,
+in order to educate her taste in dress! What do you want here?
+
+FATHER. I heard that my daughter...
+
+MOTHER. Your daughter's lying there, between life and death; and you
+know that her feelings for you have grown hostile. That's why I ask you
+to go; before she suspects your presence.
+
+FATHER. You're right, and I can't answer you. But let me sit in the
+kitchen, for I'm tired. Very tired.
+
+MOTHER. Where were you last night?
+
+FATHER. At the club. But I wanted to ask you if the husband weren't
+here?
+
+MOTHER. Am I to lay bare all this misery? Don't you know your daughter's
+tragic fate?
+
+FATHER. Yes... I do. And what a husband!
+
+MOTHER. What men! Go downstairs now and sleep off your liquor.
+
+FATHER. The sins of the fathers....
+
+MOTHER. You're talking nonsense.
+
+FATHER. Of course I don't mean my sins... but those of our parents. And
+now they say the lake up there's to be drained, so that the river will
+rise....
+
+MOTHER (pushing him out of the door). Silence. Misfortune will overtake
+us soon enough, without you calling it up.
+
+MAID (from the bedroom at the back). The lady's asking for the master.
+
+MOTHER. She means her husband.
+
+MAID. Yes. The master of the house, her husband.
+
+MOTHER. He went out a little while ago.
+
+(The STRANGER comes in.)
+
+STRANGER. Has the child been born?
+
+MOTHER. No. Not yet.
+
+STRANGER (putting his hand to his forehead). What? Can it take so long?
+
+MOTHER. Long? What do you mean?
+
+STRANGER (looking about him). I don't know what I mean. How is it with
+the mother?
+
+MOTHER. She's just the same.
+
+STRANGER. The same?
+
+MOTHER. Don't you want to get back to your gold making?
+
+STRANGER. I can't make head or tail of it! But there's still hope my
+worst dream was nothing but a dream.
+
+MOTHER. You really look as if you were walking in your sleep.
+
+STRANGER. Do I? Oh, I wish I were! The one thing I fear I'd fear no
+longer.
+
+MOTHER. He who guides your destiny seems to know your weakest spots.
+
+STRANGER. And when there was only one left, he found that too; happily
+for me only in a dream! Blind Powers! Powerless Ones!
+
+MAID (coming in again). The lady asks you to do her a service.
+
+STRANGER. There she lies like an electric eel, giving shocks from a
+distance. What kind of service is it to be now?
+
+MAID. There's a letter in the pocket of her green coat.
+
+STRANGER. No good will come of that! (He takes the letter out of the
+green coat, which is hanging near the dress by fireplace.) I must
+be dead. I dreamed this, and now it's happening. My children have a
+stepfather!
+
+MOTHER. Who are you going to blame?
+
+STRANGER. Myself! I'd rather blame no one. I've lost my children.
+
+MOTHER. You'll get a new one here.
+
+STRANGER. He might be cruel to them....
+
+MOTHER. Then their sufferings will burden your conscience, if you have
+one.
+
+STRANGER. Supposing he were to beat them?
+
+MOTHER. Do you know what I'd do in your place?
+
+STRANGER. Yes, I know what you'd do; but I don't know what I'll do.
+
+MOTHER (to the Sisters of Mercy). Pray for this man!
+
+STRANGER. No, no. Not that! It'll do no good, and I don't believe in
+prayer.
+
+MOTHER. But you believe in your gold?
+
+STRANGER. Not even in that. It's over. All over!
+
+(The MIDWIFE comes out of the bedroom.)
+
+MIDWIFE. A child's born. Praise the Lord!
+
+MOTHER. Let the Lord be praised!
+
+SISTERS. Let the Lord be praised!
+
+MIDWIFE (to the STRANGER). Your wife's given you daughter.
+
+MOTHER (to the STRANGER). Don't you want to see your child?
+
+STRANGER. No. I no longer want to tie myself anything on earth. I'm
+afraid I'd get to love her, and then you'd tear the heart from my body.
+Let me get out of this atmosphere, which is too pure for me. Don' t let
+that innocent child come near me, for I'm a man already damned, already
+sentenced, and for me there's no joy, no peace, and no... forgiveness!
+
+MOTHER. My son, now you're speaking words of wisdom! Truthfully and
+without malice: I welcome your decision. There's no place for you here,
+and amongst us women you'd be plagued to death. So go in peace.
+
+STRANGER. There'll be no more peace, but I'll go. Farewell!
+
+MOTHER. Exules filii Evae; on earth you shall be a fugitive and a
+vagabond.
+
+STRANGER. Because I have slain my brother.
+
+Curtain.
+
+
+
+
+ACT IV
+
+SCENE I
+
+BANQUETING HALL
+
+[The room in which the banquet took place in Act III. It is dirty, and
+furnished with unpainted wooden tables. Beggars, scavengers and loose
+women. Cripples are seated here and there drinking by the light of
+tallow dips.]
+
+[The STRANGER and the SECOND WOMAN are sitting together drinking brandy,
+which stands on the table in front of them in a carafe. The STRANGER is
+drinking heavily.]
+
+WOMAN. Don't drink so much!
+
+STRANGER. You see. You've scruples, too!
+
+WOMAN. No. But I don't like to see a man I respect lowering himself so.
+
+STRANGER. But I came here specially to do so; to take a mud-bath that
+would harden my skin against the pricks of life. To find immoral support
+about me. And I chose your company, because you're the most despicable,
+though you've still retained a spark of humanity. You were sorry for me,
+when no one else was. Not even myself! Why?
+
+WOMAN. Really, I don't know.
+
+STRANGER. But you must know that there are moments when you look almost
+beautiful.
+
+WOMAN. Oh, listen to him!
+
+STRANGER. Yes. And then you resemble a woman who was dear to me.
+
+WOMAN. Thank you!
+
+WAITRESS. Don't talk so loud, there's a sick man here.
+
+STRANGER. Tell me, have you ever been in love?
+
+WOMAN. We don't use that word, but I know what you mean. Yes. I had a
+lover once and we had a child.
+
+STRANGER. That was foolish!
+
+WOMAN. I thought so, too, but he said the days liberation were at hand,
+when all chains would be struck off, all barriers thrown down, and...
+
+STRANGER (tortured). And then...?
+
+WOMAN. Then he left me.
+
+STRANGER. He was a scoundrel. (He drinks.)
+
+WOMAN (looking at him.) You think so?
+
+STRANGER. Yes. He must have been.
+
+WOMAN. Now you're so intolerant.
+
+STRANGER (drinking). Am I?
+
+WOMAN. Don't drink so much; I want to see you far above me, otherwise
+you can't raise me up.
+
+STRANGER. What illusions you must have! Childish! I lift you up! I who
+am down below. Yet I'm not; it's not I who sit here, for I'm dead. I
+know that my soul's far away, far, far away.... (He stares in front
+of him with an absent-minded air)... where a great lake lies in the
+sunshine like molten gold; where roses blossom on the wall amongst
+the vines; where a white cot stands under the acacias. But the child's
+asleep and the mother's sitting beside the cot doing crochet work.
+There's a long, long strip coming from her mouth and on the strip
+is written... wait... 'Blessed are the sorrowful, for they shall be
+comforted.' But that's not so, really. I shall never be comforted. Tell
+me, isn't there thunder in the air, it's so close, so hot?
+
+WOMAN (looking out of the window). No. I can see no clouds out there....
+
+STRANGER. Strange... that's lightning.
+
+WOMAN. No. You're wrong.
+
+STRANGER. One, two, three, four, five... now the thunder must come! But
+it doesn't. I've never been frightened of a thunderstorm until to-day--I
+mean, until to-night. But is it day or night?
+
+WOMAN. My dear, it's night.
+
+STRANGER. Yes. It _is_ night.
+
+(The DOCTOR has come in during this scene and has sat down behind the
+STRANGER, without having been seen by him.)
+
+WAITRESS. Don't speak so loud, there's a sick person in here.
+
+STRANGER (to the WOMAN). Give me your hand.
+
+WOMAN (wiping it on her apron). Oh, why?
+
+STRANGER. You've a lovely white hand. But... look at mine. It's black.
+Can't you see it's black?
+
+WOMAN. Yes. So it is!
+
+STRANGER. Blackened already, perhaps even rotten? I must see if my
+heart's stopped. (He puts his hand to his heart.) Yes. It has! So I'm
+dead, and I know when I died. Strange, to be dead, and yet to be going
+about. But where am I? Are all these people dead, too? They look as
+if they'd risen from the sewers of the town, or as if they'd come
+from prison, poorhouse or lock hospital. They're workers of the night,
+suffering, groaning, cursing, quarrelling, torturing one another,
+dishonouring one another, envying one another, as if they possessed
+anything worthy of envy! The fire of sleep courses through their veins,
+their tongues cleave to their palates, grown dry through cursing; and
+then they put out the blaze with water, with fire-water, that engenders
+fresh thirst. With fire-water, that itself burns with a blue flame and
+consumes the soul like a prairie fire, that leaves nothing behind it but
+red sand. (He drinks.) Set fire to it. Put it out again. Set fire to it.
+Put it out again! But what you can't burn up--unluckily--is the memory
+of what's past. How can that memory be burned to ashes?
+
+WAITRESS. Please don't speak so loud, there's a sick man in here. So
+ill, that he's already asked to be given the sacrament.
+
+STRANGER. May he soon go to hell!
+
+(Those present murmur at this, resenting it.)
+
+WAITRESS. Take care! Take care!
+
+WOMAN (to the STRANGER). Do you know that man who's been sitting behind
+you, staring at you all the time?
+
+STRANGER (turning. He and the DOCTOR stare at one another for a moment,
+without speaking). Yes. I used to know him once.
+
+WOMAN. He looks as if he'd like to bite you in the back.
+
+(The DOCTOR sits down opposite the STRANGER and stares at him.)
+
+STRANGER. What are you looking at?
+
+DOCTOR. Your grey hairs.
+
+STRANGER (to the WOMAN). Is my hair grey?
+
+WOMAN. Yes. Indeed it is!
+
+DOCTOR. And now I'm looking at your fair companion. Sometimes you have
+good taste. Sometimes not.
+
+STRANGER. And sometimes you have the misfortune to have the same taste
+as I.
+
+DOCTOR. That wasn't a kind remark! But you've killed me twice in your
+lifetime; so go on.
+
+STRANGER (to the WOMAN). Let's get away from here.
+
+DOCTOR. You know when I'm near you. You feel my presence from afar. And
+I shall reach you, as the thunder will, whether you hide in the depths
+of the earth or of the sea.... Try to escape me, if you can!
+
+STRANGER (to the WOMAN). Come with me. Lead me... I can't see....
+
+WOMAN. No, I don't want to go yet. I don't want to be bored.
+
+DOCTOR. You're right there, daughter of joy! Life's hard enough without
+taking on yourself the sorrows others have brought on themselves. That
+man won't bear his own sorrows, but makes his wife shoulder the burden
+for him.
+
+STRANGER. What's that? Wait! She bore false witness of a breach of the
+peace and attempted murder!
+
+DOCTOR. Now he's putting the blame on her!
+
+STRANGER (resting his head in his hands and letting it sink on to the
+table. In the far distance a violin and guitar are heard playing the
+following melody):
+
+[See picture road1.jpg]
+
+DOCTOR (to the WOMAN). Is he ill?
+
+WOMAN. He must be mad; he says he's dead.
+
+(In the distance drums beat the reveille and bugles are blown, but very
+softly.)
+
+STRANGER. Is it morning? Night's passing, the sun's rising and ghosts
+lie down to sleep again in graves. Now I can go. Come!
+
+WOMAN (going nearer to the DOCTOR). No. I said no.
+
+STRANGER. Even you, the last of all my friends! Am I such a wretched
+being, that not even a prostitute will bear me company for money?
+
+DOCTOR. You must be.
+
+STRANGER. I don't believe it yet; although everyone tells me so. I don't
+believe anything at all, for every time I have, I've been deceived. But
+tell me this hasn't the sun yet risen? A little while ago I heard a cock
+crow and a dog bark; and now they're ringing the Angelus.... Have they
+put out the lights, that it's so dark?
+
+DOCTOR (to the WOMAN). He must be blind.
+
+WOMAN. Yes. I think he is.
+
+STRANGER. No. I can see you; but I can't see the lights.
+
+DOCTOR. For you it's growing dark.... You've played with the lightning,
+and looked too long at the sun. That is forbidden to men.
+
+STRANGER. We're born with the desire to do it; but may not. That's
+Envy....
+
+DOCTOR. What do you possess that's worthy of envy?
+
+STRANGER. Something you'll never understand, and that only I can value.
+
+DOCTOR. You mean, the child?
+
+MANGER. You know I didn't mean it. If I had I'd have said that I
+possessed something you could never let.
+
+DOCTOR. So you're back at that! Then I'll express myself as clearly: you
+took what I'd done with.
+
+WOMAN. Oh! I shan't stay in the company of such swine! (She gets up and
+moves to another seat.)
+
+STRANGER. I know we've sunk very low; yet I believe the deeper I sink
+the nearer I'll come to my goal: the end!
+
+WAITRESS. Don't speak so loud, there's a dying man in there!
+
+STRANGER. Yes, I believe you. The whole time there's been a smell of
+corpses here.
+
+DOCTOR. Perhaps that's us?
+
+STRANGER. Can one be dead, without suspecting it?
+
+DOCTOR. The dead maintain that they don't know the difference.
+
+STRANGER. You terrify me. Is it possible? And all these shadowy figures,
+whose faces I think I recognise as memories of my youth at school in the
+swimming bath, the gymnasium.... (He clutches his heart.) Oh! Now he's
+coming: the Terrible One, who tears the heart out of the breast. The
+Terrible One, who's been following me for years. He's here!
+
+(He is beside himself. The doors are thrown open; a choir boy comes in
+carrying a lantern made of blue glass that throws a blue light on the
+guests; he rings the silver bell. All present begin to howl like wild
+beasts. The DOMINICAN then enters with the sacrament. The WAITRESS
+and the WOMAN throw themselves on their knees, the others howl. The
+DOMINICAN raises the monstrance; all fall on their knees. The choir boy
+and the DOMINICAN go into the room on the left.)
+
+BEGGAR (entering and going towards the STRANGER). Come away from here.
+You're ill. And the bailiffs have a summons for you.
+
+STRANGER. Summons? From whom?
+
+BEGGAR. Your wife.
+
+DOCTOR. The electric eel strikes at a great distance. She once wanted to
+bring a charge of slander against me, because she couldn't stay out at
+night.
+
+STRANGER. Couldn't stay out at night?
+
+DOCTOR. Yes. Didn't you know who you were married to?
+
+STRANGER. I heard she'd been engaged before she... married you.
+
+DOCTOR. Yes. That's what it was called, but in reality she'd been the
+mistress of a married man, whom she denounced for rape, after she'd
+forced herself into his studio and posed to him naked, as a model.
+
+STRANGER. And that was the woman you married?
+
+DOCTOR. Yes. After she'd seduced me, she denounced me for breach of
+promise, so I had to marry her. She'd engaged two detectives to see I
+didn't get away. And that was the woman you married!
+
+STRANGER. I did it because I soon saw it was no good choosing when all
+were alike.
+
+BEGGAR. Come away from here. You'll be sorry if you don't.
+
+STRANGER (to the DOCTOR). Was she always religious?
+
+DOCTOR. Always.
+
+STRANGER. And tender, good-hearted, self-sacrificing?
+
+DOCTOR. Certainly!
+
+STRANGER. Can one understand her?
+
+DOCTOR. No. But you can go mad thinking about her. That's why one had to
+accept her as she was. Charming, intoxicating!
+
+STRANGER. Yes, I know. But one's powerless against pity. That's why I
+don't want to fight this case. I can't defend myself without attacking
+her; and I don't want to do that.
+
+DOCTOR. You were married before. How was that?
+
+STRANGER. Just the same.
+
+DOCTOR. This love acts like henbane: you see suns, where there are none,
+and stars where no stars are! But it's pleasant, while it lasts!
+
+STRANGER. And the morning after? Oh, the morning after!
+
+BEGGAR. Come, unhappy man! He's poisoning you, and you don't know it.
+Come!
+
+STRANGER (getting up). Poisoning me, you say? Do you think he's lying?
+
+BEGGAR. Every word he's said's a lie.
+
+STRANGER. I don't believe it.
+
+BEGGAR. No. You only believe lies. But that serves you right.
+
+STRANGER. Has he been lying? Has he?
+
+BEGGAR. How can you believe your enemies?
+
+STRANGER. But he's my friend, because he's told me the bitter truth.
+
+BEGGAR. Eternal Powers, save his reason! For he believes everything
+evil's true, and everything good evil. Come, or you'll be lost!
+
+DOCTOR. He's lost already! And now he'll be whipped into froth, broken
+up into atoms, and used as an ingredient in the great pan-cake. Away
+with you hell! (To those present.) Howl like victims of the pit. (The
+guests all howl.) And no more womanly pity. Howl, woman! (The WOMAN
+refuses with a gesture of her hand.)
+
+STRANGER (to the BEGGAR). That man's not lying.
+
+Curtain.
+
+
+SCENE II
+
+IN A RAVINE
+
+[A ravine with a stream in the middle, which is crossed by a
+foot-bridge. In the foreground a smithy and a mill, both of which are
+in ruins. Fallen trees choke the stream. In the background a starry sky
+above the pine wood. The constellation of Orion is clearly visible.]
+
+[See picture road2.jpg]
+
+[The STRANGER and the BEGGAR enter. In the foreground there is snow; in
+the background the green of summer.]
+
+STRANGER. I feel afraid! To-night the stars seem to hang so low, that I
+fear they'll fall on me like drops of molten silver. Where are we?
+
+BEGGAR. In the ravine, by the stream. You must know the place.
+
+STRANGER. Know it? As if I could ever forget it! It reminds me of my
+honeymoon journey. But where are the smithy and the mill?
+
+BEGGAR. All in ruins! The lake of tears was drained a week ago. The
+stream rose, then the river, till everything was laid waste--meadows,
+fields and gardens.
+
+STRANGER. And the quiet house?
+
+BEGGAR. The old sin was washed away, but the walls in left.
+
+STRANGER. And those who lived there?
+
+BEGGAR. They've gone to the colonies; so that the story's now at an end.
+
+STRANGER. Then my story's at an end too. So thoroughly at an end, that
+no happy memories remain. The last was fouled by the poisoner....
+
+BEGGAR. Whose poison you prepared! You should declare your bankruptcy.
+
+STRANGER. Yes. Now I'll have to give in.
+
+BEGGAR. Then the day of reckoning will draw near.
+
+STRANGER. I think we might call it quits; because, if I've sinned, I've
+been punished.
+
+BEGGAR. But others certainly won't think so.
+
+STRANGER. I've stopped taking account of others, since I saw that the
+Powers that guide the destinies of mankind brook no accomplices. The
+crime I committed in this life was that I wanted to set men free....
+
+BEGGAR. Set men free from their duties, and criminals from their feeling
+of guilt, so that they could really become unscrupulous! You're not the
+first, and not the last to dabble in the Devil's work. Lucifer a non
+lucendo! But when Reynard grows old, he turns monk--so wisely is it
+ordained--and then he's forced to split himself in two and drive out
+Beelzebub with his own penance.
+
+STRANGER. Shall I be driven to that?
+
+BEGGAR. Yes. Though you don't want it! You'll be forced to preach
+against yourself from the housetops. To unpick your fabric thread by
+thread. To flay yourself alive at every street corner, and show what
+you really are. But that needs courage. All the same, a man who's played
+with the thunder will not tremble! Yet, sometimes, when night falls and
+the Invisible Ones, who can only be seen in darkness, ride on his chest,
+then he will fear--even the stars, and most of all the Mill of Sins,
+that grinds the past, and grinds it... and grinds it! One of the
+seven-and-seventeen Wise Men said that the greatest victory he ever
+won was over himself; but foolish men don't believe it, and that's why
+they're deceived; because they only credit what nine-and-ninety fools
+have said a thousand times.
+
+STRANGER. Enough! Tell me; isn't this snow here on the ground?
+
+BEGGAR. Yes. It's winter here.
+
+STRANGER. But over there it's green.
+
+BEGGAR. It's summer there.
+
+STRANGER. And growing light! (A clear beam of light falls on the
+foot-bridge.)
+
+BEGGAR. Yes. It's light there, and dark here.
