ACT I

PLAYS

BY

AUGUST STRINDBERG

THIRD SERIES

SWANWHITE

SIMOOM

DEBIT AND CREDIT

ADVENT

THE THUNDERSTORM

AFTER THE FIRE

TRANSLATED FROM THE SWEDISH WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY

EDWIN BJÖRKMAN

AUTHORIZED EDITION

NEW YORK

CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS

1921

CONTENTS

INTRODUCTION

SWANWHITE

SIMOOM

DEBIT AND CREDIT

ADVENT

THE THUNDERSTORM

AFTER THE FIRE

INTRODUCTION

The collection of plays contained in this volume is unusually

representative, giving what might be called a cross-section of

Strindberg's development as a dramatist from his naturalistic revolt

in the middle eighties, to his final arrival at resigned mysticism and

Swedenborgian symbolism.

"Swanwhite" was written in the spring of 1901, about the time when

Strindberg was courting and marrying his third wife, the gifted Swedish

actress Harriet Bosse. In the fall of 1902 the play appeared in book

form, together with "The Crown Bride" and "The Dream Play," all of them

being issued simultaneously, at Berlin, in a German translation made by

Emil Schering.

Schering, who at that time was in close correspondence with Strindberg,

says that the figure of _Swanwhite_ had been drawn with direct

reference to Miss Bosse, who had first attracted the attention of

Strindberg by her spirited interpretation of _Biskra_ in "Simoom."

And Schering adds that it was Strindberg's bride who had a little

previously introduced him to the work of Maeterlinck, thereby

furnishing one more of the factors determining the play.

Concerning the influence exerted upon him by the Belgian

playwright-philosopher, Strindberg himself wrote in a pamphlet named

"Open Letters to the Intimate Theatre" (Stockholm, 1909):

"I had long had in mind skimming the cream of our most beautiful

folk-ballads in order to turn them into a picture for the stage.

Then Maeterlinck came across my path, and under the influence of

his puppet-plays, which are not meant for the regular stage, I wrote

my Swedish scenic spectacle, 'Swanwhite.' It is impossible either to

steal or to borrow from Maeterlinck. It is even difficult to become his

pupil, for there are no free passes that give entrance to his world of

beauty. But one may be urged by his example into searching one's own

dross-heaps for gold--and it is in that sense I acknowledge my debt to

the master.

"Pushed ahead by the _impression_ made on me by Maeterlinck, and

borrowing his divining-rod for my purposes, I turned to such sources

[_i.e._, of Swedish folk-lore] as the works of Geijer, Afzelius, and

Dybeck. There I found a superabundance of princes and princesses. The

stepmother theme I had discovered on my own hook as a _constant_--it

figures in twenty-six different Swedish folk-tales. In the same place I

found the resurrection theme, as, for instance, it appears in the story

of _Queen Dagmar_. Then I poured it all into my separator, together

with the _Maids_, the _Green Gardener_ and the _Young King_, and in

a short while the cream began to flow--and for that reason the story

is my own. But it has also been made so by the fact that I have lived

through that tale in my own fancy--a Spring in time of Winter!"

Swedish critics have been unanimous in their praise of this play. John

Landquist, who has since become Strindberg's literary executor, spoke

of it once as "perhaps the most beautiful and most genuine fairy tale

for old or young ever written in the Swedish language." Tor Hedberg

has marvelled at the charm with which _Swanwhite_ herself has been

endowed--"half child, half maid; knowing nothing, yet guessing all;

playing with love as a while ago she was playing with her dolls." On

the stage, too--in Germany as well as in Sweden--little _Swanwhite_

has celebrated great triumphs. Whether that figure, and the play

surrounding it, will also triumph in English-speaking countries,

remains still to be seen. But if, contrary to my hopes, it should fail

to do so, I want, in advance, to shift the blame from the shoulders of

the author to my own. In hardly any other work by Strindberg do form

and style count for so much. The play is, in its original shape, as

poetical in form as in spirit--even to the extent of being strongly

rhythmical in its prose, and containing many of the inversions which

are so characteristic of Swedish verse.

It is not impossible to transfer these qualities into English, but

my efforts to do so have had to be influenced by certain differences

in the very _grain_ of the two languages involved. Like all other

languages, each possesses a natural basic rhythm. This rhythm varies

frequently and easily in Swedish, so that you may pass from iambic to

trochaic metre without giving offence to the ear--or to that subtle

rhythmical susceptibility that seems to be inherent in our very pulses.

But the rhythm dearest and most natural to the genius of the Swedish

language seems to be the falling pulse-beat manifested in the true

trochee. The swing and motion of English, on the other hand, is almost

exclusively, commandingly iambic. And it was not until I made the

iambic _rising_ movement prevail in my translation, that I felt myself

approaching the impression made on me by the original. But for that

very reason--because the genius of the new medium has forced me into

making the movement of my style more monotonous--it is to be feared

that the rhythmical quality of that movement may seem overemphasised.

Should such a criticism be advanced, I can only answer: I have tried

several ways, and this is the only one that will _work_.

"Simoom" seems to have been written in 1888, in close connection with

"Creditors" and "Pariah." And, like these, it shows the unmistakable

influence of Edgar Allan Poe, with whose works Strindberg had become

acquainted a short while before. The play was first printed in one of

the three thin volumes of varied contents put out by Strindberg in 1890

and 1891 under the common title of "Pieces Printed and Unprinted." But,

strange to say, it was not put on the stage (except in a few private

performances) until 1902, although, from a purely theatrical viewpoint,

Strindberg--master of stagecraft though he was--had rarely produced a

more effective piece of work.

"Debit and Credit" belongs to the same general period as the previous

play, but has in it more of Nietzsche than of Poe. Its central figure

is also a sort of superman, but as such he is not taken too seriously

by his creator. The play has humour, but it is of a grim kind--one

seems to be hearing the gritting of teeth through the laughter. Like

"Simoom," however, it should be highly effective on the stage. It was

first published in 1893, with three other one-act plays, the volume

being named "Dramatic Pieces."

"Advent" was published in 1899, together with "There Are Crimes and

Crimes," under the common title of "In a Higher Court." Its name

refers, of course, to the ecclesiastical designation of the four weeks

preceding Christmas. The subtitle, literally rendered, would be "A

Mystery." But as this term has a much wider application in Swedish

than in English, I have deemed it better to observe the distinction

which the latter language makes between mysteries, miracle-plays, and

moralities.

The play belongs to what Strindberg called his "Inferno period," during

which he struggled in a state of semi-madness to rid himself of the

neurasthenic depression which he regarded as a punishment brought about

by his previous attitude of materialistic scepticism. It is full of

Swedenborgian symbolism, which, perhaps, finds its most characteristic

expression in the two scenes laid in "The Waiting Room." The name

selected by Strindberg for the region where dwell the "lost" souls of

men is not a mere euphemism. It signifies his conception of that place

as a station on the road to redemption or annihilation.

In its entirety the play forms a Christmas sermon with a quaint

blending of law and gospel. A prominent Swedish critic, Johan

Mortensen, wrote: "Reading it, one almost gets the feeling that

Strindberg, the dread revolutionist, has, of a sudden, changed into

a nice village school-teacher, seated at his desk, with his rattan

cane laid out in front of him. He has just been delivering a lesson in

Christianity, and he has noticed that the attention of the children

strayed and that they either failed to understand or did not care to

take in the difficult matters he was dealing with. But they must be

made to listen and understand. And so--with serious eyes, but with a

sly smile playing around the corners of his mouth--he begins all over

again, in that fairy-tale style which never grows old: 'Once upon a

time!'"

In November, 1907, a young theatrical manager, August Falck, opened the

Intimate Theatre at Stockholm. From the start Strindberg was closely

connected with the venture, and soon the little theatre, with its tiny

stage and its auditorium seating only one hundred and seventy-five

persons, was turned wholly into a Strindberg stage, where some of the

most interesting and daring theatrical experiments of our own day were

made. With particular reference to the needs and limitations of this

theatre, Strindberg wrote a series of "chamber plays," four of which

were published in 1907--each one of them appearing separately in a

paper-covered duodecimo volume.

The first of these plays to appear in book form--though not the

first one to be staged--was "The Thunder-Storm," designated on the

front cover as "Opus I." Two of the principal ideas underlying its

construction were the abolition of intermissions--which, according to

Strindberg, were put in chiefly for the benefit of the liquor traffic

in the theatre café--and the reduction of the stage-setting to quickly

inter-changeable backgrounds and a few stage-properties. Concerning the

production of "The Thunder-Storm," at the Intimate Theatre, Strindberg

wrote subsequently that, in their decorative effects, the first and

last scenes were rather failures. But he held the lack of space

wholly responsible for this failure. His conclusion was that the most

difficult problem of the small theatre would be to give the illusion of

distance required by a scene laid in the open--particularly in an open

place surrounded or adjoined by buildings. Of the second act he wrote,

on the other hand, that it proved a triumph of artistic simplification.

The only furniture appearing on the stage consisted of a buffet, a

piano, a dinner-table and a few chairs--that is, the pieces expressly

mentioned in the text of the play. And yet the effect of the setting

satisfied equally the demands of the eye and the reason.

"The Thunder-Storm" might be called a drama of old age--nay, _the_

drama of man's inevitable descent through a series of resignations to

the final dissolution. Its subject-matter is largely autobiographical,

embodying the author's experiences in his third and last marriage,

as seen in retrospect--the anticipatory conception appearing in

"Swanwhite." However, justice to Miss Harriet Bosse, who was Mrs.

Strindberg from 1901 to 1904, requires me to point out that echoes

of the dramatist's second marriage also appear, especially in the

references to the postmarital relationship.

"After the Fire" was published as "Opus II" of the chamber-plays,

and staged ahead of "The Thunder-Storm." Its Swedish name is _Brända

Tomten_, meaning literally "the burned-over site." This name has

previously been rendered in English as "The Burned Lot" and "The Fire

Ruins." Both these titles are awkward and ambiguous. The name I have

now chosen embodies more closely the fundamental premise of the play.

The subject-matter is even more autobiographical than that of "The

Thunder-Storm"--almost as much so as "The Bondwoman's Son." The

perished home is Strindberg's own at the North Tollgate Street in

Stockholm, where he spent the larger part of his childhood and youth.

The old _Mason_, the _Gardener_, the _Stone-Cutter_, and other figures

appearing in the play are undoubtedly lifted straight out of real

life--and so are probably also the exploded family reputation and

the cheap table painted to represent ebony--although one may take

for granted that the process has not taken place without a proper

disguising of externals.

There is one passage in this little play which I want to point out as

containing one of the main keys to Strindberg's character and art. It

is the passage where _The Stranger_--who, of course, is none but the

author himself--says to his brother: "I have beheld life from every

quarter, from every standpoint, from above and from below, but always

it has seemed to me like a scene staged for my particular benefit."

SWANWHITE

(SVANEHVIT)

A FAIRY PLAY

1902

CHARACTERS

THE DUKE

THE STEPMOTHER

SWANWHITE

THE PRINCE

SIGNE }

ELSA } _Maids_

TOVA }

THE KITCHEN GARDENER

THE FISHERMAN

THE MOTHER OF SWANWHITE

THE MOTHER OF THE PRINCE

THE GAOLER

THE EQUERRY

THE BUTLER

THE FLOWER GARDENER

TWO KNIGHTS

_An apartment in a mediæval stone castle. The walls and the

cross-vaulted ceiling are whitewashed. In the centre of the

rear wall is a triple-arched doorway leading to a balcony

with a stone balustrade. There are draperies of brocade over

the doorway. Beyond the balcony appear the top branches of a

rose-garden, laden with white and pink roses. In the background

there can be seen a white, sandy beach and the blue sea_.

_To the right of the main doorway is a small door which, when

left open, discloses a vista of three closets, one beyond the

other. The first one is stored with vessels of pewter arranged

on shelves. The walls of the second closet are hung with all

sorts of costly and ornate garments. The third closet contains

piles and rows of apples, pears, melons, pumpkins, and so

forth_.

_The floors of all the rooms are inlaid with alternating

squares of black and red. At the centre of the apartment stands

a gilded dinner-table covered with a cloth; a twig of mistletoe

is suspended above the table. A clock and a vase filled with

roses stand on the table, near which are placed two gilded

tabourets. Two swallows' nests are visible on the rear wall

above the doorway. A lion skin is spread on the floor near the

foreground. At the left, well to the front, stands a white bed

with a rose-coloured canopy supported by two columns at the

head of the bed (and by none at the foot). The bed-clothing is

pure white except for a coverlet of pale-blue silk. Across

the bed is laid a night-dress of finest muslin trimmed with

lace. Behind the bed stands a huge wardrobe containing linen,

bathing utensils, and toilet things. A small gilded table in

Roman style (with round top supported by a single column) is

placed near the bed; also a lamp-stand containing a Roman lamp

of gold. At the right is an ornamental chimney-piece. On the

mantel stands a vase with a white lily in it_.

_In the left arch of the doorway, a peacock is asleep on a

perch, with its back turned toward the audience_.

_In the right arch hangs a huge gilded cage with two white

doves at rest_.

_As the curtain rises, the three maids are seen in the doorways

of the three closets, each one half hidden by the door-post

against which she leans_. SIGNE, _the false maid, is in the

pewter-closet_, ELSA _in the clothes-closet, and_ TOVA _in the

fruit-closet_.

_The_ DUKE _enters from the rear. After him comes the_

STEPMOTHER _carrying in her hand a wire-lashed whip_.

_The stage is darkened when they enter_.

* * * * *

STEPMOTHER. Swanwhite is not here?

DUKE. It seems so!

STEPMOTHER. So it seems, but--is it seemly? Maids!--Signe!--Signe,

Elsa, Tova!

_The maids enter, one after the other, and stand in front of

the_ STEPMOTHER.

STEPMOTHER. Where is Lady Swanwhite?

SIGNE _folds her arms across her breast and makes no reply_.

STEPMOTHER. You do not know? What see you in my hand?--Answer, quick!

[_Pause_] Quick! Do you hear the whistling of the falcon? It has claws

of steel, as well as bill! What is it?

SIGNE. The wire-lashed whip!

STEPMOTHER. The wire-lashed whip, indeed! And now, where is Lady Swan

white?

SIGNE. How can I tell what I don't know?

STEPMOTHER. It is a failing to be ignorant, but carelessness is an

offence. Were you not placed as guardian of your young mistress?--Take

off your neckerchief!--Down on your knees!

_The_ DUKE _turns his back on her in disgust_.

STEPMOTHER. Hold out your neck! And I'll put such a necklace on it that

no youth will ever kiss it after this!--Hold out your neck!--Still more!

SIGNE. For Christ's sake, mercy!

STEPMOTHER. 'Tis mercy that you are alive!

DUKE. [_Pulls out his sword and tries the edge of it, first on one of

his finger-nails, and then on a hair out of his long beard_] Her head

should be cut off--put in a sack--hung on a tree----

STEPMOTHER. So it should!

DUKE. We are agreed! How strange!

STEPMOTHER. It did not happen yesterday.

DUKE. And may not happen once again.

STEPMOTHER. [_To_ Signe, _who, still on her knees, has been moving

farther away_] Stop! Whither? [_She raises the whip and strikes_; Signe

_turns aside so that the lash merely cuts the air_.]

SWANWHITE. [_Comes forward from behind the bed and falls on her knees_]

Stepmother--here I am--the guilty one! She's not at fault.

STEPMOTHER. Say "mother"! You must call me "mother"!

SWANWHITE. I cannot! One mother is as much as any human being ever had.

STEPMOTHER. Your father's wife must be your mother.

SWANWHITE. My father's second wife can only be my stepmother.

STEPMOTHER. You are a stiffnecked daughter, but my whip is pliant and

will make you pliant too.

[_She raises the whip to strike_ SWANWHITE.

DUKE. [_Raising his sword_] Take heed of the head!

STEPMOTHER. Whose head?

DUKE. Your own!

_The_ STEPMOTHER _turns pale at first, and then angry; but she

controls herself and remains silent; long pause_.

STEPMOTHER. [_Beaten for the moment, she changes her tone_] Then will

Your Grace inform your daughter what is now in store for her?

DUKE. [_Sheathing his sword_] Rise up, my darling child, and come into

my arms to calm yourself.

SWANWHITE. [_Throwing herself into the arms of the_ DUKE]

Father!--You're like a royal oak-tree which my arms cannot encircle.

But beneath your leafage there is refuge from all threatening showers.

[_She hides her head beneath his immense beard, which reaches down to

his waist_] And like a bird, I will be swinging on your branches--lift

me up, so I can reach the top.

_The_ DUKE _holds out his arm_.

SWANWHITE. [_Climbs up on his arm and perches herself on his shoulder_]

Now lies the earth beneath me and the air above--now I can overlook the

rosery, the snowy beach, the deep-blue sea, and all the seven kingdoms

stretched beyond.

DUKE. Then you can also see the youthful king to whom your troth is

promised----

SWANWHITE. No--nor have I ever seen him. Is he handsome?

DUKE. Dear heart, it will depend on your own eyes how he appears to you.

SWANWHITE. [_Rubbing her eyes_] My eyes?--They cannot see what is not

beautiful.

DUKE. [_Kissing her foot_] Poor little foot, that is so black! Poor

little blackamoorish foot!

_The_ STEPMOTHER _gives a sign to the maids, who resume their

previous positions in the closet doors; she herself steals

with panther-like movements out through the middle arch of the

doorway_.

SWANWHITE. [_Leaps to the floor; the_ DUKE _places her on the table and

sits down on a chair beside it_; SWANWHITE _looks meaningly after the_

STEPMOTHER] Was it the dawn? Or did the wind turn southerly? Or has the

Spring arrived?

DUKE. [_Puts his hand over her mouth_] You little chatter-box! You joy

of my old age--my evening star! Now open wide your rosy ear, and close

your little mouth's crimson shell. Give heed, obey, and all will then

be well with you.

SWANWHITE. [_Putting her fingers in her ears_] With my eyes I hear, and

with my ears I see--and now I cannot see at all, but only hear.

DUKE. My child, when still a cradled babe, your troth was plighted to

the youthful King of Rigalid. You have not seen him yet, such being

courtly usage. But the time to tie the sacred knot is drawing near. To

teach you the deportment of a queen and courtly manners, the king has

sent a prince with whom you are to study reading out of books, gaming

at chess, treading the dance, and playing on the harp.

SWANWHITE. What is the prince's name?

DUKE. That, child, is something you must never ask of him or anybody

else. For it is prophesied that whosoever calls him by his name shall

have to love him.

SWANWHITE. Is he handsome?

DUKE. He is, because your eye sees beauty everywhere.

SWANWHITE. But is he beautiful?

DUKE. Indeed he is. And now be careful of your little heart, and don't

forget that in the cradle you were made a queen.--With this, dear

child, I leave you, for I have war to wage abroad.--Submit obediently

to your stepmother. She's hard, but once your father loved her--and

a sweet temper will find a way to hearts of stone. If, despite of

promises and oaths, her malice should exceed what is permissible, then

you may blow this horn [_he takes a horn of carved ivory from under

his cloak_], and help will come. But do not use it till you are in

danger--not until the danger is extreme.--Have you understood?

SWANWHITE. How is it to be understood?

DUKE. This way: the prince is here, is in the court already. Is it your

wish to see the prince?

SWANWHITE. Is it my wish?

DUKE. Or shall I first bid you farewell?

SWANWHITE. The prince is here already?

DUKE. Already here, and I--already there--far, far away where sleeps

the heron of forgetfulness, with head beneath his wing.

SWANWHITE. [_Leaping into the lap of the_ DUKE _and burying her head in

his beard_] Mustn't speak like that! Baby is ashamed!

DUKE. Baby should be spanked--who forgets her aged father for a little

prince. Fie on her!

_A trumpet is heard in the distance_.

DUKE. [_Rises quickly, takes_ SWANWHITE _in his arms_, _throws her up

into the air and catches her again_] Fly, little bird, fly high above

the dust, with lots of air beneath your wings!--And then, once more on

solid ground!--I am called by war and glory--you, by love and youth!

[_Girding on his sword_] And now hide your wonder-horn, that it may not

be seen by evil eyes.

SWANWHITE. Where shall I hide it? Where?

DUKE. The bed!

