JUDGE. [To his wife] It's—him—sure enough! For I feel as if I were turning into ice. How are we to get rid of him?—Why, they say that the unclean spirits cannot bear the sound of music. Play something on the harp, Caroline.
Though badly frightened, theOLD LADYsits down at the table on which the harp stands and begins to play a slow prelude in a minor key.THE OTHER ONElistens reverently and with evident emotion.
Though badly frightened, theOLD LADYsits down at the table on which the harp stands and begins to play a slow prelude in a minor key.
THE OTHER ONElistens reverently and with evident emotion.
OLD LADY. [To theJUDGE] Is he gone?
THE OTHER ONE. I thank you for the music, madam. It lulls the pain and awakens memories of better things even in a lost soul—Thank you, madam!—Speaking of the auction, I think you are doing right, although, in my opinion, an honest declaration of bankruptcy would be still better—Yes, surrender your goods, and let every one get back his own.
JUDGE. Bankruptcy? I have no debts——
THE OTHER ONE. No debts!
OLD LADY. My husbandhasno debts!
THE OTHER ONE. No debts! That would be happiness, indeed!
JUDGE. Well, that's the truth! But other people are in debt to me——
THE OTHER ONE. Forgive them then!
JUDGE. This is not a question of pardon, but of payment——
THE OTHER ONE. All right! Then you'll be made to pay!—For the moment—farewell! But we'll meet frequently, and the last time at the great auction! [He goes out backward.
JUDGE. He's afraid of the sun—he, too! Ha-ha!
THE OTHER ONE. Yes, for some time yet. But once I have accustomed myself to the light, I shall hate darkness.
[He disappears.
[He disappears.
OLD LADY. [To theJUDGE] Do you really think he is—the Other One?
JUDGE. Of course, that's not the way he is supposed to look but then times are changing and we with them. They used to say that he had gold and fame to give away, but this fellow goes around dunning——
OLD LADY. Oh, he's a sorry lot, and a charlatan—that's all! A milksop who doesn't dare to bite, no matter how much he would like to!
THE OTHER ONE. [Standing in the doorway again] Take care, I tell you! Take care!
JUDGE. [Raising his right hand] Take care yourself!
THE OTHER ONE. [Pointing at theJUDGEwith one hand as if it were a revolver] Shame!
JUDGE. [Unable to move] Woe is me!
THE OTHER ONE. You have never believed in anything good. Now you shall have to believe in the Evil One. He who isall goodnesscan harm nobody, you see, and so he leaves that to such villains as myself. But for the sake of greater effectiveness, you two must torture yourselves and each other.
OLD LADY. [Kneeling beforeTHE OTHER ONE] Spare us! Help us! Mercy!
THE OTHER ONE. [With a gesture as if he were tearing his clothes] Get up, woman! Woe is me! There is One, and One only, to whom you may pray! Get up now, or—Yes, now you believe, although I don't wear a red cloak, and don't carry sword or purse, and don't crack any jokes—but beware of taking me in jest! I am serious as sin and stern as retribution! I have not come to tempt you with gold and fame, but to chastise you with rods and scorpions—[The clock begins to strike again; the stage turns dark] Your time is nearly up. Therefore, put your house in order—because die you must! [A noise as of thunder is heard] Whose voice is speaking now? Do you thinkhecan be scared off with your rattle when he comes sweeping across your vineyard? Storm and Hail are his names; destruction nestles under his wings, and in his claws he carries punishment. Put on your caul now, and don your good conscience.
[The rattling of the hail-storm is heard outside.
[The rattling of the hail-storm is heard outside.
JUDGE. Mercy!
THE OTHER ONE. Yes, if you promise repentance.
JUDGE. I promise on my oath——
THE OTHER ONE. You can take no oath, for you have already perjured yourself. But promise first of all to set the children free—and then all the rest!
JUDGE. I promise! Before the sun has set, the children shall be here!
THE OTHER ONE. That's the first step ahead, but if you turn back, then you'll see that I am as good as my name, which is—Legion!
He raises the rattan, and at that moment theJUDGEcomes able to move again.
He raises the rattan, and at that moment theJUDGEcomes able to move again.
Curtain.
A wine-cellar, with rows of casks along both side walls. The doorway in the rear is closed by an iron door.Every cask is marked with the name of the urine kept in it. Those nearest the foreground have small shelves above the taps, and the shelves hold glasses.At the right, in the foreground, stands a wine-press and near it are a couple of straw-bottomed chairs.Bottles, funnels, siphons, crates, etc., are scattered about the place.