+
+STRANGER. And who are they? (Three children, dressed is summer clothing,
+two girls and a boy, come on to the bridge from the right.) Ho! My
+children! (The children stop to listen, and then look at the STRANGER
+without seeming to recognise him. The STRANGER calls.) Gerda! Erik!
+Thyra! It's your father! (The children appear to recognise him; they
+turn away to the left.) They don't know me. They don't want to know me.
+
+(A man and a woman enter from the right. The children dance of to the
+left and disappear. The STRANGER falls on his face on the ground.)
+
+BEGGAR. Something like that was to be expected. Such things happen. Get
+up again!
+
+STRANGER (raising himself up). Where am I? Where have I been? Is
+it spring, winter or summer? In what century am I living, in what
+hemisphere? Am I a child or an old man, male or female, a god or a
+devil? And who are you? Are you, you; or are you me? Are those my own
+entrails that I see about me? Are those stars or bundles of nerves in my
+eye; is that water, or is it tears? Wait! Now I'm moving forward in time
+for a thousand years, and beginning to shrink, to grow heavier and to
+crystallise! Soon I'll be re-created, and from the dark waters of Chaos
+the Lotus flower will stretch up her head towards the sun and say: it is
+I! I must have been sleeping for a few thousand years; and have dreamed
+I'd exploded and become ether, and could no longer feel, no longer
+suffer, no longer be joyful; but had entered into peace and equilibrium.
+But now! Now! I suffer as much as if I were all mankind. I suffer and
+have no right to complain....
+
+BEGGAR. Then suffer, and the more you suffer the earlier pain will leave
+you.
+
+STRANGER. No. Mine are eternal sufferings....
+
+BEGGAR. And only a minute's passed.
+
+STRANGER. I can't bear it.
+
+BEGGAR. Then you must look for help.
+
+STRANGER. What's coming now? Isn't it the end yet?
+
+(It grows light above the bridge. CAESAR comes in and throws himself
+from the parapet; then the DOCTOR appears on the right, with bare head
+and a wild look. He behaves as if he would throw himself into the stream
+too.)
+
+STRANGER. He's revenged himself so thoroughly, that he awakes no qualms
+of conscience! (The DOCTOR goes out, left. The SISTER enters, right, as
+if searching for someone.) Who's that?
+
+BEGGAR. His unmarried sister, who's unprovided for, and has now no home
+to go to. She's grown desperate since her brother was driven out of his
+wits by sorrow and went to pieces.
+
+STRANGER. That's a harder fate. Poor creature, what can one do? Even if
+I felt her sufferings, would that help her?
+
+BEGGAR. No. It wouldn't.
+
+STRANGER. Why do qualms of conscience come after, and not beforehand?
+Can you help me over that?
+
+BEGGAR. No. No one can. Let us go on.
+
+STRANGER. Where to?
+
+BEGGAR. Come with me.
+
+Curtain.
+
+
+SCENE III
+
+THE 'ROSE' ROOM
+
+[The LADY, dressed in white, is sitting by the cradle doing crochet
+work. The green dress is hanging up by the door on the right. The
+STRANGER comes in, and looks round in astonishment.]
+
+LADY (simply, mildly, without a trace of surprise). Tread softly and
+come here, if you'd see something lovely.
+
+STRANGER. Where am I?
+
+LADY. Quiet! Look at the little stranger who came when you were away.
+
+STRANGER. They told me the river had risen and swept everything off.
+
+LADY. Why do you believe everything you're told? The river did rise,
+but this little creature has someone who protects both her and hers.
+Wouldn't you like to see your daughter? (The STRANGER goes towards
+the cradle. The LADY lifts the curtain.) She's lovely! Isn't she? (The
+STRANGER gazes darkly in front of him.) Won't you look?
+
+STRANGER. Everything's poisoned. Everything!
+
+LADY. Well, perhaps!
+
+STRANGER. Do you know that he has lost his wits and is wandering in the
+neighbourhood, followed by his sister, who's searching for him? He's
+penniless, and drinking....
+
+LADY. Oh, my God!
+
+STRANGER. Why don't you reproach me?
+
+LADY. You'll reproach yourself enough: I'd rather give you good advice.
+Go to the Convent of St. Saviour's, there you'll find a man who can free
+you from the evil you fear.
+
+STRANGER. What, in the convent, where they curse and bind?
+
+LADY. And deliver also!
+
+STRANGER. Frankly, I think you're trying to deceive me; I don't trust
+you any more.
+
+LADY. Nor I, you! So look on this as your farewell visit.
+
+STRANGER. That was my intention; but first I wanted to find out if we're
+of the same mind....
+
+LADY. You see, we can build no happiness on the sorrows of others; so
+we must part. That's the only way to lessen his sufferings. I have my
+child, who'll fill my life for me; and you have the great goal of your
+ambition....
+
+STRANGER. Will you still mock me?
+
+LADY. No, why? You've solved the great problem.
+
+STRANGER. Be quiet! No more of that, even if you believe it.
+
+LADY. But if all the rest believe it too....
+
+STRANGER. No one believes it now.
+
+LADY. It says in the paper to-day that gold's been made in England. That
+it's been proved possible.
+
+STRANGER. You've been deceived.
+
+LADY. No! Oh, heaven, he won't believe his own good fortune.
+
+STRANGER. I no longer believe anything.
+
+LADY. Get the newspaper from the pocket of my dress over there.
+
+STRANGER. The green witch's dress, that laid a spell on me one Sunday
+afternoon, between the inn and the church door! That'll bring no good.
+
+LADY (fetching the paper herself and also a large parcel that is in the
+pocket of the dress). See for yourself.
+
+STRANGER (tearing up the paper). No need for me to look!
+
+LADY. He won't believe it. He won't. Yet the chemists want to give a
+banquet in your honour next Saturday.
+
+STRANGER. Is that in the paper too? About the banquet?
+
+LADY (handing him the packet). And here's the diploma of honour. Read
+it!
+
+STRANGER (tearing up the packet). Perhaps there's a Government Order
+too!
+
+LADY. Those whom the gods would destroy they first make blind! You
+made your discovery with no good intentions, and therefore you weren't
+permitted to be the only one to succeed.
+
+STRANGER. Now I shall go. For I won't stay here and lay bare my shame!
+I've become a laughing-stock, so I'll go and hide myself--bury myself
+alive, because I don't dare to die.
+
+LADY. Then go! We start for the colonies in a few days.
+
+STRANGER. That's frank at least! Perhaps we're nearing a solution.
+
+LADY. Of the riddle: why we had to meet?
+
+STRANGER. Why did we have to?
+
+LADY. To torture one another.
+
+STRANGER. Is that all?
+
+LADY. You thought you could save me from a werewolf, who really was no
+such thing, and so you become one yourself. And then I was to save you
+from evil by taking all the evil in you on myself, and I did so; but the
+result was that you only became more evil. My poor deliverer! Now you're
+bound hand and foot and no magician can set you free.
+
+STRANGER. Farewell, and thank you for all you've done.
+
+LADY. Farewell, and thank you... for this! (She points to the cradle.)
+
+STRANGER (going towards the back). First perhaps I ought to take my
+leave in there.
+
+LADY. Yes, my dear. Do!
+
+(The STRANGER goes out through the door at the back. The LADY crosses
+to the door on the right and lets in the DOMINICAN--who is also the
+BEGGAR.)
+
+CONFESSOR. Is he ready now?
+
+LADY. Nothing remains for this unhappy man but to leave the world and
+bury himself in a monastery.
+
+CONFESSOR. So he doesn't believe he's the great inventor he undoubtedly
+is?
+
+LADY. No. He can believe good of no one, not even of himself.
+
+CONFESSOR. That is the punishment Heaven sent him: to believe lies,
+because he wouldn't listen to the truth.
+
+LADY. Lighten his guilty burden for him, if you can.
+
+CONFESSOR. No. If I did he'd only grow insolent and accuse God of
+malice and injustice. This man is a demon, who must be kept confined.
+He belongs to the dangerous race of rebels; he'd misuse his gifts, if he
+could, to do evil. And men's power for evil is immeasurable.
+
+LADY. For the sake of the... attachment you've shown me, can't you ease
+his burden a little; where it presses on him most and where he's least
+to blame?
+
+CONFESSOR. You must do that, not I; so that he can leave you in the
+belief that you've a good side, and that you're not what your first
+husband told him you were. If he believes you, I'll deliver him later,
+just as I once bound him when he confessed to me, during his illness, in
+the convent of St. Saviour's.
+
+LADY (going to the back and opening the door). As you wish!
+
+STRANGER (re-entering). So there's the Terrible One! How did he come
+here? But isn't he the beggar, after all?
+
+CONFESSOR. Yes, I am your terrible friend, and I've come for you.
+
+STRANGER. What? Have I...?
+
+CONFESSOR. Yes. Once already you promised me your soul, on oath, when
+you lay ill and felt near madness. It was then you offered to serve the
+powers of good; but when you got well again you broke your oath, and
+therefore were plagued with unrest, and wandered abroad unable to find
+peace--tortured by your own conscience.
+
+STRANGER. Who are you really? Who dares lay a hand on my destiny?
+
+CONFESSOR. You must ask her that.
+
+LADY. This is the man to whom I was first engaged, and who dedicated his
+life to the service of God, when I left him.
+
+STRANGER. Even if he were!
+
+LADY. So you needn't think so ill of yourself because it was you who
+punished my faithlessness and another's lack of conscience.
+
+STRANGER. His sin cannot justify mine. Of course it's untrue, like
+everything else; and you only say it to console me.
+
+CONFESSOR. What an unhappy soul he is....
+
+STRANGER. A damned one too!
+
+CONFESSOR. No! (To the LADY.) Say something good of him.
+
+LADY. He won't believe it, if I do; he only believes evil!
+
+CONFESSOR. Then I shall have to say it. A beggar once came and asked him
+for a drink of water; but he gave me wine instead and let me sit at his
+table. You remember that?
+
+STRANGER. No. I don't load my memory with such trifles.
+
+CONFESSOR. Pride! Pride!
+
+STRANGER. Call it pride, if you like. It's the last vestige of our
+god-like origin. Let's go, before it grows dark.
+
+CONFESSOR. 'For the whole world shined with clear light and none were
+hindered in their labour. Over these only was spread a heavy night, an
+image of darkness which should afterward receive them; but yet were they
+unto themselves more grievous than the darkness.'
+
+LADY. Don't hurt him!
+
+STRANGER (with passion). How beautifully she can speak, though she is
+evil. Look at her eyes; they cannot weep tears, but they can flatter,
+sting, or lie! And yet she says: Don't hurt him! See, now she fears I'll
+wake her child, the little monster that robbed me of her! Come, priest,
+before I change my mind.
+
+Curtain.
+
+
+
+
+PART III.
+
+
+CHARACTERS
+
+     THE STRANGER
+     THE LADY
+     THE CONFESSOR
+     THE MAGISTRATE
+     THE PRIOR
+     THE TEMPTER
+     THE DAUGHTER
+
+
+     less important figures
+     HOSTESS
+     FIRST VOICE
+     SECOND VOICE
+     WORSHIPPERS OF VENUS
+     MAIA
+     PILGRIM
+     FATHER
+     WOMAN
+     EVE
+     PRIOR
+     PATER ISIDOR (the Doctor of Part I)
+     PATER CLEMENS
+     PATER MELCHER
+
+
+SCENES
+
+     ACT I     On the River Bank
+
+     ACT II    Cross-Roads in the Mountains
+
+     ACT III   SCENE I Terrace
+               SCENE II Rocky Landscape
+               SCENE III Small House
+     (On the Mountain where the Monastery Stands)
+
+     ACT IV    SCENE I Chapter House
+               SCENE II Picture Gallery
+               SCENE III Chapel
+     (Of the Monastery)
+
+
+
+
+ACT I
+
+ON THE RIVER BANK
+
+[The foreground represents the bank of a large river. On the right a
+projecting tongue of land covered with old willow trees. Farther
+up stage the river can be seen flowing quietly past. The background
+represents the farther bank, a steep mountain slope covered with
+woodland. Above the tops of the forest trees the Monastery can be seen;
+it is an enormous four-cornered building completely white, with two rows
+of small windows. The facade is broken by the Church belonging to the
+Monastery, which is flanked by two towers in the style favoured by the
+Jesuits. The Church door is open, and at a certain moment the monstrance
+on the altar is visible in the light of the sun. On the near bank in the
+foreground, which is low and sandy, purple and yellow loose-strife are
+growing. A shallow boat is moored nearby. On the left the ferryman's
+hut. It is an evening in early summer and the sun is low; foreground,
+river and the lower part of the background lie in shadow; and the trees
+on the far bank sway gently in the breeze. Only the Monastery is lit by
+the sun.]
+
+[The STRANGER and the CONFESSOR enter from the right. The STRANGER is
+wearing alpine clothing: a brown cloak with a cape and hood; he has a
+staff and wallet. He is limping slightly. The CONFESSOR is to the black
+and white habit of the Dominicans. They stop at a place where a willow
+tree prevents any view of the Monastery.]
+
+STRANGER. Why do you lead me along this winding, hilly path, that never
+comes to an end?
+
+CONFESSOR. Such is the way, my friend. But now we'll soon be there. (He
+leads the STRANGER farther up stage. The STRANGER sees the Monastery,
+and is enchanted by it; he takes off his hat, and puts down his wallet
+and staff.) Well?
+
+STRANGER. I've never seen anything so white on this polluted earth. At
+most, only in my dreams! Yes, that's my youthful dream of a house in
+which peace and purity should dwell. A blessing on you, white house! Now
+I've come home!
+
+CONFESSOR. Good! But first we must await the pilgrims on this bank. It's
+called the bank of farewell, because it's the custom to say farewell
+here, before the ferryman ferries one across.
+
+STRANGER. Haven't I said enough farewells already? Wasn't my whole life
+one thorny path of farewells? At post offices, steamer-quays, railway
+stations--with the waving of handkerchiefs damp with tears?
+
+CONFESSOR. Yet your voice trembles with the pain what you've lost.
+
+STRANGER. I don't feel I've lost anything. I don't want anything back.
+
+CONFESSOR. Not even your youth?
+
+STRANGER. That least of all. What should I do with it, and its capacity
+for suffering?
+
+CONFESSOR. And for enjoyment?
+
+STRANGER. I never enjoyed anything, for I was born with a thorn in my
+flesh; every time I stretched out my hand to grasp a pleasure, I pricked
+my finger and Satan struck me in the face.
+
+CONFESSOR. Because your pleasures have been base ones.
+
+STRANGER. Not so base. I had my own home, a wife, children, duties,
+obligations to others! No, I was born in disfavour, a step-child of
+life; and I was pursued, hunted, in a word, cursed!
+
+CONFESSOR. Because you didn't obey God's commandment.
+
+STRANGER. But no one can, as St. Paul says himself! Why should I be able
+to do what no one else can do? I of all men? Because I'm supposed to be
+a scoundrel. Because more's demanded of me than of others.... (Crying
+out.) Because I was treated with injustice.
+
+CONFESSOR. Have you got back to that, rebellious one?
+
+STRANGER. Yes. I've always been there. Now let's cross the river.
+
+CONFESSOR. Do you think one can climb up to that white house without
+preparation?
+
+STRANGER. I'm ready: you can examine me.
+
+CONFESSOR. Good! The first monastic vow is: humility.
+
+STRANGER. And the second: obedience! Neither of them was ever a special
+virtue of mine; it's for that very reason that I want to make the great
+attempt.
+
+CONFESSOR. And show your pride through your humility.
+
+STRANGER. Whatever it is, it's all the same to me.
+
+CONFESSOR. What, everything? The world and its best gifts; the joy of
+innocent children, the pleasant warmth of home, the approbation of your
+fellow-men, the satisfaction brought by the fulfilment of duty--are you
+indifferent to them all?
+
+STRANGER. Yes! Because I was born without the power of enjoyment. There
+have been moments when I've been an object of envy; but I've never
+understood what it was I was envied for: my sufferings in misfortune, my
+lack of peace in success, or the fact I hadn't long to live.
+
+CONFESSOR. It's true that life has given you everything you wished; even
+a little gold at the last. Why, I even seem to remember that a sculptor
+was commissioned to make a portrait bust of you.
+
+STRANGER. Oh yes! A bust was made of me.
+
+CONFESSOR. Are you, of all men, impressed by such things?
+
+STRANGER. Of course not! But they do at least mark well founded
+appreciation, that neither envy nor lack of understanding can shake.
+
+CONFESSOR. You think so? It seems to me that human greatness resides
+in the good opinion of others; and that, if this opinion changes, the
+greatest can quickly dwindle into nothing.
+
+STRANGER. The opinions of others have never meant much to me.
+
+CONFESSOR. Haven't they? Really?
+
+STRANGER. No one's been so strict with himself as I! And no one's been
+so humble! All have demanded my respect; whilst they spurned me and spat
+on me. And when at last I found I'd duties towards the immortal soul
+given into my keeping, I began to demand respect for this immortal soul.
+Then I was branded as the proudest of the proud! And by whom? By the
+proudest of all amongst the humble and lowly.
+
+CONFESSOR. I think you're entangling yourself in contradictions.
+
+STRANGER. I think so, too! For the whole of life consists of nothing
+but contradictions. The rich are the poor in spirit; the many little men
+hold the power, and the great only serve the little men. I've never met
+such proud people as the humble; I've never met an uneducated man who
+didn't believe himself in a position to criticise learning and to do
+without it. I've found the unpleasantest of deadly sins amongst the
+Saints: I mean self-complacency. In my youth I was a saint myself; but
+I've never been so worthless as I was then. The better I thought myself,
+the worse I became.
+
+CONFESSOR. Then what do you seek here?
+
+STRANGER. What I've told you already; but I'll add this: I'm seeking
+death without the need to die!
+
+CONFESSOR. The mortification of your flesh, of your old self! Good! Now
+keep still: the pilgrims are coming on their wooden rafts to celebrate
+the festival of Corpus Christi.
+
+STRANGER (looking to the right in surprise). Who are they?
+
+CONFESSOR. People who believe in something.
+
+STRANGER. Then help my unbelief! (Sunlight now falls on the monstrance
+in the church above, so that it shines like a window pane at sunset.)
+Has the sun entered the church, or....
+
+CONFESSOR. Yes. The sun has entered....
+
+(The first raft comes in from the right. Children clothed in white, with
+garlands on their heads and with lighted lanterns in their hands, are
+seen standing round an altar decked with flowers, on which a white flag
+with a golden lily has been planted. They sing, whilst the raft glides
+slowly by.)
+
+    Blessed be he, who fears the Lord,
+    Beati omnes, qui timent Dominum,
+    And walks in his ways,
+    Qui ambulant in viis ejus.
+    Thou shalt feed thyself with the work of thy hands,
+    Labores manuum tuarum quia manducabis;
+    Blessed be thou and peace be with thee,
+    Beatus es et bene tibi erit.
+
+(A second raft appears with boys on one side and girls on the other. It
+has a flag with a rose on it.)
+
+            Thy wife shall be like a fruitful vine,
+            Uxor tua sicut vitis abundans,
+            Within thy house,
+            In lateribus domus tuae.
+
+(The third raft carries men and women. There is a flag with fruit upon
+it: figs, grapes, pomegranates, melons, ears of wheat, etc.)
+
+    Filii tui sicut novellae olivarum,
+    Thy children shall be like olive branches about thy table,
+    In circuitu mensae tuae.
+
+(The fourth raft is filled with older men and women. The flag has a
+representation of a fir-tree under snow.)
+
+            See, how blessed is the man,
+            Ecce sic benedicetur homo,
+            Who feareth the Lord,
+            Qui timet Dominum!
+
+(The raft glides by.)
+
+STRANGER. What were they singing?
+
+CONFESSOR. A pilgrim's song.
+
+STRANGER. Who wrote it?
+
+CONFESSOR. A royal person.
+
+STRANGER. Here? What was his name? Has he written anything else?
+
+CONFESSOR. About fifty songs; he was called David, the son of Isaiah!
+But he didn't always write psalms. When he was young, he did other
+things. Yes. Such things will happen!
+
+STRANGER. Can we go on now?
+
+CONFESSOR. In a moment. I've something to say to you first.
+
+STRANGER. Speak.
+
+CONFESSOR. Good. But don't be either sad or angry.
+
+STRANGER. Certainly not.
+
+CONFESSOR. Here, you see, on this bank, you're a well-known--let's say
+famous--person; but over there, on the other, you'll be quite unknown to
+the brothers. Nothing more, in fact, than an ordinary simple man.
