The waltz music from within is heard faintly at first. Then it grows in strength, as if to compete with the Bach Toccata.EDITHprevails over it and brings it to silence. Dancers appear in the doorway to hear her play. Everybody on the stage stands still and listens reverently.
The waltz music from within is heard faintly at first. Then it grows in strength, as if to compete with the Bach Toccata.EDITHprevails over it and brings it to silence. Dancers appear in the doorway to hear her play. Everybody on the stage stands still and listens reverently.
A NAVAL OFFICER. [TakesALICE,one of the dancers, around the waist and drags her toward the pier] Come quick!
EDITHbreaks off abruptly, rises and stares at the couple with an expression of utter despair; stands as if turned to stone.Now the front wall of the yellow house disappears, revealing three benches full of schoolboys. Among theseTHE OFFICERis seen, looking worried and depressed. In front of the boys standsTHE TEACHER,bespectacled and holding a piece of chalk in one hand, a rattan cane in the other.
EDITHbreaks off abruptly, rises and stares at the couple with an expression of utter despair; stands as if turned to stone.
Now the front wall of the yellow house disappears, revealing three benches full of schoolboys. Among theseTHE OFFICERis seen, looking worried and depressed. In front of the boys standsTHE TEACHER,bespectacled and holding a piece of chalk in one hand, a rattan cane in the other.
THE TEACHER. [ToTHE OFFICER] Well, my boy, can you tell me what twice two makes?
THE OFFICERremains seated while he racks his mind without finding an answer.
THE OFFICERremains seated while he racks his mind without finding an answer.
THE TEACHER. You must rise when I ask you a question.
THE OFFICER. [Harassed, rises] Two—twice—let me see. That makes two-two.
THE TEACHER. I see! You have not studied your lesson.
THE OFFICER. [Ashamed] Yes, I have, but—I know the answer, but I cannot tell it——
THE TEACHER. You want to wriggle out of it, of course. You know it, but you cannot tell. Perhaps I may help you.
[Pulls his hair.
[Pulls his hair.
THE OFFICER. Oh, it is dreadful, it is dreadful!
THE TEACHER. Yes, it is dreadful that such a big boy lacks all ambition——
THE OFFICER. [Hurt] Big boy—yes, I am big—bigger than all these others—I am full-grown, I am done with school—[As if waking up] I have graduated—why am I then sitting here? Have I not received my doctor's degree?
THE TEACHER. Certainly, but you are to sit here and mature, you know. You have to mature—isn't that so?
THE OFFICER. [Feels his forehead] Yes, that is right, one must mature—Twice two—makes two—and this I can demonstrate by analogy, which is the highest form of all reasoning. Listen!—Once one makes one; consequently twice two must make two. For what applies in one case must also apply in another.
THE TEACHER. Your conclusion is based on good logic, but your answer is wrong.
THE OFFICER. What is logical cannot be wrong. Let us test it. One divided by one gives one, so that two divided by two must give two.
THE TEACHER. Correct according to analogy. But how much does once three make?
THE OFFICER. Three, of course.
THE TEACHER. Consequently twice three must also make three.
THE OFFICER. [Pondering] No, that cannot be right—it cannot—or else—[Sits down dejectedly] No, I am not mature yet.
THE TEACHER. No, indeed, you are far from mature.
THE OFFICER. But how long am I to sit here, then?
THE TEACHER. Here—how long? Do you believe that time and space exist?—Suppose that time does exist, then you should be able to say what time is. What is time?
THE OFFICER. Time—[Thinks] I cannot tell, but I know what it is. Consequently I may also know what twice two is without being able to tell it. And, teacher, can you tell what time is?
THE TEACHER. Of course I can.
ALL THE BOYS. Tell us then!
THE TEACHER. Time—let me see. [Stands immovable until one finger on his nose] While we are talking, time flies. Consequently time is something that flies while we talk.
A BOY. [Rising] Now you are talking, teacher, and while you are talking, I fly: consequently I am time. [Runs out.
THE TEACHER. That accords completely with the laws of logic.
THE OFFICER. Then the laws of logic are silly, for Nils who ran away, cannot be time.
THE TEACHER. That is also good logic, although it is silly.
THE OFFICER. Then logic itself is silly.
THE TEACHER. So it seems. But if logic is silly, then all the world is silly—and then the devil himself wouldn't stay here to teach you more silliness. If anybody treats me to a drink, we'll go and take a bath.
THE OFFICER. That is aposterus prius, or the world turned upside down, for it is customary to bathe first and have the drink afterward. Old fogy!
THE TEACHER. Beware of a swelled head, doctor!
THE OFFICER. Call me captain, if you please. I am an officer, and I cannot understand why I should be sitting here to get scolded like a schoolboy——
THE TEACHER. [With raised index finger] We were to mature!
MASTER OF Q. [Enters] The quarantine begins.
THE OFFICER. Oh, there you are. Just think of it, this fellow makes me sit among the boys although I am graduated.
MASTER OF Q. Well, why don't you go away?
THE OFFICER. Heaven knows!—Go away? Why, that is no easy thing to do.
THE TEACHER. I guess not—just try!
THE OFFICER. [ToMASTER OF QUARANTINE] Save me! Save me from his eye!
MASTER OF Q. Come on. Come and help us dance—We have to dance before the plague breaks out. We must!
THE OFFICER. Is the brig leaving?
MASTER OF Q. Yes, first of all the brig must leave—Then there will be a lot of tears shed, of course.
THE OFFICER. Always tears: when she comes and when she goes—Let us get out of here.
They go out.THE TEACHERcontinues his lesson in silence.THE MAIDSthat were staring through the window of the dance hall walk sadly down to the pier.EDITH,who has been standing like a statue at the piano, follows them.
They go out.THE TEACHERcontinues his lesson in silence.
THE MAIDSthat were staring through the window of the dance hall walk sadly down to the pier.EDITH,who has been standing like a statue at the piano, follows them.
