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diff --git a/8875-h/8875-h.htm b/8875-h/8875-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..c603236 --- /dev/null +++ b/8875-h/8875-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,13186 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="iso-8859-1"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + The Road to Damascus, by August Strindberg + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +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 Ollén + +Translator: Esther Johanson and Graham Rawson + +Release Date: September, 2005 [EBook #8875] +Last Updated: January 25, 2013 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ROAD TO DAMASCUS *** + + + + +Produced by Nicole Apostola, and David Widger + + + + + + +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h1> + THE ROAD TO DAMASCUS + </h1> + <h3> + A TRILOGY + </h3> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h2> + By August Strindberg + </h2> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h3> + English Version By Graham Rawson + </h3> + <h3> + With An Introduction By Gunnar Ollén + </h3> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h2> + Contents + </h2> + <table summary="" style="margin-right: auto; margin-left: auto"> + <tr> + <td> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_INTR"> INTRODUCTION </a> + </p> + <br /> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> <b>THE ROAD TO DAMASCUS</b> </a> + </p> + <br /> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_PART"> <b>PART I.</b> </a> + </p> + <br /> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_PART2"> <b>PART II</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> ACT I </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0006"> ACT II </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0007"> ACT III </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0008"> ACT IV </a> + </p> + <br /> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_PART3"> <b>PART III.</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0010"> ACT I </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0011"> ACT II </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0012"> ACT III </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0013"> ACT IV </a> + </p> + </td> + </tr> + </table> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_INTR" id="link2H_INTR"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <h2> + INTRODUCTION + </h2> + <p> + Strindberg's great trilogy <i>The Road to Damascus</i> 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. <i>The + Road to Damascus</i> 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + In order fully to understand <i>The Road to Damascus</i> 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. + </p> + <p> + 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 <i>The Road to Damascus</i>. + </p> + <p> + <i>The Road to Damascus</i> 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 <i>The Road to Damascus</i> 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. + </p> + <p> + 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 <i>Le Plaidoyer d'un Fou</i> and <i>The + Dance of Death</i>, 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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 Rügen, after having first been compelled to stop in + Hamburg owing to lack of money. Strindberg stayed on Rügen 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 <i>Le Plaidoyer d'un Fou</i> 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 Brünn, where Strindberg wrote his scientific work <i>Antibarbarus</i>, + 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 <i>The Quarantine Master</i>, '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: + </p> + <p> + '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....' + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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 + Neustädtische Kirchstrasse 1, in Berlin, facing a Gothic church in + Dorotheenstrasse, situated at the cross-roads between the post office in + Dorotheenstrasse and the café '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 café 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 <i>Inferno</i>. 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. + </p> + <p> + That THE STRANGER represents Strindberg's <i>alter ego</i> 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 <i>The Red Room</i>, <i>The + New Realm</i> 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. + </p> + <p> + 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: + </p> + <p> + 'In order to understand the first part of <i>The Road to Damascus</i> 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 <i>idées fixes</i>.' + </p> + <p> + With his hypersensitive nervous system Strindberg, like THE STRANGER, + really gives the impression of having been a visionary. For instance, his + author friend Albert Engström, 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 <i>Le Plaidoyer d'un Fou</i>, + the book which THE LADY in <i>The Road to Damascus</i> 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: + </p> + <p> + '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'; + </p> + <p> + to which THE LADY, to Strindberg's satisfaction, has to reply: + </p> + <p> + 'You were wrong to do it, and right. Because my thoughts were sinful.' + </p> + <p> + 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 <i>The Road to Damascus</i>, + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. Cäsar 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: + </p> + <p> + 'I am a beggar who has no right to go to cafés. 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! + </p> + <p> + '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!' + </p> + <p> + After this we can understand why Strindberg in <i>The Road to Damascus</i> + apparently in such surprising manner is seized by the suspicion that he is + himself the beggar. + </p> + <p> + We have thus seen that Part I of <i>The Road to Damascus</i> 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 <i>Gentagelse</i>. + The first part of <i>The Road to Damascus</i> 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. + </p> + <p> + The second part of <i>The Road to Damascus</i> 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. + </p> + <p> + In Part I of <i>The Road to Damascus</i>, 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. <i>The Road to Damascus</i> + 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 <i>a priori</i> as reality but become wrapped in dreamlike + mystery. Just as with <i>Lady Julia</i> and <i>The Father</i> 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 <i>The Road to + Damascus</i>, to break new ground for European drama which had gradually + become stuck in fixed formulas. <i>The Road to Damascus</i> became a + landmark in world literature both as a brilliant work of art and as bearer + of new stage technique. + </p> + <p> + GUNNAR OLLÉN + </p> + <p> + Translated by ESTHER JOHANSON + </p> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <div class="play"> + <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + <h1> + THE ROAD TO DAMASCUS + </h1> + <a name="link2H_PART" id="link2H_PART"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + PART I. + </h2> + <h3> + English Version by Graham Rawson + </h3> + CHARACTERS +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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 +</pre> + SCENES +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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 +</pre> + <p> + First Performance in England by the Stage Society at the Westminster + Theatre, 2nd May 1937 + </p> + CAST +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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 +</pre> + SCENE I STREET CORNER + <p> + [Street Corner with a seat under a tree; the side-door of a small Gothic + Church nearby; also a post office and a café with chairs outside it. + Both post office and café 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.] + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. It's you! I almost knew you'd come. + </p> + <p> + LADY. You wanted me: I felt it. But why are you waiting here? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. I don't know. I must wait somewhere. + </p> + <p> + LADY. Who are you waiting for? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + LADY. You have enemies everywhere. You're lonely everywhere. Why did you + leave your wife and children? + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + LADY. No. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Look at me. + </p> + <p> + LADY. Hasn't life brought you a single pleasure? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + LADY. What is your religion—if you'll forgive the question? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Only this: that when I can bear things no longer, I shall go. + </p> + <p> + LADY. Where? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + LADY. You're playing with death! + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + LADY. Do you fear them? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + LADY. You've noticed that? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + LADY. Why should I destroy you? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Because it may be your destiny. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + LADY. You must let yourself be fooled, more or less, to live at all. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + LADY. What's that? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. A child substituted by the elves for the baby that was born. + </p> + <p> + LADY. Do you believe in such things? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + LADY. Did you ever see visions? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + LADY. You've had everything and yet are not content? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. That is the curse.... + </p> + <p> + LADY. Don't say that! But why haven't you desired things that transcend + this life, that can never be sullied? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Because I doubt if there is a beyond. + </p> + <p> + LADY. But the elves? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Are merely a fairy story. (Pointing to a seat.) Shall we sit + down? + </p> + <p> + LADY. Yes. Who are you waiting for? + </p> + <p> + 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.) + </p> + <p> + LADY. There's nothing to tell. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + LADY. I like to hear you talk. But don't speak of the elves: it makes me + sad. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + LADY. You must be unhappy. But this won't go on always. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + LADY. There's no need. (Pause.) Have you been blamed for misusing your + gifts? + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + LADY. Why did they hate you so? + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + LADY. No. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. You must be the only one. But I'm all the more grateful. + </p> + <p> + LADY (rising). I must leave you now. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. You, too? + </p> + <p> + LADY. And you mustn't stay here. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Where should I go? + </p> + <p> + LADY. Home. To your work. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. But I'm no worker. I'm a writer. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Where are you going? + </p> + <p> + LADY. Only to a shop. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER (after a pause). Tell me, are you a believer? + </p> + <p> + LADY. I am nothing. + </p> + <p> + 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.... + </p> + <p> + LADY. Now I must go. Good-bye. (She goes out.) + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + BEGGAR. Why call me that? I'm no beggar. Have I asked you for anything? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. I beg your pardon. It's so hard to judge men from appearances. + </p> + <p> + BEGGAR. That's true. For instance, can you guess who I am? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. I don't intend to try. It doesn't interest me. + </p> + <p> + BEGGAR. No one can know that in advance. Interest commonly comes + afterwards—when it's too late. Virtus post nummos! + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. What? Do beggars know Latin? + </p> + <p> + 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.... + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. I don't know whether this beggar's cynical or mad. + </p> + <p> + BEGGAR. I don't know either. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Do you know who I am? + </p> + <p> + BEGGAR. No. And it doesn't interest me. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + BEGGAR. So you won't follow my example? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. What's that scar on your forehead? + </p> + <p> + BEGGAR. I got it from a near relation. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Friendship! Am I a friend of yours? + </p> + <p> + BEGGAR. Well, I am of yours. When one's alone in the world one can't be + particular. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Then let me tell you you forget yourself... + </p> + <p> + BEGGAR. Only too pleased! But when we meet again I'll have a word of + welcome for you. (Exit.) + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + LADY. So you're still here? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + LADY. What are you writing? May I see? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. I think you'll find: Eve 1864.... No, don't step on it. + </p> + <p> + LADY. What happens then? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. A disaster for you... and for me. + </p> + <p> + LADY. You know that? + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + LADY (hesitating). As medicine? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Of course. (Pause.) Have you read my books? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Then you haven't read the recent ones? + </p> + <p> + LADY. No. And if they're not like the earlier ones I don't want to. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Then promise never to open another book of mine. + </p> + <p> + LADY. Let me think that over. Very well, I promise. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Good! But see you keep your promise. Remember what happened to + Bluebeard's wife when curiosity tempted her into the forbidden + chamber.... + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + LADY. If that's so, will you come home with me to-night? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. No. Will you come with me? + </p> + <p> + LADY. Where? + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + LADY. I'm surprised I'm not angry with you. But you're not serious. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + LADY. Is it true <i>you</i> drink? + </p> + <p> + 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.... + </p> + <p> + LADY. And the day after? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + LADY. Come into the church for a moment. You'll hear no sermon, only the + beautiful music of vespers. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + LADY. You feel all that... already? + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + LADY. That sounds like the word of an oracle. We must see if you can't + become a child again. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. We should have to start with the cradle; and this time with + the right child. + </p> + <p> + LADY. Exactly! Wait here for me whilst I go into the church. If the café + were open I'd ask you please not to drink. But luckily it's shut. + </p> + <p> + (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 + crępe; another a large axe decorated with spruce, a third a cushion with + a chairman's mallet. They stop outside the café and wait.) + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Excuse me, whose funeral have you been attending? + </p> + <p> + FIRST MOURNER. A house-breaker's. (He imitates the ticking of a clock.) + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. A real house-breaker? Or the insect sort, that lodges in the + woodwork and goes 'tick-tick'? + </p> + <p> + FIRST MOURNER. Both—but mainly the insect sort. What do they call + them? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER (to himself). He wants to fool me into saying the death-watch + beetle. So I won't. You mean a burglar? + </p> + <p> + SECOND MOURNER. No. (The clock is again heard ticking.) + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + THIRD MOURNER. To us, in our simplicity, it looks black; but if Your + Honour wishes it, it shall look brown to you. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + FIRST MOURNER. Vine leaves. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. I thought it would not be spruce! The café's opening, at last! + (The Café 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. + </p> + <p> + FIRST MOURNER. He was a good-for-nothing, who couldn't take life + seriously. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. And who probably drank? + </p> + <p> + SECOND MOURNER. Yes. + </p> + <p> + THIRD MOURNER. And let others support his wife and children. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + SECOND MOURNER. When I'm drinking, I don't mind. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Well, I do. There's a great difference between us! (The + MOURNERS whisper together. The BEGGAR comes back.) Here's the beggar + again! + </p> + <p> + BEGGAR (sitting down at a table). Wine. Moselle! + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + LANDLORD. You'll get free transport to the poor house, if you don't get + out. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Couldn't you gentlemen settle this somewhere else. You're + disturbing your patrons. + </p> + <p> + LANDLORD. You can witness I'm in the right. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. No. The whole thing's too distressing. Even without paying + taxes he has the right to enjoy life's small pleasures. + </p> + <p> + LANDLORD. So you're the kind who'd absolve vagabonds from their duties? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. This is too much! I'd have you know that I'm a famous man. + (The LANDLORD and MOURNERS laugh.) + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + STRANGER (rising, pale and taken aback). What? + </p> + <p> + LANDLORD. Yes. It fits all right. + </p> + <p> + BEGGAR. Perhaps he's on the list. And not me! + </p> + <p> + LANDLORD. It looks like it. In any case, both of you had better clear + out. + </p> + <p> + BEGGAR (to the STRANGER). Shall we? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. We? This begins to look like a conspiracy. + </p> + <p> + (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.) + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. I'm afraid now. Things are happening that have no natural + explanation. + </p> + <p> + LADY. But you were afraid of nothing. Not even death! + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Death... no. But of something else, the unknown. + </p> + <p> + LADY. Listen. Give me your hand. You're ill, I'll take you to a doctor. + Come! + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. If you like. But tell me: is this carnival, or... reality? + </p> + <p> + LADY. It's real enough. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. This beggar must be a wretched fellow. Is it true he resembles + me? + </p> + <p> + LADY. He will, if you go on drinking. Now go to the post office and get + your letter. And then come with me. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. No, I won't. It'll only be about lawsuits. + </p> + <p> + LADY. If not? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Malicious gossip. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. I didn't call you. But I wanted you. + </p> + <p> + LADY. You're not as weak as you pretend. You have great strength; and + I'm afraid of you.... + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + LADY. Perhaps you can free me from the werewolf. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Who's he? + </p> + <p> + LADY. That's what I call him. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Count on me. Killing dragons, freeing princesses, defeating + werewolves—that is Life! + </p> + <p> + LADY. Then come, my liberator! + </p> + <p> + (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.) + </p> + SCENE II DOCTOR'S HOUSE + <p> + [Courtyard enclosed on three sides by a single-storied house with a + tiled roof. Small windows in all three façades. 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 façade 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.] + </p> + <p> + SISTER. Now misfortune will fall on your house. + </p> + <p> + DOCTOR. When has it not, my dear sister? + </p> + <p> + SISTER. This time.... Ingeborg's coming and bringing... guess whom? + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + SISTER. In town, it seems. Probably in some literary <i>salon</i>. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + SISTER. Don't let him come here. Go out. Say you're engaged. + </p> + <p> + DOCTOR. No. One can't escape one's fate. + </p> + <p> + SISTER. But you've never bowed your head to anyone! Why crawl before + this spectre, and call him fate? + </p> + <p> + DOCTOR. Life has taught me to. I've wasted time and energy in fighting + the inevitable. + </p> + <p> + SISTER. But why allow your wife to behave like this? She'll compromise + you both. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + SISTER. You'd be friends with your enemy? + </p> + <p> + DOCTOR. Oh...! + </p> + <p> + SISTER. Will you let her bring someone into the house who'll destroy + you? If you only knew how I hate that man. + </p> + <p> + DOCTOR. I do. His last book's terrible; and shows a certain lack of + mental balance. + </p> + <p> + SISTER. They ought to shut him up. + </p> + <p> + DOCTOR. Many people have said so, but I don't think him bad enough. + </p> + <p> + SISTER. Because you're eccentric yourself, and live in daily contact + with a woman who's mad. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + SISTER. Your nerves are on edge. It's only the steamer. (Pause.) Now, I + implore you, go away! + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + HATER. The devil! Come away! + </p> + <p> + DOCTOR. I can't. + </p> + <p> + SISTER. Then at least defend yourself. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + SISTER. I heard nothing. + </p> + <p> + DOCTOR. I did! Now I can see them, too! He <i>is</i> 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. + </p> + <p> + SISTER. And this man.... + </p> + <p> + DOCTOR. That's what always happens. Caesar! (The LADY comes in.) + </p> + <p> + LADY. I've brought a visitor. + </p> + <p> + DOCTOR. I know, and he's welcome. + </p> + <p> + LADY. I left him in the house, to wash. + </p> + <p> + DOCTOR. Well, are you satisfied with your conquest? + </p> + <p> + LADY. I think he's the unhappiest man I ever met. + </p> + <p> + DOCTOR. That's saying a great deal. + </p> + <p> + LADY. Yes, there's enough unhappiness for all of us. + </p> + <p> + DOCTOR. There is! (To his SISTER.) Would you ask him to come out here? + (His SISTER goes out.) Have you had an interesting time? + </p> + <p> + LADY. Yes. I met a number of strange people. Have you had many patients? + </p> + <p> + DOCTOR. No. The consulting room's empty this morning. I think the + practice is going down. + </p> + <p> + LADY (kindly). I'm sorry. Tell me, oughtn't that woodpile to be taken + into the house? It only draws the damp. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + LADY. You're tired. + </p> + <p> + DOCTOR. Tired of everything. + </p> + <p> + LADY (without bitterness). And you've a wife who can't even help you. + </p> + <p> + DOCTOR (kindly). You mustn't say that, if I don't think so. + </p> + <p> + LADY (turning towards the verandah). Here he is! + </p> + <p> + (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.) + </p> + <p> + DOCTOR. You're very welcome. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. It's kind of you. + </p> + <p> + DOCTOR. You bring good weather with you. And we need it; for it's rained + for six weeks. + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + DOCTOR. As you're used to town life I'm afraid you'll find the country + dull. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + DOCTOR. Never. + </p> + <p> + (The LADY has sat down at the table and is crocheting.) + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Are you sure? + </p> + <p> + 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 <i>had</i> + met I'd certainly have remembered your name. (Pause.) Well, now you can + see how a country doctor lives! + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. If you could guess what the life of a so-called liberator's + like, you wouldn't envy him. + </p> + <p> + DOCTOR. I can imagine it; for I've seen how men love their chains. + Perhaps that's as it should be. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER (listening). Strange. Who's playing in the village? + </p> + <p> + DOCTOR. I don't know. Do you, Ingeborg? + </p> + <p> + LADY. No. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Mendelssohn's Funeral March! It pursues me. I never know + whether I've heard it or not. + </p> + <p> + DOCTOR. Do you suffer from hallucinations? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. No. But I'm pursued by trivial incidents. Can't you hear + anyone playing? + </p> + <p> + DOCTOR. Yes. + </p> + <p> + LADY. Someone <i>is</i> playing. Mendelssohn. + </p> + <p> + DOCTOR. Not surprising. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. No. But that it should be played precisely at the right place, + at the right time.... (He gets up.) + </p> + <p> + DOCTOR. To reassure you, I'll ask my sister. (Exit through the + verandah.) + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + (The DOCTOR comes back.) + </p> + <p> + DOCTOR. It's the girl at the post office. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER (nervously). Good. That's all right. You've an original house. + That pile of wood, for instance. + </p> + <p> + DOCTOR. Yes. It's been struck by lightning twice. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Terrible! And you still keep it? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER (looking round). Christmas roses, too! Where did you get them? + They're flowering in summer! Everything's upside down here. + </p> + <p> + DOCTOR. They were given me by a patient. He's not quite sane. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Is he staying in the house? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. But a madman... in the house. Most unpleasant! + </p> + <p> + DOCTOR. He's very harmless. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. How did he lose his wits? + </p> + <p> + DOCTOR. Who can tell. It's a disease of the mind, not the body. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Tell me—is he here—now? + </p> + <p> + DOCTOR. Yes. He's free to wander in the garden and arrange creation. But + if his presence disquiets you, we can shut him up. