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diff --git a/old/8rddm10h.htm b/old/8rddm10h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..72fd1e1 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/8rddm10h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,10593 @@ +<!DOCTYPE HTML PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD HTML 4.01 Transitional//EN"> +<html> +<head> +<title>Road to Damascus</title> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=iso-8859-1"> +<style type="text/css"> +<!-- +body {margin:20%; text-align:justify} +img {border: 0;} +blockquote {font-size:14pt} +P {font-size:14pt} +--> +</style> +</head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Road to Damascus, by August Strindberg +#10 in our series by August Strindberg + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check the +copyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributing +this or any other Project Gutenberg eBook. + +This header should be the first thing seen when viewing this Project +Gutenberg file. Please do not remove it. Do not change or edit the +header without written permission. + +Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the +eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included is +important information about your specific rights and restrictions in +how the file may be used. You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** + + +Title: The Road to Damascus + +Author: August Strindberg + +Release Date: September, 2005 [EBook #8875] +[Most recently updated September 25, 2005] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ROAD TO DAMASCUS *** + + + + +Produced by Nicole Apostola and David Widger + + + + + +</pre> + + + +<center> +<h1>AUGUST STRINDBERG</h1> +<br><br> +<h1>THE ROAD TO DAMASCUS</h1> +<br><br> +<h3>A TRILOGY</h3> +<br><br><br><br> +<h2>ENGLISH VERSION BY GRAHAM RAWSON</h2> +<br><br> +<h3>WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY GUNNAR OLLÉN</h3> +<br><br><br><br> +<h2>CONTENTS</h2> +<br> +<p><a href="#intro">INTRODUCTION</a><br> +<a href="#p1">PART ONE</a><br> +<a href="#p2">PART TWO</a><br> +<a href="#p3">PART THREE</a></p> +<br><br> + +<a name="intro"></a> + +<br><br> + + +<h2> +INTRODUCTION</h2> +</center> + +<br> + +<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 Strlndberg. 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<br> +ESTHER JOHANSON</p> + + +<br><br> +<a name="p1"></a> +<br><br> + +<h2>PART ONE</h2> + +<h3> +CHARACTERS</h3> + +<p>THE STRANGER<br> +THE LADY<br> +THE BEGGAR<br> +THE DOCTOR<br> +HIS SISTER<br> +AN OLD MAN<br> +A MOTHER<br> +AN ABBESS<br> +A CONFESSOR</p> + +<p>less important figures<br> +FIRST MOURNER<br> +SECOND MOURNER<br> +THIRD MOURNER<br> +LANDLORD<br> +CAESAR<br> +WAITER</p> + +<p>non-speaking<br> +A SMITH<br> +MILLER'S WIFE<br> +FUNERAL ATTENDANTS</p> + + +<br><br><br> +<h3> +SCENES</h3> + + +<pre> +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> +<br><br><br> +<h2> +AUGUST STRINDBERG</h2> +<br><br> +<h2>THE ROAD TO DAMASCUS</h2> +<br><br><br><br> + +<h2>PART ONE</h2> + +<h3>English Version by<br> +GRAHAM RAWSON</h3> +<br><br> +<p>First Performance in England by the Stage Society at the<br> +Westminster Theatre, 2nd May 1937</p> +<br><br><br> +<p>CAST</p> + +<pre> +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> + + + + +<p>PRODUCER Carl H. Jaffe<br> +ASSISTANT PRODUCER Ossia Trilling</p> +<br><br><br><br> +<p> +SCENE I</p> + +<p>STREET CORNER</p> + +<p>[Street Corner with a seat under a tree; the side-door of a small<br> +Gothic Church nearby; also a post office and a café with chairs<br> +outside it. Both post office and café are shut. A funeral march is<br> +heard off, growing louder sand then fainter. A STRANGER is standing<br> +on the edge of the pavement and seems uncertain which way to go. A<br> +church clock strikes: first the four quarters and then the hour. It<br> +is three o'clock. A LADY enters and greets the STRANGER. She is<br> +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<br> +waiting for something: I believe they call it happiness; or the end<br> +of unhappiness. (Pause.) There's that terrible music again. Listen!<br> +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<br> +hours. You roused my sympathy, but you mustn't abuse my kindness on<br> +that account.</p> + +<p>STRANGER. I know that well enough. But I beg you not to leave me.<br> +I'm a stranger here, without friends; and my few acquaintances seem<br> +more like enemies.</p> + +<p>LADY. You have enemies everywhere. You're lonely everywhere. Why<br> +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<br> +here now; where I should go and what I should do! Do you believe<br> +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<br> +trap to tempt me to prolong my miseries. If ripe fruit fell into my<br> +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<br> +go.</p> + +<p>LADY. Where?</p> + +<p>STRANGER. Into annihilation. If I don't hold life in my hand, at<br> +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<br> +spite of my melancholy temperament I've never been able to take<br> +anything seriously—not even my worst troubles. Sometimes I even<br> +doubt whether life itself has had any more reality than my books.<br> +(A De Profundis is heard from the funeral procession.) They're<br> +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<br> +death I fear, but solitude; for then one's not alone. I don't know<br> +who's there, I or another, but in solitude one's not alone. The air<br> +grows heavy and seems to engender invisible beings, who have life<br> +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<br> +used to. Once I merely saw objects and events, forms and colours,<br> +whilst now I perceive ideas and meanings. Life, that once had no<br> +meaning, has begun to have one. Now I discern intention where I<br> +used to see nothing but chance. (Pause.) When I met you yesterday<br> +it struck me you'd been sent across my path, either to save me, or<br> +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<br> +felt for you. ... Never, in all my life, have I met anyone like<br> +you. I have only to look at you for the tears to start to my eyes.<br> +Tell me, what have you on your conscience? Have you done something<br> +wrong, that's never been discovered or punished?</p> + +<p>STRANGER. You may well ask! No, I've no more sins on my conscience<br> +than other free men. Except this: I determined that life should<br> +never make a fool of me.</p> + +<p>LADY. You must let yourself be fooled, more or less, to live at<br> +all.</p> + +<p>STRANGER. That would seem a kind of duty; but one I wanted to get<br> +out of. (Pause.) I've another secret. It's whispered in the family<br> +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<br> +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<br> +it. (Pause.) As a child I was always crying and didn't seem to take<br> +to life in this world. I hated my parents, as they hated me. I<br> +brooked no constraint, no conventions, no laws, and my longing was<br> +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<br> +guiding my destiny. One offers me all I desire; but the other's<br> +ever at hand to bespatter the gifts with filth, so that they're<br> +useless to me and I can't touch them. It's true that life has given<br> +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<br> +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<br> +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<br> +me—it's been forwarded on but hasn't reached me. (They sit down.)<br> +But tell me something of yourself now. (The Lady takes up her<br> +crochet work.)</p> + +<p>LADY. There's nothing to tell.</p> + +<p>STRANGER. Strangely enough, I should prefer to think of you like<br> +that. Impersonal, nameless—I only do know one of your names. I'd<br> +like to christen you myself—let me see, what ought you to be<br> +called? I've got it. Eve! (With a gesture towards the wings.)<br> +Trumpets! (The funeral march is heard again.) There it is again!<br> +Now I must invent your age, for I don't know how old you are. From<br> +now on you are thirty-four—so you were born in sixty-four.<br> +(Pause.) Now your character, for I don't know that either. I shall<br> +give you a good character, your voice reminds me of my mother—I<br> +mean the idea of a mother, for my mother never caressed me, though<br> +I can remember her striking me. You see, I was brought up in hate!<br> +An eye for an eye—a tooth for a tooth. You see this scar on my<br> +forehead? That comes from a blow my brother gave me with an axe,<br> +after I'd struck him with a stone. I never went to my father's<br> +funeral, because he turned me out of the house when my sister<br> +married. I was born out of wedlock, when my family were bankrupt<br> +and in mourning for an uncle who had taken his life. Now you know<br> +my family! That's the stock I come from. Once I narrowly escaped<br> +fourteen years' hard labour—so I've every reason to thank the<br> +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<br> +makes me sad.</p> + +<p>STRANGER. Frankly, I don't believe in them; yet they're always<br> +making themselves felt. Are these elves the souls of the unhappy,<br> +who still await redemption? If so, I am the child of an evil<br> +spirit. Once I believed I was near redemption—through a woman.<br> +But no mistake could have been greater: I was plunged into the<br> +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<br> +me? I've tried them; they only made things worse. I felt like the<br> +Devil when he sees the sign of the cross. (Pause.) Let's talk about<br> +you now.</p> + +<p>LADY. There's no need. (Pause.) Have you been blamed for misusing<br> +your gifts?</p> + +<p>STRANGER. I've been blamed for everything. In the town I lived in<br> +no one was so hated as I. Lonely I came in and lonely I went out.<br> +If I entered a public place people avoided me. If I wanted to rent<br> +a room, it would be let. The priests laid a ban on me from the<br> +pulpit, teachers from their desks and parents in their homes. The<br> +church committee wanted to take my children from me. Then I<br> +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<br> +suffer. So I kept on saying, and writing, too: free yourselves, I<br> +will help you. And to the poor I said: do not let the rich exploit<br> +you. And to the women: do not allow yourselves to be enslaved by<br> +the men. And—worst of all—to the children: do not obey your<br> +parents, if they are unjust. What followed was impossible to<br> +foresee. I found that everyone was against me: rich and poor, men<br> +and women, parents and children. And then came sickness and<br> +poverty, beggary and shame, divorce, law-suits, exile, solitude,<br> +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<br> +something given you, that can also taken away. See you don't<br> +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<br> +old blind father, whom you could lead to the market place to sing<br> +for his bread. My tragedy is I cannot grow old that's what happens<br> +to children of the elves, they have big heads and never only cry. I<br> +wish I were someone's dog. I could follow him and never be alone<br> +again. I'd get a meal sometimes, a kick now and then, a pat<br> +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<br> +takes off his hat and wipes his forehead. Then he draws on the<br> +ground with his stick. A BEGGAR enters. He has a strange look and<br> +is collecting objects from the gutter.) White are you picking up,<br> +beggar?</p> + +<p>BEGGAR. Why call me that? I'm no beggar. Have I asked you for<br> +anything?</p> + +<p>STRANGER. I beg your pardon. It's so hard to judge men from<br> +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<br> +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<br> +miscuit utile dulci. I have always succeeded in everything I've<br> +undertaken, because I've never attempted anything. I should like to<br> +call myself Polycrates, who found the gold ring in the fish's<br> +stomach. Life has given me all I asked of it. But I never asked<br> +anything; I grew tired of success and threw the ring away. Yet, now<br> +I've grown old I regret it. I search for it in the gutters; but as<br> +the search takes time, in default of my gold ring I don't disdain a<br> +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<br> +tempt me to take the words out of your mouth. And that's the same<br> +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<br> +touches his arm.) There's no doubt of it. ... Would you deign to<br> +accept a small coin in return for a promise to seek Polycrates'<br> +ring in another part of the town? (He hands him a coin.) Post<br> +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<br> +three-quarters of it. Now we owe one another nothing but<br> +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<br> +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<br> +of welcome for you. (Exit.)</p> + +<p>STRANGER (sitting down again and drawing in the dust with his<br> +stick). Sunday afternoon! A long, dank, sad time, after the usual<br> +Sunday dinner of roast beef, cabbage and watery potatoes. Now the<br> +older people are testing, the younger playing chess and smoking.<br> +The servants have gone to church and the shops are shut. This<br> +frightful afternoon, this day of rest, when there's nothing to<br> +engage the soul, when it's as hard to meet a friend as to get into<br> +a wine shop. (The LADY comes back again, she is noun wearing a<br> +flower at her breast.) Strange! I can't speak without being<br> +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<br> +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<br> +a mandragora. Its symbolical meaning is malice and calumny; but it<br> +was once used in medicine for the healing of madness. Will you give<br> +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<br> +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<br> +happened to Bluebeard's wife when curiosity tempted her into the<br> +forbidden chamber. ...</p> + +<p>LADY. You see, already you make demands like those of a Bluebeard.<br> +What you don't see, or have long since forgotten, is that I'm<br> +married, and that my husband's a doctor, and that he admires your<br> +work. So that his house is open to you, if you wish to be made<br> +welcome there.</p> + +<p>STRANGER. I've done all I can to forget it. I've expunged it from<br> +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<br> +have—though not often. It's the one thing life has capriciously<br> +refused me, perhaps because I never desired it intensely enough.<br> +(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<br> +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<br> +into the firmament, where she what has never yet been seen, and<br> +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<br> +experience the purifying emotions of guilt and repentance. I enjoy<br> +the sufferings of the body, whilst my soul hovers like smoke about<br> +my head. It is as if one were suspended between Life and Death,<br> +when the spirit feels that she has already opened her pinions and<br> +could fly aloft, if she would.</p> + +<p>LADY. Come into the church for a moment. You'll hear no sermon,<br> +only the beautiful music of vespers.</p> + +<p>STRANGER. No. Not into church! It depresses me because I feel I<br> +don't belong there. ... That I'm an unhappy soul and that it's as<br> +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<br> +pieces and were being slowly melted in Medea's cauldron. Either I<br> +shall be sent to the soap-boilers, or arise renewed from my own<br> +dripping! It depends on Medea's skill!</p> + +<p>LADY. That sounds like the word of an oracle. We must see if you<br> +can't become a child again.</p> + +<p>STRANGER. We should have to start with the cradle; and this time<br> +with the right child.</p> + +<p>LADY. Exactly! Wait here for me whilst I go into the church. If the<br> +café were open I'd ask you please not to drink. But luckily it's<br> +shut.</p> + +<p>(The LADY exits. The STRANGER sits down again and draws in the<br> +sand. Enter six funeral attendants in brown with some mourners. One<br> +of them carries a banner with the insignia of the Carpenters,<br> +draped in brown crêpe; another a large axe decorated with spruce, a<br> +third a cushion with a chairman's mallet. They stop outside the<br> +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<br> +clock.)</p> + +<p>STRANGER. A real house-breaker? Or the insect sort, that lodges in<br> +the woodwork and goes 'tick-tick'?</p> + +<p>FIRST MOURNER. Both—but mainly the insect sort. What do they call<br> +them?</p> + +<p>STRANGER (to himself). He wants to fool me into saying the<br> +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<br> +miracles? In that case I'd better explain that my nerves are good,<br> +and that I don't believe in miracles. But I do find it strange that<br> +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<br> +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<br> +to ascribe to the wine I drank yesterday. If I were to ask if that<br> +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<br> +last! (The Café opens, the STRANGER sits at a table and is served<br> +with wine. The MOURNERS sit at the other tables.) They must have<br> +been glad to be rid of him, if the mourners start drinking as soon<br> +as the funeral's over.</p> + +<p>FIRST MOURNER. He was a good-for-nothing, who couldn't take life<br> +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<br> +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<br> +MOURNERS whisper together. The BEGGAR comes back.) Here's the<br> +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<br> +paid your taxes. Here's your name, age and profession, and the<br> +decision of the court.</p> + +<p>BEGGAR. Omnia serviliter pro dominatione! I'm a free man with a<br> +university education. I refused to pay taxes because I didn't want<br> +to become a member of parliament. Moselle!</p> + +<p>LANDLORD. You'll get free transport to the poor house, if you don't<br> +get out.</p> + +<p>STRANGER. Couldn't you gentlemen settle this somewhere else. You're<br> +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<br> +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<br> +duties?</p> + +<p>STRANGER. This is too much! I'd have you know that I'm a famous<br> +man. (The LANDLORD and MOURNERS laugh.)</p> + +<p>LANDLORD. Infamous, probably! Let me look at the police list, and<br> +see if the description tallies: thirty-eight, brown hair,<br> +moustache, blue eyes; no settled employment, means unknown;<br> +married, but has deserted his wife and children; well known for<br> +revolutionary views on social questions: gives impression he is not<br> +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<br> +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<br> +coloured rose window above the church door, which is now opened,<br> +disclosing the interior. The organ is heard and the choir singing<br> +Ave Maris Stella.)</p> + +<p>LADY (coming from the church). Where are you? What are you doing?<br> +Why did you call me? Must you hang on a woman's skirts like a<br> +child?</p> + +<p>STRANGER. I'm afraid now. Things are happening that have no natural<br> +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<br> +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<br> +resembles me?</p> + +<p>LADY. He will, if you go on drinking. Now go to the post office and<br> +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<br> +moment I feel a higher power is sitting in judgment on us and has<br> +made a decision.</p> + +<p>STRANGER. You feel that, too! I heard the hammer fall just now; and<br> +the chairs being pushed back. The clerk's being sent to find me!<br> +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<br> +couldn't pray. A light on the altar was extinguished and an icy<br> +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;<br> +and I'm afraid of you. ...</p> + +<p>STRANGER. When I'm alone I've no strength at all; but if I can find<br> +a single companion I grow strong. I shall be strong now; and so<br> +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,<br> +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<br> +hurries out. The STRANGER stands where he is for a moment,<br> +surprised and stunned. A loud chord sung by women's voices, rather<br> +like a cry, is heard from the church. The rose window suddenly<br> +grows dark and the tree above the seat is shaken by the wind. The<br> +MOURNERS rise and look at the sky, as if they could see something<br> +terrifying. The STRANGER hurries out after the LADY.)</p> + +<p> +SCENE II</p> + +<p>DOCTOR'S HOUSE</p> + +<p>[Courtyard enclosed on three sides by a single-storied house with a<br> +tiled roof. Small windows in all three façades. Right, verandah<br> +with glass doors. Left, climbing roses and bee-hives outside the<br> +windows. In the middle of the courtyard a woodpile in the form of a<br> +cupola. A well beside it. The top of a walnut tree is seen above<br> +the central façade of the house. In the corner, right, a garden<br> +gate. By the well a large tortoise. On right, entrance below to a<br> +wine-cellar. An ice-chest and dust-bin. The DOCTOR'S SISTER enters<br> +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<br> +whom?</p> + +<p>DOCTOR. Wait! I know, because I've long foreseen this, even desired<br> +it, for he's a writer I've always admired. I've learnt much from<br> +him and often wished to meet him. Now he's coming, you say. Where<br> +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<br> +same name who was my friend at school. I hope not; for he seemed<br> +one that fortune would treat harshly. And in a life-time he'll have<br> +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<br> +before this spectre, and call him fate?</p> + +<p>DOCTOR. Life has taught me to. I've wasted time and energy in<br> +fighting the inevitable.</p> + +<p>SISTER. But why allow your wife to behave like this? She'll<br> +compromise you both.</p> + +<p>DOCTOR. You think so? Because, when I made her break off her<br> +engagement I held out false hopes to her of a life of freedom,<br> +instead of the slavery she'd known. Besides, I could never love her<br> +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<br> +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<br> +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<br> +contact with a woman who's mad.</p> + +<p>DOCTOR. I admit abnormality has always had a strong attraction for<br> +me, and originality is at least not commonplace. (The syren of a<br> +steamer is heard.) What was that?</p> + +<p>SISTER. Your nerves are on edge. It's only the steamer. (Pause.)<br> +Now, I implore you, go away!</p> + +<p>DOCTOR. I ought to want to; but I'm held fast. (Pause.) From here I<br> +can see his portrait in my study. The sunlight throws a shadow on<br> +it that changes it completely. It makes him look like. ...<br> +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<br> +gathering. How often have I tried to fly, and not been able to.<br> +It's as if the earth were iron and I a compass needle. If<br> +misfortune comes, it's not of my fee choice. They've come in<br> +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<br> +boyhood. He got into trouble at school; but I was blamed and<br> +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<br> +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<br> +patients?</p> + +<p>DOCTOR. No. The consulting room's empty this morning. I think the<br> +practice is going down.</p> + +<p>LADY (kindly). I'm sorry. Tell me, oughtn't that woodpile to be<br> +taken into the house? It only draws the damp.</p> + +<p>DOCTOR (without reproach). Yes, and the bees should be killed, too;<br> +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<br> +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<br> +makes him look younger than before. He has an air of forced<br> +candour. He seems to recognise the doctor, and shrinks back, but<br> +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<br> +rained for six weeks.</p> + +<p>STRANGER. Not for seven? It usually rains for seven if it rains on<br> +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<br> +country dull.</p> + +<p>STRANGER. Oh no. I'm no more at home there than here. Excuse me<br> +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<br> +first with great interest; as I know my wife has told you. So<br> +that if we <i>had</i> met I'd certainly have remembered your name.<br> +(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<br> +liberator's like, you wouldn't envy him.</p> + +<p>DOCTOR. I can imagine it; for I've seen how men love their chains.<br> +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<br> +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<br> +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<br> +place, at the right time . ... (He gets up.)</p> + +<p>DOCTOR. To reassure you, I'll ask my sister. (Exit through the<br> +verandah.)</p> + +<p>STRANGER (to the LADY). I'm stifling here. I can't pass a night<br> +under this roof. Your husband looks like a werewolf and in his<br> +presence you turn into a pillar of salt. Murder has been done in<br> +this house; the place is haunted. I shall escape as soon as I can<br> +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<br> +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<br> +give shade in summer. It's like the prophet's gourd. But in the<br> +autumn it must go into the wood shed.</p> + +<p>STRANGER (looking round). Christmas roses, too! Where did you get<br> +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<br> +of nature. He thinks it foolish for hellebore to grow in the snow<br> +and freeze; so he puts the plants in the cellar and beds them out<br> +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<br> +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 ...<br> +specimens ... dead bodies?</p> + +<p>DOCTOR. Oh yes. In the ice-box—for the authorities, you know. (He<br> +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.)<br> +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<br> +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<br> +read.</p> + +<p>STRANGER. Then let me say that I've never known a more painful<br> +half-hour. We exchange the merest commonplaces, because none of us<br> +has the courage to say what he thinks. I suffered so that the idea<br> +came to me of opening my veins to get relief. But now I'd like to<br> +tell him the truth and have done with it. Shall we say to his face<br> +that we mean to go away, and that you've had enough of his<br> +foolishness?</p> + +<p>LADY. If you talk like that I'll begin to hate you. You must behave<br> +under any circumstances.</p> + +<p>STRANGER. How well brought up you are! (The DOCTOR now becomes<br> +visible to the STRANGER and the LADY, who continue their<br> +conversation.) Come away with me, before the sun goes down.<br> +(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<br> +happy.</p> + +<p>(The DOCTOR blows a whistle. The MADMAN comes into the garden. He<br> +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<br> +at school with.</p> + +<p>STRANGER (disturbed). Oh?</p> + +<p>DOCTOR. He was involved in a strange incident, and I got all the<br> +blame.</p> + +<p>LADY (to the STRANGER). You'd never believe a boy could have been<br> +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<br> +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<br> +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<br> +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<br> +you speak.</p> + +<p>STRANGER. This werewolf never leaves us.</p> + +<p>DOCTOR (looking at his watch). You must excuse me for about an<br> +hour. I've a patient to visit. I hope the time won't hang on your<br> +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<br> +the cellar. (He goes out with the MADMAN.)</p> + +<p>STRANGER (to the LADY). What does that mean? Someone's pursuing me!<br> +You told me your husband was well disposed towards me, and I<br> +believed you. But he can't open his mouth without wounding me.<br> +Every word pricks like a goad. Then this funeral march ... it's<br> +really being played! And here, once more, Christmas roses! Why does<br> +everything follow in an eternal round? Dead bodies, beggars,<br> +madmen, human destinies and childhood memories? Come away. Let me<br> +free you from this hell.</p> + +<p>LADY. That's why I brought you here. Also that it could never be<br> +said you'd stolen the wife of another. But one thing I must ask<br> +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<br> +endure as long as they'll endure.</p> + +<p>STRANGER. You mean in my position? Large sums are owed me. All I<br> +have to do is to write or telegraph. ...</p> + +<p>LADY. Then I will trust you. (Putting away her work.) Now go<br> +straight out of that door. Follow the syringa hedge till you<br> +find a gate. We'll meet in the next village.</p> + +<p>STRANGER (hesitating). I don't like leaving the back way. I'd<br> +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<br> +towards the verandah.) My poor werewolf!</p> + +<p> +SCENE III</p> + +<p>ROOM IN AN HOTEL</p> + +<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<br> +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<br> +married, and pestered by the police, we're forced to come to this<br> +place, the last I'd have wished. To this very room, number eight. ...<br> +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<br> +doesn't matter where.</p> + +<p>STRANGER. I should like to. But after this terrible time I'm as<br> +tired as you are. I felt this was to be our journey's end. I<br> +resisted, I tried to go in the opposite direction, but trains were<br> +late, or we missed them, and we had to come here. To this room! The<br> +devil's in it—at least what I call the devil. But I'll be even<br> +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.<br> +(Looking at two pictures.) There he is again. And that's the Hotel<br> +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<br> +five letters and three telegrams I found a telegram saying that my<br> +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<br> +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<br> +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<br> +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<br> +has he. ... Yet I see someone else in the pattern of the table<br> +cloth. No, it's an illusion! Any moment now I'll hear my funeral<br> +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<br> +adventurer, a beggar. Impossible!</p> + +<p>LADY. Yes, I know, but. ... No, it would be too much. To bring<br> +shame, disgrace and sorrow to the old people, and to see you<br> +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,<br> +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<br> +presence. We must find another way. If only we were married—and<br> +divorce would be easy, because my former marriage isn't recognised<br> +by the laws of the country in which it was contracted. ... All we<br> +need do is to go away and be married by the same priest ... but<br> +that would be wounding for you!</p> + +<p>STRANGER. It would match the rest! For this honeymoon's becoming a<br> +pilgrimage!</p> + +<p>LADY. You're right! The landlord will be here in five minutes to<br> +turn us out. There's only one way to end such humiliations. Of our<br> +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<br> +I can't overcome the unseen, I can show you how much I can endure. ...<br> +You must pawn your jewellery. I can buy it back when my publisher<br> +gets home, if he's not drowned bathing or killed in a railway<br> +accident. A man as ambitious as I must be ready to sacrifice his<br> +honour first of all.</p> + +<p>LADY. As we're agreed, wouldn't it be better to give up this room?<br> +Oh, God! He's coming now.</p> + +<p>STRANGER. Let's go. We'll run the gauntlet of waiters, maids and<br> +servants. Red with shame and pale with indignation. Animals have<br> +their lairs to hide in, but we are forced to flaunt our shame.<br> +(Pause.) Let down your veil.</p> + +<p>LADY. So this is freedom!</p> + +<p>STRANGER. And I ... am the liberator. (Exeunt.)</p> + +<p> +SCENE IV</p> + +<p>BY THE SEA</p> + +<p>[A hut on a cliff by the sea. Outside it a table with chairs. The<br> +STRANGER and the LADY are dressed in less sombre clothing and look<br> +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<br> +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.<br> +There's something deceptive even the sunshine and the stillness. I<br> +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<br> +done. My husband understands and has written a kind letter.</p> + +<p>STRANGER. What does that matter? Fate spins the web; once more I<br> +hear the mallet fall and the chairs being pushed back from the<br> +table—judgment has been pronounced. Yet that must have happened<br> +before I was born, because even in childhood I began to serve my<br> +sentence. There's no moment in my life on which can look back with<br> +happiness.