A wine-cellar, with rows of casks along both side walls. The doorway in the rear is closed by an iron door.
Every cask is marked with the name of the urine kept in it. Those nearest the foreground have small shelves above the taps, and the shelves hold glasses.
At the right, in the foreground, stands a wine-press and near it are a couple of straw-bottomed chairs.
Bottles, funnels, siphons, crates, etc., are scattered about the place.
ERICandTHYRAare seated by the wine-press.
ERIC. I think it's awfully dull.
THYRA. I think grandmother is nasty.
ERIC. You mustn't talk like that.
THYRA. No, perhaps not, but sheisnasty.
ERIC. You mustn't, Thyra, for then the little boy won't come and play with us again.
THYRA. Then I won't say it again. I only wish it wasn't so dark.
ERIC. Don't you remember, Thyra, that the boy said we shouldn't complain——
THYRA. Then I won't do it any more—[The spot of sunlight appears on the ground] Oh, look at the sun-spot!
[She jumps up and places her foot on the light.
[She jumps up and places her foot on the light.
ERIC. You mustn't step on the sun, Thyra. That's a sin!
THYRA. I didn't mean to step on him. I just wanted to have him. Now see—I have him in my arms, and I can pat him.—Look! Now he's kissing me right on the mouth.
ThePLAYMATEenters from behind one of the casks; he wears a white garment reaching below his knees, and a blue scarf around the waist; on his feet are sandals; he is blond, and when he appears the cellar grows lighter.
ThePLAYMATEenters from behind one of the casks; he wears a white garment reaching below his knees, and a blue scarf around the waist; on his feet are sandals; he is blond, and when he appears the cellar grows lighter.
ERIC. [Goes to meet him and shakes hands with him] Hello, little boy!—Come and shake hands, Thyra!—What's your name, boy? You must tell us to-day.
ThePLAYMATEmerely looks at him.
ThePLAYMATEmerely looks at him.
THYRA. You shouldn't be so forward, Eric, for it makes him bashful.—But tell me, little boy, who is your papa?
PLAYMATE. Don't be so curious. When you know me better, you'll learn all those things.—But let us play now.
THYRA. Yes, but nothing instructive, for that is so tedious. I want it just to be nice.
PLAYMATE. [Smiling] Shall I tell a story?
THYRA. Yes, but not out of the Bible, for all those we know by heart——
ThePLAYMATEsmiles again.
ThePLAYMATEsmiles again.
ERIC. You say such things, Thyra, that he gets hurt——
PLAYMATE. No, my little friends, you don't hurt me—But now, if you are really good, we'll go and play in the open——
ERIC. Oh, yes, yes!—But then, you know, grandmother won't let us——
PLAYMATE. Yes, your grandmother has said that she wished you were out, and so we'll go before she changes her mind. Come on now!
THYRA. Oh, what fun! Oh——
The door in the rear flies open and through the doorway is seen a sunlit field planted with rye ready for the harvest. Among the yellow ears grow bachelor's-buttons and daisies.
The door in the rear flies open and through the doorway is seen a sunlit field planted with rye ready for the harvest. Among the yellow ears grow bachelor's-buttons and daisies.
PLAYMATE. Come, children! Come into the sunlight and feel the joy of living!
THYRA. Can't we take the sun-spot along? It's a pity to leave it here in the darkness.
PLAYMATE. Yes, if it is willing to go with you. Call it!
ERICandTHYRAgo toward the door, followed by the spot of light.
ERIC. Isn't it a nice little spot! [Talks to the spot as if it were a cat] Puss, puss, puss, puss!
PLAYMATE. Take it up on your arm, Thyra, for I don't think it can get over the threshold.
THYRAgets the spot of light on her arm, which she bends as if carrying something.
All three go out; the door closes itself. Pause.TheJUDGEenters with a lantern, theOLD LADYwith the birch rod.
All three go out; the door closes itself. Pause.
TheJUDGEenters with a lantern, theOLD LADYwith the birch rod.
OLD LADY. It's cool and nice here, and then there is no sun to bother you.
JUDGE. And how quiet it is. But where are the children?
[Both look for the children.
[Both look for the children.
JUDGE. It looks as if they had taken us at our word.
OLD LADY. Us? Please observe that I didn't promise anything, for he—you know—talked only to you toward the end.
JUDGE. Perhaps, but this time we had better obey, for I don't want to have any more trouble with hail-storms and such things.—However, the children are not here, and I suppose they'll come back when they get hungry.