SWANWHITE. [_Hiding the horn in the bed-clothing_] There! Sleep well,

my little tooteroot! When it is time, I'll wake you up. And don't

forget your prayers!

DUKE. And child! Do not forget what I said last: your stepmother must

be obeyed.

SWANWHITE. In all?

DUKE. In all.

SWANWHITE. But not in what is contrary to cleanliness!--Two linen

shifts my mother let me have each sennight; this woman gives but one!

And mother gave me soap and water, which stepmother denies. Look at my

little footies!

DUKE. Keep clean within, my daughter, and clean will be the outside.

You know that holy men, who, for the sake of penance, deny themselves

the purging waters, grow white as swans, while evil ones turn

raven-black.

SWANWHITE. Then I will be as white----!

DUKE. Into my arms! And then, farewell!

SWANWHITE. [_Throwing herself into his arms_] Farewell, my great and

valiant hero, my glorious father! May fortune follow you, and make you

rich in years and friends and victories!

DUKE. Amen--and let your gentle prayers be my protection!

[_He closes the visor of his golden helmet_.

SWANWHITE. [_Jumps up and plants a kiss on the visor_] The golden gates

are shut, but through the bars I still can see your kindly, watchful

eyes. [_Knocking at the visor_] Let up, let up, for little Red

Riding-hood. No one at home? "Well-away," said the wolf that lay in the

bed!

DUKE. [_Putting her down on the floor_] Sweet flower of mine, grow fair

and fragrant! If I return--well--I return! If not, then from the starry

arch above my eye shall follow you, and never to my sight will you be

lost, for there above all-seeing we become, even as the all-creating

Lord himself.

_Goes out firmly, with a gesture that bids her not to follow._

SWANWHITE _falls on her knees in prayer for the_ DUKE; _all the

rose-trees sway before a wind that passes with the sound of a

sigh; the peacock shakes its wings and tail_.

SWANWHITE. [_Rises, goes to the peacock and begins to stroke its back

and tail_] Pavo, dear Pavo, what do you see and what do you hear? Is

any one coming? Who is it? A little prince? Is he pretty and nice?

You, with your many blue eyes, should be able to tell. [_She lifts up

one of the bird's tail feathers and gazes intently at its "eye"_.] Are

you to keep your eyes on us, you nasty Argus? Are you to see that the

little hearts of two young people don't beat too loudly?--You stupid

thing--all I have to do is to close the curtain! [_She closes the

curtain, which hides the bird, but not the landscape outside; then she

goes to the doves_] My white doves--oh, so white, white, white--now

you'll see what is whitest of all--Be silent, wind, and roses, and

doves--my prince is coming!

_She looks out for a moment; then she withdraws to the pewter-closet,

leaving the door slightly ajar so that through the opening she can

watch the_ PRINCE; _there she remains standing, visible to the

spectators but not to the_ PRINCE.

PRINCE. [_Enters through the middle arch of the doorway. He wears

armour of steel; what shows of his clothing is black. Having carefully

observed everything in the room, he sits down at the table, takes off

his helmet and begins to study it. His back is turned toward the

door behind which_ SWANWHITE _is hiding_] If anybody be here, let him

answer! [_Silence_] There is somebody here, for I can feel the warmth

of a young body come billowing toward me like a southern wind. I can

hear a breath--it carries the fragrance of roses--and, gentle though

it be, it makes the plume on my helmet move. [_He puts the helmet to

his ear_] 'Tis murmuring as if it were a huge shell. It's the thoughts

within my own head that are crowding each other like a swarm of bees in

a hive. "Zum, zum," say the thoughts--just like bees that are buzzing

around their queen--the little queen of my thoughts and of my dreams!

[_He places the helmet on the table and gazes at it_] Dark and arched

as the sky at night, but starless, for the black plume is spreading

darkness everywhere since my mother's death--[_He turns the helmet

around and gazes at it again_] But there, in the midst of the darkness,

deep down--there, on the other side, I see a rift of light!--Has the

sky been split open?--And there, in the rift, I see--not a star, for it

would look like a diamond--but a blue sapphire, queen of the precious

stones--blue as the sky of summer--set in a cloud white as milk and

curved as the dove's egg. What is it? My ring? And now another feathery

cloud, black as velvet, passes by--and the sapphire is smiling--as

if sapphires could smile! And there, the lightning flashed, but

blue--heat-lightning mild, that brings no thunder!--What are you? Who?

And where? [_He looks at the back of the helmet_] Not here! Not there!

And nowhere else! [_He puts his face close to the helmet_] As I come

nearer, you withdraw.

SWANWHITE _steals forward on tiptoe_.

PRINCE. And now there are two--two eyes--two little human eyes--I kiss

you! [_He kisses the helmet_.

SWANWHITE _goes up to the table and seats herself slowly

opposite the_ PRINCE.

_The_ PRINCE _rises, bows, with his hand to his heart, and

gazes steadily at_ SWANWHITE.

SWANWHITE. Are you the little prince?

PRINCE. The faithful servant of the king, and yours!

SWANWHITE. What message does the young king send his bride?

PRINCE. This is his word to Lady Swanwhite--whom lovingly he

greets--that by the thought of coming happiness the long torment of

waiting will be shortened.

SWANWHITE. [_Who has been looking at the_ PRINCE _as if to study him_]

Why not be seated, Prince?

PRINCE. If seated when you sit, then I should have to kneel when you

stand up.

SWANWHITE. Speak to me of the king! How does he look?

PRINCE. How does he look? [_Putting one of his hands up to his eyes_] I

can no longer see him--how strange!

SWANWHITE. What is his name?

PRINCE. He's gone--invisible----

SWANWHITE. And is he tall?

PRINCE. [_Fixing his glance on_ SWANWHITE] Wait!--I see him

now!--Taller than you!

SWANWHITE. And beautiful?

PRINCE. Not in comparison with you!

SWANWHITE. Speak of the king, and not of me!

PRINCE. I do speak of the king!

SWANWHITE. Is his complexion light or dark?

PRINCE. If he were dark, on seeing you he would turn light at once.

SWANWHITE. There's more of flattery than wit in that! His eyes are blue?

PRINCE. [_Glancing at his helmet_] I think I have to look?

SWANWHITE. [_Holding out her hand between them_] Oh, you--you!

PRINCE. You with _t h_ makes youth!

SWANWHITE. Are you to teach me how to spell?

PRINCE. The young king is tall and blond and blue-eyed, with broad

shoulders and hair like a new-grown forest----

SWANWHITE. Why do you carry a black plume?

PRINCE. His lips are red as the ripe currant, his cheeks are white, and

the lion's cub needn't be ashamed of his teeth.

SWANWHITE. Why is your hair wet?

PRINCE. His mind knows no fear, and no evil deed ever made his heart

quake with remorse.

SWANWHITE. Why is your hand trembling?

PRINCE. We were to speak of the young king and not of me!

SWANWHITE. So, you, you are to teach me?

PRINCE. It is my task to teach you how to love the young king whose

throne you are to share.

SWANWHITE. How did you cross the sea?

PRINCE. In my bark and with my sail.

SWANWHITE. And the wind so high?

PRINCE. Without wind there is no sailing.

SWANWHITE. Little boy--how wise you are!--Will you play with me?

PRINCE. What I must do, I will.

SWANWHITE. And now I'll show you what I have in my chest. [_She goes to

the chest and kneels down beside it; then she takes out several dolls,

a rattle, and a hobby-horse_] Here's the doll. It's my child--the child

of sorrow that can never keep its face clean. In my own arms I have

carried her to the lavendrey, and there I have washed her with white

sand--but it only made her worse. I have spanked her--but nothing

helped. Now I have figured out what's worst of all!

PRINCE. And what is that?

SWANWHITE. [_After a glance around the room_] I'll give her a

stepmother!

PRINCE. But how's that to be? She should have a mother first.

SWANWHITE. I am her mother. And if I marry twice, I shall become a

stepmother.

PRINCE. Oh, how you talk! That's not the way!

SWANWHITE. And you shall be her stepfather.

PRINCE. Oh, no!

SWANWHITE. You must be very kind to her, although she cannot wash her

face.--Here, take her--let me see if you have learned to carry children

right.

_The_ PRINCE _receives the doll unwillingly_.

SWANWHITE. You haven't learned yet, but you will! Now take the rattle,

too, and play with her.

_The_ PRINCE _receives the rattle_.

SWANWHITE. That's something you don't understand, I see. [_She takes

the doll and the rattle away from him and throws them back into the

chest; then she takes out the hobby-horse_] Here is my steed.--It has

saddle of gold and shoes of silver.--It can run forty miles in an

hour, and on its back I have travelled through Sounding Forest, across

Big Heath and King's Bridge, along High Road and Fearful Alley, all the

way to the Lake of Tears. And there it dropped a golden shoe that fell

into the lake, and then came a fish, and after came a fisherman, and so

I got the golden shoe back. That's all there was to that! [_She throws

the hobby-horse into the chest; instead she takes out a chess-board

with red and white squares, and chess-men made of silver and gold_]

If you will play with me, come here and sit upon the lion skin. [_She

seats herself on the skin and begins to put up the pieces_] Sit down,

won't you--the maids can't see us here!

_The_ PRINCE _sits down on the skin, looking very embarrassed_.

SWANWHITE. It's like sitting in the grass--not the green grass of the

meadow, but the desert grass which has been burned by the sun.--Now you

must say something about me! Do you like me a little?

PRINCE. Are we to play?

SWANWHITE. To play? What care I for that?--Oh--you were to teach me

something!

PRINCE. Poor me, what can I do but saddle a horse and carry arms--with

which you are but poorly served.

SWANWHITE. You are so sad!

PRINCE. My mother died quite recently.

SWANWHITE. Poor little prince!--My mother, too, has gone to God in

heaven, and she's an angel now. Sometimes in the nights I see her--do

you also see yours?

PRINCE. No-o.

SWANWHITE. And have you got a stepmother?

PRINCE. Not yet. So little time has passed since she was laid to rest.

SWANWHITE. Don't be so sad! There's nothing but will wear away in time,

you see. Now I'll give you a flag to gladden you again--Oh, no, that's

right--this one I sewed for the young king. But now I'll sew another

one for you!--This is the king's, with seven flaming fires--you shall

have one with seven red roses on it--but first of all you have to

hold this skein of yarn for me. [_She takes from the chest a skein of

rose-coloured yarn and hands it to the_ PRINCE] One, two, three, and

now you'll see!--Your hands are trembling--that won't do!--Perhaps you

want a hair of mine among the yarn?--Pull one yourself!

PRINCE. Oh, no, I couldn't----

SWANWHITE. I'll do it, then, myself. [_She pulls a hair from her head

and winds it into the ball of yarn_] What is your name?

PRINCE. You shouldn't ask.

SWANWHITE. Why not?

PRINCE. The duke has told you--hasn't he?

SWANWHITE. No, he hasn't! What could happen if you told your name?

Might something dreadful happen?

PRINCE. The duke has told you, I am sure.

SWANWHITE. I never heard of such a thing before--of one who couldn't

tell his name!

_The curtain behind which the peacock is hidden moves; a faint

sound as of castanets is heard_.

PRINCE. What was that?

SWANWHITE. That's Pavo--do you think he knows what we are saying?

PRINCE. It's hard to tell.

SWANWHITE. Well, what's your name?

_Again the peacock makes the same kind of sound with his bill_.

PRINCE. I am afraid--don't ask again!

SWANWHITE. He snaps his bill, that's all--Keep your hands still!--Did

you ever hear the tale of the little princess that mustn't mention the

name of the prince, lest something happen? And do you know----?

_The curtain hiding the peacock is pulled aside, and the bird

is seen spreading out his tail so that it looks as if all the

"eyes" were staring at_ SWANWHITE _and the_ PRINCE.

PRINCE. Who pulled away the curtain? Who made the bird behold us with

its hundred eyes?--You mustn't ask again!

SWANWHITE. Perhaps I mustn't--Down, Pavo--there!

_The curtain resumes its previous position_.

PRINCE. Is this place haunted?

SWANWHITE. You mean that things will happen--just like that? Oh, well,

so much is happening here--but I have grown accustomed to it. And then,

besides--they call my stepmother a witch--There, now, I have pricked my

finger!

PRINCE. What did you prick it with?

SWANWHITE. There was a splinter in the yarn. The sheep have been locked

up all winter--and then such things will happen. Please see if you can

get it out.

PRINCE. We must sit at the table then, so I can see.

[_They rise and take seats at the table_.

SWANWHITE. [_Holding out one of her little fingers_] Can you see

anything?

PRINCE. What do I see? Your hand is red within, and through it all the

world and life itself appear in rosy colouring----

SWANWHITE. Now pull the splinter out--ooh, it hurts!

PRINCE. But I shall have to hurt you, too--and ask your pardon in

advance!

SWANWHITE. Oh, help me, please!

PRINCE. [_Squeezing her little finger and pulling out the splinter with

his nails_] There is the cruel little thing that dared to do you harm.

SWANWHITE. Now you must suck the blood to keep the wound from festering.

PRINCE. [_Sucking the blood from her finger_] I've drunk your

blood--and so I am your foster-brother now.

SWANWHITE. My foster-brother--so you were at once--or how do you think

I could have talked to you as I have done?

PRINCE. If you have talked to me like that, how did I talk to you?

SWANWHITE. Just think, he didn't notice it!--And now I have got a

brother of my own, and that is you!--My little brother--take my hand!

PRINCE. [_Taking her hand_] My little sister! [_Feels her pulse beating

under his thumb_] What have you there, that's ticking--one, and two,

and three, and four----? _Continues to count silently after having

looked at his watch_.

SWANWHITE. Yes, tell me what it is that ticks--so steady, steady,

steady? It cannot be my heart, for that is here, beneath my breast--Put

your hand here, and you can feel it too. [_The doves begin to stir and

coo_] What is it, little white ones?

PRINCE. And sixty! Now I know what makes that ticking--it is the time!

Your little finger is the second-hand that's ticking sixty times for

every minute that goes by. And don't you think there is a heart within

the watch?

SWANWHITE. [_Handling the watch_] We cannot reach the inside of the

watch--no more than of the heart--Just feel my heart!

SIGNE. [_Enters from the pewter-closet carrying a whip, which she puts

down on the table_] Her Grace commands that the children be seated at

opposite sides of the table.

_The_ PRINCE _sits down at the opposite end of the table. He

and_ SWANWHITE _look at each other in silence for a while_.

SWANWHITE. Now we are far apart, and yet a little nearer than before.

PRINCE. It's when we part that we come nearest to each other.

SWANWHITE. And you know that?

PRINCE. I have just learned it!

SWANWHITE. Now my instruction has begun.

PRINCE. You're teaching me!

SWANWHITE. [_Pointing to a dish of fruit_] Would you like some fruit?

PRINCE. No, eating is so ugly.

SWANWHITE. Yes, so it is.

PRINCE. Three maids are standing there--one in the pewter-closet, one

among the clothes, and one among the fruits. Why are they standing

there?

SWANWHITE. TO watch us two--lest we do anything that is forbidden.

PRINCE. May we not go into the rosery?

SWANWHITE. The morning is the only time when I can go into the rosery,

for there the bloodhounds of my stepmother are kept. They never let me

reach the shore--and so I get no chance to bathe.

PRINCE. Have you then never seen the shore? And never heard the ocean

wash the sand along the beach?

SWANWHITE. No--never! Here I can only hear the roaring waves in time of

storm.

PRINCE. Then you have never heard the murmur made by winds that sweep

across the waters?

SWANWHITE. It cannot reach me here.

PRINCE. [_Pushing his helmet across the table to_ SWANWHITE] Put it to

your ear and listen.

SWANWHITE. [_With the helmet at her ear_] What is that I hear?

PRINCE. The song of waves, the whispering winds

SWANWHITE. No, I hear human voices--hush! My stepmother is

speaking--speaking to the steward--and mentioning my name--and that of

the young king, too! She's speaking evil words. She's swearing that I

never shall be queen--and vowing that--you--shall take that daughter

of her own--that loathsome Lena----

PRINCE. Indeed!--And you can hear it in the helmet?

SWANWHITE. I can.

PRINCE. I didn't know of that. But my godmother gave me the helmet as a

christening present.

SWANWHITE. Give me a feather, will you?

PRINCE. It is a pleasure--great as life itself.

SWANWHITE. But you must cut it so that it will write.

PRINCE. You know a thing or two!

SWANWHITE. My father taught me----

_The_ PRINCE _pulls a black feather out of the plume on his

helmet; then he takes a silver-handled knife from his belt and

cuts the quill_.

SWANWHITE _takes out an ink-well and parchment from a drawer in

the table_.

PRINCE. Who is Lady Lena?

SWANWHITE. You mean, what kind of person? You want her, do you?

PRINCE. Some evil things are brewing in this house----

SWANWHITE. Fear not! My father has bestowed a gift on me that will

bring help in hours of need.

PRINCE. What is it called?

SWANWHITE. It is the horn Stand-By.

PRINCE. Where is it hid?

SWANWHITE. Read in my eye. I dare not let the maids discover it.

PRINCE. [_Gazing at her eyes_] I see!

SWANWHITE. [_Pushing pen, ink and parchment across the table to the_

PRINCE] Write it.

_The_ PRINCE _writes_.

SWANWHITE. Yes, that's the place. [_She writes again._

PRINCE. What do you write?

SWANWHITE. Names--all pretty names that may be worn by princes!

PRINCE. Except my own!

SWANWHITE. Yours, too!

PRINCE. Leave that alone!

SWANWHITE. Here I have written twenty names--all that I know--and

so your name must be there, too. [_Pushing the parchment across the

table_] Read!

_The_ PRINCE _reads_.

SWANWHITE. Oh, I have read it in your eye!

PRINCE. Don't utter it! I beg you in the name of God the merciful,

don't utter it!

SWANWHITE. I read it in his eye!

PRINCE. But do not utter it, I beg of you!

SWANWHITE. And if I do? What then?--Can Lena tell, you think? Your

bride! Your love!

PRINCE. Oh, hush, hush, hush!

SWANWHITE. [_Jumps up and begins to dance_] I know his name--the

prettiest name in all the land!

_The_ PRINCE _runs up to her, catches hold of her and covers

her mouth with his hand_.

SWANWHITE. I'll bite your hand; I'll suck your blood; and so I'll be

your sister twice--do you know what that can mean?

PRINCE. I'll have two sisters then.

SWANWHITE. [_Throwing back her head_] O-ho! O-ho! Behold, the

ceiling has a hole, and I can see the sky--a tiny piece of sky, a

window-pane--and there's a face behind it. Is it an angel's?--See--but

see, I tell you!--It's your face!

PRINCE. The angels are not boys, but girls.

SWANWHITE. But it is you.

PRINCE. [_Looking up_] 'Tis a mirror.

SWANWHITE. Woe to us then! It is the witching mirror of my stepmother,

and she has seen it all.

PRINCE. And in the mirror I can see the fireplace--there's a pumpkin

hanging in it!

SWANWHITE. [_Takes from the fireplace a mottled, strangely shaped

pumpkin_] What can it be? It has the look of an ear. The witch has

heard us, too!--Alas, alas! [_She throws the pumpkin into the fireplace

and runs across the floor toward the bed; suddenly she stops on one

foot, holding up the other_]

Oh, she has strewn the floor with needles----

[_She sits down and begins to rub her foot_.

_The_ PRINCE _kneels in front of_ SWANWHITE _in order to help

her_.

SWANWHITE. No, you mustn't touch my foot--you mustn't!

PRINCE. Dear heart, you must take off your stocking if I am to help.

SWANWHITE. [_Sobbing_] You mustn't--mustn't see my foot!

PRINCE. But why? Why shouldn't I?

SWANWHITE. I cannot tell; I cannot tell. Go--go away from me! To-morrow

I shall tell you, but I can't to-day.

PRINCE. But then your little foot will suffer--let me pull the needle

out!

SWANWHITE. Go, go, go!--No, no, you mustn't try!--Oh, had my mother

lived, a thing like this could not have happened!--Mother, mother,

mother!

PRINCE. I cannot understand--are you afraid of me----?

SWANWHITE. Don't ask me, please--just leave me--oh!

PRINCE. What have I done?

SWANWHITE. Don't leave me, please--I didn't mean to hurt you--but I

cannot tell--If I could only reach the shore--the white sand of the

beach----

PRINCE. What then?

