_The same room as in the second act, but it is now arranged for
the auction. Benches are placed in the middle of the room. On
the table behind which the auctioneer is to preside stand the
silver coffee-set, the clock, vases, candelabra, etc._
_The portraits of the_ JUDGE _and the_ OLD LADY _have been
taken down and are leaning against the table_.
_The_ NEIGHBOUR _and_ AMELIA _are on the stage_.
AMELIA. [_Dressed as a scrub-woman_] Before my mother left, she ordered
me to clean the hallway and the stairs. It is winter now, and cold, and
I cannot say that it has been any pleasure to carry out her order----
NEIGHBOUR. So you didn't get any pleasure out of it? Well, my child, I
must say that you demand rather too much of yourself. But as you have
obeyed, and stood the test, your time of trial shall be over, and I
will let you know your life's secret.
AMELIA. Speak out, neighbour, for I dare hardly trust my good
resolutions much longer.
NEIGHBOUR. Well, then! The woman you have been calling mother is your
stepmother. Your father married her when you were only one year old.
And the reason you have never seen your mother is that she died when
you were born.
AMELIA. So that was it!--How strange to have had a mother and yet never
to have seen her! Tell me--did you ever see her?
NEIGHBOUR. I knew her.
AMELIA. How did she look?
NEIGHBOUR. Well, how _did_, she look?--Her eyes were blue as the
blossom of the flax--her hair was yellow as the dry stalks of wheat----
AMELIA. And tall and slender--and her hand was small and white as if it
had touched nothing but silk in all her days--and her mouth was shaped
like a heart, and her lips looked as if none but good words had ever
passed them.
NEIGHBOUR. How can you know all that?
AMELIA. Because that is the image which appears in my dreams when I
have not been good--And then she raises her hand as if to warn me, and
on one of her fingers there is a ring with a green stone that seems to
radiate light. It is she!--Tell me, neighbour, is there a picture of
her in the place?
NEIGHBOUR. There used to be one, but I don't know whether it's still
here.
AMELIA. So this one is my stepmother? Well, God was good when he let me
keep my mother's image free from stain--and hereafter I shall find it
quite natural that this other woman is cruel to me.
NEIGHBOUR. Cruel stepmothers exist to make children kind. And you were
not kind, Amelia, but you have become so, and for that reason I shall
now give you a Christmas present in advance.
_He takes the portrait of the_ OLD LADY _out of its frame, when
in its place appears a picture in water-colours corresponding
to the description given above_.
AMELIA. [_Kneeling in front of the picture_] My mother--mother of my
dreams! [_Rising_] But how can I keep the picture when it is to be sold
at auction?
NEIGHBOUR. You can, because the auction has already taken place.
AMELIA. Where and when was it held?
NEIGHBOUR. It was held elsewhere--in a place not known to you--and
to-day the things are merely to be taken away.
AMELIA. What a lot of queer things are happening! And how full of
secrets the house is!--But tell me, where is my stepmother? I have not
seen her in a long time.
NEIGHBOUR. I suppose it must be told: she is in a place from which
nobody returns.
AMELIA. Is she dead?
NEIGHBOUR. She is dead. She was found frozen to death in a swamp into
which she had stumbled.
AMELIA. Merciful God have pity on her soul!
NEIGHBOUR. So he will in time, especially if you pray for her.
AMELIA. Of course I will.
NEIGHBOUR. How good you have become, my child--as a result of her
becoming so bad!
AMELIA. Don't say so now when she is dead----
NEIGHBOUR. Right you are! Let her rest in peace!
AMELIA. But where is my father?
NEIGHBOUR. That's a secret to all of us. But it is sweet of you to ask
for him before you ask for your own Adolph.
AMELIA. Adolph--yes, where is he? The children are crying for him, and
Christmas is near.--Oh, what a Christmas this will be to us!
NEIGHBOUR. Leave to each day its own trouble--and now take your
Christmas present and go. The affairs connected with the auction are to
be settled, and then you'll hear news.
AMELIA. [_Takes the portrait of her mother_] I go, but no longer
alone--and I have a feeling that something good is about to happen, but
what I cannot tell.
[_She goes out to the right_.
NEIGHBOUR. But I know! Yet you had better go, for what is about to
happen here should not be seen by children.
_He opens the door in the rear and rings a bell to summon
the people to the auction. The people enter in the following
order_: THE POOR, _a large number of them; the_ SAILOR; _the_
CHIMNEY-SWEEP; _the_ NEIGHBOUR, who takes his place in front
of the rest; _the_ WIDOW _and the_ FATHERLESS CHILDREN; _the_
SURVEYOR; THE OTHER ONE, _carrying the auctioneer's hammer and
a pile of documents_.
THE OTHER ONE. [_Takes his place at the table and raps with the
hammer_] At a compulsory auction held at the court-house for the
disposal of property left by the late circuit judge, the items now to
be described were bid in by the Court on behalf of absent creditors,
and may now be obtained and taken away by their respective owners.
JUDGE. [_Enters, looking very aged and miserable_] In the name of the
law--hold!
THE OTHER ONE. [_Pretends to throw something at the_ JUDGE, _who
stands aghast and speechless_] Don't speak of the law! Here the Gospel
is preached--but not for you, who wanted to buy heaven with stolen
money.--First: the widow and her fatherless children. There is the
silver set which the judge accepted from you for his false report
as executor. In his stained hands the silver has turned black, but
I hope that in yours it will once more turn white.--Then we come to
the ward, who had to become a chimney-sweep, after being cheated out
of his inheritance. Here are the receipted bills and the property
due to you from your guardian. And you need not thank him for his
accounting.--Here stands the surveyor who, although he was innocent,
had to serve two years in prison because he had made an illegal
partition--the maps handed to him for the purpose having been falsified
in advance. What can you do for him, Judge? Can you undo what has
happened, or restore his lost honour?
JUDGE. Oh, that fellow--give him a bill and he'll be satisfied! His
honour wasn't worth a penny, anyhow.
THE OTHER ONE. [_Slaps the_ JUDGE _on the mouth, while the rest spit at
him and mutter with clinched fists_] Here is the brother of the sailor
who was beheaded in spite of his innocence. Can you restore his brother
to life? No! And you cannot pay for his life with yours, as it is not
worth as much.--And finally we come to the neighbour whom you cheated
out of his property in a perfectly legal way. Not familiar with the
tricks of the law, the neighbour has, contrary to prevailing practice,
placed the judge's son-in-law in charge of the property as life tenant,
wiping out his previous indebtedness and making him also legal heir to
the property.
JUDGE. I appeal to a higher court!
THE OTHER ONE. This case has passed through all the instances except
the highest, and that far you cannot reach with your stamped papers.
For if you tried, all these poor people whom you have robbed of their
living would cry out: Guilty!--Thus we are done with all that could be
properly disposed of. What remains here still undisposed of goes to the
poor: clocks, vases, jewelry and other valuables that have served as
bribes, graft, tips, souvenirs--all in a perfectly legal way because
evidence and witnesses were wanting. You poor, take back your own!
Your tears have washed the guilt from the ill-gotten goods. [_The_ POOR
_begin to plunder_] And now remains the last item to be sold by me.
This pauper here, formerly a judge, is offered to the lowest bidder for
board at the expense of the parish. How much is offered? [_Silence_]
No offer? [_Silence_] First, second, third time--no offer? [_To the_
JUDGE] There, you see! Nobody wants you. Well, then, I have to take you
myself and send you to your well-earned punishment.
JUDGE. Is there no atonement?
THE OTHER ONE. Yes, punishment atones.--Take him into the woods and
stone him in accordance with the law of Moses--for no other law was
ever known to him. Away with him! [_The people pounce on the_ JUDGE
_and jostle him_.
_The scene changes to the "waiting-room." The same setting as
in the second scene of the fourth act: a kettle-shaped chasm
surrounded by steep black rocks. (The same people are on the
stage.)_
_In the background appear a pair of huge scales for the
weighing of newcomers_.
_The_ JUDGE _and the_ OLD LADY _are seated opposite each other
at a small table_.
JUDGE. [_Staring in front of himself as if lost in a dream_]
Hush!--I had a dream! They were throwing stones at me--and yet I
felt no pain--and then everything turned black and vacant until this
moment--How long it may have lasted, I cannot tell--Now I am beginning
to hear again--and to feel. It feels as if I were being carried--oh,
how cold it is--they are washing me, I think--I am lying in something
that has six sides like a cell in a honeycomb and that smells like a
carpenter shop--I am being carried, and a bell is ringing--Wait! Now I
am riding, but not in a street-car, although the bell is ringing all
the time--Now I am sinking down, down, as if I were drowning--boom,
boom, boom: three knocks on the roof--and then the lessons begin--the
teacher is leading--and now the boys are singing--What can it be?--And
then they are knocking on the roof again, incessantly--boom, boom,
boom, boom, boom, boom--silence--it's over! [_He wakes up_] Where am I?
I choke! It's so stuffy and close here!--Oh, it's you!--Where are we?
Whose bust is that?
OLD LADY. They say it is the new god.
JUDGE. But he looks like a goat.
OLD LADY. Perhaps it is the god of the goats?
JUDGE. "The goats on the left side--" What is that I am recalling?
PRINCE. It is the god Pan.
JUDGE. Pan?
PRINCE. Exactly! Just exactly! And when, in the night, the
shepherds--no, not _those_ shepherds--catch sight of a hair of his hide
they are seized with panic----
JUDGE. [_Rising_] Woe! I don't want to stay here! Woe! Can't I get out
of here? I want to get out!