</p> + +<p>LADY. Unfortunate man! Yet you've had everything you wished from<br> +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<br> +one of the Fates and draw the threads through your fingers. But go<br> +on. The most beautiful of sights is a woman bending over her work,<br> +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<br> +you've fixed your thoughts. The brain must look like that—from<br> +within.</p> + +<p>LADY. If only I thought of half the things you imagine. ... But I<br> +think of nothing.</p> + +<p>STRANGER. Perhaps that's why I feel so contented when I'm with you.<br> +Why, I find you so perfect that I can no longer imagine life<br> +without you! Now the clouds have blown away. Now the sky is clear!<br> +The wind soft—feel how it caresses us! This is Life! Yes, now I<br> +live. And I feel my spirit growing, spreading, becoming tenuous,<br> +infinite. I am everywhere, in the ocean which is my blood, in the<br> +rocks that are my bones, in the trees, in the flowers; and my head<br> +reaches up to the heavens. I can survey the whole universe. I <i>am</i><br> +the universe. And I feel the power of the Creator within me, for I<br> +am He! I wish I could grasp the all in my hand and refashion it<br> +into something more perfect, more lasting, more beautiful. I want<br> +all creation and created beings to be happy, to be born without<br> +pain, live without suffering, and die in quiet content. Eve! Die<br> +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<br> +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<br> +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<br> +of me to say 'at home.' Forgive me.</p> + +<p>STRANGER. You were thinking that Caesar and I resemble one another<br> +in our blasphemies?</p> + +<p>LADY. Of course not.</p> + +<p>STRANGER. Strange. I believe you when you say you don't mean to<br> +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<br> +places?</p> + +<p>LADY. No. I didn't mean that. And now the spirits of suspicion and<br> +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<br> +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<br> +surprise. But now I won't torment you longer. (He takes out a<br> +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'<br> +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<br> +about how much to expect. I'd better look and see. (He opens the<br> +letter.) What? Only an account showing I'm owed nothing! There's<br> +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<br> +at him who so nobly cursed me. ... (He throws up the letter.) With<br> +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<br> +has been thrown down; now you shall see a conflict between two<br> +great opponents. (He opens his coat and waistcoat and looks<br> +threateningly aloft.) Strike me with your lightning if you dare!<br> +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<br> +the cup from my lips; and the woman from my arms? Those who envy<br> +me, be they gods or devils! Little bourgeois gods who parry sword<br> +thrusts with pin-pricks from behind, who won't stand up to their<br> +man, but strike at him with unpaid bills. A backstairs way of<br> +discrediting a master before his servants. They never attack, never<br> +draw, merely soil and decry! Powers, lords and masters! All are the<br> +same!</p> + +<p>LADY. May heaven not punish you.</p> + +<p>STRANGER. Heaven's blue and silent. The ocean's silent and stupid.<br> +Listen, I can hear a poem—that's what I call it when an idea<br> +begins to germinate in my mind. First the rhythm; this time like<br> +the thunder of hooves and the jingle of spurs and accoutrements.<br> +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.<br> +There's no water in the brook, only pebbles. Wait! Now I can hear<br> +them, men and women, saying a rosary. The angels' greeting. Now I<br> +can see—on what you're working—a large kitchen, with white-washed<br> +walls, it has three small latticed windows, with flowers in them.<br> +In the left-hand corner a hearth, on the right a table with wooden<br> +seats. And above the table, in the corner, hangs a crucifix, with a<br> +lamp burning below. The ceiling's of blackened beams, and dried<br> +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<br> +bag, his hands clasped in prayer. A woman, so longer young, kneels<br> +on the floor. Now once more I hear the angels' greeting, as if far<br> +away. But those two in the kitchen are as motionless as figures of<br> +wax. A veil shrouds everything. ... No, that was no poem! (Waking.)<br> +It was something else.</p> + +<p>LADY. It was reality! The kitchen at home, where you've never set<br> +foot. That old man was my grandfather, the forester, and the woman<br> +my mother! They were praying for us! It was six o'clock and the<br> +servants were saying a rosary outside, as they always do.</p> + +<p>STRANGER. You make me uneasy. Is this the beginning of second<br> +sight? Still, it was beautiful. A snow-white room, with flowers<br> +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<br> +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.<br> +I long to.</p> + +<p>STRANGER. To the lion's den, the snake pit? One more or less makes<br> +no matter. I'll do it for you, but not like the Prodigal Son. No,<br> +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<br> +the mountains is too steep for carts to use?</p> + +<p>STRANGER. It sounds extraordinary, but I read or dreamed something<br> +of the kind.</p> + +<p>LADY. You may have. But you'll see nothing that's not natural,<br> +though perhaps unusual, for men and women are a strange race. Are<br> +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<br> +cross simply, timidly and without gestures.)</p> + +<p>LADY. Then come!</p> + +<p> +SCENE V</p> + +<p>ON THE ROAD</p> + +<p>[A landscape with hills; a chapel, right, in the far distance on a<br> +rise. The road, flanked by fruit trees, winds across the<br> +background. Between the trees hills can be seen on which are<br> +crucifixes, chapels and memorials to the victims of accidents. In<br> +the foreground a sign post with the legend, 'Beggars not allowed in<br> +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<br> +hungry, because the money's gone. I never thought that would happen<br> +to me.</p> + +<p>LADY. It seems we must be prepared for anything, for I think we've<br> +fallen into disfavour. My shoe's split, and I could weep at our<br> +having to go like this, looking like beggars.</p> + +<p>STRANGER (pointing to the signpost). And beggars are not allowed in<br> +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<br> +not been back since I was a child. And In those days I found the<br> +way short and the hills lower. The trees, too, were smaller, and I<br> +think I used to hear birds singing.</p> + +<p>STRANGER. Birds sang all the year for you then! Now they only sing<br> +in the spring—and autumn's not far off. But in those days you used<br> +to dance along this endless way of Calvaries, plucking flowers at<br> +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.<br> +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<br> +before I crossed over to this bank, to see what was in the blue of<br> +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,<br> +beyond lies the world. When you've seen enough, come back to your<br> +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<br> +up their travelling capes and go on.)</p> + +<p> +SCENE VI</p> + +<p>IN A RAVINE</p> + +<p>[Entrance to a ravine between steep cliffs covered with pines. In<br> +the foreground a wooden shanty, a broom by the door with a ramshorn<br> +hanging from its handle. Left, a smithy, a red glow showing through<br> +its open door. Right, a flourmill. In the background the road<br> +through the ravine with mill-stream and footbridge. The rock<br> +formations look like giant profiles.]</p> + +<p>[On the rise of the curtain the SMITH is at the smithy door and the<br> +MILLER'S WIFE at the door of the mill. When the LADY enters they<br> +sign to one another and disappear. The clothing of both the LADY<br> +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<br> +disquiet. What's that broom there? And the horn with ointment?<br> +Probably because it's their usual place, but it makes me think of<br> +witchcraft. Why is the smithy black and the mill white? Because<br> +one's sooty and the other covered with flour; yet when I saw the<br> +blacksmith by the light of his forge and the white miller's wife,<br> +it reminded me of an old poem. Look at those giant faces. ...<br> +There's your werewolf from whom I saved you. There he is, in<br> +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<br> +hungry and tired, and is silent when we've eaten and rested. It's<br> +horrible to arrive in rags. Our clothes are torn from climbing<br> +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<br> +unpaid bills and empty purses. Anyhow: here's my last copper. The<br> +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<br> +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<br> +hurries past the smithy after the LADY.)</p> + +<p> +SCENE VII</p> + +<p>IN A KITCHEN</p> + +<p>[A large kitchen with whitewashed walls. Three windows in the<br> +corner, right, so arranged that two are at the back and one in the<br> +right wall. The windows are small and deeply recessed; in the<br> +recesses there are flower pots. The ceiling is beamed and black<br> +with soot. In the left corner a large range with utensils of<br> +copper, iron and tin, and wooden vessels. In the corner, right, a<br> +crucifix with a lamp. Beneath it a four-cornered table with<br> +benches. Bunches of mistletoe on the walls. A door at the back. The<br> +Poorhouse can be seen outside, and through the window at the back<br> +the church. Near the fire bedding for dogs and a table with food<br> +for the poor.]</p> + +<p>[The OLD MAN is sitting at the table beneath the crucifix, with his<br> +hands clasped and a game bag before him. He is a strongly-built man<br> +of over eighty with white hair and along beard, dressed as a<br> +forester. The MOTHER is kneeling on the floor; she is grey-haired<br> +and nearly fifty; her dress is of black-and-white material. The<br> +voices of men, women and children can be clearly heard singing the<br> +last verse of the Angels' Greeting in chorus. 'Holy Mary, Mother of<br> +God, pray for us poor sinners, now and in the hour of death.<br> +Amen.']</p> + +<p>OLD MAN and MOTHER. Amen!</p> + +<p>MOTHER. Now I'll tell you, Father. They saw two vagabonds by the<br> +river. Their clothing was torn and dirty, for they'd been in the<br> +water. And when it came to paying the ferryman, they'd no money.<br> +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<br> +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<br> +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<br> +juventutem meam. Yes. I do feel sad. ... Deus, Deus meus: quare<br> +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.<br> +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<br> +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<br> +is fitting, if not right. Have you ever seen her ashamed, or suffer<br> +from a rebuff? I never have. Yet she's not without shame; on the<br> +contrary. And everything she does, however questionable, seems<br> +natural when she does it.</p> + +<p>OLD MAN. I've always wondered why one could never be angry with<br> +her. She doesn't feel herself responsible, or think an insult's<br> +directed at her. She seems impersonal; or rather two persons, one<br> +who does nothing but ill whilst the other gives absolution. ... But<br> +this man! There's no one I've hated from afar so much as he. He<br> +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<br> +this man's life; and he in hers. Perhaps they're meant to torture<br> +each other into atonement.</p> + +<p>OLD MAN. Perhaps. But I'll have nothing to do with at seems to me<br> +shameful. This man, under my roof! Yet I must accept it, like<br> +everything else. For I've deserved no less.</p> + +<p>MOTHER. Very well then. (The LADY and the STRANGER come in.) You're<br> +welcome.</p> + +<p>LADY. Thank you, Mother. (She looks over to the OLD MAN, who rises<br> +and looks at the STRANGER.) Peace, Grandfather. This is my husband.<br> +Give him your hand.</p> + +<p>OLD MAN. First let me look at him. (He goes to the STRANGER, puts<br> +his hands on his shoulders and looks him in the eyes.) What motives<br> +brought you here?</p> + +<p>STRANGER (simply). None, but to keep my wife company, at her<br> +earnest desire.</p> + +<p>OLD MAN. If that's true, you're welcome! I've a long and stormy<br> +life behind me, and at last I've found a certain peace in solitude.<br> +I beg you not to trouble it.</p> + +<p>STRANGER. I haven't come here to ask favours. I'll take nothing<br> +with me when I go.</p> + +<p>OLD MAN. That's not the answer I wanted; for we all need one<br> +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<br> +such thing; but I wish you strength to bear your destiny. Now I'll<br> +leave you for a little. Your mother will look after you. (He goes<br> +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<br> +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<br> +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<br> +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<br> +no conscience.</p> + +<p>STRANGER. What?</p> + +<p>MOTHER. You think I'm speaking ill of her? I couldn't do that of my<br> +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<br> +change her. ...</p> + +<p>MOTHER. And remake her in your image? (Laughing.) I've been told<br> +that country wizards carve images of their victims, and give them<br> +the names of those they'd bewitch. That was your plan: by means of<br> +this Eve, that you yourself had made, you intended to destroy the<br> +whole Sex!</p> + +<p>STRANGER (looking at the MOTHER in surprise). Those were damnable<br> +words! Forgive me. But you have religious beliefs: how can you<br> +think such things?</p> + +<p>MOTHER. The thoughts were yours.</p> + +<p>STRANGER. This begins to be interesting. I imagined an idyll in the<br> +forest, but this is a witches' cauldron.</p> + +<p>MOTHER. Not quite. You've forgotten, or never knew, that a man<br> +deserted me shamefully, and that you're a man who also shamefully<br> +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 ...<br> +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<br> +deceive me; it won't go well with you. (Pause.) A trifle, but one<br> +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<br> +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<br> +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<br> +figure you cut, if I didn't know it would make you weep, and others<br> +with you. (Pause.) But now you've had your will, hold fast to the<br> +woman who loves you; for if you leave her, you'll never smile<br> +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<br> +things.</p> + +<p>STRANGER. Soon I'll believe anything can happen—this is the worst<br> +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<br> +are. As I went down to the river I heard this: a farmer said his<br> +horse shied at 'him'; another that the dogs got so fierce he'd had<br> +to tie them up. The ferryman swore his boat drew less water when<br> +'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<br> +was closed. An illusion, perhaps.</p> + +<p>MOTHER. Perhaps. But why does one often see such things at the<br> +right time?</p> + +<p>OLD MAN. This man's presence is intolerable. When he looks at me I<br> +can't breathe.</p> + +<p>MOTHER. We must try to get rid of him. I'm certain he won't care to<br> +stay for long.</p> + +<p>OLD MAN. No. He won't grow old here. (Pause.) Listen, I got a<br> +letter to-night warning me about him. Among other things he's<br> +wanted by the courts.</p> + +<p>MOTHER. The courts?</p> + +<p>OLD MAN. Yes. Money matters. But, remember, the laws of hospitality<br> +protect beggars and enemies. Let him stay a few days, till he's got<br> +over this fearful journey. You can see how Providence has laid<br> +hands on him, how his soul is being ground in the mill ready for<br> +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<br> +who held such views.</p> + +<p>MOTHER. No, she's not read it. But now she must.</p> + +<p> +SCENE VIII</p> + +<p>THE 'ROSE' ROOM</p> + +<p>[A simple, pleasantly furnished room in the forester's house. The<br> +walls are colour-washed in red; the curtains are of thin<br> +rose-coloured muslin. In the small latticed windows there are<br> +flowers. On right, a writing-table and bookshelf. Left, a sofa with<br> +rose-coloured curtains above in the form of a baldachino. Tables<br> +and chairs in Old German style. At the back, a door. Outside the<br> +country can be seen and the poorhouse, a dark, unpleasant building<br> +with black, uncurtained windows. Strong sunlight. The LADY is<br> +sitting on the sofa working.]</p> + +<p>MOTHER (standing with a book bound in rose-coloured cloth in her<br> +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<br> +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,<br> +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<br> +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<br> +tell him nothing he doesn't know already. That's why we don't speak<br> +much; but he's glad to have me near him; and so am I to be near<br> +him.</p> + +<p>MOTHER. You've reached calm water already? Then it can't be far to<br> +the mill-race! But don't you think you'd have more to talk of, if<br> +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<br> +something from his masterpiece.</p> + +<p>LADY (hiding the book in her bag). He's coming. If he's spoken of<br> +he seems to feel it from afar.</p> + +<p>MOTHER. If he could only feel how he makes others suffer—from<br> +afar. (Exit left.)</p> + +<p>(The LADY, alone for an instant, looks at the book and seems taken<br> +aback. She hides it in her bag.)</p> + +<p>STRANGER (entering). Your mother was here? You were speaking of me,<br> +of course. I can almost hear her ill-natured words. They cut the<br> +air and darken the sunshine. I can almost divine the impression of<br> +her body in the atmosphere of the room, and she leaves an odour<br> +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,<br> +and plays on them with a horse-hair bow till he sets my teeth on<br> +edge. ... You don't know what that is! There's someone here who's<br> +stronger than I! Someone with a searchlight who shines it at me,<br> +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<br> +country; you'll feel calmer.</p> + +<p>STRANGER. I can't bear that poorhouse. It seems to have been built<br> +there solely for me. And a demented woman always stands there<br> +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<br> +be fattened for the butcher. But I can't eat because they grudge it<br> +me, and I feel the cold rays of their hate. To me it seems there's<br> +an icy wind everywhere, although it's still and hot. And I can hear<br> +that accursèd 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<br> +had an unwelcome letter this morning?</p> + +<p>STRANGER. Yes. The kind that makes your hair rise from the scalp,<br> +so that you want to curse at fate. I'm owed money, but can't get<br> +paid. Now the law's being set in motion against me by ... the<br> +guardians of my children, because I've not paid alimony. No one has<br> +ever been in such a dishonourable position. I'm blameless. I could<br> +pay my way; I want to, but am prevented! Not my fault; yet my<br> +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,<br> +knowing nothing of the laws, customs and usage one inadvertently<br> +breaks? And for which one's punished. Why does one grow into a<br> +youth full of high ambition only to be driven into vile actions one<br> +abhors? Why, why?</p> + +<p>LADY (who has secretly been looking at the book: absent-mindedly).<br> +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<br> +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<br> +hand. I am Caesar, the school-boy, for whose escapade your husband,<br> +the werewolf, was punished. Fate delights in making links for<br> +eternity. A noble sport! (The LADY, uncertain what to do, does not<br> +reply.) Say something!</p> + +<p>LADY. I can't.</p> + +<p>STRANGER. Say that he became a werewolf because, as a child, he<br> +lost his belief in the justice of heaven, owing to the fact that,<br> +though innocent, he was punished for the misdeeds of another. But<br> +if you say so, I shall reply that I suffered ten times as much from<br> +my conscience, and that the spiritual crisis that followed left me<br> +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<br> +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!<br> +You've blown me into the air with my own petard. Why must all our<br> +misdeeds come home to roost—both boyish escapades and really evil<br> +action? It's fair enough to reap evil where one has sown it. But<br> +I've never seen a good action get its reward. Never! It's a<br> +disgrace to Him who records all sins, however black or venial. No<br> +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 ...<br> +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<br> +when the fasts begin.</p> + +<p>STRANGER. I don't remember it. What does it matter—a curse more or<br> +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<br> +from this house. May it recoil upon it! That is my prayer! Now,<br> +according to custom, it would be my duty to shoot myself; but I<br> +can't, so long as I have other duties. You see, I can't even die,<br> +and so I've lost my last treasure—what, with reason, I call my<br> +religion. I've heard that man can wrestle with God, and with<br> +success; but not even job could fight against Satan. (Pause.) Let's<br> +speak of you. ...</p> + +<p>LADY. Not now. Later perhaps. Since I've got to know your terrible<br> +book—I've only glanced at it, only read a few lines here and<br> +there—I feel as if I'd eaten of the tree of knowledge. My eyes are<br> +opened and I know what's good and what's evil, as I've never known<br> +before. And now I see how evil you are, and why I am to be called<br> +Eve. She was a mother and brought sin into the world: it was<br> +another mother who brought expiation. The curse of mankind was<br> +called down on us by the first, a blessing by the second. In me you<br> +shall not destroy my whole sex. Perhaps I have a different mission<br> +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<br> +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<br> +sinks to her knees). No! He won't come back!</p> + +<p>Curtain.</p> + +<p> +SCENE IX</p> + +<p>CONVENT</p> + +<p>[The refectory of an ancient convent, resembling a simple<br> +whitewashed Romanesque church. There are damp patches on the walls,<br> +looking like strange figures. A long table with bowls; at the end a<br> +desk for the Lector. At the back a door leading to the chapel.<br> +There are lighted candles on the tables. On the wall, left, a<br> +painting representing the Archangel Michael killing the Fiend.]</p> + +<p>[The STRANGER is sitting left, at a refectory table, dressed in the<br> +white clothing of a patient, with a bowl before him. At the table,<br> +right, are sitting: the brown-clad mourners of Scene I. The BEGGAR.<br> +A woman in mourning with two children. A woman who resembles the<br> +Lady, but who is not her and who is crocheting instead of eating. A<br> +Man very like the Doctor, another like the Madman. Others like the<br> +Father, Mother, Brother. Parents of the 'Prodigal Son,' etc. All<br> +are dressed in white, but over this are wearing costumes of<br> +coloured crêpe. Their faces are waxen and corpse-like, their whole<br> +appearance queer, their gestures strange. On the rise of the<br> +curtain all are finishing a Paternoster, except the STRANGER.]</p> + +<p>STRANGER (rising and going to the ABBESS, who is standing at a<br> +serving table). Mother. May I speak to you?</p> + +<p>ABBESS (in a black-and-white Augustinian habit). Yes, my son. (They<br> +come forward.)</p> + +<p>STRANGER. First, where am I?</p> + +<p>ABBESS. In a convent called 'St. Saviour.' You were found on the<br> +hills above the ravine, with a cross you'd broken from a calvary<br> +and with which you were threatening someone in the clouds. Indeed,<br> +you thought you could see him. You were feverish and had lost your<br> +foothold. You were picked up, unhurt, beneath a cliff, but in<br> +delirium. You were brought to the hospital and put to bed. Since<br> +then you've spoken wildly, and complained of a pain in your hip,<br> +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<br> +with all kinds of things, and thought you could see your victims,<br> +as you called them.</p> + +<p>STRANGER. And then?</p> + +<p>ABBESS. Your thoughts often turned to money matters. You wanted to<br> +pay for yourself in the hospital. I tried to calm you by telling<br> +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<br> +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<br> +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<br> +they look strange to you, because you're still feverish. Or there<br> +may be another reason.</p> + +<p>STRANGER. I seem to know them, all of them! I see them as if in a<br> +mirror: they only make as if they were eating. ... Is this some<br> +drama they're performing? Those look like my parents, rather like ...<br> +(Pause.) Hitherto I've feared nothing, because life was useless to<br> +me. ... Now I begin to be afraid.</p> + +<p>ABBESS. If you don't believe them real, I'll ask the Confessor to<br> +introduce you. (She signs to the CONFESSOR who approaches.)</p> + +<p>CONFESSOR (dressed in a black-and-white habit of Dominicans).<br> +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<br> +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<br> +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<br> +yourself—things so hateful you'd have had to undergo strict<br> +penitence before demanding absolution. Now you're yourself again I<br> +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<br> +whose company you are! The very best. There, for instance, is a<br> +madman, Caesar, who lost his wits through reading the works of a<br> +certain writer whose notoriety is greater than his fame. There's a<br> +beggar, who won't admit he's a beggar, because he's learnt Latin<br> +and is free. There, a doctor, called the werewolf, whose history's<br> +well known. There, two parents, who grieved themselves to death<br> +over a son who raised his hand against theirs. He must be<br> +responsible for refusing to follow his father's bier and<br> +desecrating his mother's grave. There's his unhappy sister, whom he<br> +drove out into the snow, as he himself recounts, with the best<br> +intentions. Over there's a woman who's been abandoned with her two<br> +children, and there's another doing crochet work. ... All are old<br> +acquaintances. Go and greet them!</p> + +<p>(The STRANGER has turned his back on the company: he now goes to<br> +the table, left, and sits down with his back to them. He raises his<br> +head, sees the picture of the Archangel Michael and lowers his<br> +eyes. The CONFESSOR stands behind the STRANGER. A Catholic Requiem<br> +can be heard from the chapel. The CONFESSOR speaks to the STRANGER<br> +in a low voice while the music goes on.)</p> + +<p> Quantus tremor est futurus<br> + Quando judex est venturus<br> + Cuncta stricte discussurus,<br> + Tuba mirum spargens sonum<br> + Per sepulchra regionum<br> + Coget omnes ante thronum.<br> + Mors stupebit et natura,<br> + Cum resurget creatura<br> + Judicanti responsura<br> + Liber scriptus proferetur<br> + In quo totum continetur<br> + Unde mundus judicetur.<br> + Judex ergo cum sedebit<br> + Quidquid latet apparebit<br> + Nil inultum remanebit.</p> + +<p>(He goes to the desk by the table, right, and opens his breviary.<br> +The music ceases.)</p> + +<p>We will continue the reading. ... 'But if thou wilt not hearken<br> +unto the voice of the Lord thy God all these curses shall overtake<br> +thee. Cursèd shalt thou be in the city, and cursèd shalt thou be in<br> +the field; cursèd shalt thou be when thou comest in, and cursèd<br> +when thou goest out.'</p> + +<p>OMNES (in a low voice). Cursèd!</p> + +<p>CONFESSOR. 'The Lord shall send upon thee vexation and rebuke in<br> +all that thou settest thy hand for to do, until thou be destroyed,<br> +and until thou perish quickly, because of the wickedness of thy<br> +doings, whereby thou hast forsaken me.'</p> + +<p>OMNES (loudly). Cursèd!</p> + +<p>CONFESSOR. 'The Lord shall cause thee to be smitten before thine<br> +enemies: thou shalt go out one way against them, and flee seven<br> +ways before them, and shalt be moved into all the kingdoms of the<br> +earth. And thy carcase shall be meat unto all fowls of the air, and<br> +unto the beasts of the earth, and no man shall fray them away. The<br> +Lord will smite thee with the botch of Egypt, the scab and the<br> +itch, with madness and blindness, that thou shalt grope at noonday,<br> +as the blind gropeth in darkness. Thou shalt not prosper in thy<br> +ways, and thou shalt be only oppressed and spoiled evermore, and no<br> +man shall save thee. Thou shalt betroth a wife, and another man<br> +shall lie with her: thou shalt build an house, and thou shalt not<br> +dwell therein: thou shalt plant a vineyard, and shalt not gather<br> +the grapes thereof. Thy sons and thy daughters shall be given unto<br> +another people, and thine eyes fail with longing for them; and<br> +there shall be no might in thy hand. And thou shalt find no ease on<br> +earth, neither shall the sole of thy foot have rest: the Lord shall<br> +give thee a trembling heart, and failing of eyes and sorrow of<br> +mind. And thy life shall hang in doubt before thee; and thou shalt<br> +fear day and night. In the morning thou shalt say, would God it<br> +were even! And at even thou shalt say, would God it were morning!<br> +And because thou servedst not the Lord thy God when thou livedst in<br> +security, thou shalt serve him in hunger, in thirst, in nakedness<br> +and in want; and He shall put a yoke of iron upon thy neck, until<br> +He have destroyed thee!'</p> + +<p>OMNES. Amen!</p> + +<p>(The CONFESSOR has read the above loudly and rapidly, without<br> +turning to the STRANGER. All those present, except the LADY, who is<br> +working, have been listening and have joined in the curse, though<br> +they have feigned not to notice the STRANGER, who has remained with<br> +his back to them, sunk in himself. The STRANGER now rises as if to<br> +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.<br> +Are they temptations to be resisted, or warnings to be obeyed?<br> +(Pause.) Anyhow I'm certain now that I have fever. I must go to a<br> +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<br> +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<br> +a certain running stream.</p> + +<p>STRANGER. That's the truth! In a 'rose' room. Wait; how long have I<br> +been here?</p> + +<p>ABBESS. Three months to-day.</p> + +<p>STRANGER. Three months! Have I been sleeping? Or where have I been?<br> +(Looking out of the window.) It's autumn. The trees are bare; the<br> +clouds look cold. Now it's coming back to me! Can you hear a mill<br> +grinding? The sound of a horn? The rushing of a river? A wood<br> +whispering—and a woman weeping? You're right. Only there can<br> +charity be found. Farewell. (Exit.)</p> + +<p>CONFESSOR (to the Abbess). The fool! The fool!</p> + +<p>Curtain.</p> + +<p> +SCENE X</p> + +<p>THE 'ROSE' ROOM</p> + +<p>[The curtains have been taken down. The windows gape into the<br> +darkness outside. The furniture has been covered in brown<br> +loose-covers and pulled forward. The flowers have been taken away,<br> +and the large black stove lit. The MOTHER is standing ironing white<br> +curtains by the light of a single lamp. There is a knock at the<br> +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<br> +you been?</p> + +<p>STRANGER. Whether in a poorhouse, a madhouse or a hospital, I don't<br> +know. I should like to think it all a feverish dream. I've been<br> +ill: I lost my memory and can't believe three months have passed.<br> +But where's my wife?</p> + +<p>MOTHER. I ought to ask you that. When you deserted her, she went<br> +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<br> +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<br> +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<br> +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<br> +pulling a cord that ran through two blocks. Every time they pulled<br> +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<br> +life unroll before me like a panorama, through childhood, youth. ...