SWANWHITE. I cannot tell! I cannot tell!

[_She hides her face in her hands. Once more the peacock makes

a rattling sound with his bill; the doves begin to stir; the

three maids enter, one after the other; a gust of wind is

heard, and the tops of the rose-trees outside swing back and

forth; the golden clouds that have been hanging over the sea

disappear, and the blue sea itself turns dark_.

SWANWHITE. Does Heaven itself intend to judge us?--Is ill-luck in the

house?--Oh, that my sorrow had the power to raise my mother from her

grave!

PRINCE. [_.Putting his hand on his sword_] My life for yours!

SWANWHITE. No, don't--she puts the very swords to sleep!--Oh, that my

sorrow could bring back my mother! [_The swallows chirp in their nest_]

What was that?

PRINCE. [_Catching sight of the nest_] A swallow's nest! I didn't

notice it before.

SWANWHITE. Nor I! How did it get there? When?--But all the same it

augurs good--And yet the cold sweat of fear is on my brow--and I

choke--Look, how the rose itself is withering because that evil woman

comes this way--for it is she who comes----

_The rose on the table is closing its blossom and drooping its

leaves_.

PRINCE. But whence came the swallows?

SWANWHITE. They were not sent by her, I'm sure, for they are kindly

birds--Now she is here!

STEPMOTHER. [_Enters from the rear with the walk of a panther; the rose

on the table is completely withered_] Signe--take the horn out of the

bed!

SIGNE _goes up to the bed and takes the horn_.

STEPMOTHER. Where are you going, Prince?

PRINCE. The day is almost done, Your Grace; the sun is setting, and my

bark is longing to get home.

STEPMOTHER. The day is too far gone--the gates are shut, the dogs let

loose--You know my dogs?

PRINCE. Indeed! You know my sword?

STEPMOTHER. What is the matter with your sword?

PRINCE. It bleeds at times.

STEPMOTHER. Well, well! But not with women's blood, I trust?--But

listen, Prince: how would like to sleep in our Blue Room?

PRINCE. By God, it is my will to sleep at home, in my own bed----

STEPMOTHER. Is that the will of anybody else?

PRINCE. Of many more.

STEPMOTHER. How many?--More than these!--One, two, three----

_As she counts, the members of the household begin to pass by

in single file across the balcony; all of them look serious;

some are armed; no one turns his head to look into the room;

among those that pass are the_ BUTLER, _the_ STEWARD, _the_

KITCHENER, _the_ GAOLER, _the_ CONSTABLE, _the_ EQUERRY.

PRINCE. I'll sleep in your Blue Room.

STEPMOTHER. That's what I thought.--So you will bid ten thousand

good-nights unto your love--and so will Swanwhite, too, I think!

_A swan comes flying by above the rosery; from the ceiling a

poppy flower drops down on the_ STEPMOTHER, _who falls asleep

at once, as do the maids_.

SWANWHITE. [_Going up to the_ PRINCE] Good-night, my Prince!

PRINCE. [_Takes her hand and says in a low voice_] Good-night!--Oh,

that it's granted me to sleep beneath one roof with you, my

Princess--your dreams by mine shall be enfolded--and then to-morrow we

shall wake for other games and other----

SWANWHITE. [_In the same tone_] You are my all on earth, you are

my parent now--since she has robbed me of my puissant father's

help.--Look, how she sleeps!

PRINCE. You saw the swan?

SWANWHITE. No, but I heard--it was my mother.

PRINCE. Come, fly with me!

SWANWHITE. No, that we mustn't!--Patience! We'll meet in our

dreams!--But this will not be possible unless--you love me more than

anybody else on earth! Oh, love me--you, you, you!

PRINCE. My king, my loyalty----

SWANWHITE. Your queen, your heart--or what am I?

PRINCE. I am a knight!

SWANWHITE. But I am not. And therefore--therefore do I take you--my

Prince----

_She puts her hands up to her mouth with a gesture as if she

were throwing a whispered name to him_.

PRINCE. Oh, woe! What have you done?

SWANWHITE. I gave myself to you through your own name--and with me,

carried on _your_ wings, yourself came back to you! Oh---- [_Again she

whispers the name_.

PRINCE. [_With a movement of his hand as if he were catching the name

in the air_] Was that a rose you threw me?

[_He throws a kiss to her_.

SWANWHITE. A violet you gave me--that was you--your soul! And now I

drink you in--you're in my bosom, in my heart--you're mine!

PRINCE. And you are mine! Who is the rightful owner, then?

SWANWHITE. Both!

PRINCE. Both! You and I!--My rose!

SWANWHITE. My violet!

PRINCE. My rose!

SWANWHITE. My violet!

PRINCE. I _love_ you!

SWANWHITE. _You_ love _me_!

PRINCE. You _love_ me!

SWANWHITE. _I_ love _you_!

_The stage grows light again. The rose on the table recovers

and opens. The faces of the_ STEPMOTHER _and the three maids

are lighted up and appear beautiful, kind, and happy. The_

STEPMOTHER _lifts up her drowsy head and, while her eyes remain

closed, she seems to be watching the joy of the two young

people with a sunny smile_.

SWANWHITE. Look, look! The cruel one is smiling as at some memory from

childhood days. See how Signe the False seems faith and hope embodied,

how the ugly Tova has grown beautiful, the little Elsa tall.

PRINCE. Our love has done it.

SWANWHITE. So that is love? Blessed be it by the Lord! The Lord

Omnipotent who made the world!

[_She falls on her knees, weeping_.

PRINCE. You weep?

SWANWHITE. Because I am so full of joy.

PRINCE. Come to my arms and you will smile.

SWANWHITE. There I should die, I think.

PRINCE. Well, smile and die!

SWANWHITE. [_Rising_] So be it then!

[_The_ PRINCE _takes her in his arms._

STEPMOTHER. [_Wakes up; on seeing the_ PRINCE _and_ SWANWHITE

_together, she strikes the table with the whip_] I must have

slept!--Oho! So we have got that far!--The Blue Room did I say?--I

meant the Blue Tower!--There the prince is to sleep with the Duke of

Exeter's daughter!--Maids!

_The MAIDS wake up_.

STEPMOTHER. Show the prince the shortest way to the Blue Tower. And

should he nevertheless lose his way, you may summon the Castellan and

the Gaoler, the Equerry and the Constable.

PRINCE. No need of that! Wherever leads my course--through fire or

water, up above the clouds or down in the solid earth--there shall I

meet my Swanwhite, for she is with me where I go. So now I go to meet

her--in the tower! Can you beat that for witchcraft, witch?--Too hard,

I think, for one who knows not love!

[_He goes out followed by the MAIDS_.

STEPMOTHER. [_To_ SWANWHITE] Not many words are needed--tell your

wishes--but be brief!

SWANWHITE. My foremost, highest wish is for some water with which to

lave my feet.

STEPMOTHER. Cold or warm?

SWANWHITE. Warm--if I may.

STEPMOTHER. What more?

SWANWHITE. A comb to ravel out my hair.

STEPMOTHER. Silver or gold?

SWANWHITE. Are you--are you kind?

STEPMOTHER. Silver or gold?

SWANWHITE. Wood or horn will do me well enough.

STEPMOTHER. What more?

SWANWHITE. A shift that's clean.

STEPMOTHER. Linen or silk?

SWANWHITE. Just linen.

STEPMOTHER. Good! So I have heard your wishes. Now listen to mine! I

wish that you may have no water, be it warm or cold! I wish that you

may have no comb, of any kind, not even of wood or horn--much less of

gold or silver. That's how kind I am! I wish that you may wear no linen

--but get you at once into the closet there to cover up your body with

that dingy sark of homespun! Such is my word!--And if you try to leave

these rooms--which you had better not, as there are traps and snares

around--then you are doomed--or with my whip I'll mark your pretty

face so that no prince or king will ever look at you again!--Then get

yourself to bed!

_She strikes the table with her whip again, rises and goes out

through the middle arch of the doorway; the gates, which have

gilded bars, squeak and rattle as she closes and locks them_.

_Curtain_.

_The same scene as before, but the golden gates at the rear are

shut. The peacock and the doves are sleeping. The golden clouds

in the sky are as dull in colour as the sea itself and the land

that appears in the far distance_.

SWANWHITE _is lying on the bed; she has on a garment of black

homespun_.

_The doors to the three closets are open. In each doorway

stands one of the maids, her eyes closed and in one of her

hands a small lighted lamp of Roman pattern_.

_A swan is seen flying above the rosery, and trumpet-calls are

heard, like those made by flocks of migrating wild swans_.

_The_ MOTHER OF SWANWHITE, _all in white, appears outside the

gates. Over one arm she carries the plumage of a swan and on

the other one a small harp of gold. She hangs the plumage on

one of the gates, which opens of its own accord and then closes

in the same way behind her_.

_She enters the room and places the harp on the table. Then she

looks around and becomes aware of_ SWANWHITE. _At once the harp

begins to play. The lamps carried by the maids go out one by

one, beginning with that farthest away. Then the three doors

close one by one, beginning with the innermost_.

_The golden clouds resume their former radiance_.

_The_ MOTHER _lights one of the lamps on the stand and goes up

to the bed, beside which she kneels_.

_The harp continues to play during the ensuing episode_.

_The_ MOTHER _rises, takes_ SWANWHITE _in her arms, and places

her, still sleeping, in a huge arm-chair. Then she kneels down

and pulls off_ SWANWHITE'S _stockings. Having thrown these

under the bed, she bends over her daughter's feet as if to

moisten them with her tears. After a while she wipes them with

a white linen cloth and covers them with kisses. Finally she

puts a sandal on each foot which then appears shining white_.

_Then the_ MOTHER _rises to her feet again, takes out a comb of

gold, and begins to comb_ SWANWHITE'S _hair. This finished, she

carries_ SWANWHITE _back to the bed. Beside her she places a

garment of white linen which she takes out of a bag_.

_Having kissed_ SWANWHITE _on the forehead, she prepares to

leave. At that moment a white swan is seen to pass by outside,

and one hears a trumpet-call like the one heard before. Shortly

afterward the_ MOTHER OF THE PRINCE, _also in white, enters

through the gate, having first hung her swan plumage on it_.

SWANWHITE'S MOTHER. Well met, my sister! How long before the cock will

crow?

PRINCE'S MOTHER. Not very long. The dew is rising from the roses, the

corn-crake's call is heard among the grass, the morning breeze is

coming from the sea.

SWANWHITE'S MOTHER. Let us make haste with what we have on hand, my

sister.

PRINCE'S MOTHER. You called me so that we might talk of our children.

SWANWHITE'S MOTHER. Once I was walking in a green field in the land

that knows no sorrow. There I met you, whom I had always known, yet

had not seen before. You were lamenting your poor boy's fate, left to

himself here in the vale of sorrow. You opened up your heart to me, and

my own thoughts, that dwell unwillingly below, were sent in search of

my deserted daughter--destined to marry the young king, who is a cruel

man, and evil.

PRINCE'S MOTHER. Then I spoke, while you listened: "May worth belong to

worth; may love, the powerful, prevail; and let us join these lonely

hearts, in order that they may console each other!"

SWANWHITE'S MOTHER. Since then heart has kissed heart and soul enfolded

soul. May sorrow turn to joy, and may their youthful happiness bring

cheer to all the earth!

PRINCE'S MOTHER. If it be granted by the powers on high!

SWANWHITE'S MOTHER. That must be tested by the fire of suffering.

PRINCE'S MOTHER. [_Taking in her hand the helmet left behind by the_

PRINCE] May sorrow turn to joy--this very day, when he has mourned his

mother one whole year!

_She exchanges the black feathers on the helmet for white and

red ones_.

SWANWHITE'S MOTHER. Your hand, my sister--let the test begin!

PRINCE'S MOTHER. Here is my hand, and with it goes my son's! Now we

have pledged them----

SWANWHITE'S MOTHER. In decency and honour!

PRINCE'S MOTHER. I go to open up the tower. And let the young ones fold

each other heart to heart.

SWANWHITE'S MOTHER. In decency and honour!

PRINCE'S MOTHER. And we shall meet again in those green fields where

sorrow is not known.

SWANWHITE'S MOTHER. [_Pointing to_ SWANWHITE] Listen! She dreams

of him!--Oh foolish, cruel woman who thinks that lovers can be

parted!--Now they are walking hand in hand within the land of dreams,

'neath whispering firs and singing lindens--They sport and laugh----

PRINCE'S MOTHER. Hush! Day is dawning--I can hear the robins calling,

and see the stars withdrawing from the sky--Farewell, my sister!

[_She goes out, taking her swan plumage with her._

SWANWHITE'S MOTHER. Farewell!

_She passes her hand over_ SWANWHITE _as if blessing her, then

she takes her plumage and leaves, closing the gate after her_.

_The clock on the table strikes three. The harp is silent for

a moment; then it begins to play a new melody of even greater

sweetness than before_. SWANWHITE _wakes up and looks around;

listens to the harp; gets up from the bed; draws her hands

through her hair; looks with pleasure at her own little feet,

now spotlessly clean, and notices finally the while linen

garment on the bed. She sits down at the table in the place she

occupied during the evening. She acts as if she were looking at

somebody sitting opposite her at the table, where the_ PRINCE

_was seated the night before. She looks straight into his eyes,

smiles a smile of recognition, and holds out one of her hands.

Her lips move at times as if she were speaking, and then again

she seems to be listening to an answer_.

_She points meaningly to the white and red feathers on the

helmet, and leans forward as if whispering. Then she puts her

head back and breathes deeply as if to fill her nostrils with

some fragrance. Having caught something in the air with one

of her hands, she kisses the hand and then pretends to throw

something back across the table. She picks up the quill and

caresses it as if it were a bird; then she writes and pushes

the parchment across the table. Her glances seem to follow

"his" pen while the reply is being written, and at last she

takes back the parchment, reads it, and hides it in her bosom_.

_She strokes her black dress as if commenting on the sad change

in her appearance. Whereupon she smiles at an inaudible answer,

and finally bursts into hearty laughter_.

_By gestures she indicates that her hair has been combed. Then

she rises, goes a little distance away from the table, and

turns around with a bashful expression to hold out one of her

feet. In that attitude she stays for a moment while waiting for

an answer. On hearing it she becomes embarrassed and hides her

foot quickly under her dress_.

_She goes to the chest and takes out the chess-board and the

chess-men, which she places on the lions skin with a gesture of

invitation. Then she lies down beside the board, arranges the

men, and begins to play with an invisible partner_.

_The harp is silent for a moment before it starts a new melody_.

_The game of chess ends and_ SWANWHITE _seems to be talking

with her invisible partner. Suddenly she moves away as if

he were coming too close to her. With a deprecating gesture

she leaps lightly to her feet. Then she gazes long and

reproachfully at him. At last she snatches up the white garment

and hides herself behind the bed_.

_At that moment the_ PRINCE _appears outside the gates, which

he vainly tries to open. Then he raises his eyes toward the sky

with an expression of sorrow and despair_.

SWANWHITE. [_Coming forward_] Who comes with the morning wind?

PRINCE. Your heart's beloved, your prince, your all!

SWANWHITE. Whence do you come, my heart's beloved?

PRINCE. From dreamland; from the rosy hills that hide the dawn; from

whispering firs and singing lindens.

SWANWHITE. What did you do in dreamland, beyond the hills of dawn, my

heart's beloved?

PRINCE. I sported and laughed; I wrote her name; I sat upon the lion's

skin and played at chess.

SWANWHITE. You sported and you played--with whom?

PRINCE. With Swanwhite.

SWANWHITE. It is he!--Be welcome to my castle, my table, and my arms!

PRINCE. Who opens up the golden gates?

SWANWHITE. Give me your hand!--It is as chilly as your heart is warm.

PRINCE. My body has been sleeping in the tower, while my soul was

wandering in dreamland--In the tower it was cold and dark.

SWANWHITE. In my bosom will I warm your hand--I'll warm it by my

glances, by my kisses!

PRINCE. Oh, let the brightness of your eyes be shed upon my darkness!

SWANWHITE. Are you in darkness?

PRINCE. Within the tower there was no light of sun or moon.

SWANWHITE. Rise up, O sun! Blow, southern wind! And let thy bosom

gently heave, O sea!--Ye golden gates, do you believe that you can part

two hearts, two hands, two lips--that can by nothing be divided?

PRINCE. Indeed, by nothing!

_Two solid doors glide together in front of the gates so that_

SWANWHITE _and the_ PRINCE _can no longer see each other_.

SWANWHITE. Alas! What was the word we spoke, who heard it, and who

punished us?

PRINCE. I am not parted from you, my beloved, for still the sound of my

voice can reach you. It goes through copper, steel, and stone to touch

your ear in sweet caress. When in my thoughts you're in my arms. I

kiss you in my dreams. For on this earth there is not anything that can

part us. Swanwhite. Not anything!

PRINCE. I see you, though my eyes cannot behold you. I taste you, too,

because with roses you are filling up my mouth----

SWANWHITE. But in my arms I want you!

PRINCE. I am there.

SWANWHITE. No! Against my heart I want to feel the beat of yours--Upon

your arm I want to sleep--Oh, let us, let us, dearest God--oh, let us

have each other!

_The swallows chirp. A small white feather falls to the

ground_. SWANWHITE _picks it up and discovers it to be a key.

With this she opens gates and doors. The_ PRINCE _comes in_.

SWANWHITE _leaps into his arms. He kisses her on the mouth_.

SWANWHITE. You do not kiss me!

PRINCE. Yes, I do!

SWANWHITE. I do not feel your kisses!

PRINCE. Then you love me not!

SWANWHITE. Hold me fast!

PRINCE. So fast that life may part!

SWANWHITE. Oh, no, I breathe!

PRINCE. Give me your soul!

SWANWHITE. Here!--Give me yours!

PRINCE. It's here!--So I have yours, and you have mine!

SWANWHITE. I want mine back!

PRINCE. Mine, too, I want!

SWANWHITE. Then you must seek it!

PRINCE. Lost, both of us! For I am you, and you are me!

SWANWHITE. We two are one!

PRINCE. God, who is good, has heard your prayer! We have each other!

SWANWHITE. We have each other, yet I have you not. I cannot feel the

pressure of your hand, your lip's caress--I cannot see your eyes, nor

hear your voice--You are not here!

PRINCE. Yes, I am here!

SWANWHITE. Yes, here below. But up above, in dreamland, I would meet

you.

PRINCE. Then let us fly upon the wings of sleep----

SWANWHITE. Close to your heart!

PRINCE. In my embrace!

SWANWHITE. Within your arms!

PRINCE. This is the promised bliss!

SWANWHITE. Eternal bliss, that has no flaw and knows no end!

PRINCE. No one can part us.

SWANWHITE. No one!

PRINCE. Are you my bride?

SWANWHITE. My bridegroom, you?

PRINCE. In dreamland--but not here!

SWANWHITE. Where are we?

PRINCE. Here below!

SWANWHITE. Here, where the sky is clouded, where the ocean roars, and

where each night the earth sheds tears upon the grass while waiting for

the dawn; where flies are killed by swallows, doves by hawks; where

leaves must fall and turn to dust; where eyes must lose their light and

hands their strength! Yes, here below!

PRINCE. Then let us fly!

SWANWHITE. Yes, let us fly!

_The_ GREEN GARDENER _appears suddenly behind the table. All

his clothes are green. He wears a peaked cap, a big apron, and

knee-breeches. At his belt hang shears and a knife. He carries

a small watering-can in one hand and is scattering seeds

everywhere_.

PRINCE. Who are you?

GARDENER. I sow, I sow!

PRINCE. What do you sow?

GARDENER. Seeds, seeds, seeds.

PRINCE. What kind of seeds?

GARDENER. Annuals and biennials. One pulls this way, two pull that.

When the bridal suit is on, the harmony is gone. One and one make one,

but one and one make also three. One and one make two, but two make

three. Then do you understand?

PRINCE. You mole, you earthworm, you who turn your forehead toward the

ground and show the sky your back--what is there you can teach me?

GARDENER. That you are a mole and earthworm, too. And that because you

turn your back on the earth, the earth will turn its back on you. [_He

disappears behind the table_.

SWANWHITE. What was it? Who was he?