[_He runs around, looking vainly for a way out._
THE OTHER ONE. [_Enters dressed as a Franciscan friar_] You'll find
nothing but entrances--no exits!
JUDGE. Are you Father Colomba?
THE OTHER ONE. No, I am The Other One.
JUDGE. As a monk?
THE OTHER ONE. Don't you know that The Other One turns monk when he
grows old; and don't you think it is well that he does so some time?
But, seriously speaking--for here everything is serious--this is my
holiday attire, which I am permitted to wear only this one day of the
year in order that I may remember what I have had and what I have lost.
JUDGE. [_Alarmed_] What day of the year is it to-day?
THE OTHER ONE. [_Bending his head with a sigh_] It is Christmas Eve!
JUDGE. [_Approaching the_ OLD LADY] Think of it, it is Christmas
Eve?--And you know I don't dare to ask where we are--I dare not--but
let us go home, home to our children, to our own---- [_He cries_.
OLD LADY. Yes, let us go from here, home to ourselves, that we may
start a new life in peace and harmony----
THE OTHER ONE. It is too late!
OLD LADY. Oh, dear, sweet fellow--help us, have mercy on us, forgive us!
THE OTHER ONE. It is too late!
JUDGE. [_Taking the_ OLD LADY _by the hand_] I am choking with dread!
Don't ask him where we are; I don't want to know! But one thing I do
want to know: will there ever be an end to this?
THE OTHER ONE. Never!--That word "end" is not known to us here.
JUDGE. [_Crushed_] No end! [_Looking around_] And does the sun never
enter this place of damp and cold?
THE OTHER ONE. Never, for those who dwell here have not loved the sun!
JUDGE. It is true: I have cursed the sun.--May I confess my sins?
THE OTHER ONE. No, you must keep them to yourself until they begin to
swell and stop up your throat.
OLD LADY. [_Kneeling_] O--I don't know how to pray!
_She rises and walks restlessly back and forth, wringing her
hands_.
THE OTHER ONE. Because for you there is no one to whom you might pray.
OLD LADY. [_In despair_] Children--send somebody to give me a word of
hope and pardon.
THE OTHER ONE. It will not be done. Your children have forgotten
you--they are now rejoicing at your absence.
_A picture appears on the rocky wall in the rear: the home,
with_ ADOLPH, AMELIA, ERIC, _and_ THYRA _around the Christmas
tree; in the background, the_ PLAYMATE.
JUDGE. You say they are seated at the Christmas table rejoicing at our
misfortune?--No, now you lie, for they are better than we!
THE OTHER ONE. What new tune is that? I have always heard that you were
a righteous man----
JUDGE. I? I was a great sinner--the greatest one that ever was!
THE OTHER ONE. Hm! Hm!
JUDGE. And if you say anything of the children you are guilty of a sin.
I know that they are praying for us.
OLD LADY. [_On her knees_] I can hear them tell their rosaries: hush--I
hear them!
THE OTHER ONE. You are completely mistaken. What you hear is the song
of the workmen who are tearing down the mausoleum.
JUDGE. The mausoleum! Where we were to have rested in peace!
PRINCE. Shaded by a dozen wreaths.
JUDGE. Who is that?
PRINCE. [_Pointing to the_ OLD LADY] She is my sister, and so you must
be my brother-in-law.
JUDGE. Oh--that lazy scamp!
PRINCE. Look here! In this place we are all lazy scamps.
JUDGE. But we are not all hunchbacks!
PRINCE. [_Strikes him a blow on the mouth_] Don't touch the hunch or
there will be hell to pay!
JUDGE. What a way to treat a man of my ability and high social
position! What a Christmas!
PRINCE. Perhaps you expected your usual creamed codfish and Christmas
cake?
JUDGE. Not exactly, but there ought to be something to feed on----
PRINCE. Here we are keeping a Christmas fast, you see.
JUDGE. How long will it last?
PRINCE. How long? We don't measure time here, because it has ceased to
exist, and a minute may last a whole eternity.
OLD LADY. We suffer only what our deeds have deserved--so don't
complain----
PRINCE. Just try to complain, and you'll see what happens.--We are not
squeamish here, but bang away without regard for legal forms.
JUDGE. Are they beating carpets out there--on a day like this?
PRINCE. No, it is an extra ration of rod all around as a reminder for
those who may have forgotten the significance of the day.
JUDGE. Do they actually lay hands on our persons? Is it possible that
educated people can do things like that to each other?
PRINCE. This is a place of education for the badly educated; and those
who have behaved like scoundrels are treated like such.
JUDGE. But this passes all limits!
PRINCE. Yes, because here we are in the limitless! Now get ready! I
have already been out there and had my portion.
JUDGE. [_Appalled_] What humiliation! That's to strip you of all human
worth!
PRINCE. Ha ha! Human worth! Ha ha!--Look at the scales over there.
That's where the human worth is--and invariably found wanting.
JUDGE. [_Sits down at the table_] I could never have believed----
PRINCE. No, you could only believe in your caul and your own
righteousness. And yet you had both Moses and the Prophets and more
besides--for the very dead walked for your benefit.
JUDGE. The children! The children! Is it not possible to send them a
word of greeting and of warning?
PRINCE. No! Eternally, no!
_The_ WITCH _comes forward with a big basketful of
stereoscopes._
JUDGE. What is it?
WITCH. Christmas gifts for the righteous. Stereoscopes, you know.
[_Handing out one_] Help yourself. They don't cost anything.
JUDGE. There's a kind soul at last. And a little attention to a man of
my age and rank does honour both to your tact and to your heart----
WITCH. That's very nice of you, Judge, but I hope you don't mind my
having given some thought to the others, too.
JUDGE. [_Disappointed_] Are you poking fun at me, you damned old hag?
WITCH. [_Spitting in his face_] Hold your tongue, petti-fogger!
JUDGE. What company I have got into!
WITCH. Is it not good enough for you, you old perjurer, you grafter,
you forger, you robber of orphans, you false pleader? Now have a look
in the peep-show and take in the great spectacle: "From the Cradle to
the Grave." There is your whole biography and all your victims--just
have a look now. That's right!
JUDGE _looks in the stereoscope; then he rises with horror stamped on
his face_.
WITCH. I hope this slight attention may add to the Christmas joy!
_She hands a stereoscope to the_ OLD LADY, _and proceeds
thereafter to give one to each person present_.
JUDGE. [_Sitting at the table, where now the_ OLD LADY _takes a seat
opposite him_] What do you see?
OLD LADY. Everything is there; everything!--And do you notice that
everything is black? All life that seemed so bright is now black, and
even moments which I thought full of innocent joy have an appearance
of something nauseating, foul, almost criminal. It is as if all my
memories had decayed, including the fairest among them----
JUDGE. You are right. There is not one memory that can bring light into
this darkness. When I look at her who was the first love of my youth,
I see nothing but a corpse. When I think of my sweet Amelia, there
appears--a harlot. The little ones make faces at me like gutter-snipes.
My court has become a pigsty; the vineyard, a rubbish-heap full of
thistles; and the mausoleum--Oh, horrors!--an outhouse! When I think of
the green woods, the leafage appears snuff-coloured and the trunks look
bleached as mast tops. The blue river seems to flow out of a dung-heap
and the blue arch above it looks like a smoky roof--Of the sun itself I
can recall nothing but the name; and what was called the moon--the lamp
that shed its light on bays and groves during the amorous nights of my
youth--I can remember only as--no, I cannot remember it at all. But
the words are left, although they have only sound without sense.--Love,
wine, song! Flowers, children, happiness!--Don't the words sound
pretty? And it is all that is left!--Love? What _was_ it, anyhow?
OLD LADY. What was it?--Two cats on a back-yard fence.
JUDGE. [_Sheepishly_] Yes, that's it! That's what it was! Three dogs on
a sidewalk. What a sweet recollection!
OLD LADY. [_Pressing his hand_] Yes, it is sweet!
JUDGE. [_Looking at his watch_] My watch has stopped. I am so
hungry--and I am thirsty, too, and I long for a smoke. But I am also
tired and want to sleep. All my desires are waking. They claw at me and
hound me, but not one of them can I satisfy. We are lost! Lost, indeed!
OLD LADY. And I long for a cup of tea more than I can tell!
JUDGE. Hot green tea--that's just what I should like now--with a tiny
drop of rum in it.
OLD LADY. No, not rum! I should prefer some cakes----
PRINCE. [_Who has drawn near to listen_] Sugared, of course? I fear
you'll have to whistle for them.
OLD LADY. Oh, this dreadful language hurts me more than anything, else.
PRINCE. That's because you don't know yet how something else is going
to hurt you.
JUDGE. What is that?
OLD LADY. No, don't! We don't want to know! Please!
PRINCE. Yes, I am going to tell. It begins with----
OLD LADY. [_Puts her fingers in her ears and cries out_] Mercy! Don't,
don't, don't!
PRINCE. Yes, I will--and as my brother-in-law is curious, I'll tell it
to him. The second letter is----
JUDGE. This uncertainty is worse than torture--Speak out, you devil, or
I'll kill you!
PRINCE. Kill, ha ha! Everybody is immortal here, body and soul, what
little there is left. However, the third letter is--and that's all
you'll know!
MAN IN GREY. [_A small, lean man with grey clothes, grey face, black
lips, grey beard, and grey hands; he speaks in a very low voice_] May I
speak a word with you, madam?
OLD LADY. [_Rising in evident alarm_] What is it about?
MAN IN GREY. [_Smiling a ghastly, malicious smile_] I'll tell--out
there.