<br> +And when the roll was finished it began again. All the time I heard<br> +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<br> +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<br> +that would seem to me like boasting. It would imply a certainty<br> +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,<br> +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<br> +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<br> +daren't die; for I'm no longer sure my miseries will end, with <i>my</i><br> +end.</p> + +<p>MOTHER. Oh!</p> + +<p>STRANGER. Even worse: I've grown so to loathe myself that I'd<br> +escape from myself, if I knew how. If I were a Christian, I<br> +couldn't obey the first commandment, to love my neighbour as<br> +myself, for I should have to hate him as I hate myself. It's true<br> +that I'm a scamp. I've always suspected it; and because I never<br> +wanted life to fool me, I've observed 'others' carefully. When I<br> +saw they were no better than I, I resented their trying to browbeat<br> +me.</p> + +<p>MOTHER. You've been wrong to think it a matter between you and<br> +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<br> +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.<br> +It's true an unpaid bill can make me tremble; but if I were to<br> +climb Mount Sinai and face the Eternal One, I should not cover my<br> +face.</p> + +<p>MOTHER. Jesus and Mary! Don't say such things. You'll make me think<br> +you're a child of the Devil.</p> + +<p>STRANGER. Here that seems the general opinion. But I've heard that<br> +those who serve the Evil One get honours, goods and gold as their<br> +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<br> +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<br> +it, or not.</p> + +<p>STRANGER. You're sure there are no rats in the attic? I don't fear<br> +ghosts, but rats aren't pleasant.</p> + +<p>MOTHER. I'm glad you don't fear ghosts, for no one's slept a whole<br> +night there ... whatever the cause may be.</p> + +<p>STRANGER (after a moment's hesitation). Never have I met a more<br> +wicked woman than you. The reason is: you have religion.</p> + +<p>MOTHER. Good-night!</p> + +<p>Curtain.</p> + +<p> +SCENE XI</p> + +<p>IN THE KITCHEN</p> + +<p>[It is dark, but the moon outside throws moving shadows of the<br> +window lattices on to the floor, as the storm clouds race by. In<br> +the corner, right, under the crucifix, where the OLD MAN used to<br> +sit, a hunting horn, a gun and a game bag hang on the wall. On the<br> +table a stuffed bird of prey. As the windows are open the curtains<br> +are flapping in the wind; and kitchen cloths, aprons and towels,<br> +that are hung on a line by the hearth, move in the wind, whose<br> +sighing can be heard. In the distance the noise of a waterfall.<br> +There is an occasional tapping on the wooden floor.]</p> + +<p>STRANGER (entering, half-dressed, a lamp in his hand). Is anyone<br> +here? No. (He comes forward with a light, which makes the play of<br> +shadow less marked.) What's moving on the floor? Is anyone here?<br> +(He goes to the table, sees the stuffed bird and stands riveted to<br> +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<br> +snakes?</p> + +<p>MOTHER. Moonbeams.</p> + +<p>STRANGER. Yes. Moonbeams. That's a stuffed bird. And those are<br> +cloths. Everything's natural; that's what makes me uneasy. Who was<br> +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<br> +night; you must forgive me. It's because of that I need religion;<br> +just as I need the penitential garment and the stone floor. To<br> +spare you, I'll tell you what nightmares are to me. My bad<br> +conscience! Whether I punish myself or another punishes me, I don't<br> +know. I don't permit myself to ask. (Pause.) Now tell me what you<br> +saw in your room.</p> + +<p>STRANGER. I hardly know. Nothing. When I went in I felt as if<br> +someone were there. Then I went to bed. But someone started pacing<br> +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<br> +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<br> +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<br> +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<br> +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<br> +no one gave me the right. Accursèd be He who forced me! (Putting<br> +his hand to his heart.) Ah! He's here, in this room. He's plucking<br> +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<br> +before Him who was crucified! Only He can wipe out what's been<br> +done.</p> + +<p>STRANGER. Not before Him! If I were forced, I'll recant ...<br> +afterwards.</p> + +<p>MOTHER. On your knees, my son!</p> + +<p>STRANGER. I cannot bow the knee. I cannot. Help me, God Eternal.<br> +(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<br> +Damascus. Go back the same way you came. Erect a cross at every<br> +station, and stay at the seventh. For you, there are not fourteen,<br> +as for Him.</p> + +<p>STRANGER. You speak in riddles.</p> + +<p>MOTHER. Then go your way. Search out those to whom you have<br> +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<br> +you named the werewolf.</p> + +<p>STRANGER. Never!</p> + +<p>MOTHER. You'd have said that, as you came here. As you know, I<br> +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<br> +Ingeborg. Go and search for her. If you find her, well and good. If<br> +not, perhaps that too has been ordained. (Pause.) Dawn's now at<br> +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<br> +morning star—how far from heaven have you fallen!</p> + +<p>STRANGER (after a pause). Have you noticed that, before the sun<br> +rises, a feeling of awe takes hold of mankind? Are we children of<br> +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> + +<p> +SCENE XII</p> + +<p>IN THE RAVINE</p> + +<p>[The same landscape as before, but in autumn colouring. The trees<br> +have lost their leaves. Work is going on at the smithy and the<br> +mill. The SMITH stands, left, in the doorway; the MILLER'S wife,<br> +right. The LADY dressed in a jacket with a hat of patent leather;<br> +but she is in mourning. The STRANGER is in Bavarian alpine kit:<br> +short jacket of rough material, knickers, heavy boots and<br> +alpenstock, green hat with heath-cock feather. Over this he wears a<br> +brown cloak with a cape and hood.]</p> + +<p>LADY (entering tired and dispirited). Did a man pass here in a long<br> +cloak, with a green hat? (The SMITH and the MILLER'S WIFE shake<br> +their heads.) Can I lodge here for the night? (The SMITH and the<br> +MILLER'S WIFE again shake their heads: to the SMITH.) May I stand<br> +in the doorway for a moment and warm myself? (The SMITH pushes her<br> +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<br> +brook? (The SMITH and MILLER'S WIFE shake their heads.) Will you<br> +give me some bread? I'll pay for it. (The MILLER'S WIFE refuses the<br> +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,<br> +at length, ECHO replies.)</p> + +<p>STRANGER. Good! An eye for an eye—a tooth for a tooth. It helps to<br> +lighten my conscience! (He enters the ravine.)</p> + +<p> +SCENE XIII</p> + +<p>ON THE ROAD</p> + +<p>[The same landscape as before; but autumn. The BEGGAR is sitting<br> +outside a chapel with a lime twig and a bird cage, in which is a<br> +starling. The STRANGER enters wearing the same clothes as in the<br> +preceding scene.]</p> + +<p>STRANGER. Beggar! Have you seen a lady in a coat and skirt pass<br> +this way?</p> + +<p>BEGGAR. I've seen five hundred. But, seriously, I must ask you not<br> +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<br> +but pure ... nonsense.</p> + +<p>STRANGER. Is that the final conclusion of your whole philosophy of<br> +life?</p> + +<p>BEGGAR. My complete metaphysic. The view mad be rather out of date,<br> +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<br> +up. Do you think I'm always so merry? Only when I meet you: you're<br> +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<br> +adversity, not even that of others, you're begging of life itself.<br> +Listen! If you follow this wheel track you'll come, at last, to the<br> +ocean, and there the path will stop. If you sit down there and<br> +rest, you'll begin to take another view of things. Here there are<br> +so many accidents, religious themes, disagreeable memories that<br> +hinder thought as it flies to the 'rose' room. Only follow the<br> +track! If it's muddy here and there, spread your wings and flutter.<br> +And talking of fluttering: I once heard a bird that sang of<br> +Polycrates and his ring; how he'd become possessed of all the<br> +marvels of this world, but didn't know what to do with them. So he<br> +sent tidings east and west of the great Nothing he'd helped to<br> +fashion from the empty universe. I wouldn't assert you were the<br> +man, unless I believed it so firmly I could take my oath on it.<br> +Once I asked you whether you knew who I was, and you said it didn't<br> +interest you. In return I offered you my friendship, but you<br> +refused it rudely. However, I'm not sensitive or resentful, so I'll<br> +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<br> +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,<br> +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<br> +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<br> +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<br> +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<br> +impression of a boot, firmly planted. ...</p> + +<p>LADY (looking at the impression). It's he! His heavy tread. ... Can<br> +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> + +<p> +SCENE XIV</p> + +<p>BY THE SEA</p> + +<p>[The same landscape as before, but now winter. The sea is dark<br> +blue, and on the horizon great clouds take on the shapes of huge<br> +heads. In the distance three bare masts of a wrecked ship, that<br> +look like three white crosses. The table and seat are still under<br> +the tree, but the chairs have been removed. There is snow on the<br> +ground. From time to time a bell-buoy can be heard. The STRANGER<br> +comes in from the left, stops a moment and looks out to sea, then<br> +goes out, right, behind the cottage. The LADY enters, left, and<br> +appears to be following the STRANGER'S footsteps on the snow; she<br> +exits in front of the cottage, right. The STRANGER re-enters,<br> +right, notices the footprints of the LADY, pauses, and looks back,<br> +right. The LADY re-enters, throws herself into his arms, but<br> +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<br> +wander over stones and thistles. And when our hands and feet are<br> +bruised, we feel we must rub salt in the wounds of the ... other<br> +one. And then the mill starts grinding. It'll never stop; for<br> +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<br> +should lacerate each other I'll gash myself as a sacrifice to the<br> +gods. I'll take the blame upon me; declare it was I who taught you<br> +to break your chains. I who tempted you! Then you can lay all the<br> +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<br> +all the sin and sorrow, all the filth and shame of the whole world.<br> +There are moments when I believe we are condemned to sin and do bad<br> +actions as a punishment! (Pause.) Not long ago I lay sick of a<br> +fever, and amidst all that happened to me, I dreamed that I saw a<br> +crucifix without the Crucified. And when I asked the Dominican—for<br> +there was a Dominican among many others—what it could mean, he<br> +said: 'You will not allow Him to suffer for you. Suffer then<br> +yourself!' That's why mankind have grown so conscious of their own<br> +sufferings.</p> + +<p>LADY. And why consciences grow so heavy, if there's no one to help<br> +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<br> +beggar—perhaps you remember him: he was thought to be like me. And<br> +he begged me, as an experiment, to believe his good intentions. I<br> +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<br> +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<br> +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> + +<p> +SCENE XV</p> + +<p>ROOM IN AN HOTEL</p> + +<p>[The room is as before. The LADY is sitting by the side of the<br> +STRANGER, crocheting.]</p> + +<p>LADY. Do say something.</p> + +<p>STRANGER. I've nothing but unpleasant things to say, since we came<br> +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<br> +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<br> +anything beautiful. During the day I hear the mill and see that<br> +great panorama now expanding to embrace the universe. ... And, at<br> +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<br> +I must describe it, and to no one else but you. Yet I daren't tell<br> +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<br> +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<br> +children. (Getting up.) I put my hands to his throat. ... I can't<br> +go on. ... But I shall never rest till I know the truth. And to<br> +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<br> +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<br> +must risk it. I want to risk everything—life, freedom, welfare. I<br> +need an emotional shock, strong enough to bring myself into the<br> +light of day. I demand this torture, that my punishment may be in<br> +just proportion to my sin, so that I shall not be forced to drag<br> +myself along under the burden of my guilt. So down into the snake<br> +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<br> +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<br> +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> + +<p> +SCENE XVI</p> + +<p>THE DOCTOR'S HOUSE</p> + +<p>[The scene is more or less as before. But half the wood-pile has<br> +been taken away. On a seat near the verandah surgical instruments,<br> +knives, saws, forceps, etc. The DOCTOR is engaged in cleaning<br> +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<br> +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<br> +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<br> +me.</p> + +<p>SISTER. You can trust me. I'll tell him everything your kindness<br> +forbids you to say.</p> + +<p>DOCTOR. Enough of my kindness! Make haste, or I'll get impatient.<br> +Shut the doors. (His SISTER goes out.) What are you doing at that<br> +dustbin, Caesar? (CAESAR comes in.) Listen, Caesar, if your enemy<br> +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<br> +a shame.</p> + +<p>DOCTOR. I think so, too; it's more cruel and more cunning. (Pause.)<br> +Isn't it better to take some revenge? It heartens the other person,<br> +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<br> +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<br> +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<br> +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<br> +a doctor?</p> + +<p>STRANGER. I've been lying ill in an ... institution. I was<br> +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<br> +delirious?</p> + +<p>DOCTOR. If you're mad; not otherwise. (The STRANGER lets up, but<br> +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<br> +so, too, and calls.) Sister! Shut the front door. And the gate<br> +leading to the road. (To the STRANGER.) Won't you sit down? I have<br> +to keep the doors here locked. There are so many tramps.</p> + +<p>STRANGER (calms himself). Be frank with me: do you think me ...<br> +insane?</p> + +<p>DOCTOR. No one ever gets a frank answer to that question, as you<br> +know. And no one who suffers in that way ever believes what he's<br> +told. So my opinion must be a matter of indifference to you.<br> +(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<br> +wedding here!</p> + +<p>STRANGER. I dreamed it!</p> + +<p>DOCTOR. It may ease your mind to know that I've consoled myself, as<br> +it's called. You may be pleased, it would be natural ... but I see,<br> +on the contrary, it makes you suffer more. There must be a reason.<br> +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<br> +of you. If there were a hell, you should be hell's overseer, for<br> +your skill in finding means of punishment exceeds my wildest<br> +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<br> +by an unforgiveable action you cheated me of my good name. But when<br> +I grew older and wiser I saw that, although the punishment wasn't<br> +earned, I deserved it for other things that had never been<br> +discovered. Besides, you were a boy with enough conscience to be<br> +able to punish yourself. So you need worry no more about the whole<br> +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<br> +about to ask a question.) Did you think I'd shut you up? Or cut you<br> +in pieces with those instruments? Kill you? 'Perhaps such poor<br> +devils ought to be put out of their misery!' (The STRANGER looks at<br> +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<br> +lack the strength to forgive yourself? (Pause.) Some things can<br> +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<br> +no shame in losing such a fight. I did the same; but, as you see,<br> +I've got rid of my woodpile. I want no thunder in my home. And I<br> +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> + +<p> +SCENE XVII</p> + +<p>A STREET CORNER</p> + +<p>[The same as Scene I. The STRANGER is sitting on the seat beneath<br> +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<br> +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,<br> +the church and the post office. By the way ... isn't there a<br> +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<br> +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<br> +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<br> +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<br> +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<br> +and light a candle to my good Saint Elizabeth. Come. (The STRANGER<br> +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> + +<p>THE END.</p> + +<br><br> + +<a name="p2"></a><br><br> + +<h2>PART II</h2> + +<p> +<br> +CHARACTERS</p> + +<p>THE STRANGER<br> +THE LADY<br> +THE MOTHER<br> +THE FATHER<br> +THE CONFESSOR<br> +THE DOCTOR<br> +CAESAR</p> + +<p>less important figures<br> +MAID<br> +PROFESSOR<br> +RAGGED PERSON<br> +ANOTHER RAGGED PERSON<br> +FIRST WOMAN<br> +SECOND WOMAN<br> +WAITRESS<br> +POLICEMAN</p> + +<p> +SCENES</p> + +<p>ACT I Outside the House</p> + +<p>ACT II SCENE I Laboratory<br> + SCENE II The 'Rose' Room</p> + +<p>ACT III SCENE I The Banqueting Hall<br> + SCENE II A Prison Cell<br> + SCENE III The 'Rose' Room</p> + +<p>ACT IV SCENE I The Banqueting Hall<br> + SCENE II In a Ravine<br> + SCENE III The 'Rose' Room</p> + +<p> +ACT I</p> + +<p>OUTSIDE THE HOUSE</p> + +<p>[On the right a terrace, on which the house stands. Below it a road<br> +runs towards the back, where there is a thick pine wood with<br> +heights beyond, whose outlines intersect. On the left there is a<br> +suggestion of a river bank, but the river itself cannot be seen.<br> +The house is white and has small, mullioned windows with iron bars.<br> +On the wall vines and climbing roses. In front of the house, on the<br> +terrace, a well; at the end of the terrace pumpkin plants, whose<br> +large yellow flowers hang dozen over the edge. Fruit trees are<br> +planted along the road, and a memorial cross can be seen erected at<br> +a spot where an accident occurred. Steps lead down from the terrace<br> +to the road, and there are flower-pots on the balustrade. In front<br> +of the steps there is a seat. The road reaches the foreground from<br> +the right, curving past the terrace, which projects like a<br> +promontory, and then loses itself in the background. Strong<br> +sunlight from the left. The MOTHER is sitting on the seat below the<br> +steps. The DOMINICAN is standing in front of her.]</p> + +<p>DOMINICAN [Note: The same character as the CONFESSOR and BEGGAR.].<br> +You called me to discuss a family matter of importance to you. Tell<br> +me what it is.</p> + +<p>MOTHER. Father, life has treated me hardly. I don't know what I've<br> +done to be so frowned upon by Providence.</p> + +<p>DOMINICAN. It's a mark of favour to be tried by the Eternal One,<br> +and triumph awaits the steadfast.</p> + +<p>MOTHER. That's what I've often said to myself; but there are limits<br> +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<br> +bare knees!</p> + +<p>MOTHER. And as you know, Father, my only daughter was married to a<br> +doctor. But she left him and came home with a stranger, whom she<br> +presented to me as her new husband.</p> + +<p>DOMINICAN. That's not easy to understand. Divorce isn't recognised<br> +by our religion.</p> + +<p>MOTHER. No. But they'd crossed the frontier, to a land where there<br> +are other laws. He's an Old Catholic, and he found a priest to<br> +marry them.</p> + +<p>DOMINICAN. That's no real marriage, and can't be dissolved because<br> +it never existed. But it can be nullified. Who is your present<br> +son-in-law?</p> + +<p>MOTHER. Truly, I wish I knew! One thing I do know, and that's<br> +enough to fill my cup of sorrow. He's been divorced and his wife<br> +and children live in wretched circumstances.</p> + +<p>DOMINICAN. A difficult case. But we'll find a way to put it right.<br> +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<br> +he's not known a happy hour. Fate, as he calls it, seized him with<br> +an iron hand and drove him here in the shape of a ragged beggar.<br> +Ill-fortune struck him blow after blow, so that I pitied him at the<br> +very moment he fled from here. Then he wandered in the woods and,<br> +later, lay out in the fields where he fell, till he was found by<br> +merciful folk and taken to a convent. There he lay ill for three<br> +months, without our knowing where he was.</p> + +<p>DOMINICAN. Wait! Last year a man was brought to the Convent of St.<br> +Saviour, where I'm Confessor, under the circumstances you describe.<br> +Whilst he was feverish he opened his heart to me, and there was<br> +scarcely a sin of which he didn't confess his guilt. But when he<br> +came to himself again, he said he remembered nothing. So to prove<br> +him in heart and reins I used the secret apostolic powers that are<br> +given us; and, as a trial, employed the lesser curse. For when a<br> +crime's been done in secret, the curse of Deuteronomy is read over<br> +the suspected man. If he's innocent, he goes his way unscathed. But<br> +if he's struck by it, then, as Paul relates, 'he is delivered unto<br> +Satan for the destruction of the flesh, that his spirit may be<br> +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<br> +are inscrutable. Was he heavily struck by the curse?</p> + +<p>MOTHER. Yes. That night he slept here, and was torn from his sleep<br> +by an unexplained power that, as he told me, turned his heart to<br> +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<br> +Job says, 'When I say, my bed shall comfort me, then Thou scarest<br> +me with dreams and terrifiest me with visions; so that my soul<br> +chooseth strangling, and death rather than life.' That's as it<br> +should be. Did it open his eyes?</p> + +<p>MOTHER. Yes. But only so that his sight was blinded. For his<br> +sufferings grew so great that he could no longer find a natural<br> +explanation for them, and as no doctor could cure him, he began to<br> +see that he was fighting higher conscious powers.</p> + +<p>DOMINICAN. Powers that meant him ill, and were therefore themselves<br> +evil. That's the usual course of things. And then?</p> + +<p>MOTHER. He came upon books that taught him that such evil powers<br> +could be fought.</p> + +<p>DOMINICAN. Oh! So he looked for what's hidden, and should remain<br> +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<br> +truly accepted the love of truth, God will trouble him with great<br> +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<br> +days she was neither hot nor cold; but now she's on the way to<br> +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<br> +another like devils.</p> + +<p>DOMINICAN. That's the way they must go. Plague one another till<br> +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<br> +back. It seems as if they're chained together. It would be a good<br> +thing if they were, for a child's on the way.</p> + +<p>DOMINICAN. Let the child come. Children bring gifts that are<br> +refreshing to tired souls.</p> + +<p>MOTHER. I hope it may be so. But it looks as if this one will be an<br> +apple of discord. They're already quarrelling over its name;<br> +they're quarrelling over its baptism; and the mother's already<br> +jealous of her husband's children by his first wife. He can't<br> +promise to love this child as much as the others, and the mother<br> +absolutely insists that he shall! So there's no end to their<br> +miseries.</p> + +<p>DOMINICAN. Oh yes, there is. Wait! He's had dealings with higher<br> +powers, so that we've gained a hold on him; and our prayers will be<br> +more, powerful than his resistance. Their effect is as extraordinary<br> +as it is mysterious. (The STRANGER appears on the terrace. He is<br> +in hunting costume and wears a tropical helmet. In his hand he has<br> +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.<br> +He hasn't seen me yet, but he feels I'm here. (He makes the sign of<br> +the cross in the air.) Look how troubled he grows. ... Now he<br> +stiffens like an icicle. See! In a moment he'll cry out.</p> + +<p>STRANGER (who has suddenly stopped, grown rigid, and clutched his<br> +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;<br> +but fall like a felled tree. (The STRANGER crumples up and falls to<br> +the ground.) Now I shall go. It would be too much for him if he<br> +were to see me, But I'll come back soon. You'll see, he's in good<br> +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<br> +fresh. Sit down here, on the seat.</p> + +<p>STRANGER. No; I don't like sitting there. People are always<br> +passing.</p> + +<p>MOTHER. Yet I've been sitting here since I was a child, watching<br> +life glide past as the river does below. Here, on the road, I've<br> +watched the children of men go by, playing, haggling, begging,<br> +cursing and dancing. I love this seat and I love the river below,<br> +though it does much damage every year and washes away the property<br> +we inherited. Last spring it carried our whole hay crop off, so<br> +that we had to sell our beasts. The property's lost half its value<br> +in the last few years, and when the lake in the mountains has<br> +reached its new level and the swamp's been drained into the river,<br> +the water will rise till it washes the house away. We've been at<br> +law about it for ten years, and we've lost every appeal; so we<br> +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<br> +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<br> +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<br> +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<br> +talent for making me suffer excels my most infernal inventions; and<br> +if I escape from her hands with my life, I'll come out of the fire<br> +as pure as gold.</p> + +<p>MOTHER. You've got what you deserve. You wanted to mould her as you<br> +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<br> +goes towards the back.)</p> + +<p>MOTHER. So you can still joke about it? Wait! (The MOTHER is left<br> +alone for a moment, until the STRANGER has disappeared. The LADY<br> +then enters from the right. She is wearing a summer frock, and is<br> +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<br> +life to. And I want to suppress everything that might minister to<br> +his pride. In a word, I isolate him, so that he has to keep his own<br> +electricity and run the danger of being broken to pieces.</p> + +<p>MOTHER. How learnèd you've grown?</p> + +<p>LADY. Yes. If he's unwise enough to confide almost everything to<br> +me, I'll soon hold his fate in my hand. Now, if you please, he's<br> +making electrical experiments and claims he'll be able to harness<br> +the lightning, so that it'll give him light, warmth and power.<br> +Well, let him do as he likes! From a letter that came to-day I see<br> +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<br> +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<br> +gone wrong; he's grown melancholic, abandoned his practice and is<br> +tramping the roads.</p> + +<p>MOTHER. Oh! He was always my son-in-law. He had a kind heart under<br> +his rough manner.</p> + +<p>LADY. Yes. I only called him a werewolf in his rôle as my husband<br> +and master. As long as I knew he was at peace, and on the way to<br> +find consolation, Ì was content. But now he'll torment me like a<br> +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<br> +I read my husband's works, and I know the difference between good<br> +and evil.</p> + +<p>MOTHER. But he forbade you to read them, and never foresaw you<br> +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<br> +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<br> +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<br> +that an educated man of the world at the end of the nineteenth<br> +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<br> +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<br> +picture. Tell me, do you think my child will be as beautiful? Well,<br> +what do you say? Answer, or I'll be unhappy! I love this boy<br> +already, but I feel I'd hate him if my child's not as lovely as he.<br> +Yes, I'm jealous already.</p> + +<p>MOTHER. When you came here after your unlucky honeymoon, I'd hoped<br> +you'd have got over the worst. But now I see it was only a<br> +foretaste of what was to come.</p> + +<p>LADY. I'm ready for anything; and I don't think this knot can ever<br> +be undone. It must be cut!</p> + +<p>MOTHER. But you're only making more difficulties for yourself by<br> +suppressing his letters.</p> + +<p>LADY. In days gone by, when I went through life like a sleep-walker,<br> +everything seemed easy to me, but I begin to be uncertain now he's<br> +started to waken thoughts in me. (She puts the letters into the<br> +post-bag.) Here he is. 'Sh!</p> + +<p>MOTHER. One thing more. Why do you let him wear that suit of your<br> +first husband's?</p> + +<p>LADY. I like torturing and humiliating him. I've persuaded him it<br> +fits him and belonged to my father. Now, when I see him in the<br> +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<br> +whilst we're asleep at night. If it were to flow here for a<br> +thousand years perhaps it would wash out the sin on which this<br> +house is built.</p> + +<p>LADY. Then it's true that my grandfather, the notary, illegally<br> +seized property not his own? It's said this place was built with<br> +the heritage of widows and orphans, the funds of ruined men, the<br> +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<br> +have run together and formed a lake. And it's that lake, people<br> +say, that's being drained now, and that'll cause the river to wash<br> +us away.</p> + +<p>LADY. Can't it be stopped by taking legal action? Is there no<br> +justice on earth?</p> + +<p>MOTHER. Not on earth. But there is in heaven. And heaven will drown<br> +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<br> +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<br> +you.</p> + +<p>STRANGER. I felt you meddling with my destiny in a way that made me<br> +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<br> +am Cain, you see, and am under the ban of mysterious powers, who<br> +permit no mortals to interfere with their work of vengeance. You<br> +see this mark on my brow? (He removes his hat.) It means: Revenge<br> +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<br> +that I wanted to please you, I'd have thrown them all into the<br> +river. When I walk here in the neighbourhood, do you know that<br> +people call me the doctor? They must take me for your husband, the<br> +werewolf. And I'm unlucky. If I ask who planted some tree: they<br> +say, the doctor. If I ask to whom the green fish basket belongs:<br> +they say, the doctor. And if it isn't his then it belongs to the<br> +doctor's wife. That is, to you! This confusion between him and me<br> +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<br> +other one's' not said already.</p> + +<p>LADY. Your first wife's 'the other one.' How tactful to remind me<br> +of her.</p> + +<p>STRANGER. Everything that lives and moves, everything that's dead<br> +and cold, reminds me of what's gone. ...</p> + +<p>LADY. Until the being comes, who can wipe out the darkness of the<br> +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<br> +to run off to the lawyers and divorce me; because I wouldn't take<br> +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?<br> +Has the post come?</p> + +<p>LADY. You're still more cunning than I am. But the pupil will<br> +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<br> +distinctions between it and the letter.