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Why aren't such poor devils put out of—their misery? + </p> + <p> + DOCTOR. It's hard to know whether they're ripe.... + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. What for? + </p> + <p> + DOCTOR. For what's to come. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. There <i>is</i> nothing. (Pause.) + </p> + <p> + DOCTOR. Who knows! + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. I feel strangely uneasy. Have you medical material... + specimens... dead bodies? + </p> + <p> + DOCTOR. Oh yes. In the ice-box—for the authorities, you know. (He + pulls out an arm and leg.) Look here. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. No. Too much like Bluebeard! + </p> + <p> + DOCTOR (sharply). What do you mean by that? (Looking at the LADY.) Do + you think I kill my wives? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Oh no. It's clear you don't. Is this house haunted, too? + </p> + <p> + DOCTOR. Oh yes. Ask my wife.(He disappears behind the wood pile where + neither the STRANGER nor the LADY can see him.) + </p> + <p> + LADY. You needn't whisper, my husband's deaf. Though he can lip read. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + LADY. If you talk like that I'll begin to hate you. You must behave + under any circumstances. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + LADY. But.... + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Supposing he could hear what we say! I don't trust him. + </p> + <p> + DOCTOR. What shall we do to amuse our guest? + </p> + <p> + LADY. He doesn't care much for amusement. His life's not been happy. + </p> + <p> + (The DOCTOR blows a whistle. The MADMAN comes into the garden. He wears + a laurel wreath and his clothes are curious.) + </p> + <p> + DOCTOR. Come here, Caesar. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER (displeased). What? Is he called Caesar? + </p> + <p> + DOCTOR. No. It's a nickname I gave him, to remind me of a boy I was at + school with. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER (disturbed). Oh? + </p> + <p> + DOCTOR. He was involved in a strange incident, and I got all the blame. + </p> + <p> + LADY (to the STRANGER). You'd never believe a boy could have been so + corrupt. + </p> + <p> + (The STRANGER looks distressed. The MADMAN comes nearer.) + </p> + <p> + DOCTOR. Caesar, come and make your bow to our famous writer. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. Is this the great man? + </p> + <p> + LADY (to the DOCTOR). Why did you let him come, if it annoys our guest? + </p> + <p> + DOCTOR. Caesar, you must behave. Or I shall have to whip you. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + LADY. Trust me... whatever happens! And turn your face away when you + speak. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. This werewolf never leaves us. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. I'm used to waiting, for what never comes.... + </p> + <p> + DOCTOR (to the MADMAN). Come along, Caesar. I must lock you up in the + cellar. (He goes out with the MADMAN.) + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. You mean in my feelings? + </p> + <p> + LADY. I don't speak of them. We're taking them for granted. They'll + endure as long as they'll endure. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. You mean in my position? Large sums are owed me. All I have to + do is to write or telegraph.... + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER (hesitating). I don't like leaving the back way. I'd rather + have fought it out with him here. + </p> + <p> + LADY. Quick! + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Won't you come with me? + </p> + <p> + LADY. Yes. But then I must go first. (She turns and blows a kiss towards + the verandah.) My poor werewolf! + </p> + SCENE III ROOM IN AN HOTEL + <p> + [The STRANGER enters followed by the LADY. A WAITER.] + </p> + <p> + STRANGER (who is carrying a suitcase). Is no other room free? + </p> + <p> + WAITER. No. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. I don't want this one. + </p> + <p> + LADY. But it's the only one: the other hotels are all full. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + LADY. I wish you'd kill me. + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + LADY. Is this eight? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. What? Have you been here before? + </p> + <p> + LADY. Have you? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Yes. + </p> + <p> + LADY. Then let's get away. Onto the road, into the woods. It doesn't + matter where. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + LADY. It seems we'll never find peace on earth again. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + LADY. Did you go to the post office? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + LADY. Then we're lost. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Very nearly. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Then only one course remains. + </p> + <p> + LADY. Two. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. The second's impossible. + </p> + <p> + LADY. What is the second? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. To go to your parents in the country. + </p> + <p> + LADY. You're beginning to read my thoughts. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. We no longer have any secrets from one another. + </p> + <p> + LADY. Then the whole dream's at an end. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. It maybe. + </p> + <p> + LADY. You must telegraph again. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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.... + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + LADY. I hear nothing. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Am I... am I.... + </p> + <p> + LADY. Shall we go home? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. The last place. The worst of all! To arrive like an + adventurer, a beggar. Impossible! + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. It would match the rest! For this honeymoon's becoming a + pilgrimage! + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + LADY. As we're agreed, wouldn't it be better to give up this room? Oh, + God! He's coming now. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + LADY. So this is freedom! + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. And I... am the liberator. (Exeunt.) + </p> + SCENE IV BY THE SEA + <p> + [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.] + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Three peaceful happy days at my wife's side, and anxiety + returns! + </p> + <p> + LADY. What do you fear? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. That this will not last long. + </p> + <p> + LADY. Why do you think so? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + LADY. But it's all over! My parents are resigned to what we've done. My + husband understands and has written a kind letter. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + LADY. Unfortunate man! Yet you've had everything you wished from life! + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Everything. Unluckily I forgot to wish for money. + </p> + <p> + LADY. You're thinking of that again. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Are you surprised? + </p> + <p> + LADY. Quiet! + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + LADY. Nothing. Crochet work. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + LADY. If only I thought of half the things you imagine.... But I think + of nothing. + </p> + <p> + 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 <i>am</i> 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. + </p> + <p> + LADY. I'm not ready to die. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Why not? + </p> + <p> + LADY. I believe there are things I've not yet done. Perhaps I've not + suffered enough. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Is that the purpose of life? + </p> + <p> + LADY. It seems to be. (Pause.) Now I want to ask one thing of you. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Well? + </p> + <p> + LADY. Don't blaspheme against heaven again, or compare yourself with the + Creator, for then you remind me of Caesar at home. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER (excitedly). Caesar! How can you say that...? + </p> + <p> + LADY. I'm sorry if I've said anything I shouldn't. It was foolish of me + to say 'at home.' Forgive me. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. You were thinking that Caesar and I resemble one another in + our blasphemies? + </p> + <p> + LADY. Of course not. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Strange. I believe you when you say you don't mean to hurt me; + yet you <i>do</i> hurt me, as all the others do. Why? + </p> + <p> + LADY. Because you're over-sensitive. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. You say that again! Do you think I've sensitive hidden places? + </p> + <p> + LADY. No. I didn't mean that. And now the spirits of suspicion and + discord are coming between us. Drive them away—at once. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. You mustn't say I blaspheme if I use the well-known words: + See, we are like unto the gods. + </p> + <p> + LADY. But if that's so, why can't you help yourself, or us? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Can't I? Wait. As yet we've only seen the beginning. + </p> + <p> + LADY. If the end is like it, heaven help us! + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + LADY. The money's come! + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. This morning. Who can destroy me now? + </p> + <p> + LADY. Don't speak like that. You know who could. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Who? + </p> + <p> + LADY. He who punishes the arrogance of men. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. And their courage. That especially. This was my Achilles' + heel; I bore with everything, except this fearful lack of money. + </p> + <p> + LADY. May I ask how much they've sent? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + LADY. I begin to think so, too. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + LADY. Don't. You frighten me. + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + LADY. Don't speak like that. + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + LADY. May heaven not punish you. + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + LADY. No. It's the wind. Can't you hear it in the trees? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + LADY (frightened). Where can you see all that? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. On your work. + </p> + <p> + LADY. Can you see people there? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + LADY. Why indeed! Have we done wrong? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. What is wrong? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Why should he have turned your mother out? + </p> + <p> + LADY. Who can say? The children least of all. Let us go to my home. I + long to. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + LADY. How do you know...? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. I can guess. + </p> + <p> + LADY. And can you guess that the path to where my parents live in the + mountains is too steep for carts to use? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. It sounds extraordinary, but I read or dreamed something of + the kind. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. I'm ready—for anything! + </p> + <p> + (The LADY kisses him on the forehead and makes the sign of the cross + simply, timidly and without gestures.) + </p> + <p> + LADY. Then come! + </p> + SCENE V ON THE ROAD + <p> + [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.] + </p> + <p> + LADY. You're tired. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER (pointing to the signpost). And beggars are not allowed in this + parish. Why must that be stuck up in large letters here? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + LADY. My grandfather coming back from shooting. A good old man. Let's go + on and reach the house by dark. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Is it still far? + </p> + <p> + LADY. No. Only across the hills and over the river. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Is that the river I hear? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. You're weeping! + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Let's go. It's beginning to grow dusk already. (They pick up + their travelling capes and go on.) + </p> + SCENE VI IN A RAVINE + <p> + [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.] + </p> + <p> + [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.] + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. They're hiding, from us, probably. + </p> + <p> + LADY. I don't think so. + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + LADY. Yes, but it's only the rock. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Only the rock, and yet it's he. + </p> + <p> + LADY. Shall I tell you why we can see him? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + LADY. Why did you challenge him? + </p> + <p> + 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.) + </p> + <p> + LADY. Oh! We could have paid the ferry with it. Now we'll have to talk + of money when we reach home. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. When can we talk of anything else? + </p> + <p> + LADY. That's because you've despised it. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. As I've despised everything.... + </p> + <p> + LADY. But not everything's despicable. Some things are good. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. I've never seen them. + </p> + <p> + LADY. Then follow me and you will. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. I'll follow you. (He hesitates when passing the smithy.) + </p> + <p> + LADY (who has gone on ahead). Are you frightened of fire? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. No, but... (The horn is heard in the distance. He hurries past + the smithy after the LADY.) + </p> + SCENE VII IN A KITCHEN + <p> + [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.] + </p> + <p> + [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.'] + </p> + <p> + OLD MAN and MOTHER. Amen! + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + OLD MAN. Let them stay there. + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. Don't forbid a beggar your house. He might be an angel. + </p> + <p> + OLD MAN. True. Let them come in. + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. I'll put food for them on the table for the poor. Do you mind + that? + </p> + <p> + OLD MAN. No. + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. Shall I give them cider? + </p> + <p> + OLD MAN. Yes. And you can light the fire; they'll be cold. + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. There's hardly time. But I will, if you wish it, Father. + </p> + <p> + OLD MAN (looking out of the window). I think you'd better. + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. What are you looking at? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. You're sad to-night, Father. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. Spera in Deo.... + </p> + <p> + (The Maid comes in, and signs to the MOTHER, who goes over to her. They + whisper together and the maid goes out again.) + </p> + <p> + OLD MAN. I heard what you said. O God! Must I bear that too! + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. You needn't see them. You can go up to your room. + </p> + <p> + OLD MAN. No. It shall be a penance. But why come like this: as + vagabonds? + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. Perhaps they lost their way and have had much to endure. + </p> + <p> + OLD MAN. But to bring her husband! Is she lost to shame? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. Very well then. (The LADY and the STRANGER come in.) You're + welcome. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER (simply). None, but to keep my wife company, at her earnest + desire. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. I haven't come here to ask favours. I'll take nothing with me + when I go. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + LADY. Grandfather! + </p> + <p> + 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.) + </p> + <p> + LADY (to her mother). Did you lay that table for us, Mother? + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. No, it's a mistake, as you can imagine. + </p> + <p> + LADY. I know we look wretched. We were lost in the mountains, and if + grandfather hadn't blown his horn... + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. Your grandfather gave up hunting long ago. + </p> + <p> + LADY. Then it was someone else.... Listen, Mother, I'll go up now to the + 'rose' room, and get it straight. + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. Do. I'll come in a moment. + </p> + <p> + (The LADY would like to say something, cannot, and goes out.) + </p> + <p> + STRANGER (to the MOTHER). I've seen this room already. + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. And I've seen you. I almost expected you. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. As one expects a disaster? + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. Why say that? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Because I sow devastation wherever I go. But as I must go + somewhere, and cannot change my fate, I've lost my scruples. + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. Then you're like my daughter—she, too, has no scruples and + no conscience. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. What? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. But I've noticed what you speak of in Eve. + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. Why do you call Ingeborg Eve? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. By inventing a name for her I made her mine. I wanted to + change her.... + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + STRANGER (looking at the MOTHER in surprise). Those were damnable words! + Forgive me. But you have religious beliefs: how can you think such + things? + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. The thoughts were yours. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. This begins to be interesting. I imagined an idyll in the + forest, but this is a witches' cauldron. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Frank words. Now I know where I am. + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. I'd like to know where I am. Can you support two families? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. If all goes well. + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. All doesn't—in this life. Money can be lost. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. But my talent's capital I can never lose. + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. Really? The greatest of talents has been known to fail... + gradually, or suddenly. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. I've never met anyone who could so damp one's courage. + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. Pride should be damped. Your last book was much weaker. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. You read it? + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. My heel of Achilles! I threw my last coin away. Can't we speak + of something else than money in this house? + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER (hesitating). Yes.... + </p> + <p> + MOTHER (smiling). Probably nothing to eat? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER (hesitating). No.... + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. You're a fine fellow! + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. In all my life I've never been in such a predicament. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Is that a threat? + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. A warning. Go now, and have your supper. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER (pointing at the table for the poor). There? + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. A poor joke; which might become reality. I've seen such things. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Soon I'll believe anything can happen—this is the worst + I've known. + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. Worse yet may come. Wait! + </p> + <p> + STRANGER (cast down). I'm prepared for anything. + </p> + <p> + (Exit. A moment later the OLD MAN comes in.) + </p> + <p> + OLD MAN. It was no angel after all. + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. No good angel, certainly. + </p> + <p> + 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.... + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. But what? + </p> + <p> + OLD MAN. It was only a magpie that flew in at her window, though it was + closed. An illusion, perhaps. + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. Perhaps. But why does one often see such things at the right + time? + </p> + <p> + OLD MAN. This man's presence is intolerable. When he looks at me I can't + breathe. + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. We must try to get rid of him. I'm certain he won't care to stay + for long. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. The courts? + </p> + <p> + 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.... + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. I've felt a call to be a tool in the hands of Providence. + </p> + <p> + OLD MAN. Don't confuse it with your wish for vengeance. + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. I'll try not to, if I can. + </p> + <p> + OLD MAN. Well, good-night. + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. Do you think Ingeborg has read his last book? + </p> + <p> + OLD MAN. It's unlikely. If she had she'd never have married a man who + held such views. + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. No, she's not read it. But now she must. + </p> + SCENE VIII THE 'ROSE' ROOM + <p> + [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.] + </p> + <p> + MOTHER (standing with a book bound in rose-coloured cloth in her hand.) + You won't read your husband's book? + </p> + <p> + LADY. Not that one. I promised not to. + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. You don't want to know the man to whom you've entrusted your + fate? + </p> + <p> + LADY. What would be the use? We're all right as we are. + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. You make no great demands on life? + </p> + <p> + LADY. Why should I? They'd never be fulfilled. + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. I don't know whether you were born full of worldly wisdom, or + foolishness. + </p> + <p> + LADY. I don't know myself. + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. If the sun shines and you've enough to eat, you're content. + </p> + <p> + LADY. Yes. And when it goes in, I make the best of it. + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. To change the subject: did you know your husband was being + pressed by the courts on account of his debts? + </p> + <p> + LADY. Yes. It happens to all writers. + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. Is he mad, or a rascal? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + LADY. Perhaps. You can leave me the book, if you like. + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. Take it and hide it. It'll be a surprise if you can quote + something from his masterpiece. + </p> + <p> + LADY (hiding the book in her bag). He's coming. If he's spoken of he + seems to feel it from afar. + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. If he could only feel how he makes others suffer—from + afar. (Exit left.) + </p> + <p> + (The LADY, alone for an instant, looks at the book and seems taken + aback. She hides it in her bag.) + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + LADY. You're irritable to-day. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + LADY. Don't turn your back on the sunlight. Look at this lovely country; + you'll feel calmer. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + LADY. Do you think they treat you badly here? + </p> + <p> + 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 accursčd + mill.... + </p> + <p> + LADY. It's not grinding now. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Yes. Grinding... grinding. + </p> + <p> + LADY. Listen. There's no hate here. Pity, at most. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Another thing.... Why do people I meet cross themselves? + </p> + <p> + LADY. Only because they're used to praying in silence. (Pause.) You had + an unwelcome letter this morning? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + LADY. Why? + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + LADY (who has secretly been looking at the book: absent-mindedly). There + must be a reason, even if we don't know it. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. If it's to humble one, it's a poor method. It only makes me + more arrogant. Eve! + </p> + <p> + LADY. Don't call me that. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER (starting). Why not? + </p> + <p> + LADY. I don't like it. You'd feel as I do, if I called you Caesar. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Have we got back to that? + </p> + <p> + LADY. To what? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Did you mention that name for any reason? + </p> + <p> + LADY. Caesar? No. But I'm beginning to find things out. + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + LADY. I can't. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + LADY. No. It's not that. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Then what is it? Do you respect me no longer? + </p> + <p> + LADY. It's not that either. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Then it's to make me feel my shame before you! And it would be + the end of everything between us. + </p> + <p> + LADY. No! + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Eve. + </p> + <p> + LADY. You rouse evil thoughts. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. You've broken your vow: you've been reading my book! + </p> + <p> + LADY. I have. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Then you've done wrong. + </p> + <p> + LADY. My intention was good. + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + LADY. Don't say that. Say rather <i>you</i> forgive. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. I'm not small-minded. But what have I forgive you? + </p> + <p> + LADY. More than I can say. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Say it. Perhaps then we'll be quits. + </p> + <p> + LADY. He and I used to read the curse of Deutertonomy over you... for + you'd ruined his life. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. What curse is that? + </p> + <p> + LADY. From the fifth book of Moses. The priests chant it in chorus when + the fasts begin. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. I don't remember it. What does it matter—a curse more or + less? + </p> + <p> + LADY. In my family those whom we curse, are struck. + </p> + <p> + 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.... + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. So you've eaten of the tree of knowledge? Farewell. + </p> + <p> + LADY. You're going away? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. I can't stay here. + </p> + <p> + LADY. Don't go. + </p> + <p> + 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.) + </p> + <p> + LADY (remains motionless, then goes to the door and looks out. She sinks + to her knees). No! He won't come back! + </p> + <p> + Curtain. + </p> + SCENE IX CONVENT + <p> + [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.] + </p> + <p> + [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 crępe. 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.] + </p> + <p> + STRANGER (rising and going to the ABBESS, who is standing at a serving + table). Mother. May I speak to you? + </p> + <p> + ABBESS (in a black-and-white Augustinian habit). Yes, my son. (They come + forward.) + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. First, where am I? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. What did I speak of? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. And then? + </p> + <p> + 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.... + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. I want no charity. + </p> + <p> + ABBESS. It's more blessed to give than to receive; yet a noble nature + can accept and be thankful. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. I want no charity. + </p> + <p> + ABBESS. Hm! + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Tell me, why will none of those people sit at the same table + with me? They're getting up... going.... + </p> + <p> + ABBESS. They seem to fear you. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Why? + </p> + <p> + ABBESS. You look so.... + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. I? But what of them? Are they real? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + ABBESS. If you don't believe them real, I'll ask the Confessor to + introduce you. (She signs to the CONFESSOR who approaches.) + </p> + <p> + CONFESSOR (dressed in a black-and-white habit of Dominicans). Sister! + </p> + <p> + ABBESS. Tell the patient who are at that table. + </p> + <p> + CONFESSOR. That's soon done. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Permit a question first. Haven't we met already? + </p> + <p> + CONFESSOR. Yes. I sat by your bedside, when you were delirious. At your + desire, I heard your confession. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. What? My confession? + </p> + <p> + CONFESSOR. Yes. But I couldn't give you absolution; because it seemed + that what you said was spoken in fever. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Why? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + (The ABBESS leaves them.) + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Have you the right? + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + (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.) + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> + <p> + (He goes to the desk by the table, right, and opens his breviary. The + music ceases.) + </p> + <p> + 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. Cursčd + shalt thou be in the city, and cursčd shalt thou be in the field; cursčd + shalt thou be when thou comest in, and cursčd when thou goest out.' + </p> + <p> + OMNES (in a low voice). Cursčd! + </p> + <p> + 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.' + </p> + <p> + OMNES (loudly). Cursčd! + </p> + <p> + 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!' + </p> + <p> + OMNES. Amen! + </p> + <p> + (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.) + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. What was that? + </p> + <p> + CONFESSOR. The Book of Deuteronomy. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Of course. But I seem to remember blessings in it, too. + </p> + <p> + CONFESSOR. Yes, for those who keep His commandments. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + CONFESSOR. See he <i>is</i> the right one! + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Of course! + </p> + <p> + CONFESSOR. Who can heal 'delightful scruples of conscience'! + </p> + <p> + ABBESS. Should you need charity again, you now know where to find it. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. No. I do not. + </p> + <p> + ABBESS (in a low voice). Then I'll tell you. In a 'rose' room, near a + certain running stream. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. That's the truth! In a 'rose' room. Wait; how long have I been + here? + </p> + <p> + ABBESS. Three months to-day. + </p> + <p> + 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.) + </p> + <p> + CONFESSOR (to the Abbess). The fool! The fool! + </p> + <p> + Curtain. + </p> + SCENE X THE 'ROSE' ROOM + <p> + [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.] + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. Come in! + </p> + <p> + STRANGER (doing so). Where's my wife? + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. Where do you come from? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. I think, from hell. But where's my wife? + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. Which of them do you mean? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. The question's justified. Everything is, except to me. + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. There may be a reason: I'm glad you've seen it. Where have you + been? + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Something's amiss here. Where's the Old Man? + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. Where there's no more suffering. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. You mean he's dead? + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. Yes. He's dead. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. You say it as if you wanted to add him to my victims. + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. Perhaps I'm right to do so. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. He didn't look sensitive: he was capable of steady hatred. + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. No. He hated only what was evil, in himself and others. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. So I'm wrong there, too! (Pause.) + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. What do you want here? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Charity! + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. At last! How was it at the hospital! Sit down and tell me. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER (sitting). I don't want to think of it. I don't even know if it + <i>was</i> a hospital. + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. Strange. Tell me what happened after you left here. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. I fell in the mountains, hurt my hip and lost consciousness. + If you'll speak kindly to me you shall know more. + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. I will. + </p> + <p> + 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.... + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. They were putting in your hip. + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. Those were not pleasant visions. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. No. At last I came to the conclusion... that I was a + thoroughgoing scamp. + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. Why call yourself that? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. You're still in doubt? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Of a great deal. But I've begun to have an inkling. + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. That....? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. That there are forces which, till now, I've not believed in. + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. You've come to see that neither you, nor any other man, directs + your destiny? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. I have. + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. Then you've already gone part of the way. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. But I myself have changed. I'm ruined; for I've lost all + aptitude for writing. And I can't sleep at night. + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. Indeed! + </p> + <p> + 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 <i>my</i> end. + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. Oh! + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. You've been wrong to think it a matter between you and others. + You have to deal with Him. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. With whom? + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. The Invisible One, who guides your destiny. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Would I could see Him. + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. It would be your death. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Oh no! + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. Jesus and Mary! Don't say such things. You'll make me think + you're a child of the Devil. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. You'll bring a curse on my house. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Then I'll leave it. + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. And go into the night. Where? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. To seek the only one that I don't hate. + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. Are you sure she'll receive you? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Quite sure. + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. I'm not. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. I am. + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. Then I must raise your doubts. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. You can't. + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. Yes, I can. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. It's a lie. + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. We're no longer speaking kindly. We must stop. Can you sleep in + the attic? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. I can't sleep anywhere. + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. Still, I'll say good-night to you, whether you think I mean it, + or not. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. You're sure there are no rats in the attic? I don't fear + ghosts, but rats aren't pleasant. + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. I'm glad you don't fear ghosts, for no one's slept a whole night + there... whatever the cause may be. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER (after a moment's hesitation). Never have I met a more wicked + woman than you. The reason is: you have religion. + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. Good-night! + </p> + <p> + Curtain. + </p> + SCENE XI IN THE KITCHEN + <p> + [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.] + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + MOTHER (coming in with a lamp). Still up? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. I couldn't sleep. + </p> + <p> + MOTHER (gently). Why not, my son? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. I heard someone above me. + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. Impossible. There's nothing over the attic. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. That's why I was uneasy! What's moving on the floor like + snakes? + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. Moonbeams. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. It was a horse in the stable. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Why should it make that noise? + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. Some animals have nightmares. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. What are nightmares? + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. Who knows? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. May I sit down? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. My religion won't allow me to. But I believe our sense of right + and wrong will find a way to punish us. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Soon I felt cold air on my breast—it reached my heart + and forced me to get up. + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. And then? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. To stand and watch the whole panorama of my life unroll before + me. I saw everything—that was the worst of it. + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. I know. I've been through it. There's no name for the malady, + and only one cure. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. What is it? + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. You know what children do when they've done wrong? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. What? + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. First ask forgiveness! + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. And then? + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. Try to make amends. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Isn't it enough to suffer according to one's deserts? + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. No. That's revenge. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Then what must one do? + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. Can you mend a life you've destroyed? Undo a bad action? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Truly, no. But I was forced into it! Forced to take, for no + one gave me the right. Accursčd be He who forced me! (Putting his hand + to his heart.) Ah! He's here, in this room. He's plucking out my heart! + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. Then bow your head. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. I cannot. + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. Down on your knees. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. I will not. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Not before Him! If I were forced, I'll recant... afterwards. + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. On your knees, my son! + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. I cannot bow the knee. I cannot. Help me, God Eternal. + (Pause.) + </p> + <p> + MOTHER (after a hasty prayer). Do you feel better? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Yes.... It was not death. It was annihilation! + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. The annihilation of the Divine. We call it spiritual death. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. I see. (Without irony.) I begin to understand. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. You speak in riddles. + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. Then go your way. Search out those to whom you have something to + say. First, your wife. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Where is she? + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. You must find her. On your way don't forget to call on him you + named the werewolf. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Never! + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. You'd have said that, as you came here. As you know, I expected + your coming. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Why? + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. For no one reason. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Just as I saw this kitchen... in a trance.... + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Such a night! + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. You'll remember it. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Not all of it... yet something. + </p> + <p> + MOTHER (looking out of the window, as if to herself). Lovely morning + star—how far from heaven have you fallen! + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. Will you never be tired of questioning? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Never. Because I yearn for light. + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. Go then, and search. And peace be with you! + </p> + SCENE XII IN THE RAVINE + <p> + [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.] + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + (Exit. She reappears on the footbridge, and exit once more.) + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + ECHO (imitating his voice from afar). Charity. + </p> + <p> + (The SMITH and the MILLER'S WIFE laugh so loudly and so long that, at + length, ECHO replies.) + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Good! An eye for an eye—a tooth for a tooth. It helps to + lighten my conscience! (He enters the ravine.) + </p> + SCENE XIII ON THE ROAD + <p> + [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.] + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Beggar! Have you seen a lady in a coat and skirt pass this + way? + </p> + <p> + BEGGAR. I've seen five hundred. But, seriously, I must ask you not to + call me beggar now. I've found work! + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Oh! So it's you! + </p> + <p> + BEGGAR. Ille ego qui quondam.... + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. What kind of work have you? + </p> + <p> + BEGGAR. I've a starling, that whistles and sings. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. You mean, <i>he</i> does the work? + </p> + <p> + BEGGAR. Yes. I'm my own master now. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Do you catch birds? + </p> + <p> + BEGGAR. No. The lime twig's merely for appearances. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. So you still cling to such things? + </p> + <p> + BEGGAR. What else should I cling to? What's within us is nothing but + pure... nonsense. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Is that the final conclusion of your whole philosophy of life? + </p> + <p> + BEGGAR. My complete metaphysic. The view mad be rather out of date, + but... + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Can you be serious for a moment? Tell me about your past. + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. How can you laugh, with a wrecked life behind you? + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + STRANGER (avoiding him). You don't deceive me. + </p> + <p> + BEGGAR. You believe nothing but evil. That's why you get nothing but + evil. Try to believe what is good. Try! + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. I will. But if I'm deceived, I've the right to.... + </p> + <p> + BEGGAR. You've no right to do that. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + BEGGAR. Saul! Saul! Why persecutest thou Me? + </p> + <p> + (The STRANGER goes out with a gesture of horror. The chord of the + funeral march is heard again. The LADY enters.) + </p> + <p> + LADY. Have you seen a man pass this way in a long cloak, with a green + hat? + </p> + <p> + BEGGAR. There was a poor devil here, who hobbled off.... + </p> + <p> + LADY. The man I'm searching for's not lame. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + LADY. Where? + </p> + <p> + BEGGAR (pointing). There! At that rut. In it you can see the impression + of a boot, firmly planted.... + </p> + <p> + LADY (looking at the impression). It's he! His heavy tread.... Can I + catch him up? + </p> + <p> + BEGGAR. Follow the track! + </p> + <p> + LADY (taking his hand and kissing it). Thank you, my friend. (Exit.) + </p> + SCENE XIV BY THE SEA + <p> + [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.] + </p> + <p> + LADY. You thrust me away. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. No. It seems there's someone between us. + </p> + <p> + LADY. Indeed there is! (Pause.) What a meeting! + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Yes. It's winter; as you see. + </p> + <p> + LADY. I can feel the cold coming from you. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. I got frozen in the mountains. + </p> + <p> + LADY. Do you think the spring will ever come? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + LADY. No doubt what you say is true. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + LADY. You couldn't bear it. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + LADY. And why consciences grow so heavy, if there's no one to help to + bear the burden. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Have you also come to think so? + </p> + <p> + LADY. Not yet. But I'm on the way. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Put your hand in mine. From here let us go on together. + </p> + <p> + LADY. Where? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Back! The same way we came. Are you weary? + </p> + <p> + LADY. Now no longer. + </p> + <p> + 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.... + </p> + <p> + LADY. Well? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. It went well with me. And since then I feel I've strength to + go on my way.... + </p> + <p> + LADY. Let's go together! + </p> + <p> + STRANGER (turning to the sea). Yes. It's growing dark and the clouds are + gathering. + </p> + <p> + LADY. Don't look at the clouds. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. And below there? What's that? + </p> + <p> + LADY. Only a wreck. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER (whispering). Three crosses! What new Golgotha awaits us? + </p> + <p> + LADY. They're white ones. That means good fortune. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Can good fortune ever come to us? + </p> + <p> + LADY. Yes. But not yet. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Let's go! + </p> + SCENE XV ROOM IN AN HOTEL + <p> + [The room is as before. The LADY is sitting by the side of the STRANGER, + crocheting.] + </p> + <p> + LADY. Do say something. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. I've nothing but unpleasant things to say, since we came here. + </p> + <p> + LADY. Why were you so anxious to have this terrible room? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. I don't know. It was the last one I wanted. I began to long + for it, in order to suffer. + </p> + <p> + LADY. And are you suffering? + </p> + <p> + 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... + </p> + <p> + LADY. Why did you cry out in your sleep? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. I was dreaming. + </p> + <p> + LADY. A real dream? + </p> + <p> + 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.... + </p> + <p> + LADY. The past! + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Yes. + </p> + <p> + LADY (simply). It's foolish to have any such secret place. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Yes. (Pause.) + </p> + <p> + LADY. And now tell me! + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. I'm afraid I must. I dreamed your first husband was married to + my first wife. + </p> + <p> + LADY. Only you could have thought of such a thing! + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + LADY. It's come to that? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. It's been coming for some time. Nothing can now prevent it. I + must see him. + </p> + <p> + LADY. But if he won't receive you? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. I'll go as a patient, and tell him of my sickness.... + </p> + <p> + LADY (frightened). Don't do that! + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + LADY. Could I come with you? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. There's no need. My sufferings will be enough for both. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. So I see. The Christmas rose there has begun to wither. + </p> + <p> + LADY. But don't you feel spring in the air? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. The cold within isn't so great. + </p> + <p> + LADY. Perhaps the werewolf will heal you altogether. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. We shall see. Perhaps he's not so dangerous, after all. + </p> + <p> + LADY. He's not so cruel as you. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. But my dream.... + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. It can be washed. + </p> + <p> + LADY. Or dyed. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Rose red. + </p> + <p> + LADY. Never! + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. It's like a roll of manuscript. + </p> + <p> + LADY. With our story on it. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. In the filth of the roads, in tears and in blood. + </p> + <p> + LADY. But the story's nearly done. Go and write the last chapter. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Then we'll meet at the seventh station. Where we began! + </p> + SCENE XVI THE DOCTOR'S HOUSE + <p> + [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.] + </p> + <p> + SISTER (coming from the verandah). A patient to see you. + </p> + <p> + DOCTOR. Do you know who it is? + </p> + <p> + SISTER. I've not seen him. Here's his card. + </p> + <p> + DOCTOR (reading it). This outdoes everything! + </p> + <p> + SISTER. Is it he? + </p> + <p> + DOCTOR. Yes. Courage I respect; but this is cynicism. A kind of + challenge. Still, let him come in. + </p> + <p> + SISTER. Are you serious? + </p> + <p> + DOCTOR. Perfectly. But, if you care to talk to him a little, in that + straightforward way of yours.... + </p> + <p> + SISTER. I'd like to. + </p> + <p> + DOCTOR. Very well. Do the heavy work, and leave the final polish to me. + </p> + <p> + SISTER. You can trust me. I'll tell him everything your kindness forbids + you to say. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. Cut it off! + </p> + <p> + DOCTOR. That's not what I've taught you. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. No; you said, heap coals of fire on it. But I think that's a + shame. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. As you know more about it than I, why ask? + </p> + <p> + DOCTOR. Quiet! I'm not speaking to you. (Pause.) Very well. First cut + off his head, and then.... We'll see. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. It all depends on how he behaves. + </p> + <p> + DOCTOR. Yes. On how he behaves. Quiet. Get along. + </p> + <p> + (The STRANGER comes from the verandah: he seems excited but his manner + betrays a certain resignation. CAESAR has gone out.) + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. You're surprised to see me here? + </p> + <p> + DOCTOR (seriously). I've long given up being surprised. But I see I must + begin again. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Will you permit me to speak to you? + </p> + <p> + DOCTOR. About anything decent people may discuss. Are you ill? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER (hesitating). Yes. + </p> + <p> + DOCTOR. Why did you come to me—of all people? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. You must guess! + </p> + <p> + DOCTOR. I refuse to. (Pause.) What do you complain of? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER (with uncertainty). Sleeplessness. + </p> + <p> + DOCTOR. That's not a disease, but a symptom. Have you already seen a + doctor? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. I've been lying ill in an... institution. I was feverish. I've + a strange malady. + </p> + <p> + DOCTOR. What was so strange about it? