A STREET CORNER
[The same as Scene I. The STRANGER is sitting on the seat beneath the
tree, drawing in the sand.]
LADY (entering). What are you doing?
STRANGER. Writing in the sand... still.
LADY. Can you hear singing?
STRANGER (pointing to the church). Yes. But from there! I've been unjust
to someone, unwittingly.
LADY. I think our wanderings must be over, now we've come back here.
STRANGER. Where we began... at the street corner, between the inn,
the church and the post office. By the way... isn't there a registered
letter for me there, that I never fetched?
LADY. Yes. Because there was nothing but unpleasantness in it.
STRANGER. Or legal matters. (Striking his forehead.) Then that's the
explanation.
LADY. Fetch it then. In the belief that what it contains is good.
STRANGER (ironically). Good!
LADY. Believe it. Imagine it!
STRANGER (going to the post office). I'll make the attempt.
(The LADY waits on the pavement. The STRANGER comes back with a letter.)
LADY. Well?
STRANGER. I feel ashamed of myself. It's the money.
LADY. You see! All these sufferings, all these tears... in vain!
STRANGER. Not in vain! It looks like spite, what happens here, but it's
not that. I wronged the Invisible when I mistook...
LADY. Enough! No accusations.
STRANGER. No. It was my own stupidity or wickedness. I didn't want to be
made a fool of by life. That's why I was! It was the elves...
LADY. Who made the change in you. Come. Let's go.
STRANGER. And hide ourselves and our misery in the mountains.
LADY. Yes. The mountains will hide us! (Pause.) But first I must go and
light a candle to my good Saint Elizabeth. Come. (The STRANGER shakes
his head.) Come!
STRANGER. Very well. I'll go through that way. But I can't stay.
LADY. How can you tell? Come. In there you shall hear new songs.
(The STRANGER follows her to the door of the church.)
STRANGER. It may be!
LADY. Come!
THE END.
PART II
CHARACTERS
THE STRANGER
THE LADY
THE MOTHER
THE FATHER
THE CONFESSOR
THE DOCTOR
CAESAR
less important figures
MAID
PROFESSOR
RAGGED PERSON
ANOTHER RAGGED PERSON
FIRST WOMAN
SECOND WOMAN
WAITRESS
POLICEMAN
SCENES
ACT I Outside the House
ACT II SCENE I Laboratory
SCENE II The 'Rose' Room
ACT III SCENE I The Banqueting Hall
SCENE II A Prison Cell
SCENE III The 'Rose' Room
ACT IV SCENE I The Banqueting Hall
SCENE II In a Ravine
SCENE III The 'Rose' Room
ACT I
OUTSIDE THE HOUSE
[On the right a terrace, on which the house stands. Below it a road runs
towards the back, where there is a thick pine wood with heights beyond,
whose outlines intersect. On the left there is a suggestion of a river
bank, but the river itself cannot be seen. The house is white and has
small, mullioned windows with iron bars. On the wall vines and climbing
roses. In front of the house, on the terrace, a well; at the end of the
terrace pumpkin plants, whose large yellow flowers hang dozen over the
edge. Fruit trees are planted along the road, and a memorial cross can
be seen erected at a spot where an accident occurred. Steps lead
down from the terrace to the road, and there are flower-pots on the
balustrade. In front of the steps there is a seat. The road reaches the
foreground from the right, curving past the terrace, which projects like
a promontory, and then loses itself in the background. Strong sunlight
from the left. The MOTHER is sitting on the seat below the steps. The
DOMINICAN is standing in front of her.]
DOMINICAN [Note: The same character as the CONFESSOR and BEGGAR.]. You
called me to discuss a family matter of importance to you. Tell me what
it is.
MOTHER. Father, life has treated me hardly. I don't know what I've done
to be so frowned upon by Providence.
DOMINICAN. It's a mark of favour to be tried by the Eternal One, and
triumph awaits the steadfast.
MOTHER. That's what I've often said to myself; but there are limits to
the suffering one can bear....
DOMINICAN. There are no limits. Suff'ering's as boundless as grace.
MOTHER. First my husband leaves me for another woman.
DOMINICAN. Then let him go. He'll come crawling back again on his bare
knees!
MOTHER. And as you know, Father, my only daughter was married to
a doctor. But she left him and came home with a stranger, whom she
presented to me as her new husband.
DOMINICAN. That's not easy to understand. Divorce isn't recognised by
our religion.
MOTHER. No. But they'd crossed the frontier, to a land where there are
other laws. He's an Old Catholic, and he found a priest to marry them.
DOMINICAN. That's no real marriage, and can't be dissolved because it
never existed. But it can be nullified. Who is your present son-in-law?
MOTHER. Truly, I wish I knew! One thing I do know, and that's enough to
fill my cup of sorrow. He's been divorced and his wife and children live
in wretched circumstances.
DOMINICAN. A difficult case. But we'll find a way to put it right. What
does he do?
MOTHER. He's a writer; said to be famous at home.
DOMINICAN. Godless, too, I suppose?
MOTHER. Yes. At least he used to be; but since his second marriage he's
not known a happy hour. Fate, as he calls it, seized him with an iron
hand and drove him here in the shape of a ragged beggar. Ill-fortune
struck him blow after blow, so that I pitied him at the very moment he
fled from here. Then he wandered in the woods and, later, lay out in the
fields where he fell, till he was found by merciful folk and taken to a
convent. There he lay ill for three months, without our knowing where he
was.
DOMINICAN. Wait! Last year a man was brought to the Convent of St.
Saviour, where I'm Confessor, under the circumstances you describe.
Whilst he was feverish he opened his heart to me, and there was scarcely
a sin of which he didn't confess his guilt. But when he came to himself
again, he said he remembered nothing. So to prove him in heart and reins
I used the secret apostolic powers that are given us; and, as a trial,
employed the lesser curse. For when a crime's been done in secret, the
curse of Deuteronomy is read over the suspected man. If he's innocent,
he goes his way unscathed. But if he's struck by it, then, as Paul
relates, 'he is delivered unto Satan for the destruction of the flesh,
that his spirit may be saved.'
MOTHER. O God! It must be he!
DOMINICAN. Yes, it is he. Your son-in-law! The ways of Providence are
inscrutable. Was he heavily struck by the curse?
MOTHER. Yes. That night he slept here, and was torn from his sleep by an
unexplained power that, as he told me, turned his heart to ice....
DOMINICAN. Did he have fearful visions?
MOTHER. Yes.
DOMINICAN. And was he harried by those terrible thoughts, of which Job
says, 'When I say, my bed shall comfort me, then Thou scarest me
with dreams and terrifiest me with visions; so that my soul chooseth
strangling, and death rather than life.' That's as it should be. Did it
open his eyes?
MOTHER. Yes. But only so that his sight was blinded. For his sufferings
grew so great that he could no longer find a natural explanation for
them, and as no doctor could cure him, he began to see that he was
fighting higher conscious powers.
DOMINICAN. Powers that meant him ill, and were therefore themselves
evil. That's the usual course of things. And then?
MOTHER. He came upon books that taught him that such evil powers could
be fought.
DOMINICAN. Oh! So he looked for what's hidden, and should remain so! Did
he succeed in exorcising the spirits that chastised him?
MOTHER. He says he did. And it seems now that he can sleep again.
DOMINICAN. Yes, and he believes what he says. Yet, since he hasn't truly
accepted the love of truth, God will trouble him with great delusion, so
that he'll believe what is false.
MOTHER. The fault's his own. But he's changed my daughter: in other days
she was neither hot nor cold; but now she's on the way to becoming evil.
DOMINICAN. How do the two of them get on?
MOTHER. Half the time, happily; the other half they plague one another
like devils.
DOMINICAN. That's the way they must go. Plague one another till they
come to the Cross.
MOTHER. If they don't part again.
DOMINICAN. What? Have they done so?
MOTHER. They've left one another four times, but have always come back.
It seems as if they're chained together. It would be a good thing if
they were, for a child's on the way.
DOMINICAN. Let the child come. Children bring gifts that are refreshing
to tired souls.
MOTHER. I hope it may be so. But it looks as if this one will be an
apple of discord. They're already quarrelling over its name; they're
quarrelling over its baptism; and the mother's already jealous of her
husband's children by his first wife. He can't promise to love this
child as much as the others, and the mother absolutely insists that he
shall! So there's no end to their miseries.
DOMINICAN. Oh yes, there is. Wait! He's had dealings with higher powers,
so that we've gained a hold on him; and our prayers will be more,
powerful than his resistance. Their effect is as extraordinary as it
is mysterious. (The STRANGER appears on the terrace. He is in hunting
costume and wears a tropical helmet. In his hand he has an alpenstock.)
Is that him, up there?
MOTHER. Yes. That's my present son-in-law.
DOMINICAN. Singularly like the first! But watch how he's behaving. He
hasn't seen me yet, but he feels I'm here. (He makes the sign of the
cross in the air.) Look how troubled he grows.... Now he stiffens like
an icicle. See! In a moment he'll cry out.
STRANGER (who has suddenly stopped, grown rigid, and clutched his
heart). Who's down there?
MOTHER. I am.
STRANGER. You're not alone.
MOTHER. No. I've someone with me.
DOMINICAN (making the sign of the cross). Now he'll say nothing; but
fall like a felled tree. (The STRANGER crumples up and falls to the
ground.) Now I shall go. It would be too much for him if he were to see
me, But I'll come back soon. You'll see, he's in good hands! Farewell
and peace be with you. (He goes out.)
STRANGER (raising himself and coming down the steps). Who was that?
MOTHER. A traveller. Sit down; you look so pale.
STRANGER. It was a fainting fit.
MOTHER. You've always new names for it; but they mean nothing fresh. Sit
down here, on the seat.
STRANGER. No; I don't like sitting there. People are always passing.
MOTHER. Yet I've been sitting here since I was a child, watching life
glide past as the river does below. Here, on the road, I've watched the
children of men go by, playing, haggling, begging, cursing and dancing.
I love this seat and I love the river below, though it does much damage
every year and washes away the property we inherited. Last spring it
carried our whole hay crop off, so that we had to sell our beasts. The
property's lost half its value in the last few years, and when the lake
in the mountains has reached its new level and the swamp's been drained
into the river, the water will rise till it washes the house away. We've
been at law about it for ten years, and we've lost every appeal; so we
shall be destroyed. It's as inevitable as fate.
STRANGER. Fate's not inevitable.
MOTHER. Beware, if you think to fight it.
STRANGER. I've done so already.
MOTHER. There you go again! You learn nothing from the chastisement of
Providence.
STRANGER. Oh yes. I've learned to hate. Can one love what does evil?
MOTHER. I've little learning, as you know; but I read yesterday in an
encyclopaedia that the Eumenides are not evilly disposed.
STRANGER. That's true; but it's a lie they're friendly. I only know one
friendly fury. My own!
MOTHER. Can you call Ingeborg a fury?
STRANGER. Yes. She is one; and as a fury, she's remarkable. Her talent
for making me suffer excels my most infernal inventions; and if I escape
from her hands with my life, I'll come out of the fire as pure as gold.
MOTHER. You've got what you deserve. You wanted to mould her as you
wished, and you've succeeded.
STRANGER. Completely. But where is this fury?
MOTHER. She went down the road a few minutes ago.
STRANGER. Down there? Then I'll go to meet my own destruction. (He goes
towards the back.)
MOTHER. So you can still joke about it? Wait! (The MOTHER is left alone
for a moment, until the STRANGER has disappeared. The LADY then enters
from the right. She is wearing a summer frock, and is carrying a post
bag and some opened letters in her hand.)
LADY. Are you alone, Mother?
MOTHER. I've just been left alone.
LADY. Here's the post. This is for job.
MOTHER. What? Do you open his letters?
LADY. All of them, because I want to know who it is I've linked my life
to. And I want to suppress everything that might minister to his pride.
In a word, I isolate him, so that he has to keep his own electricity and
run the danger of being broken to pieces.
MOTHER. How learned you've grown?
LADY. Yes. If he's unwise enough to confide almost everything to me,
I'll soon hold his fate in my hand. Now, if you please, he's making
electrical experiments and claims he'll be able to harness the
lightning, so that it'll give him light, warmth and power. Well, let
him do as he likes! From a letter that came to-day I see he's even
corresponding with alchemists.