</p> + +<p>LADY (picking up the letter-bag, which she has hidden behind the<br> +seat). Look at this! (The STRANGER takes the photograph, looks at<br> +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<br> +suffering. And if I wound you in self-defence, it's I who gets<br> +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<br> +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,<br> +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<br> +that of a mother speaking to her child.</p> + +<p>LADY. When you say 'mother' I feel I can only believe good of you;<br> +but a moment after I say to myself: it's only one more of your ways<br> +of deceiving me.</p> + +<p>STRANGER. What ill have I ever really done you? (The LADY is<br> +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<br> +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<br> +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<br> +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<br> +without a collar; he has a laurel crown on his head and his feet<br> +are bare. His general appearance is bizarre.)</p> + +<p>CAESAR. Why don't you greet me? You ought to say: Ave, Caesar! For<br> +now I'm the master. The werewolf, you must know, has gone out of<br> +his mind since the Great Man went off with his wife, whom he<br> +himself snatched from her first lover, or bridegroom, or whatever<br> +you call him.</p> + +<p>STRANGER (to the LADY). That was strychnine for two adults! (To<br> +CAESAR) Where's your master now—or your slave, or doctor, or<br> +warder?</p> + +<p>CAESAR. He'll be here soon. But you needn't be frightened of him.<br> +He won't use daggers or poison. He only has to show himself, for<br> +all living things to fly from him; for trees to drop their leaves,<br> +and the very dust of the highway to run before him in a whirlwind<br> +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<br> +himself to be a werewolf, and says he'd like to eat a little child<br> +that's not yet born, and that's really his according to the right<br> +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<br> +it back. You said it wasn't fair for invisible ones to creep in by<br> +night and strike in the darkness, they should come by day when the<br> +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<br> +struck! Let's sit down on the seat—the bench for the accused. For<br> +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<br> +stroke of the lash I feel as if a debit entry had been erased from<br> +my ledger.</p> + +<p>LADY. But I can stand no more. Look, there he comes himself.<br> +Heavens! This man, whom I once thought I loved!</p> + +<p>STRANGER. Thought? Yes, because everything's merely delusion. And<br> +that means a great deal. You go! I'll take the duty on myself of<br> +confronting him alone.</p> + +<p>(The LADY goes up the steps, but does not reach the toy before the<br> +DOCTOR becomes visible at the back of the stage. The DOCTOR comes<br> +in, his grey hair long and unkempt. He is wearing a tropical helmet<br> +and a hunting coat, which are exactly similar to the clothes of the<br> +STRANGER. He behaves as though he doesn't notice the STRANGER'S<br> +presence, and sits down on a stone on the other side of the road,<br> +opposite the STRANGER, who is sitting on the seat. He takes of his<br> +hat and mops the sweat from his brow. The STRANGER grows<br> +impatient.) What do you want?</p> + +<p>DOCTOR. Only to see this house again, where my happiness once dwelt<br> +and my roses blossomed. ...</p> + +<p>STRANGER. An intelligent man of the world would have chosen a time<br> +when the present inhabitants of the house were away for a short<br> +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<br> +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<br> +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!<br> +Do you know the reason? It's this: you're wearing the things I<br> +forgot to fetch when the catastrophe took place. No intelligent man<br> +of the world at the end of the nineteenth century would ever put<br> +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<br> +fatal ever since the celebrated shirt of Nessus. Go in now and<br> +change. I'll sit out here and watch, and listen, how you settle the<br> +matter alone with that accursèd woman. Don't forget your stick!<br> +(The LADY, who is hurrying towards the house, trips in front of the<br> +steps. The STRANGER stays where he is in embarrassment.) The stick!<br> +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<br> +clothes, the bed-clothes not forgotten, and now our child! I'm<br> +within your doors, I sit at your table, I lie in your bed; I exist<br> +in your blood; in your lungs, in your brain; I am everywhere and<br> +yet you can't get hold of me. When the pendulum strikes the hour of<br> +midnight, I'll blow cold, on your heart, so that it stops like a<br> +clock that's run down. When you sit at your work, I shall come with<br> +a poppy, invisible to you, that will put your thoughts to sleep,<br> +and confuse your mind, so that you'll see visions you can't<br> +distinguish from reality. I shall lie like a stone in your path, so<br> +that you stumble; I shall be the thorn that pricks your hand when<br> +you go to pluck the rose. My soul shall spin itself about you like<br> +a spider's web; and I shall guide you like an ox by means of the<br> +woman you stole from me. Your child shall be mine and I shall speak<br> +through its mouth; you shall see my look in its eyes, so that<br> +you'll thrust it from you like a foe. And now, belovèd house,<br> +farewell; farewell, 'rose' room—where no happiness shall dwell<br> +that I could envy. (He goes out. The STRANGER has been sitting on<br> +the seat all this time, without being able to answer, and has been<br> +listening as if he were the accused.)</p> + +<p>Curtain.</p> + +<p> +<br> +ACT II</p> + +<p>SCENE I</p> + +<p>LABORATORY</p> + +<p>[A Garden Pavilion in rococo style with high windows. In the middle<br> +of the room there is a large writing desk on which are various<br> +pieces of chemical and physical apparatus. Two copper wires are<br> +suspended from the ceiling to an electroscope that is standing on<br> +the middle of the table and which is provided with a number of<br> +bells, intended to record the tension of atmospheric electricity.]</p> + +<p>[On the table to the left a large old-fashioned frictional electric<br> +generating machine, with glass plates, brass conductors, and Leyden<br> +battery. The stands are lacquered red and white. On the right a<br> +large old-fashioned open fireplace with tripods, crucibles,<br> +pincers, bellows, etc.]</p> + +<p>[In the background a door with a view of the country beyond; it is<br> +dark and cloudy weather, but the red rays of the sun occasionally<br> +shine into the room. A brown cloak with a cape and hood is hanging<br> +up by the fireplace; nearby a travelling bag and an alpenstock. The<br> +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<br> +lying to you.</p> + +<p>MOTHER. Well, tell me!</p> + +<p>STRANGER. She wants a divorce, because I've refused to turn this<br> +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<br> +lies. Well, can you find it in accordance with your interests to<br> +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<br> +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<br> +the desk!</p> + +<p>STRANGER. Yes. But there's no danger; for the bells would ring if<br> +there were an atmospheric disturbance.</p> + +<p>MOTHER. That's blasphemy and black magic. Take care! And what are<br> +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<br> +you for that; but don't judge too quickly. At any moment I expect<br> +to get a sworn statement of analysis.</p> + +<p>MOTHER. I dare say. But what are you going to do if Ingeborg<br> +doesn't come back?</p> + +<p>STRANGER. She will, this time. Later, perhaps, when the child's<br> +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<br> +broken you can feel it. When it is, you'll feel that unpleasantly<br> +clearly, too.</p> + +<p>MOTHER. But when you've parted from one another, you may yet both<br> +be bound to the child. You can't tell in advance.</p> + +<p>STRANGER. I've been providing against that by a great interest,<br> +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<br> +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<br> +thunderstorm breaks.</p> + +<p>STRANGER (going towards the back of the stage). That's going to be<br> +interesting. (A hunting horn is heard in the distance.) Who's<br> +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<br> +back on the open window as he does so; then taking up a book and<br> +reading aloud.) 'When Adam's race of giants had increased enough<br> +for them to consider their number sufficient to risk an attack on<br> +those above, they began to build a tower that was to reach up to<br> +Heaven. Those above were then seized with fear and, in order to<br> +protect themselves, broke up the assembled multitude by so<br> +confusing their tongues and their minds that two people who met<br> +could not understand one another, even if they spoke the same<br> +language Since then, those above rule by discord: divide and rule.<br> +And the discord is upheld by the belief that the truth has been<br> +found; but when one of the prophets is believed, he is a lying<br> +prophet. If on the other hand a mortal succeeds in penetrating the<br> +secret of those above, no one believes him, and he is struck with<br> +madness so that no one ever shall. Since then mortals have been<br> +more or less demented, particularly those who are held to be wise,<br> +but madmen are in reality the only wise men; for they can see, hear<br> +and feel the invisible, the inaudible and the intangible, though<br> +they cannot relate their experiences to others.' Thus Zohar, the<br> +wisest of all the books of wisdom, and therefore one that no one<br> +believes. I shall build no tower of Babel, but I shall tempt the<br> +Powers into my mousetrap, and send them to the Powers below, the<br> +subterranean ones, so that they can be neutralised. It is the<br> +higher Schedim, who have come between mortal men and the Lord<br> +Zabaoth; and that is why joy, peace and happiness have vanished<br> +from the earth.</p> + +<p>LADY (coming back in despair, throwing herself down in front of the<br> +STRANGER and putting her arms round his feet and her head on the<br> +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<br> +happened?</p> + +<p>LADY. In my anger I've behaved foolishly. I've been caught in my<br> +own net.</p> + +<p>STRANGER (lifting her up). Stand up, foolish child; and tell me<br> +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<br> +information against the werewolf for a breach of the peace and<br> +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<br> +was there, he came himself to lay information against me for<br> +bearing false witness. Then I went to the lawyer and he told me<br> +that I could expect a sentence of at least a month. Think of it, my<br> +child will be born in prison! How can I escape from that? Help me.<br> +You can. Speak!</p> + +<p>STRANGER. Yes, I can help you. But, if I do, don't revenge yourself<br> +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<br> +about something else, that's nothing to do with this. Did you leave<br> +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,<br> +whether I stole. The first time it happened I wept, because I was<br> +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!<br> +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<br> +someone here.</p> + +<p>LADY (turning and seeing the DOCTOR's face; then screaming and<br> +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<br> +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<br> +that death's the end, nothing remains but to bear everything—to<br> +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;<br> +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<br> +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,<br> +but mine make me abhorrent and laughable! We must face the<br> +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<br> +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<br> +destinies of men?</p> + +<p>STRANGER. Get up and collect your thoughts. Listen to me, believe<br> +me, and pay me the respect that's my due; and I'll lift both of us<br> +high above this frog pond, to which we've both descended. I'll<br> +breathe on your sick conscience so that it heals like a wound. Who<br> +am I? A man who has done what no one else has ever done; who will<br> +overthrow the Golden Calf and upset the tables of the money-changers.<br> +I hold the fate of the world in my crucible; and in a week I can<br> +make the richest of the rich a poor man. Gold, the most false of<br> +all standards, has ceased to rule; every man will now be as poor as<br> +his neighbour, and the children of men will hurry about like ants<br> +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<br> +and others? No. I'll do it to paralyse the present order, to<br> +disrupt it, as you'll see! I am the destroyer, the dissolver, the<br> +world incendiary; and when all lies in ashes, I shall wander<br> +hungrily through the heaps of ruins, rejoicing at the thought that<br> +it is all my work: that I have written the last page of world<br> +history, which can then be held to be ended.</p> + +<p>(The face of the DOMINICAN appears at the open window, without<br> +being seen by those on the stage.)</p> + +<p>LADY. Then that was the real meaning of your last book! It was no<br> +invention!</p> + +<p>STRANGER. No. But in order to write it, I had to link myself with<br> +the self of another, who could take everything from me that<br> +fettered my soul. So that my spirit could once more find a fiery<br> +blast, on which to mount to the ether, elude the Powers, and reach<br> +the Throne, in order to lay the lamentations of mankind at the feet<br> +of the Eternal One. ... (The DOMINICAN makes the sign of the cross<br> +in the air and disappears.) Who's here? Who is the Terrible One who<br> +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<br> +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<br> +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. Belovèd! 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<br> +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.<br> +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<br> +fear I hate you.</p> + +<p>LADY. Then at least give me your hand; as you'd give it to someone<br> +in distress.</p> + +<p>STRANGER. I'd like to, but I can't. Someone in me takes pleasure in<br> +your agony; but it's not I. I'd like to carry you in my arms and<br> +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<br> +possession of my soul; and I'd like to kill myself so as to take<br> +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<br> +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<br> +cramp. The LADY kisses it. The STRANGER lifts her up and leads her<br> +to the door of the house.)</p> + +<p>Curtain.</p> + +<p> +SCENE II</p> + +<p>THE 'ROSE' ROOM</p> + +<p>[A room with rose-coloured walls; it has small windows with iron<br> +lattices and plants in pots. The curtains are rose red; the<br> +furniture is white and red. In the background a door leading to a<br> +white bed-chamber; when this door is opened, a large bed can be<br> +seen with a canopy and white hangings. On the right the door<br> +leading out of the house. On the left a fireplace with a coal<br> +fire. In front of it a bath tub, covered with a white towel. A cradle<br> +covered with white, rose-coloured and light-blue stuff. Baby<br> +clothes are spread out here and there. A green dress hangs on the<br> +right-hand wall. Four Sisters of Mercy are on their knees, facing<br> +the door at the back, dressed in the black and white of Augustinian<br> +nuns. The midwife, who is in black, is by the fireplace. The<br> +child's nurse wears a peasant's dress, of black and white, from<br> +Brittany. The MOTHER is standing listening by the door at the back.<br> +The STRANGER is sitting on a chair right and is trying to read a<br> +book. A hat and a brown cloak with a cape and hood hang nearby, and<br> +on the floor there is a small travelling bag. The Sisters of Mercy<br> +are singing a psalm. The others join in from time to time, but not<br> +the STRANGER.]</p> + +<p>SISTERS. Salve, Regina, mater misericordiae;<br> + Vita, dulcedo, et spes nostra, salve.<br> + Ad to clamamus, exules filii Evae;<br> + Ad to suspiramus gementes et flentes<br> + In hac lacrymarum valle.</p> + +<p>(The STRANGER rises and goes to the MOTHER.)</p> + +<p>MOTHER. Stay where you are! A human being's coming into the world;<br> +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.<br> +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<br> +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<br> +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<br> +to understand that the child couldn't be mine. With that you<br> +branded your daughter a whore; but that means nothing to you, if<br> +you can only strike me to the heart! You are almost the most<br> +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<br> +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<br> +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<br> +for her.</p> + +<p>STRANGER. What is it?</p> + +<p>MAID. There's supposed to be a letter in the dress she left hanging<br> +here.</p> + +<p>STRANGER (looks round and notices the green dress; he goes over to<br> +it and takes a letter from the pocket). This is addressed to me,<br> +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<br> +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.<br> +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,<br> +my wife, into a whore; and branded my unborn child a bastard. You<br> +can keep them both. You've murdered my honour. There's nothing for<br> +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<br> +the brown cloak and hat, picks up his stick and travelling bag.)<br> +For if I were to stay, I'd soon grow worse than I am now. The<br> +innocent child, whose mission was to ennoble our warped<br> +relationship, has been defiled by you in his mother's womb and made<br> +an apple of discord and a source of punishment a revenge. Why<br> +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<br> +myself from total destruction. Farewell!</p> + +<p>Curtain.</p> + +<p> +<br> +ACT III</p> + +<p>SCENE I</p> + +<p>THE BANQUETING HALL</p> + +<p>[Room in a hotel prepared for a banquet. There are long tables<br> +laden with flowers and candelabra. Dishes with peacocks, pheasants<br> +in full plumage, boars' heads, entire lobsters, oysters, salmon,<br> +bundles of asparagus, melons and grapes. There is a musicians'<br> +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<br> +Civil Uniform with orders; a professorial Frock Coat with an order;<br> +and other black Frock Coats with orders of a more or less striking<br> +kind. At the second table a few Frock Coats between black Morning<br> +Coats. At the third table clean every-day costumes. At the fourth<br> +table dirty and ragged figures of strange appearance.]</p> + +<p>[The tables are so arranged that the first is furthest to the left<br> +and the fourth furthest to the right, so that the people sitting at<br> +the fourth table cannot be seen by the STRANGER. At the fourth<br> +table CAESAR and the DOCTOR are seated, in shabby clothes. They are<br> +the farthest down stage. Dessert has just been handed round and the<br> +guests have golden goblets in front of them. The band is playing a<br> +passage in the middle of Mendelssohn's Dead March pianissimo. The<br> +guests are talking to one another quietly.]</p> + +<p>DOCTOR (to CAESAR). The company seems rather depressed and the<br> +dessert came too soon!</p> + +<p>CAESAR. By the way, the whole thing look's like a swindle! He<br> +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<br> +enlightened age anything whatever may be expected.</p> + +<p>CAESAR. There's a professor at the high table, who's supposed to be<br> +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<br> +always rather mixed.</p> + +<p>DOCTOR. Hm!</p> + +<p>CAESAR. You mean, that we ... hm. ... I admit we're not well<br> +dressed, but as far as intelligence goes. ...</p> + +<p>DOCTOR. Listen, Caesar, you're a lunatic in my charge, and you must<br> +avoid speaking about intelligence as much as you can.</p> + +<p>CAESAR. That's the greatest impertinence I've heard for a long<br> +time. Don't you realise, idiot, that I've been engaged to look<br> +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<br> +presence of the great man, who is our guest of honour, and when the<br> +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<br> +interpreter and to explain the motives that prompted them I was at<br> +first doubtful whether I could accept the honour. But when I<br> +compared my own incapacity with that of others, I discovered that<br> +neither lost in the comparison.</p> + +<p>VOICES. Bravo!</p> + +<p>PROFESSOR. Gentlemen! A century of discovery is ending with the<br> +greatest of all discoveries—foreseen by Pythagoras, prepared for<br> +by Albertus and Paracelsus and first carried out by our guest of<br> +honour. You will permit me to give this feeble expression of our<br> +admiration for the greatest man of a great century. A laurel crown<br> +from the society! (He places a laurel frown on the STRANGER'S<br> +head.) And from the committee: this! (He hangs a shining order<br> +round the STRANGER'S neck.) Gentlemen! Three cheers for the Great<br> +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<br> +last part of the foregoing speech servants have exchanged the<br> +golden goblets for dull tin ones, and they now begin to take away<br> +the pheasants, peacocks, etc. The music plays softly. General<br> +conversation.)</p> + +<p>CAESAR. Oughtn't we to taste these things before they take them<br> +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<br> +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<br> +the sincerity so obvious in the great tribute you've just paid me;<br> +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<br> +every man, when doubts creep into the hearts of even the strongest.<br> +I'll confess that I myself have doubted; but after finding myself<br> +the object this sincere and hearty demonstration, and after taking<br> +part in this royal feast, for it is royal; and seeing that,<br> +finally, the government itself ...</p> + +<p>VOICE. The committee!</p> + +<p>STRANGER. ... the committee, if you like, has so signally<br> +recognised my modest merits, I doubt no longer, but believe! (The<br> +Civil Uniform creeps out.) Yes, gentlemen, this is the greatest and<br> +most satisfying moment of my life, because it has given me back<br> +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<br> +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<br> +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,<br> +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<br> +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<br> +was in childbed.</p> + +<p>FATHER. Does that mean I can expect a third son-in-law soon? I<br> +don't like the idea! The uncertainty of my position makes me hate<br> +being a father-in-law at all. Of course, I've nothing to say<br> +against it, since. ...</p> + +<p>(The tables have now been cleared; the cloths and the candelabra<br> +have been removed, so that the tables themselves, which are merely<br> +boards supported on trestles, are all that remain. A big stoneware<br> +jug has been brought in and small jugs of simple form have been put<br> +on the high table. The people in rags sit down next to the STRANGER<br> +at the high table; and the FATHER sits astride a chair and stares<br> +at him.)</p> + +<p>CAESAR (knocking on the table). Gentlemen! This feast has been<br> +called royal, not on account of the excellence of the service<br> +which, on the contrary, has been wretched; but because the man,<br> +whom we have honoured, is a king, a king in the realm of the<br> +Intellect. Only I am able to judge of that. (One of the people in<br> +rags laughs.) Quiet. Wretch! But he's more than a king, he's a man<br> +of the people, of the humblest. A friend of the oppressed, the<br> +guardian of fools, the bringer of happiness to idiots. I don't know<br> +whether he's succeeded in making gold. I don't worry about that,<br> +and I hardly believe it ... (There is a murmur. Two policemen come<br> +in and sit by the door; the musicians come down and take seats at<br> +the tables.) ... but supposing he has, he has answered all the<br> +questions that the daily press has been trying to solve for the<br> +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<br> +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<br> +gathering I should say that it would be of interest to those taking<br> +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<br> +allowed to explain himself. Couldn't our guest of honour tell the<br> +company his secret in a few words?</p> + +<p>STRANGER. As the discoverer I can't give away my secret. But that's<br> +not necessary, because I've submitted my results to an authority<br> +under oath.</p> + +<p>CAESAR. Then the whole thing's nonsense, the whole thing! We don't<br> +believe authorities—we're free-thinkers. Did you ever hear<br> +anything so impudent? That we should honour a mystery man, an<br> +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<br> +trees and birds of paradise, has been taken away, disclosing a<br> +wretched serving-counter and stand for beer mugs, behind which a<br> +waitress is seen dispensing tots of spirits. Scavengers and<br> +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<br> +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<br> +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<br> +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<br> +the table so hard with his crutch, that some mugs are broken.) Mr.<br> +Chairman! May I speak? (He breaks some more crockery.) Gentlemen,<br> +in this life I've not allowed thyself to be easily deceived, but<br> +this time I have been. My friend in the chair there has convinced<br> +me that I've been completely deceived on the question of his power<br> +of judgment and sound understanding, and I feel touched. There are<br> +limits to pity and limits also to cruelty. I don't like to see real<br> +merit being dragged into the dust, and this man's worth a better<br> +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<br> +attracting attention. Only beggars remain at the high table. Those<br> +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<br> +the invitation of the Drunkards' Society, in order to have yourself<br> +fêted 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<br> +you their highest distinction—that order you've had to pay for<br> +yourself. ...</p> + +<p>STRANGER. What about the professor?</p> + +<p>BEGGAR. He only calls himself that; he's no professor really,<br> +though he does give lessons. And the uniform that must have<br> +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<br> +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<br> +behalf of the Society, for so they call themselves, and asked you<br> +whether you'd accept the fête. You accepted it; so it became<br> +serious!</p> + +<p>(Two dirty-looking women carry in a dust-bin suspended from a stick<br> +and set it down on the high table.)</p> + +<p>FIRST WOMAN. If you're the man who makes gold, you might buy two<br> +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<br> +mean that gold's mere rubbish.</p> + +<p>STRANGER. If only that were true, rubbish could be exchanged for<br> +gold.</p> + +<p>BEGGAR. Well, it's only the philosophy of the Society of Drunkards.<br> +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<br> +me?</p> + +<p>STRANGER. No.</p> + +<p>SECOND WOMAN. Oh, you needn't be embarrassed so late in the evening<br> +as this!</p> + +<p>STRANGER. You believe you're one of my victims? That I was amongst<br> +the first hundred who seduced you?</p> + +<p>SECOND WOMAN. No. It's not what you think. But I once came across a<br> +printed paper, when I was about to be confirmed, which said that it<br> +was a duty to oneself to give way to all desires of the flesh.<br> +Well, I grew free and blossomed; and this is the fruit of my highly<br> +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<br> +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<br> +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,<br> +even honour. ...</p> + +<p>STRANGER (taking a visiting card and handing it to the waitress).<br> +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<br> +name; and I've put a lot of such cards into the dust-bin. I want<br> +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<br> +moment, please.</p> + +<p>POLICEMAN. What's all this about? Payment, I suppose. Come to the<br> +station; we'll arrange things there. (He writes something in his<br> +note-book.)</p> + +<p>STRANGER. I'd rather do that than stay here and quarrel. ... (To<br> +the BEGGAR.) I don't mind a joke, but I never expected such cruel<br> +reality as this.</p> + +<p>BEGGAR. Anything's to be expected, once you challenge persons as<br> +powerful as you have! Let me tell you this in confidence. You'd<br> +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<br> +stretched out—and writes a bill. And another hand's laid on the<br> +guest's shoulder and leads him to the police station! But it must<br> +be done royally!</p> + +<p>POLICEMAN (laying his hand on the STRANGER). Have you talked<br> +enough?</p> + +<p>THE WOMEN and RAGGED ONES. The alchemist can't pay. Hurrah! He's<br> +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<br> +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<br> +darkened, and a medley of scenes, representing landscapes, palaces,<br> +rooms, is lowered and brought forward; so that characters and<br> +furniture are no longer seen, but the STRANGER alone remains<br> +visible and seems to be standing stiffly as though unconscious. At<br> +last even he disappears, and from the confusion a prison cell<br> +emerges.)</p> + +<p> +SCENE II</p> + +<p>PRISON CELL</p> + +<p>[On the right a door; and above it a barred opening, through which<br> +a ray of sunlight is shining, throwing a patch of light on the<br> +left-hand wall, where a large crucifix hangs.]</p> + +<p>[The STRANGER, dressed in a brown cloak and wearing a hat, is<br> +sitting at the table looking at the patch of sunlight. The door is<br> +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<br> +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<br> +withdrawn the certificate he gave you for making gold. He says, in<br> +this paper, that you deceived him. The result is that the paper<br> +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<br> +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<br> +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<br> +have a stepfather. Who is he?</p> + +<p>BEGGAR. Whoever he is, don't murder him; for he's not to blame for<br> +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<br> +look ahead, if you're so old and such an enlightened man of the<br> +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.<br> +When such disasters happen men of the world ... either ... well,<br> +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<br> +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<br> +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,<br> +to ask about my affairs. You once scorned the friendship I offered<br> +you, and fell straightway into the arms of boon companions. I hope<br> +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<br> +<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<br> +having been at that immortal banquet in the alchemist's honour, of<br> +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<br> +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<br> +left for a chimera.</p> + +<p>STRANGER. Is it possible I could have been wrong? If so it's the<br> +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<br> +distance.) What's that? (A sustained note of a horn is heard.)<br> +That's the unknown huntsman! (The chord from the Dead March is<br> +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<br> +scenes as before.)</p> + +<p>Curtain.</p> + +<p> +SCENE III</p> + +<p>THE 'ROSE' ROOM</p> + +<p>[The same scene as Act I. The kneeling Sisters of Mercy are now<br> +reading their prayer books, '... exules filii Evae; Ad to<br> +suspiramus et flentes In hac lacrymarum aalle.' The MOTHER is by<br> +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<br> +your mistress. You, who were so dishonourable as to expect me, your<br> +wife, to choose presents for her. You, who wanted my advice about<br> +colour and cut, in order to educate her taste in dress! What do you<br> +want here?</p> + +<p>FATHER. I heard that my daughter ...</p> + +<p>MOTHER. Your daughter's lying there, between life and death; and<br> +you know that her feelings for you have grown hostile. That's why I<br> +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<br> +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<br> +here?