OLD LADY. [_Crying_] No, no; I won't!
MAN IN GREY. [_Laughing_]; It isn't dangerous. Come along! All I want
is to _speak_ to you. Come now!
[_They go toward the background and disappear_.
PRINCE. [_To the_ JUDGE] A little Christmas entertainment is wholesome.
JUDGE. Do you mean to maltreat a woman?
PRINCE. Here all injustices are abolished, and woman is treated as the
equal of man.
JUDGE. You devil!
PRINCE. That's all right, but don't call me hunchback, for that touches
my last illusion.
THE OTHER ONE. [_Steps up to the table_] Well, how do you like our
animal magnetism? It _can_ work wonders on black-guards!
JUDGE. I understand nothing of all this.
THE OTHER ONE. That's just what is meant, and it is very nice of you to
admit that there are things you don't understand.
JUDGE. Granting that I am now in the realm of the dead----
THE OTHER ONE. Say "hell," for that is what it's called.
JUDGE. [_Stammering_] Th-then I should like to remind you that He who
once descended here to redeem all lost----
PRINCE. [_At a sign from_ THE OTHER ONE _he strikes the_ JUDGE _in the
face_] Don't argue!
JUDGE. They won't even listen to me! It is beyond despair! No mercy, no
hope, no end!
THE OTHER ONE. Quite right! Here you find only justice and
retribution--especially justice: an eye for an eye and a tooth for a
tooth! Just as you wanted it!
JUDGE. But among men there is pardon--and that you don't have here.
THE OTHER ONE. Monarchs alone possess the right to pardon. And as a man
of law you ought to know that a petition for pardon must be submitted
before it can be granted.
JUDGE. For me there can be no pardon!
THE OTHER ONE. [_Gives the_ PRINCE _a sign to step aside_] You feel,
then, that your guilt is too great?
JUDGE. Yes.
THE OTHER ONE. Then I'll speak kindly to you. There is an end, you see,
if there is a beginning. And you have made a beginning. But the sequel
will be long and hard.
JUDGE. Oh, God is good!
THE OTHER ONE. You have said it!
JUDGE. But--there is one thing that cannot be undone--there is one!
THE OTHER ONE. You are thinking of the monstrance which should have
been of gold but was of silver? Well, don't you think that He who
changed water into wine may also change silver into gold?
JUDGE. [_On his knees_] But my misdeed is too great, too great to be
forgiven.
THE OTHER ONE. Now you overestimate yourself again. But rise up. We
are about to celebrate Christmas in our own fashion.--The light of the
sun cannot reach here, as you know--nor that of the moon. But on this
night, and on this alone, a star rises so far above the rocks that it
is visible from here. It is the star that went before the shepherds
through the desert--and _that_ was the morning star.
[_He claps his hands together_.
_The bust of Pan sinks into the ground. The_ OLD LADY _returns,
looking reassured and quietly happy. With a suggestion of firm
hope in mien and gesture, she goes up to the_ JUDGE _and takes
his hand. The stage becomes filled with shadows that are gazing
up at the rocks in the rear_.
CHORUS I. [_Two sopranos and an alto sing behind the stage, accompanied
only by string instruments and a harp_.]
Puer natus est nobis;
Et filius datus est nobis,
Cujus imperium super humerum ejus;
Et vocabitur nomen ejus
Magni consilii Angelus.
CHORUS II. [_Soprano, alto, tenor, basso_.]
Cantate Domino canticum novum
Quia mirabilia fecit!
_The star becomes visible above the rocks in the rear. All
kneel down. A part of the rock glides aside, revealing a
tableau: the crib with the child and the mother; the shepherds
adoring at the left, the three Magi at the right_.
CHORUS III. [_Two sopranos and two altos.]_
Gloria in excelsis Deo
Et in terra pax
Hominibus bonæ voluntatis!
_Curtain_.
THE THUNDERSTORM
(OVÄDER)
A CHAMBER PLAY
1907
CHARACTERS
THE MASTER, _a retired government official_
THE CONSUL, _his brother_
STARCK, _a confectioner_
AGNES, _daughter of Starck_
LOUISE, _a relative of the Master_
GERDA, _the Master's divorced wife_
FISCHER, _second husband of Gerda_
THE ICEMAN
THE LETTER-CARRIER
THE LAMPLIGHTER
THE LIQUORDEALER'S MAN
THE MILKMAID
SCENE I--IN FRONT OF THE HOUSE
SCENE II--INSIDE THE HOUSE
SCENE III--IN FRONT OF THE HOUSE
FIRST SCENE
_The front of a modern house with a basement of granite. The
upper parts are of brick covered with yellow plastering. The
window-frames and other ornaments are of sandstone. A low
archway leads through the basement to the court and serves also
as entrance to the confectioner's shop. The corner of the house
appears at the right of the stage, where the avenue opens into
a small square planted with roses and various other flowers. At
the corner is a mail-box. The main floor, above the basement,
has large windows, all of which are open. Four of these windows
belong to an elegantly furnished dining-room. The four middle
windows in the second story have red shades which are drawn;
the shades are illumined by light from within_.
_Along the front of the house runs a sidewalk with trees
planted at regular intervals. There is a lamp-post in the
extreme foreground and beside it stands a green bench_.
STARCK, _the confectioner, comes out with a chair and sits down
on the sidewalk_.
_The_ MASTER _is visible in the dining-room of the main floor,
seated at the table. Behind him appears an oven built of green
majolica tiles. On its mantelshelf stands a large photograph
between two candelabra and some vases containing flowers. A
young girl in a light dress is just serving the final course_.
_The_ MASTER'S _brother, the_ CONSUL, _appears in front of the
house, coming from the left, and knocks with his walking-stick
on the sill of one of the dining-room windows_.
CONSUL. Will you soon be through?
MASTER. I'll come in a moment.
CONSUL. [_Saluting the confectioner_] Good evening, Mr. Starck. It's
still hot----
STARCK. Good evening, Consul. Yes, it's the dog-day heat, and we have
been making jam all day.
CONSUL. Is that so? It's a good year for fruit, then?
STARCK. It might be worse. Well, the spring was cold, but the summer
turned out unbearably hot. It was hard on us who had to stay in the
city.
CONSUL. I got back from the country yesterday--one begins to wish
oneself back when the evenings grow dark.
STARCK. Neither I nor my wife have been out of the city. Of course,
business is at a standstill, but you have to be on hand to make
ready for the winter. First come strawberries, then cherries, then
raspberries, and last gooseberries, cantaloupes and all the fall
fruits----
CONSUL. Tell me something, Mr. Starck. Is the house here to be sold?
STARCK. Not that I have heard.
CONSUL. There are a lot of people living here?
STARCK. Something like ten families, I think, counting those in the
rear also. But nobody knows anybody else. There is unusually little
gossiping in the house. It seems rather as if everybody were hiding. I
have lived here ten years, and during the first two years we had for
neighbours a strange family that kept very quiet in the daytime. But at
night they began to stir about, and then carriages would come and fetch
things away. Not until the end of the second year did I learn that
they had been running a private sanatorium, and that what was being
taken away at night were dead bodies.
CONSUL. Horrible!
STARCK. And they call it the Silent House.
CONSUL. Yes, there isn't much talking done here.
STARCK. More than one drama has been played here, nevertheless.
CONSUL. Tell me, Mr. Starck, who lives up there on the second floor,
right above my brother?
STARCK. Up there, where the light comes through the red shades--a
tenant died there during the summer. Then the place stood empty for a
month, and a week ago a new family moved in. I haven't seen them. I
don't know their name. I don't think they ever go out. Why did you ask,
Consul?
CONSUL. Whew--I don't know! Those four red shades look like stage
curtains behind which some sanguinary tragedies are being rehearsed--or
I imagine so, at least. There is a palm at one of the windows looking
like a rod made of wire--you can see the shadow of it on the shade. If
only some people were to be seen----
STARCK. I have seen plenty of them, but not until later--at night.
CONSUL. Was it men or women you saw?
STARCK. Both, I guess--but now I must get back to my pots. [_He
disappears into the gateway_.
MASTER. [_Still inside, has risen from the table and lighted a cigar;
he is now standing at the open window, talking to his brother outside_]
I'll be ready in a moment. Louise is only going to sew a button on one
of my gloves.
CONSUL. Then you mean to go down-town?
MASTER. Perhaps we'll take a turn in that direction--Whom were you
talking with?
CONSUL. Just the confectioner----
MASTER. Oh, yes--a very decent fellow--and, for that matter, my only
companion here during the summer.
CONSUL. Have you really stayed at home every night--never gone out?
MASTER. Never! Those light evenings make me timid. They are pleasant in
the country, of course, but here in the city they produce the effect of
something unnatural--almost ghastly. But no sooner has the first street
lamp been lighted than I feel calm once more and can resume my evening
walks. In that way I can get tired and sleep better at night. [LOUISE
_hands him the glove_] Thank you, my child. You can just as well leave
the windows open, as there are no mosquitoes. [_To the_ CONSUL] Now I'm
coming.
_A few moments later he can be seen coming out of the house
on the side facing the square; he stops at the corner to drop
a letter in the mail-box; then he comes around the corner to
the front of the house and sits down on the bench beside his
brother_.
CONSUL. But tell me: why do you stay in the city when you _could_ be in
the country?
MASTER. I don't know. I have lost my power of motion. My memory has
tied me for ever to these rooms. Only within them can I find peace and
protection. In there--yes! It is interesting to look at your own home
from the outside. Then I imagine that some other man is pacing back and
forth in there--Just think: for ten years I have been pacing back and
forth in there!