MOTHER. Does he want to make gold? Is the man sane?
LADY. That's the important question. Whether he's a charlatan doesn't
matter so much.
MOTHER. Do you suspect it?
LADY. I'd believe any evil of him, and any good, on the same day.
MOTHER. Is there any other news?
LADY. The plans my divorced husband made for a new marriage have gone
wrong; he's grown melancholic, abandoned his practice and is tramping
the roads.
MOTHER. Oh! He was always my son-in-law. He had a kind heart under his
rough manner.
LADY. Yes. I only called him a werewolf in his role as my husband
and master. As long as I knew he was at peace, and on the way to
find consolation, I was content. But now he'll torment me like a bad
conscience.
MOTHER. Have you a conscience?
LADY. I never used to have one. But my eyes have been opened since I
read my husband's works, and I know the difference between good and
evil.
MOTHER. But he forbade you to read them, and never foresaw you wouldn't
obey him.
LADY. Who can foresee all the results of any action?
MOTHER. Have you more bad news in your pocket, Pandora?
LADY. The worst of all! Think of it, Mother, his divorced wife's going
to marry again.
MOTHER. That ought to be reassuring, to you and to him.
LADY. Didn't you know it was his worst nightmare? That his wife would
marry again and his children have a stepfather?
MOTHER. If he can bear that alone, I shall think him a strange man.
LADY. You believe he's too sensitive? But didn't he say himself that
an educated man of the world at the end of the nineteenth century never
lets himself be put out of countenance!
MOTHER. It's easy to say so; but when things really happen....
LADY. Yet there was a gift at the bottom of Pandora's box that was no
misfortune. Look, Mother! A portrait of his six-year-old son.
MOTHER (looking at the picture). A lovely child.
LADY. It does one good to see such a charming and expressive picture.
Tell me, do you think my child will be as beautiful? Well, what do you
say? Answer, or I'll be unhappy! I love this boy already, but I feel I'd
hate him if my child's not as lovely as he. Yes, I'm jealous already.
MOTHER. When you came here after your unlucky honeymoon, I'd hoped you'd
have got over the worst. But now I see it was only a foretaste of what
was to come.
LADY. I'm ready for anything; and I don't think this knot can ever be
undone. It must be cut!
MOTHER. But you're only making more difficulties for yourself by
suppressing his letters.
LADY. In days gone by, when I went through life like a sleep-walker,
everything seemed easy to me, but I begin to be uncertain now he's
started to waken thoughts in me. (She puts the letters into the
post-bag.) Here he is. 'Sh!
MOTHER. One thing more. Why do you let him wear that suit of your first
husband's?
LADY. I like torturing and humiliating him. I've persuaded him it fits
him and belonged to my father. Now, when I see him in the werewolf's
things, I feel I've got both of them in my clutches.
MOTHER. Heaven defend us! How spiteful you've grown!
LADY. Perhaps that was my role, if I have one in this man's life!
MOTHER. I sometimes wish the river would rise and carry us all away
whilst we're asleep at night. If it were to flow here for a thousand
years perhaps it would wash out the sin on which this house is built.
LADY. Then it's true that my grandfather, the notary, illegally seized
property not his own? It's said this place was built with the heritage
of widows and orphans, the funds of ruined men, the property of dead
ones and the bribes of litigants.
MOTHER. Don't speak of it any more. The tears of those still living have
run together and formed a lake. And it's that lake, people say, that's
being drained now, and that'll cause the river to wash us away.
LADY. Can't it be stopped by taking legal action? Is there no justice on
earth?
MOTHER. Not on earth. But there is in heaven. And heaven will drown us,
for we're the children of evildoers. (She goes up the steps.)
LADY. Isn't it enough to put up with one's own tears? Must one inherit
other people's?
(The STRANGER comes back.)
STRANGER. Did you call me?
LADY. No. I only tried to draw you to me, without really wanting you.
STRANGER. I felt you meddling with my destiny in a way that made me
uneasy. Soon you'll have learnt all I know.
LADY. And more.
STRANGER. But I must ask you not to lay rough hands on my fate. I am
Cain, you see, and am under the ban of mysterious powers, who permit no
mortals to interfere with their work of vengeance. You see this mark
on my brow? (He removes his hat.) It means: Revenge is mine, saith the
Lord.
LADY. Does your hat press....
STRANGER. No. It chafes me. And so does the coat. If it weren't that I
wanted to please you, I'd have thrown them all into the river. When
I walk here in the neighbourhood, do you know that people call me
the doctor? They must take me for your husband, the werewolf. And I'm
unlucky. If I ask who planted some tree: they say, the doctor. If I ask
to whom the green fish basket belongs: they say, the doctor. And if it
isn't his then it belongs to the doctor's wife. That is, to you! This
confusion between him and me makes my visit unbearable. I'd like to go
away....
LADY. Haven't you tried in vain to leave this place six times?
STRANGER. Yes. But the seventh, I'll succeed.
LADY. Then try!
STRANGER. You say that as if you were convinced I'd fail.
LADY. I am.
STRANGER. Plague me in some other way, dear fury.
LADY. Well, I can.
STRANGER. A new way! Try to say something ill-natured that 'the other
one's' not said already.
LADY. Your first wife's 'the other one.' How tactful to remind me of
her.
STRANGER. Everything that lives and moves, everything that's dead and
cold, reminds me of what's gone....
LADY. Until the being comes, who can wipe out the darkness of the past
and bring light.
STRANGER. You mean the child we're expecting!
LADY. Our child!
STRANGER. Do you love it?
LADY. I began to to-day.
STRANGER. To-day? Why, what's happened? Five months ago you wanted to
run off to the lawyers and divorce me; because I wouldn't take you to a
quack who'd kill your unborn child.
LADY. That was some time ago. Things have changed now.
STRANGER. Why now? (He looks round as if expecting something.) Now? Has
the post come?
LADY. You're still more cunning than I am. But the pupil will outstrip
the master.
STRANGER. Were there any letters for me?
LADY. No.
STRANGER. Then give me the wrapper?
LADY. What made you guess?
STRANGER. Give the wrapper, if your conscience can make such fine
distinctions between it and the letter.
LADY (picking up the letter-bag, which she has hidden behind the seat).
Look at this! (The STRANGER takes the photograph, looks at it carefully,
and puts it in his breast-pocket.) What was it?
STRANGER. The past.
LADY. Was it beautiful?
STRANGER. Yes. More beautiful than the future can ever be.
LADY (darkly). You shouldn't have said that.
STRANGER. No, I admit it. And I'm sorry....
LADY. Tell me, are you capable of suffering?
STRANGER. Now, I suffer twice; because I feel when you're suffering. And
if I wound you in self-defence, it's I who gets fever from the wound.
LADY. That means you're at my mercy?
STRANGER. No. Less now than ever, because you're protected by the
innocent being you carry beneath your heart.
LADY. He shall be my avenger.
STRANGER. Or mine!
LADY (tearfully). Poor little thing. Conceived in sin and shame, and
born to avenge by hate.
STRANGER. It's a long time since I've heard you speak like that.
LADY. I dare say.
STRANGER. That was the voice that first drew me to you; it was like that
of a mother speaking to her child.
LADY. When you say 'mother' I feel I can only believe good of you; but
a moment after I say to myself: it's only one more of your ways of
deceiving me.
STRANGER. What ill have I ever really done you? (The LADY is uncertain
what to reply.) Answer me. What ill have I done you?
LADY. I don't know.
STRANGER. Then invent something. Say to me: I hate you, because I can't
deceive you.
LADY. Can't I? Oh, I'm sorry for you.
STRANGER. You must have poison in the pocket of your dress.
LADY. Well, I have!
STRANGER. What can it be? (Pause.) Who's that coming down the road?
LADY. A harbinger.
STRANGER. Is it a man, or a spectre?
LADY. A spectre from the past.
STRANGER. He's wearing a black coat and a laurel crown. But his feet are
bare.
LADY. It's Caesar.
STRANGER (confused). Caesar? That was my nickname at school.
LADY. Yes. But it's also the name of the madman whom my... first husband
used to look after. Forgive me speaking of him like that.
STRANGER. Has this madman got away?
LADY. It looks like it, doesn't it?
(CAESAR comes in from the back; he wears a black frock coat and is
without a collar; he has a laurel crown on his head and his feet are
bare. His general appearance is bizarre.)
CAESAR. Why don't you greet me? You ought to say: Ave, Caesar! For now
I'm the master. The werewolf, you must know, has gone out of his mind
since the Great Man went off with his wife, whom he himself snatched
from her first lover, or bridegroom, or whatever you call him.
STRANGER (to the LADY). That was strychnine for two adults! (To CAESAR)
Where's your master now--or your slave, or doctor, or warder?
CAESAR. He'll be here soon. But you needn't be frightened of him. He
won't use daggers or poison. He only has to show himself, for all living
things to fly from him; for trees to drop their leaves, and the very
dust of the highway to run before him in a whirlwind like the pillar of
cloud before the Children of Israel....
STRANGER. Listen....
CAESAR. Quiet, whilst I'm speaking.... Sometimes he believes himself to
be a werewolf, and says he'd like to eat a little child that's not yet
born, and that's really his according to the right of priority.... (He
goes on his way.)
LADY (to the STRANGER). Can you exorcise this demon?
STRANGER. I can do nothing against devils who brave the sunshine.
LADY. Yesterday you made an arrogant remark, and now you shall have it
back. You said it wasn't fair for invisible ones to creep in by night
and strike in the darkness, they should come by day when the sun's
shining. Now they've come!
STRANGER. And that pleases you!
LADY. Yes. Almost.
STRANGER. What a pity it gives me no pleasure when it's you who's
struck! Let's sit down on the seat--the bench for the accused. For more
are coming.
LADY. I'd rather we went.
STRANGER. No, I want to see how much I can bear. You see, at every
stroke of the lash I feel as if a debit entry had been erased from my
ledger.
LADY. But I can stand no more. Look, there he comes himself. Heavens!
This man, whom I once thought I loved!
STRANGER. Thought? Yes, because everything's merely delusion. And that
means a great deal. You go! I'll take the duty on myself of confronting
him alone.
(The LADY goes up the steps, but does not reach the toy before the
DOCTOR becomes visible at the back of the stage. The DOCTOR comes in,
his grey hair long and unkempt. He is wearing a tropical helmet and a
hunting coat, which are exactly similar to the clothes of the STRANGER.
He behaves as though he doesn't notice the STRANGER'S presence, and sits
down on a stone on the other side of the road, opposite the STRANGER,
who is sitting on the seat. He takes of his hat and mops the sweat from
his brow. The STRANGER grows impatient.) What do you want?
DOCTOR. Only to see this house again, where my happiness once dwelt and
my roses blossomed....
STRANGER. An intelligent man of the world would have chosen a time when
the present inhabitants of the house were away for a short while; even
on his own account, so as not to make himself ridiculous.
DOCTOR. Ridiculous? I'd like to know which of us two's the more
ridiculous?
STRANGER. For the moment, I suppose I am.
DOCTOR. Yes. But I don't think you know the whole extent of your
wretchedness.
STRANGER. What do you mean?
DOCTOR. That you want to possess what I used to possess.
STRANGER. Well, go on.
DOCTOR. Have you noticed that we're wearing similar clothes? Good! Do
you know the reason? It's this: you're wearing the things I forgot to
fetch when the catastrophe took place. No intelligent man of the world
at the end of the nineteenth century would ever put himself into such a
position.
STRANGER (throwing down his hat and coat). Curse the woman!
DOCTOR. You needn't complain. Cast-off male attire has always been fatal
ever since the celebrated shirt of Nessus. Go in now and change. I'll
sit out here and watch, and listen, how you settle the matter alone with
that accursed woman. Don't forget your stick! (The LADY, who is hurrying
towards the house, trips in front of the steps. The STRANGER stays where
he is in embarrassment.) The stick! The stick!
STRANGER. I don't ask mercy for the woman's sake, but for the child's.
DOCTOR (wildly). So there's a child, too. Our house, our roses, our
clothes, the bed-clothes not forgotten, and now our child! I'm within
your doors, I sit at your table, I lie in your bed; I exist in your
blood; in your lungs, in your brain; I am everywhere and yet you can't
get hold of me. When the pendulum strikes the hour of midnight, I'll
blow cold, on your heart, so that it stops like a clock that's run down.