</p> + +<p>MOTHER. Am I to lay bare all this misery? Don't you know your<br> +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<br> +parents. And now they say the lake up there's to be drained, so<br> +that the river will rise. ...</p> + +<p>MOTHER (pushing him out of the door). Silence. Misfortune will<br> +overtake us soon enough, without you calling it up.</p> + +<p>MAID (from the bedroom at the back). The lady's asking for the<br> +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<br> +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<br> +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<br> +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<br> +longer.</p> + +<p>MOTHER. He who guides your destiny seems to know your weakest<br> +spots.</p> + +<p>STRANGER. And when there was only one left, he found that too;<br> +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<br> +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<br> +the green coat, which is hanging near the dress by fireplace.) I<br> +must be dead. I dreamed this, and now it's happening. My children<br> +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<br> +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<br> +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<br> +afraid I'd get to love her, and then you'd tear the heart from my<br> +body. Let me get out of this atmosphere, which is too pure for me.<br> +Don' t let that innocent child come near me, for I'm a man already<br> +damned, already sentenced, and for me there's no joy, no peace, and<br> +no ... forgiveness!</p> + +<p>MOTHER. My son, now you're speaking words of wisdom! Truthfully and<br> +without malice: I welcome your decision. There's no place for you<br> +here, and amongst us women you'd be plagued to death. So go in<br> +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<br> +vagabond.</p> + +<p>STRANGER. Because I have slain my brother.</p> + +<p>Curtain.</p> + +<p> +<br> +ACT IV</p> + +<p>SCENE I</p> + +<p>BANQUETING HALL</p> + +<p>[The room in which the banquet took place in Act III. It is dirty,<br> +and furnished with unpainted wooden tables. Beggars, scavengers and<br> +loose women. Cripples are seated here and there drinking by the<br> +light of tallow dips.]</p> + +<p>[The STRANGER and the SECOND WOMAN are sitting together drinking<br> +brandy, which stands on the table in front of them in a carafe. The<br> +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<br> +so.</p> + +<p>STRANGER. But I came here specially to do so; to take a mud-bath<br> +that would harden my skin against the pricks of life. To find<br> +immoral support about me. And I chose your company, because you're<br> +the most despicable, though you've still retained a spark of<br> +humanity. You were sorry for me, when no one else was. Not even<br> +myself! Why?</p> + +<p>WOMAN. Really, I don't know.</p> + +<p>STRANGER. But you must know that there are moments when you look<br> +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<br> +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<br> +hand, when all chains would he struck off, all barriers thrown<br> +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,<br> +otherwise you can't raise me up.</p> + +<p>STRANGER. What illusions you must have! Childish! I lift you up! I<br> +who am down below. Yet I'm not; it's not I who sit here, for I'm<br> +dead. I know that my soul's far away, far, far away. ... (He stares<br> +in front of him with an absent-minded air) ... where a great lake<br> +lies in the sunshine like molten gold; where roses blossom on the<br> +wall amongst the vines; where a white cot stands under the acacias.<br> +But the child's asleep and the mother's sitting beside the cot<br> +doing crochet work. There's a long, long strip coming from her<br> +mouth and on the strip is written ... wait ... 'Blessed are the<br> +sorrowful, for they shall be comforted.' But that's not so, really.<br> +I shall never be comforted. Tell me, isn't there thunder in the<br> +air, it's so close, so hot?</p> + +<p>WOMAN (looking out of the window). No. I can see no clouds out<br> +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<br> +come! But it doesn't. I've never been frightened of a thunderstorm<br> +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<br> +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<br> +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<br> +heart's stopped. (He puts his hand to his heart.) Yes. It has! So<br> +I'm dead, and I know when I died. Strange, to be dead, and yet to<br> +be going about. But where am I? Are all these people dead, too?<br> +They look as if they'd risen from the sewers of the town, or as if<br> +they'd come from prison, poorhouse or lock hospital. They're<br> +workers of the night, suffering, groaning, cursing, quarrelling,<br> +torturing one another, dishonouring one another, envying one<br> +another, as if they possessed anything worthy of envy! The fire of<br> +sleep courses through their veins, their tongues cleave to their<br> +palates, grown dry through cursing; and then they put out the blaze<br> +with water, with fire-water, that engenders fresh thirst. With<br> +fire-water, that itself burns with a blue flame and consumes the<br> +soul like a prairie fire, that leaves nothing behind it but red<br> +sand. (He drinks.) Set fire to it. Put it out again. Set fire to<br> +it. Put it out again! But what you can't burn up—unluckily—is the<br> +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.<br> +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<br> +behind you, staring at you all the time?</p> + +<p>STRANGER (turning. He and the DOCTOR stare at one another for a<br> +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<br> +have good taste. Sometimes not.</p> + +<p>STRANGER. And sometimes you have the misfortune to have the same<br> +taste as I.</p> + +<p>DOCTOR. That wasn't a kind remark! But you've killed me twice in<br> +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.<br> +And I shall reach you, as the thunder will, whether you hide in the<br> +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<br> +without taking on yourself the sorrows others have brought on<br> +themselves. That man won't bear his own sorrows, but makes his wife<br> +shoulder the burden for him.</p> + +<p>STRANGER. What's that? Wait! She bore false witness of a breach of<br> +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<br> +the table. In the far distance a violin and guitar are heard<br> +playing the following melody):</p> + +<br><br> + +<img alt="road1.jpg (7K)" src="road1.jpg" height="94" width="617"> + +<br><br> + +<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<br> +very softly.)</p> + +<p>STRANGER. Is it morning? Night's passing, the sun's rising and<br> +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<br> +wretched being, that not even a prostitute will bear me company for<br> +money?</p> + +<p>DOCTOR. You must be.</p> + +<p>STRANGER. I don't believe it yet; although everyone tells me so. I<br> +don't believe anything at all, for every time I have, I've been<br> +deceived. But tell me this hasn't the sun yet risen? A little while<br> +ago I heard a cock crow and a dog bark; and now they're ringing the<br> +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<br> +lightning, and looked too long at the sun. That is forbidden to<br> +men.</p> + +<p>STRANGER. We're born with the desire to do it; but may not. That's<br> +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<br> +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<br> +possessed something you could never let.</p> + +<p>DOCTOR. So you're back at that! Then I'll express myself as<br> +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<br> +and moves to another seat.)</p> + +<p>STRANGER. I know we've sunk very low; yet I believe the deeper I<br> +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<br> +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<br> +figures, whose faces I think I recognise as memories of my youth at<br> +school in the swimming bath, the gymnasium. ... (He clutches his<br> +heart.) Oh! Now he's coming: the Terrible One, who tears the heart<br> +out of the breast. The Terrible One, who's been following me for<br> +years. He's here!</p> + +<p>(He is beside himself. The doors are thrown open; a choir boy comes<br> +in carrying a lantern made of blue glass that throws a blue light<br> +on the guests; he rings the silver bell. All present begin to howl<br> +like wild beasts. The DOMINICAN then enters with the sacrament. The<br> +WAITRESS and the WOMAN throw themselves on their knees, the others<br> +howl. The DOMINICAN raises the monstrance; all fall on their knees.<br> +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<br> +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<br> +wanted to bring a charge of slander against me, because she<br> +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<br> +the mistress of a married man, whom she denounced for rape, after<br> +she'd forced herself into his studio and posed to him naked, as a<br> +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<br> +promise, so I had to marry her. She'd engaged two detectives to see<br> +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<br> +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<br> +had to accept her as she was. Charming, intoxicating!</p> + +<p>STRANGER. Yes, I know. But one's powerless against pity. That's why<br> +I don't want to fight this case. I can't defend myself without<br> +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<br> +none, and stars where no stars are! But it's pleasant, while it<br> +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<br> +it. Come!</p> + +<p>STRANGER (getting up). Poisoning me, you say? Do you think he's<br> +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<br> +truth.</p> + +<p>BEGGAR. Eternal Powers, save his reason! For he believes everything<br> +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,<br> +broken up into atoms, and used as an ingredient in the great<br> +pan-cake. Away with you hell! (To those present.) Howl like victims<br> +of the pit. (The guests all howl.) And no more womanly pity. Howl,<br> +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> + +<p> +SCENE II</p> + +<p>IN A RAVINE</p> + +<p>[A ravine with a stream in the middle, which is crossed by a<br> +foot-bridge. In the foreground a smithy and a mill, both of which<br> +are in ruins. Fallen trees choke the stream. In the background a<br> +starry sky above the pine wood. The constellation of Orion is<br> +clearly visible.]</p> + +<br><br> + +<img alt="road2.jpg (7K)" src="road2.jpg" height="254" width="383"> + +<br><br> + +<p>[The STRANGER and the BEGGAR enter. In the foreground there is<br> +snow; in the background the green of summer.]</p> + +<p>STRANGER. I feel afraid! To-night the stars seem to hang so low,<br> +that I fear they'll fall on me like drops of molten silver. Where<br> +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<br> +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<br> +stream rose, then the river, till everything was laid waste—<br> +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<br> +end.</p> + +<p>STRANGER. Then my story's at an end too. So thoroughly at an end,<br> +that no happy memories remain. The last was fouled by the poisoner. ...</p> + +<p>BEGGAR. Whose poison you prepared! You should declare your<br> +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,<br> +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<br> +the Powers that guide the destinies of mankind brook no accomplices.<br> +The crime I committed in this life was that I wanted to set men<br> +free. ...</p> + +<p>BEGGAR. Set men free from their duties, and criminals from their<br> +feeling of guilt, so that they could really become unscrupulous!<br> +You're not the first, and not the 1ast to dabble in the Devil's<br> +work. Lucifer a non lucendo! But when Reynard grows old, he turns<br> +monk—so wisely is it ordained—and then he's forced to split<br> +himself in n 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<br> +against yourself from the housetops. To unpick your fabric thread<br> +by thread. To flay yourself alive at every street corner, and show<br> +what you really are. But that needs courage. All the same, a man<br> +who's played with the thunder will not tremble! Yet, sometimes,<br> +when night falls and the Invisible Ones, who can only be seen in<br> +darkness, ride on his chest, then he will fear—even the stars, and<br> +most of all the Mill of Sins, that grinds the past, and grinds it ...<br> +and grinds it! One of the seven-and-seventeen Wise Men said that<br> +the greatest victory he ever won was over himself; but foolish men<br> +don't believe it, and that's why they're deceived; because they<br> +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<br> +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<br> +clothing, two girls and a boy, come on to the bridge from the<br> +right.) Ho! My children! (The children stop to listen, and then<br> +look at the STRANGER without seeming to recognise him. The STRANGER<br> +calls.) Gerda! Erik! Thyra! It's your father! (The children appear<br> +to recognise him; they turn away to the left.) They don't know me.<br> +They don't want to know me.</p> + +<p>(A man and a woman enter from the right. The children dance of to<br> +the left and disappear. The STRANGER falls on his face on the<br> +ground.)</p> + +<p>BEGGAR. Something like that was to be expected. Such things happen.<br> +Get up again!</p> + +<p>STRANGER (raising himself up). Where am I? Where have I been? Is it<br> +spring, winter or summer? In what century am I living, in what<br> +hemisphere? Am I a child or an old man, male or female, a god or a<br> +devil? And who are you? Are you, you; or are you me? Are those my<br> +own entrails that I see about me? Are those stars or bundles of<br> +nerves in my eye; is that water, or is it tears? Wait! Now I'm<br> +moving forward in time for a thousand years, and beginning to<br> +shrink, to grow heavier and to crystallise! Soon I'll be<br> +re-created, and from the dark waters of Chaos the Lotus flower will<br> +stretch up her head towards the sun and say: it is I! I must have<br> +been sleeping for a few thousand years; and have dreamed I'd<br> +exploded and become ether, and could no longer feel, no longer<br> +suffer, no longer be joyful; but had entered into peace and<br> +equilibrium. But now! Now! I suffer as much as if I were all<br> +mankind. I suffer and have no right to complain. ...</p> + +<p>BEGGAR. Then suffer, and the more you suffer the earlier pain will<br> +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<br> +himself from the parapet; then the DOCTOR appears on the right,<br> +with bare head and a wild look. He behaves as if he would throw<br> +himself into the stream too.)</p> + +<p>STRANGER. He's revenged himself so thoroughly, that he awakes no<br> +qualms of conscience! (The DOCTOR goes out, left. The SISTER<br> +enters, right, as if searching for someone.) Who's that?</p> + +<p>BEGGAR. His unmarried sister, who's unprovided for, and has now no<br> +home to go to. She's grown desperate since her brother was driven<br> +out of his wits by sorrow and went to pieces.</p> + +<p>STRANGER. That's a harder fate. Poor creature, what can one do?<br> +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<br> +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> + +<p> +SCENE III</p> + +<p>THE 'ROSE' ROOM</p> + +<p>[The LADY, dressed in white, is sitting by the cradle doing crochet<br> +work. The green dress is hanging up by the door on the right. The<br> +STRANGER comes an, and looks round in astonishment.]</p> + +<p>LADY (simply, mildly, without a trace of surprise). Tread softly<br> +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<br> +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<br> +rise, but this little creature has someone who protects both her<br> +and hers. Wouldn't you like to see your daughter? (The STRANGER<br> +goes towards the cradle. The LADY lifts the curtain.) She's lovely!<br> +Isn't she? (The STRANGER gazes darkly in front of him.) Won't you<br> +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<br> +the neighbourhood, followed by his sister, who's searching for him?<br> +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<br> +advice. Go to the Convent of St. Saviour's, there you'll find a man<br> +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<br> +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<br> +we're of the same mind. ...</p> + +<p>LADY. You see, we can build no happiness on the sorrows of others;<br> +so we must part. That's the only way to lessen his sufferings. I<br> +have my child, who'll fill my life for me; and you have the great<br> +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.<br> +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<br> +Sunday afternoon, between the inn and the church door! That'll<br> +bring no good.</p> + +<p>LADY (fetching the paper herself and also a large parcel that is in<br> +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<br> +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.<br> +Read it!</p> + +<p>STRANGER (tearing up the packet). Perhaps there's a Government<br> +Order too!</p> + +<p>LADY. Those whom the gods would destroy they first make blind! You<br> +made your discovery with no good intentions, and therefore you<br> +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<br> +shame! I've become a laughing-stock, so I'll go and hide myself—<br> +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<br> +no such thing, and so you become one yourself. And then I was to<br> +save you from evil by taking all the evil in you on myself, and I<br> +did so; but the result was that you only became more evil. My poor<br> +deliverer! Now you're bound hand and foot and no magician can set<br> +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<br> +cradle.)</p> + +<p>STRANGER (going towards the back). First perhaps I ought to take my<br> +leave in there.</p> + +<p>LADY. Yes, my dear. Do!</p> + +<p>(The STRANGER goes out through the door at the back. The LADY<br> +crosses to the door on the right and lets in the DOMINICAN—who is<br> +also the BEGGAR.)</p> + +<p>CONFESSOR. Is he ready now?</p> + +<p>LADY. Nothing remains for this unhappy man but to leave the world<br> +and bury himself in a monastery.</p> + +<p>CONFESSOR. So he doesn't believe he's the great inventor he<br> +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,<br> +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<br> +malice and injustice. This man is a demon, who must be kept<br> +confined. He belongs to the dangerous race of rebels; he'd misuse<br> +his gifts, if he could, to do evil. And men's power for evil is<br> +immeasurable.</p> + +<p>LADY. For the sake of the ... attachment you've shown me, can't you<br> +ease his burden a little; where it presses on him most and where<br> +he's least to blame?</p> + +<p>CONFESSOR. You must do that, not I; so that he can leave you in the<br> +belief that you've a good side, and that you're not what your first<br> +husband told him you were. If he believes you, I'll deliver him<br> +later, just as I once bound him when he confessed to me, during his<br> +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<br> +come here? But isn't he the beggar, after a11?</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,<br> +when you lay ill and felt near madness. It was then you offered to<br> +serve the powers of good; but when you got well again you broke<br> +your oath, and therefore were plagued with unrest, and wandered<br> +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<br> +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<br> +who punished my faithlessness and another's lack of conscience.</p> + +<p>STRANGER. His sin cannot justify mine. Of course it's untrue, like<br> +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<br> +asked him for a drink of water; but he gave me wine instead and let<br> +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<br> +god-like origin. Let's go, before it grows dark.</p> + +<p>CONFESSOR. 'For the whole world shined with clear light and none<br> +were hindered in their labour. Over these only was spread a heavy<br> +night, an image of darkness which should afterward receive them;<br> +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<br> +is evil. Look at her eyes; they cannot weep tears, but they can<br> +flatter, sting, or lie! And yet she says: Don't hurt him! See, now<br> +she fears I'll wake her child, the little monster that robbed me of<br> +her! Come, priest, before I change my mind.</p> + +<p>Curtain.</p> + +<br><br> +<a name="p3"></a> + +<br><br> + + + +<h2>PART III.</h2> + + +<p>CHARACTERS</p> + +<p>THE STRANGER<br> +THE LADY<br> +THE CONFESSOR<br> +THE MAGISTRATE<br> +THE PRIOR<br> +THE TEMPTER<br> +THE DAUGHTER</p> + +<p> +less important figures<br> +HOSTESS<br> +FIRST VOICE<br> +SECOND VOICE<br> +WORSHIPPERS OF VENUS<br> +MAIA<br> +PILGRIM<br> +FATHER<br> +WOMAN<br> +EVE<br> +PRIOR<br> +PATER ISIDOR (the Doctor of Part I)<br> +PATER CLEMENS<br> +PATER MELCHER</p> + +<p> +SCENES</p> + +<p>ACT I On the River Bank</p> + +<p>ACT II Cross-Roads in the Mountains</p> + +<p>ACT III SCENE I Terrace<br> + SCENE II Rocky Landscape<br> + SCENE III Small House<br> +(On the Mountain where the Monastery Stands)</p> + +<p>ACT IV SCENE I Chapter House<br> + SCENE II Picture Gallery<br> + SCENE III Chapel<br> +(Of the Monastery)</p> + +<p> +<br> +ACT I</p> + +<p>ON THE RIVER BANK</p> + +<p>[The foreground represents the bank of a large river. On the right<br> +a projecting tongue of land covered with old willow trees. Farther<br> +up stage the river can be seen flowing quietly past. The background<br> +represents the farther bank, a steep mountain slope covered with<br> +woodland. Above the tops of the forest trees the Monastery can be<br> +seen; it is an enormous four-cornered building completely white,<br> +with two rows of small windows. The façade is broken by the Church<br> +belonging to the Monastery, which is flanked by two towers in the<br> +style favoured by the Jesuits. The Church door is open, and at a<br> +certain moment the monstrance on the altar is visible in the light<br> +of the sun. On the near bank in the foreground, which is low and<br> +sandy, purple and yellow loose-strife are growing. A shallow boat<br> +is moored nearby. On the left the ferryman's hut. It is an evening<br> +in early summer and the sun is low; foreground, river and the lower<br> +part of the background lie in shadow; and the trees on the far bank<br> +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<br> +is wearing alpine clothing: a brown cloak with a cape and hood; he<br> +has a staff and wallet. He is limping slightly. The CONFESSOR is to<br> +the black and white habit of the Dominicans. They stop at a place<br> +where a willow tree prevents any view of the Monastery.]</p> + +<p>STRANGER. Why do you lead me along this winding, hilly path, that<br> +never comes to an end?</p> + +<p>CONFESSOR. Such is the way, my friend. But now we'll soon be there.<br> +(He leads the STRANGER farther up stage. The STRANGER sees the<br> +Monastery, and is enchanted by it; he takes off his hat, and puts<br> +down his wallet and staff.) Well?</p> + +<p>STRANGER. I've never seen anything so white on this polluted earth.<br> +At most, only in my dreams! Yes, that's my youthful dream of a<br> +house in which peace and purity should dwell. A blessing on you,<br> +white house! Now I've come home!</p> + +<p>CONFESSOR. Good! But first we must await the pilgrims on this bank.<br> +It's called the bank of farewell, because it's the custom to say<br> +farewell here, before the ferryman ferries one across.</p> + +<p>STRANGER. Haven't I said enough farewells already? Wasn't my whole<br> +life one thorny path of farewells? At post offices, steamer-quays,<br> +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<br> +back.</p> + +<p>CONFESSOR. Not even your youth?</p> + +<p>STRANGER. That least of all. What should I do with it, and its<br> +capacity for suffering?</p> + +<p>CONFESSOR. And for enjoyment?</p> + +<p>STRANGER. I never enjoyed anything, for I was born with a thorn in<br> +my flesh; every time I stretched out my hand to grasp a pleasure, I<br> +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,<br> +obligations to others! No, I was born in disfavour, a step-child of<br> +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<br> +able to do what no one else can do? I of all men? Because I'm<br> +supposed to be a scoundrel. Because more's demanded of me than of<br> +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<br> +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<br> +special virtue of mine; it's for that very reason that I want to<br> +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<br> +of innocent children, the pleasant warmth of home, the approbation<br> +of your fellow-men, the satisfaction brought by the fulfilment of<br> +duty—are you indifferent to them all?</p> + +<p>STRANGER. Yes! Because I was born without the power of enjoyment.<br> +There have been moments when I've been an object of envy; but I've<br> +never understood what it was I was envied for: my sufferings in<br> +misfortune, my lack of peace in success, or the fact I hadn't long<br> +to live.</p> + +<p>CONFESSOR. It's true that life has given you everything you wished;<br> +even a little gold at the last. Why, I even seem to remember that a<br> +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<br> +appreciation, that neither envy nor lack of understanding can<br> +shake.</p> + +<p>CONFESSOR. You think so? It seems to me that human greatness<br> +resides in the good opinion of others; and that, if this opinion<br> +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<br> +been so humble! All have demanded my respect; whilst they spurned<br> +me and spat on me. And when at last I found I'd duties towards the<br> +immortal soul given into my keeping, I began to demand respect for<br> +this immortal soul. Then I was branded as the proudest of the<br> +proud! And by whom? By the proudest of all amongst the humble and<br> +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<br> +nothing but contradictions. The rich are the poor in spirit; the<br> +many little men hold the power, and the great only serve the little<br> +men. I've never met such proud people as the humble; I've never met<br> +an uneducated man who didn't believe himself in a position to<br> +criticise learning and to do without it. I've found the<br> +unpleasantest<br> +of deadly sins amongst the Saints: I mean self-complacency. In my<br> +youth I was a saint myself; but I've never been so worthless as I<br> +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<br> +seeking death without the need to die!</p> + +<p>CONFESSOR. The mortification of your flesh, of your old self! Good!<br> +Now keep still: the pilgrims are coming on their wooden rafts to<br> +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<br> +monstrance in the church above, so that it shines like a window<br> +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,<br> +with garlands on their heads and with lighted lanterns in their<br> +hands, are seen standing round an altar decked with flowers, on<br> +which a white flag with a golden lily has been planted. They sing,<br> +whilst the raft glides slowly by.)</p> + +<p> Blessèd be he, who fears the Lord,<br> + Beati omnes, qui timent Dominum,<br> + And walks in his ways,<br> + Qui ambulant in viis ejus.<br> + Thou shalt feed thyself with the work of thy hands,<br> + Labores manuum tuarum quia manducabis;<br> + Blessèd be thou and peace be with thee,<br> + Beatus es et bene tibi erit.</p> + +<p>(A second raft appears with boys on one side and girls on the<br> +other. It has a flag with a rose on it.)</p> + +<p> Thy wife shall be like a fruitful vine,<br> + Uxor tua sicut vitis abundans,<br> + Within thy house,<br> + In lateribus domus tuae.</p> + +<p>(The third raft carries men and women. There is a flag with fruit<br> +upon it: figs, grapes, pomegranates, melons, ears of wheat, etc.)</p> + +<p> Filii tui sicut novellae olivarum,<br> + Thy children shall be like olive branches about thy table,<br> + In circuitu mensae tuae.</p> + +<p>(The fourth raft is filled with older men and women. The flag has a<br> +representation of a fir-tree under snow.)</p> + +<p> See, how blessèd is the man,<br> + Ecce sic benedicetur homo,<br> + Who feareth the Lord,<br> + Qui timet Dominum!</p> + +<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<br> +Isaiah! But he didn't always write psalms. When he was young, he<br> +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<br> +say famous—person; but over there, on the other, you'll be quite<br> +unknown to the brothers. Nothing more, in fact, than an ordinary<br> +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<br> +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<br> +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<br> +sang all day long like a wren. It's some years since I saw her; she<br> +must be a girl of sixteen now. But I'm afraid if I were to meet<br> +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<br> +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<br> +young girl. She is wearing summer clothing, her head is bare and<br> +her fair hair is hanging loose. She gets out of the boat behind the<br> +willow tree. The CONFESSOR draws back until he is near the<br> +ferryman's hut, but remains in sight of the audience. The STRANGER<br> +has waved to the girl and she has answered him. She now comes on to<br> +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<br> +mountains?</p> + +<p>STRANGER. And how have <i>you</i> got here? I thought I'd managed to<br> +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<br> +girl. And I've gone grey.</p> + +<p>DAUGHTER. No. You're not grey. You're just as young as you were<br> +when we parted.</p> + +<p>STRANGER. When we ... parted!</p> + +<p>DAUGHTER. When you left us. ... (The STRANGER does not reply.)<br> +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<br> +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<br> +life behind you. ... (Coaxingly.) Now you look sad. Tell me one<br> +thing.</p> + +<p>STRANGER. Tell <i>me</i> one thing, my child, that's been worrying me<br> +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<br> +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<br> +child that has got up too early; I can hear it by your voice,<br> +that's no longer that of a warbler, but a jay; I can feel it in<br> +your kisses, that burn cold like the sun in May; and by your steady<br> +icy look that tells me you're nursing a secret of which you're<br> +ashamed, but of which you'd like to boast. And your brothers and<br> +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<br> +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<br> +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<br> +no longer, but is merely a name, a memory. (He takes a guide-book<br> +out of his pocket.) Look at this guide-book! Can you see small<br> +marks made here by tiny fingers, and others by little damp lips?<br> +You made them when you were five years old; you were sitting on my<br> +knee in the train, and we saw the Alps for the first time. You<br> +thought what you saw was Heaven; and when I explained that the<br> +mountain was the Jungfrau, you asked if you could kiss the name in<br> +the book.</p> + +<p>DAUGHTER. I don't remember that!</p> + +<p>STRANGER. Delightful memories pass, but hateful ones remain! Don't<br> +you remember anything about me?</p> + +<p>DAUGHTER. Oh yes.</p> + +<p>STRANGER. Quiet! I know what you mean. One night ... one dreadful,<br> +horrible night ... Sylvia, my child, when I shut my eyes I see a<br> +pale little angel, who slept in my arms when she was ill; and who<br> +thanked me when I gave her a present. Where is she whom I long for<br> +so and who exists no more, although she isn't dead? You, as you<br> +are, seem a stranger, whom I've never known and certainly don't<br> +long to see again. If Sylvia at least were dead and lay in her<br> +grave, there'd be a churchyard where I could take my flowers. ...<br> +How strange it is! She's neither among the living, nor the dead.<br> +Perhaps she never existed, and was only a dream like everything<br> +else.</p> + +<p>DAUGHTER (wheedling).Father, dear!</p> + +<p>STRANGER. It's she! No, only her voice. (Pause.) So you think my<br> +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<br> +fever for a whole month and suffered a great deal. Your mother<br> +wanted the doctor to deliver you from your unhappy existence by<br> +some powerful drug. But I prevented it, and so saved you from death<br> +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<br> +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<br> +reach me in future. And I mayn't receive visitors. But I'm glad<br> +we've met, for now there's nothing else on earth I cling to. (Going<br> +to the left.) Good-bye, girl or woman, whatever I should call you.