+
+STRANGER. Oh! Don't they read in the monastery?
+
+CONFESSOR. Nothing light; only serious books.
+
+STRANGER. They take in papers, I suppose?
+
+CONFESSOR. Not the kind that write about you!
+
+STRANGER. Then on the other side of this river my life-work doesn't
+exist?
+
+CONFESSOR. What work?
+
+STRANGER. I see. Very well. Can't we cross now?
+
+CONFESSOR. In a minute. Is there no one you'd like to take leave of?
+
+STRANGER (after a pause.) Yes. But it's beyond the bounds of
+possibility.
+
+CONFESSOR. Have you ever seen anything impossible?
+
+STRANGER. Not really, since I've seen my own destiny.
+
+CONFESSOR. Well, who is it you'd like to meet?
+
+STRANGER. I had a daughter once; I called her Sylvia, because she sang
+all day long like a wren. It's some years since I saw her; she must be
+a girl of sixteen now. But I'm afraid if I were to meet her, life would
+regain its value for me.
+
+CONFESSOR. You fear nothing else?
+
+STRANGER. What do you mean?
+
+CONFESSOR. That she may have changed!
+
+STRANGER. She could only have changed for the better.
+
+CONFESSOR. Are you sure?
+
+STRANGER. Yes.
+
+CONFESSOR. She'll come to you. (He goes down to the bank and beckons to
+the right.)
+
+STRANGER. Wait! I'm wondering whether it's wise!
+
+CONFESSOR. It can do no harm.
+
+(He beckons once more. A boat appears on the river, rowed by a young
+girl. She is wearing summer clothing, her head is bare and her fair hair
+is hanging loose. She gets out of the boat behind the willow tree. The
+CONFESSOR draws back until he is near the ferryman's hut, but remains
+in sight of the audience. The STRANGER has waved to the girl and she has
+answered him. She now comes on to the stage, runs into the STRANGER'S
+arms, and kisses him.)
+
+DAUGHTER. Father. My dear father!
+
+STRANGER. Sylvia! My child!
+
+DAUGHTER. How in the world do you come to be up here in the mountains?
+
+STRANGER. And how have _you_ got here? I thought I'd managed to hide so
+well.
+
+DAUGHTER. Why did you want to hide?
+
+STRANGER. Ask me as little as possible! You've grown into a big girl.
+And I've gone grey.
+
+DAUGHTER. No. You're not grey. You're just as young as you were when we
+parted.
+
+STRANGER. When we... parted!
+
+DAUGHTER. When you left us.... (The STRANGER does not reply.) Aren't you
+glad we're meeting again?
+
+STRANGER (faintly). Yes!
+
+DAUGHTER. Then show it.
+
+STRANGER. How can I be glad, when we're parting to-day for life?
+
+DAUGHTER. Why, where do you want to go?
+
+STRANGER (pointing to the monastery). Up there!
+
+DAUGHTER (with a sophisticated air). Into the monastery? Yes, now I come
+to think of it, perhaps it's best.
+
+STRANGER. You think so?
+
+DAUGHTER (with pity, but good-will.) I mean, if you've a ruined life
+behind you.... (Coaxingly.) Now you look sad. Tell me one thing.
+
+STRANGER. Tell _me_ one thing, my child, that's been worrying me more
+than anything else. You've a stepfather?
+
+DAUGHTER. Yes.
+
+STRANGER. Well?
+
+DAUGHTER. He's very good and kind.
+
+STRANGER. With every virtue that I lack....
+
+DAUGHTER. Aren't you glad we've got into better hands?
+
+STRANGER. Good, better, best! Why do you come here bare-headed?
+
+DAUGHTER. Because George is carrying my hat.
+
+STRANGER. Who's George? And where is he?
+
+DAUGHTER. George is a friend of mine; and he's waiting for me on the
+bank down below.
+
+STRANGER. Are you engaged to him?
+
+DAUGHTER. No. Certainly not!
+
+STRANGER. Do you want to marry?
+
+DAUGHTER. Never!
+
+STRANGER. I can see it by your mottled cheeks, like those of a child
+that has got up too early; I can hear it by your voice, that's no longer
+that of a warbler, but a jay; I can feel it in your kisses, that burn
+cold like the sun in May; and by your steady icy look that tells me
+you're nursing a secret of which you're ashamed, but of which you'd like
+to boast. And your brothers and sisters?
+
+DAUGHTER. They're quite well, thank you.
+
+STRANGER. Have we anything else to say to one another?
+
+DAUGHTER (coldly). Perhaps not.
+
+STRANGER. Now you look so like your mother.
+
+DAUGHTER. How do you know, when you've never been able to see her as she
+was!
+
+STRANGER. So you understood that, though you were so young?
+
+DAUGHTER. I learnt to understand it from you. If only you'd understand
+yourself.
+
+STRANGER. Have you anything else to teach me?
+
+DAUGHTER. Perhaps! But in your day that wasn't considered seemly.
+
+STRANGER. My day's over and exists no longer; just as Sylvia exists no
+longer, but is merely a name, a memory. (He takes a guide-book out of
+his pocket.) Look at this guide-book! Can you see small marks made here
+by tiny fingers, and others by little damp lips? You made them when you
+were five years old; you were sitting on my knee in the train, and we
+saw the Alps for the first time. You thought what you saw was Heaven;
+and when I explained that the mountain was the Jungfrau, you asked if
+you could kiss the name in the book.
+
+DAUGHTER. I don't remember that!
+
+STRANGER. Delightful memories pass, but hateful ones remain! Don't you
+remember anything about me?
+
+DAUGHTER. Oh yes.
+
+STRANGER. Quiet! I know what you mean. One night... one dreadful,
+horrible night... Sylvia, my child, when I shut my eyes I see a pale
+little angel, who slept in my arms when she was ill; and who thanked
+me when I gave her a present. Where is she whom I long for so and
+who exists no more, although she isn't dead? You, as you are, seem a
+stranger, whom I've never known and certainly don't long to see
+again. If Sylvia at least were dead and lay in her grave, there'd be a
+churchyard where I could take my flowers.... How strange it is! She's
+neither among the living, nor the dead. Perhaps she never existed, and
+was only a dream like everything else.
+
+DAUGHTER (wheedling).Father, dear!
+
+STRANGER. It's she! No, only her voice. (Pause.) So you think my life's
+been ruined?
+
+DAUGHTER. Yes. But why speak of it now?
+
+STRANGER. Because remember I once saved _your_ life. You had brain fever
+for a whole month and suffered a great deal. Your mother wanted the
+doctor to deliver you from your unhappy existence by some powerful drug.
+But I prevented it, and so saved you from death and your mother from
+prison.
+
+DAUGHTER. I don't believe it!
+
+STRANGER. But a fact may be true, even if you don't believe it.
+
+DAUGHTER. You dreamed it.
+
+STRANGER. Who knows if I haven't dreamed everything, and am not even
+dreaming now. How I wish it were so!
+
+DAUGHTER. I must be going, father.
+
+STRANGER. Then good-bye!
+
+DAUGHTER. May I write to you?
+
+STRANGER. What? One of the dead write to another? Letters won't reach
+me in future. And I mayn't receive visitors. But I'm glad we've met,
+for now there's nothing else on earth I cling to. (Going to the left.)
+Good-bye, girl or woman, whatever I should call you. There's no need to
+weep!
+
+DAUGHTER. I wasn't thinking of weeping, though I dare say good breeding
+would demand I should. Well, good-bye! (She goes out right.)
+
+STRANGER (to the CONFESSOR). I think I came out of that well! It's a
+mercy to part with content on both sides. Mankind, after all, makes
+rapid progress, and self-control increases as the flow of the tear-ducts
+lessens. I've seen so many tears shed in my lifetime, that I'm almost
+taken aback at this dryness. She was a strong child, just the kind I
+once wished to be. The most beautiful thing that life can offer! She
+lay, like an angel, wrapped in the white veils of her cradle, with a
+blue coverlet when she slept. Blue and arched like the sky. That was the
+best: what will the worst look like?
+
+CONFESSOR. Don't excite yourself, but be of good cheer. First throw away
+that foolish guide-book, for this is your last journey.
+
+STRANGER. You mean this? Very well. (He opens the book, kisses one of
+the pages and then throws it into the river.) Anything else?
+
+CONFESSOR. If you've any gold or silver, you must give it to the poor.
+
+STRANGER. I've a silver watch. I never got as far as a gold one.
+
+CONFESSOR. Give that to the ferryman; and then you'll get a glass of
+wine.
+
+STRANGER. The last! It's like an execution! Perhaps I'll have to have my
+hair cut, too?
+
+CONFESSOR. Yes. Later. (He takes the watch and goes to the door of the
+ferryman's hut, speaking a few whispered words to someone within. He
+receives a bottle of wine and a glass in exchange, which he puts on the
+table.)
+
+STRANGER (filling his glass, but not drinking it.) Shall I never get
+wine up there?
+
+CONFESSOR. No wine; and you'll see no women. You may hear singing; but
+not the kind of songs that go with women and wine.
+
+STRANGER. I've had enough of women; they can't tempt me any more.
+
+CONFESSOR. Are you sure?
+
+STRANGER. Quite sure.... But tell me this: what do you think of women,
+who mayn't even set their feet within your consecrated walls?
+
+CONFESSOR. So you're still asking questions?
+
+STRANGER. And why may an abbess never hear confession, never read mass,
+and never preach?
+
+CONFESSOR. I can't answer that.
+
+STRANGER. Because the answer would accord with my thoughts on that
+theme.
+
+CONFESSOR. It wouldn't be a disaster if we were to agree for once.
+
+STRANGER. Not at all!
+
+CONFESSOR. Now drink up your wine.
+
+STRANGER. No. I only want to look at it for the last time. It's
+beautiful....
+
+CONFESSOR. Don't lose yourself in meditation; memories lie at the bottom
+of the cup.
+
+STRANGER. And oblivion, and songs, and power--imaginary power, but for
+that reason all the greater.
+
+CONFESSOR. Wait here a moment; I'll go and order the ferry.
+
+STRANGER. 'Sh! I can hear singing, and I can see.... I can see.... For
+a moment I saw a flag unfurling in a puff of wind, only to fall back
+on the flagstaff and hang there limply as if it were nothing but a
+dishcloth. I've witnessed my whole life flashing past in a second,
+with its joys and sorrows, its beauty and its misery! But now I can see
+nothing.
+
+CONFESSOR (going to the left). Wait here a moment, I'll go and order the
+ferry.
+
+(The STRANGER goes so far up stage that the rays of the setting sun,
+which are streaming from the right through the trees, throw his shadow
+across the bank and the river. The LADY enters from the right, in deep
+mourning. Her shadow slowly approaches that of the STRANGER.)
+
+STRANGER (who, to begin with, looks only at his own shadow). Ah! The
+sun! It makes me a bloodless shape, a giant, who can walk on the water
+of the river, climb the mountain, stride over the roof of the monastery
+church, and rise, as he does now, up into the firmament--up to the
+stars. Ah, now I'm up here with the stars.... (He notices the shadow
+thrown by the LADY.) But who's following me? Who's interrupting my
+ascension? Trying to climb on my shoulders? (Turning.) You!
+
+LADY. Yes. I!
+
+STRANGER. So black! So black and so evil.
+
+LADY. No longer evil. I'm in mourning....
+
+STRANGER. For whom?
+
+LADY. For our Mizzi.
+
+STRANGER. My daughter! (The LADY opens her arms, in order to throw
+herself on to his breast, but he avoids her.) I congratulate the dead
+child. I'm sorry for you. I myself feel outside everything.
+
+LADY. Comfort me, too.
+
+STRANGER. A fine idea! I'm to comfort my fury, weep with my hangman,
+amuse my tormentor.
+
+LADY. Have you no feelings?
+
+STRANGER. None! I wasted the feelings I used to have on you and others.
+
+LADY. You're right. You can reproach me.
+
+STRANGER. I've neither the time nor the wish to do that. Where are you
+going?
+
+LADY. I want to cross with the ferry.
+
+STRANGER. Then I've no luck, for I wanted to do the same. (The LADY
+weeps into her handkerchief. The STRANGER takes it from her and dries
+her eyes.) Dry your eyes, child, and be yourself! As hard, and lacking
+in feeling, as you really are! (The LADY tries to put her arm round his
+neck. The STRANGER taps her gently on the fingers.) You mustn't touch
+me. When your words and glances weren't enough, you always wanted to
+touch me. You'll excuse a rather trivial question: are you hungry?
+
+LADY. No. Thank you.
+
+STRANGER. But you're tired. Sit down. (The LADY sits down at the table.
+The STRANGER throws the bottle and glass into the river.) Well, what are
+you going to live for now?
+
+LADY (sadly). I don't know.
+
+STRANGER. Where will you go?
+
+LADY (sobbing). I don't know.
+
+STRANGER. So you're in despair? You see no reason for living and no end
+to your misery! How like me you are! What a pity there's no monastery
+for both sexes, so that we could pair off together. Is the werewolf
+still alive?
+
+LADY. You mean...?
+
+STRANGER. Your first husband.
+
+LADY. He never seems to die.
+
+STRANGER. Like a certain worm! (Pause.) And now that we're so far from
+the world and its pettiness, tell me this: why did you leave him in
+those days, and come to me?
+
+LADY. Because I loved you.
+
+STRANGER. And how long did that last?
+
+LADY. Until I read your book, and the child was born.
+
+STRANGER. And then?
+
+LADY. I hated you! That is, I wanted to be rid of all the evil you'd
+given me, but I couldn't.
+
+STRANGER. So that's how it was! But we'll never really know the truth.
+
+LADY. Have you noticed how impossible it is to find things out? You can
+live with a person and their relations for twenty years, and yet not
+know anything about them.
+
+STRANGER. So you've discovered that? As you see so much, tell me this:
+how was it you came to love me?
+
+LADY. I don't know; but I'll try to remember. (Pause.) Well, you had
+the masculine courage to be rude to a lady. In me you sought the
+companionship of a human being and not merely of a woman. That honoured
+me; and, I thought, you too.
+
+STRANGER. Tell me also whether you held me to be a misogynist?
+
+LADY. A woman-hater? Every healthy man is one, in the secret places of
+his heart; and all perverted men are admirers of women.
+
+STRANGER. You're not trying to flatter me, are you?
+
+LADY. A woman who'd try to flatter a man's not normal.
+
+STRANGER. I see you've thought a great deal!
+
+LADY. Thinking's the least I've done; for when I've thought least
+I've understood most. Besides, what I said just how is perhaps only
+improvised, as you call it, and not true in the least.
+
+STRANGER. But if it agrees with many of my observations it becomes most
+probable. (The LADY weeps into her handkerchief.) You're weeping again?
+
+LADY. I was thinking of Mizzi. The loveliest thing we ever had is gone.
+
+STRANGER. No. You were the loveliest thing, when you sat all night
+watching over your child, who was lying in your bed, because her cradle
+was too cold! (Three loud knocks are heard on the ferryman's door.) 'Sh!
+
+LADY. What's that?
+
+STRANGER. My companion, who's waiting for me.
+
+LADY (continuing the conversation). I never thought life would give me
+anything so sweet as a child.
+
+STRANGER. And at the same time anything so bitter.
+
+LADY. Why bitter?
+
+STRANGER. You've been a child yourself, and you must remember how we,
+when we'd just married, came to your mother in rags, dirty and without
+money. I seem to remember she didn't find us very sweet.
+
+LADY. That's true.
+
+STRANGER. And I... well, just now I met Sylvia. And I expected that all
+that was beautiful and good in the child would have blossomed in the
+girl....
+
+LADY. Well?
+
+STRANGER. I found a faded rose, that seemed to have blown too soon. Her
+breasts were sunken, her hair untidy like that of a neglected child, and
+her teeth decayed.
+
+LADY. Oh!
+
+STRANGER. You mustn't grieve. Not for the child! You might perhaps have
+had to grieve for her later, as I did.
+
+LADY. So that's what life is?
+
+STRANGER. Yes. That's what life is. And that's why I'm going to bury
+myself alive.
+
+LADY. Where?
+
+STRANGER (pointing to the monastery). Up there!
+
+LADY. In the monastery? No, don't leave me. Bear me company. I'm so
+alone in the world and so poor, so poor! When the child died, my mother
+turned me out, and ever since I've been living in an attic with a
+dressmaker. At first she was kind and pleasant, but then the lonely
+evenings got too long for her, and she went out in search of company--so
+we parted. Now I'm on the road, and I've nothing but the clothes I'm
+wearing; nothing but my grief. I eat it and drink it; it nourishes me
+and sends me to sleep. I'd rather lose anything in the world than that!
+(The STRANGER weeps.) You're weeping. You! Let me kiss your eyelids.
+
+STRANGER. You've suffered all that for my sake!
+
+LADY. Not for your sake! You never did me an ill turn; but I plagued you
+till you left your fireside and your child!
+
+STRANGER. I'd forgotten that; but if you say so.... So you still love
+me?
+
+LADY. Probably. I don't know.
+
+STRANGER. And you'd like to begin all over again?
+
+LADY. All over again? The quarrels? No, we won't do that.
+
+STRANGER. You're right. The quarrels would only begin all over again.
+And yet it's difficult to part.
+
+LADY. To part. The word alone's terrible enough.
+
+STRANGER. Then what are we to do?
+
+LADY. I don't know.
+
+STRANGER. No, one knows nothing, hardly even that one knows nothing; and
+that's why, you see, I've got as far as to _believe_.
+
+LADY. How do you know you can believe, if belief's a gift?
+
+STRANGER. You can receive a gift, if you ask for it.
+
+LADY. Oh yes, if you ask; but I've never been able to beg.
+
+STRANGER. I've had to learn to. Why can't you?
+
+LADY. Because one has to demean oneself first.
+
+STRANGER. Life does that for one very well.
+
+LADY. Mizzi, Mizzi, Mizzi!... (She has taken a shawl she was carrying
+over her arm, rolled it up and put it on her knee like a baby in long
+clothes.) Sleep! Sleep! Sleep! Think of it! I can see her here! She's
+smiling at me; but she's dressed in black; she seems to be in mourning
+too! How stupid I am! Her mother's in mourning! She's got two teeth
+down below, and they're white--milk teeth; she should never have cut any
+others. Oh, can't you see her, when I can? It's no vision. It _is_ her!
+
+CONFESSOR (in the door of the ferryman's hut; sternly to the STRANGER).
+Come. Everything's ready!
+
+STRANGER. No. Not yet. I must first set my house in order; and look
+after this woman, who was once my wife.
+
+CONFESSOR. Oh, so you want to stay!
+
+STRANGER. No. I don't want to stay; but I can't leave duties behind me
+unfulfilled. This woman's on the road, deserted, without a home, without
+money!
+
+CONFESSOR. What has that to do with us? Let the dead bury their dead!
+
+STRANGER. Is that your teaching?
+
+CONFESSOR. No, yours.... Mine, on the other hand, commands me to send a
+Sister of Mercy here, to look after this unhappy one, who... who... The
+Sister will soon be here!
+
+STRANGER. I shall count on it.
+
+CONFESSOR (taking the STRANGER by the hand and drawing him away.) Then
+come!
+
+STRANGER (in despair). Oh, God in heaven! Help us every one!
+
+CONFESSOR. Amen!
+
+(The LADY, who has not been looking at the CONFESSOR and the STRANGER,
+now raises her eyes and glances at the STRANGER as if she wanted to
+spring up and hold him back; but she is prevented by the imaginary child
+she has put to her breast.)
+
+Curtain.
+
+
+
+
+ACT II
+
+CROSS-ROADS IN THE MOUNTAINS
+
+[A cross-roads high up in the mountains. On the right, huts. On the left
+a small pool, round which invalids are sitting. Their clothes are blue
+and their hands cinnabar-red. From the pond blue vapour and small blue
+flames rise now and then. Whenever this happens the invalids put them
+hands to their mouths and cough. The background is formed by a mountain
+covered with pine-wood, which is obscured above by a stationary bank of
+mist.]
+
+[The STRANGER is sitting at a table outside one of the huts. The
+CONFESSOR comes forward from the right.]
+
+STRANGER. At last!
+
+CONFESSOR. What do you mean: at last?
+
+STRANGER. You left me here a week ago and told me to wait till you came
+back.
+
+CONFESSOR. Hadn't I prepared you for the fact that the way to the white
+house up there would be long and difficult.