THE DAUGHTER. [ToTHE OFFICER] Is there not one happy person to be found in this paradise?
THE OFFICER. Yes, there is a newly married couple. Just watch them.
THE NEWLY MARRIED COUPLEenter.
THE NEWLY MARRIED COUPLEenter.
HUSBAND. [To hisWIFE] My joy has no limits, and I could now wish to die——
WIFE. Why die?
HUSBAND. Because at the heart of happiness grows the seed of disaster. Happiness devours itself like a flame—it cannot burn for ever, but must go out some time. And this presentiment of the coming end destroys joy in the very hour of its culmination.
WIFE. Let us then die together—this moment!
HUSBAND. Die? All right! For I fear happiness—that cheat! [They go toward the water.
THE DAUGHTER. Life is evil! Men are to be pitied!
THE OFFICER. Look at this fellow. He is the most envied mortal in this neighbourhood.
THE BLIND MANis led in.
THE BLIND MANis led in.
THE OFFICER. He is the owner of these hundred or more Italian villas. He owns all these bays, straits, shores, forests, together with the fishes in the water, the birds in the air, the game in the woods. These thousand or more people are his tenants. The sun rises upon his sea and sets upon his land——
THE DAUGHTER. Well—is he complaining also?
THE OFFICER. Yes, and with right, for he cannot see.
MASTER OF Q. He is blind.
THE DAUGHTER. The most envied of all!
THE OFFICER. Now he has come to see the brig depart with his son on board.
THE BLIND MAN. I cannot see, but I hear. I hear the anchor bill claw the clay bottom as when the hook is torn out of a fish and brings up the heart with it through the neck—My son, my only child, is going to journey across the wide sea to foreign lands, and I can follow him only in my thought! Now I hear the clanking of the chain—and—there is something that snaps and cracks like clothes drying on a line—wet handkerchiefs perhaps. And I hear it blubber and snivel as when people are weeping—maybe the splashing of the wavelets among the seines—or maybe girls along the shore, deserted and disconsolate—Once I asked a child why the ocean is salt, and the child, which had a father on a long trip across the high seas, said immediately: the ocean is salt because the sailors shed so many tears into it. And why do the sailors cry so much then?—Because they are always going away, replied the child; and that is why they are always drying their handkerchiefs in the rigging—And why does man weep when he is sad? I asked at last—Because the glass in the eyes must be washed now and then, so that we can see clearly, said the child.
The brig has set sail and is gliding off. The girls along the shore are alternately waving their handkerchiefs and wiping off their tears with them. Then a signal is set on the foremast—a red ball in a white field, meaning "yes." In response to itALICEwaves her handkerchief triumphantly.
The brig has set sail and is gliding off. The girls along the shore are alternately waving their handkerchiefs and wiping off their tears with them. Then a signal is set on the foremast—a red ball in a white field, meaning "yes." In response to itALICEwaves her handkerchief triumphantly.
THE DAUGHTER. [ToTHE OFFICER] What is the meaning of that flag?
THE OFFICER. It means "yes." It is the lieutenant's troth—red as the red blood of the arteries, set against the blue cloth of the sky.
THE DAUGHTER. And how does "no" look?
THE OFFICER. It is blue as the spoiled blood in the veins—but look, how jubilant Alice is.
THE DAUGHTER. And how Edith cries.
THE BLIND MAN. Meet and part. Part and meet. That is life. I met his mother. And then she went away from me. He was left to me; and now he goes.
THE DAUGHTER. But he will come back.
THE BLIND MAN. Who is speaking to me? I have heard that voice before—in my dreams; in my youth, when vacation began; in the early years of my marriage, when my child was born. Every time life smiled at me, I heard that voice, like a whisper of the south wind, like a chord of harps from above, like what I feel the angels' greeting must be in the Holy Night——
THE LAWYERenters and goes up to whisper something intoTHE BLIND MAN'sear.
THE LAWYERenters and goes up to whisper something intoTHE BLIND MAN'sear.
THE BLIND MAN. Is that so?
THE LAWYER. That's the truth. [Goes toTHE DAUGHTER] Now you have seen most of it, but you have not yet tried the worst of it.
THE DAUGHTER. What can that be?
THE LAWYER. Repetition—recurrence. To retrace one's own tracks; to be sent back to the task once finished—come!
THE DAUGHTER. Where?
THE LAWYER. To your duties.
THE DAUGHTER. What does that mean?
THE LAWYER. Everything you dread. Everything you do not want but must. It means to forego, to give up, to do without, to lack—it means everything that is unpleasant, repulsive, painful.
THE DAUGHTER. Are there no pleasant duties?
THE LAWYER. They become pleasant when they are done.
THE DAUGHTER. When they have ceased to exist—Duty is then something unpleasant. What is pleasant then?
THE LAWYER. What is pleasant is sin.
THE DAUGHTER. Sin?
THE LAWYER. Yes, something that has to be punished. If I have had a pleasant day or night, then I suffer infernal pangs and a bad conscience the next day.
THE DAUGHTER. How strange!
THE LAWYER. I wake up in the morning with a headache; and then the repetitions begin, but so that everything becomes perverted. What the night before was pretty, agreeable, witty, is presented by memory in the morning as ugly, distasteful, stupid. Pleasure seems to decay, and all joy goes to pieces. What men call success serves always as a basis for their next failure. My own successes have brought ruin upon me. For men view the fortune of others with an instinctive dread. They regard it unjust that fate should favour any one man, and so they try to restore balance by piling rocks on the road. To have talent is to be in danger of one's life, for then one may easily starve to death!—However, you will have to return to your duties, or I shall bring suit against you, and we shall pass through every court up to the highest—one, two, three!
THE DAUGHTER. Return?—To the iron stove, and the cabbage pot, and the baby clothes——
THE LAWYER. Exactly! We have a big wash to-day, for we must wash all the handkerchiefs——
THE DAUGHTER. Oh, must I do it all over again?