OLD LADY. And I wish them luck when they do! [The rod is snatched out of her hand and dances across the floor; finally it disappears behind one of the casks] Now it's beginning again.
JUDGE. Well, why don't you submit and do as he—you know who!—says? I, for my part, don't dare to do wrong any longer. The growing grapes have been destroyed, and we must take pleasure in what is already safe. Come here, Caroline, and let us have a glass of something good to brace us up! [He knocks on one of the casks and draws a glass of wine from it] This is from the year of the comet—anno 1869, when the big comet came, and everybody said it meant war. And, of course, war did break out.
[He offers a filled glass to his wife.
[He offers a filled glass to his wife.
OLD LADY. You drink first!
JUDGE. Well, now—did you think there might be poison in this, too?
OLD LADY. No, really, I didn't—but—we'll never again know what peace is, or happiness!
JUDGE. Do as I do: submit! [He drinks.
OLD LADY. I want to, and I try to, but when I come to think how badly other people have treated us, I feel that I am just as good as anybody else. [She drinks] That's a very fine wine! [She sits down.
JUDGE. The wine is good, and it makes the mind easier.—Yes, the wiseacres say that we are rapscallions, one and all, so I can't see what right anybody has to go around finding fault with the rest. [He drinks] My own actions have always been legal; that is, in keeping with prevailing laws and constitutions. If others happened to be ignorant of the law, they had only themselves to blame, for no one has a right to ignorance of that kind. For that reason, if Adolph does not pay the rent, it is he who breaks the law, and not I.
OLD LADY. And yet the blame falls on you, and you are made to appear like a criminal. Yes, it is as I have always said: there is no justice in this world. If you had done right, you should have brought suit against Adolph and turned out the whole family. But then it isn't too late yet—— [She drinks.
JUDGE. Well, you see, if I were to carry out the law strictly, then I should sue for the annulment of his marriage, and that would cut him off from the property——
OLD LADY. Why don't you do it?
JUDGE. [Looking around] We-e-ell!—I suppose that would settle the matter once for all. A divorce would probably not be granted, but I think it would be possible to get the marriage declared invalid on technical grounds——
OLD LADY. And if there be no such grounds?
JUDGE. [Showing the influence of the wine] There are technical grounds for everything, if you only look hard enough.
OLD LADY. Well, then! Think of it—how that good-for-nothing is wishing the life out of us—but now he'll see how "the natural course of events" makes the drones take to the road——
JUDGE. Ha-ha! You're right, quite right! And then, you know, when I think it over carefully—what reason have we for self-reproach? What wrong have we done? It's mean to bring up that about the monstrance—it didn't hurt anybody, did it? And as for my being guilty of perjury: that's a pure lie. I got blood-poison in the finger—that's all—and quite a natural thing.
OLD LADY. Just as if I didn't know it. And I may as well add that this hail-storm a while ago—why, it was as plain a thing as if it had been foretold in the Farmer's Almanac!
JUDGE. Exactly! That's what I think too. And for that reason, Caroline, I think we had better forget all that fool talk—and if you feel as I do, we'll just turn to another priest and get him to consecrate the mausoleum.
OLD LADY. Well, why shouldn't we?
JUDGE. Yes, why shouldn't we? Perhaps because that mesmerist comes here and talks a lot of superstitious nonsense?
OLD LADY. Tell me, do you really think he is nothing but a mesmerist?
JUDGE. [Blustering] That fellow? He's a first-class charlatan. A che-ar-la-tan!
OLD LADY. [Looking around] I am not so sure.
JUDGE. But I am sure. Su-ure! And if he should ever come before my eyes again—just now, for instance—I'll drink his health and say: here's to you, old humourist! [Ashe raises the glass, it is torn out of his hand and is seen to disappear through the wall] What was that? [The lantern goes out.OLD LADY. Help!
[A gust of wind is heard, and then all is silence again.
[A gust of wind is heard, and then all is silence again.
JUDGE. You just get some matches, and I'll clear this matter up. For I am no longer afraid of anything. Not of anything!
OLD LADY. Oh, don't, don't!
THE OTHER ONE. [Steps from behind one of the casks] Now we'll have to have a talk in private.
JUDGE. [Frightened] Where did you come from?
THE OTHER ONE. That is no concern of yours.
JUDGE. [Straightening himself up] What kind of language is that?