+
+STRANGER. I don't deny it. How far have we come?
+
+CONFESSOR. Five hundred yards. We've still got fifteen hundred.
+
+STRANGER. But where's the sun?
+
+CONFESSOR. Up there, above the clouds....
+
+STRANGER. Then we shall have to go through them?
+
+CONFESSOR. Yes. Of course.
+
+STRANGER. What are those patients doing there? What a company! And why
+are their hands so red?
+
+CONFESSOR. For both our sakes I want to avoid using impure words, so
+I'll speak in pleasant riddles, which you, as a writer, will understand.
+
+STRANGER. Yes. Speak beautifully. There's so much that's ugly here.
+
+CONFESSOR. You may have noticed that the signs given to the planets
+correspond with those of certain metals? Good! Then you'll have seen
+that Venus is represented by a mirror. This mirror was originally made
+of copper, so that copper was called Venus and bore her stamp. But now
+the reverse of Venus' mirror is covered with quicksilver or mercury!
+
+STRANGER. The reverse of Venus... is Mercury. Oh!
+
+CONFESSOR. Quicksilver is therefore the reverse side of Venus.
+Quicksilver is itself as bright as a calm sea, as a lake at the height
+of summer; but when mercury meets firestone and burns, it blushes and
+turns red like newly-shed blood, like the cloth on the scaffold, like
+the cinnabar lips of the whore! Do you understand now, or not?
+
+STRANGER. Wait a moment! Cinnabar is quicksilver and sulphur.
+
+CONFESSOR. Yes. Mercury must be burnt, if it comes too near to Venus!
+Have we said enough now?
+
+STRANGER. So these are sulphur springs?
+
+CONFESSOR. Yes. And the sulphur flames purify or burn everything rotten!
+So when the source of life's grown tainted, one is sent to the sulphur
+springs....
+
+STRANGER. How does the source of life grow tainted?
+
+CONFESSOR. When Aphrodite, born of the pure seafoam, wallows in the
+mire.... When Aphrodite Urania, the heaven-born, degrades herself to
+Pandemos, the Venus of the streets.
+
+STRANGER. Why is desire born?
+
+CONFESSOR. Pure desire, to be satisfied; impure, to be stifled.
+
+STRANGER. What is pure, and what impure?
+
+CONFESSOR. Have you got back to that?
+
+STRANGER. Ask these men here....
+
+CONFESSOR. Take care! (He looks at the STRANGER, who is unable to
+support his gaze.)
+
+STRANGER. You're choking me.... My chest....
+
+CONFESSOR. Yes, I'll steal the air you use to form rebellious words, and
+ask outrageous questions. Sit down there, I'll come back--when you've
+learnt patience and undergone your probation. But don't forget that I
+can hear and see you, and am aware of you, wherever I may be!
+
+STRANGER. So I'm to be tested! I'm glad to know it!
+
+CONFESSOR. But you mustn't speak to the worshippers of Venus.
+
+(MAIA, an old woman, appears in the background.)
+
+STRANGER (rising in horror). Who am I meeting here after all this time?
+Who is it?
+
+CONFESSOR. Who are you speaking of?
+
+STRANGER. That old woman there?
+
+CONFESSOR. Who's she?
+
+STRANGER (calling). Maia! Listen! (Old Maia has disappeared. The
+STRANGER hurries after her.) Maia, my friend, listen! She's gone!
+
+CONFESSOR. Who was it?
+
+STRANGER (sitting down). O God! Now, when I find her again at last,
+she goes.... I've looked for her for seven long years, written letters,
+advertised....
+
+CONFESSOR. Why?
+
+STRANGER. I'll tell you how her fate was linked to mine! (Pause.) Maia
+was the nurse in my first family... during those hard years... when I
+was fighting the Invisible Ones, who wouldn't bless my work! I wrote
+till my brain and nerves dissolved like fat in alcohol... but it wasn't
+enough! I was one of those who never could earn enough. And the day came
+when I couldn't pay the maids their wages--it was terrible--and I became
+the servant of my servant, and she became my mistress. At last... in
+order, at least, to save my soul, I fled from what was too powerful for
+me. I fled into the wilderness, where I collected my spirit in solitude
+and recovered my strength! My first thought then was--my debts! For
+seven years I looked for Maia, but in vain! For seven years I saw her
+shadow, out of the windows of trains, from the decks of steamers, in
+strange towns, in distant lands, but without ever being able to find
+her. I dreamed of her for seven years; and whenever I drank a glass
+of wine I blushed at the thought of old Maia, who perhaps was drinking
+water in a poorhouse! I tried to give the sum I owed her to the poor;
+but it was no use. And now--she's found and lost in the same moment!
+(He gets up and goes towards the back as if searching for her.) Explain
+this, if you can! I want to pay my debt; I can pay it now, but I'm not
+allowed to.
+
+CONFESSOR. Foolishness' Bow to what seems inexplicable; you'll see that
+the explanation will come later. Farewell!
+
+STRANGER. Later. Everything comes later.
+
+CONFESSOR. Yes. If it doesn't come at once! (He goes out. The LADY
+enters pensively and sits down at the table, opposite the STRANGER.)
+
+STRANGER. What? You back again? The same and not the same? How beautiful
+you've grown; as beautiful as you were the first time I ever saw you;
+when I asked if I might be your friend, your dog.
+
+LADY. That you can see beauty I don't possess shows that once more
+you have a mirror of beauty in your eye. The werewolf never thought me
+beautiful, for he'd nothing beautiful with which to see me.
+
+STRANGER. Why did you kiss me that day? What made you do it?
+
+LADY. You've often asked me that, and I've never been able to find the
+answer, because I don't know. But just now, when I was away from you,
+here in the mountains, where the air's purer and the sun nearer....
+Hush! Now I can see that Sunday afternoon, when you sat on that seat
+like a lost and helpless child, with a broken look in your eyes, and
+stared at your own destiny.... A maternal feeling I'd never known before
+welled up in me then, and I was overcome with pity, pity for a human
+soul--so that I forgot myself.
+
+STRANGER. I'm ashamed. Now I believe it was so.
+
+LADY. But you took it another way. You thought...
+
+STRANGER. Don't tell me. I'm ashamed.
+
+LADY. Why did you think so badly of me? Didn't you notice that I drew
+down my veil; so that it was between us, like the knight's sword in the
+bridal bed....
+
+STRANGER. I'm ashamed. I attributed my evil thoughts to you. Ingeborg,
+you were made of better stuff than I. I'm ashamed!
+
+LADY. Now you look handsome. How handsome!
+
+STRANGER. Oh no. Not I. You!
+
+LADY (ecstatically). No, you! Yes, now I've seen through the mask
+and the false beard. Now I can see the man you hid from me, the man I
+thought I'd found in you... the man I was always searching for. I've
+often thought you a hypocrite; but we're no hypocrites. No, no, we can't
+pretend.
+
+STRANGER. Ingeborg, now we're on the other side of the river, and have
+life beneath us, behind us... how different everything seems. Now, now,
+I can see your soul; the ideal, the angel, who was imprisoned in the
+flesh because of sin. So there is an Above, and an Earlier Age. When
+we began it wasn't the beginning, and it won't be the end when we are
+ended. Life is a fragment, without beginning or end! That's why it's so
+difficult to make head or tail of it.
+
+LADY (kindly). So difficult. So difficult. Tell me, for instance--now
+we're beyond guilt or innocence--how was it you came to hate women?
+
+STRANGER. Let me think! To hate women? Hate them? I never hated them. On
+the contrary! Ever since I was eight years old I've always had some love
+affair, preferably an innocent one. And I've loved like a volcano three
+times! But wait--I've always felt that women hated me... and they've
+always tortured me.
+
+LADY. How strange!
+
+STRANGER. Let me think about it a little.... Perhaps I've been jealous
+of my own personality; and been afraid of being influenced too much. My
+first love made herself into a sort of governess and nurse to me. But,
+of course, there _are_ men who detest children; who detest women too, if
+they're superior to them, that is!
+
+LADY (amiably). But you've called women the enemies of mankind. Did you
+mean it?
+
+STRANGER. Of course I meant it, if I wrote it! For I wrote out of
+experience, not theory.... In woman I sought an angel, who could lend
+me wings, and I fell into the arms of an earth-spirit, who suffocated me
+under mattresses stuffed with the feathers of wings! I sought an Ariel
+and I found a Caliban; when I wanted to rise she dragged me down; and
+continually reminded me of the fall....
+
+LADY (kindly). Solomon knew much of women; do you know what he said? 'I
+find more bitter than death a woman, whose heart is snares and nets and
+her hands as bands; whoso pleaseth God shall escape from her; but the
+sinner shall be taken by her.'
+
+STRANGER. I was never acceptable in God's sight. Was that a punishment?
+Perhaps. But I was never acceptable to anyone, and I've never had a good
+word addressed to me! Have I never done a good action? Is it possible
+for a man never to have done anything good? (Pause.) It's terrible never
+to hear any good words about oneself!
+
+LADY. You've heard them. But when people have spoken well of you, you've
+refused to listen, as if it hurt you.
+
+STRANGER. That's true, now you remind me. But can you explain it?
+
+LADY. Explain it? You're always asking for explanations of the
+inexplicable. 'When I applied my heart to know wisdom... I beheld all
+the work of God, that a man cannot find out that is done under the sun.
+Because, though a man labour to seek it out, yet he shall not find it;
+yea, further, though a wise man think to know it, yet shall he not be
+able to find it!'
+
+STRANGER. Who says that?
+
+LADY. The Prophet Ecclesiastes. (She takes a doll out of her pocket.)
+This is Mizzi's doll. You see she longs for her little mistress! How
+pale she's grown... and she seems to know where Mizzi is, for she's
+always gazing up to heaven, whichever way I hold her. Look! Her eyes
+follow the stars as the compass the pole. She is my compass and always
+shows me where heaven is. She should, of course, be dressed in black,
+because she's in mourning; but we're so poor.... Do you know why we
+never had money? Because God was angry with us for our sins. 'The
+righteous suffer no dearth.'
+
+STRANGER. Where did you learn that?
+
+LADY. In a book in which everything's written. Everything! (She wraps
+the doll up in her cloak.) See, she's beginning to get cold--that's
+because of the cloud up there....
+
+STRANGER. How can you dare to wander up here in the mountains?
+
+LADY. God is with me; so what have I to fear from human beings?
+
+STRANGER. Aren't you tormented by those people at the pool?
+
+LADY (turning towards them). I can't see them. I can't see anything
+horrible now.
+
+STRANGER. Ingeborg! I have made you evil, yet you're on the way to make
+me good! It was my dream, you know, to seek redemption through a woman.
+You don't believe it! But it's true. In the old days nothing was of
+value to me if I couldn't lay it at a woman's feet. Not as a tribute
+to an overbearing mistress,... but as a sacrifice to the beautiful
+and good. It was my pleasure to give; but she wanted to take and not
+receive: that's why she hated me! When I was helpless and thought the
+end was near, a desire grew in me to fall asleep on a mother's knee, on
+a tremendous breast where I could bury my tired head and drink in the
+tenderness I'd been deprived of.
+
+LADY. You had no mother?
+
+STRANGER. Hardly! And I've never felt any bond between myself and my
+father or my brothers and sisters.... Ingeborg, I was the son of a
+servant of whom it is written. 'Drive forth the handmaid with her son,
+for this son shall not inherit with the son of peace.'
+
+LADY. Do you know why Ishmael was driven out? It says just before--that
+he was a scoffer. And then it goes on: 'He will be a wild man, his hand
+will be against every man, and every man's hand against him; and against
+all his brothers.'
+
+STRANGER. Is that also written?
+
+LADY. Oh yes, my child; it's all there!
+
+STRANGER. All?
+
+LADY. All. There you'll find answers to all your questions even the most
+inquisitive!
+
+STRANGER. Call me your child, and then I'll love you.... And if I
+love anyone, I long to serve them, to obey them, to let myself be
+ill-treated, to suffer and to bear it.
+
+LADY. You shouldn't love me, but your Creator.
+
+STRANGER. He's unfriendly--like my father!
+
+LADY. He is Love itself; and you are Hate.
+
+STRANGER. You're his daughter; but I'm his cast-out son.
+
+LADY (coaxingly). Quiet! Be still!
+
+STRANGER. If you only knew what I've suffered this last week. I don't
+know where I am.
+
+LADY. Where do you think?
+
+STRANGER. There's a woman in that but who looks at me as if I'd come to
+rob her of her last mite. She says nothing--that's the trouble. But I
+think it's prayers she mutters, when she sees me.
+
+LADY. What sort of prayers?
+
+STRANGER. The sort one whispers behind the backs of those who have the
+evil eye or bring misfortune.
+
+LADY. How strange! Don't you realise that one's sight can be blinded?
+
+STRANGER. Yes, of course. But who can do it?
+
+HOSTESS (coming across to their table). Well, look at that! I suppose
+she's your sister?
+
+STRANGER. Yes. We can say so now.
+
+HOSTESS (to the LADY). Fancy meeting someone I can speak to at last!
+This gentleman's so silent, you see, that one feels at once one must
+respect him; particularly as he seems to have had trouble. But I can
+say this to his sister, and he shall hear it: that from the moment
+he entered the house I felt that I was blessed. I'd been dogged by
+misfortune; I'd no lodger, my only cow had died, my husband was in a
+home for drunkards and my children had nothing to eat. I prayed God to
+send me help from heaven, because I expected nothing more on earth. Then
+this gentleman came. And apart from giving me double what I asked, he
+brought me good luck--and my house was blessed. God bless you, good sir!
+
+STRANGER (getting up excitedly). Silence, woman. That's blasphemy!
+
+LADY. He won't believe. O God! He won't believe. Look at me!
+
+STRANGER. When I look at you, I do believe. She's giving me her
+blessing! And I, who'm damned, have brought a blessing on her! How can I
+believe it? I, of all men! (He falls down by the table and weeps in his
+hands.)
+
+LADY. He's weeping! Tears, rain from heaven, that can soften rocks, are
+falling on his stony heart.... He's weeping!
+
+HOSTESS. He? Who has a heart of gold! Who's been so open handed and so
+good to my children!
+
+LADY. You hear what she says!
+
+HOSTESS. There's only one thing about him I don't understand; but I
+don't want to say anything unpleasant....
+
+LADY. What is it?
+
+HOSTESS. Only a trifle; and yet...
+
+LADY. Well?
+
+HOSTESS. He didn't like my dogs.
+
+LADY. I can't blame him for not caring for an impure beast. I hate
+everything animal, in myself and others. I don't hate animals on that
+account, for I hate nothing that's created....
+
+STRANGER. Thank you, Ingeborg!
+
+LADY. You see! I've an eye for your merits, even though you don't
+believe it.... Here comes the Confessor.
+
+(The CONFESSOR enters.)
+
+HOSTESS. Then I'll go; for the Confessor has no love for me.
+
+LADY. The Confessor loves all mankind.
+
+CONFESSOR (coming forward and speaking to the LADY). You best of all, my
+child; for you're goodness itself. Whether you're beautiful to look at,
+I can't see; but I know you must be, because you're good. Yes, you were
+the bride of my youth, and my spiritual mate; and you'll always be so,
+for you gave me what you were never able to give to others. I've
+lived your life in my spirit, suffered your pains, enjoyed your
+pleasures--pleasure rather, for you'd no others than what your child
+gave you. I alone have seen the beauty of your soul--my friend here has
+divined it; that's why he felt attracted to you--but the evil in him
+was too strong; you had to draw it out of him into yourself to free
+him. Then, being evil, you had to suffer the worst pains of hell for his
+sake, to bring atonement. Your work's ended. You can go in peace!
+
+LADY. Where?
+
+CONFESSOR. Up there. Where the sun's always shining.
+
+LADY (rising). Is there a home for me there, too?
+
+CONFESSOR. There's a home for everyone! I'll show you the way. (He goes
+with her into the background. The STRANGER makes a movement.) You're
+impatient? You mustn't be! (He goes out. The STRANGER remains sitting
+alone. The WORSHIPPERS OF VENUS get up, go towards him and form a circle
+round him.)
+
+STRANGER. What do you want with me?
+
+WORSHIPPERS. Hail! Father.
+
+STRANGER (much upset). Why call me that?
+
+FIRST VOICE. Because we're your children. Your dear ones!
+
+STRANGER (tries to escape, but is surrounded and cannot). Let me go. Let
+me go!
+
+SECOND VOICE (that of a pale youth). Don't you recognise me, Father?
+
+TEMPTER (appearing in the background at the left-hand fork of the path).
+Ha!
+
+STRANGER (to the Second Voice). Who are you? I seem to know your face.
+
+SECOND VOICE. I'm Erik--your son!
+
+STRANGER. Erik! You here?
+
+SECOND VOICE. Yes. I'm here.
+
+STRANGER. God have mercy! And you, my boy, forgive me!
+
+SECOND VOICE. Never! You showed us the way to the sulphur springs! Is it
+far to the lake?
+
+(The STRANGER falls to the ground.)
+
+TEMPTER. Ha! Jubilate, temptatores!
+
+VENUS WORSHIPPERS. Sulphur! Sulphur! Sulphur! Mercury!
+
+TEMPTER (coming forward and touching the STRANGER with his foot). The
+worm! You can make him believe whatever you like. That comes from his
+unbelievable pride. Does he think he's the mainspring of the universe,
+the originator of all evil? This foolish man believes he taught youth to
+go in search of Venus; as if youth hadn't done that long before he was
+born! His pride's insupportable, and he's been rash enough to try to
+botch my work for me. Give him another greeting, lying Erik! (The SECOND
+VOICE--that is the youth--bends over the STRANGER and whispers in his
+ear.) There were seven deadly sins; but now there are eight. The eighth
+I discovered! It's called despair. For to despair of what is good,
+and not to hope for forgiveness, is to call... (He hesitates before
+pronouncing the word God, as if it burnt his lips.) God wicked. That is
+calumny, denial, blasphemy.... Look how he winces!
+
+STRANGER (rising quickly, and looking the TEMPTER to the eyes). Who are
+you?
+
+TEMPTER. Your brother. Don't we resemble one another? Some of your
+features seem to remind me of my portrait.
+
+STRANGER. Where have I seen it?
+
+TEMPTER. Almost everywhere! I'm often to be found in churches, though
+not amongst the saints.
+
+STRANGER. I can't remember....
+
+TEMPTER. Is it so long since you've been to church? I'm usually
+represented with St. George. (The STRANGER totters and would like to
+fly, but cannot.) Michael and I are sometimes to be seen in a group, in
+which, to be sure, I don't appear in the most favourable light; but that
+can be altered. All can be altered; and one day the last shall be first.
+It's just the same in your case. For the moment, things are going badly
+with you, but that can be altered too... if you've enough intelligence
+to change your company. You've had too much to do with skirts, my son.
+Skirts raise dust, and dust lies on eyes and breast.... Come and sit
+down. We'll have a chat.... (He takes the STRANGER jocularly by the ear
+and leads him round the table.) Sit down and tremble, young man! (They
+both sit down.) Well? What shall we do? Call for wine--and a woman? No!
+That's too old a trick, as old as Doctor Faust! Bon! We modern are in
+search of mental dissipation.... So you're on your way to those holy men
+up there, who think that they who sleep can't sin; to the cowardly ones,
+who've given up the battle of life, because they were defeated once or
+twice; to those that bind souls rather than free them.... And talking of
+that! Has any saintly man ever freed you from the burden of sin? No!
+Do you know why sin has been oppressing you for so long? Through
+renunciation and abstinence, you've grown so weak that anyone can seize
+your soul and take possession of it. Why, they can even do it from a
+distance! You've so destroyed your personality that you see with strange
+eyes, hear with strange ears and think strange thoughts. In a word
+you've murdered your own soul. Just now, didn't you speak well of the
+enemies of mankind; of Woman, who made a hell of paradise? You needn't
+answer me; I can read your answer in your eyes and hear it on your lips.
+You talk of pure love for a woman! That's lust, young man, lust after a
+woman, which we have to pay for so dearly. You say you don't desire her.
+Then why do you want to be near her? You'd like to have a friend? Take a
+male friend, many of them! You've let them convince you you're no woman
+hater. But the woman gave you the right answer; every healthy man's a
+woman hater, but can't live without linking himself to his enemy, and
+so must fight her! All perverse and unmanly men are admirers of women!