CONSUL. Is it ten years now?
MASTER. Yes, time goes quickly--once it is gone. But when it is still
going it seems slow enough.--That time the house was new. I watched
them putting down the hard-wood floor in the dining-room and painting
the doors; and _she_ was permitted to pick out the wall-paper, which
is still there--Yes, that was then! The confectioner and I are the
oldest tenants in the place, and he, too, has had a few experiences of
his own--he is one of those people who never succeed but are always in
some kind of trouble. In a way, I have been living his life also, and
bearing his burdens besides my own.
CONSUL. Does he drink, then?
MASTER. No-o--nothing of that kind, but there is no _go_ to him. Well,
he and I know the history of this house: how they have arrived in
bridal coaches and left in hearses, while the mail-box at the corner
became the recipient of all their confidences.
CONSUL. There was a death here in the middle of the summer, wasn't
there?
MASTER. Yes, a case of typhoid--the man was manager of a bank--and then
the flat stood vacant for a month. The coffin came out first, then the
widow and the children, and last of all the furniture.
CONSUL. That was on the second floor?
MASTER. Yes, up there, where you see the light--where those new people
are, about whom I know nothing at all.
CONSUL. Haven't you seen anything of them either?
MASTER. I never ask any questions about the other tenants. What comes
to me unasked, I accept--but I never make any wrong use of it, and I
never interfere, for I am anxious for the peace of my old age.
CONSUL. Old age--yes! I think it's nice to grow old, for then there
isn't so much left to be recorded.
MASTER. Indeed, it is nice. I am settling my accounts, both with life
and with people, and I have already begun to pack for the journey.
Of course, the solitude has its draw-backs, but when there is nobody
who can make any demands on you, then you have won your freedom--the
freedom to come and go, to think and act, to eat and sleep, in
accordance with your own choice.
_At this moment the shade in one of the windows on the second
floor is raised a little way, so that part of a woman's dress
becomes visible. Then it is quickly drawn again_.
CONSUL. They are astir up there--did you see?
MASTER. Yes, there is such a lot of mystery about it--and at night it
is worse than ever. Sometimes there is music, but it's always bad;
and sometimes I think they are playing cards; and long after midnight
carriages drive up and take away people.--I never make a complaint
against other tenants, for then they want to get even, and nobody wants
to change his ways. The best thing is to remain oblivious of everything.
_A gentleman, dressed in a dinner coat but bareheaded, comes
out of the house and drops a big pile of letters into the
mail-box; then he disappears into the house again_.
CONSUL. That fellow must have a lot of correspondence.
MASTER. It looked to me like circulars.
CONSUL. But who is he?
MASTER. Why, that's the new tenant up there on the second floor.
CONSUL. Oh, is that so! What do you think he looked like?
MASTER. I don't know. Musician, conductor, a touch of musical
comedy, with a leaning to vaudeville--gambler--Adonis--a little of
everything----
CONSUL. Black hair should have gone with that pale complexion of
his, but his hair was brown--which means that it had been dyed, or
that he wears a wig. A tuxedo at home indicates an empty wardrobe,
and the movements of his hands as he dropped the letters into the
box suggested shuffling and cutting and dealing--[_At this moment
waltz music becomes faintly audible from the second floor_] Always
waltzes--perhaps they have a dancing-school--but it's always the same
waltz--what's the name of it now?
MASTER. Why, I think--that's "Pluie d'or"--I know it by heart.
CONSUL. Have you heard it in your own house?
MASTER. Yes, that one and the "Alcazar Waltz."
LOUISE _becomes visible in the dining-room, where she is
putting things in order and wiping the glassware on the buffet_.
CONSUL. Are you still pleased with Louise?
MASTER. Very.
CONSUL. Isn't she going to marry?
MASTER. Not that I know of.
CONSUL. Is there no fiancé in sight?
MASTER. Why do you ask?
CONSUL. Have you had any thoughts of that kind?
MASTER. I? No, thank you! When I married the last time I was not too
old, as we had a child in due time, but I have grown too old since
then, and now I want to spend my evening in peace--Do you think I want
another master in my own house, who would rob me of life and honour and
goods?
CONSUL. Oh, nobody took your life or your goods----
MASTER. Do you mean to say that my honour suffered any harm?
CONSUL. Don't you know?
MASTER. What _do_ you mean?
CONSUL. In leaving you, she killed your honour.
MASTER. Then I have been a dead man for five years without knowing it.
CONSUL. You haven't known it?
MASTER. No, but now I'll tell you in a few words what really happened.
When, at fifty, I married a girl much younger than myself--one whose
heart I had won and who gave me her hand fearlessly and willingly--then
I promised her that if ever my age should become a burden to her youth
I would go my own way and give her back her freedom. Since the child
had come in due time, and neither one of us wanted another, and since
our little girl had begun to grow apart from me, so that I had come to
feel superfluous, I did go my way--that is, I took a boat, as we were
living on an island--and that was the end of the whole story. I had
redeemed my promise and saved my honour--what more besides?
CONSUL. All right--but she thought it an attack on her own honour,
because she had meant to go away herself. And so she killed you by
tacit accusations which never reached your ears.
MASTER. Did she accuse herself also?
CONSUL. No, she had no reason to do so.
MASTER. Then no harm has been done.
CONSUL. Do you know what has become of her and the child since then?
MASTER. I don't want to know! Having at last outlived the horrors of
longing, I came to regard the whole business as buried; and as none but
beautiful memories were left behind in our rooms, I remained where I
was. However, I thank you for that piece of valuable information!
CONSUL. Which one?
MASTER. That she had no reason for self-accusation, for if she had it
would constitute an accusation against me----
CONSUL. I think you are living under a serious misconception----
MASTER. If I am, leave me alone! A clear conscience--comparatively
clear, at least--has always been the diving-suit that has enabled me
to descend into the vast deeps without being suffocated. [_Rising_]
To think of it--that I got out of it with my life! And now it's all
over!--Suppose we take a turn down the avenue?
CONSUL. All right, then we can see them light the first street lamp of
the season.
MASTER. But won't the moon be up to-night--the harvest-moon?
CONSUL. Why, I think the moon is full just now----
MASTER. [_Going to one of the windows and talking into the
dining-room_] Please hand me my stick, Louise. The light one--I just
want to hold it in my hand.
LOUISE. [_Handing out a cane of bamboo_] Here it is, sir.
MASTER. Thank you, my girl. Now turn out the light in the dining-room
if you have nothing to do there. We'll be gone a little while--I cannot
tell just how long.
_The_ MASTER _and the_ CONSUL _go out to the left_. LOUISE
_remains standing by the open window_. STARCK _comes out of the
gateway_.
STARCK. Good evening, Miss Louise. It's awfully hot!--So your gentlemen
have disappeared?
LOUISE. They have gone for a stroll down the avenue--the first time my
master has gone out this summer.
STARCK. We old people love the twilight, which covers up so many
defects both in ourselves and others. Do you know, Miss Louise, my old
woman is getting blind, but she won't have an operation performed. She
says there is nothing to look at, and that sometimes she wishes she
were deaf, too.
LOUISE. Well, one does feel that way--at times.
STARCK. Of course, you are leading a very quiet life in there, with
plenty of everything, and nothing to worry about. I have never heard a
loud voice or the slamming of a door--perhaps, even, it is a little too
quiet for a young lady like yourself?
LOUISE. Not at all! I love the quiet, and whatever is dignified,
graceful, measured--with nobody blurting out things, and all thinking
it a duty to overlook the less pleasant features of daily life.
STARCK. And you have never any company?
LOUISE. No, only the consul comes here--and the like of the love
between those two brothers I have never seen.
STARCK. Who is the elder of the two?
LOUISE. That's more than I can tell. Whether there is a year or two
between them, or they are twins, I don't know, for they treat each
other with mutual respect, as if each one of them was the elder brother.
AGNES _appears, trying to get past_ STARCK _without being seen
by him_.
STARCK. Where are you going, girl?
AGNES. Oh, I am just going out for a little walk.
STARCK. That's right, but get back soon.
AGNES _goes out_.
STARCK. Do you think your master is still mourning the loss of his dear
ones?
LOUISE. He doesn't mourn--he doesn't even feel any regrets, for he
doesn't want them back--but he is always with them in his memory, where
he keeps only their beautiful traits.
STARCK. But doesn't the fate of his daughter trouble him at times?
LOUISE. Yes, he cannot help fearing that the mother may have married
again, and then, of course, everything depends on how the child's
stepfather turns out.
STARCK. I have been told that the wife refused alimony at first, but
that now, when five years have passed, she has sent him a lawyer with a
demand for many thousands----
LOUISE. [_With reserve_] I know nothing about it.
STARCK. I believe, however, that she was never more beautiful than in
his memory----
THE LIQUORDEALER'S MAN. [_Enters, carrying a crateful of bottles_]
Excuse me, but does Mr. Fischer live here?
LOUISE. Mr. Fischer? Not so far as I know.
STARCK. Perhaps Fischer is the name of that fellow on the second floor?
Around the corner--one flight up.
THE LIQUORDEALER'S MAN. [_Going toward the square_] One flight
up--thanks. [_He disappears around the corner_.
LOUISE. Carrying up bottles again--that means another sleepless night.
STARCK. What kind of people are they? Why don't they ever show
themselves?
LOUISE. I suppose they use the back-stairs, for I have never seen them.
But I do hear them.