THE OTHER ONE. Your own!—Off with your cap! [He blows at theJUDGE,whose cap is lifted off his head and falls to the ground] Now you shall hear sentence pronounced: you have wanted to sever what has been united by Him whose name I may not mention. Therefore you shall be separated from her who ought to be the staff of your old age. Alone you must run the gauntlet. Alone you must bear the qualms of sleepless nights.
JUDGE. Is that mercy?
THE OTHER ONE. It is justice; it is the law: an eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth! The gospel has a different sound, but of that you didn't want to hear. Now, move I along. [He beats the air with the rattan.
The scene changes to a garden with cypresses and yew-trees clipped in the shape of obelisks, candelabra, vases, etc. Under the trees grow roses, hollyhocks, foxgloves, etc. At the centre of it is a spring above which droops a gigantic fuchsia in full bloom.[1]Back of the garden appears a field of rye, all yellow and ready to be cut. Bachelor's-buttons and daisies grow among the rye. A scarecrow hangs in the middle of the field. The distant background is formed by vineyards and light-coloured rocks with beech woods and ruined castles on them.A road runs across the stage in the near background. At the right is a covered Gothic arcade. In front of this stands a statue of the Madonna with the Child.
The scene changes to a garden with cypresses and yew-trees clipped in the shape of obelisks, candelabra, vases, etc. Under the trees grow roses, hollyhocks, foxgloves, etc. At the centre of it is a spring above which droops a gigantic fuchsia in full bloom.[1]
Back of the garden appears a field of rye, all yellow and ready to be cut. Bachelor's-buttons and daisies grow among the rye. A scarecrow hangs in the middle of the field. The distant background is formed by vineyards and light-coloured rocks with beech woods and ruined castles on them.
A road runs across the stage in the near background. At the right is a covered Gothic arcade. In front of this stands a statue of the Madonna with the Child.
ERICandTHYRAenter hand in hand with thePLAYMATE.
ERIC. Oh, how beautiful it is!
THYRA. Who is living here?
PLAYMATE. Whoever feels at home has his home here.
THYRA. Can we play here?
PLAYMATE. Anywhere except in that avenue over there to the right.
ERIC. And may we pick the flowers?
PLAYMATE. You may pick any flowers you want, but you mustn't touch the tree at the fountain.
THYRA. What kind of tree is that?
ERIC. Why, you know, it is one of those they call [lowering his voice] "Christ's Blood-drops."
THYRA. You should cross yourself, Eric, when you mention the name of the Lord.
ERIC. [Makes the sign of the cross] Tell me, little boy, why mustn't we touch the tree?
THYRA. You should obey without asking any questions, Eric.—But tell me, little boy, why is that ugly scarecrow hanging there? Can't we take it away?
PLAYMATE. Yes, indeed, you may, for then the birds will come and sing for us.
ERICandTHYRArun into the rye-field and tear down the scarecrow.
ERICandTHYRArun into the rye-field and tear down the scarecrow.
ERIC. Away with you, you nasty old scarecrow! Come and eat now, little birds! [The Golden Bird comes flying from the right and perches on the fuchsia] Oh, see the Golden Bird, Thyra!
THYRA. Oh, how pretty it is! Does it sing, too?
[The bird calls like a cuckoo.
[The bird calls like a cuckoo.
ERIC. Can you understand what the bird sings, boy?
PLAYMATE. No, children, the birds have little secrets of their own which they have a right to keep hidden.
THYRA. Of course, Eric, don't you see, otherwise the children could tell where the nests are, and then they would take away the eggs, and that would make the birds sorry, and they couldn't have any children of their own.
ERIC. Don't talk like a grown-up, Thyra.
PLAYMATE. [Putting a finger across his lips] Hush! Somebody is coming. Now let us see if he likes to stay with us or not.
TheCHIMNEY-SWEEPenters, stops in surprise, and begins to look around.
TheCHIMNEY-SWEEPenters, stops in surprise, and begins to look around.
PLAYMATE. Well, boy, won't you come and play with us?
CHIMNEY-SWEEP. [Takes off his cap; speaks bashfully] Oh, you don't want to play with me.
PLAYMATE. Why shouldn't we?
CHIMNEY-SWEEP. I am sooty all over. And besides I don't know how to play—I hardly know what it is.
THYRA. Think of it, the poor boy has never played.
PLAYMATE. What is your name?
CHIMNEY-SWEEP. My name? They call me Ole—but——
PLAYMATE. But what's your other name?
CHIMNEY-SWEEP. Other name? I have none.
PLAYMATE. But your papa's name?
CHIMNEY-SWEEP. I have no papa.