+How's it with you now? So you saw those invalids and thought yourself
+responsible for their misery? They're tough fellows, you can believe
+me; they'll be able to leave here in a few days and go back to their
+occupations. Oh yes, lying Erik's a wag! But things have gone so far
+with you, that you can't distinguish between your own and other people's
+children. Wouldn't it be a great thing to escape from all this? What do
+you say? Oh, I could free you... but I'm no saint. Now we'll call old
+Maia. (He whistles between his fingers: MAIA appears.) Ah, there you
+are! Well, what are you doing here? Have you any business with this
+fellow?
+
+MAIA. No. He's good and always was; but he'd a terrible wife.
+
+TEMPTER (to the STRANGER). Listen! You've not heard that yet, have you?
+Rather the opposite. She was the good angel, whom you ruined... we've
+all been told that! Now, old Maia, what kind of story is it he prattles
+of? He says he was plagued with remorse for seven years because he owed
+you money.
+
+MAIA. He owed me a small sum once; but I got it back from him--and with
+good interest--much better than the savings bank would have given me. It
+was very good of him--very kind.
+
+STRANGER (starting up). What's that you said? Is it possible I've
+forgotten?
+
+TEMPTER. Have you the receipt, Maia? If so, give it me.
+
+MAIA. The gentleman must have the receipt; but I've got the savings bank
+book here. He paid the money into it in my name. (She produces a savings
+bank book, and hands it to the STRANGER, who looks at it.)
+
+STRANGER. Yes, that's quite right. Now I remember. Then why this
+seven-year torment, shame and disgrace? Those reproaches during
+sleepless nights? Why? Why? Why?
+
+TEMPTER. Old Maia, you can go now. But first say something nice about
+this self-tormentor. Can't you remember any human quality in this wild
+beast, whom human beings have baited for years?
+
+STRANGER (to MAIA). Quiet, don't answer him! (He stops his ears with his
+fingers.)
+
+TEMPTER. Well, Maia?
+
+MAIA. I know well enough what they say about him, but that refers to
+what he writes--and I've not read it for I can't read. Still, no one
+need read it, if they don't want to. Anyhow the gentleman's been very
+kind. Now he's stopping his ears. I don't know how to flatter; but I can
+say this in a whisper.... (She whispers some thing to the TEMPTER.)
+
+TEMPTER. Yes. All human beings who are easily moved are baited like wild
+beasts! It's the rule. Good bye, old Maia!
+
+MAIA. Good-bye, kind gentlemen. (She goes out.)
+
+STRANGER. Why did I suffer innocently for seven years?
+
+TEMPTER (pointing upwards with one finger). Ask up there!
+
+STRANGER. Where I never get an answer!
+
+TEMPTER. Well, that may be. (Pause.) Do you think _I_ look good?
+
+STRANGER. I can't say I do.
+
+TEMPTER. You look extremely wicked, too! Do you know why we look like
+that?
+
+STRANGER. No.
+
+TEMPTER. The hate and malice of our fellow human beings have fastened
+themselves on us. Up there, you know, there are real saints, who've
+never done anything wicked themselves, but who suffer for others, for
+relations, who've committed unexpiated sins. Those angels, who've taken
+the depravity of others on themselves, really resemble bandits. What do
+you say to that?
+
+STRANGER. I don't know who you are; but you're the first to answer
+questions that might reconcile me to life. You are....
+
+TEMPTER. Well, say it!
+
+STRANGER. The deliverer!
+
+TEMPTER. And therefore....?
+
+STRANGER. Therefore you've been given a vulture.... But listen, have you
+ever thought that there's as good a reason for this as for everything
+else? Granted the earth's a prison, on which dangerous prisoners are
+confined--is it a good thing to set them free? Is it right?
+
+TEMPTER. What a question! I've never really thought about it. Hm!
+
+STRANGER. And have you ever thought of this: we may be born in guilt?
+
+TEMPTER. That's nothing to do with me: I concern myself with the
+present.
+
+STRANGER. Good! Don't you think we're sometimes punished wrongly, so
+that we fail to see the logical connection, though it exists?
+
+TEMPTER. Logic's not missing; but all life's a tissue of offences,
+mistakes, errors, that are comparatively blameless owing to human
+weakness, but that are punished by the most consistent revenge.
+Everything's revenged, even our injudicious actions. Who forgives? A
+magnanimous man-sometimes; heavenly justice, never! (A PILGRIM appears
+in the background.) See! A penitent! I'd like to know what wrong he's
+done. We'll ask him. Welcome to our quiet meadows, peaceful wanderer!
+Take your place at the simple table of the ascetic, at which there are
+no more temptations.
+
+PILGRIM. Thank you, fellow traveller in the vale of woe.
+
+TEMPTER. What kind of woe is yours?
+
+PILGRIM. None in particular; on the contrary, the hour of liberation's
+struck, and I'm going up there to receive absolution.
+
+STRANGER. Listen, haven't we two met before?
+
+PILGRIM. I think so, certainly.
+
+STRANGER. Caesar! You're Caesar!
+
+PILGRIM. I used to be; but I am no longer.
+
+TEMPTER. Ha ha! Imperial acquaintance. Really! But tell us, tell us!
+
+PILGRIM. You shall hear. Now I've a right to speak, for my penance is at
+an end. When we met at a certain doctor's house, I was shut up there
+as a madman and supposed to be suffering from the illusion that I was
+Caesar. Now the Stranger shall hear the truth of the matter: I never
+believed it, but I was forced by scruples of conscience to put a good
+face on it.... A friend of mine, a bad friend, had written proof that I
+was the victim of a misunderstanding; but he didn't speak when he should
+have, and I took his silence as a request not to speak either-and to
+suffer. Why did I? Well, in my youth I was once in great need. I was
+received as a guest in a house on an island far out to sea by a man who,
+in spite of unusual gifts, had been passed over for promotion--owing to
+his senseless pride. This man, by solitary brooding on his lot, had come
+to hold quite extraordinary views about himself. I noticed it, but I
+said nothing. One day this man's wife told me that he was sometimes
+mentally unbalanced; and then thought he was Julius Caesar. For many
+years I kept this secret conscientiously, for I'm not ungrateful by
+nature. But life's tricky. It happened a few years later that this
+Caesar laid rough hands on my most intimate fate. In anger at this I
+betrayed the secret of his Caesar mania and made my erstwhile benefactor
+such a laughing stock, that his existence became unbearable to him. And
+now listen how Nemesis overtakes one! A year later I wrote a book-I am,
+you must know, an author who's not made his name.... And in this book I
+described incidents of family life: how I played with my daughter--she
+was called Julia, as Caesar's daughter was--and with my wife, whom we
+called Caesar's wife because no one spoke evil of her.... Well, this
+recreation, in which my mother-in-law joined too, cost me dear. When I
+was looking through the proofs of my book, I saw the danger and said to
+myself: you'll trip yourself up. I wanted to cut it out but, if you'll
+believe it, the pen refused, and an inner voice said to me: let it
+stand! It did stand! And I fell.
+
+STRANGER. Why didn't you publish the letter from your friend that would
+have explained everything?
+
+PILGRIM. When the disaster had happened I felt at once that it was the
+finger of God, and that I must suffer for my ingratitude.
+
+STRANGER. And you did suffer?
+
+PILGRIM. Not at all! I smiled to myself and wouldn't let myself be put
+out. And because I accepted my punishment with calmness and humility God
+lightened my burden; and I didn't feel myself ridiculous.
+
+TEMPTER. That's a strange story; but such things happen. Shall we move
+on now? We'll go for an excursion, now we've weathered the storms. Pull
+yourself up by the roots, and then we'll climb the mountain.
+
+STRANGER. The Confessor told me to wait for him.
+
+TEMPTER. He'll find you, anyhow! And up here in the village the court's
+sitting to-day. A particularly interesting case is to be tried; and I
+dare say I'll be called as a witness. Come!
+
+STRANGER. Well, whether I sit here, or up there, is all the same to me.
+
+PILGRIM (to the STRANGER). Who's that?
+
+STRANGER. I don't know. He looks like an anarchist.
+
+PILGRIM. Interesting, anyhow!
+
+STRANGER. He's a sceptical gentleman, who's seen life.
+
+TEMPTER. Come, children; I'll tell you stories on the way. Come. Come!
+
+(They go out towards the background.)
+
+Curtain.
+
+
+
+
+ACT III
+
+SCENE I
+
+TERRACE ON THE MOUNTAIN
+
+[A Terrace on the mountain on which the Monastery stands. On the right
+a rocky cliff and a similar one on the left. In the far background a
+bird's-eye view of a river landscape with towns, villages, ploughed
+fields and woods; in the very far distance the sea can be seen. Down
+stage an apple tree laden with fruit. Under it a long table with a chair
+at the end and benches at the sides. Down stage, right, a corner of
+the village town hall. A cloud seems to be hanging immediately over the
+village.]
+
+[The MAGISTRATE sits at the end of the table in the capacity of judge;
+the assessors on the benches. The ACCUSED MAN is standing on the right
+by the MAGISTRATE; the witnesses on the left, amongst them the TEMPTER.
+Members of the public, with the PILGRIM and the STRANGER, are standing
+here and there not far from the judge's seat.]
+
+MAGISTRATE. Is the accused present?
+
+ACCUSED MAN. Yes. Present.
+
+MAGISTRATE. This is a very sad story, that's brought trouble and shame
+on our small community. Florian Reicher, twenty-three years old, is
+accused of shooting at Fritz Schlipitska's affianced wife, with the
+clear intention of killing her. It's a case of premeditated murder, and
+the provisions of the law are perfectly clear. Has the accused anything
+to say in his defence, or can he plead mitigating circumstances?
+
+ACCUSED MAN. No.
+
+TEMPTER. Ho, there!
+
+MAGISTRATE. Who are you?
+
+TEMPTER. Counsel for the accused.
+
+MAGISTRATE. The accused man certainly has a right to the services of
+counsel, but in the present case I think the facts are so clear that the
+people have reached a certain conclusion; and the murderer will hardly
+be able to regain their sympathy. Isn't that so?
+
+PEOPLE. He's condemned already!
+
+TEMPTER. Who by?
+
+PEOPLE. The Law and his own deed.
+
+TEMPTER. Listen to me! As counsel for the accused I represent him and
+take the accusation on myself. I ask permission to address the court.
+
+MAGISTRATE. I can't refuse it.
+
+PEOPLE. Florian's been condemned already.
+
+TEMPTER. The case must first be heard. (Pause.) I'd reached my
+eighteenth year--it's Florian speaking--and my thoughts, as I grew up
+under my mother's watchful eye, were pure; and my heart without deceit,
+for I'd never seen or heard anything wicked. Then I--Florian, that
+is--met a young girl who seemed to me the most beautiful creature I'd
+ever set eyes on in this wicked world, for she was goodness itself. I
+offered her my hand, my heart, and my future. She accepted everything
+and swore that she'd be true. I was to serve five years for my
+Rachel--and I did serve, collecting one straw after another for the
+little nest we were going to build. My whole life was centred on the
+love of this woman! As I was true to her myself, I never mistrusted her.
+By the fifth year I'd built the hut and collected our household goods...
+when I discovered she'd been playing with me and had deceived me with at
+least three men....
+
+MAGISTRATE. Have you witnesses?
+
+BAILIFF. Three valid ones; I'm one of them.
+
+MAGISTRATE. The bailiff alone will be sufficient.
+
+TEMPTER. Then I shot her; not out of revenge, but in order to free
+myself from the unhealthy thoughts her faithlessness had forced on me;
+for when I tried to tear her picture out of my heart, images of her
+lovers always rose and crept into my blood, so that at last I seemed to
+be living in unlawful relationship with three men--with a woman as the
+link between us!
+
+MAGISTRATE. Well, that was jealousy!
+
+ACCUSED MAN. Yes, that was jealousy.
+
+TEMPTER. Yes, jealousy, that feeling for cleanliness, that seeks to
+preserve thoughts from pollution by strangers. If I'd been content to do
+nothing, if I'd not been jealous, I'd have got into vicious company, and
+I didn't want to do that. That's why she had to die so that my thoughts
+might be cleansed of deadly sin, which alone is to be condemned. I've
+finished.
+
+PEOPLE. The dead woman's guilty! Her blood's on her own head.
+
+MAGISTRATE. She's guilty, for she was the cause of the crime.
+
+(The FATHER of the dead woman steps forward.)
+
+FATHER. Your Worship, judge of my dead child; and you, countrymen, let
+me speak!
+
+MAGISTRATE. The dead girl's father may speak.
+
+FATHER. You're accusing a dead girl; and I shall answer. Maria, my
+child, has undoubtedly been guilty of a crime and is to blame for the
+misdeeds of this man. There's no doubt of it!
+
+PEOPLE. No doubt! It's she who's guilty!
+
+FATHER. Permit her father to add a word of explanation, if not of
+defence. (Pause.) When she was fifteen, Maria fell into the hands of a
+man who seemed to have made it his business to entrap young girls, much
+as a bird-catcher traps small birds. He was no seducer, in the ordinary
+sense, for he contented himself with binding her senses and entangling
+her feelings only to thrust her away and watch how she suffered with
+torn wings and a broken heart--tortured by the agony of love, which is
+worse than any other agony. For three years Maria was cared for in an
+institution for the mentally deranged. And when she came out again, she
+was divided, broken into several pieces--it might be said that she was
+several persons. She was an angel and feared God with one side of her
+spirit; but with another she was a devil, and reviled all that was
+holy. I've seen her go straight from dancing and frenzy to her beloved
+Florian, and have heard her, in his presence, speak so differently and
+so alter her expression, that I could have sworn she was another being.
+But to me she seemed equally sincere in both her shapes. Is she to
+blame, or her seducer?
+
+PEOPLE. She's not to blame! Where is her seducer?
+
+FATHER. There!
+
+TEMPTER. Yes. It was I.
+
+PEOPLE. Stone him!
+
+MAGISTRATE. The law must run its course. He must be heard.
+
+TEMPTER. Bon! Then listen, Argives! It was like this. Your humble
+servant, born of poor but fairly honourable parents, was from the
+beginning one of those strange birds who, in their youth, go in search
+of their Creator--but without ever finding him, naturally! It's more
+usual for old cuckoos to look for him in their dotage--and for good
+reasons! The urge for this youthful quest was accompanied by a purity
+of heart and a modesty that even caused his nurses to smile--yes, we can
+laugh now when we hear that this boy would only change his underclothing
+in the dark! But even if we're corrupted by the crudities of life,
+we're still bound to find something beautiful in it; and if we're older
+something touching! And so we can afford to-day to laugh at his childish
+innocence. Scornful laughter, listeners, please.
+
+MAGISTRATE (seriously). He mistakes his listeners.
+
+TEMPTER. Then I ought to be ashamed of myself! (Pause.) He became a
+youth--your humble servant--and fell into a series of traps that
+were laid for his innocence. I'm an old sinner, but I blush at this
+moment.... (He takes of his hat.) Yes, look at me now--when I think of
+the insight this young man got into the world of Potiphar's wives that
+surrounded him! There wasn't a single woman.... Really, I'm ashamed in
+the name of mankind and the female sex--excuse me, please.... There were
+moments when I didn't believe my eyes, but thought a devil had blinded
+my sight. The holiest bands.... (He pinches his tongue.) No, quiet!
+Mankind will feel itself calumniated! Enough, until my twenty-fifth
+year I fought the good fight; and I fell because.... Well, I was called
+Joseph, and I _was_ Joseph! I grew jealous of my virtue, and felt
+injured by the glances of a lewd woman.... And at last, cunningly
+seduced, I fell. Then I became a slave of my passions; often and often I
+sat by Omphalos and span, until I sank into the deepest degradation and
+suffered, suffered, suffered! But in reality it was only my body that
+was degraded; my soul lived her own life--her own pure life, I can
+say--on her own account. And I raved innocently for pure young virgins
+who, it seems, felt the bond that drew us together. Because, without
+boasting, I can say they were attracted to me. I didn't want to overstep
+the mark, but they did! And when I fled the danger, their hearts were
+broken, so they said. In a word, I've never seduced an innocent girl.
+I swear it! Am I therefore to blame for the emotional sorrows of this
+young woman, who went out of her mind? On the contrary, mayn't I count
+it a virtue that I shrank in horror from the step that brought about
+her fall? Who'll cast the first stone at me? No one! Then I mistake my
+listeners. Indeed, I thought I might be an object of scorn, if I were to
+plead here for my masculine innocence! Now, however, I feel young again;
+and there's something for which I'd like to ask mankind's forgiveness.
+If it weren't that I happened to see a cynical smile on the lips of the
+woman who seduced me when I was young. Come forward, woman, and look
+upon your work of destruction. Observe, how the seed has grown!
+
+WOMAN (coming forward with dignity and modesty). It was I! Let me
+be heard, and let me tell the simple story of my seduction. (Pause.)
+Luckily my seducer is here, too....
+
+MAGISTRATE. Friends! I must break off the proceedings; otherwise we'll
+get back to Eve in Paradise.
+
+TEMPTER. Who was Adam's seducer! That's just where we want to get back
+to. Eve! Come forward, Eve. Eve! (He waves his cloak in the air. The
+trunk of the tree becomes transparent and EVE appears, wrapped in her
+hair and with a girdle about her loins.) Now, Mother Eve, it was you who
+seduced our father. You are the accused: what have you to say in your
+defence?
+
+EVE (simply and with dignity). The serpent tempted me!
+
+TEMPTER. Well answered! Eve has proved her innocence. The serpent! Let
+the serpent come forward. (EVE disappears.) The serpent! (The serpent
+appears in the tree trunk.) Here you can see the seducer of us all. Now,
+serpent, who was it that beguiled you?
+
+ALL (terrified). Silence! Blasphemer!
+
+TEMPTER. Answer, serpent! (Lightning and a clap of thunder; all flee,
+except the TEMPTER, who has fallen to the ground, and the PILGRIM, the
+STRANGER and the LADY. The TEMPTER begins to recover; he then gets up
+and sits down in an attitude that recalls the classical statue 'The
+Polisher,' or 'The Slave.') Causa finalis, or the first cause--you can't
+discover that! For if the serpent's to blame, then we're comparatively
+innocent--but mankind mustn't be told that! The Accused, however, seems
+to have got out of this business! And the Court of justice has dissolved
+like smoke! Judge not. Judge not, O Judges!
+
+LADY (to the STRANGER). Come with me.
+
+STRANGER. But I'd like to listen to this man.
+
+LADY. Why? He's like a small child, putting all those questions that
+can't be answered. You know how little children ask about everything.
+'Papa, why does the sun rise in the east?' You know the answer?
+
+STRANGER. Hm!
+
+LADY. Or: 'Mama, who made God?' You think that profound? Well, come with
+me.
+
+STRANGER (fighting his admiration for the TEMPTER). But that about Eve
+was new....
+
+LADY. Not at all. I learnt it in my Bible history, when I was eight. And
+that we inherit the debts of our fathers is part of the law of the land.
+Come, my son.
+
+TEMPTER (rising, shaking his limbs and climbing up the rocky wall to the
+right with a limp). Come, I'll show you the world you think you know,
+but don't.
+
+LADY (climbing up the rocky wall to the left). Come with me, my son, and
+I'll show you God's beautiful world, as I've come to see it, since the
+tears of sorrow washed the dust from my eyes. Come with me!
+
+(The STRANGER stands irresolute between them.)
+
+TEMPTER (to the LADY). And how have you seen the world through your
+tears? Like meadow banks reflected in troubled water! A chaos of curved
+lines in which the trees seemed to be standing on their heads. (To
+the STRANGER.) No, my son, with my field-glasses, dried in the fire of
+hate--with my telescope I can see everything as it is. Clear and sharp,
+precisely as it is.
+
+LADY. What do you know of things, my son? You can never see the thing
+itself, only its picture; and the picture is illusion and not the thing.
+So you argue about pictures and illusions.
+
+TEMPTER. Listen to her! A little philosopher in skirts. By Jupiter
+Chronos, such a disputation in this giant amphitheatre of the mountains
+demands a proper audience. Hullo!
+
+LADY. I have mine here: my friend, my husband, my child! If he'll only
+listen to me, good; all will be well with me, and him. Come to me,
+my friend, for this is the way. This is the mountain Gerizim, where
+blessings are given. And that is Ebal, where they curse.
+
+TEMPTER. Yes, this is Ebal, where they curse. 'Cursed be the earth,
+woman, for thy sake; in sorrow shalt thou bring forth children; and thy
+desire shall be to thy husband, and he shall rule over thee.' And then
+to the man this: 'Cursed is the ground for thy sake, thorns and thistle
+shall it bring forth to thee, and in the sweat of thy brow shalt thou
+labour!' So spoke the Lord, not I!