When you sit at your work, I shall come with a poppy, invisible to you,
that will put your thoughts to sleep, and confuse your mind, so that
you'll see visions you can't distinguish from reality. I shall lie like
a stone in your path, so that you stumble; I shall be the thorn that
pricks your hand when you go to pluck the rose. My soul shall spin
itself about you like a spider's web; and I shall guide you like an ox
by means of the woman you stole from me. Your child shall be mine and
I shall speak through its mouth; you shall see my look in its eyes,
so that you'll thrust it from you like a foe. And now, beloved house,
farewell; farewell, 'rose' room--where no happiness shall dwell that I
could envy. (He goes out. The STRANGER has been sitting on the seat all
this time, without being able to answer, and has been listening as if he
were the accused.)
Curtain.
ACT II
SCENE I
LABORATORY
[A Garden Pavilion in rococo style with high windows. In the middle of
the room there is a large writing desk on which are various pieces of
chemical and physical apparatus. Two copper wires are suspended from the
ceiling to an electroscope that is standing on the middle of the table
and which is provided with a number of bells, intended to record the
tension of atmospheric electricity.]
[On the table to the left a large old-fashioned frictional electric
generating machine, with glass plates, brass conductors, and Leyden
battery. The stands are lacquered red and white. On the right a large
old-fashioned open fireplace with tripods, crucibles, pincers, bellows,
etc.]
[In the background a door with a view of the country beyond; it is dark
and cloudy weather, but the red rays of the sun occasionally shine
into the room. A brown cloak with a cape and hood is hanging up by the
fireplace; nearby a travelling bag and an alpenstock. The STRANGER and
the MOTHER are discovered together.]
STRANGER. Where is... Ingeborg?
MOTHER. You know that better than I.
STRANGER. With the lawyer, arranging a divorce....
MOTHER. Why?
STRANGER. I told you. No, it's so far-fetched, you'll think I'm lying to
you.
MOTHER. Well, tell me!
STRANGER. She wants a divorce, because I've refused to turn this man
out, although he's deranged. She says it's cowardly of me....
MOTHER. I don't believe it.
STRANGER. You see! You only believe what you wish; all the rest is lies.
Well, can you find it in accordance with your interests to believe that
she's been stealing my letters?
MOTHER. I know nothing of that.
STRANGER. I'm not asking you whether you know of it, but whether you
believe it.
MOTHER (changing the subject). What are you trying to do here?
STRANGER. I'm making experiments concerning atmospheric electricity.
MOTHER. And that's the lighting conductor, that you've connected to the
desk!
STRANGER. Yes. But there's no danger; for the bells would ring if there
were an atmospheric disturbance.
MOTHER. That's blasphemy and black magic. Take care! And what are you
doing there, in the fireplace?
STRANGER. Making gold.
MOTHER. You think it possible?
STRANGER. You take it for granted I'm a charlatan? I shan't blame you
for that; but don't judge too quickly. At any moment I expect to get a
sworn statement of analysis.
MOTHER. I dare say. But what are you going to do if Ingeborg doesn't
come back?
STRANGER. She will, this time. Later, perhaps, when the child's here,
she'll cut herself adrift.
MOTHER. You seem very sure.
STRANGER. Yes. As I said, I still am. So long as the bond's not broken
you can feel it. When it is, you'll feel that unpleasantly clearly, too.
MOTHER. But when you've parted from one another, you may yet both be
bound to the child. You can't tell in advance.
STRANGER. I've been providing against that by a great interest, that I
hope will fill my empty life.
MOTHER. You mean gold. And honour!
STRANGER. Precisely! For a man the most enduring of all illusions.
MOTHER. So you'd build on illusions?
STRANGER. On what else should I build, when everything's illusion?
MOTHER. If you ever awake from your dream, you'll find a reality of
which you've never been able to dream.
STRANGER. Then I'll wait till that happens.
MOTHER. Wait then. Now I'll go and shut the window, before the
thunderstorm breaks.
STRANGER (going towards the back of the stage). That's going to be
interesting. (A hunting horn is heard in the distance.) Who's sounding
that horn?
MOTHER. No one knows; and it means nothing good. (She goes out.)
STRANGER (busying himself with the electroscope, and turning his back on
the open window as he does so; then taking up a book and reading aloud.)
'When Adam's race of giants had increased enough for them to consider
their number sufficient to risk an attack on those above, they began
to build a tower that was to reach up to Heaven. Those above were then
seized with fear and, in order to protect themselves, broke up the
assembled multitude by so confusing their tongues and their minds that
two people who met could not understand one another, even if they spoke
the same language Since then, those above rule by discord: divide and
rule. And the discord is upheld by the belief that the truth has been
found; but when one of the prophets is believed, he is a lying prophet.
If on the other hand a mortal succeeds in penetrating the secret of
those above, no one believes him, and he is struck with madness so that
no one ever shall. Since then mortals have been more or less demented,
particularly those who are held to be wise, but madmen are in reality
the only wise men; for they can see, hear and feel the invisible,
the inaudible and the intangible, though they cannot relate their
experiences to others.' Thus Zohar, the wisest of all the books of
wisdom, and therefore one that no one believes. I shall build no tower
of Babel, but I shall tempt the Powers into my mousetrap, and send
them to the Powers below, the subterranean ones, so that they can be
neutralised. It is the higher Schedim, who have come between mortal
men and the Lord Zabaoth; and that is why joy, peace and happiness have
vanished from the earth.
LADY (coming back in despair, throwing herself down in front of the
STRANGER and putting her arms round his feet and her head on the
ground.) Help me! Help me! And forgive me.
STRANGER. Get up. In God's name! Get up. Don't do that. What's happened?
LADY. In my anger I've behaved foolishly. I've been caught in my own
net.
STRANGER (lifting her up). Stand up, foolish child; and tell me what's
happened.
LADY. I went to the public prosecutor.
STRANGER.... and asked for a divorce....
LADY.... that was my intention; but when I got there, I laid information
against the werewolf for a breach of the peace and attempted murder.
STRANGER. But he's guilty of neither!
LADY. No, but I laid the information all the same.... And when I was
there, he came himself to lay information against me for bearing false
witness. Then I went to the lawyer and he told me that I could expect
a sentence of at least a month. Think of it, my child will be born in
prison! How can I escape from that? Help me. You can. Speak!
STRANGER. Yes, I can help you. But, if I do, don't revenge yourself on
me afterwards.
LADY. How little you know me. But tell me quickly.
STRANGER. I must take the blame on myself, and say I sent you.
LADY. How generous you are! Am I rid of the whole business now?
STRANGER. Dry your eyes, my child, and take comfort. But tell me about
something else, that's nothing to do with this. Did you leave this purse
here? (The LADY is embarrassed.) Tell me!
LADY. Has such a thing ever happened before?
STRANGER. Yes. The 'other one' wanted to discover, in this way, whether
I stole. The first time it happened I wept, because I was still young
and innocent.
LADY. Oh no!
STRANGER. Now you seem to me the most wretched creature on earth.
LADY. Is that why you love me?
STRANGER. No. You've been stealing my letters, too! Answer, yes! And
that's why you wanted to prove me a thief with this purse.
LADY. What have you got there, on the table.
STRANGER. Lightning!
(There is a flash of lightning, but no thunder.)
LADY. Aren't you afraid?
STRANGER. Yes, sometimes; but not of what you fear.
(The contorted face of the DOCTOR appears outside the window.)
LADY. Is there a cat in the room? I feel uneasy.
STRANGER. I don't think so. Yet I too have a feeling that there's
someone here.
LADY (turning and seeing the DOCTOR's face; then screaming and hurrying
to the STRANGER for protection.) Oh! There he is!
STRANGER. Where? Who?
(The DOCTOR'S face disappears.)
LADY. There, at the window. It's he!
STRANGER. I can see no one. You must be wrong.
LADY. No, I saw him. The werewolf! Can't we be rid of him?
STRANGER. Yes, we could. But it'd be useless, because he has an immortal
soul, which is bound to yours.
LADY. If I'd only known that before!
STRANGER. It's surely in the Catechism.
LADY. Then let us die!
STRANGER. That was once my religion; but as I no longer believe that
death's the end, nothing remains but to bear everything--to fight, and
to suffer!
LADY. For how long must we suffer?
STRANGER. As long as he suffers and our consciences plague us.
LADY. Then we must try and justify ourselves to our consciences; find
excuses for our frivolous actions, and discover his weaknesses.
STRANGER. Well, you can try!
LADY. You say that! Since I've known he's unhappy I can see nothing but
his qualities, and you lose when I compare you with him.
STRANGER. See how well it's arranged! His sufferings sanctify him, but
mine make me abhorrent and laughable! We must face the immutable. We've
destroyed a soul, so we are murderers.
LADY. Who is to blame?
STRANGER. He who's so mismanaged the fate of men.
(There is a flash of lightning; the electric bells begin to ring.)
LADY. O God! What's that?
STRANGER. The answer.
LADY. Is there a lightning conductor here?
STRANGER. The priest of Baal wishes to coax the lightning from
heaven....
LADY. Now I'm frightened, frightened of you. You're terrifying.
STRANGER. You see!
LADY. Who are you to defy Heaven, and to dare to play with the destinies
of men?
STRANGER. Get up and collect your thoughts. Listen to me, believe me,
and pay me the respect that's my due; and I'll lift both of us high
above this frog pond, to which we've both descended. I'll breathe on
your sick conscience so that it heals like a wound. Who am I? A man who
has done what no one else has ever done; who will overthrow the Golden
Calf and upset the tables of the money-changers. I hold the fate of the
world in my crucible; and in a week I can make the richest of the rich
a poor man. Gold, the most false of all standards, has ceased to rule;
every man will now be as poor as his neighbour, and the children of men
will hurry about like ants whose heap has been disturbed.
LADY. What good will that be to us?
STRANGER. Do you think I'll make gold in order to enrich ourselves and
others? No. I'll do it to paralyse the present order, to disrupt it, as
you'll see! I am the destroyer, the dissolver, the world incendiary;
and when all lies in ashes, I shall wander hungrily through the heaps
of ruins, rejoicing at the thought that it is all my work: that I have
written the last page of world history, which can then be held to be
ended.
(The face of the DOMINICAN appears at the open window, without being
seen by those on the stage.)
LADY. Then that was the real meaning of your last book! It was no
invention!
STRANGER. No. But in order to write it, I had to link myself with the
self of another, who could take everything from me that fettered my
soul. So that my spirit could once more find a fiery blast, on which to
mount to the ether, elude the Powers, and reach the Throne, in order to
lay the lamentations of mankind at the feet of the Eternal One.... (The
DOMINICAN makes the sign of the cross in the air and disappears.) Who's
here? Who is the Terrible One who follows me and cripples my thoughts?
Did you see no one?
LADY. No. No one.
STRANGER. But I can feel his presence. (He puts his hand to his heart.)
Can't you hear, far, far away, someone saying a rosary?
LADY. Yes, I can hear it. But it's not the Angels' Greeting. It's the
Curse of Deuteronomy! Woe unto us!
STRANGER. Then it must be in the convent of St. Saviour.
LADY. Woe! Woe!
STRANGER. Beloved. What is it?
LADY. Beloved! Say that word again.
STRANGER. Are you ill?
LADY. No, but I'm in pain, and yet glad at the same time. Go and ask my
mother to make up my bed. But first give me your blessing.
STRANGER. Shall I...?
LADY. Say you forgive me; I may die, if the child takes my life. Say
that you love me.
STRANGER. Strange: I can't get the word to cross my lips.
LADY. Then you don't love me?
STRANGER. When you say so, it seems so to me. It's terrible, but I fear
I hate you.
LADY. Then at least give me your hand; as you'd give it to someone in
distress.
STRANGER. I'd like to, but I can't. Someone in me takes pleasure in your
agony; but it's not I. I'd like to carry you in my arms and bear your
suffering for you. But I may not. I cannot!
LADY. You're as hard as stone.
STRANGER (with restrained emotion). Perhaps not. Perhaps not.
LADY. Come to me!
STRANGER. I can't stir from here. It's as if someone had taken
possession of my soul; and I'd like to kill myself so as to take the
life of the other.