PRINCE. That was the green gardener.

SWANWHITE. Green, you say? Was he not blue?

PRINCE. No, he was green, my love.

SWANWHITE. How can you say what is not so?

PRINCE. My heart's beloved, I have not said a thing that was not so.

SWANWHITE. Alas, he does not speak the truth!

PRINCE. Whose voice is this? Not that of Swanwhite!

SWANWHITE. Who is this my eyes behold? Not my Prince, whose very name

attracted me like music of the Neck, or song of mermaids heard among

green waves--Who are you? You stranger with the evil eyes--and with

grey hair!

PRINCE. You did not see it until now--my hair, that turned to grey

within the tower, in a single night, when I was mourning for my

Swanwhite, who is no longer here.

SWANWHITE. Yes, here is Swanwhite.

PRINCE. No, I see a black-clad maid, whose face is black----

SWANWHITE. Have you not seen before that I was clad in black? You do

not love me, then!

PRINCE. You who are standing there, so grim and ugly--no!

SWANWHITE. Then you have spoken falsely.

PRINCE. No--for then another one was here! Now--you are filling up my

mouth with noisome nettles.

SWANWHITE. Your violets smell of henbane now--faugh!

PRINCE. Thus I am punished for my treason to the king!

SWANWHITE. I wish that I had waited for your king!

PRINCE. Just wait, and he will come.

SWANWHITE. I will not wait, but go to meet him.

PRINCE. Then I will stay.

SWANWHITE. [_Going toward the background_] And this is love!

PRINCE. [_Beside himself_] Where is my Swanwhite? Where, where, where?

The kindest, loveliest, most beautiful?

SWANWHITE. Seek her!

PRINCE. 'Twould not avail me here below.

SWANWHITE. Elsewhere then! [_She goes out_.

_The_ PRINCE _is alone. He sits down at the table, covers his

face with his hands, and weeps. A gust of wind passes through

the room and sets draperies and curtains fluttering. A sound as

of a sigh is heard from the strings of the harp. The_ PRINCE

_rises, goes to the bed, and stands there lost in contemplation

of its pillow in which is a depression showing_ SWANWHITE'S

_head in profile. He picks up the pillow and kisses it. A noise

is heard outside. He seats himself at the table again_.

_The doors of the closets fly open. The three_ MAIDS _become

visible, all with darkened faces. The_ STEPMOTHER _enters from

the rear. Her face is also dark_.

STEPMOTHER. [_In dulcet tones_] Good morning, my dear Prince! How have

you slept?

PRINCE. Where is Swanwhite?

STEPMOTHER. She has gone to marry her young king. Is there no thought

of things like that in your own mind, my Prince?

PRINCE. I harbour but a single thought----

STEPMOTHER. Of little Swanwhite?

PRINCE. She is too young for me, you mean?

STEPMOTHER. Grey hairs and common sense belong together as a rule--I

have a girl with common sense----

PRINCE. And I grey hairs?

STEPMOTHER. He knows it not, believes it not! Come, maids! Come, Signe,

Elsa, Tova! Let's have a good laugh at the young suitor and his grey

hairs!

_The_ MAIDS _begin to laugh. The_ STEPMOTHER _joins in_.

PRINCE. Where is Swanwhite?

STEPMOTHER. Follow in her traces--here is one!

[_She hands him a parchment covered with writing_.

PRINCE. [_Reading_] And she wrote this?

STEPMOTHER. You know her hand--what has it written?

PRINCE. That she hates me, and loves another--that she has played with

me; that she will throw my kisses to the wind, and to the swine my

heart--To die is now my will! Now I am dead!

STEPMOTHER. A knight dies not because a wench has played with him. He

shows himself a man and takes another.

PRINCE. Another? When there is only one?

STEPMOTHER. No, two, at least! My Magdalene possesses seven barrels

full of gold.

PRINCE. Seven?

STEPMOTHER. And more. [_Pause_.

PRINCE. Where is Swanwhite?

STEPMOTHER. My Magdalene is skilled in many crafts----

PRINCE. Including witchcraft?

STEPMOTHER. She knows how to bewitch a princeling.

PRINCE. [_Gazing at the parchment_] And this was written by my

Swanwhite?

STEPMOTHER. My Magdalene would never write like that.

PRINCE. And she is kind?

STEPMOTHER. Kindness itself! She does not play with sacred feelings,

nor seek revenge for little wrongs, and she is faithful to the one she

likes.

PRINCE. Then she must be beautiful.

STEPMOTHER. Not beautiful!

PRINCE. She is not kind then.--Tell me more of her!

STEPMOTHER. See for yourself.

PRINCE. Where?

STEPMOTHER. Here.

PRINCE. And this has Swanwhite written----?

STEPMOTHER. My Magdalene had written with more feeling

PRINCE. What would she have written?

STEPMOTHER. That----

PRINCE. Speak the word! Say "love," if you are able!

STEPMOTHER. Lub!

PRINCE. You cannot speak the word!

STEPMOTHER. Lud!

PRINCE. Oh, no!

STEPMOTHER. My Magdalene can speak it. May she come?

PRINCE. Yes, let her come.

STEPMOTHER. [_Rising and speaking to the_ MAIDS] Blindfold the prince.

Then in his arms we'll place a princess that is without a paragon in

seven kingdoms.

SIGNE _steps forward and covers the eyes of the_ PRINCE _with a

bandage_.

STEPMOTHER. [_Clapping her hands_] Well--is she not coming?

_The peacock makes a rattling noise with his bill; the doves begin to

coo_.

STEPMOTHER. What is the matter? Does my art desert me? Where is the

bride?

_Four_ MAIDS _enter from the rear, carrying baskets of white

and pink roses. Music is heard from above. The_ MAIDS _go up to

the bed and scatter roses over it_.

_Then come_ TWO KNIGHTS _with closed visors. They take the_

PRINCE _between them toward the rear, where they meet the

false_ MAGDALENE, _escorted by two ladies. The bride is deeply

veiled_.

_With a gesture of her hand the_ STEPMOTHER _bids all depart

except the bridal couple. She herself leaves last of all, after

she has closed the curtains and locked the gates_.

PRINCE. Is this my bride?

FALSE MAGDALENE. Who is your bride?

PRINCE. I have forgot her name. Who is your bridegroom?

FALSE MAGDALENE. He whose name may not be mentioned.

PRINCE. Tell, if you can.

FALSE MAGDALENE. I can, but will not.

PRINCE. Tell, if you can!

FALSE MAGDALENE. Tell my name first!

PRINCE. It's seven barrels full of gold, and crooked back, and grim,

and hare-lipped! What's my name? Tell, if you can!

FALSE MAGDALENE. Prince Greyhead!

PRINCE. You're right!

_The_ FALSE MAGDALENE _throws, off her veil, and_ SWANWHITE

_stands revealed_.

SWANWHITE. [_Dressed in a white garment, with a wreath of roses on her

hair_] Who am I now?

PRINCE. You are a rose!

SWANWHITE. And you a violet!

PRINCE. [_Taking off the bandage_] You are Swanwhite!

SWANWHITE. And you--are----

PRINCE. Hush!

SWANWHITE. You're mine!

PRINCE. But you--you left me--left my kisses----

SWANWHITE. I have returned--because I love you!

PRINCE. And you wrote cruel words----

SWANWHITE. But cancelled them--because I love you.!

PRINCE. You told me I was false.

SWANWHITE. What matters it, when you are true--and when I love you?

PRINCE. You wished that you were going to the king.

SWANWHITE. But went to you instead, because I love you!

PRINCE. Now let me hear what you reproach me with.

SWANWHITE. I have forgotten it--because I love you!

PRINCE. But if you love me, then you are my bride.

SWANWHITE. I am!

PRINCE. Then may the heavens bestow their blessing on our union!

SWANWHITE. In dreamland!

PRINCE. With your head upon my arm!

_The_ PRINCE _leads_ SWANWHITE _to the bed, in which he places

his sword. Then she lies down on one side of the sword, and he

on the other. The colour of the clouds changes to a rosy red.

The rose-trees murmur. The harp plays softly and sweetly_.

PRINCE. Good night, my queen!

SWANWHITE. Good morning, O my soul's beloved!--I hear the beating of

your heart--I hear it sigh like billowing waters, like swift-flying

steeds, like wings of eagles--Give me your hand!

PRINCE. And yours!--Now we take wing----

STEPMOTHER. [_Enters with the_ MAIDS, _who carry torches; all four have

become grey-haired_] I have to see that my task is finished ere the

duke returns. My daughter. Magdalene, is plighted to the prince--while

Swanwhite lingers in the tower--[_Goes to the bed_] They sleep already

in each other's arms--you bear me witness, maids!

_The_ MAIDS _approach the bed_.

STEPMOTHER. What do I see? Each one of you is grey-haired!

SIGNE. And so are you, Your Grace!

STEPMOTHER. Am I? Let me see!

ELSA _holds a mirror in front of her_.

STEPMOTHER. This is the work of evil powers!--And then, perhaps, the

prince's hair is dark again?--Bring light this way!

_The_ MAIDS _hold their torches so that the light from them

falls on the sleeping couple_.

STEPMOTHER. Such is the truth, indeed!--How beautiful they

look!--But--the sword! Who placed it there--the sword that puts at

naught their plighted troth?

_She tries to take away the sword, but the_ PRINCE _clings to

it without being wakened_.

SIGNE. Your Grace--here's deviltry abroad!

STEPMOTHER. What is it?

SIGNE. This is not Lady Magdalene.

STEPMOTHER. Who is it, then? My eyes need help.

SIGNE. 'Tis Lady Swanwhite.

STEPMOTHER. Swanwhite?--Can this be some delusion of the devil's

making, or have I done what I least wished?

_The_ PRINCE _turns his head in his sleep so that his lips meet

those of_ SWANWHITE.

STEPMOTHER. [_Touched by the beautiful sight_] No sight more beautiful

have I beheld!--Two roses brought together by the wind; two falling

stars that join in downward flight--it is too beautiful!--Youth,

beauty, innocence, and love! What memories, sweet memories--when I was

living in my father's home--when I was loved by _him_, the youth whom

never I called mine--What did I say I was?

SIGNE. That you were loved by him, Your Grace.

STEPMOTHER. Then I did speak the mighty word. Be-loved--so he named me

once--"beloved"--ere he started for the war--[_Lost in thoughts_] It

was the last of him.--And so I had to take the one I couldn't bear.--My

life is drawing to its close, and I must find my joy in happiness

denied myself! I should rejoice--at others' happiness--Some kind of

joy, at least--at other people's love--Some kind of love, at least--But

there's my Magdalene? What joy for her? O, love omnipotent--eternally

creative Lord--how you have rendered soft this lion heart! Where is my

strength? Where is my hatred--my revenge? [_She seats herself and looks

long at the sleeping couple_] A song runs through my mind, a song of

love that _he_ was singing long ago, that final night-- [_She rises as

if waking out of a dream and flies into a rage; her words come with a

roar_] Come hither, men! Here, Steward, Castellan, and Gaoler--all of

you! [_She snatches the sword out of the bed and throws it along the

floor toward the rear_] Come hither, men!

_Noise is heard outside; the men enter as before_.

STEPMOTHER. Behold! The prince, the young king's vassal, has defiled

his master's bride! You bear me witness to the shameful deed! Put

chains and fetters on the traitor and send him to his rightful lord!

But in the spiked cask put the hussy. [_The_ PRINCE and SWANWHITE _wake

up_] Equerry! Gaoler! Seize the prince!

_The_ EQUERRY _and the_ GAOLER _lay hands on the_ PRINCE.

PRINCE. Where is my sword? I fight not against evil, but for innocence!

STEPMOTHER. Whose innocence?

PRINCE. My bride's.

STEPMOTHER. The hussy's innocence! Then prove it!

SWANWHITE. Oh, mother, mother!

_The white swan flies by outside_.

STEPMOTHER. Maids, bring shears! I'll cut the harlot's hair!

SIGNE _hands her a pair of shears_.

STEPMOTHER. [_Takes hold of_ SWANWHITE _by the hair and starts to cut

it, but she cannot bring the blades of the shears together]_ Now I'll

cut off your beauty and your love! [_Suddenly she is seized with panic,

which quickly spreads to the men and the three_ MAIDS] Is the enemy

upon us? Why are you trembling?

SIGNE. Your Grace, the dogs are barking, horses neighing--it means

that visitors are near.

STEPMOTHER. Quick, to the bridges, all of you! Man the ramparts! Fall

to with flame and water, sword and axe!

_The_ PRINCE _and_ SWANWHITE _are left alone_.

GARDENER. [_Appears from behind the table; in one hand he carries

a rope, the_ DUKE'S _horn in the other_] Forgiveness for those who

sin; for those who sorrow, consolation; and hope for those who are

distressed!

SWANWHITE. My father's horn! Then help is near! But--the prince?

GARDENER. The prince will follow me. A secret passage, underground,

leads to the shore. There lies his bark. The wind is favourable! Come!

[_The_ GARDENER _and the_ PRINCE _go out._ SWANWHITE _alone,

blows the horn. An answering signal is heard in the distance.

The_ GAOLER _enters with the spiked cask_. SWANWHITE _blows the

horn again. The answer is heard much nearer_.

_The_ DUKE _enters. He and_ SWANWHITE _are alone on the stage_.

DUKE. My own beloved heart, what is at stake?

SWANWHITE. Your own child, father!--Look--the spiked cask over there!

DUKE. How has my child transgressed?

SWANWHITE. The prince's name I learned, by love instructed--spoke

it--came to hold him very dear.

DUKE. That was no capital offence. What more?

SWANWHITE. At his side I slept, the sword between us----

DUKE. And still there was no capital offence, though I should hardly

call it wise--And more?

SWANWHITE. No more!

DUKE. [_To the_ GAOLER, _pointing to the spiked cask_] Away with it!

[_To_ SWANWHITE] Well, child, where is the prince?

SWANWHITE. He's sailing homeward in his bark.

DUKE. Now, when the tide is battering the shore?--Alone? Swanwhite.

Alone! What is to happen?

DUKE. The Lord alone can tell!

SWANWHITE. He's in danger?

DUKE. Who greatly dares has sometimes luck.

SWANWHITE. He ought to have!

DUKE. He will, if free from guilt!

SWANWHITE. He is! More than I am!

STEPMOTHER. [_Entering_] How came you here!

DUKE. A shortcut brought me--I could wish it had been shorter still.

STEPMOTHER. Had it been short enough, your child had never come to harm.

DUKE. What kind of harm?

STEPMOTHER. The one for which there is no cure.

DUKE. And you have proofs?

STEPMOTHER. I've valid witnesses.

DUKE. Then call my butler.

STEPMOTHER. He does not know.

DUKE. [_Shaking his sword at her_] Call my butler!

_The_ STEPMOTHER _trembles. Then she claps her hands four times

together_.

_The_ BUTLER _enters_.

DUKE. Have made a pie of venison, richly stuffed with onions, parsley,

fennel, cabbage--and at once!

_The_ BUTLER _steals a sidelong glance at the_ STEPMOTHER.

DUKE. What are you squinting at? Be quick!

_The_ BUTLER _goes out_.

DUKE. [_To the_ STEPMOTHER] Now call the master of my pleasure-garden.

STEPMOTHER. He does not know!

DUKE. And never will! But he must come! Call, quick!

_The_ STEPMOTHER _claps her hands six times_.

_The_ FLOWER GARDENER _enters_.

DUKE. Three lilies bring: one white, one red, one blue.

_The_ GARDENER _looks sideways at the_ STEPMOTHER.

DUKE. Your head's at stake!

_The_ GARDENER _goes out_.

DUKE. Summon your witnesses!

_The_ STEPMOTHER _claps her hands once_.

SIGNE _enters_.

DUKE. Tell what you know--but choose your words! What have you seen?

SIGNE. I have seen Lady Swanwhite and the prince together in one bed.

DUKE. With sword between?

SIGNE. Without.

DUKE. I can't believe it!--Other witnesses?

_The_ TWO KNIGHTS _enter_.

DUKE. Were these the groomsmen?--Tell your tale.

FIRST KNIGHT. The Lady Magdalene I have escorted to her bridal couch.

SECOND KNIGHT. The Lady Magdalene I have escorted to her bridal couch.

DUKE. What's that? A trick, I trow--that caught the trickster!--Other

witnesses?

ELSA _enters_.

DUKE. Tell what you know.

ELSA. I swear by God, our righteous judge, that I have seen the prince

and Lady Swanwhite fully dressed and with a sword between them.

DUKE. One for, and one against--two not germane.--I leave it to the

judgment of the Lord!--The flowers will speak for him.

TOVA. [_Enters_] My gracious master--noble lord!

DUKE. What do you know?

TOVA. I know my gracious mistress innocent.

DUKE. O, child--so you know that! Then teach us how to know it too.

TOVA. When I am saying only what is true----

DUKE. No one believes it! But when Signe tells untruth, we must

believe!--And what does Swanwhite say herself? Her forehead's purity,

her steady glance, her lips' sweet innocence--do they not speak aloud

of slander? And "slander" is the verdict of a father's eye.--Well

then--Almighty God on high shall give his judgment, so that human

beings may believe!

_The_ FLOWER GARDENER _enters carrying three lilies placed in

three tall and narrow vases of glass. The_ DUKE _places the

flowers in a semicircle on the table. The_ BUTLER _enters with

a huge dish containing a steaming pie_.

DUKE. [_Placing the dish within the semicircle formed by the three

flowers_] The white one stands for whom?

ALL. [_Except_ SWANWHITE. _and the_ STEPMOTHER] For Swanwhite.

DUKE. The red one stands for whom?

ALL. [As _before_] The prince.

DUKE. For whom the blue one?

ALL. [As _before_] The youthful king.

DUKE. Well, Tova--child who still has faith in innocence because you

too are innocent--interpret now for us the judgment of the Lord--tell

us the gentle secrets of these flowers.

TOVA. The evil part I cannot utter.

DUKE. I will. What's good I'll leave for you.--As the steam from the

blood of the prurient beast rises upward--as upward the smell of the

passionate spices is mounting--what see you?

TOVA. [_Gazing at the three lilies_] The white one folds its blossom to

protect itself against defilement. That is Swanwhite's flower.

ALL. Swanwhite is innocent.

TOVA. The red one, too--the prince's lily--closes its head--but the

blue one, which stands for the king, flings wide its gorge to drink the

lust-filled air.

DUKE. You've told it right! What more is there to see?

TOVA. I see the red flower bend its head in reverent love before the

white one, while the blue one writhes with envious rage.

DUKE. You've spoken true!--For whom is Swanwhite then?

TOVA. For the prince, because more pure is his desire, and therefore

stronger, too.

ALL. [_Except_ SWANWHITE _and the_ STEPMOTHER] Swanwhite for the prince!

SWANWHITE. [_Throwing herself into her father's arms_] O, father!

DUKE. Call back the prince! Let every trump and bugle summon him. Hoist

sail on every bark! But first of all--the spiked cask is for whom?

_All remain silent_.

DUKE. Then I will say it: for the duchess; for the arch-liar and

bawd!--Know, evil woman, that though nothing else be safe against your

tricks, they cannot conquer love!--Go--quick--begone!

_The_ STEPMOTHER _makes a gesture which for a moment seems to

stun the_ DUKE.

DUKE. [_Draws his sword and turns the point of it toward the_

STEPMOTHER, _having first seated_ SWANWHITE _on his left shoulder_]

A-yi, you evil one! My pointed steel will outpoint all your tricks!

_The_ STEPMOTHER _withdraws backward, dragging her legs behind

her like a panther_.

DUKE. Now for the prince!

_The_ STEPMOTHER _stops on the balcony, rigid as a statue. She

opens her mouth as if she were pouring out venom_.

_The peacock and the doves fall down dead. Then the_ STEPMOTHER

_begins to swell. Her clothes become inflated to such an extent

that they hide her head and bust entirely. They seem to be

flaming with a pattern of interwoven snakes and branches. The

sun is beginning to rise outside. The ceiling sinks slowly into

the room, while smoke and fire burst from the fireplace_.

DUKE. [_Raising the cross-shaped handle of his sword toward the_

STEPMOTHER] Pray, people, pray to Christ, our Saviour!

ALL. Christ have mercy!