PLAYMATE. And your mamma's?
CHIMNEY-SWEEP. I don't know.
PLAYMATE. He has no papa or mamma. Come to the spring here, boy, and I'll make you as white as a little prince.
CHIMNEY-SWEEP. If anybody else said it, I shouldn't believe it——
PLAYMATE. Why do you believe it then, when I say it?
CHIMNEY-SWEEP. I don't know, but I think you look as if it would be true.
PLAYMATE. Give the boy your hand, Thyra!—Would you give him a kiss, too?
THYRA. [After a moment's hesitation] Yes, when you ask me!
[1]The Swedish name of this plant is "Christ's Blood-drops."
[1]The Swedish name of this plant is "Christ's Blood-drops."
She kisses theCHIMNEY-SWEEP.Then thePLAYMATEdips his hand in the spring and sprays a little water on the face of theCHIMNEY-SWEEP,whose black mask at once disappears, leaving his face white.
She kisses theCHIMNEY-SWEEP.Then thePLAYMATEdips his hand in the spring and sprays a little water on the face of theCHIMNEY-SWEEP,whose black mask at once disappears, leaving his face white.
PLAYMATE. Now you are white again. And now you must go behind that rose-bush there and put on new clothes.
CHIMNEY-SWEEP. Why do I get all this which I don't deserve?
PLAYMATE. Because you don't believe that you deserve it.
CHIMNEY-SWEEP. [Going behind the rose-bush] Then I thank you for it, although I don't understand what it means.
THYRA. Was he made a chimney-sweep because he had been bad?
PLAYMATE. No, he has never been bad. But he had a bad guardian who took all his money away from him, and so he had to go out into the world to earn a living—See how fine he looks now!
TheCHIMNEY-SWEEPenters dressed in light summer clothes.
TheCHIMNEY-SWEEPenters dressed in light summer clothes.
PLAYMATE. [To theCHIMNEY-SWEEP] Go to the arcade now, and you'll meet somebody you love—and who loves you!
CHIMNEY-SWEEP. Who could love me?
PLAYMATE. Go and find out.
TheCHIMNEY-SWEEPgoes across the stage to the arcade, where he is met by theLADY IN WHITE,who puts her arms around him.
TheCHIMNEY-SWEEPgoes across the stage to the arcade, where he is met by theLADY IN WHITE,who puts her arms around him.
THYRA. Who is living in there?
PLAYMATE. [With his finger on his lips] Polly Pry!—But who is coming there?
TheOLD LADYappears on the road with a sack on her back and a stick in her hand.
TheOLD LADYappears on the road with a sack on her back and a stick in her hand.
ERIC. It's grandmother! Oh, now we are in for it!
THYRA. Oh, my! It's grandmother!
PLAYMATE. Don't get scared, children. I'll tell her it's my fault.
ERIC. No, you mustn't, for then she'll beat you.
PLAYMATE. Well, why shouldn't I take a beating for my friends?
ERIC. No, I'll do it myself!
THYRA. And I, too!
PLAYMATE. Hush! And come over here—then you won't be scolded. [They hide.
OLD LADY. [Goes to the spring] So, this is the famous spring that is said to cure everything—after the angel has stirred it up, of course!—But I suppose it is nothing but lies. Well, I might have a drink anyhow, and water is water. [She bends down over the spring] What is it I see? Eric and Thyra with a strange boy! What can it mean? For they are not here. It must be an oracle spring. [She takes a cup that stands by the spring, fills it with water and drinks] Ugh, it tastes of copper—he must have been here and poisoned the water, too! Everything is poisoned! Everything!—And I feel tired, too, although the years have not been hard on me—[She looks at her reflection in the spring and tosses her head] On the contrary, I look quite youthful—but it's hard to walk, and still harder to get up—[She struggles vainly to rise] My God, my God, have mercy! Don't leave me lying here!
PLAYMATE. [Makes a sign to the children to stay where they are; then he goes up to theOLD LADYand wipes the perspiration from her forehead] Rise, and leave your evil ways!
OLD LADY. [Rising] Who is that?—Oh, it's you, my nice gentleman, who has led the children astray?
PLAYMATE. Go, ungrateful woman! I have wiped the sweat of fear from your brow; I have raised you up when your own strength failed you, and you reward me with angry words. Go—go!
OLD LADYstares astonished at him; then her eyes drop, and she turns and goes out.ERICandTHYRAcome forward.
OLD LADYstares astonished at him; then her eyes drop, and she turns and goes out.
ERICandTHYRAcome forward.