LADY. Think of your child with joy....
STRANGER. I can't even do that, for it'll bind me to earth.
LADY. If we've sinned, we've been punished! Haven't we suffered enough?
STRANGER. Not yet. But one day we shall have.
LADY (sinking down). Help me. Mercy! I shall faint!
(The STRANGER extends his hand, as if he had recovered from a cramp. The
LADY kisses it. The STRANGER lifts her up and leads her to the door of
the house.)
Curtain.
SCENE II
THE 'ROSE' ROOM
[A room with rose-coloured walls; it has small windows with iron
lattices and plants in pots. The curtains are rose red; the furniture is
white and red. In the background a door leading to a white bed-chamber;
when this door is opened, a large bed can be seen with a canopy and
white hangings. On the right the door leading out of the house. On the
left a fireplace with a coal fire. In front of it a bath tub, covered
with a white towel. A cradle covered with white, rose-coloured and
light-blue stuff. Baby clothes are spread out here and there. A green
dress hangs on the right-hand wall. Four Sisters of Mercy are on their
knees, facing the door at the back, dressed in the black and white of
Augustinian nuns. The midwife, who is in black, is by the fireplace.
The child's nurse wears a peasant's dress, of black and white, from
Brittany. The MOTHER is standing listening by the door at the back. The
STRANGER is sitting on a chair right and is trying to read a book. A
hat and a brown cloak with a cape and hood hang nearby, and on the floor
there is a small travelling bag. The Sisters of Mercy are singing a
psalm. The others join in from time to time, but not the STRANGER.]
SISTERS. Salve, Regina, mater misericordiae;
Vita, dulcedo, et spes nostra, salve.
Ad to clamamus, exules filii Evae;
Ad to suspiramus gementes et flentes
In hac lacrymarum valle.
(The STRANGER rises and goes to the MOTHER.)
MOTHER. Stay where you are! A human being's coming into the world;
another's dying. It's all the same to you.
STRANGER. I'm not so sure! If I want to go in, I'm not allowed to. And
when I don't want to, you wish it. I'd like to now.
MOTHER. She doesn't want to see you. Besides, presence here's no longer
needed. The child matters most now.
STRANGER. For you, yes; but I'm still of most importance to myself.
MOTHER. The doctor's forbidden anyone to go in, whoever they may be,
because she's in danger.
STRANGER. What doctor?
MOTHER. So your thoughts are there again!
STRANGER. Yes. And it's you who led them! An hour ago you gave me to
understand that the child couldn't be mine. With that you branded your
daughter a whore; but that means nothing to you, if you can only strike
me to the heart! You are almost the most contemptible creature I know!
MOTHER (to the SISTERS). Sisters! Pray for this unhappy man.
STRANGER. Make way for me to go in. For the last time--out of the way.
MOTHER. Leave this room, and this house too.
STRANGER. If I were to do as you ask, in ten minutes you'd send the
police after me, for abandoning my wife and child!
MOTHER. I'd only do that to have you taken to a convent you know of.
MAID (entering at the back). The Lady's asking you to do something for
her.
STRANGER. What is it?
MAID. There's supposed to be a letter in the dress she left hanging
here.
STRANGER (looks round and notices the green dress; he goes over to it
and takes a letter from the pocket). This is addressed to me, and was
opened two days ago. Broken open! That's good!
MOTHER. You must forgive someone who's as ill as your wife.
STRANGER. She wasn't ill two days ago.
MOTHER. No. But she is now.
STRANGER. But not two days ago! (Reading the letter.) Well, I'll forgive
her now, with the magnanimity of the victor.
MOTHER. Of the victor?
STRANGER. Yes. For I've done something no one's ever done before.
MOTHER. You mean the gold....?
STRANGER. Here's a certificate from the greatest living authority. Now
I'll go and see him myself.
MOTHER. Now!
STRANGER. At your request.
MAID (to the STRANGER). The Lady asks you to come in.
MOTHER. You hear?
STRANGER. No, now I don't want to! You've made your own daughter, my
wife, into a whore; and branded my unborn child a bastard. You can keep
them both. You've murdered my honour. There's nothing for me to do but
to revive it elsewhere.
MOTHER. You can never forgive!
STRANGER. I can. I forgive you--and I shall leave you. (He puts on the
brown cloak and hat, picks up his stick and travelling bag.) For if I
were to stay, I'd soon grow worse than I am now. The innocent child,
whose mission was to ennoble our warped relationship, has been defiled
by you in his mother's womb and made an apple of discord and a source of
punishment a revenge. Why should I stay here to be torn to pieces?
MOTHER. For you, duties don't exist.
STRANGER. Oh yes, they do! And the first of them's this: To protect
myself from total destruction. Farewell!
Curtain.
ACT III
SCENE I
THE BANQUETING HALL
[Room in a hotel prepared for a banquet. There are long tables laden
with flowers and candelabra. Dishes with peacocks, pheasants in full
plumage, boars' heads, entire lobsters, oysters, salmon, bundles of
asparagus, melons and grapes. There is a musicians' gallery with eight
players in the right-hand corner at the back.]
[At the high table: the STRANGER in a frock coat; next to him a Civil
Uniform with orders; a professorial Frock Coat with an order; and other
black Frock Coats with orders of a more or less striking kind. At the
second table a few Frock Coats between black Morning Coats. At the third
table clean every-day costumes. At the fourth table dirty and ragged
figures of strange appearance.]
[The tables are so arranged that the first is furthest to the left and
the fourth furthest to the right, so that the people sitting at the
fourth table cannot be seen by the STRANGER. At the fourth table CAESAR
and the DOCTOR are seated, in shabby clothes. They are the farthest down
stage. Dessert has just been handed round and the guests have golden
goblets in front of them. The band is playing a passage in the middle
of Mendelssohn's Dead March pianissimo. The guests are talking to one
another quietly.]
DOCTOR (to CAESAR). The company seems rather depressed and the dessert
came too soon!
CAESAR. By the way, the whole thing look's like a swindle! He hasn't
made any gold, that's merely a lie, like everything else.
DOCTOR. I don't know, but that's what's being said. But in our
enlightened age anything whatever may be expected.
CAESAR. There's a professor at the high table, who's supposed to be an
authority. But what subject is he professor of?
DOCTOR: I've no idea. It must be metallurgy and applied chemistry.
CAESAR. Can you see what order he's wearing?
DOCTOR. I don't know it. I expect it's some tenth rate foreign order.
CAESAR. Well, at a subscription dinner like this the company's always
rather mixed.
DOCTOR. Hm!
CAESAR. You mean, that we... hm.... I admit we're not well dressed, but
as far as intelligence goes....
DOCTOR. Listen, Caesar, you're a lunatic in my charge, and you must
avoid speaking about intelligence as much as you can.
CAESAR. That's the greatest impertinence I've heard for a long time.
Don't you realise, idiot, that I've been engaged to look after you,
since you lost your wits?
PROFESSOR (taping his goblet). Gentlemen!
CAESAR. Hear, hear!
PROFESSOR. Gentlemen! Our small society is to-day honoured by the
presence of the great man, who is our guest of honour, and when the
committee...
CAESAR (to the DOCTOR). That's the government, you know!
PROFESSOR.... and when the committee asked me to act as interpreter
and to explain the motives that prompted them I was at first doubtful
whether I could accept the honour. But when I compared my own incapacity
with that of others, I discovered that neither lost in the comparison.
VOICES. Bravo!
PROFESSOR. Gentlemen! A century of discovery is ending with the greatest
of all discoveries--foreseen by Pythagoras, prepared for by Albertus and
Paracelsus and first carried out by our guest of honour. You will permit
me to give this feeble expression of our admiration for the greatest man
of a great century. A laurel crown from the society! (He places a laurel
frown on the STRANGER'S head.) And from the committee: this! (He hangs
a shining order round the STRANGER'S neck.) Gentlemen! Three cheers for
the Great Man who has made gold!
ALL (with the exception of the STRANGER). Hurrah!
(The band plays chords from Mendelssohn's Dead March. During the last
part of the foregoing speech servants have exchanged the golden goblets
for dull tin ones, and they now begin to take away the pheasants,
peacocks, etc. The music plays softly. General conversation.)
CAESAR. Oughtn't we to taste these things before they take them away?
DOCTOR. It all seems humbug, except that about making gold.
STRANGER (knocking on the table). Gentlemen! I've always been proud of
the fact that I'm not easy to deceive...
CAESAR. Hear, hear!
STRANGER.... that I'm not easily carried away, but I am touched at the
sincerity so obvious in the great tribute you've just paid me; and when
I say touched, I mean it.
CAESAR. Bravo!
STRANGER. There are always sceptics; and moments in the life of every
man, when doubts creep into the hearts of even the strongest. I'll
confess that I myself have doubted; but after finding myself the object
this sincere and hearty demonstration, and after taking part in this
royal feast, for it is royal; and seeing that, finally, the government
itself...
VOICE. The committee!
STRANGER.... the committee, if you like, has so signally recognised my
modest merits, I doubt no longer, but believe! (The Civil Uniform creeps
out.) Yes, gentlemen, this is the greatest and most satisfying moment
of my life, because it has given me back the greatest thing any man can
possess, the belief in himself.
CAESAR. Splendid! Bravo!
STRANGER. I thank you. Your health!
(The PROFESSOR gets up. Everyone rises and the company begins to mix.
Most of the musicians go out, but two remain.)
GUEST (to the STRANGER). A delightful evening!
STRANGER. Wonderful.
(All the Frock Coats creep away.)
FATHER (an elderly, overdressed man with an eye-glass and military
bearing crosses to the doctor). What? Are you here?
DOCTOR. Yes, Father-in-law. I'm here. I go everywhere he goes.
FATHER. It's too late in the day to call me father-in-law. Besides, I'm
_his_ father-in-law now.
DOCTOR. Does he know you?
FATHER. No. He's not had that honour; and I must ask you to preserve my
incognito. Is it true he's made gold?
DOCTOR. So it's said. But it's certain he left his wife while she was in
childbed.
FATHER. Does that mean I can expect a third son-in-law soon? I don't
like the idea! The uncertainty of my position makes me hate being
a father-in-law at all. Of course, I've nothing to say against it,
since....
(The tables have now been cleared; the cloths and the candelabra have
been removed, so that the tables themselves, which are merely boards
supported on trestles, are all that remain. A big stoneware jug has
been brought in and small jugs of simple form have been put on the high
table. The people in rags sit down next to the STRANGER at the high
table; and the FATHER sits astride a chair and stares at him.)
CAESAR (knocking on the table). Gentlemen! This feast has been called
royal, not on account of the excellence of the service which, on the
contrary, has been wretched; but because the man, whom we have honoured,
is a king, a king in the realm of the Intellect. Only I am able to judge
of that. (One of the people in rags laughs.) Quiet. Wretch! But he's
more than a king, he's a man of the people, of the humblest. A friend
of the oppressed, the guardian of fools, the bringer of happiness to
idiots. I don't know whether he's succeeded in making gold. I don't
worry about that, and I hardly believe it... (There is a murmur. Two
policemen come in and sit by the door; the musicians come down and take
seats at the tables.)... but supposing he has, he has answered all the
questions that the daily press has been trying to solve for the last
fifty years.... It's only an assumption--
STRANGER. Gentlemen!
RAGGED PERSON. No. Don't interrupt him.
CAESAR. A mere assumption without real foundation, and the analysis may
be wrong!
ANOTHER RAGGED PERSON. Don't talk nonsense!
STRANGER. Speaking in my capacity as guest of honour at this gathering I
should say that it would be of interest to those taking part to hear the
grounds on which I've based my proof....
CAESAR. We don't want to hear that. No, no.
FATHER. Wait! I think justice demands that the accused should be allowed
to explain himself. Couldn't our guest of honour tell the company his
secret in a few words?
STRANGER. As the discoverer I can't give away my secret. But that's not
necessary, because I've submitted my results to an authority under oath.
CAESAR. Then the whole thing's nonsense, the whole thing! We don't
believe authorities--we're free-thinkers. Did you ever hear anything
so impudent? That we should honour a mystery man, an arch-swindler, a
charlatan, in good faith.
FATHER. Wait a little, my good people!