<br> +There's no need to weep!</p> + +<p>DAUGHTER. I wasn't thinking of weeping, though I dare say good<br> +breeding would demand I should. Well, good-bye! (She goes out<br> +right.)</p> + +<p>STRANGER (to the CONFESSOR). I think I came out of that well! It's<br> +a mercy to part with content on both sides. Mankind, after all,<br> +makes rapid progress, and self-control increases as the flow of the<br> +tear-ducts lessens. I've seen so many tears shed in my lifetime,<br> +that I'm almost taken aback at this dryness. She was a strong<br> +child, just the kind I once wished to be. The most beautiful thing<br> +that life can offer! She lay, like an angel, wrapped in the white<br> +veils of her cradle, with a blue coverlet when she slept. Blue and<br> +arched like the sky. That was the best: what will the worst look<br> +like?</p> + +<p>CONFESSOR. Don't excite yourself, but be of good cheer. First throw<br> +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<br> +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<br> +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<br> +of wine.</p> + +<p>STRANGER. The last! It's like an execution! Perhaps I'll have to<br> +have my hair cut, too?</p> + +<p>CONFESSOR. Yes. Later. (He takes the watch and goes to the door of<br> +the ferryman's hut, speaking a few whispered words to someone<br> +within. He receives a bottle of wine and a glass in exchange, which<br> +he puts on the table.)</p> + +<p>STRANGER (filling his glass, but not drinking it.) Shall I never<br> +get wine up there?</p> + +<p>CONFESSOR. No wine; and you'll see no women. You may hear singing;<br> +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<br> +women, who mayn't even set their feet within your consecrated<br> +walls?</p> + +<p>CONFESSOR. So you're still asking questions?</p> + +<p>STRANGER. And why may an abbess never hear confession, never read<br> +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<br> +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<br> +beautiful. ...</p> + +<p>CONFESSOR. Don't lose yourself in meditation; memories lie at the<br> +bottom of the cup.</p> + +<p>STRANGER. And oblivion, and songs, and power—imaginary power, but<br> +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. ...<br> +For a moment I saw a flag unfurling in a puff of wind, only to fall<br> +back on the flagstaff and hang there limply as if it were nothing<br> +but a dishcloth. I've witnessed my whole life flashing past in a<br> +second, with its joys and sorrows, its beauty and its misery! But<br> +now I can see nothing.</p> + +<p>CONFESSOR (going to the left). Wait here a moment, I'll go and<br> +order the ferry.</p> + +<p>(The STRANGER goes so far up stage that the rays of the setting<br> +sun, which are streaming from the right through the trees, throw<br> +his shadow across the bank and the river. The LADY enters from the<br> +right, in deep mourning. Her shadow slowly approaches that of the<br> +STRANGER.)</p> + +<p>STRANGER (who, to begin with, looks only at his own shadow). Ah!<br> +The sun! It makes me a bloodless shape, a giant, who can walk on<br> +the water of the river, climb the mountain, stride over the roof of<br> +the monastery church, and rise, as he does now, up into the<br> +firmament—up to the stars. Ah, now I'm up here with the stars. ...<br> +(He notices the shadow thrown by the LADY.) But who's following me?<br> +Who's interrupting my ascension? Trying to climb on my shoulders?<br> +(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<br> +herself on to his breast, but he avoids her.) I congratulate the<br> +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<br> +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<br> +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<br> +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<br> +weeps into her handkerchief. The STRANGER takes it from her and<br> +dries her eyes.) Dry your eyes, child, and be yourself! As hard,<br> +and lacking in feeling, as you really are! (The LADY tries to put<br> +her arm round his neck. The STRANGER taps her gently on the<br> +fingers.) You mustn't touch me. When your words and glances weren't<br> +enough, you always wanted to touch me. You'll excuse a rather<br> +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<br> +table. The STRANGER throws the bottle and glass into the river.)<br> +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<br> +end to your misery! How like me you are! What a pity there's no<br> +monastery for both sexes, so that we could pair off together. Is<br> +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<br> +from the world and its pettiness, tell me this: why did you leave<br> +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<br> +you'd given me, but I couldn't.</p> + +<p>STRANGER. So that's how it was! But we'll never really know the<br> +truth.</p> + +<p>LADY. Have you noticed how impossible it is to find things out? You<br> +can live with a person and their relations for twenty years, and<br> +yet not know anything about them.</p> + +<p>STRANGER. So you've discovered that? As you see so much, tell me<br> +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<br> +had the masculine courage to be rude to a lady. In me you sought<br> +the companionship of a human being and not merely of a woman. That<br> +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<br> +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<br> +I've understood most. Besides, what I said just how is perhaps only<br> +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<br> +most probable. (The LADY weeps into her handkerchief.) You're<br> +weeping again?</p> + +<p>LADY. I was thinking of Mizzi. The loveliest thing we ever had is<br> +gone.</p> + +<p>STRANGER. No. You were the loveliest thing, when you sat all night<br> +watching over your child, who was lying in your bed, because her<br> +cradle was too cold! (Three loud knocks are heard on the ferryman's<br> +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<br> +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<br> +we, when we'd just married, came to your mother in rags, dirty and<br> +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<br> +that all that was beautiful and good in the child would have<br> +blossomed in the girl. ...</p> + +<p>LADY. Well?</p> + +<p>STRANGER. I found a faded rose, that seemed to have blown too soon.<br> +Her breasts were sunken, her hair untidy like that of a neglected<br> +child, and her teeth decayed.</p> + +<p>LADY. Oh!</p> + +<p>STRANGER. You mustn't grieve. Not for the child! You might perhaps<br> +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<br> +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<br> +alone in the world and so poor, so poor! When the child died, my<br> +mother turned me out, and ever since I've been living in an attic<br> +with a dressmaker. At first she was kind and pleasant, but then the<br> +lonely evenings got too long for her, and she went out in search of<br> +company—so we parted. Now I'm on the road, and I've nothing but<br> +the clothes I'm wearing; nothing but my grief. I eat it and drink<br> +it; it nourishes me and sends me to sleep. I'd rather lose anything<br> +in the world than that! (The STRANGER weeps.) You're weeping. You!<br> +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<br> +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<br> +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<br> +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<br> +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<br> +carrying over her arm, rolled it up and put it on her knee like a<br> +baby in long clothes.) Sleep! Sleep! Sleep! Think of it! I can see<br> +her here! She's smiling at me; but she's dressed in black; she<br> +seems to be in mourning too! How stupid I am! Her mother's in<br> +mourning! She's got two teeth down below, and they're white—milk<br> +teeth; she should never have cut any others. Oh, can't you see her,<br> +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<br> +STRANGER). Come. Everything's ready!</p> + +<p>STRANGER. No. Not yet. I must first set my house in order; and look<br> +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<br> +me unfulfilled. This woman's on the road, deserted, without a home,<br> +without money!</p> + +<p>CONFESSOR. What has that to do with us? Let the dead bury their<br> +dead!</p> + +<p>STRANGER. Is that your teaching?</p> + +<p>CONFESSOR. No, yours. ... Mine, on the other hand, commands me to<br> +send a Sister of Mercy here, to look after this unhappy one, who ...<br> +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.)<br> +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<br> +STRANGER, now raises her eyes and glances at the STRANGER as if she<br> +wanted to spring up and hold him back; but she is prevented by the<br> +imaginary child she has put to her breast.)</p> + +<p>Curtain.</p> + +<p> +<br> +ACT II</p> + +<p>CROSS-ROADS IN THE MOUNTAINS</p> + +<p>[A cross-roads high up in the mountains. On the right, huts. On the<br> +left a small pool, round which invalids are sitting. Their clothes<br> +are blue and their hands cinnabar-red. From the pond blue vapour<br> +and small blue flames rise now and then. Whenever this happens the<br> +invalids put them hands to their mouths and cough. The background<br> +is formed by a mountain covered with pine-wood, which is obscured<br> +above by a stationary bank of mist.]</p> + +<p>[The STRANGER is sitting at a table outside one of the huts. The<br> +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<br> +came back.</p> + +<p>CONFESSOR. Hadn't I prepared you for the fact that the way to the<br> +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<br> +why are their hands so red?</p> + +<p>CONFESSOR. For both our sakes I want to avoid using impure words,<br> +so I'll speak in pleasant riddles, which you, as a writer, will<br> +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<br> +correspond with those of certain metals? Good! Then you'll have<br> +seen that Venus is represented by a mirror. This mirror was<br> +originally made of copper, so that copper was called Venus and bore<br> +her stamp. But now the reverse of Venus' mirror is covered with<br> +quicksilver or mercury!</p> + +<p>STRANGER. The reverse of Venus ... is Mercury. Oh!</p> + +<p>CONFESSOR. Quicksilver is therefore the reverse side of Venus.<br> +Quicksilver is itself as bright as a calm sea, as a lake at the<br> +height of summer; but when mercury meets firestone and burns, it<br> +blushes and turns red like newly-shed blood, like the cloth on the<br> +scaffold, like the cinnabar lips of the whore! Do you understand<br> +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<br> +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<br> +rotten! So when the source of life's grown tainted, one is sent to<br> +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<br> +mire. ... When Aphrodite Urania, the heaven-born, degrades herself<br> +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<br> +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<br> +words, and ask outrageous questions. Sit down there, I'll come<br> +back—when you've learnt patience and undergone your probation. But<br> +don't forget that I can hear and see you, and am aware of you,<br> +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<br> +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<br> +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,<br> +she goes. ... I've looked for her for seven long years, written<br> +letters, advertised. ...</p> + +<p>CONFESSOR. Why?</p> + +<p>STRANGER. I'll tell you how her fate was linked to mine! (Pause.)<br> +Maia was the nurse in my first family ... during those hard years ...<br> +when I was fighting the Invisible Ones, who wouldn't bless my work!<br> +I wrote till my brain and nerves dissolved like fat in alcohol ...<br> +but it wasn't enough! I was one of those who never could earn<br> +enough. And the day came when I couldn't pay the maids their wages—<br> +it was terrible—and I became the servant of my servant, and she<br> +became my mistress. At last ... in order, at least, to save my<br> +soul, I fled from what was too powerful for me. I fled into the<br> +wilderness, where I collected my spirit in solitude and recovered<br> +my strength! My first thought then was—my debts! For seven years I<br> +looked for Maia, but in vain! For seven years I saw her shadow, out<br> +of the windows of trains, from the decks of steamers, in strange<br> +towns, in distant lands, but without ever being able to find her. I<br> +dreamed of her for seven years; and whenever I drank a glass of<br> +wine I blushed at the thought of old Maia, who perhaps was drinking<br> +water in a poorhouse! I tried to give the sum I owed her to the<br> +poor; but it was no use. And now—she's found and lost in the same<br> +moment! (He gets up and goes towards the back as if searching for<br> +her.) Explain this, if you can! I want to pay my debt; I can pay it<br> +now, but I'm not allowed to.</p> + +<p>CONFESSOR. Foolishness' Bow to what seems inexplicable; you'll see<br> +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<br> +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<br> +beautiful you've grown; as beautiful as you were the first time I<br> +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<br> +you have a mirror of beauty in your eye. The werewolf never thought<br> +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<br> +the answer, because I don't know. But just now, when I was away<br> +from you, here in the mountains, where the air's purer and the sun<br> +nearer. ... Hush! Now I can see that Sunday afternoon, when you sat<br> +on that seat like a lost and helpless child, with a broken look in<br> +your eyes, and stared at your own destiny. ... A maternal feeling<br> +I'd never known before welled up in me then, and I was overcome<br> +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<br> +drew down my veil; so that it was between us, like the knight's<br> +sword in the bridal bed. ...</p> + +<p>STRANGER. I'm ashamed. I attributed my evil thoughts to you.<br> +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<br> +mask and the false beard. Now I can see the man you hid from me,<br> +the man I thought I'd found in you ... the man I was always<br> +searching for. I've often thought you a hypocrite; but we're no<br> +hypocrites. No, no, we can't pretend.</p> + +<p>STRANGER. Ingeborg, now we're on the other side of the river, and<br> +have life beneath us, behind us ... how different everything seems.<br> +Now, now, I can see your soul; the ideal, the angel, who was<br> +imprisoned in the flesh because of sin. So there is an Above, and<br> +an Earlier Age. When we began it wasn't the beginning, and it won't<br> +be the end when we are ended. Life is a fragment, without beginning<br> +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—<br> +now we're beyond guilt or innocence—how was it you came to hate<br> +women?</p> + +<p>STRANGER. Let me think! To hate women? Hate them? I never hated<br> +them. On the contrary! Ever since I was eight years old I've always<br> +had some love affair, preferably an innocent one. And I've loved<br> +like a volcano three times! But wait—I've always felt that women<br> +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<br> +jealous of my own personality; and been afraid of being influenced<br> +too much. My first love made herself into a sort of governess and<br> +nurse to me. But, of course, there <i>are</i> men who detest children;<br> +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<br> +you mean it?</p> + +<p>STRANGER. Of course I meant it, if I wrote it! For I wrote out of<br> +experience, not theory. ... In woman I sought an angel, who could<br> +lend me wings, and I fell into the arms of an earth-spirit, who<br> +suffocated me under mattresses stuffed with the feathers of wings!<br> +I sought an Ariel and I found a Caliban; when I wanted to rise she<br> +dragged me down; and continually reminded me of the fall. ...</p> + +<p>LADY (kindly). Solomon knew much of women; do you know what he<br> +said? 'I find more bitter than death a woman, whose heart is snares<br> +and nets and her hands as bands; whoso pleaseth God shall escape<br> +from her; but the sinner shall be taken by her.'</p> + +<p>STRANGER. I was never acceptable in God's sight. Was that a<br> +punishment? Perhaps. But I was never acceptable to anyone, and I've<br> +never had a good word addressed to me! Have I never done a good<br> +action? Is it possible for a man never to have done anything good?<br> +(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,<br> +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<br> +inexplicable. 'When I applied my heart to know wisdom ... I beheld<br> +all the work of God, that a man cannot find out that is done under<br> +the sun. Because, though a man labour to seek it out, yet he shall<br> +not find it; yea, further, though a wise man think to know it, yet<br> +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<br> +pocket.) This is Mizzi's doll. You see she longs for her little<br> +mistress! How pale she's grown ... and she seems to know where<br> +Mizzi is, for she's always gazing up to heaven, whichever way I<br> +hold her. Look! Her eyes follow the stars as the compass the pole.<br> +She is my compass and always shows me where heaven is. She should,<br> +of course, be dressed in black, because she's in mourning; but<br> +we're so poor. ... Do you know why we never had money? Because God<br> +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<br> +wraps the doll up in her cloak.) See, she's beginning to get cold—<br> +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<br> +horrible now.</p> + +<p>STRANGER. Ingeborg! I have made you evil, yet you're on the way to<br> +make me good! It was my dream, you know, to seek redemption through<br> +a woman. You don't believe it! But it's true. In the old days<br> +nothing was of value to me if I couldn't lay it at a woman's feet.<br> +Not as a tribute to an overbearing mistress, ... but as a sacrifice<br> +to the beautiful and good. It was my pleasure to give; but she<br> +wanted to take and not receive: that's why she hated me! When I was<br> +helpless and thought the end was near, a desire grew in me to fall<br> +asleep on a mother's knee, on a tremendous breast where I could<br> +bury my tired head and drink in the tenderness I'd been deprived<br> +of.</p> + +<p>LADY. You had no mother?</p> + +<p>STRANGER. Hardly! And I've never felt any bond between myself and<br> +my father or my brothers and sisters. ... Ingeborg, I was the son<br> +of a servant of whom it is written. 'Drive forth the handmaid with<br> +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—<br> +that he was a scoffer. And then it goes on: 'He will be a wild man,<br> +his hand will be against every man, and every man's hand against<br> +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<br> +most inquisitive!</p> + +<p>STRANGER. Call me your child, and then I'll love you. ... And if I<br> +love anyone, I long to serve them, to obey them, to let myself be<br> +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<br> +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<br> +come to rob her of her last mite. She says nothing—that's the<br> +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<br> +the evil eye or bring misfortune.</p> + +<p>LADY. How strange! Don't you realise that one's sight can be<br> +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<br> +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<br> +last! This gentleman's so silent, you see, that one feels at once<br> +one must respect him; particularly as he seems to have had trouble.<br> +But I can say this to his sister, and he shall hear it: that from<br> +the moment he entered the house I felt that I was blessed. I'd been<br> +dogged by misfortune; I'd no lodger, my only cow had died, my<br> +husband was in a home for drunkards and my children had nothing to<br> +eat. I prayed God to send me help from heaven, because I expected<br> +nothing more on earth. Then this gentleman came. And apart from<br> +giving me double what I asked, he brought me good luck—and my<br> +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<br> +blessing! And I, who'm damned, have brought a blessing on her! How<br> +can I believe it? I, of all men! (He falls down by the table and<br> +weeps in his hands.)</p> + +<p>LADY. He's weeping! Tears, rain from heaven, that can soften rocks,<br> +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<br> +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<br> +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<br> +everything animal, in myself and others. I don't hate animals on<br> +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<br> +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<br> +all, my child; for you're goodness itself. Whether you're beautiful<br> +to look at, I can't see; but I know you must be, because you're<br> +good. Yes, you were the bride of my youth, and my spiritual mate;<br> +and you'll always be so, for you gave me what you were never able<br> +to give to others. I've lived your life in my spirit, suffered your<br> +pains, enjoyed your pleasures—pleasure rather, for you'd no others<br> +than what your child gave you. I alone have seen the beauty of your<br> +soul—my friend here has divined it; that's why he felt attracted<br> +to you—but the evil in him was too strong; you had to draw it out<br> +of him into yourself to free him. Then, being evil, you had to<br> +suffer the worst pains of hell for his sake, to bring atonement.<br> +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<br> +goes with her into the background. The STRANGER makes a movement.)<br> +You're impatient? You mustn't be! (He goes out. The STRANGER<br> +remains sitting alone. The WORSHIPPERS OF VENUS get up, go towards<br> +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.<br> +Let me go!</p> + +<p>SECOND VOICE (that of a pale youth). Don't you recognise me,<br> +Father?</p> + +<p>TEMPTER (appearing in the background at the left-hand fork of the<br> +path). Ha!</p> + +<p>STRANGER (to the Second Voice). Who are you? I seem to know your<br> +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!<br> +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).<br> +The worm! You can make him believe whatever you like. That comes<br> +from his unbelievable pride. Does he think he's the mainspring of<br> +the universe, the originator of all evil? This foolish man believes<br> +he taught youth to go in search of Venus; as if youth hadn't done<br> +that long before he was born! His pride's insupportable, and he's<br> +been rash enough to try to botch my work for me. Give him another<br> +greeting, lying Erik! (The SECOND VOICE—that is the youth—bends<br> +over the STRANGER and whispers in his ear.) There were seven deadly<br> +sins; but now there are eight. The eighth I discovered! It's called<br> +despair. For to despair of what is good, and not to hope for<br> +forgiveness, is to call ... (He hesitates before pronouncing the<br> +word God, as if it burnt his lips.) God wicked. That is calumny,<br> +denial, blasphemy. ... Look how he winces!</p> + +<p>STRANGER (rising quickly, and looking the TEMPTER to the eyes). Who<br> +are you?</p> + +<p>TEMPTER. Your brother. Don't we resemble one another? Some of your<br> +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,<br> +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<br> +represented with St. George. (The STRANGER totters and would like<br> +to fly, but cannot.) Michael and I are sometimes to be seen in a<br> +group, in which, to be sure, I don't appear in the most favourable<br> +light; but that can be altered. All can be altered; and one day the<br> +last shall be first. It's just the same in your case. For the<br> +moment, things are going badly with you, but that can be altered<br> +too ... if you've enough intelligence to change your company.<br> +You've had too much to do with skirts, my son. Skirts raise dust,<br> +and dust lies on eyes and breast. ... Come and sit down. We'll have<br> +a chat. ... (He takes the STRANGER jocularly by the ear and leads<br> +him round the table.) Sit down and tremble, young man! (They both<br> +sit down.) Well? What shall we do? Call for wine—and a woman? No!<br> +That's too old a trick, as old as Doctor Faust! Bon! We modern are<br> +in search of mental dissipation. ... So you're on your way to those<br> +holy men up there, who think that they who sleep can't sin; to the<br> +cowardly ones, who've given up the battle of life, because they<br> +were defeated once or twice; to those that bind souls rather than<br> +free them. ... And talking of that! Has any saintly man ever freed<br> +you from the burden of sin? No! Do you know why sin has been<br> +oppressing you for so long? Through renunciation and abstinence,<br> +you've grown so weak that anyone can seize your soul and take<br> +possession of it. Why, they can even do it from a distance! You've<br> +so destroyed your personality that you see with strange eyes, hear<br> +with strange ears and think strange thoughts. In a word you've<br> +murdered your own soul. Just now, didn't you speak well of the<br> +enemies of mankind; of Woman, who made a hell of paradise? You<br> +needn't answer me; I can read your answer in your eyes and hear it<br> +on your lips. You talk of pure love for a woman! That's lust, young<br> +man, lust after a woman, which we have to pay for so dearly. You<br> +say you don't desire her. Then why do you want to be near her?<br> +You'd like to have a friend? Take a male friend, many of them!<br> +You've let them convince you you're no woman hater. But the woman<br> +gave you the right answer; every healthy man's a woman hater, but<br> +can't live without linking himself to his enemy, and so must fight<br> +her! All perverse and unmanly men are admirers of women! How's it<br> +with you now? So you saw those invalids and thought yourself<br> +responsible for their misery? They're tough fellows, you can<br> +believe me; they'll be able to leave here in a few days and go back<br> +to their occupations. Oh yes, lying Erik's a wag! But things have<br> +gone so far with you, that you can't distinguish between your own<br> +and other people's children. Wouldn't it be a great thing to escape<br> +from all this? What do you say? Oh, I could free you ... but I'm no<br> +saint. Now we'll call old Maia. (He whistles between his fingers:<br> +MAIA appears.) Ah, there you are! Well, what are you doing here?<br> +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<br> +you? Rather the opposite. She was the good angel, whom you ruined ...<br> +we've all been told that! Now, old Maia, what kind of story is it<br> +he prattles of? He says he was plagued with remorse for seven years<br> +because he owed you money.</p> + +<p>MAIA. He owed me a small sum once; but I got it back from him—and<br> +with good interest—much better than the savings bank would have<br> +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<br> +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<br> +bank book here. He paid the money into it in my name. (She produces<br> +a savings bank book, and hands it to the STRANGER, who looks at<br> +it.)</p> + +<p>STRANGER. Yes, that's quite right. Now I remember. Then why this<br> +seven-year torment, shame and disgrace? Those reproaches during<br> +sleepless nights? Why? Why? Why?</p> + +<p>TEMPTER. Old Maia, you can go now. But first say something nice<br> +about this self-tormentor. Can't you remember any human quality in<br> +this wild beast, whom human beings have baited for years?</p> + +<p>STRANGER (to MAIA). Quiet, don't answer him! (He stops his ears<br> +with his fingers.)</p> + +<p>TEMPTER. Well, Maia?</p> + +<p>MAIA. I know well enough what they say about him, but that refers<br> +to what he writes—and I've not read it for I can't read. Still, no<br> +one need read it, if they don't want to. Anyhow the gentleman's<br> +been very kind. Now he's stopping his ears. I don't know how to<br> +flatter; but I can say this in a whisper. ... (She whispers some<br> +thing to the TEMPTER.)</p> + +<p>TEMPTER. Yes. All human beings who are easily moved are baited<br> +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<br> +like that?</p> + +<p>STRANGER. No.</p> + +<p>TEMPTER. The hate and malice of our fellow human beings have<br> +fastened themselves on us. Up there, you know, there are real<br> +saints, who've never done anything wicked themselves, but who<br> +suffer for others, for relations, who've committed unexpiated sins.<br> +Those angels, who've taken the depravity of others on themselves,<br> +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<br> +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,<br> +have you ever thought that there's as good a reason for this as for<br> +everything else? Granted the earth's a prison, on which dangerous<br> +prisoners are confined—is it a good thing to set them free? Is it<br> +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<br> +guilt?</p> + +<p>TEMPTER. That's nothing to do with me: I concern myself with the<br> +present.</p> + +<p>STRANGER. Good! Don't you think we're sometimes punished wrongly,<br> +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,<br> +mistakes, errors, that are comparatively blameless owing to human<br> +weakness, but that are punished by the most consistent revenge.<br> +Everything's revenged, even our injudicious actions. Who forgives?<br> +A magnanimous man-sometimes; heavenly justice, never! (A PILGRIM<br> +appears in the background.) See! A penitent! I'd like to know what<br> +wrong he's done. We'll ask him. Welcome to our quiet meadows,<br> +peaceful wanderer! Take your place at the simple table of the<br> +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<br> +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<br> +is at an end. When we met at a certain doctor's house, I was shut<br> +up there as a madman and supposed to be suffering from the illusion<br> +that I was Caesar. Now the Stranger shall hear the truth of the<br> +matter: I never believed it, but I was forced by scruples of<br> +conscience to put a good face on it. ... A friend of mine, a bad<br> +friend, had written proof that I was the victim of a misunderstanding;<br> +but he didn't speak when he should have, and I took his silence as<br> +a request not to speak either-and to suffer. Why did I? Well, in my<br> +youth I was once in great need. I was received as a guest in a<br> +house on an island far out to sea by a man who, in spite of unusual<br> +gifts, had been passed over for promotion—owing to his senseless<br> +pride. This man, by solitary brooding on his lot, had come to hold<br> +quite extraordinary views about himself. I noticed it, but I said<br> +nothing. One day this man's wife told me that he was sometimes<br> +mentally unbalanced; and then thought he was Julius Caesar. For<br> +many years I kept this secret conscientiously, for I'm not<br> +ungrateful by nature. But life's tricky. It happened a few years<br> +later that this Caesar laid rough hands on my most intimate fate.<br> +In anger at this I betrayed the secret of his Caesar mania and made<br> +my erstwhile benefactor such a laughing stock, that his existence<br> +became unbearable to him. And now listen how Nemesis overtakes one!<br> +A year later I wrote a book-I am, you must know, an author who's<br> +not made his name. ... And in this book I described incidents of<br> +family life: how I played with my daughter—she was called Julia,<br> +as Caesar's daughter was—and with my wife, whom we called Caesar's<br> +wife because no one spoke evil of her. ... Well, this recreation,<br> +in which my mother-in-law joined too, cost me dear. When I was<br> +looking through the proofs of my book, I saw the danger and said to<br> +myself: you'll trip yourself up. I wanted to cut it out but, if<br> +you'll believe it, the pen refused, and an inner voice said to me:<br> +let it stand! It did stand! And I fell.</p> + +<p>STRANGER. Why didn't you publish the letter from your friend that<br> +would have explained everything?</p> + +<p>PILGRIM. When the disaster had happened I felt at once that it was<br> +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<br> +put out. And because I accepted my punishment with calmness and<br> +humility God lightened my burden; and I didn't feel myself<br> +ridiculous.