THE LAWYER. All life is nothing but doing things over again. Look at the teacher in there—He received his doctor's degree yesterday, was laurelled and saluted, climbed Parnassus and was embraced by the monarch—and to-day he starts school all over again, asks how much twice two makes, and will continue to do so until his death—However, you must come back to your home!
THE DAUGHTER. I shall rather die!
THE LAWYER. Die?—That is not allowed. First of all, it is a disgrace—so much so that even the dead body is subjected to insults; and secondly, one goes to hell—it is a mortal sin!
THE DAUGHTER. It is not easy to be human!
ALL. Hear!
THE DAUGHTER. I shall not go back with you to humiliation and dirt—I am longing for the heights whence I came—but first the door must be opened so that I may learn the secret—It is my will that the door be opened!
THE LAWYER. Then you must retrace your own steps, cover the road you have already travelled, suffer all annoyances, repetitions, tautologies, recopyings, that a suit will bring with it——
THE DAUGHTER. May it come then—But first I must go into the solitude and the wilderness to recover my own self. We shall meet again! [ToTHE POET] Follow me.
Cries of anguish are heard from a distance. Woe! Woe! Woe!
Cries of anguish are heard from a distance. Woe! Woe! Woe!
THE DAUGHTER. What is that?
THE LAWYER. The lost souls at Foulstrand.
THE DAUGHTER. Why do they wail more loudly than usual to-day?
THE LAWYER. Because the sun is shining here; because here we have music, dancing, youth. And it makes them feel their own sufferings more keenly.
THE DAUGHTER. We must set them free.
THE LAWYER. Try it! Once a liberator appeared, and he was nailed to a cross.
THE DAUGHTER. By whom?
THE LAWYER. By all the right-minded.
THE DAUGHTER. Who are they?
THE LAWYER. Are you not acquainted with all the right-minded? Then you must learn to know them.
THE DAUGHTER. Were they the ones that prevented your graduation?
THE LAWYER. Yes.
THE DAUGHTER. Then I know them!
On the shores of the Mediterranean. To the left, in the foreground, a white wall, and above it branches of an orange tree with ripe fruit on them. In the background, villas and a Casino placed on a terrace. To the right, a huge pile of coal and two wheel-barrows. In the background, to the right, a corner of blue sea.Two coalheavers, naked to the waist, their faces, hands, and bodies blackened by coal dust, are seated on the wheel-barrows. Their expressions show intense despair.THE DAUGHTERandTHE LAWYERin the background.
On the shores of the Mediterranean. To the left, in the foreground, a white wall, and above it branches of an orange tree with ripe fruit on them. In the background, villas and a Casino placed on a terrace. To the right, a huge pile of coal and two wheel-barrows. In the background, to the right, a corner of blue sea.
Two coalheavers, naked to the waist, their faces, hands, and bodies blackened by coal dust, are seated on the wheel-barrows. Their expressions show intense despair.
THE DAUGHTERandTHE LAWYERin the background.
THE DAUGHTER. This is paradise!
FIRST COALHEAVER. This is hell!
SECOND COALHEAVER. One hundred and twenty degrees in the shadow.
FIRST HEAVER. Let's have a bath.
SECOND HEAVER. The police won't let us. No bathing here.
FIRST HEAVER. Couldn't we pick some fruit off that tree?
SECOND HEAVER. Then the police would get after us.
FIRST HEAVER. But I cannot do a thing in this heat—I'll just chuck the job——
SECOND HEAVER. Then the police will get you for sure!— [Pause] And you wouldn't have anything to eat anyhow.
FIRST HEAVER. Nothing to eat? We, who work hardest, get least food; and the rich, who do nothing, get most. Might one not—without disregard of truth—assert that this is injustice —What has the daughter of the gods to say about it?
THE DAUGHTER. I can say nothing at all—But tell me, what have you done that makes you so black and your lot so hard?
FIRST HEAVER. What have we done? We have been born of poor and perhaps not very good parents—Maybe we have been punished a couple of times.
THE DAUGHTER. Punished?
FIRST HEAVER. Yes, the unpunished hang out in the Casino up there and dine on eight courses with wine.
THE DAUGHTER. [ToTHE LAWYER] Can that be true?
THE LAWYER. On the whole, yes.
THE DAUGHTER. You mean to say that every man at some time has deserved to go to prison?
THE LAWYER. Yes.
THE DAUGHTER. You, too?
THE LAWYER. Yes.
THE DAUGHTER. Is it true that the poor cannot bathe in the sea?
THE LAWYER. Yes. Not even with their clothes on. None but those who intend to take their own lives escape being fined. And those are said to get a good drubbing at the police station.
THE DAUGHTER. But can they not go outside of the city, out into the country, and bathe there?
THE LAWYER. There is no place for them—all the land is fenced in.
THE DAUGHTER. But I mean in the free, open country.
THE LAWYER. There is no such thing—it all belongs to somebody.
THE DAUGHTER. Even the sea, the great, vast sea——
THE LAWYER. Even that! You cannot sail the sea in a boat and land anywhere without having it put down in writing and charged for. It is lovely!
THE DAUGHTER. This is not paradise.
THE LAWYER. I should say not!
THE DAUGHTER. Why don't men do something to improve their lot?
THE LAWYER. Oh, they try, of course, but all the improvers end in prison or in the madhouse——
THE DAUGHTER. Who puts them in prison?
THE LAWYER. All the right-minded, all the respectable——
THE DAUGHTER. Who sends them to the madhouse?
THE LAWYER. Their own despair when they grasp the hopelessness of their efforts.
THE DAUGHTER. Has the thought not occurred to anybody, that for secret reasons it must be as it is?
THE LAWYER. Yes, those who are well off always think so.
THE DAUGHTER. That it is all right as it is?