(During this scene a wall screen, charmingly decorated with palm trees
and birds of paradise, has been taken away, disclosing a wretched
serving-counter and stand for beer mugs, behind which a waitress is seen
dispensing tots of spirits. Scavengers and dirty-looking women go over
to the counter and start drinking.)
STRANGER. Was I asked here to be insulted?
FATHER. Not at all. My friend's rather loquacious, but he's not said
anything insulting yet.
STRANGER. Isn't it insulting to be called a charlatan?
FATHER. He didn't mean it seriously.
STRANGER. Even as a joke I think the word arch-swindler slanderous.
FATHER. He didn't use _that_ word.
STRANGER. What? I appeal to the company: wasn't the word he used
arch-swindler?
ALL. No. He never said that!
STRANGER. Then I don't know where I am--or what company I've got into.
RAGGED PERSON. Is there anything wrong with it?
(The people murmur.)
BEGGAR (comes forward, supporting himself on crutches; he strikes the
table so hard with his crutch, that some mugs are broken.) Mr. Chairman!
May I speak? (He breaks some more crockery.) Gentlemen, in this life
I've not allowed thyself to be easily deceived, but this time I have
been. My friend in the chair there has convinced me that I've been
completely deceived on the question of his power of judgment and sound
understanding, and I feel touched. There are limits to pity and limits
also to cruelty. I don't like to see real merit being dragged into the
dust, and this man's worth a better fate than his folly's leading him
to.
STRANGER. What does this mean?
(The FATHER and the DOCTOR have gone out during this scene without
attracting attention. Only beggars remain at the high table. Those who
are drinking gather into groups and stare at the STRANGER.)
BEGGAR. You take yourself to be the man of the century, and accept the
invitation of the Drunkards' Society, in order to have yourself feted as
a man of science....
STRANGER (rising). But the government....
BEGGAR. Oh yes, the Committee of the Drunkards' Society have given you
their highest distinction--that order you've had to pay for yourself....
STRANGER. What about the professor?
BEGGAR. He only calls himself that; he's no professor really, though he
does give lessons. And the uniform that must have impressed you most was
that of a lackey in a chancellery.
STRANGER (tearing of the wreath and the ribbon of the order). Very well!
But who was the elderly man with the eyeglass?
BEGGAR. Your father-in-law!
STRANGER. Who got up this hoax?
BEGGAR. It's no hoax, it's quite serious. The professor came on behalf
of the Society, for so they call themselves, and asked you whether you'd
accept the fete. You accepted it; so it became serious!
(Two dirty-looking women carry in a dust-bin suspended from a stick and
set it down on the high table.)
FIRST WOMAN. If you're the man who makes gold, you might buy two
brandies for us.
STRANGER. What's this mean?
BEGGAR. It's the last part of the reception; and it's supposed to mean
that gold's mere rubbish.
STRANGER. If only that were true, rubbish could be exchanged for gold.
BEGGAR. Well, it's only the philosophy of the Society of Drunkards. And
you've got to take your philosophy where you find it.
SECOND WOMAN (sitting down next to the STRANGER). Do you recognise me?
STRANGER. No.
SECOND WOMAN. Oh, you needn't be embarrassed so late in the evening as
this!
STRANGER. You believe you're one of my victims? That I was amongst the
first hundred who seduced you?
SECOND WOMAN. No. It's not what you think. But I once came across a
printed paper, when I was about to be confirmed, which said that it was
a duty to oneself to give way to all desires of the flesh. Well, I grew
free and blossomed; and this is the fruit of my highly developed self!
STRANGER (rising). Perhaps I may go now?
WAITRESS (coming over with a bill). Yes. But the bill must be paid
first.
STRANGER. What? By me? I haven't ordered anything.
WAITRESS. I know nothing of that; but you're the last of the company to
have had anything.
STRANGER (to the BEGGAR). Is this all a part of the reception?
BEGGAR. Yes, certainly. And, as you know, everything costs money, even
honour....
STRANGER (taking a visiting card and handing it to the waitress).
There's my card. You'll be paid to-morrow.
WAITRESS (putting the card in the dust-bin). Hm! I don't know the name;
and I've put a lot of such cards into the dust-bin. I want the money.
BEGGAR. Listen, madam, I'll guarantee this man will pay.
WAITRESS. So you'd like to play tricks on me too! Officer! One moment,
please.
POLICEMAN. What's all this about? Payment, I suppose. Come to the
station; we'll arrange things there. (He writes something in his
note-book.)
STRANGER. I'd rather do that than stay here and quarrel.... (To the
BEGGAR.) I don't mind a joke, but I never expected such cruel reality as
this.
BEGGAR. Anything's to be expected, once you challenge persons as
powerful as you have! Let me tell you this in confidence. You'd better
be prepared for worse, for the very worst!
STRANGER. To think I've been so duped... so...
BEGGAR. Feasts of Belshazzar always end in one way a hand's stretched
out--and writes a bill. And another hand's laid on the guest's shoulder
and leads him to the police station! But it must be done royally!
POLICEMAN (laying his hand on the STRANGER). Have you talked enough?
THE WOMEN and RAGGED ONES. The alchemist can't pay. Hurrah! He's going
to gaol. He's going to gaol!
SECOND WOMAN. Yes, but it's a shame.
STRANGER. You're sorry for me? I thank you for that, even if I don't
quite deserve it! _You_ felt pity for me!
SECOND WOMAN. Yes. That's also something I learnt from you.
(The scene is changed without lowering the curtain. The stage is
darkened, and a medley of scenes, representing landscapes, palaces,
rooms, is lowered and brought forward; so that characters and furniture
are no longer seen, but the STRANGER alone remains visible and seems to
be standing stiffly as though unconscious. At last even he disappears,
and from the confusion a prison cell emerges.)
SCENE II
PRISON CELL
[On the right a door; and above it a barred opening, through which a ray
of sunlight is shining, throwing a patch of light on the left-hand wall,
where a large crucifix hangs.]
[The STRANGER, dressed in a brown cloak and wearing a hat, is sitting at
the table looking at the patch of sunlight. The door is opened and the
BEGGAR is let in.]
BEGGAR. What are you brooding over?
STRANGER. I'm asking myself why I'm here; and then: where I was
yesterday?
BEGGAR. Where do you think?
STRANGER. It seems in hell; unless I dreamed everything.
BEGGAR. Then wake up now, for this is going to be reality.
STRANGER. Let it come. I'm only afraid of ghosts.
BEGGAR (taking out a newspaper). Firstly, the great authority has
withdrawn the certificate he gave you for making gold. He says, in this
paper, that you deceived him. The result is that the paper calls you a
charlatan!
STRANGER. O God! What is it I'm fighting?
BEGGAR. Difficulties, like other men.
STRANGER. No, this is something else....
BEGGAR. Your own credulity, then.
STRANGER. No, I'm not credulous, and I know I'm right.
BEGGAR. What's the good of that, if no one else does.
STRANGER. Shall I ever get out of this prison? If I do, I'll settle
everything.
BEGGAR. The matter's arranged; everything's paid for.
STRANGER. Oh? Who paid, then?
BEGGAR. The Society, I suppose; or the Drunkard's Government.
STRANGER. Then I can go?
BEGGAR. Yes. But there's one thing....
STRANGER. Well, what is it?
BEGGAR. Remember, an enlightened man of the world mustn't let himself be
taken by surprise.
STRANGER. I begin to divine....
BEGGAR. The announcement's on the front page.
STRANGER. That means: she's already married again, and my children have
a stepfather. Who is he?
BEGGAR. Whoever he is, don't murder him; for he's not to blame for
taking in a forsaken woman.
STRANGER. My children! O God, my children!
BEGGAR. I notice you didn't foresee what's happened; but why not look
ahead, if you're so old and such an enlightened man of the world.
STRANGER (beside himself). O God! My children!
BEGGAR. Enlightened men of the world don't weep! Stop it, my son. When
such disasters happen men of the world... either... well, tell me....
STRANGER. Shoot themselves!
BEGGAR. Or?
STRANGER. No, not that!
BEGGAR. Yes, my son, precisely that! He's throwing out a sheet-anchor as
an experiment.
STRANGER. This is irrevocable. Irrevocable!
BEGGAR. Yes, it is. Quite irrevocable. And you can live another
lifetime, in order to contemplate your own rascality in peace.
STRANGER. You should be ashamed to talk like that.
BEGGAR. And you?
STRANGER. Have you ever seen a human destiny like mine?
BEGGAR. Well, look at mine!
STRANGER. I know nothing of yours.
BEGGAR. It's never occurred to you, in all our long acquaintance, to
ask about my affairs. You once scorned the friendship I offered you, and
fell straightway into the arms of boon companions. I hope it'll do you
good. And so farewell, till the next time.
STRANGER. Don't go.
BEGGAR. Perhaps you'd like company when you get out of prison?
STRANGER. Why not?
BEGGAR. It hasn't occurred to you I mightn't want to show myself in
_your_ company?
STRANGER. It certainly hasn't.
BEGGAR. But it's true. Do you think I want to be suspected of having
been at that immortal banquet in the alchemist's honour, of which
there's an account in the morning paper?
STRANGER. He doesn't want to be seen with me!
BEGGAR. Even a beggar has his pride and fears ridicule.
STRANGER. He doesn't want to be seen with me. Am I then sunk to such
misery?
BEGGAR. You must ask yourself that, and answer it, too.
(A mournful cradle song is heard in the distance.)
STRANGER. What's that?
BEGGAR. A song sung by a mother at her baby's cradle.
STRANGER. Why must I be reminded of it just now?
BEGGAR. Probably so that you can feel really keenly what you've left for
a chimera.
STRANGER. Is it possible I could have been wrong? If so it's the devil's
work, and I'll lay down my arms.
BEGGAR. You'd better do that as soon as you can....
STRANGER. Not yet! (A rosary can be heard being repeated in the
distance.) What's that? (A sustained note of a horn is heard.) That's
the unknown huntsman! (The chord from the Dead March is heard.) Where am
I? (He remains where he is as if hypnotised.)
BEGGAR. Bow yourself or break!
STRANGER. I cannot bow!
BEGGAR. Then break.
(The STRANGER falls to the ground. The same confused medley of scenes as
before.)
Curtain.
SCENE III
THE 'ROSE' ROOM
[The same scene as Act I. The kneeling Sisters of Mercy are now reading
their prayer books, '... exules filii Evae; Ad to suspiramus et flentes
In hac lacrymarum aalle.' The MOTHER is by the door at the back; the
FATHER by the door on the right.]
MOTHER (going towards him). So you've come back again?
FATHER (humbly). Yes.
MOTHER. Your lady-love's left you?
RATHER. Don't be more cruel than you need!
MOTHER. You say that to me, you who gave my wedding presents to your
mistress. You, who were so dishonourable as to expect me, your wife, to
choose presents for her. You, who wanted my advice about colour and cut,
in order to educate her taste in dress! What do you want here?
FATHER. I heard that my daughter...
MOTHER. Your daughter's lying there, between life and death; and you
know that her feelings for you have grown hostile. That's why I ask you
to go; before she suspects your presence.
FATHER. You're right, and I can't answer you. But let me sit in the
kitchen, for I'm tired. Very tired.
MOTHER. Where were you last night?
FATHER. At the club. But I wanted to ask you if the husband weren't
here?
MOTHER. Am I to lay bare all this misery? Don't you know your daughter's
tragic fate?
FATHER. Yes... I do. And what a husband!
MOTHER. What men! Go downstairs now and sleep off your liquor.
FATHER. The sins of the fathers....
MOTHER. You're talking nonsense.
FATHER. Of course I don't mean my sins... but those of our parents. And
now they say the lake up there's to be drained, so that the river will
rise....
MOTHER (pushing him out of the door). Silence. Misfortune will overtake
us soon enough, without you calling it up.
MAID (from the bedroom at the back). The lady's asking for the master.
MOTHER. She means her husband.
MAID. Yes. The master of the house, her husband.
MOTHER. He went out a little while ago.
(The STRANGER comes in.)
STRANGER. Has the child been born?
MOTHER. No. Not yet.
STRANGER (putting his hand to his forehead). What? Can it take so long?
MOTHER. Long? What do you mean?
STRANGER (looking about him). I don't know what I mean. How is it with
the mother?
MOTHER. She's just the same.
STRANGER. The same?