</p> + +<p>TEMPTER. That's a strange story; but such things happen. Shall we<br> +move on now? We'll go for an excursion, now we've weathered the<br> +storms. Pull yourself up by the roots, and then we'll climb the<br> +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<br> +court's sitting to-day. A particularly interesting case is to be<br> +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<br> +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.<br> +Come!</p> + +<p>(They go out towards the background.)</p> + +<p>Curtain.</p> + +<p> +<br> +ACT III</p> + +<p>SCENE I</p> + +<p>TERRACE ON THE MOUNTAIN</p> + +<p>[A Terrace on the mountain on which the Monastery stands. On the<br> +right a rocky cliff and a similar one on the left. In the far<br> +background a bird's-eye view of a river landscape with towns,<br> +villages, ploughed fields and woods; in the very far distance the<br> +sea can be seen. Down stage an apple tree laden with fruit. Under<br> +it a long table with a chair at the end and benches at the sides.<br> +Down stage, right, a corner of the village town hall. A cloud seems<br> +to be hanging immediately over the village.]</p> + +<p>[The MAGISTRATE sits at the end of the table in the capacity of<br> +judge; the assessors on the benches. The ACCUSED MAN is standing on<br> +the right by the MAGISTRATE; the witnesses on the left, amongst<br> +them the TEMPTER. Members of the public, with the PILGRIM and the<br> +STRANGER, are standing here and there not far from the judge's<br> +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<br> +shame on our small community. Florian Reicher, twenty-three years<br> +old, is accused of shooting at Fritz Schlipitska's affianced wife,<br> +with the clear intention of killing her. It's a case of premeditated<br> +murder, and the provisions of the law are perfectly clear. Has the<br> +accused anything to say in his defence, or can he plead mitigating<br> +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<br> +of counsel, but in the present case I think the facts are so clear<br> +that the people have reached a certain conclusion; and the murderer<br> +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<br> +and take the accusation on myself. I ask permission to address the<br> +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<br> +eighteenth year—it's Florian speaking—and my thoughts, as I grew<br> +up under my mother's watchful eye, were pure; and my heart without<br> +deceit, for I'd never seen or heard anything wicked. Then I—<br> +Florian, that is—met a young girl who seemed to me the most<br> +beautiful creature I'd ever set eyes on in this wicked world, for<br> +she was goodness itself. I offered her my hand, my heart, and my<br> +future. She accepted everything and swore that she'd be true. I was<br> +to serve five years for my Rachel—and I did serve, collecting one<br> +straw after another for the little nest we were going to build. My<br> +whole life was centred on the love of this woman! As I was true to<br> +her myself, I never mistrusted her. By the fifth year I'd built the<br> +hut and collected our household goods ... when I discovered she'd<br> +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<br> +myself from the unhealthy thoughts her faithlessness had forced on<br> +me; for when I tried to tear her picture out of my heart, images of<br> +her lovers always rose and crept into my blood, so that at last I<br> +seemed to be living in unlawful relationship with three men—with a<br> +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<br> +preserve thoughts from pollution by strangers. If I'd been content<br> +to do nothing, if I'd not been jealous, I'd have got into vicious<br> +company, and I didn't want to do that. That's why she had to die so<br> +that my thoughts might be cleansed of deadly sin, which alone is to<br> +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,<br> +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<br> +child, has undoubtedly been guilty of a crime and is to blame for<br> +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<br> +defence. (Pause.) When she was fifteen, Maria fell into the hands<br> +of a man who seemed to have made it his business to entrap young<br> +girls, much as a bird-catcher traps small birds. He was no seducer,<br> +in the ordinary sense, for he contented himself with binding her<br> +senses and entangling her feelings only to thrust her away and<br> +watch how she suffered with torn wings and a broken heart—tortured<br> +by the agony of love, which is worse than any other agony. For<br> +three years Maria was cared for in an institution for the mentally<br> +deranged. And when she came out again, she was divided, broken into<br> +several pieces—it might be said that she was several persons. She<br> +was an angel and feared God with one side of her spirit; but with<br> +another she was a devil, and reviled all that was holy. I've seen<br> +her go straight from dancing and frenzy to her beloved Florian, and<br> +have heard her, in his presence, speak so differently and so alter<br> +her expression, that I could have sworn she was another being. But<br> +to me she seemed equally sincere in both her shapes. Is she to<br> +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<br> +servant, born of poor but fairly honourable parents, was from the<br> +beginning one of those strange birds who, in their youth, go in<br> +search of their Creator—but without ever finding him, naturally!<br> +It's more usual for old cuckoos to look for him in their dotage—<br> +and for good reasons! The urge for this youthful quest was<br> +accompanied by a purity of heart and a modesty that even caused his<br> +nurses to smile—yes, we can laugh now when we hear that this boy<br> +would only change his underclothing in the dark! But even if we're<br> +corrupted by the crudities of life, we're still bound to find<br> +something beautiful in it; and if we're older something touching!<br> +And so we can afford to-day to laugh at his childish innocence.<br> +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<br> +youth—your humble servant—and fell into a series of traps that<br> +were laid for his innocence. I'm an old sinner, but I blush at this<br> +moment. ... (He takes of his hat.) Yes, look at me now—when I<br> +think of the insight this young man got into the world of Potiphar's<br> +wives that surrounded him! There wasn't a single woman. ... Really,<br> +I'm ashamed in the name of mankind and the female sex—excuse me,<br> +please. ... There were moments when I didn't believe my eyes, but<br> +thought a devil had blinded my sight. The holiest bands. ... (He<br> +pinches his tongue.) No, quiet! Mankind will feel itself<br> +calumniated! Enough, until my twenty-fifth year I fought the good<br> +fight; and I fell because. ... Well, I was called Joseph, and I<br> +<i>was</i> Joseph! I grew jealous of my virtue, and felt injured by the<br> +glances of a lewd woman. ... And at last, cunningly seduced, I<br> +fell. Then I became a slave of my passions; often and often I sat<br> +by Omphalos and span, until I sank into the deepest degradation and<br> +suffered, suffered, suffered! But in reality it was only my body<br> +that was degraded; my soul lived her own life—her own pure life, I<br> +can say—on her own account. And I raved innocently for pure young<br> +virgins who, it seems, felt the bond that drew us together.<br> +Because, without boasting, I can say they were attracted to me. I<br> +didn't want to overstep the mark, but they did! And when I fled the<br> +danger, their hearts were broken, so they said. In a word, I've<br> +never seduced an innocent girl. I swear it! Am I therefore to blame<br> +for the emotional sorrows of this young woman, who went out of her<br> +mind? On the contrary, mayn't I count it a virtue that I shrank in<br> +horror from the step that brought about her fall? Who'll cast the<br> +first stone at me? No one! Then I mistake my listeners. Indeed, I<br> +thought I might be an object of scorn, if I were to plead here for<br> +my masculine innocence! Now, however, I feel young again; and<br> +there's something for which I'd like to ask mankind's forgiveness.<br> +If it weren't that I happened to see a cynical smile on the lips of<br> +the woman who seduced me when I was young. Come forward, woman, and<br> +look upon your work of destruction. Observe, how the seed has<br> +grown!</p> + +<p>WOMAN (coming forward with dignity and modesty). It was I! Let me<br> +be heard, and let me tell the simple story of my seduction.<br> +(Pause.) Luckily my seducer is here, too. ...</p> + +<p>MAGISTRATE. Friends! I must break off the proceedings; otherwise<br> +we'll get back to Eve in Paradise.</p> + +<p>TEMPTER. Who was Adam's seducer! That's just where we want to get<br> +back to. Eve! Come forward, Eve. Eve! (He waves his cloak in the<br> +air. The trunk of the tree becomes transparent and EVE appears,<br> +wrapped in her hair and with a girdle about her loins.) Now, Mother<br> +Eve, it was you who seduced our father. You are the accused: what<br> +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!<br> +Let the serpent come forward. (EVE disappears.) The serpent! (The<br> +serpent appears in the tree trunk.) Here you can see the seducer of<br> +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<br> +flee, except the TEMPTER, who has fallen to the ground, and the<br> +PILGRIM, the STRANGER and the LADY. The TEMPTER begins to recover;<br> +he then gets up and sits down in an attitude that recalls the<br> +classical statue 'The Polisher,' or 'The Slave.') Causa finalis, or<br> +the first cause—you can't discover that! For if the serpent's to<br> +blame, then we're comparatively innocent—but mankind mustn't be<br> +told that! The Accused, however, seems to have got out of this<br> +business! And the Court of justice has dissolved like smoke! Judge<br> +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<br> +that can't be answered. You know how little children ask about<br> +everything. 'Papa, why does the sun rise in the east?' You know the<br> +answer?</p> + +<p>STRANGER. Hm!</p> + +<p>LADY. Or: 'Mama, who made God?' You think that profound? Well, come<br> +with me.</p> + +<p>STRANGER (fighting his admiration for the TEMPTER). But that about<br> +Eve was new. ...</p> + +<p>LADY. Not at all. I learnt it in my Bible history, when I was<br> +eight. And that we inherit the debts of our fathers is part of the<br> +law of the land. Come, my son.</p> + +<p>TEMPTER (rising, shaking his limbs and climbing up the rocky wall<br> +to the right with a limp). Come, I'll show you the world you think<br> +you know, but don't.</p> + +<p>LADY (climbing up the rocky wall to the left). Come with me, my<br> +son, and I'll show you God's beautiful world, as I've come to see<br> +it, since the tears of sorrow washed the dust from my eyes. Come<br> +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<br> +tears? Like meadow banks reflected in troubled water! A chaos of<br> +curved lines in which the trees seemed to be standing on their<br> +heads. (To the STRANGER.) No, my son, with my field-glasses, dried<br> +in the fire of hate—with my telescope I can see everything as it<br> +is. Clear and sharp, precisely as it is.</p> + +<p>LADY. What do you know of things, my son? You can never see the<br> +thing itself, only its picture; and the picture is illusion and not<br> +the thing. So you argue about pictures and illusions.</p> + +<p>TEMPTER. Listen to her! A little philosopher in skirts. By Jupiter<br> +Chronos, such a disputation in this giant amphitheatre of the<br> +mountains demands a proper audience. Hullo!</p> + +<p>LADY. I have mine here: my friend, my husband, my child! If he'll<br> +only listen to me, good; all will be well with me, and him. Come to<br> +me, my friend, for this is the way. This is the mountain Gerizim,<br> +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,<br> +woman, for thy sake; in sorrow shalt thou bring forth children; and<br> +thy desire shall be to thy husband, and he shall rule over thee.'<br> +And then to the man this: 'Cursed is the ground for thy sake,<br> +thorns and thistle shall it bring forth to thee, and in the sweat<br> +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<br> +day, on which He had completed His work—and the work was good.'<br> +But you, and we, have made it something evil, and that is why. ...<br> +But he who obeys the commandments of the Lord dwells on Gerizim,<br> +where blessings are given. Thus saith the Lord. 'Blessed shalt thou<br> +be in the city, and blessed shalt thou be in the field. Blessed<br> +shall be thy basket and thy store. Blessed shalt thou be when thou<br> +comest in, and blessed when thou goest out. And the Lord shall give<br> +rain unto thy land in his season to increase thy harvest, and thy<br> +children shall flourish. And the Lord shall make thee plenteous in<br> +goods, to lend to the peoples, and never to borrow. And the Lord<br> +will bless all the work of thy hand, if thou shalt keep the<br> +commandments of the Lord thy God!' (Pause.) So come, my friend, and<br> +lay your hand in mine. (She falls on her knees with clasped hands.)<br> +I beg you, by the love that once united us, by the memory of the<br> +child that drew us together; by the strength of a mother's love—a<br> +mother's—for so have I loved you, erring child, whom I've sought<br> +in the dark places of the wood and whom at last I've found, hungry<br> +and withered for want of love! Come back to me, prodigal one; and<br> +bury your tired head on my heart, where you rested before ever you<br> +saw the light of the sun. (A change comes over her during this<br> +speech; her clothing falls from her and she is seen to have changed<br> +into a white-robed woman with her hair let down and with a full<br> +maternal bosom.)</p> + +<p>STRANGER. Mother!</p> + +<p>LADY. Yes, my child, your mother! In life I could never caress you—<br> +the will of higher powers denied it me. Why that was I don't dare<br> +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<br> +conquer death. Didn't you know that? Come, my child, I'll repay<br> +where I have been to blame. I'll rock you to sleep on my knees.<br> +I'll wash you clean from the ... (She omits the word she cannot<br> +bring herself to utter) of hate and sin. I'll comb your hair,<br> +matted with the sweat of fear; and air a pure white sheet for you<br> +at the fire of a home—a home you've never had, you who've known no<br> +peace, you homeless one, son of Hagar, the serving woman, born of a<br> +slave, against whom every man's hand was raised. The ploughmen<br> +ploughed your back and seared deep furrows there. Come, I'll heal<br> +your wounds, and suffer your sorrows. Come!</p> + +<p>STRANGER (who has been weeping so violently that his whole body has<br> +been trembling, now goes to the cliff on the left where the MOTHER<br> +stands with open arms.) I'm coming!</p> + +<p>TEMPTER. I can do nothing now. But one day we shall meet again! (He<br> +disappears behind the cliff.)</p> + +<p>Curtain.</p> + +<p> +SCENE II</p> + +<p>ROCKY LANDSCAPE ON THE MOUNTAIN</p> + +<p>[Higher up the mountain; among the clouds a rocky landscape with a<br> +bog round it. The MOTHER on a rock, climbing until she disappears<br> +into the cloud. The STRANGER stops, bewildered.]</p> + +<p>STRANGER. Oh, Mother, Mother! Why are you leaving me? At the very<br> +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!<br> +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<br> +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.<br> +In relationship to one another they are nothing.</p> + +<p>TEMPTER. So that's it; nothing in themselves; but everything for<br> +us, through us! Our honour and our shame; our greatest joy, our<br> +deepest pain; our redemption and our fall; our wages and our<br> +punishment; our strength and our weakness.</p> + +<p>STRANGER. Our shame! You've said so. Explain this riddle to me, you<br> +who're wise. Whenever I appeared in public arm in arm with a woman,<br> +my wife, who was beautiful and whom I adored, I felt ashamed of my<br> +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<br> +wife in company, because I felt she was being soiled by men's<br> +glances, and I through her.</p> + +<p>STRANGER. And when she did the shameful deed, you were dishonoured.<br> +Why?</p> + +<p>TEMPTER. The Eve of the Greeks was called Pandora, and Zeus created<br> +her out of wickedness, in order to torture men and master them. As<br> +a wedding gift she received a box, containing all the unhappiness<br> +of the world. Perhaps the riddle of this sphinx can more easily be<br> +guessed, if it's seen from. Olympus, rather than from the pleasure<br> +garden of Paradise. Its full meaning will never be known to us.<br> +Though I'm as able as you. (Pause.) And, by the way, I can still<br> +enjoy the greatest pleasure creation ever offered! Go you and do<br> +likewise!</p> + +<p>STRANGER. You mean Satan's greatest illusion! For the woman who<br> +seems most beautiful to me, can seem horrible to others! Even for<br> +me, when she's angry, she can be uglier than any other woman. Then<br> +what is beauty?</p> + +<p>TEMPTER. A semblance, a reflection of your own goodness! (He puts<br> +his hand over his mouth.) Curses on it! I let it out that time. And<br> +now the devil's loose. ...</p> + +<p>STRANGER. Devil? Yes. But if she's a devil, how can a devil make me<br> +desire virtue and goodness? For that's what happened to me when I<br> +first saw her beauty; I was seized with a longing to be like her,<br> +and so to be worthy of her. To begin with I tried to be by taking<br> +exercise, having baths, using cosmetics and wearing good clothes;<br> +but I only made myself ridiculous. Then I began from within; I<br> +accustomed myself to thinking good thoughts, speaking well of<br> +people and acting nobly! And one day, when my outward form had<br> +moulded itself on the soul within, I became her likeness, as she<br> +said. And it was she who first uttered those wonderful words: I<br> +love you! How can a devil ennoble us; how can a spirit of hell fill<br> +us with goodness; how ...? No, she was an angel! A fallen angel, of<br> +course, and her love a broken ray of that great light—that great<br> +eternal light—that warms and loves. ... That loves. ...</p> + +<p>TEMPTER. What, old friend, must we stand here like two youths and<br> +spell out the riddles of love?</p> + +<p>CONFESSOR (coming in). What's this chatterer saying? He's talked<br> +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<br> +who's drowned himself in the bog. It must be near here, because<br> +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<br> +corpse, with a white, young face.) Yes, it is! (He grows pensive as<br> +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,<br> +he looked like sixty-four. His eyes were as yellow as the slime of<br> +a garden snail and bloodshot from drunkenness; but also because<br> +he'd shed tears of blood over his vices and misery. His face was<br> +brown and swollen like a piece of liver on a butcher's table, and<br> +he hid himself from men's eyes out of shame—up to the end he seems<br> +to have been ashamed of the broken mirror of his soul, for he<br> +covered his face with brushwood. I saw him fighting his vices; I<br> +saw him praying to God on his knees for deliverance, after he'd<br> +been dismissed from his post as a teacher. ... But ... Well, now<br> +he's been delivered. And look, now the evil's been taken from him,<br> +the good and beautiful that was in him has again become apparent;<br> +that's what he looked like when he was nineteen! (Pause.) This is<br> +sin—imposed as a punishment. Why? That we don't know. 'He who<br> +hateth the righteous, shall himself be guilty!' So it is written,<br> +as an indication. I knew him when he was young! And now I remember ...<br> +he was always very angry with those who never drank. He criticised<br> +and condemned, and always set his cult of the grape on the altar of<br> +earthly joys! Now he's been set free. Free from sin, from shame,<br> +from ugliness. Yes, in death he looks beautiful. Death is the<br> +deliverer! (To the STRANGER.) Do you hear that, Deliverer, you who<br> +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<br> +meet again. (He goes out.)</p> + +<p>CONFESSOR. I saw you just now with a woman! So there are still<br> +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<br> +and woman—through woman herself! And indeed, through that woman<br> +who was my wife and has now become what I once held her to be<br> +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<br> +further from one another, the nearer one can be.</p> + +<p>CONFESSOR. I've always known that—it was known by Dante, who all<br> +his life possessed the soul of Beatrice; and Beethoven, who was<br> +united from afar with Therese von Brunswick, knew it, though she<br> +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<br> +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.<br> +It's another thing to get a home together. ...</p> + +<p>CONFESSOR. You're sometimes lucky, even if you won't see it.<br> +There's a small house down there by the river; it's quite new and<br> +the owner's never even seen it. He was an Englishman who wanted to<br> +marry; but at the last moment <i>she</i> broke off the engagement. It<br> +was built by his secretary, and neither of the engaged couple ever<br> +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<br> +again.</p> + +<p>CONFESSOR. Then you'll go down?</p> + +<p>STRANGER. Out of the clouds. Below the sun's shining, and up here<br> +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<br> +and warm lap. ...</p> + +<p>CONFESSOR. Until you long once more for what's hard as stone, as<br> +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> + +<p> +SCENE III</p> + +<p>A SMALL HOUSE ON THE MOUNTAIN</p> + +<p>[A pleasant, panelled dining-room, with a tiled stove of majolica.<br> +On the dining-table, which is in the middle of the room, stand<br> +vases filled with flowers; also two candelabra with many lighted<br> +candles. A large carved sideboard on the left. On the right, two<br> +windows. At the back, two doors; that on the left is open and gives<br> +a view of the drawing-room, belonging to the lady of the house,<br> +which is furnished in light green and mahogany, and has a standard<br> +lamp of brass with a large, lemon-coloured lampshade, which is lit.<br> +The door on the right is closed. On the left behind the sideboard<br> +the entrance from the hall.]</p> + +<p>[From the left the STRANGER enters, dressed as a bridegroom; and<br> +the LADY, dressed as a bride; both radiant with youth and beauty.]</p> + +<p>STRANGER. Welcome to my house, belovèd; to your home and mine, my<br> +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<br> +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<br> +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,<br> +as you are, sitting here in our home! Home! An enchanting word. An<br> +enchanting thing I've never yet possessed. A home and a wife! You<br> +are my first, my only one; for what once happened exists no longer—<br> +no more than the hour that's past!</p> + +<p>LADY. Orpheus! Your song has made these dead stones live. Make life<br> +sing in me!</p> + +<p>STRANGER. Eurydice, whom I rescued from the underworld! I'll love<br> +you to life again; revivify you with my imagination. Now happiness<br> +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<br> +these rooms were full of invisible guests, who've come to welcome<br> +us. Kind spirits, who'll bless us and our home.</p> + +<p>STRANGER. The candle flames are still, as if in prayer. The flowers<br> +are pensive. ... And yet!</p> + +<p>LADY. Hush! The summer night's outside, warm and dark. And stars<br> +hang in the sky; large and tearful in the fir trees, like Christmas<br> +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,<br> +because it has no words. Only scent, and colour. If I were to, I<br> +should destroy it. What's unborn is always most beautiful. What's<br> +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<br> +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<br> +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<br> +has come; and blessed may you be amongst women.</p> + +<p>(The candles and lamps go out; it grows dark in the dining-room;<br> +but a weak ray of light can be seen, coming from the brass standard<br> +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<br> +led me over stones and thorns. That little, soft, dear hand! Lead<br> +me into the light, into your bright, warm room; fresh green like<br> +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<br> +sanctuary, when heaven's thunder clouds grow black, for the dove<br> +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<br> +curtain falls.)</p> + +<p>***</p> + +<p>[The same room; but the table has been cleared. The LADY is sitting<br> +at it, doing nothing. She seems bored. On the right, down stage, a<br> +window is open. It is still. The STRANGER comes in, with a piece of<br> +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<br> +days to write this little poem. (Silence.) Perhaps it'll bore you<br> +to hear it?</p> + +<p>LADY (drily). No. Certainly not. (The STRANGER sits down at the<br> +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<br> +says is mostly worthless. (Pause.) May I read them? No, I see I<br> +mayn't. You want nothing more from me. (The LADY makes a gesture as<br> +if she were going to speak.) Your face tells me enough. Now you've<br> +sucked me dry, eaten me hollow, killed my ego, my personality. To<br> +that I answer: how, my beloved? Have <i>I</i> killed your ego, when I<br> +wanted to give you the whole of mine; when I let you skim the cream<br> +off my bowl, that I'd filled with all the experience of along life,<br> +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<br> +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.<br> +What I've read becomes mine, because I've broken it in two like<br> +glass, melted it down, and from this substance blown new glass in<br> +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<br> +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.<br> +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<br> +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<br> +resemble two drops of water, that fear to get close together, in<br> +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<br> +it seems that they can't be avoided.</p> + +<p>STRANGER. Perhaps they weren't dangers, but rude necessities; laws<br> +inscribed in the councils of the immortals. (Silence.) Your love<br> +always seemed to have the effect of hate. When you made me happy,<br> +you envied the happiness you'd given me. And when you saw I was<br> +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<br> +life; our love, that doesn't seem to be of this world. Let's live<br> +it out in another planet, where there's no nearness and no<br> +distance, where two are one; where number, time and space are no<br> +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<br> +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<br> +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<br> +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<br> +we're bound together. We hate the bond, we hate our love; we hate<br> +what is most loveable, what is the bitterest, the best this life<br> +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<br> +serious, if you take it as a joke! You wanted to lead me by the<br> +hand towards the light; your easier fate was to make mine easier<br> +too. I wanted to raise you above the bogs and quicksands; but you<br> +longed for the lower regions, and wanted to convince me they were<br> +the upper ones. I ask myself if it's possible that you took what<br> +was wicked from me, when I was freed from it; and that what was<br> +good in you entered into me? If I've made you wicked I ask your<br> +pardon, and I kiss your little hand, that caressed and scratched me ...<br> +the little hand that led me into the darkness ... and on the long<br> +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<br> +table. The TEMPTER puts his head in at the window, and rests<br> +himself on his elbows whilst he smokes a cigarette.)</p> + +<p>TEMPTER. Ah, yes! C'est l'amour! The most mysterious of all<br> +mysteries, the most inexplicable of all that can't be explained,<br> +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<br> +love affairs there are always quarrels.</p> + +<p>STRANGER. Always?</p> + +<p>TEMPTER. Always! I was invited to a silver wedding yesterday.<br> +Twenty-five years are no trifle—and for twenty-five years they'd<br> +been quarrelling. The whole love affair had been one long shindy,<br> +with many little ones in between! And yet they loved one another,<br> +and were grateful for all the good that had come to them; the evil<br> +was forgotten, wiped out—for a moment's happiness is worth ten<br> +days of blows and pinpricks. Oh yes! Those who won't accept evil<br> +never get anything good. The rind's very bitter, though the<br> +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<br> +your madonna go her way? No answer; because he doesn't know! Now<br> +we'll have to let the hotel again. Here's a board. I'll hang it out<br> +at once. 'To Let.' One comes, another goes! C'est la vie, quoi?<br> +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<br> +because—well, you know, a man marries to get a home, to get into a<br> +home; and a woman to get out of one. She wanted to get out, and I<br> +wanted to get in! I was so made that I couldn't take her into<br> +company, because I felt as if she were soiled by men's glances. And<br> +in company, my splendid, wonderful wife turned into a little<br> +grimacing monkey I couldn't bear the sight of. So I stayed at home;<br> +and then, she stayed away. And when I met her again, she'd changed<br> +into someone else. She, my pure white notepaper, was scribbled all<br> +over; her clear and lovely features changed in imitation of the<br> +satyr-like looks of strange men. I could see miniature photographs<br> +of bull-fighters and guardsmen in her eyes, and hear the strange<br> +accents of strange men in her voice. On our grand piano, on which<br> +only the harmonies of the great masters used to be heard, she now<br> +played the cabaret songs of strange men; and on our table there lay<br> +nothing but the favourite reading of strange men. In a word, my<br> +whole existence was on the way to becoming an intellectual<br> +concubinage with strange men—and that was contrary to my nature,<br> +which has always longed for women! And—I need hardly say this—the<br> +tastes of these strange men were always the reverse of mine. She<br> +developed a real genius for discovering things I detested! That's<br> +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<br> +love her. But I loved her so much I didn't want to speak to any<br> +other human being; because I feared to be untrue to her if I found<br> +pleasure in the company of others, even if they were men. I'd<br> +married for feminine society; and in order to enjoy it I'd left my<br> +friends. I'd married in order to find company, but what I got was<br> +complete solitude! And I was supporting house and home, in order to<br> +provide strange men with feminine companionship. <i>C'est l'amour</i>,<br> +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<br> +if you speak ill, all their sympathy will go out to her; and if, in<br> +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<br> +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<br> +trance-like life a man one day will be created. She seems a child,<br> +but isn't one; she is a sort of child, and yet not like one. Drags<br> +downward, when the man pulls up. Drags upward, when the man pulls<br> +down.</p> + +<p>STRANGER. She always wants to disagree with her husband; always has<br> +a lot of sympathy for what he dislikes; is crudest beneath the<br> +greatest superficial refinement; the wickedest amongst the best.<br> +And yet, whenever I've been in love, I've always grown more<br> +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<br> +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<br> +the riddle by disagreeing with myself, I took it that she absorbed<br> +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<br> +means that she's ambitious and has a sense of shame. Only whores<br> +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<br> +drank I looked uglier than usual; so she begged me not to. I<br> +remember one night we'd been talking in a café for many hours. When<br> +it was nearly ten o'clock, she begged me to go home and not to<br> +drink any more. We parted, after we'd said goodnight. A few days<br> +later I heard she'd left me only to go to a large party, where she<br> +drank till morning. Well, I said, as in those days I looked for all<br> +that was good in women, she meant well by me, but had to pollute<br> +herself for business reasons.</p> + +<p>TEMPTER. That's well thought out; and, as a view, can be defended.