FIRST HEAVER. And yet we are the foundations of society. If the coal is not unloaded, then there will be no fire in the kitchen stove, in the parlour grate, or in the factory furnace; then the light will go out in streets and shops and homes; then darkness and cold will descend upon you—and, therefore, we have to sweat as in hell so that the black coals may be had—And what do you do for us in return?
THE LAWYER. [ToTHE DAUGHTER] Help them!—[Pause] That conditions cannot be quite the same for everybody, I understand, but why should they differ so widely?
A GENTLEMANandA LADYpass across the stage.
A GENTLEMANandA LADYpass across the stage.
THE LADY. Will you come and play a game with us?
THE GENTLEMAN. No, I must take a walk, so I can eat something for dinner.
FIRST HEAVER. So that hecaneat something?
SECOND HEAVER. So that hecan——?
Children enter and cry with horror when they catch sight of the grimy workers.
Children enter and cry with horror when they catch sight of the grimy workers.
FIRST HEAVER. They cry when they see us. They cry——
SECOND HEAVER. Damn it all!—I guess we'll have to pull out the scaffolds soon and begin to operate on this rotten body——
FIRST HEAVER. Damn it, I say, too! [Spits.
THE LAWYER. [ToTHE DAUGHTER] Yes, it is all wrong. And men are not so very bad—but——
THE DAUGHTER. But——
THE LAWYER. But the government——
THE DAUGHTER. [Goes out, hiding her face in her hands] This is not paradise.
COALHEAVERS. No, hell, that's what it is!
[3]Means literally "wordspout."
[3]Means literally "wordspout."
Fingal's Cave. Long green waves are rolling slowly into the cave. In the foreground, a siren buoy is swaying to and fro in time with the waves, but without sounding except at the indicated moment. Music of the winds. Music of the waves.THE DAUGHTERandTHE POET.
Fingal's Cave. Long green waves are rolling slowly into the cave. In the foreground, a siren buoy is swaying to and fro in time with the waves, but without sounding except at the indicated moment. Music of the winds. Music of the waves.
THE DAUGHTERandTHE POET.
THE POET. Where are you leading me?
THE DAUGHTER. Far away from the noise and lament of the man-children, to the utmost end of the ocean, to the cave that we name Indra's Ear because it is the place where the king of the heavens is said to listen to the complaints of the mortals.
THE POET. What? In this place?
THE DAUGHTER. Do you see how this cave is built like a shell? Yes, you can see it. Do you know that your ear, too, is built in the form of a shell? You know it, but have not thought of it. [She picks up a shell from the beach] Have you not as a child held such a shell to your ear and listened—and heard the ripple of your heart-blood, the humming of your thoughts in the brain, the snapping of a thousand little worn-out threads in the tissues of your body? All that you hear in this small shell. Imagine then what may be heard in this larger one!
THE POET. [Listening] I hear nothing but the whispering of the wind.
THE DAUGHTER. Then I shall interpret it for you. Listen. The wail of the winds. [Recites to subdued music:
Born beneath the clouds of heaven,Driven we were by the lightnings of IndraDown to the sand-covered earth.Straw from the harvested fields soiled our feet;Dust from the high-roads,Smoke from the cities,Foul-smelling breaths,Fumes from cellars and kitchens,All we endured.Then to the open sea we fled,Filling our lungs with air,Shaking our wings,And laving our feet.Indra, Lord of the Heavens,Hear us!Hear our sighing!Unclean is the earth;Evil is life;Neither good nor badCan men be deemed.As they can, they live,One day at a time.Sons of dust, through dust they journey;Born out of dust, to dust they return.Given they were, for trudging,Feet, not wings for flying.Dusty they grow—Lies the fault then with them,Or with Thee?
THE POET. Thus I heard it once——
THE DAUGHTER. Hush! The winds are still singing.
[Recites to subdued music:
[Recites to subdued music:
We, winds that wander,We, the air's offspring,Bear with us men's lament.Heard us you haveDuring gloom-filled Fall nights,In chimneys and pipes,In key-holes and door cracks,When the rain wept on the roof:Heard us you haveIn the snowclad pine woodsMidst wintry gloom:Heard us you have,Crooning and moaningIn ropes and riggingOn the high-heaving sea.It was we, the winds,Offspring of the air,Who learned how to grieveWithin human breastsThrough which we passed—In sick-rooms, on battle-fields,But mostly where the newbornWhimpered and wailedAt the pain of living.We, we, the winds,We are whining and whistling:Woe! Woe! Woe!
THE POET. It seems to me that I have already——
THE DAUGHTER. Hush! Now the waves are singing.
[Recites to subdued music:
[Recites to subdued music:
We, we waves,That are rocking the windsTo rest—Green cradles, we waves!Wet are we, and salty;Leap like flames of fire—Wet flames are we:Burning, extinguishing;Cleansing, replenishing;Bearing, engendering.We, we waves,That are rocking the windsTo rest!
THE DAUGHTER. False waves and faithless! Everything on earth that is not burned, is drowned—by the waves. Look at this. [Pointing to pile of debris] See what the sea has taken and spoiled! Nothing but the figure-heads remain of the sunken ships—and the names:Justice,Friendship, Golden Peace, Hope—this is all that is left ofHope—of fickleHope—Railings, tholes, bails! And lo: the life buoy—which saved itself and let distressed men perish.
THE POET. [Searching in the pile] Here is the name-board of the shipJustice. That was the one which left Fairhaven with the Blind Man's son on board. It is lost then! And with it are gone the lover of Alice, the hopeless love of Edith.
THE DAUGHTER. The Blind Man? Fairhaven? I must have been dreaming of them. And the lover of Alice, "Plain" Edith, Foulstrand and the Quarantine, sulphur and carbolic acid, the graduation in the church, the Lawyer's office, the passageway and Victoria, the Growing Castle and the Officer—All this I have been dreaming——
THE POET. It was in one of my poems.
THE DAUGHTER. You know then what poetry is——
THE POET. I know then what dreaming is—But what is poetry?