ERIC. But I am sorry for grandmother just the same, although she is nasty.
THYRA. It isn't nice here, and I want to go home.
PLAYMATE. Wait a little! Don't be so impatient.—There comes somebody else we know.
TheJUDGEappears on the road.
TheJUDGEappears on the road.
PLAYMATE. He cannot come here and defile the spring. [He waves his hand; the spot of sunlight strikes theJUDGE,making him turn around and walk away] It is nice of you to be sorry for the old people, but you must believe that what I do is right. Do you believe that?
ERICandTHYRA. Yes, we believe it, we believe it!
THYRA. But I want to go home to mamma!
PLAYMATE. I'll let you go.
THE OTHER ONEappears in the background and hides himself behind the bushes.
THE OTHER ONEappears in the background and hides himself behind the bushes.
PLAYMATE. For now I must go. The Angelus bell will soon be ringing——
ERIC. Where are you going, little boy?
PLAYMATE. There are other children I must play with—far away from here, where you cannot follow me. But now, when I leave you here, don't forget what I have told you: that you mustn't touch the tree!
ERIC. We'll obey! We will! But don't go away, for it will soon be dark!
PLAYMATE. How is that? Anybody who has a good conscience and knows his evening prayer has nothing, nothing to be afraid of.
THYRA. When will you come back to us, little boy?
PLAYMATE. Next Christmas I come back, and every Christmas!—Good night, my little friends!
He kisses their foreheads and goes out between the bushes; when he reappears in the background, he is carrying a cross with a banner like that carried by the Christ-Child in old paintings; the Angelus bell begins to ring; as he raises the banner and waves it in greeting to the children, he becomes surrounded by a clear, white light; then he goes out.
He kisses their foreheads and goes out between the bushes; when he reappears in the background, he is carrying a cross with a banner like that carried by the Christ-Child in old paintings; the Angelus bell begins to ring; as he raises the banner and waves it in greeting to the children, he becomes surrounded by a clear, white light; then he goes out.
ERICandTHYRAkneel and pray silently while the bell is ringing.
ERIC. [Having crossed himself] Do you know who the boy was, Thyra?
THYRA. It was the Saviour!
THE OTHER ONEsteps forward.
THE OTHER ONEsteps forward.
THYRA. [Scared, runs to Eric, who puts his arms around her to protect her] My!
ERIC. [ToTHE OTHER ONE] What do you want? You nasty thing!
THE OTHER ONE. I only wanted—Look at me!
ERIC. Yes?
THE OTHER ONE. I am looking like this because once I touched the tree. Afterward it was my joy to tempt others into doing the same. But now, since I have grown old, I have come to repent, and now I am remaining here to warn men, but nobody believes me—nobody—because I lied once.
ERIC. You don't need to warn us, and you can't tempt us.
THE OTHER ONE. Tut, tut, tut! Not so high-and-mighty, my little friend! Otherwise it's all right.
ERIC. Well, go away then, for I don't want to listen to you, and you scare my sister!
THE OTHER ONE. I am going, for I don't feel at home here, and I have business elsewhere. Farewell, children!
AMELIA. [Is heard calling from the right] Eric and Thyra!
ERICandTHYRA. Oh, there is mamma—dear little mamma!
AMELIAenters.ERICandTHYRArush into her arms.THE OTHER ONEturns away to hide his emotion.
AMELIAenters.
ERICandTHYRArush into her arms.
THE OTHER ONEturns away to hide his emotion.
Curtain.
A cross-roads surrounded by pine woods. Moonlight.TheWITCHstands waiting.
A cross-roads surrounded by pine woods. Moonlight.
TheWITCHstands waiting.
OLD LADY. Well, at last, there you are.
WITCH. You have kept me waiting. Why have you called me?
OLD LADY. Help me!
WITCH. In what way?
OLD LADY. Against my enemies.
WITCH. There is only one thing that helps against your enemies: be good to them.
OLD LADY. Well, I declare! I think the whole world has turned topsyturvy.
WITCH. Yes, so it may seem.
OLD LADY. Even the Other One—you know who I mean—has become converted.
WITCH. Then it ought to be time for you, too.
OLD LADY. Time for me? You mean that my years are burdening me? But it is less than three weeks since I danced at a wedding.
WITCH. And you call that bliss! Well, if that be all, you shall have your fill of it. For there is to be a ball here to-night, although I myself cannot attend it.
OLD LADY. Here?
WITCH. Just here. It will begin whenever I give the word——
OLD LADY. It's too bad I haven't got on my low-necked dress.