MOTHER. Don't you want to get back to your gold making?
STRANGER. I can't make head or tail of it! But there's still hope my
worst dream was nothing but a dream.
MOTHER. You really look as if you were walking in your sleep.
STRANGER. Do I? Oh, I wish I were! The one thing I fear I'd fear no
longer.
MOTHER. He who guides your destiny seems to know your weakest spots.
STRANGER. And when there was only one left, he found that too; happily
for me only in a dream! Blind Powers! Powerless Ones!
MAID (coming in again). The lady asks you to do her a service.
STRANGER. There she lies like an electric eel, giving shocks from a
distance. What kind of service is it to be now?
MAID. There's a letter in the pocket of her green coat.
STRANGER. No good will come of that! (He takes the letter out of the
green coat, which is hanging near the dress by fireplace.) I must
be dead. I dreamed this, and now it's happening. My children have a
stepfather!
MOTHER. Who are you going to blame?
STRANGER. Myself! I'd rather blame no one. I've lost my children.
MOTHER. You'll get a new one here.
STRANGER. He might be cruel to them....
MOTHER. Then their sufferings will burden your conscience, if you have
one.
STRANGER. Supposing he were to beat them?
MOTHER. Do you know what I'd do in your place?
STRANGER. Yes, I know what you'd do; but I don't know what I'll do.
MOTHER (to the Sisters of Mercy). Pray for this man!
STRANGER. No, no. Not that! It'll do no good, and I don't believe in
prayer.
MOTHER. But you believe in your gold?
STRANGER. Not even in that. It's over. All over!
(The MIDWIFE comes out of the bedroom.)
MIDWIFE. A child's born. Praise the Lord!
MOTHER. Let the Lord be praised!
SISTERS. Let the Lord be praised!
MIDWIFE (to the STRANGER). Your wife's given you daughter.
MOTHER (to the STRANGER). Don't you want to see your child?
STRANGER. No. I no longer want to tie myself anything on earth. I'm
afraid I'd get to love her, and then you'd tear the heart from my body.
Let me get out of this atmosphere, which is too pure for me. Don' t let
that innocent child come near me, for I'm a man already damned, already
sentenced, and for me there's no joy, no peace, and no... forgiveness!
MOTHER. My son, now you're speaking words of wisdom! Truthfully and
without malice: I welcome your decision. There's no place for you here,
and amongst us women you'd be plagued to death. So go in peace.
STRANGER. There'll be no more peace, but I'll go. Farewell!
MOTHER. Exules filii Evae; on earth you shall be a fugitive and a
vagabond.
STRANGER. Because I have slain my brother.
Curtain.
ACT IV
SCENE I
BANQUETING HALL
[The room in which the banquet took place in Act III. It is dirty, and
furnished with unpainted wooden tables. Beggars, scavengers and loose
women. Cripples are seated here and there drinking by the light of
tallow dips.]
[The STRANGER and the SECOND WOMAN are sitting together drinking brandy,
which stands on the table in front of them in a carafe. The STRANGER is
drinking heavily.]
WOMAN. Don't drink so much!
STRANGER. You see. You've scruples, too!
WOMAN. No. But I don't like to see a man I respect lowering himself so.
STRANGER. But I came here specially to do so; to take a mud-bath that
would harden my skin against the pricks of life. To find immoral support
about me. And I chose your company, because you're the most despicable,
though you've still retained a spark of humanity. You were sorry for me,
when no one else was. Not even myself! Why?
WOMAN. Really, I don't know.
STRANGER. But you must know that there are moments when you look almost
beautiful.
WOMAN. Oh, listen to him!
STRANGER. Yes. And then you resemble a woman who was dear to me.
WOMAN. Thank you!
WAITRESS. Don't talk so loud, there's a sick man here.
STRANGER. Tell me, have you ever been in love?
WOMAN. We don't use that word, but I know what you mean. Yes. I had a
lover once and we had a child.
STRANGER. That was foolish!
WOMAN. I thought so, too, but he said the days liberation were at hand,
when all chains would be struck off, all barriers thrown down, and...
STRANGER (tortured). And then...?
WOMAN. Then he left me.
STRANGER. He was a scoundrel. (He drinks.)
WOMAN (looking at him.) You think so?
STRANGER. Yes. He must have been.
WOMAN. Now you're so intolerant.
STRANGER (drinking). Am I?
WOMAN. Don't drink so much; I want to see you far above me, otherwise
you can't raise me up.
STRANGER. What illusions you must have! Childish! I lift you up! I who
am down below. Yet I'm not; it's not I who sit here, for I'm dead. I
know that my soul's far away, far, far away.... (He stares in front
of him with an absent-minded air)... where a great lake lies in the
sunshine like molten gold; where roses blossom on the wall amongst
the vines; where a white cot stands under the acacias. But the child's
asleep and the mother's sitting beside the cot doing crochet work.
There's a long, long strip coming from her mouth and on the strip
is written... wait... 'Blessed are the sorrowful, for they shall be
comforted.' But that's not so, really. I shall never be comforted. Tell
me, isn't there thunder in the air, it's so close, so hot?
WOMAN (looking out of the window). No. I can see no clouds out there....
STRANGER. Strange... that's lightning.
WOMAN. No. You're wrong.
STRANGER. One, two, three, four, five... now the thunder must come! But
it doesn't. I've never been frightened of a thunderstorm until to-day--I
mean, until to-night. But is it day or night?
WOMAN. My dear, it's night.
STRANGER. Yes. It _is_ night.
(The DOCTOR has come in during this scene and has sat down behind the
STRANGER, without having been seen by him.)
WAITRESS. Don't speak so loud, there's a sick person in here.
STRANGER (to the WOMAN). Give me your hand.
WOMAN (wiping it on her apron). Oh, why?
STRANGER. You've a lovely white hand. But... look at mine. It's black.
Can't you see it's black?
WOMAN. Yes. So it is!
STRANGER. Blackened already, perhaps even rotten? I must see if my
heart's stopped. (He puts his hand to his heart.) Yes. It has! So I'm
dead, and I know when I died. Strange, to be dead, and yet to be going
about. But where am I? Are all these people dead, too? They look as
if they'd risen from the sewers of the town, or as if they'd come
from prison, poorhouse or lock hospital. They're workers of the night,
suffering, groaning, cursing, quarrelling, torturing one another,
dishonouring one another, envying one another, as if they possessed
anything worthy of envy! The fire of sleep courses through their veins,
their tongues cleave to their palates, grown dry through cursing; and
then they put out the blaze with water, with fire-water, that engenders
fresh thirst. With fire-water, that itself burns with a blue flame and
consumes the soul like a prairie fire, that leaves nothing behind it but
red sand. (He drinks.) Set fire to it. Put it out again. Set fire to it.
Put it out again! But what you can't burn up--unluckily--is the memory
of what's past. How can that memory be burned to ashes?
WAITRESS. Please don't speak so loud, there's a sick man in here. So
ill, that he's already asked to be given the sacrament.
STRANGER. May he soon go to hell!
(Those present murmur at this, resenting it.)
WAITRESS. Take care! Take care!
WOMAN (to the STRANGER). Do you know that man who's been sitting behind
you, staring at you all the time?
STRANGER (turning. He and the DOCTOR stare at one another for a moment,
without speaking). Yes. I used to know him once.
WOMAN. He looks as if he'd like to bite you in the back.
(The DOCTOR sits down opposite the STRANGER and stares at him.)
STRANGER. What are you looking at?
DOCTOR. Your grey hairs.
STRANGER (to the WOMAN). Is my hair grey?
WOMAN. Yes. Indeed it is!
DOCTOR. And now I'm looking at your fair companion. Sometimes you have
good taste. Sometimes not.
STRANGER. And sometimes you have the misfortune to have the same taste
as I.
DOCTOR. That wasn't a kind remark! But you've killed me twice in your
lifetime; so go on.
STRANGER (to the WOMAN). Let's get away from here.
DOCTOR. You know when I'm near you. You feel my presence from afar. And
I shall reach you, as the thunder will, whether you hide in the depths
of the earth or of the sea.... Try to escape me, if you can!
STRANGER (to the WOMAN). Come with me. Lead me... I can't see....
WOMAN. No, I don't want to go yet. I don't want to be bored.
DOCTOR. You're right there, daughter of joy! Life's hard enough without
taking on yourself the sorrows others have brought on themselves. That
man won't bear his own sorrows, but makes his wife shoulder the burden
for him.
STRANGER. What's that? Wait! She bore false witness of a breach of the
peace and attempted murder!
DOCTOR. Now he's putting the blame on her!
STRANGER (resting his head in his hands and letting it sink on to the
table. In the far distance a violin and guitar are heard playing the
following melody):
[See picture road1.jpg]
DOCTOR (to the WOMAN). Is he ill?
WOMAN. He must be mad; he says he's dead.
(In the distance drums beat the reveille and bugles are blown, but very
softly.)
STRANGER. Is it morning? Night's passing, the sun's rising and ghosts
lie down to sleep again in graves. Now I can go. Come!
WOMAN (going nearer to the DOCTOR). No. I said no.
STRANGER. Even you, the last of all my friends! Am I such a wretched
being, that not even a prostitute will bear me company for money?
DOCTOR. You must be.
STRANGER. I don't believe it yet; although everyone tells me so. I don't
believe anything at all, for every time I have, I've been deceived. But
tell me this hasn't the sun yet risen? A little while ago I heard a cock
crow and a dog bark; and now they're ringing the Angelus.... Have they
put out the lights, that it's so dark?
DOCTOR (to the WOMAN). He must be blind.
WOMAN. Yes. I think he is.
STRANGER. No. I can see you; but I can't see the lights.
DOCTOR. For you it's growing dark.... You've played with the lightning,
and looked too long at the sun. That is forbidden to men.
STRANGER. We're born with the desire to do it; but may not. That's
Envy....
DOCTOR. What do you possess that's worthy of envy?
STRANGER. Something you'll never understand, and that only I can value.
DOCTOR. You mean, the child?
MANGER. You know I didn't mean it. If I had I'd have said that I
possessed something you could never let.
DOCTOR. So you're back at that! Then I'll express myself as clearly: you
took what I'd done with.
WOMAN. Oh! I shan't stay in the company of such swine! (She gets up and
moves to another seat.)
STRANGER. I know we've sunk very low; yet I believe the deeper I sink
the nearer I'll come to my goal: the end!
WAITRESS. Don't speak so loud, there's a dying man in there!
STRANGER. Yes, I believe you. The whole time there's been a smell of
corpses here.
DOCTOR. Perhaps that's us?
STRANGER. Can one be dead, without suspecting it?
DOCTOR. The dead maintain that they don't know the difference.
STRANGER. You terrify me. Is it possible? And all these shadowy figures,
whose faces I think I recognise as memories of my youth at school in the
swimming bath, the gymnasium.... (He clutches his heart.) Oh! Now he's
coming: the Terrible One, who tears the heart out of the breast. The
Terrible One, who's been following me for years. He's here!
(He is beside himself. The doors are thrown open; a choir boy comes in
carrying a lantern made of blue glass that throws a blue light on the
guests; he rings the silver bell. All present begin to howl like wild
beasts. The DOMINICAN then enters with the sacrament. The WAITRESS
and the WOMAN throw themselves on their knees, the others howl. The
DOMINICAN raises the monstrance; all fall on their knees. The choir boy
and the DOMINICAN go into the room on the left.)
BEGGAR (entering and going towards the STRANGER). Come away from here.
You're ill. And the bailiffs have a summons for you.
STRANGER. Summons? From whom?
BEGGAR. Your wife.
DOCTOR. The electric eel strikes at a great distance. She once wanted to
bring a charge of slander against me, because she couldn't stay out at
night.
STRANGER. Couldn't stay out at night?
DOCTOR. Yes. Didn't you know who you were married to?
STRANGER. I heard she'd been engaged before she... married you.
DOCTOR. Yes. That's what it was called, but in reality she'd been the
mistress of a married man, whom she denounced for rape, after she'd
forced herself into his studio and posed to him naked, as a model.
STRANGER. And that was the woman you married?
DOCTOR. Yes. After she'd seduced me, she denounced me for breach of
promise, so I had to marry her. She'd engaged two detectives to see I
didn't get away. And that was the woman you married!