+
+LADY. 'And God blessed the first pair; and He blessed the seventh day,
+on which He had completed His work--and the work was good.' But you, and
+we, have made it something evil, and that is why.... But he who obeys
+the commandments of the Lord dwells on Gerizim, where blessings are
+given. Thus saith the Lord. 'Blessed shalt thou be in the city, and
+blessed shalt thou be in the field. Blessed shall be thy basket and thy
+store. Blessed shalt thou be when thou comest in, and blessed when thou
+goest out. And the Lord shall give rain unto thy land in his season
+to increase thy harvest, and thy children shall flourish. And the Lord
+shall make thee plenteous in goods, to lend to the peoples, and never to
+borrow. And the Lord will bless all the work of thy hand, if thou shalt
+keep the commandments of the Lord thy God!' (Pause.) So come, my friend,
+and lay your hand in mine. (She falls on her knees with clasped hands.)
+I beg you, by the love that once united us, by the memory of the
+child that drew us together; by the strength of a mother's love--a
+mother's--for so have I loved you, erring child, whom I've sought in the
+dark places of the wood and whom at last I've found, hungry and withered
+for want of love! Come back to me, prodigal one; and bury your tired
+head on my heart, where you rested before ever you saw the light of the
+sun. (A change comes over her during this speech; her clothing falls
+from her and she is seen to have changed into a white-robed woman with
+her hair let down and with a full maternal bosom.)
+
+STRANGER. Mother!
+
+LADY. Yes, my child, your mother! In life I could never caress you--the
+will of higher powers denied it me. Why that was I don't dare to ask.
+
+STRANGER. But my mother's dead?
+
+LADY. She was; but the dead aren't dead, and maternal love can conquer
+death. Didn't you know that? Come, my child, I'll repay where I have
+been to blame. I'll rock you to sleep on my knees. I'll wash you clean
+from the... (She omits the word she cannot bring herself to utter) of
+hate and sin. I'll comb your hair, matted with the sweat of fear; and
+air a pure white sheet for you at the fire of a home--a home you've
+never had, you who've known no peace, you homeless one, son of Hagar,
+the serving woman, born of a slave, against whom every man's hand was
+raised. The ploughmen ploughed your back and seared deep furrows there.
+Come, I'll heal your wounds, and suffer your sorrows. Come!
+
+STRANGER (who has been weeping so violently that his whole body has been
+trembling, now goes to the cliff on the left where the MOTHER stands
+with open arms.) I'm coming!
+
+TEMPTER. I can do nothing now. But one day we shall meet again! (He
+disappears behind the cliff.)
+
+Curtain.
+
+
+SCENE II
+
+ROCKY LANDSCAPE ON THE MOUNTAIN
+
+[Higher up the mountain; among the clouds a rocky landscape with a bog
+round it. The MOTHER on a rock, climbing until she disappears into the
+cloud. The STRANGER stops, bewildered.]
+
+STRANGER. Oh, Mother, Mother! Why are you leaving me? At the very moment
+when my loveliest dream was on the point of fulfilment!
+
+TEMPTER (coming forward). What have you been dreaming? Tell me!
+
+STRANGER. My dearest hope, most secret desire and last prayer!
+Reconciliation with mankind, through a woman.
+
+TEMPTER. Through a woman who taught you to hate.
+
+STRANGER. Yes, because she bound me to earth--like the round shot a
+slave drags on his foot, so that he can't escape.
+
+TEMPTER. You talk of woman. Always woman.
+
+STRANGER. Yes. Woman. The beginning and the end--for us men anyhow. In
+relationship to one another they are nothing.
+
+TEMPTER. So that's it; nothing in themselves; but everything for us,
+through us! Our honour and our shame; our greatest joy, our deepest
+pain; our redemption and our fall; our wages and our punishment; our
+strength and our weakness.
+
+STRANGER. Our shame! You've said so. Explain this riddle to me, you
+who're wise. Whenever I appeared in public arm in arm with a woman,
+my wife, who was beautiful and whom I adored, I felt ashamed of my own
+weakness. Explain that riddle to me.
+
+TEMPTER. You felt ashamed? I don't know why.
+
+STRANGER. Can't you answer? You, of all men?
+
+TEMPTER. No, I can't. But I too always suffered when I was with my wife
+in company, because I felt she was being soiled by men's glances, and I
+through her.
+
+STRANGER. And when she did the shameful deed, you were dishonoured. Why?
+
+TEMPTER. The Eve of the Greeks was called Pandora, and Zeus created her
+out of wickedness, in order to torture men and master them. As a wedding
+gift she received a box, containing all the unhappiness of the world.
+Perhaps the riddle of this sphinx can more easily be guessed, if it's
+seen from. Olympus, rather than from the pleasure garden of Paradise.
+Its full meaning will never be known to us. Though I'm as able as
+you. (Pause.) And, by the way, I can still enjoy the greatest pleasure
+creation ever offered! Go you and do likewise!
+
+STRANGER. You mean Satan's greatest illusion! For the woman who seems
+most beautiful to me, can seem horrible to others! Even for me, when
+she's angry, she can be uglier than any other woman. Then what is
+beauty?
+
+TEMPTER. A semblance, a reflection of your own goodness! (He puts his
+hand over his mouth.) Curses on it! I let it out that time. And now the
+devil's loose....
+
+STRANGER. Devil? Yes. But if she's a devil, how can a devil make me
+desire virtue and goodness? For that's what happened to me when I first
+saw her beauty; I was seized with a longing to be like her, and so to
+be worthy of her. To begin with I tried to be by taking exercise, having
+baths, using cosmetics and wearing good clothes; but I only made myself
+ridiculous. Then I began from within; I accustomed myself to thinking
+good thoughts, speaking well of people and acting nobly! And one day,
+when my outward form had moulded itself on the soul within, I became her
+likeness, as she said. And it was she who first uttered those wonderful
+words: I love you! How can a devil ennoble us; how can a spirit of hell
+fill us with goodness; how...? No, she was an angel! A fallen angel,
+of course, and her love a broken ray of that great light--that great
+eternal light--that warms and loves.... That loves....
+
+TEMPTER. What, old friend, must we stand here like two youths and spell
+out the riddles of love?
+
+CONFESSOR (coming in). What's this chatterer saying? He's talked away
+his whole life; and never done anything.
+
+TEMPTER. I wanted to be a priest, but had no vocation.
+
+CONFESSOR. Whilst you're waiting for it, help me to find a drunkard
+who's drowned himself in the bog. It must be near here, because I've
+been following his tracks till now.
+
+TEMPTER. Then it's the man lying beneath that brushwood there.
+
+CONFESSOR (picking up some twigs, and disclosing a fully clothed corpse,
+with a white, young face.) Yes, it is! (He grows pensive as he looks at
+the dead man.)
+
+TEMPTER. Who was he?
+
+CONFESSOR. It's extraordinary!
+
+TEMPTER. He must have been a good-looking man. And quite young.
+
+CONFESSOR. Oh no. He was fifty-four. And when I saw him a week ago, he
+looked like sixty-four. His eyes were as yellow as the slime of a garden
+snail and bloodshot from drunkenness; but also because he'd shed tears
+of blood over his vices and misery. His face was brown and swollen like
+a piece of liver on a butcher's table, and he hid himself from men's
+eyes out of shame--up to the end he seems to have been ashamed of the
+broken mirror of his soul, for he covered his face with brushwood. I
+saw him fighting his vices; I saw him praying to God on his knees for
+deliverance, after he'd been dismissed from his post as a teacher....
+But... Well, now he's been delivered. And look, now the evil's been
+taken from him, the good and beautiful that was in him has again become
+apparent; that's what he looked like when he was nineteen! (Pause.) This
+is sin--imposed as a punishment. Why? That we don't know. 'He who
+hateth the righteous, shall himself be guilty!' So it is written, as an
+indication. I knew him when he was young! And now I remember... he
+was always very angry with those who never drank. He criticised and
+condemned, and always set his cult of the grape on the altar of earthly
+joys! Now he's been set free. Free from sin, from shame, from ugliness.
+Yes, in death he looks beautiful. Death is the deliverer! (To the
+STRANGER.) Do you hear that, Deliverer, you who couldn't even free a
+drunkard from his evil passions!
+
+TEMPTER. Crime as punishment? That's not so bad. Most penetrating!
+
+CONFESSOR. So I think. You'll have new matter for argument.
+
+TEMPTER. Now I'll leave you gentlemen for a while. But soon we'll meet
+again. (He goes out.)
+
+CONFESSOR. I saw you just now with a woman! So there are still
+temptations?
+
+STRANGER. Not the kind you mean.
+
+CONFESSOR. Then what kind?
+
+STRANGER. I could still imagine a reconciliation between mankind and
+woman--through woman herself! And indeed, through that woman who was my
+wife and has now become what I once held her to be having been purified
+and lifted up by sorrow and need. But...
+
+CONFESSOR. But what?
+
+STRANGER. Experience teaches; the nearer, the further off: the further
+from one another, the nearer one can be.
+
+CONFESSOR. I've always known that--it was known by Dante, who all his
+life possessed the soul of Beatrice; and Beethoven, who was united from
+afar with Therese von Brunswick, knew it, though she was the wife of
+another!
+
+STRANGER. And yet! Happiness is only to be found in her company.
+
+CONFESSOR. Then stay with her.
+
+STRANGER. You're forgetting one thing: we're divorced.
+
+CONFESSOR. Good! Then you can begin a new marriage. And it'll promise
+all the more, because both of you are new people.
+
+STRANGER. Do you think anyone would marry us?
+
+CONFESSOR. I, for instance? That's asking too much.
+
+STRANGER. Yes. I'd forgotten! But I daresay someone could be found. It's
+another thing to get a home together....
+
+CONFESSOR. You're sometimes lucky, even if you won't see it. There's
+a small house down there by the river; it's quite new and the owner's
+never even seen it. He was an Englishman who wanted to marry; but at
+the last moment _she_ broke off the engagement. It was built by his
+secretary, and neither of the engaged couple ever set eyes on it. It's
+quite intact, you see!
+
+STRANGER. IS it to let?
+
+CONFESSOR. Yes.
+
+STRANGER. Then I'll risk it. And I'll try to begin life all over again.
+
+CONFESSOR. Then you'll go down?
+
+STRANGER. Out of the clouds. Below the sun's shining, and up here the
+air's a little thin.
+
+CONFESSOR. Good! Then we must part--for a time.
+
+STRANGER. Where are you going?
+
+CONFESSOR. Up.
+
+STRANGER. And I down; to the earth, the mother with the soft bosom and
+warm lap....
+
+CONFESSOR. Until you long once more for what's hard as stone, as cold
+and as white... Farewell! Greetings to those below!
+
+(Each of them goes of in the direction he has chosen.)
+
+Curtain.
+
+
+SCENE III
+
+A SMALL HOUSE ON THE MOUNTAIN
+
+[A pleasant, panelled dining-room, with a tiled stove of majolica. On
+the dining-table, which is in the middle of the room, stand vases filled
+with flowers; also two candelabra with many lighted candles. A large
+carved sideboard on the left. On the right, two windows. At the
+back, two doors; that on the left is open and gives a view of the
+drawing-room, belonging to the lady of the house, which is furnished in
+light green and mahogany, and has a standard lamp of brass with a large,
+lemon-coloured lampshade, which is lit. The door on the right is closed.
+On the left behind the sideboard the entrance from the hall.]
+
+[From the left the STRANGER enters, dressed as a bridegroom; and the
+LADY, dressed as a bride; both radiant with youth and beauty.]
+
+STRANGER. Welcome to my house, beloved; to your home and mine, my bride;
+to your dwelling-place, my wife!
+
+LADY. I'm grateful, dear friend! It's like a fairy tale!
+
+STRANGER. Yes, it is. A whole book of fairy tales, my dear, written by
+me.
+
+(They sit down on either side of the table.)
+
+LADY. Is this real? It seems too lovely to me.
+
+STRANGER. I've never seen you look so young, so beautiful.
+
+LADY. It's your own eyes....
+
+STRANGER. Yes, my own eyes that have learnt to see. And your goodness
+taught them....
+
+LADY. Which itself was taught by sorrow.
+
+STRANGER. Ingeborg!
+
+LADY. It's the first time you've called me by that name.
+
+STRANGER. The first? I've never met Ingeborg; I've never known you,
+as you are, sitting here in our home! Home! An enchanting word. An
+enchanting thing I've never yet possessed. A home and a wife! You are
+my first, my only one; for what once happened exists no longer--no more
+than the hour that's past!
+
+LADY. Orpheus! Your song has made these dead stones live. Make life sing
+in me!
+
+STRANGER. Eurydice, whom I rescued from the underworld! I'll love you to
+life again; revivify you with my imagination. Now happiness will come to
+us, for we know the dangers to avoid.
+
+LADY. The dangers, yes! It's lovely in this house. It seems as if these
+rooms were full of invisible guests, who've come to welcome us. Kind
+spirits, who'll bless us and our home.
+
+STRANGER. The candle flames are still, as if in prayer. The flowers are
+pensive.... And yet!
+
+LADY. Hush! The summer night's outside, warm and dark. And stars hang
+in the sky; large and tearful in the fir trees, like Christmas candles.
+This is happiness. Hold it fast!
+
+STRANGER (still thinking). And yet!
+
+LADY. Hush!
+
+STRANGER (getting up). A poem's coming: I can hear it. It's for you.
+
+LADY. Don't tell it me. I can see it--in your eyes.
+
+STRANGER. For I read it in yours! Well, I couldn't repeat it, because it
+has no words. Only scent, and colour. If I were to, I should destroy it.
+What's unborn is always most beautiful. What's unwon, most dear!
+
+LADY. Quiet. Or, our guests will leave us.
+
+(They do not speak.)
+
+STRANGER. This _is_ happiness--but I can't grasp it.
+
+LADY. See it and breath it; for it can't be grasped.
+
+(They do not speak.)
+
+STRANGER. You're looking at your little room.
+
+LADY. It's as bright green as a summer meadow. There's someone in there.
+Several people!
+
+STRANGER. Only my thoughts.
+
+LADY. Your good, your beautiful thoughts....
+
+STRANGER. Given me by you.
+
+LADY. Had I anything to give you?
+
+STRANGER. You? Everything! But up to now my hands have not been free to
+take it. Not clean enough to stroke your little heart....
+
+LADY. Beloved! The time for reconciliation's coming.
+
+STRANGER. With mankind, and woman--through a woman? Yes, that time has
+come; and blessed may you be amongst women.
+
+(The candles and lamps go out; it grows dark in the dining-room; but a
+weak ray of light can be seen, coming from the brass standard lamp in
+the LADY's room.)
+
+LADY. Why's it grown dark? Oh!
+
+STRANGER. Where are you, beloved? Give me your hand. I'm afraid!
+
+LADY. Here, dearest.
+
+STRANGER. The little hand, held out to me in the darkness, that's led me
+over stones and thorns. That little, soft, dear hand! Lead me into the
+light, into your bright, warm room; fresh green like hope.
+
+LADY (leading him towards the pale-green room). Are you afraid?
+
+STRANGER. You're a white dove, with whom the startled eagle finds
+sanctuary, when heaven's thunder clouds grow black, for the dove has no
+fear. She has not provoked the thunders of heaven!
+
+(They have reached the doorway leading to the other room, when the
+curtain falls.)
+
+***
+
+[The same room; but the table has been cleared. The LADY is sitting at
+it, doing nothing. She seems bored. On the right, down stage, a window
+is open. It is still. The STRANGER comes in, with a piece of paper in
+his hand.]
+
+STRANGER. Now you shall hear it.
+
+LADY (acquiescing absent-mindedly). Finished already?
+
+STRANGER. Already? Do you mean that seriously? I've taken seven days to
+write this little poem. (Silence.) Perhaps it'll bore you to hear it?
+
+LADY (drily). No. Certainly not. (The STRANGER sits down at the table
+and looks at the LADY.) Why are you looking at me?
+
+STRANGER. I'd like to see your thoughts.
+
+LADY. But you've heard them.
+
+STRANGER. That's nothing; I want to see them! (Pause.) What one says is
+mostly worthless. (Pause.) May I read them? No, I see I mayn't. You want
+nothing more from me. (The LADY makes a gesture as if she were going to
+speak.) Your face tells me enough. Now you've sucked me dry, eaten
+me hollow, killed my ego, my personality. To that I answer: how, my
+beloved? Have _I_ killed your ego, when I wanted to give you the whole
+of mine; when I let you skim the cream off my bowl, that I'd filled with
+all the experience of along life, with incursions into the deserts and
+groves of knowledge and art?
+
+LADY. I don't deny it, but my ego wasn't my own.
+
+STRANGER. Not yours? Then what is? Something that belongs to others?
+
+LADY. Is yours something that belongs to others too?
+
+STRANGER. No. What I've experienced is my own, mine and no other's. What
+I've read becomes mine, because I've broken it in two like glass, melted
+it down, and from this substance blown new glass in novel forms.
+
+LADY. But I can never be yours.
+
+STRANGER. I've become yours.
+
+LADY. What have you got from me?
+
+STRANGER. How can you ask me that?
+
+LADY. All the same--I'm not sure that you think it, though I feel you
+feel it--you wish me far away.
+
+STRANGER. I must be a certain distance from you, if I'm to see you. Now
+you're within the focus, and your image is unclear.
+
+LADY. The nearer, the farther off!
+
+STRANGER. Yes. When we part, we long for one another; and when we meet
+again, we long to part.
+
+LADY. Do you really think we love each other?
+
+STRANGER. Yes. Not like ordinary people, but unusual ones. We resemble
+two drops of water, that fear to get close together, in case they should
+cease to be two and become one.
+
+LADY. This time we knew the dangers and wanted to avoid them. But it
+seems that they can't be avoided.
+
+STRANGER. Perhaps they weren't dangers, but rude necessities; laws
+inscribed in the councils of the immortals. (Silence.) Your love always
+seemed to have the effect of hate. When you made me happy, you envied
+the happiness you'd given me. And when you saw I was unhappy, you loved
+me.
+
+LADY. Do you want me to leave you?
+
+STRANGER. If you do, I shall die.
+
+LADY. And, if I stay, it's I who'll die.
+
+STRANGER. Then let's die together and live out our love in a higher
+life; our love, that doesn't seem to be of this world. Let's live it out
+in another planet, where there's no nearness and no distance, where two
+are one; where number, time and space are no longer what they are in
+this.
+
+LADY. I'd like to die, yet I don't want to. I think I must be dead
+already.
+
+STRANGER. The air up here's too strong.
+
+LADY. You can't love me if you speak like that.
+
+STRANGER. To be frank, there are moments when you don't exist for me.
+But in others I feel your hatred like suffocating smoke.
+
+LADY. And I feel my heart creeping from my breast, when you are angry
+with me.
+
+STRANGER. Then we must hate one other.
+
+LADY. And love one another too.
+
+STRANGER. And hate because we love. We hate each other, because we're
+bound together. We hate the bond, we hate our love; we hate what is most
+loveable, what is the bitterest, the best this life can offer. We've
+come to an end!
+
+LADY. Yes.
+
+STRANGER. What a joke life is, if you take it seriously. And how
+serious, if you take it as a joke! You wanted to lead me by the hand
+towards the light; your easier fate was to make mine easier too. I
+wanted to raise you above the bogs and quicksands; but you longed for
+the lower regions, and wanted to convince me they were the upper ones. I
+ask myself if it's possible that you took what was wicked from me, when
+I was freed from it; and that what was good in you entered into me? If
+I've made you wicked I ask your pardon, and I kiss your little hand,
+that caressed and scratched me... the little hand that led me into the
+darkness... and on the long journey to Damascus....
+
+LADY. To a parting? (Silence.) Yes, a parting!
+
+(The LADY goes on her way. The STRANGER falls on to a chair by the
+table. The TEMPTER puts his head in at the window, and rests himself on
+his elbows whilst he smokes a cigarette.)
+
+TEMPTER. Ah, yes! C'est l'amour! The most mysterious of all mysteries,
+the most inexplicable of all that can't be explained, the most
+precarious of all that's insecure.
+
+STRANGER. So you're here?
+
+TEMPTER. I'm always everywhere, where it smells of quarrels. And in love
+affairs there are always quarrels.
+
+STRANGER. Always?