WITCH. You can borrow one from me—and a pair of dancing shoes with red heels.
OLD LADY. Perhaps I might also have a pair of gloves and a fan?
WITCH. Everything! And, in particular, any number of young cavaliers who will proclaim you the queen of the ball.
OLD LADY. Now you are joking.
WITCH. No, I am not joking. And I know that they have the good taste at these balls to choose the right one for queen—and in speaking of the right one, I have in mind the most worthy——
OLD LADY. The most beautiful, you mean?
WITCH. No, I don't—I mean the worthiest. If you wish, I'll start the ball at once.
OLD LADY. I have no objection.
WITCH. If you step aside a little, you'll find your maid—while the hall is being put in order.
OLD LADY. [Going out to the right] Think of it—I am going to have a maid, too! You know, madam, that was the dream of my youth—which never came true.
WITCH. There you see: "What youth desires, age acquires." [She blows a whistle]
Without curtain-fall, the stage changes to represent the bottom of a rocky, kettle-shaped chasm. It is closed in on three sides by steep walls of black rock, wholly stripped of vegetation. At the left, in the foreground, stands a throne. At the right is a platform for the musicians.A bust of Pan on a square base stands in the middle of the stage, surrounded by a strange selection of potted plants: henbane, burdock, thistle, onion, etc.The musicians enter. Their clothing is grey; their faces are chalk-white and sad; their gestures tired. They appear to be tuning their instruments, but not a sound is heard.Then comes theLEADER OF THE ORCHESTRA.After him, the guests of the ball: cripples, beggars, tramps. All are pulling on black gloves as they come in. Their movements are dragging; their expressions funereal.Next: TheMASTER OF CEREMONIES,who is reallyTHE OTHER ONE—a septuagenarian dandy wearing a black wig which is too small for him, so that tufts of grey hair appear underneath. His mustaches are waxed and pointed. He wears a monocle and has on an outgrown evening dress and top-boots. He looks melancholy and seems to be suffering because of the part he has to play.TheSEVEN DEADLY SINSenter and group themselves around the throne as follows:PRIDECOVETOUSNESSLUSTANGERGLUTTONYENVYSLOTHFinally thePRINCEenters. He is hunchbacked and wears a soiled velvet coat with gold buttons, ruffles, sword, and high boots with spurs.The ensuing scene must be played with deadly seriousness, without a trace of irony, satire, or humour. There is a suggestion of a death-mask in the face of every figure. They move noiselessly and make simple, awkward gestures that convey the impression of a drill.
Without curtain-fall, the stage changes to represent the bottom of a rocky, kettle-shaped chasm. It is closed in on three sides by steep walls of black rock, wholly stripped of vegetation. At the left, in the foreground, stands a throne. At the right is a platform for the musicians.
A bust of Pan on a square base stands in the middle of the stage, surrounded by a strange selection of potted plants: henbane, burdock, thistle, onion, etc.
The musicians enter. Their clothing is grey; their faces are chalk-white and sad; their gestures tired. They appear to be tuning their instruments, but not a sound is heard.
Then comes theLEADER OF THE ORCHESTRA.
After him, the guests of the ball: cripples, beggars, tramps. All are pulling on black gloves as they come in. Their movements are dragging; their expressions funereal.
Next: TheMASTER OF CEREMONIES,who is reallyTHE OTHER ONE—a septuagenarian dandy wearing a black wig which is too small for him, so that tufts of grey hair appear underneath. His mustaches are waxed and pointed. He wears a monocle and has on an outgrown evening dress and top-boots. He looks melancholy and seems to be suffering because of the part he has to play.
TheSEVEN DEADLY SINSenter and group themselves around the throne as follows:
PRIDECOVETOUSNESSLUSTANGERGLUTTONYENVYSLOTH
Finally thePRINCEenters. He is hunchbacked and wears a soiled velvet coat with gold buttons, ruffles, sword, and high boots with spurs.
The ensuing scene must be played with deadly seriousness, without a trace of irony, satire, or humour. There is a suggestion of a death-mask in the face of every figure. They move noiselessly and make simple, awkward gestures that convey the impression of a drill.
PRINCE. [To theMASTER OF CEREMONIES] Why do you disturb my peace at this midnight hour?
MASTER OF CEREMONIES. Always, brother, you are asking why. Have you not seen the light yet?
PRINCE. Only in part. I can perceive a connection between my suffering and my guilt, but I cannot see why I should have to suffer eternally, when He has suffered in my place.