STRANGER. I did it because I soon saw it was no good choosing when all
were alike.
BEGGAR. Come away from here. You'll be sorry if you don't.
STRANGER (to the DOCTOR). Was she always religious?
DOCTOR. Always.
STRANGER. And tender, good-hearted, self-sacrificing?
DOCTOR. Certainly!
STRANGER. Can one understand her?
DOCTOR. No. But you can go mad thinking about her. That's why one had to
accept her as she was. Charming, intoxicating!
STRANGER. Yes, I know. But one's powerless against pity. That's why I
don't want to fight this case. I can't defend myself without attacking
her; and I don't want to do that.
DOCTOR. You were married before. How was that?
STRANGER. Just the same.
DOCTOR. This love acts like henbane: you see suns, where there are none,
and stars where no stars are! But it's pleasant, while it lasts!
STRANGER. And the morning after? Oh, the morning after!
BEGGAR. Come, unhappy man! He's poisoning you, and you don't know it.
Come!
STRANGER (getting up). Poisoning me, you say? Do you think he's lying?
BEGGAR. Every word he's said's a lie.
STRANGER. I don't believe it.
BEGGAR. No. You only believe lies. But that serves you right.
STRANGER. Has he been lying? Has he?
BEGGAR. How can you believe your enemies?
STRANGER. But he's my friend, because he's told me the bitter truth.
BEGGAR. Eternal Powers, save his reason! For he believes everything
evil's true, and everything good evil. Come, or you'll be lost!
DOCTOR. He's lost already! And now he'll be whipped into froth, broken
up into atoms, and used as an ingredient in the great pan-cake. Away
with you hell! (To those present.) Howl like victims of the pit. (The
guests all howl.) And no more womanly pity. Howl, woman! (The WOMAN
refuses with a gesture of her hand.)
STRANGER (to the BEGGAR). That man's not lying.
Curtain.
SCENE II
IN A RAVINE
[A ravine with a stream in the middle, which is crossed by a
foot-bridge. In the foreground a smithy and a mill, both of which are
in ruins. Fallen trees choke the stream. In the background a starry sky
above the pine wood. The constellation of Orion is clearly visible.]
[See picture road2.jpg]
[The STRANGER and the BEGGAR enter. In the foreground there is snow; in
the background the green of summer.]
STRANGER. I feel afraid! To-night the stars seem to hang so low, that I
fear they'll fall on me like drops of molten silver. Where are we?
BEGGAR. In the ravine, by the stream. You must know the place.
STRANGER. Know it? As if I could ever forget it! It reminds me of my
honeymoon journey. But where are the smithy and the mill?
BEGGAR. All in ruins! The lake of tears was drained a week ago. The
stream rose, then the river, till everything was laid waste--meadows,
fields and gardens.
STRANGER. And the quiet house?
BEGGAR. The old sin was washed away, but the walls in left.
STRANGER. And those who lived there?
BEGGAR. They've gone to the colonies; so that the story's now at an end.
STRANGER. Then my story's at an end too. So thoroughly at an end, that
no happy memories remain. The last was fouled by the poisoner....
BEGGAR. Whose poison you prepared! You should declare your bankruptcy.
STRANGER. Yes. Now I'll have to give in.
BEGGAR. Then the day of reckoning will draw near.
STRANGER. I think we might call it quits; because, if I've sinned, I've
been punished.
BEGGAR. But others certainly won't think so.
STRANGER. I've stopped taking account of others, since I saw that the
Powers that guide the destinies of mankind brook no accomplices. The
crime I committed in this life was that I wanted to set men free....
BEGGAR. Set men free from their duties, and criminals from their feeling
of guilt, so that they could really become unscrupulous! You're not the
first, and not the last to dabble in the Devil's work. Lucifer a non
lucendo! But when Reynard grows old, he turns monk--so wisely is it
ordained--and then he's forced to split himself in two and drive out
Beelzebub with his own penance.
STRANGER. Shall I be driven to that?
BEGGAR. Yes. Though you don't want it! You'll be forced to preach
against yourself from the housetops. To unpick your fabric thread by
thread. To flay yourself alive at every street corner, and show what
you really are. But that needs courage. All the same, a man who's played
with the thunder will not tremble! Yet, sometimes, when night falls and
the Invisible Ones, who can only be seen in darkness, ride on his chest,
then he will fear--even the stars, and most of all the Mill of Sins,
that grinds the past, and grinds it... and grinds it! One of the
seven-and-seventeen Wise Men said that the greatest victory he ever
won was over himself; but foolish men don't believe it, and that's why
they're deceived; because they only credit what nine-and-ninety fools
have said a thousand times.
STRANGER. Enough! Tell me; isn't this snow here on the ground?
BEGGAR. Yes. It's winter here.
STRANGER. But over there it's green.
BEGGAR. It's summer there.
STRANGER. And growing light! (A clear beam of light falls on the
foot-bridge.)
BEGGAR. Yes. It's light there, and dark here.
STRANGER. And who are they? (Three children, dressed is summer clothing,
two girls and a boy, come on to the bridge from the right.) Ho! My
children! (The children stop to listen, and then look at the STRANGER
without seeming to recognise him. The STRANGER calls.) Gerda! Erik!
Thyra! It's your father! (The children appear to recognise him; they
turn away to the left.) They don't know me. They don't want to know me.
(A man and a woman enter from the right. The children dance of to the
left and disappear. The STRANGER falls on his face on the ground.)
BEGGAR. Something like that was to be expected. Such things happen. Get
up again!
STRANGER (raising himself up). Where am I? Where have I been? Is
it spring, winter or summer? In what century am I living, in what
hemisphere? Am I a child or an old man, male or female, a god or a
devil? And who are you? Are you, you; or are you me? Are those my own
entrails that I see about me? Are those stars or bundles of nerves in my
eye; is that water, or is it tears? Wait! Now I'm moving forward in time
for a thousand years, and beginning to shrink, to grow heavier and to
crystallise! Soon I'll be re-created, and from the dark waters of Chaos
the Lotus flower will stretch up her head towards the sun and say: it is
I! I must have been sleeping for a few thousand years; and have dreamed
I'd exploded and become ether, and could no longer feel, no longer
suffer, no longer be joyful; but had entered into peace and equilibrium.
But now! Now! I suffer as much as if I were all mankind. I suffer and
have no right to complain....
BEGGAR. Then suffer, and the more you suffer the earlier pain will leave
you.
STRANGER. No. Mine are eternal sufferings....
BEGGAR. And only a minute's passed.
STRANGER. I can't bear it.
BEGGAR. Then you must look for help.
STRANGER. What's coming now? Isn't it the end yet?
(It grows light above the bridge. CAESAR comes in and throws himself
from the parapet; then the DOCTOR appears on the right, with bare head
and a wild look. He behaves as if he would throw himself into the stream
too.)
STRANGER. He's revenged himself so thoroughly, that he awakes no qualms
of conscience! (The DOCTOR goes out, left. The SISTER enters, right, as
if searching for someone.) Who's that?
BEGGAR. His unmarried sister, who's unprovided for, and has now no home
to go to. She's grown desperate since her brother was driven out of his
wits by sorrow and went to pieces.
STRANGER. That's a harder fate. Poor creature, what can one do? Even if
I felt her sufferings, would that help her?
BEGGAR. No. It wouldn't.
STRANGER. Why do qualms of conscience come after, and not beforehand?
Can you help me over that?
BEGGAR. No. No one can. Let us go on.
STRANGER. Where to?
BEGGAR. Come with me.
Curtain.
SCENE III
THE 'ROSE' ROOM
[The LADY, dressed in white, is sitting by the cradle doing crochet
work. The green dress is hanging up by the door on the right. The
STRANGER comes in, and looks round in astonishment.]
LADY (simply, mildly, without a trace of surprise). Tread softly and
come here, if you'd see something lovely.
STRANGER. Where am I?
LADY. Quiet! Look at the little stranger who came when you were away.
STRANGER. They told me the river had risen and swept everything off.
LADY. Why do you believe everything you're told? The river did rise,
but this little creature has someone who protects both her and hers.
Wouldn't you like to see your daughter? (The STRANGER goes towards
the cradle. The LADY lifts the curtain.) She's lovely! Isn't she? (The
STRANGER gazes darkly in front of him.) Won't you look?
STRANGER. Everything's poisoned. Everything!
LADY. Well, perhaps!
STRANGER. Do you know that he has lost his wits and is wandering in the
neighbourhood, followed by his sister, who's searching for him? He's
penniless, and drinking....
LADY. Oh, my God!
STRANGER. Why don't you reproach me?
LADY. You'll reproach yourself enough: I'd rather give you good advice.
Go to the Convent of St. Saviour's, there you'll find a man who can free
you from the evil you fear.
STRANGER. What, in the convent, where they curse and bind?
LADY. And deliver also!
STRANGER. Frankly, I think you're trying to deceive me; I don't trust
you any more.
LADY. Nor I, you! So look on this as your farewell visit.
STRANGER. That was my intention; but first I wanted to find out if we're
of the same mind....
LADY. You see, we can build no happiness on the sorrows of others; so
we must part. That's the only way to lessen his sufferings. I have my
child, who'll fill my life for me; and you have the great goal of your
ambition....
STRANGER. Will you still mock me?
LADY. No, why? You've solved the great problem.
STRANGER. Be quiet! No more of that, even if you believe it.
LADY. But if all the rest believe it too....
STRANGER. No one believes it now.
LADY. It says in the paper to-day that gold's been made in England. That
it's been proved possible.
STRANGER. You've been deceived.
LADY. No! Oh, heaven, he won't believe his own good fortune.
STRANGER. I no longer believe anything.
LADY. Get the newspaper from the pocket of my dress over there.
STRANGER. The green witch's dress, that laid a spell on me one Sunday
afternoon, between the inn and the church door! That'll bring no good.
LADY (fetching the paper herself and also a large parcel that is in the
pocket of the dress). See for yourself.
STRANGER (tearing up the paper). No need for me to look!
LADY. He won't believe it. He won't. Yet the chemists want to give a
banquet in your honour next Saturday.
STRANGER. Is that in the paper too? About the banquet?
LADY (handing him the packet). And here's the diploma of honour. Read
it!
STRANGER (tearing up the packet). Perhaps there's a Government Order
too!
LADY. Those whom the gods would destroy they first make blind! You
made your discovery with no good intentions, and therefore you weren't
permitted to be the only one to succeed.
STRANGER. Now I shall go. For I won't stay here and lay bare my shame!
I've become a laughing-stock, so I'll go and hide myself--bury myself
alive, because I don't dare to die.
LADY. Then go! We start for the colonies in a few days.
STRANGER. That's frank at least! Perhaps we're nearing a solution.
LADY. Of the riddle: why we had to meet?
STRANGER. Why did we have to?
LADY. To torture one another.
STRANGER. Is that all?
LADY. You thought you could save me from a werewolf, who really was no
such thing, and so you become one yourself. And then I was to save you
from evil by taking all the evil in you on myself, and I did so; but the
result was that you only became more evil. My poor deliverer! Now you're
bound hand and foot and no magician can set you free.
STRANGER. Farewell, and thank you for all you've done.
LADY. Farewell, and thank you... for this! (She points to the cradle.)
STRANGER (going towards the back). First perhaps I ought to take my
leave in there.
LADY. Yes, my dear. Do!
(The STRANGER goes out through the door at the back. The LADY crosses
to the door on the right and lets in the DOMINICAN--who is also the
BEGGAR.)
CONFESSOR. Is he ready now?
LADY. Nothing remains for this unhappy man but to leave the world and
bury himself in a monastery.
CONFESSOR. So he doesn't believe he's the great inventor he undoubtedly
is?
LADY. No. He can believe good of no one, not even of himself.
CONFESSOR. That is the punishment Heaven sent him: to believe lies,
because he wouldn't listen to the truth.
LADY. Lighten his guilty burden for him, if you can.
CONFESSOR. No. If I did he'd only grow insolent and accuse God of
malice and injustice. This man is a demon, who must be kept confined.
He belongs to the dangerous race of rebels; he'd misuse his gifts, if he
could, to do evil. And men's power for evil is immeasurable.
LADY. For the sake of the... attachment you've shown me, can't you ease
his burden a little; where it presses on him most and where he's least
to blame?