_The ceiling resumes its ordinary place. The smoke and fire

cease. A noise is heard outside, followed by the hum of many

voices_.

DUKE. What new event is this?

SWANWHITE. I know! I see!--I hear the water dripping from his hair; I

hear the silence of his heart, the breath that comes no more--I see

that he is dead!

DUKE. Where do you see--and whom?

SWANWHITE. Where?--But I see it!

DUKE. I see nothing.

SWANWHITE. As they must come, let them come quick!

_Four little girls enter with baskets out of which they scatter

white lilies and hemlock twigs over the floor. After them come

four pages ringing silver bells of different pitch. Then comes

a priest carrying a large crucifix. Then, the golden bier, with

the body of the_ PRINCE, _covered by a white sheet, on which

rest white and pink roses. His hair is dark again. His face is

youthful, rosy, and radiantly beautiful. There is a smile on

his lips_.

_The harp begins to play. The sun rises completely. The magic

bubble around the_ STEPMOTHER _bursts, and she appears once

more in her customary shape_.

_The bier is placed in the middle of the floor, so that the

rays of the rising sun fall on it_.

SWANWHITE _throws herself on her knees beside the bier and

covers the_ PRINCE'S _face with kisses_.

_All present put their hands to their faces and weep_.

_The_ FISHERMAN _has entered behind the bier_.

DUKE. The brief tale tell us, fisherman----

FISHERMAN. Does it not tell itself, my noble lord?--The young prince

had already crossed the strait, when, seized by violent longing for

his love, he started to swim back, in face of tide and wave and

wind--because his bark seemed rudder-less.--I saw his young head breast

the billows, I heard him cry her name--and then his corpse was gently

dropped upon the white sand at my feet. His hair had turned to grey

that night when he slept in the tower; sorrow and wrath had blanched

his cheeks; his lips had lost their power of smiling.--Now, when

death o'ertook him, beauty and youth came with it. Like wreaths his

darkening locks fell round his rosy cheeks; he smiled--and see!--is

smiling still. The people gathered on the shore, awed by the gentle

spectacle--and man said unto man: lo, this is love!

SWANWHITE. [_Lying down beside the body of the_ PRINCE] He's dead; his

heart will sing no more; his eyes no longer will light up my life;

his breath will shed its dew on me no more. He smiles, but not toward

me--toward heaven he smiles. And on his journey I shall bear him

company.

DUKE. Kiss not a dead man's lips--there's poison in them!

SWANWHITE. Sweet poison if it bring me death--that death in which I

seek my life!

DUKE. They say, my child, the dead cannot gain union by willing it;

and what was loved in life has little worth beyond.

SWANWHITE. And love? Should then its power not extend to the other side

of death?

DUKE. Our wise men have denied it.

SWANWHITE. Then he must come to me--back to this earth. O gracious

Lord, please let him out of heaven again!

DUKE. A foolish prayer!

SWANWHITE. I cannot pray--woe's me! The evil eye still rules this place.

DUKE. You're thinking of the monster which the sunbeams pricked. The

stake for her--let her without delay be burned alive!

SWANWHITE. Burn her?--Alive?--Oh, no! Let her depart in peace!

DUKE. She must be burned alive! You, men, see that the pyre is raised

close to the shore, and let the winds play with her ashes!

SWANWHITE. [_On her knees before the_ DUKE] No, no--I pray you, though

she was my executioner: have mercy on her!

STEPMOTHER. [_Enters, changed, freed from the evil powers that have

held her in their spell_] Mercy! Who spoke the sacred word? Who poured

her heart in prayer for me?

SWANWHITE. I did--your daughter--mother!

STEPMOTHER. O, God in heaven, she called me mother!--Who taught you

that?

SWANWHITE. Love did!

STEPMOTHER. Then blessed be love which can work miracles like

that!--But, child, then it must also have the power to make the dead

return out of the darkling realms of death!--I cannot do it, having not

received the grace of love. But you!

SWANWHITE. Poor me--what can I do?

STEPMOTHER. You can forgive, and you can love--Well, then, my little

Lady Almighty, you can do anything!--Be taught by me who have no power

at all. Go, cry the name of your beloved, and put your hand above his

heart! Then, with the help of the Supreme One--calling none but Him for

helper--your beloved will hear your voice--if you believe!

SWANWHITE. I do believe--I will it--and--I pray for it!

_She goes up to the_ PRINCE, _places one of her hands over his heart,

and raises the other toward the sky. Then she bends down over him

and whispers something into his ear. This she repeats three times in

succession. At the third whisper the_ PRINCE _wakes up_. SWANWHITE

_throws herself at his breast. All kneel in praise and thanksgiving.

Music_.

_Curtain_.

SIMOOM

(SAMUM)

1890

CHARACTERS

BISKRA, _an Arabian girl_

YUSUF, _her lover_

GUIMARD, _a lieutenant of Zouaves_

_The action takes place in Algeria at the present time_.

SIMOOM

_The inside of a marabout, or shrine. In the middle of the

floor stands a sarcophagus forming the tomb of the Mohammedan

saint (also called "marabout") who in his lifetime occupied the

place. Prayer-rugs are scattered over the floor. At the right

in the rear is an ossuary, or charnel-house._

_There is a doorway in the middle of the rear wall. It is

closed with a gate and covered by a curtain. On both sides of

the doorway are loopholes. Here and there on the floor are seen

little piles of sand. An aloe plant, a few palm leaves and some

alfa grass are thrown together on one spot_.

* * * * *

FIRST SCENE

BISKRA _enters. The hood of her burnous is pulled over her head

so that it almost covers her face. She carries a guitar at her

back. Throwing herself down in a kneeling position on one of

the rugs, she begins to pray with her arms crossed over her

breast. A high wind is blowing outside_.

BISKRA. Lâ ilâhâ illâ 'llâh!

YUSUF. [_Enters quickly_] The Simoom is coming! Where is the Frank?

BISKRA. He'll be here in a moment.

YUSUF. Why didn't you stab him when you had a chance?

BISKRA. Because he is to do it himself. If I were to do it, our whole

tribe would be killed, for I am known to the Franks as Ali, the guide,

though they don't know me as Biskra, the maiden.

YUSUF. He is to do it himself, you say? How is that to happen?

BISKRA. Don't you know that the Simoom makes the brains of the white

people dry as dates, so that they have horrible visions which disgust

them with life and cause them to flee into the great unknown?

YUSUF. I have heard of such things, and in the last battle there were

six Franks who took their own lives before the fighting began. But do

not place your trust in the Simoom to-day, for snow has fallen in the

mountains, and the storm may be all over in half an hour.--Biskra! Do

you still know how to hate?

BISKRA. If I know how to hate?--My hatred is boundless as the desert,

burning as the sun, and stronger than my love. Every hour of joy that

has been stolen from me since the murder of Ali has been stored up

within me like the venom back of a viper's tooth, and what the Simoom

cannot do, that I can do.

YUSUF. Well spoken, Biskra, and the task shall be yours. Ever since my

eyes first fell upon you, my own hatred has been withering like alfa

grass in the autumn. Take strength from me and become the arrow to my

bow.

BISKRA. Embrace me, Yusuf, embrace me!

YUSUF. Not here, within the presence of the Sainted one; not

now--later, afterward, when you have earned your reward!

BISKRA. You proud sheikh! You man of pride!

YUSUF. Yes--the maiden who is to carry my offspring under her heart

must show herself worthy of the honour.

BISKRA. I--no one but I--shall bear the offspring of Yusuf! I,

Biskra--the scorned one, the ugly one, but the strong one, too!

YUSUF. All right! I am now going to sleep beside the spring.--Do I

need to teach you more of the secret arts which you learned from

Sidi-Sheikh, the great marabout, and which you have practised at fairs

ever since you were a child?

BISKRA. Of that there is no need. I know all the secrets needed to

scare the life out of a cowardly Frank.--The dastard who sneaks upon

the enemy and sends the leaden bullet ahead of himself! I know them

all--even the art of letting my voice come out of my belly. And what is

beyond my art, that will be done by the sun, for the sun is on the side

of Yusuf and Biskra.

YUSUF. The sun is a friend of the Moslem, but not to be relied upon.

You may get burned, girl!--Take a drink of water first of all, for I

see that your hands are shrivelled, and----

_He lifts up one of the rugs and steps down into a sort of

cellar, from which he brings back a bowl filled with water;

this he hands to_ BISKRA.

BISKRA. [_Raising the bowl to her mouth_] And my eyes are already

beginning to see red--my lungs are parching--I hear--I hear--do you

see how the sand is sifting through the roof--the strings of my guitar

are crooning--the Simoom is here! But the Frank is not!

YUSUF. Come down here, Biskra, and let the Frank die by himself.

BISKRA. First hell, and then death! Do you think I'll weaken? [_Pours

the water on one of the sand piles_] I'll water the sand, so that

revenge may grow out of it, and I'll dry up my heart. Grow, O hatred!

Burn, O sun! Smother, O wind!

YUSUF. Hail to you, mother of Ben Yusuf--for you are to bear the son of

Yusuf, the avenger--you!

_The wind is increasing. The curtain in front of the door begins to

flap. A red glimmer lights up the room, but changes into yellow during

the ensuing scene_.

BISKRA. The Frank is coming, and--the Simoom is here!--Go!

YUSUF. In half an hour you shall see me again. [_Pointing toward a sand

pile_] There is your hour-glass. Heaven itself is measuring out the

time for the hell of the infidels!

[_Goes down into the cellar_.

SECOND SCENE

BISKRA. GUIMARD _enters looking very pale; he stumbles, his

mind is confused, and he speaks in a low voice_.

GUIMARD. The Simoom is here!--What do you think has become of my men?

BISKRA. I led them west to east.

GUIMARD. West--to east!--Let me see!--That's straight east--and

west!--Oh, put me on a chair and give me some water!

BISKRA. [_Leads_ GUIMARD _to one of the sand piles and makes him lie

down on the floor with his feet on the sand_] Are you comfortable now?

GUIMARD. [_Staring at her_] I feel all twisted up. Put something under

my head.

BISKRA. [_Piling the sand higher under his feet_] There's a pillow for

your head.

GUIMARD. Head? Why, my feet are down there--Isn't that my feet?

BISKRA. Of course!

GUIMARD. I thought so. Give me a stool now--under my head.

BISKRA. [_Pulls out the aloe plant and pushes it under Guimard's legs_]

There's a stool for you.

GUIMARD. And then water!--Water!

BISKRA. [_Fills the empty bowl with sand and hands it to_ GUIMARD]

Drink while it's cold.

GUIMARD. [_Putting his lips to the bowl_] It is cold--and yet it does

not still my thirst! I cannot drink it--I abhor water--take it away!

BISKRA. There's the dog that bit you!

GUIMARD. What dog? I have never been bitten by a dog.

BISKRA. The Simoom has shrivelled up your memory--beware the delusions

of the Simoom! Don't you remember the mad greyhound that bit you during

the last hunt at Bab-el-Wad?

GUIMARD. The hunt at Bab-el-Wad? That's right!--Was it a

beaver-coloured----?

BISKRA. Bitch? Yes.--There you see. And she bit you in the calf. Can't

you feel the sting of the wound?

GUIMARD. [_Reaches out a hand to feel his calf and pricks himself on

the aloe_] Yes, I can feel it.--Water! Water!

BISKRA. [_Handing him the sand-filled bowl_] Drink, drink!

GUIMARD. No, I cannot! Holy Mother of God--I have rabies!

BISKRA. Don't be afraid! I shall cure you, and drive out the demon by

the help of music, which is all-powerful. Listen!

GUIMARD. [_Screaming_] Ali! Ali! No music; I can't stand it! And how

could it help me?

BISKRA. If music can tame the treacherous spirit of the snake, don't

you think it may conquer that of a mad dog? Listen! [_She sings and

accompanies herself on the guitar_] Biskra-biskra, Biskra-biskra,

Biskra-biskra! Simoom! Simoom!

YUSUF. [_Responding from below_] Simoom! Simoom!

GUIMARD. What is that you are singing, Ali?

BISKRA. Have I been singing? Look here--now I'll put a palm-leaf in my

mouth. [_She puts a piece of leaf between her teeth; the song seems to

be coming from above_] Biskra-biskra, Biskra-biskra, Biskra-biskra!

YUSUF. [_From below_] Simoom! Simoom!

GUIMARD. What an infernal jugglery!

BISKRA. Now I'll sing!

BISKRA and YUSUF. [_Together_] Biskra-biskra, Biskra-biskra,

Biskra-biskra! Simoom!

GUIMARD. [_Rising_] What are you, you devil who are singing with two

voices? Are you man or woman? Or both?

BISKRA. I am Ali, the guide. You don't recognise me because your senses

are confused. But if you want to be saved from the tricks played by

sight and thought, you must believe in me--believe what I say and do

what I tell you.

GUIMARD. You don't need to ask me, for I find everything to be as you

say it is.

BISKRA. There you see, you worshipper of idols!

GUIMARD. I, a worshipper of idols?

BISKRA. Yes, take out the idol you carry on your breast.

GUIMARD _takes out a locket_.

BISKRA. Trample on it now, and then call on the only God, the Merciful

One, the Compassionate One!

GUIMARD. [_Hesitating_] Saint Edward--my patron saint?

BISKRA. Can he protect you? Can he?

GUIMARD. No, he cannot!--[_Waking up_] Yes, he can!

BISKRA. Let us see!

_She opens the gate; the curtain flaps and the grass on the

floor moves_.

GUIMARD. [_Covering his mouth_] Close the door!

BISKRA. Throw down the idol!

GUIMARD. No, I cannot.

BISKRA. Do you see? The Simoom does not bend a hair on me, but you, the

infidel one, are killed by it! Throw down the idol!

GUIMARD. [_Throws the locket on the floor_] Water! I die!

BISKRA. Pray to the Only One, the Merciful and Compassionate One!

GUIMARD. How am I to pray?

BISKRA. Repeat after me.

GUIMARD. Speak on!

BISKRA. There is only one God: there is no other God but He, the

Merciful, the Compassionate One!

GUIMARD. "There is only one God: there is no other God but He, the

Merciful, the Compassionate One."

BISKRA. Lie down on the floor.

GUIMARD _lies down unwillingly_.

BISKRA. What do you hear?

GUIMARD. I hear the murmuring of a spring.

BISKRA. There you see! God is one, and there is no other God but He,

the Merciful and Compassionate One!--What do you see?

GUIMARD. I can hear a spring murmur--I can see the light of a lamp--in

a window with green shutters--on a white street----

BISKRA. Who is sitting at the window?

GUIMARD. My wife--Elise!

BISKRA. Who is standing behind the curtain with his arm around her neck?

GUIMARD. That's my son, George.

BISKRA. How old is your son?

GUIMARD. Four years on the day of Saint Nicholas.

BISKRA. And he can already stand behind the curtain with his arm around

the neck of another man's wife?

GUIMARD. No, he cannot--but it is he!

BISKRA. Four years old, you say, and he has a blond mustache?

GUIMARD. A blond mustache, you say?--Oh, that's--my friend Jules.

BISKRA. Who is standing behind the curtain with his arm around your

wife's neck?

GUIMARD. Oh, you devil!

BISKRA. Do you see your son?

GUIMARD. No, I don't see him any longer.

BISKRA. [_Imitates the tolling of bells on the guitar_] What do

you see now?

GUIMARD. I see bells ringing--I taste dead bodies--their smell in my

mouth is like rancid butter--faugh!

BISKRA. Can't you hear the priest chanting the service for a dead child?

GUIMARD. Wait!--I cannot hear--[_Wistfully_] But do you want me

to?--There!--I can hear it!

BISKRA. Do you see the wreath on the coffin they are carrying?

GUIMARD. Yes----

BISKRA. There are violet ribbons on it--and there are letters printed

in silver--"Farewell, my darling George--from your father."

GUIMARD. Yes, that's it! [_He begins to cry_] My George! O George, my

darling boy!--Elise--wife--can't you console me?--Oh, help me! [_He is

groping around_] Elise, where are you? Have you left me? Answer! Call

out the name of your love!

A VOICE. [_Coming from the roof_] Jules! Jules!

GUIMARD. Jules! But my name is--what is my name? It is Charles! And she

is calling Jules! Elise--my beloved wife--answer me--for your spirit

is here--I can feel it--and you promised never to love anybody else----

_The_ VOICE _is heard laughing_.

GUIMARD. Who is laughing?

BISKRA. Elise--your wife.

GUIMARD. Oh, kill me! I don't want to live any longer! Life sickens

me like sauerkraut at Saint-Doux--You there--do you know what

Saint-Doux is? Lard! [_He tries to spit_] Not a drop of saliva

left!--Water--water--or I'll bite you!

_The wind outside has risen to a full storm_.

BISKRA. [_Puts her hand to her mouth and coughs_] Now you are dying,

Frank! Write down your last wishes while there is still time--Where is

your note-book?

GUIMARD. [_Takes out a note-book and a pencil_] What am I to write?

BISKRA. When a man is to die, he thinks of his wife--and his child!

GUIMARD. [_Writes_] "Elise--I curse you! Simoom--I die----"

BISKRA. And then sign it, or it will not be valid as a testament.

GUIMARD. What shall I sign?

BISKRA. Write: Lâ ilâha illâ 'llâh.

GUIMARD. [_Writing_] It is written.--And can I die now?

BISKRA. Now you can die--like a craven soldier who has deserted his

people! And I am sure you'll get a handsome burial from the jackals

that will chant the funeral hymn over your corpse. [_She drums the

signal for attack on the guitar_] Can you hear the drums--the attack

has begun--on the Faithful, who have the sun and the Simoom on their

side--they are now advancing--from their hiding-places--[_She makes a

rattling noise on the guitar_] The Franks are firing along the whole

line--they have no chance to load again--the Arabs are firing at their

leisure--the Franks are flying!

GUIMARD. [_Rising_] The Franks never flee!

BISKRA. The Franks will flee when they hear the call to retreat.

[_She blows the signal for "retreat" on a flute which she has

produced from under her burnoose_.

GUIMARD. They are retreating--that's the signal--and I am here--[_He

tears off his epaulets_] I am dead!

[_He falls to the ground_.

BISKRA. Yes, you are dead!--And you don't know that you have been dead

a long time.

[_She goes to the ossuary and takes from it a human skull_.

GUIMARD. Have I been dead?

[_He feels his face with his hands_.

BISKRA. Long! Long!--Look at yourself in the mirror here! [_She holds

up the skull before him_.

GUIMARD. Ah! That's me!

BISKRA. Can't you see your own high cheek-bones? Can't you see the eyes

that the vultures have picked out? Don't you know that gap on the right

side of the jaw where you had a tooth pulled? Can't you see the hollow

in the chin where, grew the beard that your Elise was fond of stroking?

Can't you see where used to be the ear that your George kissed at

the breakfast-table? Can't you see the mark of the axe--here in the

neck--which the executioner made when he cut off the deserter's head----

GUIMARD, _who has been watching her movements and listening to

her words with evident horror, sinks down dead_.

BISKRA. [_Who has been kneeling, feels his pulse; then she rises and

sings_] Simoom! Simoom! [_She opens both gates; the curtain flutters

like a banner in the wind; she puts her hand up to her mouth and falls

over backward, crying_] Yusuf!

THIRD SCENE

BISKRA. GUIMARD (_dead_). YUSUF _comes out of the cellar_.

YUSUF. [_Having examined the body of_ GUIMARD, _he looks for_ BISKRA]

Biskra! [_He discovers her and takes her up in his arms_] Are you alive?

BISKRA. Is the Frank dead?

YUSUF. If he is not, he will be. Simoom! Simoom!

BISKRA. Then I live! But give me some water!

YUSUF. [_Carrying her toward the cellar_] Here it is!--And now Yusuf is

yours!

BISKRA. And Biskra will be your son's mother, O Yusuf, great Yusuf!

YUSUF. My strong Biskra! Stronger than the Simoom!

_Curtain_.

DEBIT AND CREDIT

(DEBET OCH KREDIT)

AN ACT

1893

CHARACTERS

AXEL, _Doctor of Philosophy and African explorer_

THURE, _his brother, a gardener_

ANNA, _the wife of_ THURE

MISS CECILIA

THE FIANCÉ _of_ CECILIA

LINDGREN, _Doctor of Philosophy and former school-teacher_

MISS MARIE

THE COURT CHAMBERLAIN

THE WAITER

DEBIT AND CREDIT

_A well-furnished hotel room. There are doors on both sides_.