+
+TEMPTER. Always! I was invited to a silver wedding yesterday.
+Twenty-five years are no trifle--and for twenty-five years they'd been
+quarrelling. The whole love affair had been one long shindy, with
+many little ones in between! And yet they loved one another, and were
+grateful for all the good that had come to them; the evil was forgotten,
+wiped out--for a moment's happiness is worth ten days of blows and
+pinpricks. Oh yes! Those who won't accept evil never get anything good.
+The rind's very bitter, though the kernel's sweet.
+
+STRANGER. But very small.
+
+TEMPTER. It may be small, but it's good! (Pause.) Tell me, why did your
+madonna go her way? No answer; because he doesn't know! Now we'll have
+to let the hotel again. Here's a board. I'll hang it out at once. 'To
+Let.' One comes, another goes! C'est la vie, quoi? Rooms for Travellers!
+
+STRANGER. Have you ever been married?
+
+TEMPTER. Oh yes. Of course.
+
+STRANGER. Then why did you part?
+
+TEMPTER. Chiefly--perhaps it's a peculiarity of mine--chiefly
+because--well, you know, a man marries to get a home, to get into a
+home; and a woman to get out of one. She wanted to get out, and I wanted
+to get in! I was so made that I couldn't take her into company, because
+I felt as if she were soiled by men's glances. And in company, my
+splendid, wonderful wife turned into a little grimacing monkey I
+couldn't bear the sight of. So I stayed at home; and then, she stayed
+away. And when I met her again, she'd changed into someone else. She,
+my pure white notepaper, was scribbled all over; her clear and lovely
+features changed in imitation of the satyr-like looks of strange men.
+I could see miniature photographs of bull-fighters and guardsmen in her
+eyes, and hear the strange accents of strange men in her voice. On our
+grand piano, on which only the harmonies of the great masters used to be
+heard, she now played the cabaret songs of strange men; and on our table
+there lay nothing but the favourite reading of strange men. In a
+word, my whole existence was on the way to becoming an intellectual
+concubinage with strange men--and that was contrary to my nature, which
+has always longed for women! And--I need hardly say this--the tastes of
+these strange men were always the reverse of mine. She developed a real
+genius for discovering things I detested! That's what she called 'saving
+her personality.' Can you understand that?
+
+STRANGER. I can; but I won't attempt to explain it.
+
+TEMPTER. Yet this woman maintained she loved me, and that I didn't love
+her. But I loved her so much I didn't want to speak to any other human
+being; because I feared to be untrue to her if I found pleasure in
+the company of others, even if they were men. I'd married for feminine
+society; and in order to enjoy it I'd left my friends. I'd married in
+order to find company, but what I got was complete solitude! And I was
+supporting house and home, in order to provide strange men with feminine
+companionship. _C'est l'amour_, my friend!
+
+STRANGER. You should never talk about your wife.
+
+TEMPTER. No! For if you speak well of her, people will laugh; and if you
+speak ill, all their sympathy will go out to her; and if, in the first
+instance, you ask why they laugh, you get no answer.
+
+STRANGER. No. You can never find out who you've married. Never get hold
+of her--it seems she's no one. Tell me--what is woman?
+
+TEMPTER. I don't know! Perhaps a larva or a chrysalis, out of whose
+trance-like life a man one day will be created. She seems a child, but
+isn't one; she is a sort of child, and yet not like one. Drags downward,
+when the man pulls up. Drags upward, when the man pulls down.
+
+STRANGER. She always wants to disagree with her husband; always has a
+lot of sympathy for what he dislikes; is crudest beneath the greatest
+superficial refinement; the wickedest amongst the best. And yet,
+whenever I've been in love, I've always grown more sensitive to the
+refinements of civilisation.
+
+TEMPTER. You, I dare say. What about her?
+
+STRANGER. Oh, whilst our love was growing _she_ was always developing
+backwards. And getting cruder and more wicked.
+
+TEMPTER. Can you explain that?
+
+STRANGER. No. But once, when I was trying to find the solution to the
+riddle by disagreeing with myself, I took it that she absorbed my evil
+and I her good.
+
+TEMPTER. Do you think woman's particularly false?
+
+STRANGER. Yes and no. She seeks to hide her weakness but that only means
+that she's ambitious and has a sense of shame. Only whores are honest,
+and therefore cynical.
+
+TEMPTER. Tell me some more about her that's good.
+
+STRANGER. I once had a woman friend. She soon noticed that when I drank
+I looked uglier than usual; so she begged me not to. I remember one
+night we'd been talking in a cafe for many hours. When it was nearly ten
+o'clock, she begged me to go home and not to drink any more. We parted,
+after we'd said goodnight. A few days later I heard she'd left me only
+to go to a large party, where she drank till morning. Well, I said, as
+in those days I looked for all that was good in women, she meant well by
+me, but had to pollute herself for business reasons.
+
+TEMPTER. That's well thought out; and, as a view, can be defended. She
+wanted to make you better than herself, higher and purer, so that she
+could look up to you! But you can find an equally good explanation for
+that. A wife's always angry and out of humour with her husband; and the
+husband's always kind and grateful to his wife. He does all he can to
+make things easy for her, and she does all she can to torture him.
+
+STRANGER. That's not true. Of course it may sometimes appear to be so.
+I once had a woman friend who shifted all the defects that she had on to
+me. For instance, she was very much in love with herself, and therefore
+called me the most egoistical of men. She drank, and called me a
+drunkard; she rarely changed her linen and said I was dirty; she
+was jealous, even of my men friends, and called me Othello. She was
+masterful and called me Nero. Niggardly and called me Harpagon.
+
+TEMPTER. Why didn't you answer her?
+
+STRANGER. You know why very well! If I'd made clear to her what she
+really was, I'd have lost her favour that moment--and it was precisely
+her favour I wanted to keep.
+
+TEMPTER. _A tout prix_! Yes, that's the source of degradation! You grow
+accustomed to holding your tongue, and at last find yourself caught in a
+tissue of falsehoods.
+
+STRANGER. Wait! Don't you agree that married people so mix their
+personalities that they can no longer distinguish between meum and tuum,
+no longer remain separate from one another, or cannot tell their own
+weaknesses from those of the other. My jealous friend, who called me
+Othello, took me for herself, identified me with herself.
+
+TEMPTER. That sounds conceivable.
+
+STRANGER. You see! You can often explain most if you don't ask who's
+to blame. For when married people begin to differ, it's like a realm
+divided against itself, and that's the worst kind of disharmony.
+
+TEMPTER. There are moments when I think a woman cannot love a man.
+
+STRANGER. Perhaps not. To love is an active verb and woman's a passive
+noun. He loves and she is loved; he asks questions and she merely
+answers.
+
+TEMPTER. Then what is woman's love?
+
+STRANGER. The man's.
+
+TEMPTER. Well said. And therefore when the man ceases to love her, she
+severs herself from him!
+
+STRANGER. And then?
+
+TEMPTER. 'Sh! Someone's coming. Perhaps to take the house!
+
+STRANGER. A woman or a man?
+
+TEMPTER. A woman! And a man. But he's waiting outside. Now he's turned
+and is going into the wood. Interesting!
+
+STRANGER. Who is it?
+
+TEMPTER. You can see for yourself.
+
+STRANGER (looking out of the window). It's she! My first wife! My first
+love!
+
+TEMPTER. It seems she's left her second husband recently... and arrived
+here with number three; who, if one can judge by certain movements of
+his back and calves, is escaping from a stormy scene. Oh, well! But she
+didn't notice his spiteful intentions. Very interesting! I'll go out and
+listen.
+
+(He disappears. The WOMAN knocks.)
+
+STRANGER. Come in!
+
+(The WOMAN comes in. There is a silence.)
+
+WOMAN (excitedly). I only came here because the house was to let.
+
+STRANGER. Oh!
+
+WOMAN (slowly). Had I known who wanted to let it, I shouldn't have come.
+
+STRANGER. What does it matter?
+
+WOMAN. May I sit down a moment? I'm tired.
+
+STRANGER. Please do. (They sit down at the table opposite one another,
+in the seats occupied by the STRANGER and the LADY in the first scene.)
+It's a long time since we've sat facing one another like this.
+
+WOMAN. With flowers and lights on the table. One night...
+
+STRANGER. When I was dressed as a bridegroom and you as a bride...
+
+WOMAN. And the candle flames were still as in prayer and the flowers
+pensive....
+
+STRANGER. Is your husband outside?
+
+WOMAN. No.
+
+STRANGER. You're still seeking... what doesn't exist?
+
+WOMAN. Doesn't it?
+
+STRANGER. No. I always told you so, but you wouldn't believe me; you
+wanted to find out for yourself. Have you found out now?
+
+WOMAN. Not yet.
+
+STRANGER. Why did you leave your husband? (The WOMAN doesn't reply.) Did
+he beat you?
+
+WOMAN. Yes.
+
+STRANGER. How did he come to forget himself so far?
+
+WOMAN. He was angry.
+
+STRANGER. What about?
+
+WOMAN. Nothing.
+
+STRANGER. Why was he angry about nothing?
+
+WOMAN (rising). No, thank you! I won't sit here and be picked to pieces.
+Where's your wife?
+
+STRANGER. She left me just now.
+
+WOMAN. Why?
+
+STRANGER. Why did you leave me?
+
+WOMAN. I felt you wanted to leave me; so, not to be deserted, I went
+myself.
+
+STRANGER. I dare say that's true. But how could you read my thoughts?
+
+WOMAN (sitting down again). What? We didn't need to speak in order to
+know one another's thoughts.
+
+STRANGER. We made a mistake when we were living together, because we
+accused each other of wicked thoughts before they'd become actions; and
+lived in mental reservations instead of realities. For instance, I
+once noticed how you enjoyed the defiling gaze of a strange man, and I
+accused you of unfaithfulness.
+
+WOMAN. You were wrong to do so, and right. Because my thoughts were
+sinful.
+
+STRANGER. Don't you think my habit of 'anticipating you' prevented your
+bad designs from being put in practice?
+
+WOMAN. Let me think! Yes, perhaps it did. But I was annoyed to find a
+spy always at my side, watching my inmost self, that was my own.
+
+STRANGER. But it wasn't your own: it was ours!
+
+WOMAN. Yes, but I held it to be mine, and believed you'd no right
+to force your way in. When you did so I hated you; I said you were
+abnormally suspicious out of self-defence. Now I can admit that your
+suspicions were never wrong; that they were, in fact, the purest wisdom.
+
+STRANGER. Oh! Do you know that, at night, when we'd said good-night as
+friends and gone to sleep, I used to wake and feel your hatred poisoning
+me; and think of getting out of bed so as not to be suffocated. One
+night I woke and felt a pressure on the top of my head. I saw you were
+awake and had put your hand close to my mouth. I thought you were making
+me inhale poison from a phial; and, to make sure, I seized your hand.
+
+WOMAN. I remember.
+
+STRANGER. What did you do then?
+
+WOMAN. Nothing. Only hated you.
+
+STRANGER. Why?
+
+WOMAN. Because you were my husband. Because I ate your bread.
+
+STRANGER. Do you think it's always the same?
+
+WOMAN. I don't know. I suspect it is.
+
+STRANGER. But sometimes you've even despised me?
+
+WOMAN. Yes, when you were ridiculous. A man in love is always
+ridiculous. Do you know what a cox-comb is? That's what a lover's like.
+
+STRANGER. But if any man who loves you is ridiculous, how can you
+respond to his love?
+
+WOMAN. We don't! We submit to it, and search for another man who doesn't
+love us.
+
+STRANGER. But if he, in turn, begins to love you, do you look for a
+third?
+
+WOMAN. Perhaps it's like that.
+
+STRANGER. Very strange. (There is a silence.) I remember you were always
+dreaming of someone you called your Toreador, which I translated by
+'horse butcher.' You eventually got him, but he gave you no children,
+and no bread; only beatings! A toreador's always fighting. (Silence.)
+Once I let myself be tempted into trying to compete with the toreador.
+I started to bicycle and fence and do other things of the kind. But you
+only began to detest me for it. That means that the husband mayn't do
+what the lover may. Later you had a passion for page boys. One of them
+used to sit on the Brussels carpet and read you bad verses.... My good
+ones were of no use to you. Did you get your page boy?
+
+WOMAN. Yes. But his verses weren't bad, really.
+
+STRANGER. Oh yes, they were, my dear. I know him! He stole my rhythms
+and set them for the barrel organ.
+
+WOMAN (rising and going to the door.) You should be ashamed of yourself.
+
+(The TEMPTER conies in, holding a letter in his hand.)
+
+TEMPTER. Here's a letter. It's for you. (The WOMAN takes it, reads it
+and falls into a chair.) A farewell note! Oh, well! All beginnings
+are hard--in love affairs. And those who lack the patience to surmount
+initial difficulties--lose the golden fruit. Pages are always impatient.
+Unknown youth, have you had enough?
+
+STRANGER (rising and picking up his hat). My poor Anna!
+
+WOMAN. Don't leave me.
+
+STRANGER. I must.
+
+WOMAN. Don't go. You were the best of them all.
+
+TEMPTER. Do you want to begin again from the beginning? That would be
+a sure way to make an end of this. For if lovers only find one another,
+they lose one another! What is love? Say something witty, each one of
+you, before we part.
+
+WOMAN. I don't know what it is. The highest and the loveliest of things,
+that has to sink to the lowest and the ugliest.
+
+STRANGER. A caricature of godly love.
+
+TEMPTER. An annual plant, that blossoms during the engagement, goes to
+seed in marriage and then sinks to the earth to wither and die.
+
+WOMAN. The loveliest flowers have no seed. The rose is the flower of
+love.
+
+STRANGER. And the lily that of innocence. That can form seeds, but only
+opens her white cup to kisses.
+
+TEMPTER. And propagates her kind with buds, out of which fresh lilies
+spring, like chaste Minerva who sprang fully armed from the head of
+Zeus, and not from his royal loins. Oh yes, children, I've understood
+much, but never this: what the beloved of my soul has to do with.... (He
+hesitates.)
+
+STRANGER. Well, go on!
+
+TEMPTER. What all-powerful love, that is the marriage of souls, has to
+do with the propagation of the species!
+
+STRANGER and WOMAN. Now he's come to the point!
+
+TEMPTER. I've never been able to understand how a kiss, that's an
+unborn word, a soundless speech, a quiet language of the soul, can be
+exchanged, by means of a hallowed procedure, for a surgical operation,
+that always ends in tears and the chattering of teeth. I've never
+understood how that holy night, the first in which two souls embrace
+each other in love, can end in the shedding of blood, in quarrelling,
+hate, mutual contempt--and lint! (He holds his mouth shut.)
+
+STRANGER. Suppose the story of the fall were true? In pain shalt thou
+bring forth children.
+
+TEMPTER. In that case one could understand.
+
+WOMAN. Who is the man who says these things?
+
+TEMPTER. Only a wanderer on the quicksands of this life. (The WOMAN
+rises.) So you're ready to go. Who will go first?
+
+STRANGER. I shall.
+
+TEMPTER. Where?
+
+STRANGER. Upwards. And you?
+
+TEMPTER. I shall stay down here, in between....
+
+Curtain.
+
+
+
+
+ACT IV
+
+SCENE I
+
+CHAPTER HOUSE OF THE MONASTERY
+
+[A Gothic chapter house. In the background arcades lead to the cloisters
+and the courtyard of the monastery. In the middle of the courtyard there
+is a well with a statue of the Virgin Mary, surrounded by long-stemmed
+white roses. The walls of the chapter house are filled with built-in
+choir stalls of oak. The PRIOR'S own stall is in the middle to the right
+and rather higher than the rest. In the middle of the chapter house an
+enormous crucifix. The sun is shining on the statue of the Virgin in
+the courtyard. The STRANGER enters from the back. He is wearing a coarse
+monkish cowl, with a rope round his waist and sandals on his feet. He
+halts in the doorway and looks at the chapter house, then goes over to
+the crucifix and stops in front of it. The last strophe of the choral
+service can be heard from across the courtyard. The CONFESSOR enters
+from the back; he is dressed in black and white; he has long hair and
+along beard and a very small tonsure that can hardly be seen.]
+
+CONFESSOR. Peace be with you!
+
+STRANGER. And with you.
+
+CONFESSOR. How do you like this white house?
+
+STRANGER. I can only see blackness.
+
+CONFESSOR. You still are black; but you'll grow white, quite white! Did
+you sleep well last night?
+
+STRANGER. Dreamlessly, like a tired child. But tell me: why do I find so
+many locked doors?
+
+CONFESSOR. You'll gradually learn to open them.
+
+STRANGER. Is this a large building?
+
+CONFESSOR. Endless! It dates from the time of Charlemagne and has
+continually grown through pious benefactions. Untouched by the spiritual
+upheavals and changes of different epochs, it stands on its rocky height
+as a monument of Western culture. That is to say: Christian faith wedded
+to the knowledge of Hellas and Rome.
+
+STRANGER. So it's not merely a religious foundation?
+
+CONFESSOR. No. It embraces all the arts and sciences as well. There's
+a library, museum, observatory and laboratory--as you'll see later.
+Agriculture and horticulture are also studied here; and a hospital for
+laymen, with its own sulphur springs, is attached to the monastery.
+
+STRANGER. One word more, before the chapter assembles. What kind of man
+is the Prior?
+
+CONFESSOR (smiling). He is the Prior! Aloof, without peer, dwelling on
+the summits of human knowledge, and... well, you'll see him soon.
+
+STRANGER. Is it true that he's so old?
+
+CONFESSOR. He's reached an unusual age. He was born at the beginning of
+the century that's now nearing its end.
+
+STRANGER. Has he always been in the monastery?
+
+CONFESSOR. No. He's not always been a monk, though always a priest. Once
+he was a minister, but that was seventy years ago. Twice curator of the
+university. Archbishop.... 'Sh! Mass is over.
+
+STRANGER. I presume he's not the kind of unprejudiced priest who
+pretends to have vices when he has none?
+
+CONFESSOR. Not at all. But he's seen life and mankind, and he's more
+human than priestly.
+
+STRANGER. And the fathers?
+
+CONFESSOR. Wise men, with strange histories, and none of them alike.
+
+STRANGER. Who can never have known life as it's lived....
+
+CONFESSOR. All have lived their lives, more than once; have suffered
+shipwreck, started again, gone to pieces and risen once more. You must
+wait.
+
+STRANGER. The Prior's sure to ask me questions. I don't think I can
+agree to everything.
+
+CONFESSOR. On the contrary, you must show yourself as you are; and
+defend your opinions to the last.
+
+STRANGER. Will contradiction be permitted here?
+
+CONFESSOR. Here? You're a child, who's lived in a childish world, where
+you've played with thoughts and words. You've lived in the erroneous
+belief that language, a material thing, can be a vehicle for anything
+so subtle as thoughts and feelings. We've discovered that error, and
+therefore speak as little as possible; for we are aware of, and can
+divine, the innermost thoughts of our neighbour. We've so developed
+our perceptive faculties by spiritual exercises that we are linked in
+a single chain; and can detect a feeling of pleasure and harmony,
+when there's complete accord. The Prior, who has trained himself most
+rigorously, can feel if anyone's thoughts have strayed into wrong paths.
+In some respects he's like--merely like, I say--a telephone engineer's
+galvanometer, that shows when and where a current has been interrupted.
+Therefore we can have no secrets from one another, and so do not need
+the confessional. Think of all this when you confront the searching eye
+of the Prior!
+
+STRANGER. Is there any intention of examining me?
+
+CONFESSOR. Oh no. There are merely a few questions to answer without any
+deep meaning, before the practical examinations. Quiet! Here they are.
+
+(He goes to one side. The PRIOR enters from the back. He is dressed
+entirely in white and he has pulled up his hood. He is a tall man with
+long white hair and along white beard-his head is like that of Jupiter.
+His face is pale, but full and without wrinkles. His eyes are large,
+surrounded by shadows and his eyebrows strongly marked. A quiet,
+majestic calm reigns over his whole personality. The PRIOR is followed
+by twelve Fathers, dressed in black and white, with black hoods, also
+pulled up. All bow to the crucifix and then go to their places.)
+
+PRIOR (after looking at the STRANGER for a moment.) What do you seek
+here? (The STRANGER is confused and tries to find an answer, but cannot.
+The PRIOR goes on, calmly, firmly, but indulgently.) Peace? Isn't that
+so? (The STRANGER makes a sign of assent with head and mouth.) But if
+the whole of life is a struggle, how can you find peace amongst the
+living? (The STRANGER is not able to answer.) Do you want to turn your
+back on life because you feel you've been injured, cheated?