THE DAUGHTER. Not reality, but more than reality—not dreaming, but daylight dreams——
THE POET. And the man-children think that we poets are only playing—that we invent and make believe.
THE DAUGHTER. And fortunate it is, my friend, for otherwise the world would lie fallow for lack of ministration. Everybody would be stretched on his back, staring into the sky. Nobody would be touching plough or spade, hammer or plane.
THE POET. And you say this, Indra's daughter, you who belong in part up there——
THE DAUGHTER. You do right in reproaching me. Too long have I stayed down here taking mud baths like you—My thoughts have lost their power of flight; there is clay on their wings—mire on their feet—and I myself—[raising her arms] I sink, I sink—Help me, father, Lord of the Heavens! [Silence] I can no longer hear his answer. The ether no longer carries the sound from his lips to my ear's shell the silvery thread has snapped—Woe is me, I am earthbound!
THE POET. Do you mean to ascend—soon?
THE DAUGHTER. As soon as I have consigned this mortal shape to the flames—for even the waters of the ocean cannot cleanse me. Why do you question me thus?
THE POET. Because I have a prayer——
THE DAUGHTER. What kind of prayer?
THE POET. A written supplication from humanity to the ruler of the universe, formulated by a dreamer.
THE DAUGHTER. To be presented by whom?
THE POET. By Indra's daughter.
THE DAUGHTER. Can you repeat what you have written?
THE POET. I can.
THE DAUGHTER. Speak it then.
THE POET. Better that you do it.
THE DAUGHTER. Where can I read it?
THE POET. In my mind—or here.
[Hands her a roll of paper.
[Hands her a roll of paper.
THE DAUGHTER. [Receives the roll, but reads without looking at it] Well, by me it shall be spoken then:
"Why must you be born in anguish?Why, O man-child, must you alwaysWring your mother's heart with tortureWhen you bring her joy maternal,Highest happiness yet known?Why to life must you awaken,Why to light give natal greeting,With a cry of anger and of pain?Why not meet it smiling, man-child,When the gift of life is countedIn itself a boon unmatched?Why like beasts should we be coming,We of race divine and human?Better garment craves the spiritThan one made of filth and blood!Need a god his teeth be changing——"—Silence, rash one! Is it seemlyFor the work to blame its maker?No one yet has solved life's riddle."Thus begins the human journeyO'er a road of thorns and thistles;If a beaten path be offered.It is named at once forbidden;If a flower you covet, straightwayYou are told it is another's;If a field should bar your progress,And you dare to break across it,You destroy your neighbour's harvest;Others then your own will trample,That the measure may be evened!Every moment of enjoymentBrings to some one else a sorrow,But your sorrow gladdens no one,For from sorrow naught but sorrow springs."Thus you journey till you die,And your death brings others' bread."—Is it thus that you approach,Son of Dust, the One Most High?
THE POET.
Could the son of dust discoverWords so pure and bright and simpleThat to heaven they might ascend——?Child of gods, wilt thou interpretMankind's grievance in some languageThat immortals understand?
THE DAUGHTER. I will.
THE POET. [Pointing to the buoy] What is that floating there?—A buoy?
THE DAUGHTER. Yes.
THE POET. It looks like a lung with a windpipe.
THE DAUGHTER. It is the watchman of the seas. When danger is abroad, it sings.
THE POET. It seems to me as if the sea were rising and the waves growing larger——
THE DAUGHTER. Not unlikely.
THE POET. Woe! What do I see? A ship bearing down upon the reef.
THE DAUGHTER. What ship can that be?
THE POET. The ghost ship of the seas, I think.
THE DAUGHTER. What ship is that?
THE POET. TheFlying Dutchman.
THE DAUGHTER. Oh, that one. Why is he punished so hard, and why does he not seek harbour?
THE POET. Because he had seven faithless wives.
THE DAUGHTER. And for this he should be punished?
THE POET. Yes, all the right-minded condemned him——
THE DAUGHTER. Strange world, this!—How can he then be freed from his curse?
THE POET. Freed?—Oh, they take good care that none is set free.
THE DAUGHTER. Why?
THE POET. Because—No, it is not theDutchman! It is an ordinary ship in distress. Why does not the buoy cry out now? Look, how the sea is rising—how high the waves are—soon we shall be unable to get out of the cave! Now the ship's bell is ringing—Soon we shall have another figure-head. Cry out, buoy! Do your duty, watchman! [The buoy sounds a four-voice chord of fifths and sixths, reminding one of fog horns] The crew is signalling to us—but we are doomed ourselves.
THE DAUGHTER. Do you not wish to be set free?
THE POET. Yes, of course—of course, I wish it—but not just now, and not by water.
THE CREW. [Sings in quartet] Christ Kyrie!
THE POET. Now they are crying aloud, and so is the sea, but no one gives ear.
THE CREW. [As before] Christ Kyrie!
THE DAUGHTER. Who is coming there?
THE POET. Walking on the waters? There is only one who does that—and it is not Peter, the Rock, for he sank like a stone——
A white light is seen shining over the water at some distance.
A white light is seen shining over the water at some distance.
THE CREW. Christ Kyrie!
THE DAUGHTER. Can this be He?
THE POET. It is He, the crucified——
THE DAUGHTER. Why—tell me—why was He crucified?
THE POET. Because He wanted to set free——
THE DAUGHTER. Who was it—I have forgotten—that crucified Him?
THE POET. All the right-minded.
THE DAUGHTER. What a strange world!
THE POET. The sea is rising. Darkness is closing in upon us. The storm is growing——
[THE CREWset up a wild outcry.
[THE CREWset up a wild outcry.
THE POET. The crew scream with horror at the sight of their Saviour—and now—they are leaping overboard for fear of the Redeemer——
[THE CREWutter another cry.
[THE CREWutter another cry.
THE POET. Now they are crying because they must die. Crying when they are born, and crying when they pass away!