STARCK. Yes, I have also heard doors bang and corks pop--and the
popping of other things, too, I guess.
LOUISE. And they never open their windows, in spite of the heat--they
must be Southerners.--Why, that's lightning--a lot of it!--I guess
it's nothing but heat-lightning, for there has been no thunder.
A VOICE. [_Is heard from the basement_] Starck, dear, won't you come
down and help me put in the sugar!
STARCK. All right, old lady, I'm coming! [_To_ LOUISE] We are making
jam, you know. [_As he goes_] I'm coming, I'm coming! [_He disappears
into the gateway again_.
LOUISE _remains standing at the window_.
CONSUL. [_Enters slowly from the right_] Isn't my brother back yet?
LOUISE. No, sir.
CONSUL. He wanted to telephone, and I was to go ahead. Well, I suppose
he'll be here soon.--What's this? [_He stoops to pick up a post-card_]
What does it say?--"Boston club at midnight: Fischer."--Do you know who
Fischer is, Louise?
LOUISE. There was a man with a lot of wine looking for Fischer a while
ago--up on the second floor.
CONSUL. On the second floor--Fischer! Red shades that make the place
look like a drug-store window at night! I fear you have got bad company
in the house.
LOUISE. What is a Boston club?
CONSUL. Oh, there need be no harm in it at all--in this case I don't
know, however.--But how did the post-card--? Oh, it was _he_ who
dropped it a while ago. Then I'll put it back in the box.--Fischer?
I have heard that name before. In connection with something I cannot
recall just now--May I ask a question, Miss Louise: does my brother
never speak of--the past?
LOUISE. Not to me.
CONSUL. Miss Louise--one more question----
LOUISE. Excuse me, but here comes the milk, and I have to receive it.
[_She leaves the dining-room_.
_The_ MILKMAID _appears from the right and enters the house
from the square_.
STARCK. [_Comes out again, takes off his white linen cap, and puffs
with heat_] In and out, like a badger at its hole--it's perfectly
horrid down there by the ovens--and the evening doesn't make it any
cooler.
CONSUL. All this lightning shows that we are going to have rain--Well,
the city isn't pleasant, exactly, but up here you have quiet at least:
never any rattling carriages, and still less any street-cars--it's just
like the country.
STARCK. Of course, it's quiet, but it's too quiet for business. I
know my trade, but I am a poor salesman--have always been, and
can't learn--or it may be something else. Perhaps I haven't got the
proper manner. For when customers act as if I were a swindler I get
embarrassed at first, and then as mad as it is possible for me to
become. But nowadays I haven't the strength to get really mad. It has
been worn out of me--everything gets worn out.
CONSUL. Why don't you go to work for somebody else?
STARCK. Who would want me?
CONSUL. Have you ever tried?
STARCK. What would be the use of it?
CONSUL. Oh--well!
_At this moment a long-drawn "O-oh" is heard from the apartment
on the second floor_.
STARCK. What, in the name of Heaven, are they up to in that place? Are
they killing each other?
CONSUL. I don't like this new and unknown element that has come into
the house. It is pressing on us like a red thunder-cloud. What kind of
people are they? Where do they come from? What do they want here?
STARCK. It's so very dangerous to delve in other people's affairs--you
get mixed up in them yourself----
CONSUL. Do you know anything about them?
STARCK. No, I don't know anything at all.
CONSUL. Now they're screaming again, this time in the stairway----
STARCK. [_Withdrawing into the gateway and speaking in a low voice_] I
don't want to have anything to do with this.
GERDA, _the divorced wife of the_ MASTER, _comes running from
the house into the square. She is bareheaded, with her hair
down, and very excited. The_ CONSUL _approaches her, and they
recognise each other. She draws back from him_.
CONSUL. So it's you--my former sister-in-law?
GERDA. Yes, it is I.
CONSUL. How did you get into this house, and why can't you let my
brother enjoy his peace?
GERDA. [_Bewildered_] They didn't give us the right name of the tenant
below--I thought he had moved--I couldn't help it----
CONSUL. Don't be afraid--you don't have to be afraid of me, Gerda! Can
I be of any help to you? What's happening up there?
GERDA. He was beating me!
CONSUL. Is your little girl with you?
GERDA. Yes.
CONSUL. So she has got a stepfather?
GERDA. Yes.
CONSUL. Put up your hair and calm yourself. Then I'll try to straighten
this matter out. But spare my brother----
GERDA. I suppose he hates me?
CONSUL. No, don't you see that he has been taking care of your flowers
in the bed over there? He brought the soil himself, in a basket,
don't you remember? Don't you recognise your blue gentians and the
mignonette, your _Malmaison_ and _Merveille de Lyons_ roses, which he
budded himself? Don't you understand that he has cherished the memory
of yourself and of the child?
GERDA. Where is he now?
CONSUL. Taking a walk along the avenue, but he will be here in a few
minutes with the evening papers. When he comes from that side he uses
the back door, and he goes straight into the dining-room to read the
papers. Stand still and he won't notice you.--But you must go back to
your own rooms----
GERDA. I can't! I can't go back to that man.
CONSUL. Who is he, and what?
GERDA. He--has been a singer.
CONSUL. Has been--and what is he now? An adventurer?
GERDA. Yes!
CONSUL. Keeps a gambling-house?
GERDA. Yes!
Consul. And the child? Bait?
GERDA. Oh, don't say that!
CONSUL. It's horrible!
GERDA. You are too harsh about the whole thing.
CONSUL. Of course, filth must be handled gently--so very gently! But
a just cause should be dragged in the dirt. Why did you defile his
honour, and why did you lure me into becoming your accomplice? I was
childish enough to trust your word, and I defended your unjust cause
against his.
GERDA. You forget that he was too old.
CONSUL. No, he wasn't _then_, as you had a child at once. When he
proposed, he asked if you wanted to have a child with him, and he vowed
in the bargain to give you back your freedom when his promise had been
kept and old age began to weigh him down.
GERDA. He deserted me, and that was an insult.
CONSUL. Not to you! Your youth prevented it from being a reflection on
you.
GERDA. He should have let me leave him.
CONSUL. Why? Why did you want to heap dishonour on him?
GERDA. One of us had to bear it.
CONSUL. What strange paths your thoughts pursue! However, you have
killed him, and fooled me into helping you. How can we rehabilitate him?
GERDA. If he is to be rehabilitated, it can only be at my expense.
CONSUL. I cannot follow your thoughts, which always turn to hatred.
But suppose we leave the rehabilitation alone and think only of how his
daughter is to be saved: what can we do then?
GERDA. She is my child. She's mine by law, and my husband is her
father----
CONSUL. Now _you_ are too harsh about it! And you have grown cruel and
vulgar--Hush! Here he comes now.
_The_ MASTER _enters from the left with a newspaper in his
hand; he goes into the house pensively by the back door, while
the_ CONSUL _and_ GERDA _remain motionless, hidden behind the
corner of the house_.
_Then the_ CONSUL _and_ GERDA _come down the stage. A moment
later the_ MASTER _becomes visible in the dining-room, where he
sits down to read the paper_.
GERDA. It was he!
CONSUL. Come over here and look at your home. See how he has kept
everything as it was--arranged to suit your taste.--Don't be afraid.
It's so dark out here that he can't see us. The light in the room
blinds him, you know.
GERDA. How he has been lying to me!
CONSUL. In what respect?
GERDA. He hasn't grown old! He had grown tired of me--that was the
whole thing! Look at his collar--and his tie--the very latest fashion!
I am sure he has a mistress!
CONSUL. Yes, you can see her photograph on the mantelshelf, between the
candelabra.
GERDA. It is myself and the child! Does he still love me?
CONSUL. Your memory only!
GERDA. That's strange!
_The_ MASTER _ceases to read and stares out through the window_.
GERDA. He is looking at us!
CONSUL. Don't move!
GERDA. He is looking straight into my eyes.
CONSUL. Be still! He doesn't see you.
GERDA. He looks as if he were dead----
CONSUL. Well, he has been killed.
GERDA. Why do you talk like that?
_An unusually strong flash of heat-lightning illumines the
figures of the_ CONSUL _and_ GERDA.
_The_ MASTER _rises with an expression of horror on his face_.
GERDA _takes refuge behind the corner of the house_.
MASTER. Carl Frederick! [_Coming to the window_] Are you alone? I
thought--Are you really alone?
CONSUL. As you see.
MASTER. The air is so sultry, and the flowers give me a headache--I am
just going to finish the newspaper.
[_He resumes his former position._
CONSUL. Now let us get at your affairs. Do you want me to go with you?
GERDA. Perhaps! But it will be a hard struggle.
CONSUL. But the child must be saved. And I am a lawyer.
GERDA. Well, for the child's sake, then! Come with me!
[_They go out together._
MASTER. [_Calling from within_] Carl Frederick, come in and have a game
of chess!--Carl Frederick!
_Curtain_.
SECOND SCENE
_Inside the dining-room. The brick stove appears at the centre
of the rear wall. To the left of it there is a door leading
into the pantry. Another door to the right of it leads to the
hallway. At the left stands a buffet with a telephone on it. A
piano and a tall clock stand at the right. There are doors in
both side walls_.
_The_ MASTER _is in the room, and_ LOUISE _enters as the
curtain rises_.
MASTER. Where did my brother go?
LOUISE. [_Alarmed_] He was outside a moment ago. He can't be very far
away.
MASTER. What a dreadful noise they are making up above! It is as
if they were stepping on my head! Now they are pulling out bureau
drawers as if they were were preparing for a journey--running away,
perhaps.--If you only knew how to play chess, Louise!