+
+STRANGER (in a weak voice). Yes.
+
+PRIOR. So you've been defrauded, unjustly dealt with? And this injustice
+began so early that you, an innocent child, couldn't imagine you'd
+committed any crime that was worthy of punishment. Well, once you were
+unjustly accused of stealing fruit; tormented into taking the offence
+on yourself; tortured into telling lies about yourself and forced to beg
+forgiveness for a fault you'd not committed. Wasn't it so?
+
+STRANGER (with certainty). Yes. It was.
+
+PRIOR. It was; and you've never been able to forget it. Never. Now
+listen, you've a good memory; can you remember _The Swiss Family
+Robinson_?
+
+STRANGER (shrinking). _The Swiss Family Robinson_?
+
+PRIOR. Yes. Those events that caused you such mental torture happened in
+1857, but at Christmas 1856, that is the year before, you tore a copy
+of that book and out of fear of punishment hid it under a chest in the
+kitchen. (The STRANGER is taken aback.) The wardrobe was painted in oak
+graining, and clothes hung in its upper part, whilst shoes stood below.
+This wardrobe seemed enormously big to you, for you were a small child,
+and you couldn't imagine it could ever be moved; but during spring
+cleaning at Easter what was hidden was brought to light. Fear drove you
+to put the blame on a schoolfellow. And now he had to endure torture,
+because appearances were against him, for you were thought to be
+trustworthy. After this the history of your sorrows comes as a logical
+sequence. You accept this logic?
+
+STRANGER. Yes. Punish me!
+
+PRIOR. No. I don't punish; when I was a child I did--similar things. But
+will you now promise to forget this history of your own sufferings for
+all time and never to recount it again?
+
+STRANGER. I promise! If only he whom I took advantage of could forgive
+me.
+
+PRIOR. He has already. Isn't that so, Pater Isidor?
+
+ISIDOR (who was the DOCTOR in the first part of 'The Road to Damascus,'
+rising). With my whole heart!
+
+STRANGER. It's you!
+
+ISIDOR. Yes. I.
+
+PRIOR (to FATHER ISIDOR). Pater Isidor, say a word, just one.
+
+ISIDOR. It was in the year 1856 that I had to endure my torture. But
+even in 1854 one of my brothers suffered in the same way, owing to a
+false accusation on my part. (To the STRANGER.) So we're all guilty and
+not one of us is without blemish; and I believe my victim had no clear
+conscience either. (He sits down.)
+
+PRIOR. If we could only stop accusing one another and particularly
+Eternal Justice! But we're born in guilt and all resemble Adam! (To the
+STRANGER.) There was something you wanted to know, was there not?
+
+STRANGER. I wanted to know life's inmost meaning.
+
+PRIOR. The very innermost! So you wanted to learn what no man's
+permitted to know. Pater Uriel! (PATER URIEL, who is blind, rises. The
+PRIOR speaks to the STRANGER.) Look at this blind father! We call him
+Uriel in remembrance of Uriel Acosta, whom perhaps you've heard of? (The
+STRANGER makes a sign that he has not.) You haven't? All young people
+should have heard of him. Uriel Acosta was a Portuguese of Jewish
+descent, who, however, was brought up in the Christian faith. When he
+was still fairly young he began to inquire--you understand--to inquire
+if Christ were really God; with the result that he went over to the
+Jewish faith. And then he began research into the Mosaic writings and
+the immortality of the soul, with the result that the Rabbis handed him
+over to the Christian priesthood for punishment. A long time after
+he returned to the Jewish faith. But his thirst for knowledge knew
+no bounds, and he continued his researches till he found he'd reached
+absolute nullity; and in despair that he couldn't learn the final secret
+he took his own life with a pistol shot. (Pause.) Now look at our good
+father Uriel here. He, too, was once very young and anxious to know; he
+always wanted to be in the forefront of every modern movement, and he
+discovered new philosophies. I may add, by the way, that he's a friend
+of my boyhood and almost as old as I. Now about 1820 he came upon the
+so-called rational philosophy, that had already lain in its grave for
+twenty years. With this system of thought, which was supposed to be a
+master key, all locks were to be picked, all questions answered and all
+opponents confuted--everything was clear and simple. In those days Uriel
+was a strong opponent of all religions and in particular followed the
+Mesmerists, as the hypnotisers of that age were called. In 1830 our
+friend became a Hegelian, though, to be sure, rather late in the day.
+Then he re-discovered God, a God who was immanent in nature and in man,
+and found he was a little god himself. Now, as ill-luck would have it,
+there were two Hegels, just as there were two Voltaires; and the later,
+or more conservative Hegel, had developed his All-godhead till it had
+become a compromise with the Christian view. And so Father Uriel, who
+never wanted to be behind the times, became a rationalistic Christian,
+who was given the thankless task of combating Rationalism and himself.
+(Pause.) I'll shorten the whole sad history for Father Uriel's sake. In
+1850 he again became a materialist and an enemy of Christianity. In
+1870 he became a hypnotist, in 1880 a theosophist, and 1890 he wanted to
+shoot himself! I met him just at that time. He was sitting on a bench in
+Unter den Linden in Berlin, and he was blind. This Uriel was blind--and
+Uriel means 'God is my Light'--who for a century had marched with the
+torch of liberalism at the head of _every_ modern movement! (To the
+STRANGER.) You see, he wanted to know, but he failed! And therefore he
+now believes. Is there anything else you'd like to know?
+
+STRANGER. One thing only.
+
+PRIOR. Speak.
+
+STRANGER. If Father Uriel had held to his first faith in 1810, men would
+have called him conservative or old-fashioned; but now, as he's followed
+the developments of his time and has therefore discarded his youthful
+faith, men will call him a renegade--that's to say: whatever he does
+mankind will blame him.
+
+PRIOR. Do you heed what men say? Father Clemens, may I tell him how
+you heeded what men said? (PATER CLEMENS rises and makes a gesture of
+assent.) Father Clemens is our greatest figure painter. In the world
+outside he's known by another name, a very famous one. Father Clemens
+was a young man in 1830. He felt he had a talent for painting and
+gave himself up to it with his whole soul. When he was twenty he was
+exhibiting. The public, the critics, his teachers, and his parents
+were all of the opinion that he'd made a mistake in the choice of his
+profession. Young Clemens heeded what men were saying, so he laid down
+his brush and turned bookseller. When he was fifty years of age, and had
+his life behind him, the paintings of his early years were discovered by
+some stranger; and were then recognised as masterpieces by the public,
+the critics, his teachers and relations! But it was too late. And when
+Father Clemens complained of the wickedness of the world, the world
+answered with a heartless grin: 'Why did you let yourself be taken
+in?' Father Clemens grieved so much at this, that he came to us. But he
+doesn't grieve any longer now. Or do you, Father Clemens?
+
+CLEMENS. No! But that isn't the end of the story. The paintings I'd done
+in 1830 were admired and hung in a museum till 1880. Taste then changed
+very quickly, and one day an important newspaper announced that their
+presence there was an outrage. So they were banished to the attic.
+
+PRIOR (to the STRANGER). That's a good story!
+
+CLEMENS. But it's still not finished. By 1890 taste had so changed again
+that a professor of the History of Art wrote that it was a national
+scandal that my works should be hanging in an attic. So the pictures
+were brought down again, and, for the time being, are classical. But
+for how long? From that you can see, young man, in what worldly fame
+consists? Vanitas vanitatum vanitas!
+
+STRANGER. Then is life worth living?
+
+PRIOR. Ask Pater Melcher, who is experienced not only in the world of
+deception and error, but also in that of lies and contradictions. Follow
+him: he'll show you the picture gallery and tell you stories.
+
+STRANGER. I'll gladly follow anyone who can teach me something.
+
+(PATER MELCHER takes the STRANGER by the hand and leads him out of the
+Chapter House.)
+
+Curtain.
+
+
+SCENE II
+
+PICTURE GALLERY OF THE MONASTERY
+
+[Picture Gallery of the Monastery. There are mostly portraits of people
+with two heads.]
+
+MELCHER. Well, first we have here a small landscape, by an unknown
+master, called 'The Two Towers.' Perhaps you've been in Switzerland and
+know the originals.
+
+STRANGER. I've been in Switzerland!
+
+MELCHER. Exactly. Then near the station of Amsteg on the Gotthard
+railway you've seen a tower, called Zwing-Uri, sung of by Schiller
+in his _Wilhelm Tell_. It stands there as a monument to the cruel
+oppression which the inhabitants of Uri suffered at the hands of
+the German Emperors. Good! On the Italian side of the Gotthard lies
+Bellinzona, as you know. There are many towers to be seen there, but the
+most curious is called Castel d'Uri. That's the monument recalling the
+cruel oppression which the Italian cantons suffered at the hands of the
+inhabitants of Uri! Now do you understand?
+
+STRANGER. So freedom means: freedom to oppress others. That's new to me.
+
+MELCHER. Then let's go on without further comment to the portrait
+collection. Number one in the catalogue. Boccaccio, with two heads--all
+our portraits have at least two heads. His story's well known. The great
+man began his career by writing dissolute and godless tales, which
+he dedicated to Queen Johanna of Naples, who'd seduced the son of St.
+Brigitta. Boccaccio ended up as a saint in a monastery where he lectured
+on Dante's Hell and the devils that, in his youth, he had thought to
+drive out in a most original way. You'll notice now, how the two faces
+are meeting each other's gaze!
+
+STRANGER. Yes. But all trace of humour's lacking; and humour's to be
+expected in a man who knew himself as well as our friend Boccaccio did.
+
+MELCHER. Number two in the catalogue. Ah, yes; that's two-headed Doctor
+Luther. The youthful champion of tolerance and the aged upholder of
+intolerance. Have I said enough?
+
+STRANGER. Quite enough.
+
+MELCHER. Number three in the catalogue. The great Gustavus Adolphus
+accepting Catholic funds from Cardinal Richelieu in order to fight for
+Protestantism, whilst remaining neutral in the face of the Catholic
+League.
+
+STRANGER. How do Protestants explain this threefold contradiction?
+
+MELCHER. They say it's not true. Number four in the catalogue. Schiller,
+the author of The Robbers, who was offered the freedom of the City of
+Paris by the leaders of the French Revolution in 1792; but who had been
+made a State Councillor of Meiningen as early as 1790 and a royal Danish
+Stipendiary in 1791. The scene depicts the State Councillor--and friend
+of his Excellency Goethe--receiving the Diploma of Honour from the
+leaders of the French Revolution as late as 1798. Think of it, the
+diploma of the Reign of Terror in the year 1798, when the Revolution was
+over and the country under the Directory! I'd have liked to have seen
+the Councillor and his friend, His Excellency! But it didn't matter,
+for two years later he repaid his nomination by writing the _Song of the
+Bell_, in which he expressed his thanks and begged the revolutionaries
+to keep quiet! Well, that's life. We're intelligent people and love _The
+Robbers_ as much as _The Song of the Bell_; Schiller as much as Goethe!
+
+STRANGER. The work remains, the master perishes.
+
+MELCHER. Goethe, yes! Number five in the catalogue. He began with
+Strassburg cathedral and _Goetz von Berlichingen_, two hurrahs for gothic
+Germanic art against that of Greece and Rome. Later he fought against
+Germanism and for Classicism. Goethe against Goethe! There you see the
+traditional Olympic calm, harmony, etc., in the greatest disharmony
+with itself. But depression at this turns into uneasiness when the
+young Romantic school appears and combats the Goethe of _Iphigenia_ with
+theories drawn from Goethe's _Goetz_. That the 'great heathen' ends up
+by converting Faust in the Second Part, and allowing him to be saved by
+the Virgin Mary and the angels, is usually passed over in silence by his
+admirers. Also the fact that a man of such clear vision should, towards
+the end of his life, have found everything so 'strange,' and 'curious,'
+even the simplest facts that he'd previously seen through. His last
+wish was for 'more light'! Yes; but it doesn't matter. We're intelligent
+people and love our Goethe just the same.
+
+STRANGER. And rightly.
+
+MELCHER. Number six in the catalogue. Voltaire! He has more than two
+heads. The Godless One, who spent his whole life defending God. The
+Mocker, who was mocked, because 'he believed in God like a child.' The
+author of the cynical 'Candide,' who wrote:
+
+        In my youth I sought the pleasures
+        Of the senses, but I learned
+        That their sweetness was illusion
+        Soon to bitterness it turned.
+        In old age I've come to see
+        Life is nought but vanity.
+
+Dr. Knowall, who thought he could grasp everything between Heaven and
+Earth by means of reason and science, sings like this, when he comes to
+the end of his life:
+
+        I had thought to find in knowledge
+        Light to guide me on my way;
+        Yet I still must walk in darkness
+        All that's known must soon decay.
+        Ignorance, I turn to thee!
+        Knowledge is but vanity.
+
+But that's no matter! Voltaire can be put to many uses. The Jews use
+him against the Christians, and the Christians use him against the Jews,
+because he was an anti-Semite, like Luther. Chateaubriand used him
+to defend Catholicism, and Protestants use him even to-day to attack
+Catholicism. He was a fine fellow!
+
+STRANGER. Then what's your view?
+
+MELCHER. We have no views here; we've faith, as I've told you already.
+And that's why we've only one head--placed exactly above the heart.
+(Pause.) In the meantime let's look at number seven in the catalogue.
+Ah, Napoleon! The creation of the Revolution itself! The Emperor of the
+People, the Nero of Freedom, the suppressor of Equality and the 'big
+brother' of Fraternity. He's the most cunning of all the two-headed, for
+he could laugh at himself, raise himself above his own contradictions,
+change his skin and his soul, and yet be quite explicable to himself in
+every transformation--convinced, self-authorised. There's only one other
+man who can be compared with him in this; Kierkegaard the Dane. From
+the beginning he was aware of this parthenogenesis of the soul, whose
+capacity to multiply by taking cuttings was equivalent to bringing forth
+young in this life without conception. And for that reason, and so as
+not to become life's fool, he wrote under a number of pseudonyms, of
+which each one constituted a 'stage on his life's way.' But did you
+realise this? The Lord of life, in spite of all these precautions, made
+a fool of him after all. Kierkegaard, who fought all his life against
+the priesthood and the professional preachers of the State Church,
+was eventually forced of necessity to become a professional preacher
+himself! Oh yes! Such things do happen.
+
+STRANGER. The Powers That Be play tricks....
+
+MELCHER. The Powers play tricks on tricksters, and delude the arrogant,
+particularly those who alone believe they possess truth and knowledge!
+Number eight in the catalogue. Victor Hugo. He split himself into
+countless parts. He was a peer of France, a Grandee of Spain, a friend
+of Kings, and the socialist author of _Les Miserables_. The peers
+naturally called him a renegade, and the socialists a reformer. Number
+nine. Count Friedrich Leopold von Stollberg. He wrote a fanatical book
+for the Protestants, and then suddenly became a Catholic! Inexplicable
+in a sensible man. A miracle, eh? A little journey to Damascus,
+perhaps? Number ten. Lafayette. The heroic upholder of freedom,
+the revolutionary, who was forced to leave France as a suspected
+reactionary, because he wanted to help Louis XVI; and then was captured
+by the Austrians and carried off to Olmuetz as a revolutionary! What was
+he in reality?
+
+STRANGER. Both!
+
+MELCHER. Yes, both. He had the two halves that made a whole--a whole
+man. Number eleven. Bismarck. A paradox. The honest diplomat, who
+maintained he'd discovered that to tell the truth was the greatest of
+ruses. And so was compelled--by the Powers, I suppose?--to spend the
+last six years of his life unmasking himself as a conscious liar. You're
+tired. Then we'll stop now.
+
+STRANGER. Yes, if one clings to the same ideas all one's life, and holds
+the same opinions, one grows old according to nature's laws, and gets
+called conservative, old-fashioned, out of date. But if one goes on
+developing, keeping pace with one's own age, renewing oneself with the
+perennially youthful impulses of contemporary thought, one's called a
+waverer and a renegade.
+
+MELCHER. That's as old as the world! But does an intelligent, man heed
+what he's called? One is, what one's becoming.
+
+STRANGER. But who revises the periodically changing views of
+contemporary opinion?
+
+MELCHER. You ought to answer that yourself, and indeed in this way. It
+is the Powers themselves who promulgate contemporary opinion, as they
+develop in _apparent_ circles. Hegel, the philosopher of the present,
+himself dimorphous, for both a 'left'-minded and a 'right'-minded Hegel
+can always be quoted, has best explained the contradictions of life,
+of history and of the spirit, with his own magic formula. Thesis:
+affirmation; Antithesis: negation; Synthesis: comprehension! Young
+man, or rather, comparatively young man! You began life by accepting
+everything, then went on to denying everything on principle. Now end
+your life by comprehending everything. Be exclusive no longer. Do
+not say: either--or, but: not only--but also! In a word, or two words
+rather, Humanity and Resignation!
+
+Curtain.
+
+
+SCENE III
+
+CHAPEL OF THE MONASTERY
+
+[Choir of the Monastery Chapel. An open coffin with a bier cloth and two
+burning candles. The CONFESSOR leads in the STRANGER by the hand. The
+STRANGER is dressed in the white shirt of the novice.]
+
+CONFESSOR. Have you carefully considered the step you wish to take?
+
+STRANGER. Very carefully.
+
+CONFESSOR. Have you no more questions?
+
+STRANGER. Questions? No.
+
+CONFESSOR. Then stay here, whilst I fetch the Chapter and the Fathers
+and Brothers, so that the solemn act may begin.
+
+STRANGER. Yes. Let it come to pass.
+
+(The CONFESSOR goes out. The STRANGER, left alone, is sunk in thought.)
+
+TEMPTER (coming forward). Are you ready?
+
+STRANGER. So ready, that I've no answer left for you.
+
+TEMPTER. On the brink of the grave, I understand! You'll have to lie in
+your coffin and appear to die; the old Adam will be covered with three
+shovelfuls of earth, and a De Profundis will be sung. Then you'll rise
+again from the dead, having laid aside your old name, and be baptized
+once more like a new-born child! What will you be called? (The STRANGER
+does not reply.) It is written: Johannes, brother Johannes, because he
+preached in the wilderness and...
+
+STRANGER. Do not trouble me.
+
+TEMPTER. Speak to me a little, before you depart into the long silence.
+For you'll not be allowed to speak for a whole year.
+
+STRANGER. All the better. Speaking at last becomes a vice, like
+drinking. And why speak, if words do not cloak thoughts?
+
+TEMPTER. _You_ at the graveside.... Was life so bitter?
+
+STRANGER. Yes. My life was.
+
+TEMPTER. Did you never know one pleasure?
+
+STRANGER. Yes, many pleasures; but they were very brief and seemed only
+to exist in order to make the pain of their loss the sharper.
+
+TEMPTER. Can't it be put the other way round: that pain exists in order
+to make joy more keen?
+
+STRANGER. It can be put in any way.
+
+(A woman enters with a child to be baptized.)
+
+TEMPTER. Look! A little mortal, who's to be consecrated to suffering.
+
+STRANGER. Poor child!
+
+TEMPTER. A human history, that's about to begin. (A bridal couple cross
+the stage.) And there--what's loveliest, and most bitter. Adam and Eve
+in Paradise, that in a week will be a Hell, and in a fortnight Paradise
+again.
+
+STRANGER. What is loveliest, brightest! The first, the only, the last
+that ever gave life meaning! I, too, once sat in the sunlight on a
+verandah, in the spring beneath the first tree to show new green, and a
+small crown crowned a head, and a white veil lay like thin morning mist
+over a face... that was not that of a human being. Then came darkness!
+
+TEMPTER. Whence?
+
+STRANGER. From the light itself. I know no more.
+
+TEMPTER. It could only have been a shadow, for light is needed to throw
+shadows; but for darkness no light is needed.
+
+STRANGER. Stop! Or we'll never come to an end.
+
+(The CONFESSOR and the CHAPTER appear in procession.)
+
+TEMPTER (disappearing). Farewell!
+
+CONFESSOR (advancing with a large black bier-cloth). Lord! Grant him
+eternal peace!
+
+CHOIR. May he be illumined with perpetual light!
+
+CONFESSOR (wrapping the STRANGER to the bier-cloth). May he rest in
+peace!
+
+CHOIR. Amen!
+
+Curtain.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's The Road to Damascus, by August Strindberg
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