[The rising waves threaten to engulf the two in the cave.
[The rising waves threaten to engulf the two in the cave.
THE DAUGHTER. If I could only be sure that it is a ship——
THE POET. Really—I don't think it is a ship—It is a two-storied house with trees in front of it—and—a telephone tower—a tower that reaches up into the skies—It is the modern Tower of Babel sending wires to the upper regions—to communicate with those above——
THE DAUGHTER. Child, the human thought needs no wires to make a way for itself—the prayers of the pious penetrate the universe. It cannot be a Tower of Babel, for if you want to assail the heavens, you must do so with prayer.
THE POET. No, it is no house—no telephone tower—don't you see?
THE DAUGHTER. What are you seeing?
THE POET. I see an open space covered with snow—a drill ground—The winter sun is shining from behind a church on a hill, and the tower is casting its long shadow on the snow—Now a troop of soldiers come marching across the grounds. They march up along the tower, up the spire. Now they have reached the cross, but I have a feeling that the first one who steps on the gilded weathercock at the top must die. Now they are near it—a corporal is leading them—ha-ha! There comes a cloud sweeping across the open space, and right in front of the sun, of course—now everything is gone—the water in the cloud put out the sun's fire!—The light of the sun created the shadow picture of the tower, but the shadow picture of the cloud swallowed the shadow picture of the tower——
WhileTHE POETis still speaking, the stage is changed and shows once more the passageway outside the opera-house.
WhileTHE POETis still speaking, the stage is changed and shows once more the passageway outside the opera-house.
THE DAUGHTER. [ToTHE PORTRESS] Has the Lord Chancellor arrived yet?
THE PORTRESS. No.
THE DAUGHTER. And the Deans of the Faculties?
THE PORTRESS. No.
THE DAUGHTER. Call them at once, then, for the door is to be opened——
THE PORTRESS. Is it so very pressing?
THE DAUGHTER. Yes, it is. For there is a suspicion that the solution of the world-riddle may be hidden behind it. Call the Lord Chancellor, and the Deans of the Four Faculties also.
[THE PORTRESSblows in a whistle.
[THE PORTRESSblows in a whistle.
THE DAUGHTER. And do not forget the Glazier and his diamond, for without them nothing can be done.
STAGE PEOPLEenter from the left as in the earlier scene.
STAGE PEOPLEenter from the left as in the earlier scene.
THE OFFICER. [Enters from the background, in Prince Albert and high hat, with a bunch of roses in his hand, looking radiantly happy] Victoria!
THE PORTRESS. The young lady will be coming in a moment.
THE OFFICER. Good! The carriage is waiting, the table is set, the wine is on ice—Permit me to embrace you, madam! [EmbracesTHE PORTRESS] Victoria!
A WOMAN'S VOICE FROM ABOVE. [Sings] I am here!
THE OFFICER. [Begins to walk to and fro] Good! I am waiting.
THE POET. It seems to me that all this has happened before——
THE DAUGHTER. So it seems to me also.
THE POET. Perhaps I have dreamt it.
THE DAUGHTER. Or put it in a poem, perhaps.
THE POET. Or put it in a poem.
THE DAUGHTER. Then you know what poetry is.
THE POET. Then I know what dreaming is.
THE DAUGHTER. It seems to me that we have said all this to each other before, in some other place.
THE POET. Then you may soon figure out what reality is.
THE DAUGHTER. Or dreaming!
THE POET. Or poetry!
Enter theLORD CHANCELLORand theDEANSof theTHEOLOGICAL,PHILOSOPHICAL,MEDICAL,andLEGAL FACULTIES.
Enter theLORD CHANCELLORand theDEANSof theTHEOLOGICAL,PHILOSOPHICAL,MEDICAL,andLEGAL FACULTIES.
LORD CHANCELLOR. It is about the opening of that door, of course—What does the Dean of the Theological Faculty think of it?
DEAN OF THEOLOGY. I do not think—I believe—Credo——
DEAN OF PHILOSOPHY. I hold——
DEAN OF MEDICINE. I know——
DEAN OF JURISPRUDENCE. I doubt until I have evidence and witnesses.
LORD CHANCELLOR. Now they are fighting again!—Well, what does Theology believe?
THEOLOGY. I believe that this door must not be opened, because it hides dangerous truths——
PHILOSOPHY. Truth is never dangerous.
MEDICINE. What is truth?
JURISPRUDENCE. What can be proved by two witnesses.
THEOLOGY. Anything can be proved by two false witnesses—thinks the pettifogger.
PHILOSOPHY. Truth is wisdom, and wisdom, knowledge, is philosophy itself—Philosophy is the science of sciences, the knowledge of knowing, and all other sciences are its servants.
MEDICINE. Natural science is the only true science—and philosophy is no science at all. It is nothing but empty speculation.
THEOLOGY. Good!
PHILOSOPHY. [ToTHEOLOGY] Good, you say! And what are you, then? You are the arch-enemy of all knowledge; you are the very antithesis of knowledge; you are ignorance and obscuration——
MEDICINE. Good!
THEOLOGY. [ToMEDICINE] You cry "good," you, who cannot see beyond the length of your own nose in the magnifying glass; who believes in nothing but your own unreliable senses—in your vision, for instance, which may be far-sighted, near-sighted, blind, purblind, cross-eyed, one-eyed, colour-blind, red-blind, green-blind——
MEDICINE. Idiot!
THEOLOGY. Ass! [They fight.
LORD CHANCELLOR. Peace! One crow does not peck out the other's eye.
PHILOSOPHY. If I had to choose between those two, Theology and Medicine, I should choose—neither!
JURISPRUDENCE. And if I had to sit in judgment on the three of you, I should find—all guilty! You cannot agree on a single point, and you never could. Let us get back to the case in court. What is the opinion of the Lord Chancellor as to this door and its opening?