LOUISE. I know a little----
MASTER. Oh, if you just know how to move the pieces, that will be
enough--Sit down, child. [_He sets up the chess pieces_] They are
carrying on up there so that they make the chandelier rattle--and the
confectioner is heating up down below. I think I'll have to move soon.
LOUISE. I have long thought that you ought to do so anyhow.
MASTER. Anyhow?
LOUISE. It isn't good to stay too long among old memories.
MASTER. Why not? As time passes, all memories grow beautiful.
LOUISE. But you may live twenty years more, and that is too long a time
to live among memories which, after all, must fade and which may change
colour entirely some fine day.
MASTER. How much you know, my child!--Begin now by moving a pawn--but
not the one in front of the queen, or you will be mate in two moves.
LOUISE. Then I start with the knight----
MASTER. Hardly less dangerous, girl!
LOUISE. But I think I'll start with the knight just the same.
MASTER. All right. Then I'll move my bishop's pawn.
STARCK _appears in the hallway, carrying a tray_.
LOUISE. There's Mr. Starck with the tea-cakes. He doesn't make any more
noise than a mouse.
[_She rises and goes out into the hallway to receive the tray,
which she then carries into the pantry_.
MASTER. Well, Mr. Starck, how is the old lady?
STARCK. Oh, thank you, her eyes are about as usual.
MASTER. Have you seen anything of my brother?
STARCK. He is walking back and forth outside, I think.
MASTER. Has he got any company?
STARCK. No-o--I don't think so.
MASTER. It wasn't yesterday you had a look at these rooms, Mr. Starck.
STARCK. I should say not--it's just ten years ago now----
MASTER. When you brought the wedding-cake.--Does the place look changed?
STARCK. It is just as it was--the palms have grown, of course--but the
rest is just as it was.
MASTER. And will remain so until you bring the funeral cake. When you
have passed a certain age, nothing changes, nothing progresses--all the
movement is downward like that of a sleigh going down-hill.
STARCK. Yes, that's the way it is.
MASTER. And it is peaceful, the way I have it here. No love, no
friends, only a little company to break up the solitude. Then human
beings are just human beings, without any claims on your feelings and
sympathies. Then you come loose like an old tooth, and drop out without
pain or regrets. Take Louise, for instance--a pretty young girl, the
sight of whom pleases me like a work of art that I don't wish to
possess--there is nothing to disturb our relationship. My brother and I
meet like two old gentlemen who never get too close to each other and
never exact any confidences. By taking up a neutral position toward
one's fellow-men, one attains a certain distance--and as a rule we look
better at a distance. In a word, I am pleased with my old age and its
quiet peace--[_Calling out_] Louise!
LOUISE. [_Appearing in the doorway at the left and speaking pleasantly
as always_] The laundry has come home, and I have to check it off.
[_She disappears again_.
MASTER. Well, Mr. Starck, won't you sit down and chat a little--or
perhaps you play chess?
STARCK. I can't stay away from my pots, and the oven has to be heated
up at eleven. It's very kind of you, however----
MASTER. If you catch sight of my brother, ask him to come in and keep
me company.
STARCK. So I will--so I will! [_He goes_.
MASTER. [_Alone; moves a couple of pieces on the chess-board; then gets
up and begins to walk about_] The peace of old age--yes! [_He sits down
at the piano and strikes a few chords; then he gets up and walks about
as before_] Louise! Can't you let the laundry wait a little?
LOUISE. [_Appears again for a moment in the doorway at the left_] No,
I can't, because the wash-woman is in a hurry--she has husband and
children waiting for her.
MASTER. Oh! [_He sits down at the table and begins to drum with his
fingers on it; tries to read the newspaper, but tires of it; lights
matches only to blow them out again at once; looks repeatedly at the
big clock, until at last a noise is heard from the hallway_] Is that
you, Carl Frederick?
THE MAIL-CARRIER. [_Appears in the doorway_] It's the mail. Excuse me
for walking right in, but the door was standing open.
MASTER. Is there a letter for me?
THE MAIL-CARRIER. Only a post-card.
[_He hands it over and goes out_.
MASTER. [_Reading the post-card_] Mr. Fischer again! Boston club!
That's the man up above--with the white hands and the tuxedo coat. And
to me! The impertinence of it! I have got to move!--Fischer!--[_He
tears up the card; again a noise is heard, in the hallway_] Is that
you, Carl Frederick?
THE ICEMAN. [_Without coming into the room_] It's the ice!
MASTER. Well, it's nice to get ice in this heat. But be careful about
those bottles in the box. And put one of the pieces on edge so that I
can hear the water drip from it as it melts--That's my water-clock that
measures out the hours--the long hours--Tell me, where do you get the
ice from nowadays?--Oh, he's gone!--Everybody goes away--goes home--to
hear their own voices and get some company-[_Pause_] Is that you, Carl
Frederick?
_Somebody in the apartment above plays Chopin's_ Fantaisie Impromptu,
Opus 66, _on the piano_--_but only the first part of it_.
MASTER. [_Begins to listen, is aroused, looks up at the ceiling_] My
_Impromptu_?
[_He covers his eyes with one hand and listens_.
_The_ CONSUL _enters through the hallway_.
MASTER. Is that you, Carl Frederick?
_The music stops_.
CONSUL. It is I.
MASTER. Where have you been so long?
CONSUL. I had some business to clear up. Have you been alone?
MASTER. Of course! Come and play chess now.
CONSUL. I prefer to talk. And you need also to hear your own voice a
little.
MASTER. True enough--only it is so easy to get to talking about the
past.
CONSUL. That makes us forget the present.
MASTER. There is no present. What's just passing is empty nothingness.
One has to look ahead or behind--and ahead is better, for there lies
hope!
CONSUL. [_Seating himself at the table_] Hope--of what?
MASTER. Of change.
CONSUL. Well! Do you mean to say you have had enough of the peace of
old age?
MASTER. Perhaps.
CONSUL. It's certain then. And if now you had the choice between
solitude and the past?
MASTER. No ghosts, however!
CONSUL. How about your memories?
MASTER. They don't walk. They are only poems wrought by me out of
certain realities. But if dead people walk, then you have ghosts.
CONSUL. Well, then--in your memory--who brings you the prettiest
mirage: the woman or the child?
MASTER. Both! I cannot separate them, and that's why I never tried to
keep the child.
CONSUL. But do you think you did right? Did the possibility of a
stepfather never occur to you?
MASTER. I didn't think that far ahead at the time, but afterward, of
course, I have had--my thoughts--about--that very thing.
CONSUL. A stepfather who abused--perhaps debased--your daughter?
MASTER. Hush!
CONSUL. What is it you hear?
MASTER. I thought I heard the "little steps"--those little steps that
came tripping down the corridor when she was looking for me.--It was
the child that was the best of all! To watch that fearless little
creature, whom nothing could frighten, who never suspected that life
might be deceptive, who had no secrets! I recall her first experience
of the malice that is in human beings. She caught sight of a pretty
child down in the park, and, though it was strange to her, she went
up to it with open arms to kiss it--and the pretty child rewarded her
friendliness by biting her in the cheek first and then making a face
at her. Then you should have seen my little Anne-Charlotte. She stood
as if turned to stone. And it wasn't pain that did it, but horror at
the sight of that yawning abyss which is called the human heart. I
have been confronted with the same sight myself once, when out of two
beautiful eyes suddenly shot strange glances as if some evil beast had
appeared behind those eyes. It scared me literally so that I had to see
if some other person were standing behind that face, which looked like
a mask.--But why do we sit here talking about such things? Is it the
heat, or the storm, or what?
CONSUL. Solitude brings heavy thoughts, and you ought to have company.
This summer in the city seems to have been rather hard on you.
MASTER. Only these last few weeks. The sickness and that death up
above--it was as if I had gone through it myself. The sorrows and
cares of the confectioner have also become my own, so that I keep
worrying about his finances, about his wife's eye trouble, about his
future--and of late I have been dreaming every night about my little
Anne-Charlotte. I see her surrounded by dangers--unknown, undiscovered,
nameless. And before I fall asleep my hearing grows so unbelievably
acute that I can hear her little steps--and once I heard her voice----
CONSUL. But where is she then?
MASTER. Don't ask me!
CONSUL. And if you were to meet her on the street?
MASTER. I imagine that I should lose my reason or fall in a faint.
Once, you know, I stayed abroad very long, during the very time when
our youngest sister was growing up. When I returned, after several
years, I was met at the steam-boat landing by a young girl who put
her arms around my neck. I was horrified at those eyes that searched
mine, but with unfamiliar glances--glances that expressed absolute
terror at not being recognised. "It is I," she repeated again and again
before at last I was able to recognise my own sister. And that's how I
imagine it would be for me to meet my daughter again. Five years are
enough to render you unrecognisable at that age. Think of it: not to
know your own child! That child, who is the same as before, and yet a
stranger! I couldn't survive such a thing. No, then I prefer to keep
the little girl of four years whom you see over there on the altar of
my home. I want no other one. [_Pause_] That must be Louise putting
things to rights in the linen closet. It has such a clean smell, and it
reminds me--oh, the housewife at her linen closet; the good fairy that
preserves and renews; the housewife with her iron, who smooths out all
that has been ruffled up and who takes out all wrinkles--the wrinkles,
yes--[_Pause_] Now--I'll--go in there to write a letter. If you'll
stay, I'll be out again soon.
[_He goes out to the left_.
_The_ CONSUL _coughs_.