CONFESSOR. You must do that, not I; so that he can leave you in the
belief that you've a good side, and that you're not what your first
husband told him you were. If he believes you, I'll deliver him later,
just as I once bound him when he confessed to me, during his illness, in
the convent of St. Saviour's.
LADY (going to the back and opening the door). As you wish!
STRANGER (re-entering). So there's the Terrible One! How did he come
here? But isn't he the beggar, after all?
CONFESSOR. Yes, I am your terrible friend, and I've come for you.
STRANGER. What? Have I...?
CONFESSOR. Yes. Once already you promised me your soul, on oath, when
you lay ill and felt near madness. It was then you offered to serve the
powers of good; but when you got well again you broke your oath, and
therefore were plagued with unrest, and wandered abroad unable to find
peace--tortured by your own conscience.
STRANGER. Who are you really? Who dares lay a hand on my destiny?
CONFESSOR. You must ask her that.
LADY. This is the man to whom I was first engaged, and who dedicated his
life to the service of God, when I left him.
STRANGER. Even if he were!
LADY. So you needn't think so ill of yourself because it was you who
punished my faithlessness and another's lack of conscience.
STRANGER. His sin cannot justify mine. Of course it's untrue, like
everything else; and you only say it to console me.
CONFESSOR. What an unhappy soul he is....
STRANGER. A damned one too!
CONFESSOR. No! (To the LADY.) Say something good of him.
LADY. He won't believe it, if I do; he only believes evil!
CONFESSOR. Then I shall have to say it. A beggar once came and asked him
for a drink of water; but he gave me wine instead and let me sit at his
table. You remember that?
STRANGER. No. I don't load my memory with such trifles.
CONFESSOR. Pride! Pride!
STRANGER. Call it pride, if you like. It's the last vestige of our
god-like origin. Let's go, before it grows dark.
CONFESSOR. 'For the whole world shined with clear light and none were
hindered in their labour. Over these only was spread a heavy night, an
image of darkness which should afterward receive them; but yet were they
unto themselves more grievous than the darkness.'
LADY. Don't hurt him!
STRANGER (with passion). How beautifully she can speak, though she is
evil. Look at her eyes; they cannot weep tears, but they can flatter,
sting, or lie! And yet she says: Don't hurt him! See, now she fears I'll
wake her child, the little monster that robbed me of her! Come, priest,
before I change my mind.
Curtain.
PART III.
CHARACTERS
THE STRANGER
THE LADY
THE CONFESSOR
THE MAGISTRATE
THE PRIOR
THE TEMPTER
THE DAUGHTER
less important figures
HOSTESS
FIRST VOICE
SECOND VOICE
WORSHIPPERS OF VENUS
MAIA
PILGRIM
FATHER
WOMAN
EVE
PRIOR
PATER ISIDOR (the Doctor of Part I)
PATER CLEMENS
PATER MELCHER
SCENES
ACT I On the River Bank
ACT II Cross-Roads in the Mountains
ACT III SCENE I Terrace
SCENE II Rocky Landscape
SCENE III Small House
(On the Mountain where the Monastery Stands)
ACT IV SCENE I Chapter House
SCENE II Picture Gallery
SCENE III Chapel
(Of the Monastery)
ACT I
ON THE RIVER BANK
[The foreground represents the bank of a large river. On the right a
projecting tongue of land covered with old willow trees. Farther
up stage the river can be seen flowing quietly past. The background
represents the farther bank, a steep mountain slope covered with
woodland. Above the tops of the forest trees the Monastery can be seen;
it is an enormous four-cornered building completely white, with two rows
of small windows. The facade is broken by the Church belonging to the
Monastery, which is flanked by two towers in the style favoured by the
Jesuits. The Church door is open, and at a certain moment the monstrance
on the altar is visible in the light of the sun. On the near bank in the
foreground, which is low and sandy, purple and yellow loose-strife are
growing. A shallow boat is moored nearby. On the left the ferryman's
hut. It is an evening in early summer and the sun is low; foreground,
river and the lower part of the background lie in shadow; and the trees
on the far bank sway gently in the breeze. Only the Monastery is lit by
the sun.]
[The STRANGER and the CONFESSOR enter from the right. The STRANGER is
wearing alpine clothing: a brown cloak with a cape and hood; he has a
staff and wallet. He is limping slightly. The CONFESSOR is to the black
and white habit of the Dominicans. They stop at a place where a willow
tree prevents any view of the Monastery.]
STRANGER. Why do you lead me along this winding, hilly path, that never
comes to an end?
CONFESSOR. Such is the way, my friend. But now we'll soon be there. (He
leads the STRANGER farther up stage. The STRANGER sees the Monastery,
and is enchanted by it; he takes off his hat, and puts down his wallet
and staff.) Well?
STRANGER. I've never seen anything so white on this polluted earth. At
most, only in my dreams! Yes, that's my youthful dream of a house in
which peace and purity should dwell. A blessing on you, white house! Now
I've come home!
CONFESSOR. Good! But first we must await the pilgrims on this bank. It's
called the bank of farewell, because it's the custom to say farewell
here, before the ferryman ferries one across.
STRANGER. Haven't I said enough farewells already? Wasn't my whole life
one thorny path of farewells? At post offices, steamer-quays, railway
stations--with the waving of handkerchiefs damp with tears?
CONFESSOR. Yet your voice trembles with the pain what you've lost.
STRANGER. I don't feel I've lost anything. I don't want anything back.
CONFESSOR. Not even your youth?
STRANGER. That least of all. What should I do with it, and its capacity
for suffering?
CONFESSOR. And for enjoyment?
STRANGER. I never enjoyed anything, for I was born with a thorn in my
flesh; every time I stretched out my hand to grasp a pleasure, I pricked
my finger and Satan struck me in the face.
CONFESSOR. Because your pleasures have been base ones.
STRANGER. Not so base. I had my own home, a wife, children, duties,
obligations to others! No, I was born in disfavour, a step-child of
life; and I was pursued, hunted, in a word, cursed!
CONFESSOR. Because you didn't obey God's commandment.
STRANGER. But no one can, as St. Paul says himself! Why should I be able
to do what no one else can do? I of all men? Because I'm supposed to be
a scoundrel. Because more's demanded of me than of others.... (Crying
out.) Because I was treated with injustice.
CONFESSOR. Have you got back to that, rebellious one?
STRANGER. Yes. I've always been there. Now let's cross the river.
CONFESSOR. Do you think one can climb up to that white house without
preparation?
STRANGER. I'm ready: you can examine me.
CONFESSOR. Good! The first monastic vow is: humility.
STRANGER. And the second: obedience! Neither of them was ever a special
virtue of mine; it's for that very reason that I want to make the great
attempt.
CONFESSOR. And show your pride through your humility.
STRANGER. Whatever it is, it's all the same to me.
CONFESSOR. What, everything? The world and its best gifts; the joy of
innocent children, the pleasant warmth of home, the approbation of your
fellow-men, the satisfaction brought by the fulfilment of duty--are you
indifferent to them all?
STRANGER. Yes! Because I was born without the power of enjoyment. There
have been moments when I've been an object of envy; but I've never
understood what it was I was envied for: my sufferings in misfortune, my
lack of peace in success, or the fact I hadn't long to live.
CONFESSOR. It's true that life has given you everything you wished; even
a little gold at the last. Why, I even seem to remember that a sculptor
was commissioned to make a portrait bust of you.
STRANGER. Oh yes! A bust was made of me.
CONFESSOR. Are you, of all men, impressed by such things?
STRANGER. Of course not! But they do at least mark well founded
appreciation, that neither envy nor lack of understanding can shake.
CONFESSOR. You think so? It seems to me that human greatness resides
in the good opinion of others; and that, if this opinion changes, the
greatest can quickly dwindle into nothing.
STRANGER. The opinions of others have never meant much to me.
CONFESSOR. Haven't they? Really?
STRANGER. No one's been so strict with himself as I! And no one's been
so humble! All have demanded my respect; whilst they spurned me and spat
on me. And when at last I found I'd duties towards the immortal soul
given into my keeping, I began to demand respect for this immortal soul.
Then I was branded as the proudest of the proud! And by whom? By the
proudest of all amongst the humble and lowly.
CONFESSOR. I think you're entangling yourself in contradictions.
STRANGER. I think so, too! For the whole of life consists of nothing
but contradictions. The rich are the poor in spirit; the many little men
hold the power, and the great only serve the little men. I've never met
such proud people as the humble; I've never met an uneducated man who
didn't believe himself in a position to criticise learning and to do
without it. I've found the unpleasantest of deadly sins amongst the
Saints: I mean self-complacency. In my youth I was a saint myself; but
I've never been so worthless as I was then. The better I thought myself,
the worse I became.
CONFESSOR. Then what do you seek here?
STRANGER. What I've told you already; but I'll add this: I'm seeking
death without the need to die!
CONFESSOR. The mortification of your flesh, of your old self! Good! Now
keep still: the pilgrims are coming on their wooden rafts to celebrate
the festival of Corpus Christi.
STRANGER (looking to the right in surprise). Who are they?
CONFESSOR. People who believe in something.
STRANGER. Then help my unbelief! (Sunlight now falls on the monstrance
in the church above, so that it shines like a window pane at sunset.)
Has the sun entered the church, or....
CONFESSOR. Yes. The sun has entered....
(The first raft comes in from the right. Children clothed in white, with
garlands on their heads and with lighted lanterns in their hands, are
seen standing round an altar decked with flowers, on which a white flag
with a golden lily has been planted. They sing, whilst the raft glides
slowly by.)
Blessed be he, who fears the Lord,
Beati omnes, qui timent Dominum,
And walks in his ways,
Qui ambulant in viis ejus.
Thou shalt feed thyself with the work of thy hands,
Labores manuum tuarum quia manducabis;
Blessed be thou and peace be with thee,
Beatus es et bene tibi erit.
(A second raft appears with boys on one side and girls on the other. It
has a flag with a rose on it.)
Thy wife shall be like a fruitful vine,
Uxor tua sicut vitis abundans,
Within thy house,
In lateribus domus tuae.
(The third raft carries men and women. There is a flag with fruit upon
it: figs, grapes, pomegranates, melons, ears of wheat, etc.)
Filii tui sicut novellae olivarum,
Thy children shall be like olive branches about thy table,
In circuitu mensae tuae.
(The fourth raft is filled with older men and women. The flag has a
representation of a fir-tree under snow.)
See, how blessed is the man,
Ecce sic benedicetur homo,
Who feareth the Lord,
Qui timet Dominum!
(The raft glides by.)
STRANGER. What were they singing?
CONFESSOR. A pilgrim's song.
STRANGER. Who wrote it?
CONFESSOR. A royal person.
STRANGER. Here? What was his name? Has he written anything else?
CONFESSOR. About fifty songs; he was called David, the son of Isaiah!
But he didn't always write psalms. When he was young, he did other
things. Yes. Such things will happen!
STRANGER. Can we go on now?
CONFESSOR. In a moment. I've something to say to you first.
STRANGER. Speak.
CONFESSOR. Good. But don't be either sad or angry.
STRANGER. Certainly not.
CONFESSOR. Here, you see, on this bank, you're a well-known--let's say
famous--person; but over there, on the other, you'll be quite unknown to
the brothers. Nothing more, in fact, than an ordinary simple man.
STRANGER. Oh! Don't they read in the monastery?
CONFESSOR. Nothing light; only serious books.
STRANGER. They take in papers, I suppose?
CONFESSOR. Not the kind that write about you!
STRANGER. Then on the other side of this river my life-work doesn't
exist?
CONFESSOR. What work?
STRANGER. I see. Very well. Can't we cross now?
CONFESSOR. In a minute. Is there no one you'd like to take leave of?
STRANGER (after a pause.) Yes. But it's beyond the bounds of
possibility.
CONFESSOR. Have you ever seen anything impossible?
STRANGER. Not really, since I've seen my own destiny.
CONFESSOR. Well, who is it you'd like to meet?
STRANGER. I had a daughter once; I called her Sylvia, because she sang
all day long like a wren. It's some years since I saw her; she must be
a girl of sixteen now. But I'm afraid if I were to meet her, life would
regain its value for me.
CONFESSOR. You fear nothing else?
STRANGER. What do you mean?
CONFESSOR. That she may have changed!