LORD CHANCELLOR. Opinion? I have no opinion whatever. I am merely appointed by the government to see that you don't break each other's arms and legs in the Council—while you are educating the young! Opinion? Why, I take mighty good care to avoid everything of the kind. Once I had one or two, but they were refuted at once. Opinions are always refuted—by their opponents, of course—But perhaps we might open the door now, even with the risk of finding some dangerous truths behind it?
JURISPRUDENCE. What is truth? What is truth?
THEOLOGY. I am the truth and the life——
PHILOSOPHY. I am the science of sciences——
MEDICINE. I am the only exact science——
JURISPRUDENCE. I doubt—— [They fight.
THE DAUGHTER. Instructors of the young, take shame!
JURISPRUDENCE. Lord Chancellor, as representative of the government, as head of the corps of instructors, you must prosecute this woman's offence. She has told all of you to take shame, which is an insult; and she has—in a sneering, ironical sense—called you instructors of the young, which is a slanderous speech.
THE DAUGHTER. Poor youth!
JURISPRUDENCE. She pities the young, which is to accuse us. Lord Chancellor, you must prosecute the offence.
THE DAUGHTER. Yes, I accuse you—you in a body—of sowing doubt and discord in the minds of the young.
JURISPRUDENCE. Listen to her—she herself is making the young question our authority, and then she charges us with sowing doubt. Is it not a criminal act, I ask all the right-minded?
ALL RIGHT-MINDED. Yes, it is criminal.
JURISPRUDENCE. All the right-minded have condemned you. Leave in peace with your lucre, or else——
THE DAUGHTER. My lucre? Or else? What else?
JURISPRUDENCE. Else you will be stoned.
THE POET. Or crucified.
THE DAUGHTER. I leave. Follow me, and you shall learn the riddle.
THE POET. Which riddle?
THE DAUGHTER. What did he mean with "my lucre"?
THE POET. Probably nothing at all. That kind of thing we call talk. He was just talking.
THE DAUGHTER. But it was what hurt me more than anything else!
THE POET. That is why he said it, I suppose—Men are that way.
ALL RIGHT-MINDED. Hooray! The door is open.
LORD CHANCELLOR. What was behind the door?
THE GLAZIER. I can see nothing.
LORD CHANCELLOR. He cannot see anything—of course, he cannot! Deans of the Faculties: what was behind that door?
THEOLOGY. Nothing! That is the solution of the world-riddle. In the beginning God created heaven and the earth out of nothing——
PHILOSOPHY. Out of nothing comes nothing.
MEDICINE. Yes, bosh—which is nothing!
JURISPRUDENCE. I doubt. And this is a case of deception. I appeal to all the right-minded.
THE DAUGHTER. [ToTHE POET] Who are the right-minded?
THE POET. Who can tell? Frequently all the right-minded consist of a single person. To-day it is me and mine; to-morrow it is you and yours. To that position you are appointed—or rather, you appoint yourself to it.
ALL RIGHT-MINDED. We have been deceived.
LORD CHANCELLOR. Who has deceived you?
ALL RIGHT-MINDED. The Daughter!
LORD CHANCELLOR. Will the Daughter please tell us what she meant by having this door opened?
THE DAUGHTER. No, friends. If I did, you would not believe me.
MEDICINE. Why, then, there is nothing there.
THE DAUGHTER. You have said it—but you have not understood.
MEDICINE. It is bosh, what she says!
ALL. Bosh!
THE DAUGHTER. [ToTHE POET] They are to be pitied.
THE POET. Are you in earnest?
THE DAUGHTER. Always in earnest.
THE POET. Do you think the right-minded are to be pitied also?
THE DAUGHTER. They most of all, perhaps.
THE POET. And the four faculties, too?
THE DAUGHTER. They also, and not the least. Four heads, four minds, and one body. Who made that monster?
ALL. She has not answered!
LORD CHANCELLOR. Stone her then!
THE DAUGHTER. I have answered.
LORD CHANCELLOR. Hear—she answers.
ALL. Stone her! She answers!
THE DAUGHTER. Whether she answer or do not answer, stone her! Come, prophet, and I shall tell you the riddle—but far away from here—out in the desert, where no one can hear us, no one see us, for——
THE LAWYER. [Enters and takesTHE DAUGHTERby the arm] Have you forgotten your duties?
THE DAUGHTER. Oh, heavens, no! But I have higher duties.
THE LAWYER. And your child?
THE DAUGHTER. My child—what of it?
THE LAWYER. Your child is crying for you.
THE DAUGHTER. My child! Woe, I am earth-bound! And this pain in my breast, this anguish—what is it?
THE LAWYER. Don't you know?
THE DAUGHTER. No.
THE LAWYER. It is remorse.
THE DAUGHTER. Is that remorse?
THE LAWYER. Yes, and it follows every neglected duty; every pleasure, even the most innocent, if innocent pleasures exist, which seems doubtful; and every suffering inflicted upon one's fellow-beings.
THE DAUGHTER. And there is no remedy?
THE LAWYER. Yes, but only one. It consists in doing your duty at once——
THE DAUGHTER. You look like a demon when you speak that word duty—And when, as in my case, there are two duties to be met?
THE LAWYER. Meet one first, and then the other.
THE DAUGHTER. The highest first—therefore, you look after my child, and I shall do my duty——
THE LAWYER. Your child suffers because it misses you—can you bear to know that a human being is suffering for your sake?
THE DAUGHTER. Now strife has entered my soul—it is rent in two, and the halves are being pulled in opposite directions!
THE LAWYER. Such, you know, are life's little discords.
THE DAUGHTER. Oh, how it is pulling!
THE POET. If you could only know how I have spread sorrow and ruin around me by the exercise of my calling—and note that I saycalling, which carries with it the highest duty of all—then you would not even touch my hand.
THE DAUGHTER. What do you mean?