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. May I ask this? Can one go about as usual; and yet be + delirious? + </p> + <p> + DOCTOR. If you're mad; not otherwise. (The STRANGER lets up, but then + sits down again.) What was the hospital called? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. St. Saviour. + </p> + <p> + DOCTOR. That's not a hospital. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. A convent, then. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER (calms himself). Be frank with me: do you think me... insane? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Could you take his place for a moment? + </p> + <p> + DOCTOR. I haven't the vocation. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. But... + </p> + <p> + DOCTOR (interrupting). Or the time. We're getting ready for a wedding + here! + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. I dreamed it! + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. With two children? + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. It might happen that... + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Yes. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Will you give me your hand? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. St. Saviour... + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. One station more, and I shall reach my goal. + </p> + <p> + DOCTOR. You'll never reach your goal. Farewell! + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Farewell! + </p> + SCENE XVII A STREET CORNER + <p> + [The same as Scene I. The STRANGER is sitting on the seat beneath the + tree, drawing in the sand.] + </p> + <p> + LADY (entering). What are you doing? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Writing in the sand... still. + </p> + <p> + LADY. Can you hear singing? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER (pointing to the church). Yes. But from there! I've been unjust + to someone, unwittingly. + </p> + <p> + LADY. I think our wanderings must be over, now we've come back here. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + LADY. Yes. Because there was nothing but unpleasantness in it. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Or legal matters. (Striking his forehead.) Then that's the + explanation. + </p> + <p> + LADY. Fetch it then. In the belief that what it contains is good. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER (ironically). Good! + </p> + <p> + LADY. Believe it. Imagine it! + </p> + <p> + STRANGER (going to the post office). I'll make the attempt. + </p> + <p> + (The LADY waits on the pavement. The STRANGER comes back with a letter.) + </p> + <p> + LADY. Well? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. I feel ashamed of myself. It's the money. + </p> + <p> + LADY. You see! All these sufferings, all these tears... in vain! + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Not in vain! It looks like spite, what happens here, but it's + not that. I wronged the Invisible when I mistook... + </p> + <p> + LADY. Enough! No accusations. + </p> + <p> + 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... + </p> + <p> + LADY. Who made the change in you. Come. Let's go. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. And hide ourselves and our misery in the mountains. + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Very well. I'll go through that way. But I can't stay. + </p> + <p> + LADY. How can you tell? Come. In there you shall hear new songs. + </p> + <p> + (The STRANGER follows her to the door of the church.) + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. It may be! + </p> + <p> + LADY. Come! + </p> + THE END. <a name="link2H_PART2" id="link2H_PART2"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + PART II + </h2> + CHARACTERS +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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 +</pre> + SCENES +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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 +</pre> + <a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ACT I + </h2> + <h3> + OUTSIDE THE HOUSE + </h3> + <p> + [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.] + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. Father, life has treated me hardly. I don't know what I've done + to be so frowned upon by Providence. + </p> + <p> + DOMINICAN. It's a mark of favour to be tried by the Eternal One, and + triumph awaits the steadfast. + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. That's what I've often said to myself; but there are limits to + the suffering one can bear.... + </p> + <p> + DOMINICAN. There are no limits. Suff'ering's as boundless as grace. + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. First my husband leaves me for another woman. + </p> + <p> + DOMINICAN. Then let him go. He'll come crawling back again on his bare + knees! + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + DOMINICAN. That's not easy to understand. Divorce isn't recognised by + our religion. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + DOMINICAN. A difficult case. But we'll find a way to put it right. What + does he do? + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. He's a writer; said to be famous at home. + </p> + <p> + DOMINICAN. Godless, too, I suppose? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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.' + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. O God! It must be he! + </p> + <p> + DOMINICAN. Yes, it is he. Your son-in-law! The ways of Providence are + inscrutable. Was he heavily struck by the curse? + </p> + <p> + 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.... + </p> + <p> + DOMINICAN. Did he have fearful visions? + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. Yes. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + DOMINICAN. Powers that meant him ill, and were therefore themselves + evil. That's the usual course of things. And then? + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. He came upon books that taught him that such evil powers could + be fought. + </p> + <p> + DOMINICAN. Oh! So he looked for what's hidden, and should remain so! Did + he succeed in exorcising the spirits that chastised him? + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. He says he did. And it seems now that he can sleep again. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + DOMINICAN. How do the two of them get on? + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. Half the time, happily; the other half they plague one another + like devils. + </p> + <p> + DOMINICAN. That's the way they must go. Plague one another till they + come to the Cross. + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. If they don't part again. + </p> + <p> + DOMINICAN. What? Have they done so? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + DOMINICAN. Let the child come. Children bring gifts that are refreshing + to tired souls. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. Yes. That's my present son-in-law. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER (who has suddenly stopped, grown rigid, and clutched his + heart). Who's down there? + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. I am. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. You're not alone. + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. No. I've someone with me. + </p> + <p> + 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.) + </p> + <p> + STRANGER (raising himself and coming down the steps). Who was that? + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. A traveller. Sit down; you look so pale. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. It was a fainting fit. + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. You've always new names for it; but they mean nothing fresh. Sit + down here, on the seat. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. No; I don't like sitting there. People are always passing. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Fate's not inevitable. + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. Beware, if you think to fight it. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. I've done so already. + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. There you go again! You learn nothing from the chastisement of + Providence. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Oh yes. I've learned to hate. Can one love what does evil? + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. I've little learning, as you know; but I read yesterday in an + encyclopaedia that the Eumenides are not evilly disposed. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. That's true; but it's a lie they're friendly. I only know one + friendly fury. My own! + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. Can you call Ingeborg a fury? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. You've got what you deserve. You wanted to mould her as you + wished, and you've succeeded. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Completely. But where is this fury? + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. She went down the road a few minutes ago. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Down there? Then I'll go to meet my own destruction. (He goes + towards the back.) + </p> + <p> + 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.) + </p> + <p> + LADY. Are you alone, Mother? + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. I've just been left alone. + </p> + <p> + LADY. Here's the post. This is for job. + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. What? Do you open his letters? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. How learnčd you've grown? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. Does he want to make gold? Is the man sane? + </p> + <p> + LADY. That's the important question. Whether he's a charlatan doesn't + matter so much. + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. Do you suspect it? + </p> + <p> + LADY. I'd believe any evil of him, and any good, on the same day. + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. Is there any other news? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. Oh! He was always my son-in-law. He had a kind heart under his + rough manner. + </p> + <p> + LADY. Yes. I only called him a werewolf in his rôle as my husband and + master. As long as I knew he was at peace, and on the way to find + consolation, Ě was content. But now he'll torment me like a bad + conscience. + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. Have you a conscience? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. But he forbade you to read them, and never foresaw you wouldn't + obey him. + </p> + <p> + LADY. Who can foresee all the results of any action? + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. Have you more bad news in your pocket, Pandora? + </p> + <p> + LADY. The worst of all! Think of it, Mother, his divorced wife's going + to marry again. + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. That ought to be reassuring, to you and to him. + </p> + <p> + LADY. Didn't you know it was his worst nightmare? That his wife would + marry again and his children have a stepfather? + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. If he can bear that alone, I shall think him a strange man. + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. It's easy to say so; but when things really happen.... + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + MOTHER (looking at the picture). A lovely child. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + LADY. I'm ready for anything; and I don't think this knot can ever be + undone. It must be cut! + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. But you're only making more difficulties for yourself by + suppressing his letters. + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. One thing more. Why do you let him wear that suit of your first + husband's? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. Heaven defend us! How spiteful you've grown! + </p> + <p> + LADY. Perhaps that was my rôle, if I have one in this man's life! + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + LADY. Can't it be stopped by taking legal action? Is there no justice on + earth? + </p> + <p> + 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.) + </p> + <p> + LADY. Isn't it enough to put up with one's own tears? Must one inherit + other people's? + </p> + <p> + (The STRANGER comes back.) + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Did you call me? + </p> + <p> + LADY. No. I only tried to draw you to me, without really wanting you. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. I felt you meddling with my destiny in a way that made me + uneasy. Soon you'll have learnt all I know. + </p> + <p> + LADY. And more. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + LADY. Does your hat press.... + </p> + <p> + 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.... + </p> + <p> + LADY. Haven't you tried in vain to leave this place six times? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Yes. But the seventh, I'll succeed. + </p> + <p> + LADY. Then try! + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. You say that as if you were convinced I'd fail. + </p> + <p> + LADY. I am. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Plague me in some other way, dear fury. + </p> + <p> + LADY. Well, I can. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. A new way! Try to say something ill-natured that 'the other + one's' not said already. + </p> + <p> + LADY. Your first wife's 'the other one.' How tactful to remind me of + her. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Everything that lives and moves, everything that's dead and + cold, reminds me of what's gone.... + </p> + <p> + LADY. Until the being comes, who can wipe out the darkness of the past + and bring light. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. You mean the child we're expecting! + </p> + <p> + LADY. Our child! + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Do you love it? + </p> + <p> + LADY. I began to to-day. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + LADY. That was some time ago. Things have changed now. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Why now? (He looks round as if expecting something.) Now? Has + the post come? + </p> + <p> + LADY. You're still more cunning than I am. But the pupil will outstrip + the master. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Were there any letters for me? + </p> + <p> + LADY. No. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Then give me the wrapper? + </p> + <p> + LADY. What made you guess? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Give the wrapper, if your conscience can make such fine + distinctions between it and the letter. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. The past. + </p> + <p> + LADY. Was it beautiful? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Yes. More beautiful than the future can ever be. + </p> + <p> + LADY (darkly). You shouldn't have said that. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. No, I admit it. And I'm sorry.... + </p> + <p> + LADY. Tell me, are you capable of suffering? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + LADY. That means you're at my mercy? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. No. Less now than ever, because you're protected by the + innocent being you carry beneath your heart. + </p> + <p> + LADY. He shall be my avenger. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Or mine! + </p> + <p> + LADY (tearfully). Poor little thing. Conceived in sin and shame, and + born to avenge by hate. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. It's a long time since I've heard you speak like that. + </p> + <p> + LADY. I dare say. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. That was the voice that first drew me to you; it was like that + of a mother speaking to her child. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. What ill have I ever really done you? (The LADY is uncertain + what to reply.) Answer me. What ill have I done you? + </p> + <p> + LADY. I don't know. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Then invent something. Say to me: I hate you, because I can't + deceive you. + </p> + <p> + LADY. Can't I? Oh, I'm sorry for you. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. You must have poison in the pocket of your dress. + </p> + <p> + LADY. Well, I have! + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. What can it be? (Pause.) Who's that coming down the road? + </p> + <p> + LADY. A harbinger. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Is it a man, or a spectre? + </p> + <p> + LADY. A spectre from the past. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. He's wearing a black coat and a laurel crown. But his feet are + bare. + </p> + <p> + LADY. It's Caesar. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER (confused). Caesar? That was my nickname at school. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Has this madman got away? + </p> + <p> + LADY. It looks like it, doesn't it? + </p> + <p> + (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.) + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER (to the LADY). That was strychnine for two adults! (To CAESAR) + Where's your master now—or your slave, or doctor, or warder? + </p> + <p> + 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.... + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Listen.... + </p> + <p> + 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.) + </p> + <p> + LADY (to the STRANGER). Can you exorcise this demon? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. I can do nothing against devils who brave the sunshine. + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. And that pleases you! + </p> + <p> + LADY. Yes. Almost. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + LADY. I'd rather we went. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + LADY. But I can stand no more. Look, there he comes himself. Heavens! + This man, whom I once thought I loved! + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + (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? + </p> + <p> + DOCTOR. Only to see this house again, where my happiness once dwelt and + my roses blossomed.... + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + DOCTOR. Ridiculous? I'd like to know which of us two's the more + ridiculous? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. For the moment, I suppose I am. + </p> + <p> + DOCTOR. Yes. But I don't think you know the whole extent of your + wretchedness. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. What do you mean? + </p> + <p> + DOCTOR. That you want to possess what I used to possess. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Well, go on. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER (throwing down his hat and coat). Curse the woman! + </p> + <p> + 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 accursčd 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! + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. I don't ask mercy for the woman's sake, but for the child's. + </p> + <p> + 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, belovčd 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.) + </p> + <p> + Curtain. + </p> + <a name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ACT II + </h2> + <h3> + SCENE I + </h3> + LABORATORY + <p> + [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.] + </p> + <p> + [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.] + </p> + <p> + [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.] + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Where is... Ingeborg? + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. You know that better than I. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. With the lawyer, arranging a divorce.... + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. Why? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. I told you. No, it's so far-fetched, you'll think I'm lying to + you. + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. Well, tell me! + </p> + <p> + 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.... + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. I don't believe it. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. I know nothing of that. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. I'm not asking you whether you know of it, but whether you + believe it. + </p> + <p> + MOTHER (changing the subject). What are you trying to do here? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. I'm making experiments concerning atmospheric electricity. + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. And that's the lighting conductor, that you've connected to the + desk! + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Yes. But there's no danger; for the bells would ring if there + were an atmospheric disturbance. + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. That's blasphemy and black magic. Take care! And what are you + doing there, in the fireplace? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Making gold. + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. You think it possible? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. I dare say. But what are you going to do if Ingeborg doesn't + come back? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. She will, this time. Later, perhaps, when the child's here, + she'll cut herself adrift. + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. You seem very sure. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. But when you've parted from one another, you may yet both be + bound to the child. You can't tell in advance. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. I've been providing against that by a great interest, that I + hope will fill my empty life. + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. You mean gold. And honour! + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Precisely! For a man the most enduring of all illusions. + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. So you'd build on illusions? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. On what else should I build, when everything's illusion? + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. If you ever awake from your dream, you'll find a reality of + which you've never been able to dream. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Then I'll wait till that happens. + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. Wait then. Now I'll go and shut the window, before the + thunderstorm breaks. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. No one knows; and it means nothing good. (She goes out.) + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Get up. In God's name! Get up. Don't do that. What's happened? + </p> + <p> + LADY. In my anger I've behaved foolishly. I've been caught in my own + net. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER (lifting her up). Stand up, foolish child; and tell me what's + happened. + </p> + <p> + LADY. I went to the public prosecutor. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER.... and asked for a divorce.... + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. But he's guilty of neither! + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Yes, I can help you. But, if I do, don't revenge yourself on + me afterwards. + </p> + <p> + LADY. How little you know me. But tell me quickly. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. I must take the blame on myself, and say I sent you. + </p> + <p> + LADY. How generous you are! Am I rid of the whole business now? + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + LADY. Has such a thing ever happened before? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + LADY. Oh no! + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Now you seem to me the most wretched creature on earth. + </p> + <p> + LADY. Is that why you love me? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + LADY. What have you got there, on the table. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Lightning! + </p> + <p> + (There is a flash of lightning, but no thunder.) + </p> + <p> + LADY. Aren't you afraid? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Yes, sometimes; but not of what you fear. + </p> + <p> + (The contorted face of the DOCTOR appears outside the window.) + </p> + <p> + LADY. Is there a cat in the room? I feel uneasy. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. I don't think so. Yet I too have a feeling that there's + someone here. + </p> + <p> + LADY (turning and seeing the DOCTOR's face; then screaming and hurrying + to the STRANGER for protection.) Oh! There he is! + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Where? Who? + </p> + <p> + (The DOCTOR'S face disappears.) + </p> + <p> + LADY. There, at the window. It's he! + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. I can see no one. You must be wrong. + </p> + <p> + LADY. No, I saw him. The werewolf! Can't we be rid of him? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Yes, we could. But it'd be useless, because he has an immortal + soul, which is bound to yours. + </p> + <p> + LADY. If I'd only known that before! + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. It's surely in the Catechism. + </p> + <p> + LADY. Then let us die! + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + LADY. For how long must we suffer? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. As long as he suffers and our consciences plague us. + </p> + <p> + LADY. Then we must try and justify ourselves to our consciences; find + excuses for our frivolous actions, and discover his weaknesses. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Well, you can try! + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + LADY. Who is to blame? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. He who's so mismanaged the fate of men. + </p> + <p> + (There is a flash of lightning; the electric bells begin to ring.) + </p> + <p> + LADY. O God! What's that? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. The answer. + </p> + <p> + LADY. Is there a lightning conductor here? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. The priest of Baal wishes to coax the lightning from + heaven.... + </p> + <p> + LADY. Now I'm frightened, frightened of you. You're terrifying. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. You see! + </p> + <p> + LADY. Who are you to defy Heaven, and to dare to play with the destinies + of men? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + LADY. What good will that be to us? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + (The face of the DOMINICAN appears at the open window, without being + seen by those on the stage.) + </p> + <p> + LADY. Then that was the real meaning of your last book! It was no + invention! + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + LADY. No. No one. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + LADY. Yes, I can hear it. But it's not the Angels' Greeting. It's the + Curse of Deuteronomy! Woe unto us! + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Then it must be in the convent of St. Saviour. + </p> + <p> + LADY. Woe! Woe! + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Beloved. What is it? + </p> + <p> + LADY. Belovčd! Say that word again. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Are you ill? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Shall I...? + </p> + <p> + LADY. Say you forgive me; I may die, if the child takes my life. Say + that you love me. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Strange: I can't get the word to cross my lips. + </p> + <p> + LADY. Then you don't love me? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. When you say so, it seems so to me. It's terrible, but I fear + I hate you. + </p> + <p> + LADY. Then at least give me your hand; as you'd give it to someone in + distress. + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + LADY. You're as hard as stone. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER (with restrained emotion). Perhaps not. Perhaps not. + </p> + <p> + LADY. Come to me! + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + LADY. Think of your child with joy.... + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. I can't even do that, for it'll bind me to earth. + </p> + <p> + LADY. If we've sinned, we've been punished! Haven't we suffered enough? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Not yet. But one day we shall have. + </p> + <p> + LADY (sinking down). Help me. Mercy! I shall faint! + </p> + <p> + (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.) + </p> + <p> + Curtain. + </p> + SCENE II THE 'ROSE' ROOM + <p> + [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.] + </p> + <p> + SISTERS. Salve, Regina, mater misericordiae; + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Vita, dulcedo, et spes nostra, salve. + Ad to clamamus, exules filii Evae; + Ad to suspiramus gementes et flentes + In hac lacrymarum valle. +</pre> + <p> + (The STRANGER rises and goes to the MOTHER.) + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. Stay where you are! A human being's coming into the world; + another's dying. It's all the same to you. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. She doesn't want to see you. Besides, presence here's no longer + needed. The child matters most now. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. For you, yes; but I'm still of most importance to myself. + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. The doctor's forbidden anyone to go in, whoever they may be, + because she's in danger. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. What doctor? + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. So your thoughts are there again! + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + MOTHER (to the SISTERS). Sisters! Pray for this unhappy man. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Make way for me to go in. For the last time—out of the + way. + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. Leave this room, and this house too. + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. I'd only do that to have you taken to a convent you know of. + </p> + <p> + MAID (entering at the back). The Lady's asking you to do something for + her. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. What is it? + </p> + <p> + MAID. There's supposed to be a letter in the dress she left hanging + here. + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. You must forgive someone who's as ill as your wife. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. She wasn't ill two days ago. + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. No. But she is now. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. But not two days ago! (Reading the letter.) Well, I'll forgive + her now, with the magnanimity of the victor. + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. Of the victor? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Yes. For I've done something no one's ever done before. + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. You mean the gold....? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Here's a certificate from the greatest living authority. Now + I'll go and see him myself. + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. Now! + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. At your request. + </p> + <p> + MAID (to the STRANGER). The Lady asks you to come in. + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. You hear? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. You can never forgive! + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. For you, duties don't exist. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Oh yes, they do! And the first of them's this: To protect + myself from total destruction. Farewell! + </p> + <p> + Curtain. + </p> + <a name="link2H_4_0007" id="link2H_4_0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ACT III + </h2> + <h3> + SCENE I + </h3> + THE BANQUETING HALL + <p> + [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.] + </p> + <p> + [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.] + </p> + <p> + [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.] + </p> + <p> + DOCTOR (to CAESAR). The company seems rather depressed and the dessert + came too soon! + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + DOCTOR. I don't know, but that's what's being said. But in our + enlightened age anything whatever may be expected. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. There's a professor at the high table, who's supposed to be an + authority. But what subject is he professor of? + </p> + <p> + DOCTOR: I've no idea. It must be metallurgy and applied chemistry. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. Can you see what order he's wearing? + </p> + <p> + DOCTOR. I don't know it. I expect it's some tenth rate foreign order. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. Well, at a subscription dinner like this the company's always + rather mixed. + </p> + <p> + DOCTOR. Hm! + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. You mean, that we... hm.... I admit we're not well dressed, but + as far as intelligence goes.... + </p> + <p> + DOCTOR. Listen, Caesar, you're a lunatic in my charge, and you must + avoid speaking about intelligence as much as you can. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + PROFESSOR (taping his goblet). Gentlemen! + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. Hear, hear! + </p> + <p> + 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... + </p> + <p> + CAESAR (to the DOCTOR). That's the government, you know! + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + VOICES. Bravo! + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + ALL (with the exception of the STRANGER). Hurrah! + </p> + <p> + (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.) + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. Oughtn't we to taste these things before they take them away? + </p> + <p> + DOCTOR. It all seems humbug, except that about making gold. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER (knocking on the table). Gentlemen! I've always been proud of + the fact that I'm not easy to deceive... + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. Hear, hear! + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. Bravo! + </p> + <p> + 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... + </p> + <p> + VOICE. The committee! + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. Splendid! Bravo! + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. I thank you. Your health! + </p> + <p> + (The PROFESSOR gets up. Everyone rises and the company begins to mix. + Most of the musicians go out, but two remain.) + </p> + <p> + GUEST (to the STRANGER). A delightful evening! + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Wonderful. + </p> + <p> + (All the Frock Coats creep away.) + </p> + <p> + FATHER (an elderly, overdressed man with an eye-glass and military + bearing crosses to the doctor). What? Are you here? + </p> + <p> + DOCTOR. Yes, Father-in-law. I'm here. I go everywhere he goes. + </p> + <p> + FATHER. It's too late in the day to call me father-in-law. Besides, I'm + <i>his</i> father-in-law now. + </p> + <p> + DOCTOR. Does he know you? + </p> + <p> + FATHER. No. He's not had that honour; and I must ask you to preserve my + incognito. Is it true he's made gold? + </p> + <p> + DOCTOR. So it's said. But it's certain he left his wife while she was in + childbed. + </p> + <p> + 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.... + </p> + <p> + (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.) + </p> + <p> + 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— + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Gentlemen! + </p> + <p> + RAGGED PERSON. No. Don't interrupt him. + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. A mere assumption without real foundation, and the analysis may + be wrong! + </p> + <p> + ANOTHER RAGGED PERSON. Don't talk nonsense! + </p> + <p> + 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.... + </p> + <p> + CAESAR. We don't want to hear that. No, no. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + FATHER. Wait a little, my good people! + </p> + <p> + (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.) + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Was I asked here to be insulted? + </p> + <p> + FATHER. Not at all. My friend's rather loquacious, but he's not said + anything insulting yet. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Isn't it insulting to be called a charlatan? + </p> + <p> + FATHER. He didn't mean it seriously. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Even as a joke I think the word arch-swindler slanderous. + </p> + <p> + FATHER. He didn't use <i>that</i> word. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. What? I appeal to the company: wasn't the word he used + arch-swindler? + </p> + <p> + ALL. No. He never said that! + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Then I don't know where I am—or what company I've got + into. + </p> + <p> + RAGGED PERSON. Is there anything wrong with it? + </p> + <p> + (The people murmur.) + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. What does this mean? + </p> + <p> + (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.) + </p> + <p> + BEGGAR. You take yourself to be the man of the century, and accept the + invitation of the Drunkards' Society, in order to have yourself fęted as + a man of science.... + </p> + <p> + STRANGER (rising). But the government.... + </p> + <p> + BEGGAR. Oh yes, the Committee of the Drunkards' Society have given you + their highest distinction—that order you've had to pay for + yourself.... + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. What about the professor? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER (tearing of the wreath and the ribbon of the order). Very well! + But who was the elderly man with the eyeglass? + </p> + <p> + BEGGAR. Your father-in-law! + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Who got up this hoax? + </p> + <p> + 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 fęte. You accepted it; so it became serious! + </p> + <p> + (Two dirty-looking women carry in a dust-bin suspended from a stick and + set it down on the high table.) + </p> + <p> + FIRST WOMAN. If you're the man who makes gold, you might buy two + brandies for us. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. What's this mean? + </p> + <p> + BEGGAR. It's the last part of the reception; and it's supposed to mean + that gold's mere rubbish. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. If only that were true, rubbish could be exchanged for gold. + </p> + <p> + BEGGAR. Well, it's only the philosophy of the Society of Drunkards. And + you've got to take your philosophy where you find it. + </p> + <p> + SECOND WOMAN (sitting down next to the STRANGER). Do you recognise me? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. No. + </p> + <p> + SECOND WOMAN. Oh, you needn't be embarrassed so late in the evening as + this! + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. You believe you're one of my victims? That I was amongst the + first hundred who seduced you? + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + STRANGER (rising). Perhaps I may go now? + </p> + <p> + WAITRESS (coming over with a bill). Yes. But the bill must be paid + first. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. What? By me? I haven't ordered anything. + </p> + <p> + WAITRESS. I know nothing of that; but you're the last of the company to + have had anything. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER (to the BEGGAR). Is this all a part of the reception? + </p> + <p> + BEGGAR. Yes, certainly. And, as you know, everything costs money, even + honour.... + </p> + <p> + STRANGER (taking a visiting card and handing it to the waitress). + There's my card. You'll be paid to-morrow. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + BEGGAR. Listen, madam, I'll guarantee this man will pay. + </p> + <p> + WAITRESS. So you'd like to play tricks on me too! Officer! One moment, + please. + </p> + <p> + 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.) + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. To think I've been so duped... so... + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + POLICEMAN (laying his hand on the STRANGER). Have you talked enough? + </p> + <p> + THE WOMEN and RAGGED ONES. The alchemist can't pay. Hurrah! He's going + to gaol. He's going to gaol! + </p> + <p> + SECOND WOMAN. Yes, but it's a shame. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. You're sorry for me? I thank you for that, even if I don't + quite deserve it! <i>You</i> felt pity for me! + </p> + <p> + SECOND WOMAN. Yes. That's also something I learnt from you. + </p> + <p> + (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.) + </p> + SCENE II PRISON CELL + <p> + [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.] + </p> + <p> + [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.] + </p> + <p> + BEGGAR. What are you brooding over? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. I'm asking myself why I'm here; and then: where I was + yesterday? + </p> + <p> + BEGGAR. Where do you think? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. It seems in hell; unless I dreamed everything. + </p> + <p> + BEGGAR. Then wake up now, for this is going to be reality. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Let it come. I'm only afraid of ghosts. + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. O God! What is it I'm fighting? + </p> + <p> + BEGGAR. Difficulties, like other men. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. No, this is something else.... + </p> + <p> + BEGGAR. Your own credulity, then. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. No, I'm not credulous, and I know I'm right. + </p> + <p> + BEGGAR. What's the good of that, if no one else does. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Shall I ever get out of this prison? If I do, I'll settle + everything. + </p> + <p> + BEGGAR. The matter's arranged; everything's paid for. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Oh? Who paid, then? + </p> + <p> + BEGGAR. The Society, I suppose; or the Drunkard's Government. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Then I can go? + </p> + <p> + BEGGAR. Yes. But there's one thing.... + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Well, what is it? + </p> + <p> + BEGGAR. Remember, an enlightened man of the world mustn't let himself be + taken by surprise. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. I begin to divine.... + </p> + <p> + BEGGAR. The announcement's on the front page. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. That means: she's already married again, and my children have + a stepfather. Who is he? + </p> + <p> + BEGGAR. Whoever he is, don't murder him; for he's not to blame for + taking in a forsaken woman. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. My children! O God, my children! + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER (beside himself). O God! My children! + </p> + <p> + 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.... + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Shoot themselves! + </p> + <p> + BEGGAR. Or? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. No, not that! + </p> + <p> + BEGGAR. Yes, my son, precisely that! He's throwing out a sheet-anchor as + an experiment. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. This is irrevocable. Irrevocable! + </p> + <p> + BEGGAR. Yes, it is. Quite irrevocable. And you can live another + lifetime, in order to contemplate your own rascality in peace. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. You should be ashamed to talk like that. + </p> + <p> + BEGGAR. And you? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Have you ever seen a human destiny like mine? + </p> + <p> + BEGGAR. Well, look at mine! + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. I know nothing of yours. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Don't go. + </p> + <p> + BEGGAR. Perhaps you'd like company when you get out of prison? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Why not? + </p> + <p> + BEGGAR. It hasn't occurred to you I mightn't want to show myself in <i>your</i> + company? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. It certainly hasn't. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. He doesn't want to be seen with me! + </p> + <p> + BEGGAR. Even a beggar has his pride and fears ridicule. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. He doesn't want to be seen with me. Am I then sunk to such + misery? + </p> + <p> + BEGGAR. You must ask yourself that, and answer it, too. + </p> + <p> + (A mournful cradle song is heard in the distance.) + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. What's that? + </p> + <p> + BEGGAR. A song sung by a mother at her baby's cradle. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Why must I be reminded of it just now? + </p> + <p> + BEGGAR. Probably so that you can feel really keenly what you've left for + a chimera. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Is it possible I could have been wrong? If so it's the devil's + work, and I'll lay down my arms. + </p> + <p> + BEGGAR. You'd better do that as soon as you can.... + </p> + <p> + 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.) + </p> + <p> + BEGGAR. Bow yourself or break! + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. I cannot bow! + </p> + <p> + BEGGAR. Then break. + </p> + <p> + (The STRANGER falls to the ground. The same confused medley of scenes as + before.) + </p> + <p> + Curtain. + </p> + SCENE III THE 'ROSE' ROOM + <p> + [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.] + </p> + <p> + MOTHER (going towards him). So you've come back again? + </p> + <p> + FATHER (humbly). Yes. + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. Your lady-love's left you? + </p> + <p> + RATHER. Don't be more cruel than you need! + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + FATHER. I heard that my daughter... + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + FATHER. You're right, and I can't answer you. But let me sit in the + kitchen, for I'm tired. Very tired. + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. Where were you last night? + </p> + <p> + FATHER. At the club. But I wanted to ask you if the husband weren't + here? + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. Am I to lay bare all this misery? Don't you know your daughter's + tragic fate? + </p> + <p> + FATHER. Yes... I do. And what a husband! + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. What men! Go downstairs now and sleep off your liquor. + </p> + <p> + FATHER. The sins of the fathers.... + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. You're talking nonsense. + </p> + <p> + 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.... + </p> + <p> + MOTHER (pushing him out of the door). Silence. Misfortune will overtake + us soon enough, without you calling it up. + </p> + <p> + MAID (from the bedroom at the back). The lady's asking for the master. + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. She means her husband. + </p> + <p> + MAID. Yes. The master of the house, her husband. + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. He went out a little while ago. + </p> + <p> + (The STRANGER comes in.) + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Has the child been born? + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. No. Not yet. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER (putting his hand to his forehead). What? Can it take so long? + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. Long? What do you mean? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER (looking about him). I don't know what I mean. How is it with + the mother? + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. She's just the same. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. The same? + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. Don't you want to get back to your gold making? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. I can't make head or tail of it! But there's still hope my + worst dream was nothing but a dream. + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. You really look as if you were walking in your sleep. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Do I? Oh, I wish I were! The one thing I fear I'd fear no + longer. + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. He who guides your destiny seems to know your weakest spots. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. And when there was only one left, he found that too; happily + for me only in a dream! Blind Powers! Powerless Ones! + </p> + <p> + MAID (coming in again). The lady asks you to do her a service. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. There she lies like an electric eel, giving shocks from a + distance. What kind of service is it to be now? + </p> + <p> + MAID. There's a letter in the pocket of her green coat. + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. Who are you going to blame? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Myself! I'd rather blame no one. I've lost my children. + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. You'll get a new one here. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. He might be cruel to them.... + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. Then their sufferings will burden your conscience, if you have + one. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Supposing he were to beat them? + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. Do you know what I'd do in your place? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Yes, I know what you'd do; but I don't know what I'll do. + </p> + <p> + MOTHER (to the Sisters of Mercy). Pray for this man! + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. No, no. Not that! It'll do no good, and I don't believe in + prayer. + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. But you believe in your gold? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Not even in that. It's over. All over! + </p> + <p> + (The MIDWIFE comes out of the bedroom.) + </p> + <p> + MIDWIFE. A child's born. Praise the Lord! + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. Let the Lord be praised! + </p> + <p> + SISTERS. Let the Lord be praised! + </p> + <p> + MIDWIFE (to the STRANGER). Your wife's given you daughter. + </p> + <p> + MOTHER (to the STRANGER). Don't you want to see your child? + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. There'll be no more peace, but I'll go. Farewell! + </p> + <p> + MOTHER. Exules filii Evae; on earth you shall be a fugitive and a + vagabond. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Because I have slain my brother. + </p> + <p> + Curtain. + </p> + <a name="link2H_4_0008" id="link2H_4_0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ACT IV + </h2> + <h3> + SCENE I + </h3> + BANQUETING HALL + <p> + [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.] + </p> + <p> + [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.] + </p> + <p> + WOMAN. Don't drink so much! + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. You see. You've scruples, too! + </p> + <p> + WOMAN. No. But I don't like to see a man I respect lowering himself so. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + WOMAN. Really, I don't know. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. But you must know that there are moments when you look almost + beautiful. + </p> + <p> + WOMAN. Oh, listen to him! + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Yes. And then you resemble a woman who was dear to me. + </p> + <p> + WOMAN. Thank you! + </p> + <p> + WAITRESS. Don't talk so loud, there's a sick man here. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Tell me, have you ever been in love? + </p> + <p> + WOMAN. We don't use that word, but I know what you mean. Yes. I had a + lover once and we had a child. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. That was foolish! + </p> + <p> + 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... + </p> + <p> + STRANGER (tortured). And then...? + </p> + <p> + WOMAN. Then he left me. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. He was a scoundrel. (He drinks.) + </p> + <p> + WOMAN (looking at him.) You think so? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Yes. He must have been. + </p> + <p> + WOMAN. Now you're so intolerant. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER (drinking). Am I? + </p> + <p> + WOMAN. Don't drink so much; I want to see you far above me, otherwise + you can't raise me up. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + WOMAN (looking out of the window). No. I can see no clouds out there.... + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Strange... that's lightning. + </p> + <p> + WOMAN. No. You're wrong. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + WOMAN. My dear, it's night. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Yes. It <i>is</i> night. + </p> + <p> + (The DOCTOR has come in during this scene and has sat down behind the + STRANGER, without having been seen by him.) + </p> + <p> + WAITRESS. Don't speak so loud, there's a sick person in here. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER (to the WOMAN). Give me your hand. + </p> + <p> + WOMAN (wiping it on her apron). Oh, why? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. You've a lovely white hand. But... look at mine. It's black. + Can't you see it's black? + </p> + <p> + WOMAN. Yes. So it is! + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. May he soon go to hell! + </p> + <p> + (Those present murmur at this, resenting it.) + </p> + <p> + WAITRESS. Take care! Take care! + </p> + <p> + WOMAN (to the STRANGER). Do you know that man who's been sitting behind + you, staring at you all the time? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER (turning. He and the DOCTOR stare at one another for a moment, + without speaking). Yes. I used to know him once. + </p> + <p> + WOMAN. He looks as if he'd like to bite you in the back. + </p> + <p> + (The DOCTOR sits down opposite the STRANGER and stares at him.) + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. What are you looking at? + </p> + <p> + DOCTOR. Your grey hairs. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER (to the WOMAN). Is my hair grey? + </p> + <p> + WOMAN. Yes. Indeed it is! + </p> + <p> + DOCTOR. And now I'm looking at your fair companion. Sometimes you have + good taste. Sometimes not. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. And sometimes you have the misfortune to have the same taste + as I. + </p> + <p> + DOCTOR. That wasn't a kind remark! But you've killed me twice in your + lifetime; so go on. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER (to the WOMAN). Let's get away from here. + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + STRANGER (to the WOMAN). Come with me. Lead me... I can't see.... + </p> + <p> + WOMAN. No, I don't want to go yet. I don't want to be bored. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. What's that? Wait! She bore false witness of a breach of the + peace and attempted murder! + </p> + <p> + DOCTOR. Now he's putting the blame on her! + </p> + <p> + 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): + </p> + <p> + [See picture road1.jpg] + </p> + <p> + DOCTOR (to the WOMAN). Is he ill? + </p> + <p> + WOMAN. He must be mad; he says he's dead. + </p> + <p> + (In the distance drums beat the reveille and bugles are blown, but very + softly.) + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + WOMAN (going nearer to the DOCTOR). No. I said no. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + DOCTOR. You must be. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + DOCTOR (to the WOMAN). He must be blind. + </p> + <p> + WOMAN. Yes. I think he is. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. No. I can see you; but I can't see the lights. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. We're born with the desire to do it; but may not. That's + Envy.... + </p> + <p> + DOCTOR. What do you possess that's worthy of envy? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Something you'll never understand, and that only I can value. + </p> + <p> + DOCTOR. You mean, the child? + </p> + <p> + MANGER. You know I didn't mean it. If I had I'd have said that I + possessed something you could never let. + </p> + <p> + DOCTOR. So you're back at that! Then I'll express myself as clearly: you + took what I'd done with. + </p> + <p> + WOMAN. Oh! I shan't stay in the company of such swine! (She gets up and + moves to another seat.) + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + WAITRESS. Don't speak so loud, there's a dying man in there! + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Yes, I believe you. The whole time there's been a smell of + corpses here. + </p> + <p> + DOCTOR. Perhaps that's us? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Can one be dead, without suspecting it? + </p> + <p> + DOCTOR. The dead maintain that they don't know the difference. + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + (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.) + </p> + <p> + BEGGAR (entering and going towards the STRANGER). Come away from here. + You're ill. And the bailiffs have a summons for you. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Summons? From whom? + </p> + <p> + BEGGAR. Your wife. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Couldn't stay out at night? + </p> + <p> + DOCTOR. Yes. Didn't you know who you were married to? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. I heard she'd been engaged before she... married you. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. And that was the woman you married? + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. I did it because I soon saw it was no good choosing when all + were alike. + </p> + <p> + BEGGAR. Come away from here. You'll be sorry if you don't. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER (to the DOCTOR). Was she always religious? + </p> + <p> + DOCTOR. Always. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. And tender, good-hearted, self-sacrificing? + </p> + <p> + DOCTOR. Certainly! + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Can one understand her? + </p> + <p> + DOCTOR. No. But you can go mad thinking about her. That's why one had to + accept her as she was. Charming, intoxicating! + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + DOCTOR. You were married before. How was that? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Just the same. + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. And the morning after? Oh, the morning after! + </p> + <p> + BEGGAR. Come, unhappy man! He's poisoning you, and you don't know it. + Come! + </p> + <p> + STRANGER (getting up). Poisoning me, you say? Do you think he's lying? + </p> + <p> + BEGGAR. Every word he's said's a lie. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. I don't believe it. + </p> + <p> + BEGGAR. No. You only believe lies. But that serves you right. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Has he been lying? Has he? + </p> + <p> + BEGGAR. How can you believe your enemies? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. But he's my friend, because he's told me the bitter truth. + </p> + <p> + BEGGAR. Eternal Powers, save his reason! For he believes everything + evil's true, and everything good evil. Come, or you'll be lost! + </p> + <p> + 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.) + </p> + <p> + STRANGER (to the BEGGAR). That man's not lying. + </p> + <p> + Curtain. + </p> + SCENE II IN A RAVINE + <p> + [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.] + </p> + <p> + [See picture road2.jpg] + </p> + <p> + [The STRANGER and the BEGGAR enter. In the foreground there is snow; in + the background the green of summer.] + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + BEGGAR. In the ravine, by the stream. You must know the place. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. And the quiet house? + </p> + <p> + BEGGAR. The old sin was washed away, but the walls in left. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. And those who lived there? + </p> + <p> + BEGGAR. They've gone to the colonies; so that the story's now at an end. + </p> + <p> + 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.... + </p> + <p> + BEGGAR. Whose poison you prepared! You should declare your bankruptcy. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Yes. Now I'll have to give in. + </p> + <p> + BEGGAR. Then the day of reckoning will draw near. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. I think we might call it quits; because, if I've sinned, I've + been punished. + </p> + <p> + BEGGAR. But others certainly won't think so. + </p> + <p> + 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.... + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Shall I be driven to that? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Enough! Tell me; isn't this snow here on the ground? + </p> + <p> + BEGGAR. Yes. It's winter here. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. But over there it's green. + </p> + <p> + BEGGAR. It's summer there. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. And growing light! (A clear beam of light falls on the + foot-bridge.) + </p> + <p> + BEGGAR. Yes. It's light there, and dark here. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + (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.) + </p> + <p> + BEGGAR. Something like that was to be expected. Such things happen. Get + up again! + </p> + <p> + 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.... + </p> + <p> + BEGGAR. Then suffer, and the more you suffer the earlier pain will leave + you. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. No. Mine are eternal sufferings.... + </p> + <p> + BEGGAR. And only a minute's passed. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. I can't bear it. + </p> + <p> + BEGGAR. Then you must look for help. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. What's coming now? Isn't it the end yet? + </p> + <p> + (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.) + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. That's a harder fate. Poor creature, what can one do? Even if + I felt her sufferings, would that help her? + </p> + <p> + BEGGAR. No. It wouldn't. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Why do qualms of conscience come after, and not beforehand? + Can you help me over that? + </p> + <p> + BEGGAR. No. No one can. Let us go on. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Where to? + </p> + <p> + BEGGAR. Come with me. + </p> + <p> + Curtain. + </p> + SCENE III THE 'ROSE' ROOM + <p> + [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.] + </p> + <p> + LADY (simply, mildly, without a trace of surprise). Tread softly and + come here, if you'd see something lovely. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Where am I? + </p> + <p> + LADY. Quiet! Look at the little stranger who came when you were away. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. They told me the river had risen and swept everything off. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Everything's poisoned. Everything! + </p> + <p> + LADY. Well, perhaps! + </p> + <p> + 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.... + </p> + <p> + LADY. Oh, my God! + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Why don't you reproach me? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. What, in the convent, where they curse and bind? + </p> + <p> + LADY. And deliver also! + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Frankly, I think you're trying to deceive me; I don't trust + you any more. + </p> + <p> + LADY. Nor I, you! So look on this as your farewell visit. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. That was my intention; but first I wanted to find out if we're + of the same mind.... + </p> + <p> + 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.... + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Will you still mock me? + </p> + <p> + LADY. No, why? You've solved the great problem. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Be quiet! No more of that, even if you believe it. + </p> + <p> + LADY. But if all the rest believe it too.... + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. No one believes it now. + </p> + <p> + LADY. It says in the paper to-day that gold's been made in England. That + it's been proved possible. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. You've been deceived. + </p> + <p> + LADY. No! Oh, heaven, he won't believe his own good fortune. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. I no longer believe anything. + </p> + <p> + LADY. Get the newspaper from the pocket of my dress over there. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + LADY (fetching the paper herself and also a large parcel that is in the + pocket of the dress). See for yourself. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER (tearing up the paper). No need for me to look! + </p> + <p> + LADY. He won't believe it. He won't. Yet the chemists want to give a + banquet in your honour next Saturday. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Is that in the paper too? About the banquet? + </p> + <p> + LADY (handing him the packet). And here's the diploma of honour. Read + it! + </p> + <p> + STRANGER (tearing up the packet). Perhaps there's a Government Order + too! + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + LADY. Then go! We start for the colonies in a few days. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. That's frank at least! Perhaps we're nearing a solution. + </p> + <p> + LADY. Of the riddle: why we had to meet? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Why did we have to? + </p> + <p> + LADY. To torture one another. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Is that all? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Farewell, and thank you for all you've done. + </p> + <p> + LADY. Farewell, and thank you... for this! (She points to the cradle.) + </p> + <p> + STRANGER (going towards the back). First perhaps I ought to take my + leave in there. + </p> + <p> + LADY. Yes, my dear. Do! + </p> + <p> + (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.) + </p> + <p> + CONFESSOR. Is he ready now? + </p> + <p> + LADY. Nothing remains for this unhappy man but to leave the world and + bury himself in a monastery. + </p> + <p> + CONFESSOR. So he doesn't believe he's the great inventor he undoubtedly + is? + </p> + <p> + LADY. No. He can believe good of no one, not even of himself. + </p> + <p> + CONFESSOR. That is the punishment Heaven sent him: to believe lies, + because he wouldn't listen to the truth. + </p> + <p> + LADY. Lighten his guilty burden for him, if you can. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + LADY (going to the back and opening the door). As you wish! + </p> + <p> + STRANGER (re-entering). So there's the Terrible One! How did he come + here? But isn't he the beggar, after all? + </p> + <p> + CONFESSOR. Yes, I am your terrible friend, and I've come for you. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. What? Have I...? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Who are you really? Who dares lay a hand on my destiny? + </p> + <p> + CONFESSOR. You must ask her that. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Even if he were! + </p> + <p> + LADY. So you needn't think so ill of yourself because it was you who + punished my faithlessness and another's lack of conscience. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. His sin cannot justify mine. Of course it's untrue, like + everything else; and you only say it to console me. + </p> + <p> + CONFESSOR. What an unhappy soul he is.... + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. A damned one too! + </p> + <p> + CONFESSOR. No! (To the LADY.) Say something good of him. + </p> + <p> + LADY. He won't believe it, if I do; he only believes evil! + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. No. I don't load my memory with such trifles. + </p> + <p> + CONFESSOR. Pride! Pride! + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Call it pride, if you like. It's the last vestige of our + god-like origin. Let's go, before it grows dark. + </p> + <p> + 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.' + </p> + <p> + LADY. Don't hurt him! + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Curtain. + </p> + <a name="link2H_PART3" id="link2H_PART3"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + PART III. + </h2> + CHARACTERS +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + THE STRANGER + THE LADY + THE CONFESSOR + THE MAGISTRATE + THE PRIOR + THE TEMPTER + THE DAUGHTER +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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 +</pre> + SCENES +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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) +</pre> + <a name="link2H_4_0010" id="link2H_4_0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ACT I + </h2> + <h3> + ON THE RIVER BANK + </h3> + <p> + [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 façade 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.] + </p> + <p> + [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.] + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Why do you lead me along this winding, hilly path, that never + comes to an end? + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + CONFESSOR. Yet your voice trembles with the pain what you've lost. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. I don't feel I've lost anything. I don't want anything back. + </p> + <p> + CONFESSOR. Not even your youth? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. That least of all. What should I do with it, and its capacity + for suffering? + </p> + <p> + CONFESSOR. And for enjoyment? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + CONFESSOR. Because your pleasures have been base ones. + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + CONFESSOR. Because you didn't obey God's commandment. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + CONFESSOR. Have you got back to that, rebellious one? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Yes. I've always been there. Now let's cross the river. + </p> + <p> + CONFESSOR. Do you think one can climb up to that white house without + preparation? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. I'm ready: you can examine me. + </p> + <p> + CONFESSOR. Good! The first monastic vow is: humility. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + CONFESSOR. And show your pride through your humility. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Whatever it is, it's all the same to me. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Oh yes! A bust was made of me. + </p> + <p> + CONFESSOR. Are you, of all men, impressed by such things? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Of course not! But they do at least mark well founded + appreciation, that neither envy nor lack of understanding can shake. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. The opinions of others have never meant much to me. + </p> + <p> + CONFESSOR. Haven't they? Really? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + CONFESSOR. I think you're entangling yourself in contradictions. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + CONFESSOR. Then what do you seek here? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. What I've told you already; but I'll add this: I'm seeking + death without the need to die! + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER (looking to the right in surprise). Who are they? + </p> + <p> + CONFESSOR. People who believe in something. + </p> + <p> + 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.... + </p> + <p> + CONFESSOR. Yes. The sun has entered.... + </p> + <p> + (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.) + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Blessčd 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; + Blessčd be thou and peace be with thee, + Beatus es et bene tibi erit. +</pre> + <p> + (A second raft appears with boys on one side and girls on the other. It + has a flag with a rose on it.) + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Thy wife shall be like a fruitful vine, + Uxor tua sicut vitis abundans, + Within thy house, + In lateribus domus tuae. +</pre> + <p> + (The third raft carries men and women. There is a flag with fruit upon + it: figs, grapes, pomegranates, melons, ears of wheat, etc.) + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Filii tui sicut novellae olivarum, + Thy children shall be like olive branches about thy table, + In circuitu mensae tuae. +</pre> + <p> + (The fourth raft is filled with older men and women. The flag has a + representation of a fir-tree under snow.) + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + See, how blessčd is the man, + Ecce sic benedicetur homo, + Who feareth the Lord, + Qui timet Dominum! +</pre> + <p> + (The raft glides by.) + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. What were they singing? + </p> + <p> + CONFESSOR. A pilgrim's song. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Who wrote it? + </p> + <p> + CONFESSOR. A royal person. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Here? What was his name? Has he written anything else? + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Can we go on now? + </p> + <p> + CONFESSOR. In a moment. I've something to say to you first. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Speak. + </p> + <p> + CONFESSOR. Good. But don't be either sad or angry. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Certainly not. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Oh! Don't they read in the monastery? + </p> + <p> + CONFESSOR. Nothing light; only serious books. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. They take in papers, I suppose? + </p> + <p> + CONFESSOR. Not the kind that write about you! + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Then on the other side of this river my life-work doesn't + exist? + </p> + <p> + CONFESSOR. What work? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. I see. Very well. Can't we cross now? + </p> + <p> + CONFESSOR. In a minute. Is there no one you'd like to take leave of? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER (after a pause.) Yes. But it's beyond the bounds of + possibility. + </p> + <p> + CONFESSOR. Have you ever seen anything impossible? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Not really, since I've seen my own destiny. + </p> + <p> + CONFESSOR. Well, who is it you'd like to meet? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + CONFESSOR. You fear nothing else? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. What do you mean? + </p> + <p> + CONFESSOR. That she may have changed! + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. She could only have changed for the better. + </p> + <p> + CONFESSOR. Are you sure? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Yes. + </p> + <p> + CONFESSOR. She'll come to you. (He goes down to the bank and beckons to + the right.) + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Wait! I'm wondering whether it's wise! + </p> + <p> + CONFESSOR. It can do no harm. + </p> + <p> + (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.) + </p> + <p> + DAUGHTER. Father. My dear father! + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Sylvia! My child! + </p> + <p> + DAUGHTER. How in the world do you come to be up here in the mountains? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. And how have <i>you</i> got here? I thought I'd managed to + hide so well. + </p> + <p> + DAUGHTER. Why did you want to hide? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Ask me as little as possible! You've grown into a big girl. + And I've gone grey. + </p> + <p> + DAUGHTER. No. You're not grey. You're just as young as you were when we + parted. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. When we... parted! + </p> + <p> + DAUGHTER. When you left us.... (The STRANGER does not reply.) Aren't you + glad we're meeting again? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER (faintly). Yes! + </p> + <p> + DAUGHTER. Then show it. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. How can I be glad, when we're parting to-day for life? + </p> + <p> + DAUGHTER. Why, where do you want to go? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER (pointing to the monastery). Up there! + </p> + <p> + DAUGHTER (with a sophisticated air). Into the monastery? Yes, now I come + to think of it, perhaps it's best. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. You think so? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Tell <i>me</i> one thing, my child, that's been worrying me + more than anything else. You've a stepfather? + </p> + <p> + DAUGHTER. Yes. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Well? + </p> + <p> + DAUGHTER. He's very good and kind. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. With every virtue that I lack.... + </p> + <p> + DAUGHTER. Aren't you glad we've got into better hands? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Good, better, best! Why do you come here bare-headed? + </p> + <p> + DAUGHTER. Because George is carrying my hat. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Who's George? And where is he? + </p> + <p> + DAUGHTER. George is a friend of mine; and he's waiting for me on the + bank down below. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Are you engaged to him? + </p> + <p> + DAUGHTER. No. Certainly not! + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Do you want to marry? + </p> + <p> + DAUGHTER. Never! + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + DAUGHTER. They're quite well, thank you. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Have we anything else to say to one another? + </p> + <p> + DAUGHTER (coldly). Perhaps not. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Now you look so like your mother. + </p> + <p> + DAUGHTER. How do you know, when you've never been able to see her as she + was! + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. So you understood that, though you were so young? + </p> + <p> + DAUGHTER. I learnt to understand it from you. If only you'd understand + yourself. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Have you anything else to teach me? + </p> + <p> + DAUGHTER. Perhaps! But in your day that wasn't considered seemly. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + DAUGHTER. I don't remember that! + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Delightful memories pass, but hateful ones remain! Don't you + remember anything about me? + </p> + <p> + DAUGHTER. Oh yes. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + DAUGHTER (wheedling).Father, dear! + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. It's she! No, only her voice. (Pause.) So you think my life's + been ruined? + </p> + <p> + DAUGHTER. Yes. But why speak of it now? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Because remember I once saved <i>your</i> 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. + </p> + <p> + DAUGHTER. I don't believe it! + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. But a fact may be true, even if you don't believe it. + </p> + <p> + DAUGHTER. You dreamed it. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Who knows if I haven't dreamed everything, and am not even + dreaming now. How I wish it were so! + </p> + <p> + DAUGHTER. I must be going, father. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Then good-bye! + </p> + <p> + DAUGHTER. May I write to you? + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + DAUGHTER. I wasn't thinking of weeping, though I dare say good breeding + would demand I should. Well, good-bye! (She goes out right.) + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + CONFESSOR. Don't excite yourself, but be of good cheer. First throw away + that foolish guide-book, for this is your last journey. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. You mean this? Very well. (He opens the book, kisses one of + the pages and then throws it into the river.) Anything else? + </p> + <p> + CONFESSOR. If you've any gold or silver, you must give it to the poor. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. I've a silver watch. I never got as far as a gold one. + </p> + <p> + CONFESSOR. Give that to the ferryman; and then you'll get a glass of + wine. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. The last! It's like an execution! Perhaps I'll have to have my + hair cut, too? + </p> + <p> + 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.) + </p> + <p> + STRANGER (filling his glass, but not drinking it.) Shall I never get + wine up there? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. I've had enough of women; they can't tempt me any more. + </p> + <p> + CONFESSOR. Are you sure? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Quite sure.... But tell me this: what do you think of women, + who mayn't even set their feet within your consecrated walls? + </p> + <p> + CONFESSOR. So you're still asking questions? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. And why may an abbess never hear confession, never read mass, + and never preach? + </p> + <p> + CONFESSOR. I can't answer that. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Because the answer would accord with my thoughts on that + theme. + </p> + <p> + CONFESSOR. It wouldn't be a disaster if we were to agree for once. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Not at all! + </p> + <p> + CONFESSOR. Now drink up your wine. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. No. I only want to look at it for the last time. It's + beautiful.... + </p> + <p> + CONFESSOR. Don't lose yourself in meditation; memories lie at the bottom + of the cup. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. And oblivion, and songs, and power—imaginary power, but + for that reason all the greater. + </p> + <p> + CONFESSOR. Wait here a moment; I'll go and order the ferry. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + CONFESSOR (going to the left). Wait here a moment, I'll go and order the + ferry. + </p> + <p> + (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.) + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + LADY. Yes. I! + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. So black! So black and so evil. + </p> + <p> + LADY. No longer evil. I'm in mourning.... + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. For whom? + </p> + <p> + LADY. For our Mizzi. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + LADY. Comfort me, too. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. A fine idea! I'm to comfort my fury, weep with my hangman, + amuse my tormentor. + </p> + <p> + LADY. Have you no feelings? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. None! I wasted the feelings I used to have on you and others. + </p> + <p> + LADY. You're right. You can reproach me. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. I've neither the time nor the wish to do that. Where are you + going? + </p> + <p> + LADY. I want to cross with the ferry. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + LADY. No. Thank you. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + LADY (sadly). I don't know. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Where will you go? + </p> + <p> + LADY (sobbing). I don't know. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + LADY. You mean...? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Your first husband. + </p> + <p> + LADY. He never seems to die. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + LADY. Because I loved you. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. And how long did that last? + </p> + <p> + LADY. Until I read your book, and the child was born. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. And then? + </p> + <p> + LADY. I hated you! That is, I wanted to be rid of all the evil you'd + given me, but I couldn't. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. So that's how it was! But we'll never really know the truth. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. So you've discovered that? As you see so much, tell me this: + how was it you came to love me? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Tell me also whether you held me to be a misogynist? + </p> + <p> + LADY. A woman-hater? Every healthy man is one, in the secret places of + his heart; and all perverted men are admirers of women. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. You're not trying to flatter me, are you? + </p> + <p> + LADY. A woman who'd try to flatter a man's not normal. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. I see you've thought a great deal! + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. But if it agrees with many of my observations it becomes most + probable. (The LADY weeps into her handkerchief.) You're weeping again? + </p> + <p> + LADY. I was thinking of Mizzi. The loveliest thing we ever had is gone. + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + LADY. What's that? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. My companion, who's waiting for me. + </p> + <p> + LADY (continuing the conversation). I never thought life would give me + anything so sweet as a child. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. And at the same time anything so bitter. + </p> + <p> + LADY. Why bitter? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + LADY. That's true. + </p> + <p> + 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.... + </p> + <p> + LADY. Well? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + LADY. Oh! + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. You mustn't grieve. Not for the child! You might perhaps have + had to grieve for her later, as I did. + </p> + <p> + LADY. So that's what life is? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Yes. That's what life is. And that's why I'm going to bury + myself alive. + </p> + <p> + LADY. Where? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER (pointing to the monastery). Up there! + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. You've suffered all that for my sake! + </p> + <p> + LADY. Not for your sake! You never did me an ill turn; but I plagued you + till you left your fireside and your child! + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. I'd forgotten that; but if you say so.... So you still love + me? + </p> + <p> + LADY. Probably. I don't know. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. And you'd like to begin all over again? + </p> + <p> + LADY. All over again? The quarrels? No, we won't do that. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. You're right. The quarrels would only begin all over again. + And yet it's difficult to part. + </p> + <p> + LADY. To part. The word alone's terrible enough. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Then what are we to do? + </p> + <p> + LADY. I don't know. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. No, one knows nothing, hardly even that one knows nothing; and + that's why, you see, I've got as far as to <i>believe</i>. + </p> + <p> + LADY. How do you know you can believe, if belief's a gift? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. You can receive a gift, if you ask for it. + </p> + <p> + LADY. Oh yes, if you ask; but I've never been able to beg. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. I've had to learn to. Why can't you? + </p> + <p> + LADY. Because one has to demean oneself first. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Life does that for one very well. + </p> + <p> + 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 <i>is</i> + her! + </p> + <p> + CONFESSOR (in the door of the ferryman's hut; sternly to the STRANGER). + Come. Everything's ready! + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. No. Not yet. I must first set my house in order; and look + after this woman, who was once my wife. + </p> + <p> + CONFESSOR. Oh, so you want to stay! + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + CONFESSOR. What has that to do with us? Let the dead bury their dead! + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Is that your teaching? + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. I shall count on it. + </p> + <p> + CONFESSOR (taking the STRANGER by the hand and drawing him away.) Then + come! + </p> + <p> + STRANGER (in despair). Oh, God in heaven! Help us every one! + </p> + <p> + CONFESSOR. Amen! + </p> + <p> + (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.) + </p> + <p> + Curtain. + </p> + <a name="link2H_4_0011" id="link2H_4_0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ACT II + </h2> + <h3> + CROSS-ROADS IN THE MOUNTAINS + </h3> + <p> + [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.] + </p> + <p> + [The STRANGER is sitting at a table outside one of the huts. The + CONFESSOR comes forward from the right.] + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. At last! + </p> + <p> + CONFESSOR. What do you mean: at last? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. You left me here a week ago and told me to wait till you came + back. + </p> + <p> + CONFESSOR. Hadn't I prepared you for the fact that the way to the white + house up there would be long and difficult. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. I don't deny it. How far have we come? + </p> + <p> + CONFESSOR. Five hundred yards. We've still got fifteen hundred. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. But where's the sun? + </p> + <p> + CONFESSOR. Up there, above the clouds.... + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Then we shall have to go through them? + </p> + <p> + CONFESSOR. Yes. Of course. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. What are those patients doing there? What a company! And why + are their hands so red? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Yes. Speak beautifully. There's so much that's ugly here. + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. The reverse of Venus... is Mercury. Oh! + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Wait a moment! Cinnabar is quicksilver and sulphur. + </p> + <p> + CONFESSOR. Yes. Mercury must be burnt, if it comes too near to Venus! + Have we said enough now? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. So these are sulphur springs? + </p> + <p> + 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.... + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. How does the source of life grow tainted? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Why is desire born? + </p> + <p> + CONFESSOR. Pure desire, to be satisfied; impure, to be stifled. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. What is pure, and what impure? + </p> + <p> + CONFESSOR. Have you got back to that? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Ask these men here.... + </p> + <p> + CONFESSOR. Take care! (He looks at the STRANGER, who is unable to + support his gaze.) + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. You're choking me.... My chest.... + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. So I'm to be tested! I'm glad to know it! + </p> + <p> + CONFESSOR. But you mustn't speak to the worshippers of Venus. + </p> + <p> + (MAIA, an old woman, appears in the background.) + </p> + <p> + STRANGER (rising in horror). Who am I meeting here after all this time? + Who is it? + </p> + <p> + CONFESSOR. Who are you speaking of? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. That old woman there? + </p> + <p> + CONFESSOR. Who's she? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER (calling). Maia! Listen! (Old Maia has disappeared. The + STRANGER hurries after her.) Maia, my friend, listen! She's gone! + </p> + <p> + CONFESSOR. Who was it? + </p> + <p> + 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.... + </p> + <p> + CONFESSOR. Why? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + CONFESSOR. Foolishness' Bow to what seems inexplicable; you'll see that + the explanation will come later. Farewell! + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Later. Everything comes later. + </p> + <p> + 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.) + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Why did you kiss me that day? What made you do it? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. I'm ashamed. Now I believe it was so. + </p> + <p> + LADY. But you took it another way. You thought... + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Don't tell me. I'm ashamed. + </p> + <p> + 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.... + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. I'm ashamed. I attributed my evil thoughts to you. Ingeborg, + you were made of better stuff than I. I'm ashamed! + </p> + <p> + LADY. Now you look handsome. How handsome! + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Oh no. Not I. You! + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + LADY. How strange! + </p> + <p> + 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 <i>are</i> men who detest children; who detest women + too, if they're superior to them, that is! + </p> + <p> + LADY (amiably). But you've called women the enemies of mankind. Did you + mean it? + </p> + <p> + 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.... + </p> + <p> + 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.' + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + LADY. You've heard them. But when people have spoken well of you, you've + refused to listen, as if it hurt you. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. That's true, now you remind me. But can you explain it? + </p> + <p> + 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!' + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Who says that? + </p> + <p> + 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.' + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Where did you learn that? + </p> + <p> + 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.... + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. How can you dare to wander up here in the mountains? + </p> + <p> + LADY. God is with me; so what have I to fear from human beings? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Aren't you tormented by those people at the pool? + </p> + <p> + LADY (turning towards them). I can't see them. I can't see anything + horrible now. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + LADY. You had no mother? + </p> + <p> + 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.' + </p> + <p> + 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.' + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Is that also written? + </p> + <p> + LADY. Oh yes, my child; it's all there! + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. All? + </p> + <p> + LADY. All. There you'll find answers to all your questions even the most + inquisitive! + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + LADY. You shouldn't love me, but your Creator. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. He's unfriendly—like my father! + </p> + <p> + LADY. He is Love itself; and you are Hate. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. You're his daughter; but I'm his cast-out son. + </p> + <p> + LADY (coaxingly). Quiet! Be still! + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. If you only knew what I've suffered this last week. I don't + know where I am. + </p> + <p> + LADY. Where do you think? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + LADY. What sort of prayers? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. The sort one whispers behind the backs of those who have the + evil eye or bring misfortune. + </p> + <p> + LADY. How strange! Don't you realise that one's sight can be blinded? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Yes, of course. But who can do it? + </p> + <p> + HOSTESS (coming across to their table). Well, look at that! I suppose + she's your sister? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Yes. We can say so now. + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + STRANGER (getting up excitedly). Silence, woman. That's blasphemy! + </p> + <p> + LADY. He won't believe. O God! He won't believe. Look at me! + </p> + <p> + 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.) + </p> + <p> + LADY. He's weeping! Tears, rain from heaven, that can soften rocks, are + falling on his stony heart.... He's weeping! + </p> + <p> + HOSTESS. He? Who has a heart of gold! Who's been so open handed and so + good to my children! + </p> + <p> + LADY. You hear what she says! + </p> + <p> + HOSTESS. There's only one thing about him I don't understand; but I + don't want to say anything unpleasant.... + </p> + <p> + LADY. What is it? + </p> + <p> + HOSTESS. Only a trifle; and yet... + </p> + <p> + LADY. Well? + </p> + <p> + HOSTESS. He didn't like my dogs. + </p> + <p> + 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.... + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Thank you, Ingeborg! + </p> + <p> + LADY. You see! I've an eye for your merits, even though you don't + believe it.... Here comes the Confessor. + </p> + <p> + (The CONFESSOR enters.) + </p> + <p> + HOSTESS. Then I'll go; for the Confessor has no love for me. + </p> + <p> + LADY. The Confessor loves all mankind. + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + LADY. Where? + </p> + <p> + CONFESSOR. Up there. Where the sun's always shining. + </p> + <p> + LADY (rising). Is there a home for me there, too? + </p> + <p> + 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.) + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. What do you want with me? + </p> + <p> + WORSHIPPERS. Hail! Father. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER (much upset). Why call me that? + </p> + <p> + FIRST VOICE. Because we're your children. Your dear ones! + </p> + <p> + STRANGER (tries to escape, but is surrounded and cannot). Let me go. Let + me go! + </p> + <p> + SECOND VOICE (that of a pale youth). Don't you recognise me, Father? + </p> + <p> + TEMPTER (appearing in the background at the left-hand fork of the path). + Ha! + </p> + <p> + STRANGER (to the Second Voice). Who are you? I seem to know your face. + </p> + <p> + SECOND VOICE. I'm Erik—your son! + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Erik! You here? + </p> + <p> + SECOND VOICE. Yes. I'm here. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. God have mercy! And you, my boy, forgive me! + </p> + <p> + SECOND VOICE. Never! You showed us the way to the sulphur springs! Is it + far to the lake? + </p> + <p> + (The STRANGER falls to the ground.) + </p> + <p> + TEMPTER. Ha! Jubilate, temptatores! + </p> + <p> + VENUS WORSHIPPERS. Sulphur! Sulphur! Sulphur! Mercury! + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + STRANGER (rising quickly, and looking the TEMPTER to the eyes). Who are + you? + </p> + <p> + TEMPTER. Your brother. Don't we resemble one another? Some of your + features seem to remind me of my portrait. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Where have I seen it? + </p> + <p> + TEMPTER. Almost everywhere! I'm often to be found in churches, though + not amongst the saints. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. I can't remember.... + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + MAIA. No. He's good and always was; but he'd a terrible wife. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER (starting up). What's that you said? Is it possible I've + forgotten? + </p> + <p> + TEMPTER. Have you the receipt, Maia? If so, give it me. + </p> + <p> + 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.) + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER (to MAIA). Quiet, don't answer him! (He stops his ears with his + fingers.) + </p> + <p> + TEMPTER. Well, Maia? + </p> + <p> + 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.) + </p> + <p> + TEMPTER. Yes. All human beings who are easily moved are baited like wild + beasts! It's the rule. Good bye, old Maia! + </p> + <p> + MAIA. Good-bye, kind gentlemen. (She goes out.) + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Why did I suffer innocently for seven years? + </p> + <p> + TEMPTER (pointing upwards with one finger). Ask up there! + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Where I never get an answer! + </p> + <p> + TEMPTER. Well, that may be. (Pause.) Do you think <i>I</i> look good? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. I can't say I do. + </p> + <p> + TEMPTER. You look extremely wicked, too! Do you know why we look like + that? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. No. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. I don't know who you are; but you're the first to answer + questions that might reconcile me to life. You are.... + </p> + <p> + TEMPTER. Well, say it! + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. The deliverer! + </p> + <p> + TEMPTER. And therefore....? + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + TEMPTER. What a question! I've never really thought about it. Hm! + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. And have you ever thought of this: we may be born in guilt? + </p> + <p> + TEMPTER. That's nothing to do with me: I concern myself with the + present. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Good! Don't you think we're sometimes punished wrongly, so + that we fail to see the logical connection, though it exists? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + PILGRIM. Thank you, fellow traveller in the vale of woe. + </p> + <p> + TEMPTER. What kind of woe is yours? + </p> + <p> + PILGRIM. None in particular; on the contrary, the hour of liberation's + struck, and I'm going up there to receive absolution. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Listen, haven't we two met before? + </p> + <p> + PILGRIM. I think so, certainly. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Caesar! You're Caesar! + </p> + <p> + PILGRIM. I used to be; but I am no longer. + </p> + <p> + TEMPTER. Ha ha! Imperial acquaintance. Really! But tell us, tell us! + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Why didn't you publish the letter from your friend that would + have explained everything? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. And you did suffer? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. The Confessor told me to wait for him. + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Well, whether I sit here, or up there, is all the same to me. + </p> + <p> + PILGRIM (to the STRANGER). Who's that? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. I don't know. He looks like an anarchist. + </p> + <p> + PILGRIM. Interesting, anyhow! + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. He's a sceptical gentleman, who's seen life. + </p> + <p> + TEMPTER. Come, children; I'll tell you stories on the way. Come. Come! + </p> + <p> + (They go out towards the background.) + </p> + <p> + Curtain. + </p> + <a name="link2H_4_0012" id="link2H_4_0012"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ACT III + </h2> + <h3> + SCENE I + </h3> + TERRACE ON THE MOUNTAIN + <p> + [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.] + </p> + <p> + [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.] + </p> + <p> + MAGISTRATE. Is the accused present? + </p> + <p> + ACCUSED MAN. Yes. Present. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + ACCUSED MAN. No. + </p> + <p> + TEMPTER. Ho, there! + </p> + <p> + MAGISTRATE. Who are you? + </p> + <p> + TEMPTER. Counsel for the accused. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + PEOPLE. He's condemned already! + </p> + <p> + TEMPTER. Who by? + </p> + <p> + PEOPLE. The Law and his own deed. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + MAGISTRATE. I can't refuse it. + </p> + <p> + PEOPLE. Florian's been condemned already. + </p> + <p> + 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.... + </p> + <p> + MAGISTRATE. Have you witnesses? + </p> + <p> + BAILIFF. Three valid ones; I'm one of them. + </p> + <p> + MAGISTRATE. The bailiff alone will be sufficient. + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + MAGISTRATE. Well, that was jealousy! + </p> + <p> + ACCUSED MAN. Yes, that was jealousy. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + PEOPLE. The dead woman's guilty! Her blood's on her own head. + </p> + <p> + MAGISTRATE. She's guilty, for she was the cause of the crime. + </p> + <p> + (The FATHER of the dead woman steps forward.) + </p> + <p> + FATHER. Your Worship, judge of my dead child; and you, countrymen, let + me speak! + </p> + <p> + MAGISTRATE. The dead girl's father may speak. + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + PEOPLE. No doubt! It's she who's guilty! + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + PEOPLE. She's not to blame! Where is her seducer? + </p> + <p> + FATHER. There! + </p> + <p> + TEMPTER. Yes. It was I. + </p> + <p> + PEOPLE. Stone him! + </p> + <p> + MAGISTRATE. The law must run its course. He must be heard. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + MAGISTRATE (seriously). He mistakes his listeners. + </p> + <p> + 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 <i>was</i> 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! + </p> + <p> + 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.... + </p> + <p> + MAGISTRATE. Friends! I must break off the proceedings; otherwise we'll + get back to Eve in Paradise. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + EVE (simply and with dignity). The serpent tempted me! + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + ALL (terrified). Silence! Blasphemer! + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + LADY (to the STRANGER). Come with me. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. But I'd like to listen to this man. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Hm! + </p> + <p> + LADY. Or: 'Mama, who made God?' You think that profound? Well, come with + me. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER (fighting his admiration for the TEMPTER). But that about Eve + was new.... + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + (The STRANGER stands irresolute between them.) + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + 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.) + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Mother! + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. But my mother's dead? + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + TEMPTER. I can do nothing now. But one day we shall meet again! (He + disappears behind the cliff.) + </p> + <p> + Curtain. + </p> + SCENE II ROCKY LANDSCAPE ON THE MOUNTAIN + <p> + [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.] + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Oh, Mother, Mother! Why are you leaving me? At the very moment + when my loveliest dream was on the point of fulfilment! + </p> + <p> + TEMPTER (coming forward). What have you been dreaming? Tell me! + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. My dearest hope, most secret desire and last prayer! + Reconciliation with mankind, through a woman. + </p> + <p> + TEMPTER. Through a woman who taught you to hate. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Yes, because she bound me to earth—like the round shot a + slave drags on his foot, so that he can't escape. + </p> + <p> + TEMPTER. You talk of woman. Always woman. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Yes. Woman. The beginning and the end—for us men anyhow. + In relationship to one another they are nothing. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + TEMPTER. You felt ashamed? I don't know why. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Can't you answer? You, of all men? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. And when she did the shameful deed, you were dishonoured. Why? + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + 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.... + </p> + <p> + 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.... + </p> + <p> + TEMPTER. What, old friend, must we stand here like two youths and spell + out the riddles of love? + </p> + <p> + CONFESSOR (coming in). What's this chatterer saying? He's talked away + his whole life; and never done anything. + </p> + <p> + TEMPTER. I wanted to be a priest, but had no vocation. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + TEMPTER. Then it's the man lying beneath that brushwood there. + </p> + <p> + 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.) + </p> + <p> + TEMPTER. Who was he? + </p> + <p> + CONFESSOR. It's extraordinary! + </p> + <p> + TEMPTER. He must have been a good-looking man. And quite young. + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + TEMPTER. Crime as punishment? That's not so bad. Most penetrating! + </p> + <p> + CONFESSOR. So I think. You'll have new matter for argument. + </p> + <p> + TEMPTER. Now I'll leave you gentlemen for a while. But soon we'll meet + again. (He goes out.) + </p> + <p> + CONFESSOR. I saw you just now with a woman! So there are still + temptations? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Not the kind you mean. + </p> + <p> + CONFESSOR. Then what kind? + </p> + <p> + 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... + </p> + <p> + CONFESSOR. But what? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Experience teaches; the nearer, the further off: the further + from one another, the nearer one can be. + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. And yet! Happiness is only to be found in her company. + </p> + <p> + CONFESSOR. Then stay with her. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. You're forgetting one thing: we're divorced. + </p> + <p> + CONFESSOR. Good! Then you can begin a new marriage. And it'll promise + all the more, because both of you are new people. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Do you think anyone would marry us? + </p> + <p> + CONFESSOR. I, for instance? That's asking too much. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Yes. I'd forgotten! But I daresay someone could be found. It's + another thing to get a home together.... + </p> + <p> + 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 <i>she</i> 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! + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. IS it to let? + </p> + <p> + CONFESSOR. Yes. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Then I'll risk it. And I'll try to begin life all over again. + </p> + <p> + CONFESSOR. Then you'll go down? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Out of the clouds. Below the sun's shining, and up here the + air's a little thin. + </p> + <p> + CONFESSOR. Good! Then we must part—for a time. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Where are you going? + </p> + <p> + CONFESSOR. Up. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. And I down; to the earth, the mother with the soft bosom and + warm lap.... + </p> + <p> + CONFESSOR. Until you long once more for what's hard as stone, as cold + and as white... Farewell! Greetings to those below! + </p> + <p> + (Each of them goes of in the direction he has chosen.) + </p> + <p> + Curtain. + </p> + SCENE III A SMALL HOUSE ON THE MOUNTAIN + <p> + [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.] + </p> + <p> + [From the left the STRANGER enters, dressed as a bridegroom; and the + LADY, dressed as a bride; both radiant with youth and beauty.] + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Welcome to my house, belovčd; to your home and mine, my bride; + to your dwelling-place, my wife! + </p> + <p> + LADY. I'm grateful, dear friend! It's like a fairy tale! + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Yes, it is. A whole book of fairy tales, my dear, written by + me. + </p> + <p> + (They sit down on either side of the table.) + </p> + <p> + LADY. Is this real? It seems too lovely to me. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. I've never seen you look so young, so beautiful. + </p> + <p> + LADY. It's your own eyes.... + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Yes, my own eyes that have learnt to see. And your goodness + taught them.... + </p> + <p> + LADY. Which itself was taught by sorrow. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Ingeborg! + </p> + <p> + LADY. It's the first time you've called me by that name. + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + LADY. Orpheus! Your song has made these dead stones live. Make life sing + in me! + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. The candle flames are still, as if in prayer. The flowers are + pensive.... And yet! + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + STRANGER (still thinking). And yet! + </p> + <p> + LADY. Hush! + </p> + <p> + STRANGER (getting up). A poem's coming: I can hear it. It's for you. + </p> + <p> + LADY. Don't tell it me. I can see it—in your eyes. + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + LADY. Quiet. Or, our guests will leave us. + </p> + <p> + (They do not speak.) + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. This <i>is</i> happiness—but I can't grasp it. + </p> + <p> + LADY. See it and breath it; for it can't be grasped. + </p> + <p> + (They do not speak.) + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. You're looking at your little room. + </p> + <p> + LADY. It's as bright green as a summer meadow. There's someone in there. + Several people! + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Only my thoughts. + </p> + <p> + LADY. Your good, your beautiful thoughts.... + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Given me by you. + </p> + <p> + LADY. Had I anything to give you? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. You? Everything! But up to now my hands have not been free to + take it. Not clean enough to stroke your little heart.... + </p> + <p> + LADY. Beloved! The time for reconciliation's coming. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. With mankind, and woman—through a woman? Yes, that time + has come; and blessed may you be amongst women. + </p> + <p> + (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.) + </p> + <p> + LADY. Why's it grown dark? Oh! + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Where are you, beloved? Give me your hand. I'm afraid! + </p> + <p> + LADY. Here, dearest. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + LADY (leading him towards the pale-green room). Are you afraid? + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + (They have reached the doorway leading to the other room, when the + curtain falls.) + </p> + *** + <p> + [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.] + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Now you shall hear it. + </p> + <p> + LADY (acquiescing absent-mindedly). Finished already? + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + LADY (drily). No. Certainly not. (The STRANGER sits down at the table + and looks at the LADY.) Why are you looking at me? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. I'd like to see your thoughts. + </p> + <p> + LADY. But you've heard them. + </p> + <p> + 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>I</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? + </p> + <p> + LADY. I don't deny it, but my ego wasn't my own. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Not yours? Then what is? Something that belongs to others? + </p> + <p> + LADY. Is yours something that belongs to others too? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + LADY. But I can never be yours. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. I've become yours. + </p> + <p> + LADY. What have you got from me? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. How can you ask me that? + </p> + <p> + LADY. All the same—I'm not sure that you think it, though I feel + you feel it—you wish me far away. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + LADY. The nearer, the farther off! + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Yes. When we part, we long for one another; and when we meet + again, we long to part. + </p> + <p> + LADY. Do you really think we love each other? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + LADY. This time we knew the dangers and wanted to avoid them. But it + seems that they can't be avoided. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + LADY. Do you want me to leave you? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. If you do, I shall die. + </p> + <p> + LADY. And, if I stay, it's I who'll die. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + LADY. I'd like to die, yet I don't want to. I think I must be dead + already. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. The air up here's too strong. + </p> + <p> + LADY. You can't love me if you speak like that. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. To be frank, there are moments when you don't exist for me. + But in others I feel your hatred like suffocating smoke. + </p> + <p> + LADY. And I feel my heart creeping from my breast, when you are angry + with me. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Then we must hate one other. + </p> + <p> + LADY. And love one another too. + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + LADY. Yes. + </p> + <p> + 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.... + </p> + <p> + LADY. To a parting? (Silence.) Yes, a parting! + </p> + <p> + (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.) + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. So you're here? + </p> + <p> + TEMPTER. I'm always everywhere, where it smells of quarrels. And in love + affairs there are always quarrels. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Always? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. But very small. + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Have you ever been married? + </p> + <p> + TEMPTER. Oh yes. Of course. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Then why did you part? + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. I can; but I won't attempt to explain it. + </p> + <p> + 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. <i>C'est l'amour</i>, my friend! + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. You should never talk about your wife. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + TEMPTER. You, I dare say. What about her? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Oh, whilst our love was growing <i>she</i> was always + developing backwards. And getting cruder and more wicked. + </p> + <p> + TEMPTER. Can you explain that? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + TEMPTER. Do you think woman's particularly false? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + TEMPTER. Tell me some more about her that's good. + </p> + <p> + 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 café 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + TEMPTER. Why didn't you answer her? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + TEMPTER. <i>A tout prix</i>! 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + TEMPTER. That sounds conceivable. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + TEMPTER. There are moments when I think a woman cannot love a man. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + TEMPTER. Then what is woman's love? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. The man's. + </p> + <p> + TEMPTER. Well said. And therefore when the man ceases to love her, she + severs herself from him! + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. And then? + </p> + <p> + TEMPTER. 'Sh! Someone's coming. Perhaps to take the house! + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. A woman or a man? + </p> + <p> + TEMPTER. A woman! And a man. But he's waiting outside. Now he's turned + and is going into the wood. Interesting! + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Who is it? + </p> + <p> + TEMPTER. You can see for yourself. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER (looking out of the window). It's she! My first wife! My first + love! + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + (He disappears. The WOMAN knocks.) + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Come in! + </p> + <p> + (The WOMAN comes in. There is a silence.) + </p> + <p> + WOMAN (excitedly). I only came here because the house was to let. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Oh! + </p> + <p> + WOMAN (slowly). Had I known who wanted to let it, I shouldn't have come. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. What does it matter? + </p> + <p> + WOMAN. May I sit down a moment? I'm tired. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + WOMAN. With flowers and lights on the table. One night... + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. When I was dressed as a bridegroom and you as a bride... + </p> + <p> + WOMAN. And the candle flames were still as in prayer and the flowers + pensive.... + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Is your husband outside? + </p> + <p> + WOMAN. No. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. You're still seeking... what doesn't exist? + </p> + <p> + WOMAN. Doesn't it? + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + WOMAN. Not yet. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Why did you leave your husband? (The WOMAN doesn't reply.) Did + he beat you? + </p> + <p> + WOMAN. Yes. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. How did he come to forget himself so far? + </p> + <p> + WOMAN. He was angry. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. What about? + </p> + <p> + WOMAN. Nothing. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Why was he angry about nothing? + </p> + <p> + WOMAN (rising). No, thank you! I won't sit here and be picked to pieces. + Where's your wife? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. She left me just now. + </p> + <p> + WOMAN. Why? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Why did you leave me? + </p> + <p> + WOMAN. I felt you wanted to leave me; so, not to be deserted, I went + myself. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. I dare say that's true. But how could you read my thoughts? + </p> + <p> + WOMAN (sitting down again). What? We didn't need to speak in order to + know one another's thoughts. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + WOMAN. You were wrong to do so, and right. Because my thoughts were + sinful. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Don't you think my habit of 'anticipating you' prevented your + bad designs from being put in practice? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. But it wasn't your own: it was ours! + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + WOMAN. I remember. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. What did you do then? + </p> + <p> + WOMAN. Nothing. Only hated you. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Why? + </p> + <p> + WOMAN. Because you were my husband. Because I ate your bread. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Do you think it's always the same? + </p> + <p> + WOMAN. I don't know. I suspect it is. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. But sometimes you've even despised me? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. But if any man who loves you is ridiculous, how can you + respond to his love? + </p> + <p> + WOMAN. We don't! We submit to it, and search for another man who doesn't + love us. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. But if he, in turn, begins to love you, do you look for a + third? + </p> + <p> + WOMAN. Perhaps it's like that. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + WOMAN. Yes. But his verses weren't bad, really. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Oh yes, they were, my dear. I know him! He stole my rhythms + and set them for the barrel organ. + </p> + <p> + WOMAN (rising and going to the door.) You should be ashamed of yourself. + </p> + <p> + (The TEMPTER conies in, holding a letter in his hand.) + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER (rising and picking up his hat). My poor Anna! + </p> + <p> + WOMAN. Don't leave me. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. I must. + </p> + <p> + WOMAN. Don't go. You were the best of them all. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. A caricature of godly love. + </p> + <p> + TEMPTER. An annual plant, that blossoms during the engagement, goes to + seed in marriage and then sinks to the earth to wither and die. + </p> + <p> + WOMAN. The loveliest flowers have no seed. The rose is the flower of + love. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. And the lily that of innocence. That can form seeds, but only + opens her white cup to kisses. + </p> + <p> + 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.) + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Well, go on! + </p> + <p> + TEMPTER. What all-powerful love, that is the marriage of souls, has to + do with the propagation of the species! + </p> + <p> + STRANGER and WOMAN. Now he's come to the point! + </p> + <p> + 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.) + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Suppose the story of the fall were true? In pain shalt thou + bring forth children. + </p> + <p> + TEMPTER. In that case one could understand. + </p> + <p> + WOMAN. Who is the man who says these things? + </p> + <p> + TEMPTER. Only a wanderer on the quicksands of this life. (The WOMAN + rises.) So you're ready to go. Who will go first? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. I shall. + </p> + <p> + TEMPTER. Where? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Upwards. And you? + </p> + <p> + TEMPTER. I shall stay down here, in between.... + </p> + <p> + Curtain. + </p> + <a name="link2H_4_0013" id="link2H_4_0013"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ACT IV + </h2> + <h3> + SCENE I + </h3> + <h3> + CHAPTER HOUSE OF THE MONASTERY + </h3> + <p> + [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.] + </p> + <p> + CONFESSOR. Peace be with you! + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. And with you. + </p> + <p> + CONFESSOR. How do you like this white house? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. I can only see blackness. + </p> + <p> + CONFESSOR. You still are black; but you'll grow white, quite white! Did + you sleep well last night? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Dreamlessly, like a tired child. But tell me: why do I find so + many locked doors? + </p> + <p> + CONFESSOR. You'll gradually learn to open them. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Is this a large building? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. So it's not merely a religious foundation? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. One word more, before the chapter assembles. What kind of man + is the Prior? + </p> + <p> + CONFESSOR (smiling). He is the Prior! Aloof, without peer, dwelling on + the summits of human knowledge, and... well, you'll see him soon. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Is it true that he's so old? + </p> + <p> + CONFESSOR. He's reached an unusual age. He was born at the beginning of + the century that's now nearing its end. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Has he always been in the monastery? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. I presume he's not the kind of unprejudiced priest who + pretends to have vices when he has none? + </p> + <p> + CONFESSOR. Not at all. But he's seen life and mankind, and he's more + human than priestly. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. And the fathers? + </p> + <p> + CONFESSOR. Wise men, with strange histories, and none of them alike. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Who can never have known life as it's lived.... + </p> + <p> + CONFESSOR. All have lived their lives, more than once; have suffered + shipwreck, started again, gone to pieces and risen once more. You must + wait. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. The Prior's sure to ask me questions. I don't think I can + agree to everything. + </p> + <p> + CONFESSOR. On the contrary, you must show yourself as you are; and + defend your opinions to the last. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Will contradiction be permitted here? + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Is there any intention of examining me? + </p> + <p> + CONFESSOR. Oh no. There are merely a few questions to answer without any + deep meaning, before the practical examinations. Quiet! Here they are. + </p> + <p> + (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.) + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER (in a weak voice). Yes. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER (with certainty). Yes. It was. + </p> + <p> + PRIOR. It was; and you've never been able to forget it. Never. Now + listen, you've a good memory; can you remember <i>The Swiss Family + Robinson</i>? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER (shrinking). <i>The Swiss Family Robinson</i>? + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Yes. Punish me! + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. I promise! If only he whom I took advantage of could forgive + me. + </p> + <p> + PRIOR. He has already. Isn't that so, Pater Isidor? + </p> + <p> + ISIDOR (who was the DOCTOR in the first part of 'The Road to Damascus,' + rising). With my whole heart! + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. It's you! + </p> + <p> + ISIDOR. Yes. I. + </p> + <p> + PRIOR (to FATHER ISIDOR). Pater Isidor, say a word, just one. + </p> + <p> + 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.) + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. I wanted to know life's inmost meaning. + </p> + <p> + 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 <i>every</i> 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? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. One thing only. + </p> + <p> + PRIOR. Speak. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + PRIOR (to the STRANGER). That's a good story! + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Then is life worth living? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. I'll gladly follow anyone who can teach me something. + </p> + <p> + (PATER MELCHER takes the STRANGER by the hand and leads him out of the + Chapter House.) + </p> + <p> + Curtain. + </p> + SCENE II PICTURE GALLERY OF THE MONASTERY + <p> + [Picture Gallery of the Monastery. There are mostly portraits of people + with two heads.] + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. I've been in Switzerland! + </p> + <p> + 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 <i>Wilhelm Tell</i>. 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? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. So freedom means: freedom to oppress others. That's new to me. + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Quite enough. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. How do Protestants explain this threefold contradiction? + </p> + <p> + 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 <i>Song + of the Bell</i>, in which he expressed his thanks and begged the + revolutionaries to keep quiet! Well, that's life. We're intelligent + people and love <i>The Robbers</i> as much as <i>The Song of the Bell</i>; + Schiller as much as Goethe! + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. The work remains, the master perishes. + </p> + <p> + MELCHER. Goethe, yes! Number five in the catalogue. He began with + Strassburg cathedral and <i>Götz von Berlichingen</i>, 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 <i>Iphigenia</i> + with theories drawn from Goethe's <i>Goetz</i>. 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. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. And rightly. + </p> + <p> + 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: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> + <p> + 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: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Then what's your view? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. The Powers That Be play tricks.... + </p> + <p> + 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 <i>Les Misérables</i>. 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 Olmütz as a revolutionary! What was + he in reality? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Both! + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + MELCHER. That's as old as the world! But does an intelligent, man heed + what he's called? One is, what one's becoming. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. But who revises the periodically changing views of + contemporary opinion? + </p> + <p> + 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 <i>apparent</i> 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! + </p> + <p> + Curtain. + </p> + SCENE III CHAPEL OF THE MONASTERY + <p> + [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.] + </p> + <p> + CONFESSOR. Have you carefully considered the step you wish to take? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Very carefully. + </p> + <p> + CONFESSOR. Have you no more questions? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Questions? No. + </p> + <p> + CONFESSOR. Then stay here, whilst I fetch the Chapter and the Fathers + and Brothers, so that the solemn act may begin. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Yes. Let it come to pass. + </p> + <p> + (The CONFESSOR goes out. The STRANGER, left alone, is sunk in thought.) + </p> + <p> + TEMPTER (coming forward). Are you ready? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. So ready, that I've no answer left for you. + </p> + <p> + 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... + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Do not trouble me. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. All the better. Speaking at last becomes a vice, like + drinking. And why speak, if words do not cloak thoughts? + </p> + <p> + TEMPTER. <i>You</i> at the graveside.... Was life so bitter? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Yes. My life was. + </p> + <p> + TEMPTER. Did you never know one pleasure? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + TEMPTER. Can't it be put the other way round: that pain exists in order + to make joy more keen? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. It can be put in any way. + </p> + <p> + (A woman enters with a child to be baptized.) + </p> + <p> + TEMPTER. Look! A little mortal, who's to be consecrated to suffering. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Poor child! + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + TEMPTER. Whence? + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. From the light itself. I know no more. + </p> + <p> + TEMPTER. It could only have been a shadow, for light is needed to throw + shadows; but for darkness no light is needed. + </p> + <p> + STRANGER. Stop! Or we'll never come to an end. + </p> + <p> + (The CONFESSOR and the CHAPTER appear in procession.) + </p> + <p> + TEMPTER (disappearing). Farewell! + </p> + <p> + CONFESSOR (advancing with a large black bier-cloth). Lord! Grant him + eternal peace! + </p> + <p> + CHOIR. May he be illumined with perpetual light! + </p> + <p> + CONFESSOR (wrapping the STRANGER to the bier-cloth). May he rest in + peace! + </p> + <p> + CHOIR. Amen! + </p> + <p> + Curtain. + </p> + <br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Road to Damascus, by August Strindberg + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ROAD TO DAMASCUS *** + +***** This file should be named 8875-h.htm or 8875-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/8/8/7/8875/ + +Produced by Nicole Apostola, and David Widger + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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