GERDA. [_Appears in the door to the hallway_] Are you--[_The clock
strikes_] Oh, mercy! That sound--which has remained in my ears for ten
years! That clock which never kept time and yet measured the long hours
and days and nights of five years. [_She looks around_] My piano--my
palms--the dinner-table--he has kept it in honour, shining as a
shield! My buffet--with the "Knight in Armour" and "Eve"--Eve with her
basketful of apples--In the right-hand upper drawer, way back, there
was a thermometer lying--[_Pause_] I wonder if it is still there? [_She
goes to the buffet and pulls out the right-hand drawer_] Yes, there it
is!
CONSUL. What does that mean?
GERDA. Oh, in the end it became a symbol--of instability. When we went
to housekeeping the thermometer was not put in its place at once--of
course, it ought to be outside the window. I promised to put it up--and
forgot it. He promised, and forgot. Then we nagged each other about
it, and at last, to get away from it, I hid it in this drawer. I came
to hate it, and so did he. Do you know what was back of all that?
Neither one of us believed that our relationship would last, because we
unmasked at once and gave free vent to our antipathies. To begin with,
we lived on tiptoe, so to speak--always ready to fly off at a moment's
notice. That was what the thermometer stood for--and here it is still
lying! Always on the move, always changeable, like the weather. [_She
puts away the thermometer and goes over to the chess-board_] My chess
pieces! Which he bought to kill the time that hung heavy on our hands
while we were waiting for the little one to come. With whom does he
play now?
CONSUL. With me.
GERDA. Where is he?
CONSUL. He is in his room writing a letter.
GERDA. Where?
CONSUL. [_Pointing toward the left_] There.
GERDA. [_Shocked_] And here he has been going for five years?
CONSUL. Ten years--five of them alone!
GERDA. Of course, he loves solitude.
CONSUL. But I think he has had enough of it.
GERDA. Will he turn me out?
CONSUL. Find out for yourself! You take no risk, as he is always polite.
GERDA. I didn't make that centrepiece----
CONSUL. That is to say, you risk his asking you for the child.
GERDA. But it was he who should help me find it again----
CONSUL. Where do you think Fischer has gone, and what can be the
purpose of his flight?
GERDA. To get away from the unpleasant neighbourhood, first of all;
then to make me run after him. And he wanted the girl as a hostage, of
course.
CONSUL. As to the ballet--that's something the father _must not_ know,
for he hates music-halls.
GERDA. [_Sitting down in front of the chess-board and beginning,
absent-mindedly, to arrange the pieces_] Music-halls--oh, I have been
there myself.
CONSUL. You?
GERDA. I have accompanied on the piano.
CONSUL. Poor Gerda!
GERDA. Why? I love that kind of life. And when I was a prisoner here,
it wasn't the keeper, but the prison itself, that made me fret.
CONSUL. But now you have had enough?
GERDA. Now I am in love with peace and solitude--and with my child
above all.
CONSUL. Hush, he's coming!
GERDA. [_Rises as if to run away, but sinks down on the chair again_]
Oh!
CONSUL. Now I leave you. Don't think of what you are to say. It will
come of itself, like the "next move" in a game of chess.
GERDA. I fear his first glance most of all, for it will tell me whether
I have changed for better or for worse--whether I have grown old and
ugly.
CONSUL. [_Going out to the right_] If he finds you looking older, then
he will dare to approach you. If he finds you as young as ever, he will
have no hope, for he is more diffident than you think.--Now!
_The_ MASTER _is seen outside, passing by the door leading
to the pantry; he carries a letter in his hand; then he
disappears, only to become visible again a moment later in the
hallway, where he opens the outside door and steps out_.
CONSUL. [_In the doorway at the right_] He went out to the mail-box.
GERDA. No, this is too much for me! How can I possibly ask _him_ to
help me with this divorce? I want to get out! It's too brazen!
CONSUL. Stay! You know that his kindness has no limits. And he'll help
you for the child's sake.
GERDA. No, no!
CONSUL. And he is the only one who can help you.
MASTER. [_Enters quickly from the hallway and nods at_ GERDA, _whom,
because of his near-sightedness, he mistakes for_ LOUISE; _then he goes
to the buffet and picks up the telephone, but in passing he remarks to_
GERDA] So you're done already? Well, get the pieces ready then, and
we'll begin all over again--from the beginning.
GERDA _stands paralysed, not understanding the situation_.
MASTER. [_Speaks in the telephone receiver, with his back to_ Gerda]
Hello!--Good evening! Is that you, mother?--Pretty well, thank you!
Louise is waiting to play a game of chess with me, but she is a
little tired after a lot of bother--It's all over now--everything
all right--nothing serious at all.--If it's hot? Well, there has
been a lot of thundering, right over our heads, but nobody has been
struck. False alarm!--What did you say? Fischer?--Yes, but I think
they are going to leave.--Why so? I know nothing in particular.--Oh,
is that so?--Yes, it leaves at six-fifteen, by the outside route,
and it gets there--let me see--at eight-twenty-five.--Did you have a
good time?--[_With a little laugh_] Oh, he's impossible when he gets
started! And what did Marie have to say about it?--How I have had it
during the summer? Oh, well, Louise and I have kept each other company,
and she has got such an even, pleasant temper.--Yes, she is very nice,
indeed!--Oh, no, nothing of that kind!
GERDA, _who has begun to understand, rises with an expression
of consternation on her face_.
MASTER. My eyes? Oh, I am getting a little near-sighted. But I feel
like the confectioner's old wife: there is nothing to look at. Wish I
were deaf, too! Deaf and blind! The neighbours above make such a lot of
noise at night--it's a gambling club--There now! Somebody got on the
wire to listen. [_He rings again_.
LOUISE _appears in the door to the hallway without being seen
by the_ MASTER; GERDA _stares at her with mingled admiration
and hatred_; LOUISE _withdraws toward the right_.
MASTER. [_At the telephone_] Is that you? The cheek of it--to
break off our talk in order to listen!--To-morrow, then, at
six-fifteen.--Thank you, and the same to you!--Yes, I will,
indeed!--Good night, mother! [_He rings off_.
LOUISE _has disappeared_. GERDA _is standing in the middle of
the floor_.
MASTER. [_Turns around and catches sight of_ GERDA, _whom he gradually
recognises; then he puts his hand to his heart_] O Lord, was that you?
Wasn't Louise here a moment ago?
GERDA _remains silent_.
MASTER. [_Feebly_] How--how did you get here?
GERDA. I hope you pardon--I just got to the city--I was passing by and
felt a longing to have a look at my old home--the windows were open----
[_Pause_.
MASTER. Do you find things as they used to be?
GERDA. Exactly, and yet different--there is a difference
MASTER. [_Feeling unhappy_] Are you satisfied--with your life?
GERDA. Yes. I have what I was looking for.
MASTER. And the child?
GERDA. Oh, she's growing, and thriving, and lacks nothing.
MASTER. Then I won't ask anything more. [_Pause_] Did you want
anything--of me--can I be of any service?
GERDA. It's very kind of you, but--I need nothing at all now when I
have seen that you lack nothing either. [_Pause]_ Do you wish to see
Anne-Charlotte?
MASTER. I don't think so, now when I have heard that she is doing well.
It's so hard to begin over again. It's like having to repeat a lesson
at school--which you know already, although the teacher doesn't think
so--I have got so far away from all that--I live in a wholly different
region--and I cannot connect with the past. It goes against me to be
impolite, but I am not asking you to be seated--you are another man's
wife--and you are not the same person as the one from whom I parted.
GERDA. Am I then so--altered?
MASTER. Quite strange to me! Your voice, glance, manner----
GERDA. Have I grown old?
MASTER. That I cannot tell!--They say that not a single atom in a
person's body remains wholly the same after three years--and in five
years everything is renewed. And for that reason you, who stand over
there, are not the same person as the sufferer who once sat here--you
seem such a complete stranger to me that I can only address you in the
most formal way. And I suppose it would be just the same in the case of
my daughter, too.
GERDA. Don't speak like that. I would much rather have you angry.
MASTER. Why should I be angry?
GERDA. Because of all the evil I have done you.
MASTER. Have you? That's more than I know.
GERDA. Didn't you read the papers in the suit?
MASTER. No-o! I left that to my lawyer. [_He sits down_.
GERDA. And the decision of the court?
MASTER. No, why should I? As I don't mean to marry again, I have no use
for that kind of documents.
_Pause_. GERDA _seats herself_.
MASTER. What did those papers say? That I was too old?
GERDA'S _silence indicates assent_.
MASTER. Well, that was nothing but the truth, so that need not trouble
you. In my answer I said the very same thing and asked the Court to set
you free again.
GERDA. You said, that----
MASTER. I said, not that I _was_, but that I was about to _become_ too
old _for you_!
GERDA. [_Offended_] For me?
MASTER. Yes.--I couldn't say that I was too old when we married, for
then the arrival of the child would have been unpleasantly explained,
and it was _our_ child, was it not?
GERDA. You know that, of course! But----
MASTER. Do you think I should be ashamed of my age?--Of course, if
I took to dancing and playing cards at night, then I might soon land
in an invalid's chair, or on the operating-table, and that would be a
shame.
GERDA. You don't look it----
MASTER. Did you expect the divorce to kill me?
_The silence of_ GERDA _is ambiguous_.
MASTER. There are those who assert that you _have_ killed me. Do you
think I look like a dead man?
GERDA _appears embarrassed_.
MASTER. Some of your friends are said to have caricatured me in the
papers, but I have never seen anything of it, and those papers went
into the dump five years ago. So there is no need for your conscience
to be troubled on my behalf.