THE POET. I had a father who put his whole hope on me as his only son, destined to continue his enterprise. I ran away from the business college. My father grieved himself to death. My mother wanted me to be religious, and I could not do what she wanted—and she disowned me. I had a friend who assisted me through trying days of need—and that friend acted as a tyrant against those on whose behalf I was speaking and writing. And I had to strike down my friend and benefactor in order to save my soul. Since then I have had no peace. Men call me devoid of honour, infamous—and it does not help that my conscience says, "you have done right," for in the next moment it is saying, "you have done wrong." Such is life.
THE DAUGHTER. Come with me into the desert.
THE LAWYER. Your child!
THE DAUGHTER. [Indicating all those present] Here are my children. By themselves they are good, but if they only come together, then they quarrel and turn into demons—Farewell!
Outside the castle. The same scenery as in the first scene of the first act. But now the ground in front of the castle wall is covered with flowers—blue monk's-hood or aconite. On the roof of the castle, at the very top of its lantern, there is a chrysanthemum bud ready to open. The castle windows are illuminated with candles.THE DAUGHTERandTHE POET.
Outside the castle. The same scenery as in the first scene of the first act. But now the ground in front of the castle wall is covered with flowers—blue monk's-hood or aconite. On the roof of the castle, at the very top of its lantern, there is a chrysanthemum bud ready to open. The castle windows are illuminated with candles.
THE DAUGHTERandTHE POET.
THE DAUGHTER. The hour is not distant when, with the help of the flames, I shall once more ascend to the ether. It is what you call to die, and what you approach in fear.
THE POET. Fear of the unknown.
THE DAUGHTER. Which is known to you.
THE POET. Who knows it?
THE DAUGHTER. All! Why do you not believe your prophets?
THE POET. Prophets have always been disbelieved. Why is that so? And "if God has spoken, why will men not believe then?" His convincing power ought to be irresistible.
THE DAUGHTER. Have you always doubted?
THE POET. No. I have had certainty many times. But after a while it passed away, like a dream when you wake up.
THE DAUGHTER. It is not easy to be human!
THE POET. You see and admit it?
THE DAUGHTER. I do.
THE POET. Listen! Was it not Indra that once sent his son down here to receive the complaints of mankind?
THE DAUGHTER. Thus it happened—and how was he received?
THE POET. How did he fill his mission?—to answer with another question.
THE DAUGHTER. And if I may reply with still another—was not man's position bettered by his visit to the earth? Answer truly!
THE POET. Bettered?—Yes, a little. A very little—But instead of asking questions—will you not tell the riddle?
THE DAUGHTER. Yes. But to what use? You will not believe me.
THE POET. In you I shall believe, for I know who you are.
THE DAUGHTER. Then I shall tell! In the morning of the ages, before the sun was shining, Brahma, the divine primal force, let himself be persuaded by Maya, the world-mother, to propagate himself. This meeting of the divine primal matter with the earth-matter was the fall of heaven into sin. Thus the world, existence, mankind, are nothing but a phantom, an appearance, a dream-image——
THE POET. My dream!
THE DAUGHTER. A dream of truth! But in order to free themselves from the earth-matter, the offspring of Brahma seek privation and suffering. There you have suffering as a liberator. But this craving for suffering comes into conflict with the craving for enjoyment, or love—do you now understand what love is, with its utmost joys merged into its utmost sufferings, with its mixture of what is most sweet and most bitter? Can you now grasp what woman is? Woman, through whom sin and death found their way into life?
THE POET. I understand!—And the end?
THE DAUGHTER. You know it: conflict between the pain of enjoyment and the pleasure of suffering—between the pangs of the penitent and the joys of the prodigal——
THE POET. A conflict it is then?
THE DAUGHTER. Conflict between opposites produces energy, as fire and water give the power of steam——
THE POET. But peace? Rest?
THE DAUGHTER. Hush! You must ask no more, and I can no longer answer. The altar is already adorned for the sacrifice—the flowers are standing guard—the candles are lit—there are white sheets in the windows—spruce boughs have been spread in the gateway——
THE POET. And you say this as calmly as if for you suffering did not exist!
THE DAUGHTER. You think so?—I have suffered all your sufferings, but in a hundredfold degree, for my sensations were so much more acute——
THE POET. Relate your sorrow!
THE DAUGHTER. Poet, could you tell yours so that not one word went too far? Could your word at any time approach your thought?
THE POET. No, you are right! To myself I appeared like one struck dumb, and when the mass listened admiringly to my song, I found it mere noise—for this reason, you see, I have always felt ashamed when they praised me.
THE DAUGHTER. And then you ask me—Look me straight in the eye!
THE POET. I cannot bear your glance——
THE DAUGHTER. How could you bear my word then, were I to speak in your tongue?
THE POET. But tell me at least before you go: from what did you suffer most of all down here?
THE DAUGHTER. From—being: to feel my vision weakened by an eye, my hearing blunted by an ear, and my thought, my bright and buoyant thought, bound in labyrinthine coils of fat. You have seen a brain—what roundabout and sneaking paths——
THE POET. Well, that is because all the right-minded think crookedly!
THE DAUGHTER. Malicious, always malicious, all of you!
THE POET. How could one possibly be otherwise?
THE DAUGHTER. First of all I now shake the dust from my feet—the dirt and the clay—
[Takes off her shoes and puts them into the fire.
[Takes off her shoes and puts them into the fire.
THE PORTRESS. [Puts her shawl into the fire] Perhaps I may burn my shawl at the same time? [Goes out.
THE OFFICER. [Enters] And I my roses, of which only the thorns are left. [Goes out.
THE BILLPOSTER. [Enters] My bills may go, but never the dipnet! [Goes out.
THE GLAZIER. [Enters] The diamond that opened the door—good-bye! [Goes out.
THE LAWYER. [Enters] The minutes of the great process concerning the pope's beard or the water loss in the sources of the Ganges. [Goes out.
MASTER OF QUARANTINE. [Enters] A small contribution in shape of the black mask that made me a blackamoor against my will! [Goes out.