FIRST SCENE

THURE _and his_ WIFE.

THURE. There's some style to this room, isn't there? But then the

fellow who lives here is stylish, too.

WIFE. Yes, so I understand. Of course, I've never seen your brother,

but I've heard a whole lot.

THURE. Oh, gossip! _My_ brother, the doctor, has gone right across

Africa, and that's something everybody can't do. So it doesn't matter

how many drinks he took as a young chap----

WIFE. Yes, your brother, the doctor! Who is nothing but a

school-teacher, for that matter----

THURE. No, he's a doctor of philosophy, I tell you----

WIFE. Well, that's nothing but one who teaches. And that's just what my

brother is doing in the school at Åby.

THURE. Your brother is all right, but he is nothing but a public-school

teacher, and that's not the same as a doctor of philosophy--which isn't

a boast either.

WIFE. Well, no matter what he is or what you call him, he has cost us a

whole lot.

THURE. Of course it has been rather costly, but then he has brought us

a lot of pleasure, too.

WIFE. Fine pleasures! When we've got to lose house and home for his

sake!

THURE. That's so--but then we don't know yet if his slip-up on the loan

had some kind of cause that he couldn't help. I guess it isn't so easy

to send registered letters from darkest Africa.

WIFE. Whether he has any excuses or not doesn't change the matter a

bit. But if he wants to do something for us--it's nothing more than he

owes us.

THURE. Well, we'll see, we'll see!--Anyhow, have you heard they've

already given him four decorations?

WIFE. Well, that doesn't help us any. I guess it'll only make him a

little more stuck-up. Oh, no, it'll be some time before I get over that

the sheriff had to come down on us with the papers--and bring in other

people as witnesses--and then--the auction--and all the neighbours

coming in and turning all we had upside down. And do you know what made

me sorer than all the rest?

THURE. The black----

WIFE. Yes, it was that my sister-in-law should bid in my black silk

dress for fifteen crowns. Think of it--fifteen crowns!

THURE. You just wait--just wait a little! We might get you a new silk

dress----

WIFE. [_Weeping_] But it'll never be the same one--the one my

sister-in-law bid in.

THURE. We'll get another one then!--Now, just look at that gorgeous hat

over there! I guess it must be one of those royal chamberlains who's

talking with Axel now.

WIFE. What do I care about that!

THURE. Why, don't you think it's fun that a fellow who has the same

name as you and I gets to be so respected that the King's own household

people have to visit him? If I remember right, you were happy for a

whole fortnight when your brother, the school-teacher, had been asked

to dine at the bishop's.

WIFE. I can't remember anything of the kind.

THURE. Of course you can't!

WIFE. But I do remember the fifteenth of March, when we had to leave

our place for his sake, and we hadn't been married more than two years,

and I had to carry away the child on my own arm--Oh!--and then, when

the steamer came with all the passengers on board just as we had to get

out--all the cocked hats in the world can't make me forget that! And,

for that matter, what do you think a royal chamberlain cares about a

plain gardener and his wife when they've just been turned out of house

and home?

THURE. Look here! What do you think this is? Look at all his

decorations!--Look at this one, will you!

_He takes an order out of its case, holds it in the palm of his

hand, and pats it as if it were a living thing_.

WIFE. Oh, that silly stuff!

THURE. Don't you say anything against them, for you never can tell

where you'll end. The gardener at Staring was made a director and a

knight on the same day.

WIFE. Well, what does that help us?

THURE. No, of course not--it doesn't help us--but these things here

[_pointing to the orders_] may help us a whole lot in getting another

place.--However, I think we've waited quite a while now, so we'd better

sit down and make ourselves at home. Let me help you off with your

coat--come on now!

WIFE. [_After a slight resistance_] So you think we're going to be

welcome, then? I have a feeling that our stay here won't last very long.

THURE. Tut, tut! And I think we're going to have a good dinner, too, if

I know Axel right. If he only knew that we're here--But now you'll

see! [_He presses a button and a_ WAITER _enters_] What do you want--a

sandwich, perhaps? [_To the_ WAITER] Bring us some sandwiches and

beer.--Wait a moment! Get a drink for me--the real stuff, you know!

[_The_ WAITER _goes out_] You've got to take care of yourself, don't

you know.

SECOND SCENE

THURE _and his_ WIFE. AXEL. The CHAMBERLAIN.

AXEL. [_To the_ CHAMBERLAIN] At five, then--in full dress, I suppose?

CHAMBERLAIN. And your orders!

AXEL. Is it necessary?

CHAMBERLAIN. Absolutely necessary, if you don't want to seem rude, and

that's something which you, as a democrat, want least of all. Good-bye,

doctor!

AXEL. Good-bye.

_In leaving, the_ CHAMBERLAIN _bows slightly to_ THURE _and

his_ WIFE, _neither of whom returns the salute_.

THIRD SCENE

AXEL. THURE _and his_ WIFE.

AXEL. Oh, is that you, old boy?--It seems an eternity since I saw you

last. And this is your wife?--Glad to see you!

THURE. Thanks, brother! And I wish you a happy return after your long

trip.

AXEL. Yes, that was something of a trip--I suppose you have read about

it in the papers----

THURE. Oh, yes, I've read all about it. [_Pause_] And then father sent

you his regards.

AXEL. Oh, is he still sore at me?

THURE. Well, you know the old man and his ways. If only you hadn't been

a member of that expedition, you know, he would have thought it one of

the seven wonders of the world. But as you were along, of course, it

was nothing but humbug.

AXEL. So he's just the same as ever! Simply because I am _his_ son,

nothing I ever do can be of any value. It means he can't think very

much of himself either.--Well, so much for that! And how are you

getting along nowadays?

THURE. Not very well, exactly! There's that old loan from the bank, you

know----

AXEL. Yes, that's right! Well, what happened to it?

THURE. Oh, what happened was that I had to pay it.

AXEL. That's too bad! But we'll settle the matter as soon as we have a

chance.

_The_ WAITER _comes in with_ THURE's _order on a tray_.

AXEL. What's that?

THURE. Oh, it was only me who took the liberty of ordering a couple of

sandwiches----

AXEL. Right you were! But I think we ought to have some wine, so I

could drink the health of my sister-in-law, as I couldn't get to the

wedding.

THURE. Oh, no--not for us! Not so early in the morning! Thanks very

much!

AXEL. [_Signals to the_ WAITER, _who goes out_] I should have asked you

to stay for dinner, but I have to go out myself. Can you guess where I

am going?

THURE. You don't mean to say you're going to the Palace?

AXEL. Exactly--I am asked to meet the Monarch himself.

THURE. Lord preserve us!--What do you think of that, Anna?

_His_ WIFE _turns and twists on her chair as if in torment,

quite unable to answer_.

AXEL. I suppose the old man will turn republican after this, when he

hears that His Majesty cares to associate with me.

THURE. See here, Axel--you'll have to pardon me for getting back to

something that's not very pleasant--but it has to be settled.

AXEL. Is it that blessed old loan?

THURE. Yes, but it isn't only that. To put it plain--we've had to stand

an execution for your sake, and now we're absolutely cleaned out.

AXEL. That's a fine state of affairs! But why in the world didn't you

get the loan renewed?

THURE. Well, that's it! How was I to get any new sureties when you were

away?

AXEL. Couldn't you go to my friends?

THURE. I did. And the result was--what it was. Can you help us out now?

AXEL. How am I going to help you now? Now when all my creditors are

getting after me? And it won't do for me to start borrowing when they

are just about to make a position for me. There's nothing that hurts

you more than to borrow money. Just wait a little while, and we'll get

it all straightened out.

THURE. If we're to wait, then everything's up with us. This is just the

time to get hold of a garden--this is the time to start digging and

sowing, if you are to get anything up in time. Can't you get a place

for us?

AXEL. Where am I to get hold of a garden?

THURE. Among your friends.

AXEL. My friends keep no gardens. Now, don't you hamper me when I try

to get up on firm ground! When I am there I'll pull you up, too.

THURE. [_To his_ WIFE] He doesn't want to help us, Anna!

AXEL. I cannot--not this moment! Do you think it reasonable that I, who

am seeking a job myself, should have to seek one for you, too? What

would people be saying, do you think? "There, now," they would say,

"we've got not only him but his relatives to look after!" And then they

would drop me entirely.

THURE. [_Looks at his watch; then to his wife_] We've got to go.

AXEL. Why must you go so soon?

THURE. We have to take the child to a doctor.

AXEL. For the Lord's sake, have you a child, too?

WIFE. Yes, we have. And a sick child, which lost its health when we had

to move out into the kitchen so that the auction could be held.

AXEL. And all this for my sake! It's enough to drive me crazy! For

my sake! So that I might become a famous man!--And what is there I

can do for you?--Do you think it would have been better if I had

stayed at home?--No, worse--for then I should have been nothing but

a poor teacher, who certainly could not have been of any use to you

whatever.--Listen, now! You go to the doctor, but come back here after

a while. In the meantime I'll think out something.

THURE. [_To his_ WIFE] Do you see now, that he wants to help us?

WIFE. Yes, but can he do it? That's the question.

THURE. He can do anything he wants.

AXEL. Don't rely too much on it--or the last state may prove worse

than the first.--Oh, merciful heavens, to think that you have a sick

child, too! And for my sake!

THURE. Oh, I guess it isn't quite as bad as it sounds.

WIFE. Yes, so you say, who don't know anything about it----

THURE. Well, Axel, we'll see you later then.

LINDGREN _appears in the doorway_.

WIFE. [_To_ THURE] Did you notice he didn't introduce us--to the

chamberlain?

THURE. Oh, shucks, what good would that have been?

[_They go out_.

FOURTH SCENE

AXEL. LINDGREN, _who is shabbily dressed, unshaved, apparently

fond of drinking, and looking as if he had just got out of bed_.

AXEL _is startled for a moment at the sight of_ LINDGREN.

LINDGREN. You don't recognise me?

AXEL. Yes, now I do. But you have changed a great deal.

LINDGREN. Oh, you think so?

AXEL. Yes, I do, and I am surprised to find that these years can have

had such an effect----

LINDGREN. Three years may be pretty long.--And you don't ask me to sit

down?

AXEL. Please--but I am rather in a hurry.

LINDGREN. You have always been in a hurry.

[_He sits down; pause._

AXEL. Why don't you say something unpleasant?

LINDGREN. It's coming, it's coming!

[_He wipes his spectacles; pause._

AXEL. How much do you need?

LINDGREN. Three hundred and fifty.

AXEL. I haven't got it, and I can't get it.

LINDGREN. Oh, sure!--You don't mind if I help myself to a few drops?

_He pours out a drink from the bottle brought by the_ Waiter

_for_ THURE.

AXEL. Won't you have a glass of wine with me instead?

LINDGREN. No--why?

AXEL. Because it looks bad to be swilling whisky like that.

LINDGREN. How very proper you have become!

AXEL. Not at all, but it hurts my reputation and my credit.

LINDGREN. Oh, you have credit? Then you can also give me a lift, after

having brought me down.

AXEL. That is to say: you are making demands?

LINDGREN. I am only reminding you that I am one of your victims.

AXEL. Then, because of the gratitude I owe you, I shall bring these

facts back to your mind: that you helped me through the university at

a time when you had plenty of money; that you helped to get my thesis

printed----

LINDGREN. That I taught you the methods which determined your

scientific career; that I, who then was as straight as anybody,

exercised a favourable influence on your slovenly tendencies; that, in

a word, I made you what you are; and that, finally, when I applied for

an appropriation to undertake this expedition, you stepped in and took

it.

AXEL. No, I got it. Because I, and not you, was held to be the man for

the task.

LINDGREN. And that settled me! Thus, one shall be taken, and the other

left!--Do you think that was treating me fairly?

AXEL. It was what the world calls "ungrateful," but the task was

achieved, and by it science was enriched, the honour of our country

upheld, and new regions opened for the use of coming generations.

LINDGREN. Here's to you!--You have had a lot of oratorical

practice--But have you any idea how unpleasant it feels to play the

part of one used up and cast off?

AXEL. I imagine it must feel very much like being conscious of

ingratitude, and I can only congratulate you at not finding yourself in

a position as unpleasant as my own.--But let us return to reality. What

can I do for you?

LINDGREN. What do you think?

AXEL. For the moment--nothing.

LINDGREN. And in the next moment you are gone again. Which means that

this would be the last I saw of you.

[_He pours out another drink_.

AXEL. Will you do me the favour of not finishing the bottle? I don't

want the servants to suspect me of it.

LINDGREN. Oh, go to hell!

AXEL. You don't think it's pleasant for me to have to call you down

like this, do you?

LINDGREN. Say--do you want to get me a ticket for the banquet to-night?

AXEL. I am sorry to say that I don't think you would be admitted.

LINDGREN. Because---

AXEL. You are drunk!

LINDGREN. Thanks, old man!--Well, will you let me have a look at your

botanical specimens, then?

AXEL. No, I am going to describe them myself for the Academy.

LINDGREN. How about your ethnographical stuff?

AXEL. No, that's not my own.

LINDGREN. Will you--let me have twenty-five crowns?

AXEL. As I haven't more than twenty myself, I can only give you ten.

LINDGREN. Rotten!

AXEL. Thus stand the affairs of the man everybody envies. Do you think

there is anybody in whose company I might feel happy? Not one! Those

that are still down hate me for climbing up, and those already up fear

one coming from below.

LINDGREN. Yes, you are very unfortunate!

AXEL. I am! And I can tell you that after my experience during the last

half-hour, I wouldn't mind changing place with you. What a peaceful,

unassailable position he holds who has nothing to lose! What a lot

of interest and sympathy those that are obscure and misunderstood

and over-looked always arouse! You have only to hold out your hand

and you get a coin. You have only to open your arms, and there are

friends ready to fall into them. And then what a powerful party behind

you--formed of the millions who are just like you! You enviable man who

don't realise your own good fortune!

LINDGREN. So you think me that far down, and yourself as high up as

all that?--Tell me, you don't happen to have read to-day's paper? [_He

takes a newspaper from his pocket_.

AXEL. No, and I don't care to read it either.

LINDGREN. But you ought to do it for your own sake.

AXEL. No, I am not going to do it--not even for _your_ sake. It is as

if you said: "Come here and let me spit at you." And then you are silly

enough to demand that I shall come, too.--Do you know, during these

last minutes I have become more and more convinced that if I had ever

come across you in the jungle, I should beyond all doubt have picked

you off with my breech-loader?

LINDGREN. I believe it--beast of prey that you are!

AXEL. It isn't safe to settle accounts with one's friends, or with

persons with whom one has been intimate, for it is hard to tell in

advance who has most on the debit side. But as you are bringing in

a bill, I am forced to look it over.--You don't think it took me

long to discover that back of all your generosity lay an unconscious

desire to turn me into the strong arm which you lacked--to make me

do for you what you couldn't do for yourself? I had imagination and

initiative--you had nothing but money and--"pull." So I am to be

congratulated that you didn't eat me, and I may be excused for eating

you--my only choice being to eat or be eaten!

LINDGREN. You beast of prey!

AXEL. You rodent, who couldn't become a beast of prey--although that

was just what you wished! And what you want at this moment is not so

much to rise up to me as to pull me down to where you are.--If you

have anything of importance to add, you had better hurry up, for I am

expecting a visit.

LINDGREN. From your fiancée?

AXEL. So you have snooped that out, too?

LINDGREN. Sure enough! And I know what Marie, the deserted one, thinks

and says--I know what has happened to your brother and his wife----

AXEL. Oh, you know my fiancée? For, you see, it so happens that I am

not yet engaged!

LINDGREN. No, but I know _her_ fiancé.

AXEL. What does that mean?

LINDGREN. Why, she has been running around with another fellow all the

time--So you didn't know that?

AXEL. [_As he listens for something going on outside_] Oh, yes, I knew

of it, but I thought she was done with him--See here, if you'll come

back in a quarter of an hour, I'll try to get things arranged for you

in some way or another.

LINDGREN. Is that a polite way of showing me the door?

AXEL. No, it's an attempt to meet an old obligation. Seriously!

LINDGREN. Well, then I'll go--and come back--Good-bye for a while.

FIFTH SCENE

AXEL. LINDGREN. _The_ WAITER. _Then the_ FIANCÉ, _dressed in

black, with a blue ribbon in the lapel of his coat_.

WAITER. There's a gentleman here who wants to see you.

AXEL. Let him come in.

_The_ WAITER _goes out, leaving the door open behind him. The_

FIANCÉ _enters_.

LINDGREN. [_Observing the newcomer closely_] Well, good-bye.

AXEL--and good luck! [_He goes out_.

AXEL. Good-bye.

SIXTH SCENE

AXEL. _The_ FIANCÉ [_much embarrassed_]

AXEL. With whom have I the honour----?

FIANCÉ. My name is not a name in the same way as yours, Doctor, and my

errand concerns a matter of the heart----

AXEL. Oh, do you happen to be--You know Miss Cecilia?

FIANCÉ. I am the man.

AXEL. [_Hesitating for a moment; then with decision_] Please be seated.

[_He opens the door and beckons the_ WAITER.

_The_ WAITER _enters_.

AXEL. [_To the_ WAITER] Have my bill made out, see that my trunk is

packed, and bring me a carriage in half an hour.

WAITER. [_Bowing and leaving_] Yes, Doctor.

AXEL. [_Goes up to the_ FIANCÉ _and sits down on a chair beside him_]

Now let's hear what you have to say?

FIANCÉ. [_After a pause, with unction_] There were two men living in

the same city, one rich and the other poor. The rich man had sheep and

cattle in plenty. The poor man owned nothing but one ewe lamb----

AXEL. What does that concern me?

FIANCÉ. [_As before_] One ewe lamb, which he had bought and was trying

to raise.

AXEL. Oh, life's too short. What do you want? Are you and Miss Cecilia

still engaged?

FIANCÉ. [_Changing his tone_] I haven't said a word about Miss Cecilia,

have I?

AXEL. Well, sir, you had better get down to business, or I'll show you

the door. But be quick about it, and get straight to the point, without

any frills----

FIANCÉ. [_Holding out his snuff-box_] May I?

AXEL. No, thanks.

FIANCÉ. A great man like you has no such little weaknesses, I suppose?

AXEL. As you don't seem willing to speak, I shall. Of course, it is

none of your business, but it may do you good to learn of it, as you

don't seem to know it: I am regularly engaged to Miss Cecilia, who

formerly was your fiancée.

FIANCÉ. [_Startled_] Who was?

AXEL. Because she has broken with you.

FIANCÉ. I know nothing about it.

AXEL. [_Taking a ring from the pocket of his waistcoat]_ That's

strange, but now you do know. And here you can see the ring she has

given me.

FIANCÉ. So she has broken with me?

AXEL. Yes, as she couldn't be engaged to two men at the same time, and

as she had ceased to care for you, she had to break with you. I might

have told you all this in a more decent fashion, if you hadn't stepped

on my corns the moment you came in.

FIANCÉ. I didn't do anything of the kind.

AXEL. Cowardly and disingenuous--cringing and arrogant at the same time!

FIANCÉ. [_Gently_] You are a hard man, Doctor.

AXEL. No, but I may become one. You showed no consideration for my

feelings a moment ago. You sneered, which I didn't. And that's the end

of our conversation.

FIANCÉ. [_With genuine emotion_] I feared that you might take away from

me my only lamb--but you wouldn't do that, you who have so many----

AXEL. Suppose I wouldn't--are you sure she would stay with you anyhow?

FIANCÉ. Put yourself in my place, Doctor----

AXEL. Yes, if you'll put yourself in mine.

FIANCÉ. I am a poor man----

AXEL. So am I! But judging by what I see and hear, you have certain

bliss waiting for you in the beyond. That's more than I have.--And,

furthermore, I have taken nothing away from you: I have only received

what was offered me. Just as you did!

FIANCÉ. And I who had been dreaming of a future for this young woman--a

future full of brightness----

AXEL. Pardon me a piece of rudeness, but you began it: are you so sure

that the future of this young woman will not turn out a great deal

brighter by my side?