GERDA. Why did you marry me?
MASTER. Don't you know why a man marries? And you know, too, that I
didn't have to go begging for love. And you ought to remember how
we laughed together at all the wiseacres who felt compelled to warn
you.--But why you led me on is something I have never been able to
explain--When you didn't look at me after the marriage ceremony, but
acted as if you had been attending somebody else's wedding, then I
thought you had made a bet that you could kill me. As the head of the
department, I was, of course, hated by all my subordinates, but they
became your friends at once. No sooner did I make an enemy than he
became _your_ friend. Which caused me to remark that, while it was
right for you not to hate your enemies, it was also right that you
shouldn't _love_ mine!--However, seeing where you stood, I began to
prepare for a retreat at once, but before leaving I wanted a living
proof that you had not been telling the truth, and so I stayed until
the little one arrived.
GERDA. To think that you could be so disingenuous!
MASTER. I learned to keep silent, but I never lied!--By degrees you
turned all my friends into detectives, and you lured my own brother
into betraying me. But worst of all was that your thoughtless chatter
threw suspicions on the legitimacy of the child.
GERDA. All that I took back!
MASTER. The word that's on the wing cannot be pulled back again. And
worse still: those false rumours reached the child, and now she thinks
her mother a----
GERDA. For Heaven's sake!
MASTER. Well, that's the truth of it. You raised a tall tower on a
foundation of lies, and now the tower of lies is tumbling down on your
head.
GERDA. It isn't true!
MASTER. Yes, it is! I met Anne-Charlotte a few minutes ago----
GERDA. You have met----
MASTER. We met on the stairs, and she said I was her uncle. Do you
know what an uncle is? That's an elderly friend of the house and the
mother. And I know that at school I am also passing as her uncle.--But
all that is dreadful for the child!
GERDA. You have met----
MASTER. Yes. But why should I tell anybody about it? Haven't I a right
to keep silent? And, besides, that meeting was so shocking to me that I
wiped it out of my memory as if it had never existed.
GERDA. What can I do to rehabilitate you?
MASTER. You? What could you do? That's something I can only do myself.
[_For a long time they gaze intently at each other_] And for that
matter, I have already got my rehabilitation. [_Pause_.
GERDA. Can't I make good in some way? Can't I ask you to forgive, to
forget----
MASTER. What do you mean?
GERDA. To restore, to repair----
MASTER. Do you mean to resume, to start over again, to reinstate a
master above me? No, thanks! I don't want you.
GERDA. And this I had to hear!
MASTER. Well, how does it taste? [_Pause_.
GERDA. That's a pretty centrepiece.
MASTER. Yes, it's pretty.
GERDA. Where did you get it? [_Pause_.
LOUISE _appears in the door to the pantry with a bill in her
hand_.
MASTER. [_Turning toward her_] Is it a bill?
GERDA _rises and begins to pull on her gloves with such violence that
buttons are scattered right and left_.
MASTER. [_Taking out the money_] Eighteen-seventy-two. That's just
right.
LOUISE. I should like to see you a moment, sir.
MASTER. [_Rises and goes to the door, where_ LOUISE _whispers something
into his ear_] Oh, mercy----
LOUISE _goes out_.
MASTER. I am sorry for you, Gerda!
GERDA. What do you mean? That I am jealous of your servant-girl?
MASTER. No, I didn't mean that.
GERDA. Yes, you meant that you were too old for me, but not for her.
I catch the insulting point--She's pretty--I don't deny it--for a
servant-girl----
MASTER. I am sorry for you, Gerda!
GERDA. Why do you say that?
MASTER. Because you are to be pitied. Jealous of my servant--that ought
to be rehabilitation enough.
GERDA. Jealous, I----
MASTER. Why do you fly in a rage at my nice, gentle kinswoman?
GERDA. "A little more than kin."
MASTER. No, my dear, I have long ago resigned myself--and I am
satisfied with my solitude--[_The telephone rings, and he goes to
answer it_] Mr. Fischer? No, that isn't here.--Oh, yes, that's me.--Has
he skipped?--With whom, do you say?--with Starck's daughter! Oh, good
Lord! How old is she?--Eighteen! A mere child! [_Rings off_.
GERDA. I knew he had run away.--But with a woman!--Now you're pleased.
MASTER. No, I am not pleased. Although there is a sort of solace to my
mind in finding justice exists in this world. Life is very quick in its
movements, and now you find yourself where I was.
GERDA. Her eighteen years against my twenty-nine--I am old--too old for
him!
MASTER. Everything is relative, even age.--But now let us get at
something else. Where is your child?
GERDA. My child? I had forgotten it! My child! My God! Help me! He
has taken the child with him. He loves Anne-Charlotte as his own
daughter--Come with me to the police--come!
MASTER. I? Now you ask too much.
GERDA. Help me!
MASTER. [_Goes to the door at the right_] Come, Carl Frederick--get a
cab--take Gerda down to the police station--won't you?
CONSUL. [_Enters_] Of course I will! We are human, are we not?
MASTER. Quick! But say nothing to Starck. Matters may be straightened
out yet--Poor fellow--and I am sorry for Gerda, too!--Hurry up now!
GERDA. [_Looking out through the window_] It's beginning to rain--lend
me an umbrella. Eighteen years--only eighteen--quick, now!
_She goes out with the_ CONSUL.
MASTER. [_Alone_] The peace of old age!--And my child in the hands of
an adventurer!--Louise!
LOUISE _enters_.
MASTER. Come and play chess with me.
LOUISE. Has the consul----
MASTER. He has gone out on some business. Is it still raining?
LOUISE. No, it has stopped now.
MASTER. Then I'll go out and cool off a little. [_Pause_] You are a
nice girl, and sensible--did you know the confectioner's daughter?
LOUISE. Very slightly.
MASTER. Is she pretty?
LOUISE. Ye-es.
MASTER. Have you known the people above us?
LOUISE. I have never seen them.
MASTER. That's an evasion.
LOUISE. I have learned to keep silent in this house.
MASTER. I am forced to admit that pretended deafness can be carried to
the point where it becomes dangerous.--Well, get the tea ready while I
go outside and cool off a little. And, one thing, please--you see what
is happening, of course--but don't ask me any questions.
LOUISE. I? No, sir, I am not at all curious.
MASTER. I am thankful for that!
_Curtain_.
THIRD SCENE
_The front of the house as in the First Scene. There is light
in the confectioner's place in the basement. The gas is also
lit on the second floor, where now the shades are raised and
the windows open_.
STARCK _is sitting near the gateway_.
MASTER. [_Seated on the green bench_] That was a nice little shower we
had.
STARCK. Quite a blessing! Now the raspberries will be coming in
again----
MASTER. Then I'll ask you to put aside a few jars for us. We have grown
tired of making the jam ourselves. It only gets spoiled.
STARCK. Yes, I know. Jars of jam are like mischievous children: you
have to watch them all the time. There are people who put in salicylic
acid, but those are newfangled tricks in which I take no stock.
MASTER. Salicylic acid--yes, they say it's antiseptic--and perhaps it's
a good thing.
STARCK. Yes, but you can taste it--and it's a trick.
MASTER. Tell me, Mr. Starck, have you got a telephone?
STARCK. No, I have no telephone.
MASTER. Oh!
STARCK. Why do you ask?
MASTER. Oh, I happened to think--a telephone is handy at times--for
orders--and important communications----
STARCK. That may be. But sometimes it is just as well to
escape--communications.
MASTER. Quite right! Quite right!--Yes, my heart always beats a little
faster when I hear it ring--one never knows what one is going to
hear--and I want peace--peace, above all else.
STARCK. So do I.
MASTER. [_Looking at his watch_] The lamplighter ought to be here soon.
STARCK. He must have forgotten us, for I see that the lamps are already
lit further down the avenue.
MASTER. Then he'll be here soon. It will be a lot of fun to see our
lamp lighted again.
_The telephone in the dining-room rings_. LOUISE _comes in to
answer the call. The_ MASTER _rises and puts one hand up to his
heart. He tries to listen, but the public cannot hear anything
of what is said within. Pause. After a while_ LOUISE _comes out
by way of the square_.
MASTER. [_Anxiously_] What news?
LOUISE. No change.
MASTER. Was that my brother?
LOUISE. No, it was the lady.
MASTER. What did she want?
LOUISE. To speak to you, sir.
MASTER. I don't want to!--Have I to console my executioner? I used to
do it, but now I am tired of it.--Look up there! They have forgotten
to turn out the light--and light makes empty rooms more dreadful than
darkness--the ghosts become visible. [_In a lowered voice_] And how
about Starck's Agnes? Do you think he knows anything?
LOUISE. It's hard to tell, for he never speaks about his sorrows--nor
does anybody else in the Silent House!
MASTER. Do you think he should be told?
LOUISE. For Heaven's sake, no!
MASTER. But I fear it isn't the first time she gave him trouble.
LOUISE. He never speaks of her.
MASTER. It's horrible! I wonder if we'll get to the end of it soon?
[_The telephone rings again_] Now it's ringing again. Don't answer. I
don't want to hear anything.--My child--in such company! An adventurer
and a strumpet!--It's beyond limit!--Poor Gerda!
LOUISE. It's better to have certainty. I'll go in--You must do
something!
MASTER. I cannot move--I can receive blows, but to strike back--no!
LOUISE. But if you don't repel a danger, it will press closer; and if
you don't resist, you'll be destroyed.
MASTER. But if you refuse to be drawn in, you become unassailable.