<br> +She wanted to make you better than herself, higher and purer, so<br> +that she could look up to you! But you can find an equally good<br> +explanation for that. A wife's always angry and out of humour with<br> +her husband; and the husband's always kind and grateful to his<br> +wife. He does all he can to make things easy for her, and she does<br> +all she can to torture him.</p> + +<p>STRANGER. That's not true. Of course it may sometimes appear to be<br> +so. I once had a woman friend who shifted all the defects that she<br> +had on to me. For instance, she was very much in love with herself,<br> +and therefore called me the most egoistical of men. She drank, and<br> +called me a drunkard; she rarely changed her linen and said I was<br> +dirty; she was jealous, even of my men friends, and called me<br> +Othello. She was masterful and called me Nero. Niggardly and called<br> +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<br> +really was, I'd have lost her favour that moment—and it was<br> +precisely her favour I wanted to keep.</p> + +<p>TEMPTER. <i>A tout prix</i>! Yes, that's the source of degradation! You<br> +grow accustomed to holding your tongue, and at last find yourself<br> +caught in a tissue of falsehoods.</p> + +<p>STRANGER. Wait! Don't you agree that married people so mix their<br> +personalities that they can no longer distinguish between meum and<br> +tuum, no longer remain separate from one another, or cannot tell<br> +their own weaknesses from those of the other. My jealous friend,<br> +who called me Othello, took me for herself, identified me with<br> +herself.</p> + +<p>TEMPTER. That sounds conceivable.</p> + +<p>STRANGER. You see! You can often explain most if you don't ask<br> +who's to blame. For when married people begin to differ, it's like<br> +a realm divided against itself, and that's the worst kind of<br> +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<br> +passive noun. He loves and she is loved; he asks questions and she<br> +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,<br> +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<br> +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<br> +first love!</p> + +<p>TEMPTER. It seems she's left her second husband recently ... and<br> +arrived here with number three; who, if one can judge by certain<br> +movements of his back and calves, is escaping from a stormy scene.<br> +Oh, well! But she didn't notice his spiteful intentions. Very<br> +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<br> +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<br> +another, in the seats occupied by the STRANGER and the LADY in the<br> +first scene.) It's a long time since we've sat facing one another<br> +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<br> +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;<br> +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<br> +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<br> +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<br> +went myself.</p> + +<p>STRANGER. I dare say that's true. But how could you read my<br> +thoughts?</p> + +<p>WOMAN (sitting down again). What? We didn't need to speak in order<br> +to know one another's thoughts.</p> + +<p>STRANGER. We made a mistake when we were living together, because<br> +we accused each other of wicked thoughts before they'd become<br> +actions; and lived in mental reservations instead of realities. For<br> +instance, I once noticed how you enjoyed the defiling gaze of a<br> +strange man, and I accused you of unfaithfulness.</p> + +<p>WOMAN. You were wrong to do so, and right. Because my thoughts were<br> +sinful.</p> + +<p>STRANGER. Don't you think my habit of 'anticipating you' prevented<br> +your bad designs from being put in practice?</p> + +<p>WOMAN. Let me think! Yes, perhaps it did. But I was annoyed to find<br> +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<br> +to force your way in. When you did so I hated you; I said you were<br> +abnormally suspicious out of self-defence. Now I can admit that<br> +your suspicions were never wrong; that they were, in fact, the<br> +purest wisdom.</p> + +<p>STRANGER. Oh! Do you know that, at night, when we'd said good-night<br> +as friends and gone to sleep, I used to wake and feel your hatred<br> +poisoning me; and think of getting out of bed so as not to be<br> +suffocated. One night I woke and felt a pressure on the top of my<br> +head. I saw you were awake and had put your hand close to my mouth.<br> +I thought you were making me inhale poison from a phial; and, to<br> +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<br> +ridiculous. Do you know what a cox-comb is? That's what a lover's<br> +like.</p> + +<p>STRANGER. But if any man who loves you is ridiculous, how can you<br> +respond to his love?</p> + +<p>WOMAN. We don't! We submit to it, and search for another man who<br> +doesn't love us.</p> + +<p>STRANGER. But if he, in turn, begins to love you, do you look for a<br> +third?</p> + +<p>WOMAN. Perhaps it's like that.</p> + +<p>STRANGER. Very strange. (There is a silence.) I remember you were<br> +always dreaming of someone you called your Toreador, which I<br> +translated by 'horse butcher.' You eventually got him, but he gave<br> +you no children, and no bread; only beatings! A toreador's always<br> +fighting. (Silence.) Once I let myself be tempted into trying to<br> +compete with the toreador. I started to bicycle and fence and do<br> +other things of the kind. But you only began to detest me for it.<br> +That means that the husband mayn't do what the lover may. Later you<br> +had a passion for page boys. One of them used to sit on the<br> +Brussels carpet and read you bad verses. ... My good ones were of<br> +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<br> +rhythms and set them for the barrel organ.</p> + +<p>WOMAN (rising and going to the door.) You should be ashamed of<br> +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<br> +it and falls into a chair.) A farewell note! Oh, well! All<br> +beginnings are hard—in love affairs. And those who lack the<br> +patience to surmount initial difficulties—lose the golden fruit.<br> +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<br> +be a sure way to make an end of this. For if lovers only find one<br> +another, they lose one another! What is love? Say something witty,<br> +each one of you, before we part.</p> + +<p>WOMAN. I don't know what it is. The highest and the loveliest of<br> +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<br> +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<br> +of love.</p> + +<p>STRANGER. And the lily that of innocence. That can form seeds, but<br> +only opens her white cup to kisses.</p> + +<p>TEMPTER. And propagates her kind with buds, out of which fresh<br> +lilies spring, like chaste Minerva who sprang fully armed from the<br> +head of Zeus, and not from his royal loins. Oh yes, children, I've<br> +understood much, but never this: what the beloved of my soul has to<br> +do with. ... (He hesitates.)</p> + +<p>STRANGER. Well, go on!</p> + +<p>TEMPTER. What all-powerful love, that is the marriage of souls, has<br> +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<br> +unborn word, a soundless speech, a quiet language of the soul, can<br> +be exchanged, by means of a hallowed procedure, for a surgical<br> +operation, that always ends in tears and the chattering of teeth.<br> +I've never understood how that holy night, the first in which two<br> +souls embrace each other in love, can end in the shedding of blood,<br> +in quarrelling, hate, mutual contempt—and lint! (He holds his<br> +mouth shut.)</p> + +<p>STRANGER. Suppose the story of the fall were true? In pain shalt<br> +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<br> +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> + +<p> +<br> +ACT IV</p> + +<p>SCENE I</p> + +<p>CHAPTER HOUSE OF THE MONASTERY</p> + +<p>[A Gothic chapter house. In the background arcades lead to the<br> +cloisters and the courtyard of the monastery. In the middle of the<br> +courtyard there is a well with a statue of the Virgin Mary,<br> +surrounded by long-stemmed white roses. The walls of the chapter<br> +house are filled with built-in choir stalls of oak. The PRIOR'S own<br> +stall is in the middle to the right and rather higher than the<br> +rest. In the middle of the chapter house an enormous crucifix. The<br> +sun is shining on the statue of the Virgin in the courtyard. The<br> +STRANGER enters from the back. He is wearing a coarse monkish cowl,<br> +with a rope round his waist and sandals on his feet. He halts in<br> +the doorway and looks at the chapter house, then goes over to the<br> +crucifix and stops in front of it. The last strophe of the choral<br> +service can be heard from across the courtyard. The CONFESSOR<br> +enters from the back; he is dressed in black and white; he has long<br> +hair and along beard and a very small tonsure that can hardly be<br> +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!<br> +Did you sleep well last night?</p> + +<p>STRANGER. Dreamlessly, like a tired child. But tell me: why do I<br> +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<br> +continually grown through pious benefactions. Untouched by the<br> +spiritual upheavals and changes of different epochs, it stands on<br> +its rocky height as a monument of Western culture. That is to say:<br> +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.<br> +There's a library, museum, observatory and laboratory—as you'll<br> +see later. Agriculture and horticulture are also studied here; and<br> +a hospital for laymen, with its own sulphur springs, is attached to<br> +the monastery.</p> + +<p>STRANGER. One word more, before the chapter assembles. What kind of<br> +man is the Prior?</p> + +<p>CONFESSOR (smiling). He is the Prior! Aloof, without peer, dwelling<br> +on the summits of human knowledge, and ... well, you'll see him<br> +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<br> +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.<br> +Once he was a minister, but that was seventy years ago. Twice<br> +curator of the university. Archbishop. ... 'Sh! Mass is over.</p> + +<p>STRANGER. I presume he's not the kind of unprejudiced priest who<br> +pretends to have vices when he has none?</p> + +<p>CONFESSOR. Not at all. But he's seen life and mankind, and he's<br> +more human than priestly.</p> + +<p>STRANGER. And the fathers?</p> + +<p>CONFESSOR. Wise men, with strange histories, and none of them<br> +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<br> +suffered shipwreck, started again, gone to pieces and risen<br> +once more. You must wait.</p> + +<p>STRANGER. The Prior's sure to ask me questions. I don't think<br> +I can agree to everything.</p> + +<p>CONFESSOR. On the contrary, you must show yourself as you are; and<br> +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,<br> +where you've played with thoughts and words. You've lived in the<br> +erroneous belief that language, a material thing, can be a vehicle<br> +for anything so subtle as thoughts and feelings. We've discovered<br> +that error, and therefore speak as little as possible; for we are<br> +aware of, and can divine, the innermost thoughts of our neighbour.<br> +We've so developed our perceptive faculties by spiritual exercises<br> +that we are linked in a single chain; and can detect a feeling of<br> +pleasure and harmony, when there's complete accord. The Prior, who<br> +has trained himself most rigorously, can feel if anyone's thoughts<br> +have strayed into wrong paths. In some respects he's like—merely<br> +like, I say—a telephone engineer's galvanometer, that shows when<br> +and where a current has been interrupted. Therefore we can have no<br> +secrets from one another, and so do not need the confessional.<br> +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<br> +without any deep meaning, before the practical examinations. Quiet!<br> +Here they are.</p> + +<p>(He goes to one side. The PRIOR enters from the back. He is dressed<br> +entirely in white and he has pulled up his hood. He is a tall man<br> +with long white hair and along white beard-his head is like that of<br> +Jupiter. His face is pale, but full and without wrinkles. His eyes<br> +are large, surrounded by shadows and his eyebrows strongly marked.<br> +A quiet, majestic calm reigns over his whole personality. The PRIOR<br> +is followed by twelve Fathers, dressed in black and white, with<br> +black hoods, also pulled up. All bow to the crucifix and then go to<br> +their places.)</p> + +<p>PRIOR (after looking at the STRANGER for a moment.) What do you<br> +seek here? (The STRANGER is confused and tries to find an answer,<br> +but cannot. The PRIOR goes on, calmly, firmly, but indulgently.)<br> +Peace? Isn't that so? (The STRANGER makes a sign of assent with<br> +head and mouth.) But if the whole of life is a struggle, how can<br> +you find peace amongst the living? (The STRANGER is not able to<br> +answer.) Do you want to turn your back on life because you feel<br> +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<br> +injustice began so early that you, an innocent child, couldn't<br> +imagine you'd committed any crime that was worthy of punishment.<br> +Well, once you were unjustly accused of stealing fruit; tormented<br> +into taking the offence on yourself; tortured into telling lies<br> +about yourself and forced to beg forgiveness for a fault you'd not<br> +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<br> +listen, you've a good memory; can you remember <i>The Swiss Family<br> +Robinson</i>?</p> + +<p>STRANGER (shrinking). <i>The Swiss Family Robinson</i>?</p> + +<p>PRIOR. Yes. Those events that caused you such mental torture<br> +happened in 1857, but at Christmas 1856, that is the year before,<br> +you tore a copy of that book and out of fear of punishment hid it<br> +under a chest in the kitchen. (The STRANGER is taken aback.) The<br> +wardrobe was painted in oak graining, and clothes hung in its upper<br> +part, whilst shoes stood below. This wardrobe seemed enormously big<br> +to you, for you were a small child, and you couldn't imagine it<br> +could ever be moved; but during spring cleaning at Easter what was<br> +hidden was brought to light. Fear drove you to put the blame on a<br> +schoolfellow. And now he had to endure torture, because appearances<br> +were against him, for you were thought to be trustworthy. After<br> +this the history of your sorrows comes as a logical sequence. You<br> +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<br> +things. But will you now promise to forget this history of your own<br> +sufferings for all time and never to recount it again?</p> + +<p>STRANGER. I promise! If only he whom I took advantage of could<br> +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<br> +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.<br> +But even in 1854 one of my brothers suffered in the same way, owing<br> +to a false accusation on my part. (To the STRANGER.) So we're all<br> +guilty and not one of us is without blemish; and I believe my<br> +victim had no clear conscience either. (He sits down.)</p> + +<p>PRIOR. If we could only stop accusing one another and particularly<br> +Eternal Justice! But we're born in guilt and all resemble Adam! (To<br> +the STRANGER.) There was something you wanted to know, was there<br> +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<br> +permitted to know. Pater Uriel! (PATER URIEL, who is blind, rises.<br> +The PRIOR speaks to the STRANGER.) Look at this blind father! We<br> +call him Uriel in remembrance of Uriel Acosta, whom perhaps you've<br> +heard of? (The STRANGER makes a sign that he has not.) You haven't?<br> +All young people should have heard of him. Uriel Acosta was a<br> +Portuguese of Jewish descent, who, however, was brought up in the<br> +Christian faith. When he was still fairly young he began to<br> +inquire—you understand—to inquire if Christ were really God; with<br> +the result that he went over to the Jewish faith. And then he began<br> +research into the Mosaic writings and the immortality of the soul,<br> +with the result that the Rabbis handed him over to the Christian<br> +priesthood for punishment. A long time after he returned to the<br> +Jewish faith. But his thirst for knowledge knew no bounds, and he<br> +continued his researches till he found he'd reached absolute<br> +nullity; and in despair that he couldn't learn the final secret he<br> +took his own life with a pistol shot. (Pause.) Now look at our good<br> +father Uriel here. He, too, was once very young and anxious to<br> +know; he always wanted to be in the forefront of every modern<br> +movement, and he discovered new philosophies. I may add, by the<br> +way, that he's a friend of my boyhood and almost as old as I. Now<br> +about 1820 he came upon the so-called rational philosophy, that had<br> +already lain in its grave for twenty years. With this system of<br> +thought, which was supposed to be a master key, all locks were to<br> +be picked, all questions answered and all opponents confuted—<br> +everything was clear and simple. In those days Uriel was a strong<br> +opponent of all religions and in particular followed the<br> +Mesmerists, as the hypnotisers of that age were called. In 1830 our<br> +friend became a Hegelian, though, to be sure, rather late in the<br> +day. Then he re-discovered God, a God who was immanent in nature<br> +and in man, and found he was a little god himself. Now, as ill-luck<br> +would have it, there were two Hegels, just as there were two<br> +Voltaires; and the later, or more conservative Hegel, had developed<br> +his All-godhead till it had become a compromise with the Christian<br> +view. And so Father Uriel, who never wanted to be behind the times,<br> +became a rationalistic Christian, who was given the thankless task<br> +of combating Rationalism and himself. (Pause.) I'll shorten the<br> +whole sad history for Father Uriel's sake. In 1850 he again became<br> +a materialist and an enemy of Christianity. In 1870 he became a<br> +hypnotist, in 1880 a theosophist, and 1890 he wanted to shoot<br> +himself! I met him just at that time. He was sitting on a bench in<br> +Unter den Linden in Berlin, and he was blind. This Uriel was blind—<br> +and Uriel means 'God is my Light'—who for a century had marched<br> +with the torch of liberalism at the head of <i>every</i> modern<br> +movement! (To the STRANGER.) You see, he wanted to know, but he<br> +failed! And therefore he now believes. Is there anything else you'd<br> +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<br> +would have called him conservative or old-fashioned; but now, as<br> +he's followed the developments of his time and has therefore<br> +discarded his youthful faith, men will call him a renegade—that's<br> +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<br> +you heeded what men said? (PATER CLEMENS rises and makes a gesture<br> +of assent.) Father Clemens is our greatest figure painter. In the<br> +world outside he's known by another name, a very famous one. Father<br> +Clemens was a young man in 1830. He felt he had a talent for<br> +painting and gave himself up to it with his whole soul. When he was<br> +twenty he was exhibiting. The public, the critics, his teachers,<br> +and his parents were all of the opinion that he'd made a mistake in<br> +the choice of his profession. Young Clemens heeded what men were<br> +saying, so he laid down his brush and turned bookseller. When he<br> +was fifty years of age, and had his life behind him, the paintings<br> +of his early years were discovered by some stranger; and were then<br> +recognised as masterpieces by the public, the critics, his teachers<br> +and relations! But it was too late. And when Father Clemens<br> +complained of the wickedness of the world, the world answered with<br> +a heartless grin: 'Why did you let yourself be taken in?' Father<br> +Clemens grieved so much at this, that he came to us. But he doesn't<br> +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<br> +done in 1830 were admired and hung in a museum till 1880. Taste<br> +then changed very quickly, and one day an important newspaper<br> +announced that their presence there was an outrage. So they were<br> +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<br> +again that a professor of the History of Art wrote that it was a<br> +national scandal that my works should be hanging in an attic. So<br> +the pictures were brought down again, and, for the time being, are<br> +classical. But for how long? From that you can see, young man, in<br> +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<br> +of deception and error, but also in that of lies and contradictions.<br> +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<br> +the Chapter House.)</p> + +<p>Curtain.</p> + +<p> +SCENE II</p> + +<p>PICTURE GALLERY OF THE MONASTERY</p> + +<p>[Picture Gallery of the Monastery. There are mostly portraits of<br> +people with two heads.]</p> + +<p>MELCHER. Well, first we have here a small landscape, by an unknown<br> +master, called 'The Two Towers.' Perhaps you've been in Switzerland<br> +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<br> +railway you've seen a tower, called Zwing-Uri, sung of by Schiller<br> +in his <i>Wilhelm Tell</i>. It stands there as a monument to the cruel<br> +oppression which the inhabitants of Uri suffered at the hands of<br> +the German Emperors. Good! On the Italian side of the Gotthard lies<br> +Bellinzona, as you know. There are many towers to be seen there,<br> +but the most curious is called Castel d'Uri. That's the monument<br> +recalling the cruel oppression which the Italian cantons suffered<br> +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<br> +to me.</p> + +<p>MELCHER. Then let's go on without further comment to the portrait<br> +collection. Number one in the catalogue. Boccaccio, with two heads—<br> +all our portraits have at least two heads. His story's well known.<br> +The great man began his career by writing dissolute and godless<br> +tales, which he dedicated to Queen Johanna of Naples, who'd seduced<br> +the son of St. Brigitta. Boccaccio ended up as a saint in a<br> +monastery where he lectured on Dante's Hell and the devils that, in<br> +his youth, he had thought to drive out in a most original way.<br> +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<br> +be expected in a man who knew himself as well as our friend<br> +Boccaccio did.</p> + +<p>MELCHER. Number two in the catalogue. Ah, yes; that's two-headed<br> +Doctor Luther. The youthful champion of tolerance and the aged<br> +upholder of intolerance. Have I said enough?</p> + +<p>STRANGER. Quite enough.</p> + +<p>MELCHER. Number three in the catalogue. The great Gustavus Adolphus<br> +accepting Catholic funds from Cardinal Richelieu in order to fight<br> +for Protestantism, whilst remaining neutral in the face of the<br> +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.<br> +Schiller, the author of The Robbers, who was offered the freedom of<br> +the City of Paris by the leaders of the French Revolution in 1792;<br> +but who had been made a State Councillor of Meiningen as early as<br> +1790 and a royal Danish Stipendiary in 1791. The scene depicts the<br> +State Councillor—and friend of his Excellency Goethe—receiving<br> +the Diploma of Honour from the leaders of the French Revolution as<br> +late as 1798. Think of it, the diploma of the Reign of Terror in<br> +the year 1798, when the Revolution was over and the country under<br> +the Directory! I'd have liked to have seen the Councillor and his<br> +friend, His Excellency! But it didn't matter, for two years later<br> +he repaid his nomination by writing the <i>Song of the Bell</i>, in<br> +which he expressed his thanks and begged the revolutionaries to<br> +keep quiet! Well, that's life. We're intelligent people and love<br> +<i>The Robbers</i> as much as <i>The Song of the Bell</i>; Schiller as much<br> +as Goethe!</p> + +<p>STRANGER. The work remains, the master perishes.</p> + +<p>MELCHER. Goethe, yes! Number five in the catalogue. He began with<br> +Strassburg cathedral and <i>Götz von Berlichingen</i>, two hurrahs for<br> +gothic Germanic art against that of Greece and Rome. Later he<br> +fought against Germanism and for Classicism. Goethe against Goethe!<br> +There you see the traditional Olympic calm, harmony, etc., in the<br> +greatest disharmony with itself. But depression at this turns into<br> +uneasiness when the young Romantic school appears and combats the<br> +Goethe of <i>Iphigenia</i> with theories drawn from Goethe's <i>Goetz</i>.<br> +That the 'great heathen' ends up by converting Faust in the Second<br> +Part, and allowing him to be saved by the Virgin Mary and the<br> +angels, is usually passed over in silence by his admirers. Also the<br> +fact that a man of such clear vision should, towards the end of his<br> +life, have found everything so 'strange,' and 'curious,' even the<br> +simplest facts that he'd previously seen through. His last wish was<br> +for 'more light'! Yes; but it doesn't matter. We're intelligent<br> +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<br> +two heads. The Godless One, who spent his whole life defending God.<br> +The Mocker, who was mocked, because 'he believed in God like a<br> +child.' The author of the cynical 'Candide,' who wrote:</p> + +<p> In my youth I sought the pleasures<br> + Of the senses, but I learned<br> + That their sweetness was illusion<br> + Soon to bitterness it turned.<br> + In old age I've come to see<br> + Life is nought but vanity.</p> + +<p>Dr. Knowall, who thought he could grasp everything between Heaven<br> +and Earth by means of reason and science, sings like this, when he<br> +comes to the end of his life:</p> + +<p> I had thought to find in knowledge<br> + Light to guide me on my way;<br> + Yet I still must walk in darkness<br> + All that's known must soon decay.<br> + Ignorance, I turn to thee!<br> + Knowledge is but vanity.</p> + +<p>But that's no matter! Voltaire can be put to many uses. The Jews<br> +use him against the Christians, and the Christians use him against<br> +the Jews, because he was an anti-Semite, like Luther. Chateaubriand<br> +used him to defend Catholicism, and Protestants use him even to-day<br> +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<br> +already. And that's why we've only one head—placed exactly above<br> +the heart. (Pause.) In the meantime let's look at number seven in<br> +the catalogue. Ah, Napoleon! The creation of the Revolution itself!<br> +The Emperor of the People, the Nero of Freedom, the suppressor of<br> +Equality and the 'big brother' of Fraternity. He's the most cunning<br> +of all the two-headed, for he could laugh at himself, raise himself<br> +above his own contradictions, change his skin and his soul, and yet<br> +be quite explicable to himself in every transformation—convinced,<br> +self-authorised. There's only one other man who can be compared<br> +with him in this; Kierkegaard the Dane. From the beginning he was<br> +aware of this parthenogenesis of the soul, whose capacity to<br> +multiply by taking cuttings was equivalent to bringing forth young<br> +in this life without conception. And for that reason, and so as not<br> +to become life's fool, he wrote under a number of pseudonyms, of<br> +which each one constituted a 'stage on his life's way.' But did you<br> +realise this? The Lord of life, in spite of all these precautions,<br> +made a fool of him after all. Kierkegaard, who fought all his life<br> +against the priesthood and the professional preachers of the State<br> +Church, was eventually forced of necessity to become a professional<br> +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<br> +arrogant, particularly those who alone believe they possess truth<br> +and knowledge! Number eight in the catalogue. Victor Hugo. He split<br> +himself into countless parts. He was a peer of France, a Grandee of<br> +Spain, a friend of Kings, and the socialist author of <i>Les<br> +Misérables</i>. The peers naturally called him a renegade, and the<br> +socialists a reformer. Number nine. Count Friedrich Leopold von<br> +Stollberg. He wrote a fanatical book for the Protestants, and then<br> +suddenly became a Catholic! Inexplicable in a sensible man. A<br> +miracle, eh? A little journey to Damascus, perhaps? Number ten.<br> +Lafayette. The heroic upholder of freedom, the revolutionary, who<br> +was forced to leave France as a suspected reactionary, because he<br> +wanted to help Louis XVI; and then was captured by the Austrians<br> +and carried off to Olmütz as a revolutionary! What was he in<br> +reality?</p> + +<p>STRANGER. Both!</p> + +<p>MELCHER. Yes, both. He had the two halves that made a whole—a<br> +whole man. Number eleven. Bismarck. A paradox. The honest diplomat,<br> +who maintained he'd discovered that to tell the truth was the<br> +greatest of ruses. And so was compelled—by the Powers, I suppose?—<br> +to spend the last six years of his life unmasking himself as a<br> +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<br> +holds the same opinions, one grows old according to nature's laws,<br> +and gets called conservative, old-fashioned, out of date. But if<br> +one goes on developing, keeping pace with one's own age, renewing<br> +oneself with the perennially youthful impulses of contemporary<br> +thought, one's called a waverer and a renegade.</p> + +<p>MELCHER. That's as old as the world! But does an intelligent, man<br> +heed what he's called? One is, what one's becoming.</p> + +<p>STRANGER. But who revises the periodically changing views of<br> +contemporary opinion?</p> + +<p>MELCHER. You ought to answer that yourself, and indeed in this way.<br> +It is the Powers themselves who promulgate contemporary opinion, as<br> +they develop in <i>apparent</i> circles. Hegel, the philosopher of the<br> +present, himself dimorphous, for both a 'left'-minded and a<br> +'right'-minded Hegel can always be quoted, has best explained the<br> +contradictions of life, of history and of the spirit, with his own<br> +magic formula. Thesis: affirmation; Antithesis: negation;<br> +Synthesis: comprehension! Young man, or rather, comparatively young<br> +man! You began life by accepting everything, then went on to<br> +denying everything on principle. Now end your life by comprehending<br> +everything. Be exclusive no longer. Do not say: either—or, but:<br> +not only—but also! In a word, or two words rather, Humanity and<br> +Resignation!</p> + +<p>Curtain.</p> + +<p> +SCENE III</p> + +<p>CHAPEL OF THE MONASTERY</p> + +<p>[Choir of the Monastery Chapel. An open coffin with a bier cloth<br> +and two burning candles. The CONFESSOR leads in the STRANGER by the<br> +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<br> +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<br> +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<br> +lie in your coffin and appear to die; the old Adam will be covered<br> +with three shovelfuls of earth, and a De Profundis will be sung.<br> +Then you'll rise again from the dead, having laid aside your old<br> +name, and be baptized once more like a new-born child! What will<br> +you be called? (The STRANGER does not reply.) It is written:<br> +Johannes, brother Johannes, because he preached in the wilderness<br> +and ...</p> + +<p>STRANGER. Do not trouble me.</p> + +<p>TEMPTER. Speak to me a little, before you depart into the long<br> +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<br> +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<br> +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<br> +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<br> +suffering.</p> + +<p>STRANGER. Poor child!</p> + +<p>TEMPTER. A human history, that's about to begin. (A bridal couple<br> +cross the stage.) And there—what's loveliest, and most bitter.<br> +Adam and Eve in Paradise, that in a week will be a Hell, and in a<br> +fortnight Paradise again.</p> + +<p>STRANGER. What is loveliest, brightest! The first, the only, the<br> +last that ever gave life meaning! I, too, once sat in the sunlight<br> +on a verandah, in the spring beneath the first tree to show new<br> +green, and a small crown crowned a head, and a white veil lay like<br> +thin morning mist over a face ... that was not that of a human<br> +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<br> +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<br> +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<br> +peace!</p> + +<p>CHOIR. Amen!</p> + +<p>Curtain.</p> + + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Road to Damascus, by August Strindberg + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ROAD TO DAMASCUS *** + +This file should be named 8rddm10h.htm or 8rddm10h.zip +Corrected EDITIONS of our eBooks get a new NUMBER, 8rddm11h.htm +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, 8rddm10ah.htm + +Produced by Nicole Apostola and David Widger + +Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US +unless a copyright notice is included. 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