FIANCÉ. You are now reminding me of my humble position as a worker----

AXEL. No, I am reminding you of that young woman's future, which you

have so much at heart. And as I am told that she has ceased to care

for you, but does care for me, I am only taking the liberty to dream of

a brighter future for her with the man she loves than with the man she

doesn't love.

FIANCÉ. You are a strong man, you are, and we little ones were born to

be your victims!

AXEL. See here, my man, I have been told that you got the better

of another rival for Cecilia's heart, and that you were not very

scrupulous about the means used for the purpose. How do you think that

_victim_ liked you?

FIANCÉ. He was a worthless fellow.

AXEL. From whom you saved the girl! And now I save her from you!

Good-bye!

SEVENTH SCENE

AXEL. _The_ FIANCÉ. CECILIA.

FIANCÉ. Cecilia!

CECILIA _draws back from him_.

FIANCÉ. You seem to know your way into this place?

AXEL. [_To the_ FIANCÉ] You had better disappear!

CECILIA. I want some water!

FIANCÉ. [_Picking up the whisky bottle from the table_] The bottle

seems to be finished!--Beware of that man, Cecilia!

AXEL. [_Pushing the_ FIANCÉ _out through the door_] Oh, your presence

is wholly superfluous--get out!

FIANCÉ. Beware of that man, Cecilia! [_He goes out_.

EIGHTH SCENE

AXEL. CECILIA.

AXEL. That was a most unpleasant incident, which you might have spared

me--both by breaking openly with him and by not coming to my room.

CECILIA. [_Weeping_] So I am to be scolded, too?

AXEL. Well, the responsibility had to be fixed, and now, when that's

done--we can talk of something else.--How are you, to begin with?

CECILIA. So, so!

AXEL. Not well, that means?

CECILIA. How are you?

AXEL. Fine--only a little tired.

CECILIA. Are you going with me to see my aunt this after-noon?

AXEL. No, I cannot, for I have to drive out.

CECILIA. And that's more fun, of course. You go out such a lot, and

I--never!

AXEL. Hm!

CECILIA. Why do you say "hm"?

AXEL. Because your remark made an unpleasant impression on me.

CECILIA. One gets so many unpleasant impressions these days----

AXEL. For instance?

CECILIA. By reading the papers.

AXEL. So you have been reading those scandalous stories about me! And

you believe them?

CECILIA. One doesn't know what to believe.

AXEL. So you really suspect me of being the unscrupulous fellow

pictured in those stories? And as you are nevertheless willing to marry

me, I must assume that you are moved by purely practical considerations

and not by any personal attraction.

CECILIA. You speak so harshly, as if you didn't care for me at all!

AXEL. Cecilia--are you willing to leave this place with me in fifteen

minutes?

CECILIA. In fifteen minutes! For where!

AXEL. London.

CECILIA. I am not going with you until we are married.

AXEL. Why?

CECILIA. Why should we leave like that, all of a sudden?

AXEL. Because--it's suffocating here! And if I stay, they'll drag me

down so deep that I'll never get up again.

CECILIA. How strange! Are you as badly off as that?

AXEL. Do you come with me, or do you not?

CECILIA. Not until we are married--for afterward you would never marry

me.

AXEL. So that's your faith in me!--Will you sit down for a moment,

then, while I go in and write a couple of letters?

CECILIA. Am I to sit here alone, with all the doors open?

AXEL. Well, don't lock the door, for then we are utterly lost. [_He

goes out to the left_.

CECILIA. Don't be long!

_She goes up to the door leading to the hallway and turns the

key in the lock_.

NINTH SCENE

CECILIA _alone for a moment. Then_ MARIE _enters_.

CECILIA. Wasn't the door locked?

MARIE. Not as far as I could see!--So it was meant to be locked?

CECILIA. I haven't the honour?

MARIE. Nor have I.

CECILIA. Why should you?

MARIE. How refined! Oh, I see! So it's you! And I am the victim--for a

while!

CECILIA. I don't know you.

MARIE. But I know you pretty well.

CECILIA. [_Rises and goes to the door at the left_] Oh, you do?

[_Opening the door and speaking to_ AXEL] Come out here a moment!

TENTH SCENE

CECILIA. MARIE. AXEL.

AXEL. [_Entering; to_ MARIE] What do you want here?

MARIE. Oh, one never can tell.

AXEL. Then you had better clear out.

MARIE. Why?

AXEL. Because what there was between us came to an end three years ago.

MARIE. And now there is another one to be thrown on the scrap heap?

AXEL. Did I ever give you any promises that were not kept? Have I ever

owed you anything? Have I ever said a word about marriage? Have we had

any children together? Have I been the only one to receive your favours?

MARIE. But now you mean to be the only one? With that one over there!

CECILIA. [_Goes up to_ MARIE] What do you mean?--I don't know you!

MARIE. No, but there was a time when you did know me. And I remember

that when we met in the streets we called each other by our first

names. [_To_ AXEL] And now you are going to marry her? No, you know,

you are really too good for that!

AXEL. [_To_ CECILIA] Have you known that woman before?

CECILIA. No.

MARIE. You ought to be ashamed of yourself? I simply didn't recognise

you at first because of your swell clothes----

AXEL _gazes intently at_ CECILIA.

CECILIA. [_To_ AXEL] Come--I'll go with you!

AXEL. [_Preoccupied_] In a moment! Just wait a while! I am only going

in to write another letter--But now we'll close the door first of all.

MARIE. No, thank you, I don't want to be locked in as she was a while

ago.

AXEL. [_Interested_] Was the door locked?

CECILIA. [_To_ MARIE] You don't dare say that the door was locked!

MARIE. As you expected it to be locked, I suppose you had tried to lock

it and had not succeeded----

AXEL. [_Observes_ CECILIA; _then to_ MARIE] It always seemed to me that

you were a nice girl, Marie. Will you let me have my letters back now?

MARIE. No.

AXEL. What are you going to do with them?

MARIE. I hear that I can sell them, now when you have become famous.

AXEL. And get your revenge at the same time?

MARIE. Exactly.

AXEL. Is it Lindgren----?

MARIE. Yes!--And here he is now himself.

ELEVENTH SCENE

CECILIA. MARIE. AXEL. LINDGREN.

LINDGREN. [_Enters in high spirits_] Well, what a lot of skirts! And

Marie, too--like the cuckoo that's in every nest! Now listen, Axel!

AXEL. I hear you even when I don't see you. You're in a fine

humour--what new misfortune has befallen me?

LINDGREN. I was only a little sour this morning because I hadn't had

a chance to get wound up. But now I've had a bite to eat--Well, you

see--at bottom you don't owe me anything at all. For what I did, I

did out of my heart's goodness, and it has brought me both honour and

pleasure--and what you got was a gift and no loan!

AXEL. Now you are altogether too modest and generous.

LINDGREN. Not at all! However, one favour calls for another. Would you

mind becoming my surety on this note?

AXEL _hesitates_.

LINDGREN. Well, you needn't be afraid that I'm going to put you in the

same kind of fix as your brother did----

AXEL. What do you mean? It was I who put him----

LINDGREN. Yes, to the tune of two hundred crowns--but he got your name

as surety for five years' rent----

AXEL. [_In a low voice_] Jesus Christ!

LINDGREN. What's that?--Hm--hm!

AXEL. [_Looking at his watch_] Just wait a few minutes--I have only to

write a couple of letters.

CECILIA _starts to go with him_.

AXEL. [_Holds her back_] Just a few minutes, my dear--[_He kisses her

on the forehead_] Just a few minutes!

[_He goes toward the left_.

LINDGREN. Here's the note--you might sign it while you are at it.

AXEL. Give it to me!

[_He goes out with an air of determination_.

TWELFTH SCENE

CECILIA. MARIE. LINDGREN.

LINDGREN. Well, girls, are you on good terms again?

MARIE. Oh, yes, and before we get away, we'll be on still better terms.

CECILIA _makes a face_.

MARIE. I should like to have some fun to-day.

LINDGREN. Come along with me! I'll have money!

MARIE. No!

CECILIA _sits down with evident anxiety near the door through

which_ AXEL _disappeared--as if seeking support in that

direction_.

LINDGREN. Let's take in the fireworks to-night--then we can see how a

great man looks in red light--what do you say to that, Cissie dear?

CECILIA. Oh, I'll be sick if I have to stay here longer!

MARIE. Well, it wouldn't be the first time.

LINDGREN. Scrap, girls, and I'll watch you! Fight till the fur

flies--won't you?

THIRTEENTH SCENE

CECILIA. MARIE. LINDGREN. THURE _and his_ WIFE _enter_.

LINDGREN. Well, well! Old friends! How are you?

THURE. All right.

LINDGREN. And the child?

THURE. The child?

LINDGREN. Oh, you have forgotten it?--Are you equally forgetful about

names?

THURE. Names?

LINDGREN. Signatures!--He must be writing an awful lot in there!

THURE. Is my brother, the doctor, in there?

LINDGREN. I don't know if the doctor is there, but your brother went

in there a while ago.--And, for that matter, we might find out. [_He

knocks at the door_] Silent as the grave! [_Knocks again_] Then I'll

walk right in.

[_He goes out; everybody appears restless and anxious_.

CECILIA. What can it mean?

MARIE. Well, we'll see now.

THURE. What has happened here?

WIFE. Something is up!--You'll see he doesn't help us!

LINDGREN. [_Returns, carrying in his hand a small bottle and some

letters_] What does it say? [_He reads the label on the bottle_]

Cyanide of potassium!--How stupid! What a sentimental idiot--to kill

himself for so little--[_Everybody cries out_] So you were no beast of

prey, my dear Axel!--But-[_He stares through the open door into the

adjoining room_]--he's not there--and his things are gone, too. So he

has skipped out! And the bottle has never been opened! That means--he

meant to kill himself, but changed his mind!--And these are his

posthumous writings. "To Miss Cecilia"--seems to contain some round

object--probably an engagement ring--there you are!--"To my brother

THURE" [_He holds up the letter to the light_]--with a piece of blue

paper inside--must be a note--for the amount involved! You're welcome!

_The_ FIANCÉ _appears in the doorway at the right_.

THURE. [_Who has opened his letter_] Do you see that he helped us after

all----

WIFE. Oh, in that way!

LINDGREN. And here's my note--without his name--He's a strong one, all

right! _Diable!_

MARIE. Then the fireworks will be called off, I suppose?

FIANCÉ. Was there nothing for me?

LINDGREN. Yes, I think there was a fiancée--somewhere over there!--I

tell you, that fellow is a wonder at clearing up tangled affairs!--Of

course, it makes me mad to think that I let myself be fooled--but I'll

be darned if I don't think I would have done just as he did!--And so

would you, perhaps?--Or what do you think?

_Curtain_.

ADVENT

(ADVENT)

A MIRACLE PLAY

1899

CHARACTERS

_The_ JUDGE

_The_ OLD LADY, _wife of the Judge_

AMELIA

ADOLPH

_The_ NEIGHBOUR

ERIC

THYRA

_being the same person_

_The_ OTHER ONE

_The_ FRANCISCAN

_The_ PLAYMATE

_The_ WITCH

_The_ PRINCE

_Subordinate characters, shadows, etc._

ACT I. THE VINEYARD WITH THE MAUSOLEUM

ACT II. THE DRAWING-ROOM

ACT III. THE WINE-CELLAR

THE GARDEN

ACT IV. THE CROSS-ROADS

THE "WAITING-ROOM"

THE CROSS-ROADS

ACT V. THE DRAWING-ROOM

THE "WAITING-ROOM"

ACT I

_The background represents a vineyard. At the left stands a

mausoleum. It consists of a small whitewashed brick building

with a door and a pointed window that lacks mullions and panes.

The roof is made of red tiles. A cross crowns the gable.

Clematis vines with purple-coloured, cross-shaped flowers cover

the front wall, at the foot of which appear a number of other

flowers_.

_A peach-tree carrying fruit stands near the foreground.

Be-neath it sit the_ JUDGE _and the_ OLD LADY.

_The_ JUDGE _wears a green cap with a peak, yellow

knee-breeches, and--a blue coat--all dating back to_ 1820.

_The_ OLD LADY _wears a kerchief on her head and carries

a stick, spectacles, and snuff-box. She has the general

appearance of a "witch." At the right is a small expiatory

chapel containing an image of the Holy Virgin. The fence in

front of it is hung with wreaths and nosegays. A prie-dieu is

placed against the fence_.

JUDGE. Life's eve has at last brought the sunshine which its morning

promised us. Early rains and late rains have blessed meadow and field.

And soon the songs of the vintagers will be heard all over the country.

OLD LADY. Don't talk like that; somebody might hear you.

JUDGE. Who could be listening here, and what harm could it do to thank

God for all good gifts?

OLD LADY. It's better not to mention one's good fortune lest misfortune

overhear it.

JUDGE. What of it? Was I not born with a caul?

OLD LADY. Take care, take care! There are many who envy us, and evil

eyes are watching us.

JUDGE. Well, let them! That's the way it has always been. And yet I

have prospered.

OLD LADY. So far, yes. But I don't trust our neighbour. He has been

going around the village saying that we have cheated him out of his

property--and much more of the same kind which I don't care to repeat.

Of course, it doesn't matter when one has a clean conscience and can

point to a spotless life. Slander cannot hurt me. I go to confession

and mass, and I am prepared to close my eyes whenever my hour may

strike in order to open them again when I shall stand face to face with

my Judge. And I know also what I am going to answer then.

JUDGE. What are you going to answer?

OLD LADY. Like this: I was not without fault, O Lord, but even if I was

but a poor, sinful human creature, I was nevertheless a little better

than my neighbour.

JUDGE. I don't know what has brought you to these thoughts just now,

and I don't like them. Perhaps it is the fact that the mausoleum is to

be consecrated in a few days?

OLD LADY. Perhaps that is it, for, as a rule, I don't give much thought

to death. I have still every tooth left in my mouth, and my hair is as

plentiful as when I was a bride.

JUDGE. Yes, yes--you have eternal youth, you as well as I, but just

the same we shall have to pass away. And as fortune has smiled on

us, we have wanted to avail ourselves of the privilege of resting in

ground belonging to ourselves And so we have built this little tomb

for ourselves here, where every tree knows us, where every flower will

whisper of our labours, and our troubles, and our struggles----

OLD LADY. Yes, struggles against envious neighbours and ungrateful

children----

JUDGE. There you said it: ungrateful children.--Have you seen anything

of Adolph?

OLD LADY. No, I haven't seen him since he started out this morning to

raise the money for the rent.

JUDGE. The money which he will never get--and I still less. But he

knows now that the time of grace is up, for this is the third quarter

rent that he has failed to pay.

OLD LADY. Yes, out with him into the world, and let him learn to work

instead of sitting here and playing at son-in-law. I'll keep Amelia and

the children----

JUDGE. Do you think Amelia will let herself be separated from Adolph?

OLD LADY. I think so, when it is a question whether her children are to

inherit anything from us or not--No, look! There it is again!

_On the wall of the mausoleum appears a spot of sunlight

like those which children are fond of producing with a small

mirror_.[1] _It is vibrating as if it were reflected by running

water_.

JUDGE. What is it? What is it?

OLD LADY. On the mausoleum. Don't you see?

JUDGE. It's the reflection of the sun on the river. It means----

OLD LADY. It means that we'll see the light of the sun for a long time

to come----

JUDGE. On the contrary. But that's all one. The best pillow for one's

head is a good conscience, and the reward of the righteous never

fails.--There's our neighbour now.

NEIGHBOUR. [_Enters_] Good evening, Judge. Good evening, madam.

JUDGE. Good evening, neighbour. How goes it? It wasn't yesterday we had

the pleasure. And how are your vines, I should have asked?

NEIGHBOUR. The vines, yes--there's mildew on them, and the starlings

are after them, too.

JUDGE. Well, well! There's no mildew on my vines, and I have neither

seen nor heard of any starlings.

NEIGHBOUR. Fate does not distribute its gifts evenly: one shall be

taken and the other left.

OLD LADY. I suppose there are good reasons for it?

NEIGHBOUR. I see! The reward of the righteous shall not fail, and the

wicked shall not have to wait for their punishment.

JUDGE. Oh, no malice meant! But you have to admit, anyhow, that it's

queer: two parcels of land lie side by side, and one yields good

harvests, the other poor ones----

NEIGHBOUR. One yields starlings and the other not: that's what I find

queerer still. But, then, everybody wasn't born with a caul, like you,

Judge.

JUDGE. What you say is true, and fortune _has_ favoured me. I am

thankful for it, and there are moments when I feel proud of it as if I

had deserved it.--But listen, neighbour--you came as if you had been

sent for.--That leasehold of mine is vacant, and I wanted to ask you if

you care to take it.

[Footnote 1: In Sweden such spots are called "sun-cats."]

_The_ OLD LADY _has in the meantime left her seat and gone to

the mausoleum, where she is busying herself with the flowers_.

NEIGHBOUR. Oh, the leasehold is vacant. Hm! Since when?

JUDGE. Since this morning.

NEIGHBOUR. Hm! So!--That means your son-in-law has got to go?

JUDGE. Yes, that good-for-nothing doesn't know how to manage.

NEIGHBOUR. Tell me something else, Judge. Haven't you heard that the

state intends to build a military road across this property?

JUDGE. Oh, I have heard some rumours to that effect, but I don't think

it's anything but empty talk.

NEIGHBOUR. On the contrary, I have read it in the papers. That would

mean condemnation proceedings, and the loser would be the holder of the

lease.

JUDGE. I cannot think so, and I would never submit to it. I to leave

this spot where I expect to end my days in peace, and where I have

prepared a final resting-place to escape lying with all the rest----

NEIGHBOUR. Wait a minute! One never knows what may prove one's final

resting-place. My father, who used to own this property, also expected

to be laid to rest in his own ground, but it happened otherwise. As far

as the leasehold is concerned, I must let it go.

JUDGE. As you please. On my part the proposition was certainly

disinterested, as you are a man without luck. For it is no secret

that you fail in everything you undertake, and people have their own

thoughts about one who remains as solitary and friendless as you. Isn't

it a fact that you haven't a single friend?

NEIGHBOUR. Yes, it's true. I have not a single friend, and that doesn't

look well. It is something I cannot deny.

JUDGE. But to turn to other matters--is it true, as the legend has it,

that this vineyard once was a battle-field, and that this explains why

the wine from it is so fiery?

NEIGHBOUR. No, that isn't what I have heard. My father told me that

this had been a place of execution, and that the gallows used to stand

where the mausoleum is now.

JUDGE. Oh, how dreadful! Why did you tell me?

NEIGHBOUR. Because you asked, of course.--And the last man to be hanged

on this spot was an unrighteous judge. And now he lies buried here,

together with many others, among them being also an innocent victim of

his iniquity.

JUDGE. What kind of stories are those! [_He calls out_] Caroline!

NEIGHBOUR. And that's why his ghost has to come back here. Have you

never seen him, Judge?

JUDGE. I have never seen anything at all!

NEIGHBOUR. But I have seen him. As a rule, he appears at the time when

the grapes are harvested, and then they hear him around the wine-press

down in the cellar.

JUDGE. [_Calling out_] Caroline!

OLD LADY. What is it?

JUDGE. Come here!

NEIGHBOUR. And he will never be at peace until he has suffered all the

torments his victim had to pass through.

JUDGE. Get away from here! Go!

NEIGHBOUR. Certainly, Judge! I didn't know you were so sensitive. [_He

goes out_.

OLD LADY. What was the matter?

JUDGE. Oh, he told a lot of stories that upset me. But-but--he is

plotting something evil, that fellow!

OLD LADY. Didn't I tell you so! But you always let your tongue run

whenever you see anybody--What kind of foolish superstition was he

giving you?

JUDGE. I don't want to talk of it. The mere thought of it makes me

sick. I'll tell you some other time.--There's Adolph now!

ADOLPH. [_Entering_] Good evening!

JUDGE. [_After a pause_] Well?

ADOLPH. Luck is against me. I have not been able to get any money.

JUDGE. I suppose there are good reasons for it?

ADOLPH. I can see no reason why some people should fare well and others

badly.

JUDGE. Oh, you can't?--Well, look into your own heart; search your own

thoughts and actions, and you'll find that you have yourself to blame

for your misfortunes.

ADOLPH. Perhaps I may not call myself righteous in every respect, but

at least I have no serious crimes on my conscience.

OLD LADY. You had better think well----

ADOLPH. I don't think that's needful, for my conscience is pretty

wakeful----

JUDGE. It can be put to sleep----

ADOLPH. Can it? Of course I have heard of evil-doers growing old in

crime, but as a rule their consciences wake up just before death; and

I have even heard of criminals whose consciences have awakened after

death.

JUDGE. [_Agitated_] So that they had to come back, you mean? Have you

heard that story, too? It's strange that everybody seems to have heard

it except me----

OLD LADY. What are you talking about? Stick to business instead.

ADOLPH. Yes, I think that's wiser, too. And, as the subject has been

broached, I want to tell you what I propose----

JUDGE. Look here, my boy! I think it a good deal more appropriate that

I should tell you what I have decided. It is this: that from this day

you cease to be my tenant, and that before the sun sets you must start

out to look for work.

ADOLPH. Are you in earnest?

JUDGE. You ought to be ashamed! I am not in the habit of joking. And

you have no cause for complaint, as you have been granted respite twice.

ADOLPH. While my crops have failed three times. Can I help that?

JUDGE. Nor have I said so. But I can help it still less. And you are

not being judged by me. Here is the contract--here's the broken

agreement. Was that agreement broken by me? Oh, no! So I am without

responsibility and wash my hands of the matter.

ADOLPH. This may be the law, but I had thought there ought to be some

forbearance among relatives--especially as, in the natural course of

events, this property should pass on to your offspring.

OLD LADY. Well, well: the natural course of events! He's going around

here wishing the life out of us! But you just look at me: I am good for

twenty years more. And I am _going_ to live just to spite you!

JUDGE. [_To_ Adolph] What rudeness--what a lack of all human

feeling--to ask a couple of old people outright: are you not going to

die soon? You ought to be ashamed of yourself, I say! But now you have

broken the last tie, and all I can say is: go your way, and don't let

yourself be seen here any more!

ADOLPH. That's plain talk! Well, I'll go, but not alone----

OLD LADY. So-o--you imagined that Amelia, our own child, should follow

you out on the highways, and that all you would have to do would be to

unload one child after another on us! But we have already thought of

that and put a stop to it----

ADOLPH. Where is Amelia? Where?

OLD LADY. You may just as well know. She has gone on; a visit to the

convent of the Poor Clares--only for a visit. So now you know it's of

no use to look for her here.

ADOLPH. Some time you will have to suffer for your cruelty in depriving

a man in distress of his only support. And if you break up our

marriage, the penalty of that breach will fall on you.

JUDGE. You should be ashamed of putting your own guilt on those that

are innocent! Go now! And may you hunger and thirst, with every door

closed to you, until you have learned gratitude!

ADOLPH. The same to you in double measure!--But let me only bid my

children good-bye, and I will go.

JUDGE. As you don't want to spare your children the pain of

leave-taking, I'll do so--have already done it, in fact.

ADOLPH. That, too! Then I believe you capable of all the evil that has

been rumoured. And now I know what our neighbour meant when he said

that you couldn't--endure the sun!

JUDGE. Not another word! Or you will feel the heavy hand of law and

justice----

_He raises his right hand so that the absence of its forefinger

becomes visible_.

ADOLPH. [_Takes hold of the hand and examines it_] The hand of

justice!--The hand of the perjurer whose finger stuck to the Bible when

he took his false oath! Woe unto you! Woe! For the day of retribution

is at hand, and your deeds will rise like corpses out of these

hillsides to accuse you.

OLD LADY. What is that he is saying? It feels as if he were breathing

fire at us!--Go, you lying spirit, and may hell be your reward!

ADOLPH. May Heaven reward you--according to your deserts--and may the

Lord protect my children! [_He goes out_.

JUDGE. What was that? Who was it that spoke? It seemed to me as if the

voice were coming out of some huge underground hall.

OLD LADY. Did you hear it, too?

JUDGE. God help us, then!--Do you remember what he said about the

sun? That struck me as more peculiar than all the rest. How could he

know--that it is so? Ever since my birth the sun has always burned

me, and they have told me this is so because my mother suffered from

sunstroke before I was born--but that you also----

OLD LADY. [_Frightened_] Hush! Talk of the devil, and--Isn't the sun

down?

JUDGE. Of course it is down!

OLD LADY. How can that spot of sunlight remain on the mausoleum, then?

[_The spot moves around_.

JUDGE. Jesus Maria! That's an omen!

OLD LADY. An omen, you say! And on the grave! That doesn't happen every

day--and only a few chosen people who are full of living faith in the

highest things----

[_The spot of light disappears_.

JUDGE. There is something weird about the place to-night,

something ghastly.--But what hurt me most keenly was to hear that

good-for-nothing wishing the life out of us in order to get at the

property. Do you know what I--well, I wonder if I dare to speak of

it----

OLD LADY. Go on!

JUDGE. Have you heard the story that this spot here used to be a place

of execution?

OLD LADY. So you have found that out, too?

JUDGE. Yes--and you knew it?--Well, suppose we gave this property

to the convent? That would make the ground sacred, and it would be

possible to rest in peace in it. The income might go to the children

while they are growing up, and it would mean an additional gain, as

Adolph would be fooled in his hope of inheriting from us. I think this

a remarkably happy solution of a difficult problem: how to give away

without losing anything by it.

OLD LADY. Your superior intelligence has again asserted itself, and I

am quite of your opinion. But suppose condemnation proceedings should

be started--what would happen then?

JUDGE. There is plenty of time to consider that when it happens. In

the meantime, let us first of all, and as quietly as possible, get the

mausoleum consecrated----

FRANCISCAN. [_Enters_] The peace of the Lord be with you, Judge, and

with you, madam!

JUDGE. You come most conveniently, Father, to hear something that

concerns the convent----

FRANCISCAN. I am glad of it.

_The spot of light appears again on the mausoleum_.

OLD LADY. And then we wanted to ask when the consecration of the

mausoleum might take place.

FRANCISCAN. [_Staring at her_] Oh, is that so?

JUDGE. Look, Father--look at that omen----

OLD LADY. Yes, the spot must be sacred, indeed----

FRANCISCAN. That's a will-o'-the-wisp.

OLD LADY. Is it not a good sign? Does it not carry some kind of

message? Does it not prompt a pious mind to stop and consider? Would it

not be possible to turn this place into a refuge for desert wanderers

who are seeking----

FRANCISCAN. Madam, let me speak a word to you in private. [_He moves

over to the right._

OLD LADY. [_Following him_] Father?

FRANCISCAN. [_Speaking in a subdued voice_] You, madam, enjoy a

reputation in this vicinity which you don't deserve, for you are the

worst sinner that I know of. You want to buy your pardon, and you want

to steal heaven itself, you who have already stolen from the Lord.

OLD LADY. What is it I hear?

FRANCISCAN. When you were sick and near death you made a vow to the

Lord that in case of recovery you would give a monstrance of pure gold

to the convent church. Your health was restored and you gave the holy

vessel, but it was of silver--gilded. Not for the sake of the gold, but

because of your broken vow and your deception, you are already damned.

OLD LADY. I didn't know it. The goldsmith has cheated me.

FRANCISCAN. You are lying, for I have the goldsmith's bill.

OLD LADY. Is there no pardon for it?

FRANCISCAN. No! For it is a mortal sin to cheat God.

OLD LADY. Woe is me!

FRANCISCAN. The settlement of your other crimes will have to take place

within yourself. But if you as much as touch a hair on the heads of the

children, then you shall learn who is their protector, and you shall

feel the iron rod.

OLD LADY. The idea--that this infernal monk should dare to say such

things to me! If I am damned--then I want to be damned! Ha, ha!

FRANCISCAN. Well, you may be sure that there will be no blessing for

your house and no peace for yourself until you have suffered every

suffering that you have brought on others.--May I speak a word with

you, Judge?

_The_ JUDGE _approaches_.

OLD LADY. Yes, give him what he deserves, so that one may be as good as

the other.

FRANCISCAN. [_To the_ Judge] Where did you get the idea of building

your tomb where the gallows used to stand?

JUDGE. I suppose I got it from the devil!

FRANCISCAN. Like the idea of casting off your children and robbing them

of their inheritance? But you have also been an unrighteous judge--you

have violated oaths and accepted bribes.

JUDGE. I?

FRANCISCAN. And now you want to erect a monument to yourself! You

want to build yourself an imperishable house in heaven! But listen to

me: this spot will never be consecrated, and you may consider it a

blessing if you are permitted to rest in common ground among ordinary

little sinners. There is a curse laid on this soil, because blood-guilt

attaches to it and because it is ill-gotten.

JUDGE. What am I to do?

FRANCISCAN. Repent, and restore the stolen property.

JUDGE. I have never stolen. Everything has been legally acquired.

FRANCISCAN. That, you see, is the worst part of all--that you regard

your crimes as lawful. Yes, I know that you even consider yourself

particularly favoured by Heaven because of your righteousness. But now

you will soon see what harvest is in store for you. Thorns and thistles

will grow in your vineyard. Helpless and abandoned you shall be, and

the peace of your old age will turn into struggle and strife.

JUDGE. The devil you say!

FRANCISCAN. Don't call him--he'll come anyhow!

JUDGE. Let him come! Because we believe, we have no fear!

FRANCISCAN. The devils believe also, and tremble!--Farewell! [_He goes

out_.

JUDGE. [_To his wife_] What did he say to you?

OLD LADY. You think I'll tell? What did he have to say to you?

JUDGE. And you think I'll tell?

OLD LADY. Are you going to keep any secrets from me?

JUDGE. And how about you? It's what you have always done, but I'll get

to the bottom of your tricks some time.

OLD LADY. Just wait a little, and I'll figure out where you keep the

money that is missing.

JUDGE. So you are hiding money, too! Now there is no longer any use

in playing the hypocrite--just let yourself be seen in all your

abomination, you witch!

OLD LADY. I think you have lost your reason--not that it was much to

keep! But you might at least preserve an appearance of decency, if you

can----

JUDGE. And you might preserve your beauty--if you can! And your

perennial youth--ha, ha, ha! And your righteousness! You must have

known how to bewitch people, and hoodwink them, for now I see how

horribly ugly and old you are.

OLD LADY. [_On whom the spot of light now appears_] Woe! It is burning

me!

JUDGE. There I see you as you really are! [_The spot jumps to the_

JUDGE] Woe! It is burning me now!

OLD LADY. And how you look! [_Both withdraw to the right_.

[_The_ NEIGHBOUR _and_ AMELIA _enter from the left_.

NEIGHBOUR. Yes, child, there is justice, both human and divine, but we

must have patience.

AMELIA. I am willing to believe that justice is done, in spite of all

appearances to the contrary. But I cannot love my mother, and I have

never been able to do so. There is something within me that keeps

telling me that she is not only indifferent to me but actually hostile.

NEIGHBOUR. So you have found it out?

AMELIA. Why--she hates me, and a mother couldn't do that!

NEIGHBOUR. Well, well!

AMELIA. And I suffer from not being able to do my duty as a child and

love her.

NEIGHBOUR. Well, as _that_ has made you suffer, then you will soon--in

the hour of retribution--learn the great secret of your life.

AMELIA. And I could stand everything, if she were only kind to my

children.

NEIGHBOUR. Don't fear on that account, for her power is now ended. The

measure of her wickedness has been heaped full and is now overflowing.

AMELIA. Do you think so? But this very day she tore my Adolph away from

me, and now she has humiliated me still further by dressing me as a

servant girl and making me do the work in the kitchen.

NEIGHBOUR. Patience!

AMELIA. Yes, so you say! Oh, I can understand deserved suffering, but

to suffer without cause----

NEIGHBOUR. My dear child, the prisoners in the penitentiary are

suffering justly, so there is no honour in that; but to be permitted to

suffer unjustly, that's a grace and a trial of which steadfast souls

bring home golden fruits.

AMELIA. You speak so beautifully that everything you say seems true

to me.--Hush! There are the children--and I don't want them to see me

dressed like this.

_She and the_ NEIGHBOUR _take up a position where they are

hidden by a tall shrub_.

ERIC _and_ THYRA _enter; the spot of light rests now on one of them and

now on the other_.

ERIC. Look at the sun spot!

THYRA. Oh, you beautiful sun! But didn't he go to bed a while ago?

ERIC. Perhaps he is allowed to stay up longer than usual because he has

been very good all day.

THYRA. But how could the sun be good? Now you are stupid, Eric.

ERIC. Of course the sun can be good--doesn't he make the grapes and the

peaches?

THYRA. But if he is so good, then he might also give us a peach.

ERIC. So he will, if we only wait a little. Aren't there any on the

ground at all?

THYRA. [_Looking_] No, but perhaps we might get one from the tree.

ERIC. No, grandmother won't let us.

THYRA. Grandmother has said that we mustn't shake the tree, but I

thought we could play around the tree so that one might fall down

anyhow--of itself.

ERIC. Now you are stupid, Thyra. That would be exactly the same thing.

[_Looking up at the tree_] Oh, if only a peach would fall down!

THYRA. None will fall unless you shake.

ERIC. You mustn't talk like that, Thyra, for that is a sin.

THYRA. Let's pray God to let one fall.

ERIC. One shouldn't pray God for anything nice--that is, to eat!--Oh,

little peach, won't you fall? I want you to fall! [_A peach falls from

the tree, and_ ERIC _picks it up_] There, what a nice tree!

THYRA. But now you must give me half, for it was I who said that the

tree had to be shaken----

OLD LADY. [_Enters with a big birch rod_] So you have been shaking the

tree--now you'll see what you'll get, you nasty children----

ERIC. No, grandmother, we didn't shake the tree!

OLD LADY. So you are lying, too. Didn't I hear Thyra say that the tree

had to be shaken? Come along now, and I'll lock you up in the cellar

where neither sun nor moon is to be seen----

AMELIA. [_Coming forward_] The children are innocent, mother.

OLD LADY. That's a fine thing--to stand behind the bushes listening,

and then to teach one's own children how to lie besides!

NEIGHBOUR. [_Appearing_] Nothing has been spoken here but the truth,

madam.

OLD LADY. Two witnesses behind the bushes--exactly as if we were in

court. But I know the tricks, I tell you, and what I have heard and

seen is sufficient evidence for me.--Come along, you brats!

AMELIA. This is sinful and shameful----

_The_ NEIGHBOUR _signals to_ AMELIA _by putting his finger

across his lips_.

AMELIA. [_Goes up to her children_] Don't cry, children! Obey

grandmother now--there is nothing to be afraid of. It is better to

suffer evil than to do it, and I know that you are innocent. May God

preserve you! And don't forget your evening prayer!

_The_ OLD LADY _goes out with the children_.

AMELIA. Belief comes so hard, but it is sweet if you can achieve it.

NEIGHBOUR. Is it so hard to believe that God is good--at the very

moment when his kind intentions are most apparent?

AMELIA. Give me a great and good word for the night, so that I may

sleep on it as on a soft pillow.

NEIGHBOUR. You shall have it. Let me think a moment.--This is it: Isaac

was to be sacrificed----

AMELIA. Oh, no, no!

NEIGHBOUR. Quiet, now!--Isaac was to _be_ sacrificed, but he never was!

AMELIA. Thank you! Thank you! And good night!

_She goes out to the right_.

NEIGHBOUR. Good night, my child!

[_He goes slowly out by a path leading to the rear_.

THE PROCESSION OF SHADOWS _enters from the mausoleum and moves

without a sound across the stage toward the right; between

every two figures there is a distance of five steps_:

DEATH _with its scythe and hour-glass_.

THE LADY IN WHITE--_blond, tall, and slender; on one of her

fingers she wears a ring with a green stone that seems to emit

rays of light_.

THE GOLDSMITH, _with the counterfeit monstrance_.

THE BEHEADED SAILOR, _carrying his head in one hand_.

THE AUCTIONEER, _with hammer and note-book_.

THE CHIMNEY-SWEEP, _with rope, scraper, and broom_.

THE FOOL, _carrying his cap with the ass's ears and bells at

the top of a pole, across which is placed a signboard with the

word "Caul" on it_.

THE SURVEYOR, _with measuring rod and tripod_.

THE MAGISTRATE, _dressed and made up like the_ JUDGE; _he

carries a rope around his neck; and his right hand is raised to

show that the forefinger is missing_.

_The stage is darkened at the beginning of the procession and

remains empty while it lasts_.

_When it is over, the_ JUDGE _enters from the left, followed by

the_ OLD LADY.

JUDGE. Why are you playing the ghost at this late hour?

OLD LADY. And how about yourself?

JUDGE. I couldn't sleep.

OLD LADY. Why not?

JUDGE. Don't know. Thought I heard children crying in the cellar.

OLD LADY. That's impossible. Oh, no, I suppose you didn't dare to sleep

for fear I might be prying in your hiding-places.

JUDGE. And you feared I might be after yours! A pleasant old age this

will be for Philemon and Baucis!

OLD LADY. At least no gods will come to visit us.

JUDGE. No, I shouldn't call them gods.

_At this moment the_ PROCESSION _begins all over again,

starting from the mausoleum as before and moving in silence

toward the right_.

OLD LADY. O Mary, Mother of God, what is this?

JUDGE. Merciful heavens! [_Pause_]

OLD LADY. Pray! Pray for us!

JUDGE. I have tried, but I cannot.

OLD LADY. Neither can I! The words won't come--and no thoughts!

[_Pause_]

JUDGE. How does the Lord's Prayer begin?

OLD LADY. I can't remember, but I knew it this morning. [_Pause_] Who

is the woman in white?

JUDGE. It is she--Amelia's mother--whose very memory we wanted to kill.

OLD LADY. Are these shadows or ghosts, or nothing but our own sickly

dreams?

JUDGE. [_Takes up his pocket-knife_] They are delusions sent by the

devil. I'll throw cold steel after them.--Open the knife for me,

Caroline! I can't, don't you see?

OLD LADY. Yes, I see--it isn't easy without a forefinger.--But I can't

either! [_She drops the knife_]

JUDGE. Woe to us! Steel won't help here! Woe! There's the beheaded

sailor! Let us get away from here!

OLD LADY. That's easy to say, but I can't move from the spot.

JUDGE. And I seem to be rooted to the ground.--No, I am not going to

look at it any longer!

[_He covers his eyes with one hand_.

OLD LADY. But what is it? Mists out of the earth, or shadows cast by

the trees?

JUDGE. No, it's our own vision that plays us false. There I go now, and

yet I am standing here. Just let me get a good night's sleep, and I'll

laugh at the whole thing!--The devil! Is this masquerade never going to

end?

OLD LADY. But why do you look at it then?

JUDGE. I see it right through my hand--I see it in the dark, with my

eyelids closed!

OLD LADY. But now it's over.

_The_ PROCESSION _has passed out_.

JUDGE. Praised be--why, I can't get the word out!--I wonder if it will

be possible to sleep to-night? Perhaps we had better send for the

doctor?

OLD LADY. Or Father Colomba, perhaps?

JUDGE. He can't help, and he who could won't!--Well, let the Other One

do it then!

THE OTHER ONE _enters from behind the Lady Chapel. He is

extremely thin and moth-eaten. His thin, snuff-coloured hair is

parted in the middle. His straggly beard looks as if it were

made out of tow. His clothes are shabby and outgrown, and he

seems to wear no linen. A red woollen muffler is wound around

his neck. He wears spectacles and carries a piece of rattan

under his arm_.

JUDGE. Who is that?

THE OTHER ONE. [_In a low voice_] I am the Other One!

JUDGE. [_To his wife_] Make the sign of the cross! I can't!

THE OTHER ONE. The sign of the cross does not frighten me, for I am

undergoing my ordeal merely that I may wear it.

JUDGE. Who are you?

THE OTHER ONE. I became the Other One because I wanted to be the First

One. I was a man of evil, and my punishment is to serve the good.

JUDGE. Then you are not the Evil One?

THE OTHER ONE. I am. And it is my task to torment you into finding the

cross, before which we are to meet some time.

OLD LADY. [_To_ JUDGE] Don't listen to him! Tell him to go!

THE OTHER ONE. It won't help. You have called me, and you'll have to

bear with me.

_The_ JUDGE _and the_ OLD LADY _go out to the left_.

THE OTHER ONE _goes after them_.

_Curtain_.