MASTER OF CEREMONIES. Eternally? You died only yesterday. But then time ceased to exist to you, and so a few hours appear like an eternity.
PRINCE. Yesterday?
MASTER OF CEREMONIES. Yes.—But because you were proud and wanted no assistance, you have now to bear your own sufferings.
PRINCE. What have I done, then?
MASTER OF CEREMONIES. What a sublime question!
PRINCE. But why don't you tell?
MASTER OF CEREMONIES. As our task is to torture each other by truth-telling—were we not called "heroes of truth" in our lifetime?—I shall tell you a part of your own secret. You were, and you are still, a hunchback——
PRINCE. What is that?
MASTER OF CEREMONIES. There you see! You don't know what is known to everybody else. But all those others pitied you, and so you never heard the word that names your own deformity.
PRINCE. What deformity is that? Perhaps you mean that I have a weak chest? But that is no deformity.
MASTER OF CEREMONIES. A "weak chest"—yes, that is your own name for the matter. However, people kept the disfigurement of your body hidden from you, and they tried to assuage your misfortune by showing you sympathy and kindness. But you accepted their generosity as an earned tribute, their encouraging words as expressions of admiration due to your superior physique. And at last you went so far in conceit that you regarded yourself as a type of masculine beauty. And when, to cap it all, woman granted you her favours out of pity, then you believed yourself an irresistible conqueror.
PRINCE. What right have you to say such rude things to me?
MASTER OF CEREMONIES. Right? I am filling the saddening duty which forces one sinner to punish another. And soon you will have to fulfil the same cruel duty toward a woman who is vain to the verge of madness—a woman resembling you as closely as she possibly could.
PRINCE. I don't want to do it.
MASTER OF CEREMONIES. Try to do anything but what you must, and you'll experience an inner discord that you cannot explain.
PRINCE. What does it mean?
MASTER OF CEREMONIES. It means that you cannot all of a sudden cease to be what you are: and you are what you have wanted to become. [He claps his hands.
TheOLD LADYenters, her figure looking as aged and clumsy as ever; but she has painted her face and her head is covered by a powdered wig; she wears a very low-necked, rose-coloured dress, red shoes, and a fan made out of peacock feathers.
TheOLD LADYenters, her figure looking as aged and clumsy as ever; but she has painted her face and her head is covered by a powdered wig; she wears a very low-necked, rose-coloured dress, red shoes, and a fan made out of peacock feathers.
OLD LADY. [A little uncertain] Where am I? Is this the right place?
MASTER OF CEREMONIES. Quite right, for you are in the place we call the "waiting-room." It is so called [he sighs],because here we have to spend our time waiting—waiting for something that will come some time——
OLD LADY. Well, it isn't bad at all—and there is the music—and there is a bust—of whom?
MASTER OF CEREMONIES. It's a pagan idol called Pan, because to the ancients he was all they had. And as we, in this place, are of the old order, more or less antiquated, he has been put here for us to look at.
OLD LADY. Why, we are not old——
MASTER OF CEREMONIES. Yes, my Queen. When the new era opened [he sighs], we couldn't keep up with it, and so we were left behind——
OLD LADY. The new era? What kind of talk is that? When did it begin?
MASTER OF CEREMONIES. It is easy to figure out when the year one began—It was night, for that matter; the stars were shining brightly, and the weather must have been mild, as the shepherds remained in the open——
OLD LADY. Oh, yes, yes—Are we not going to dance here to-night?
MASTER OF CEREMONIES. Of course, we are. The Prince is waiting for a chance to ask you——
OLD LADY. [To theMASTER OF CEREMONIES] IS he a real Prince?
MASTER OF CEREMONIES. A real one, my Queen. That is to say, he has full reality in a certain fashion——
OLD LADY. [To thePRINCE,who is asking her to dance] You don't look happy, my Prince?
PRINCE. I am not happy.
OLD LADY. Well, I can't say that I find it very hilarious—and the place smells of putty, as if the glazier had just been at work here. What is that strange smell, as of linseed-oil?
PRINCE. [With an expression of horror] What are you saying? Do you mean that charnel-house smell?
OLD LADY. I fear I must have said something impolite—but then, it isn't for the ladies to offer pleasantries—that's what the cavalier should do——
PRINCE. What can I tell you that you don't know before?
OLD LADY. That I don't know before? Let me see—No, then I had better tell you that you are very handsome, my Prince.
PRINCE. Now you exaggerate, my Queen. I am not exactly handsome, but I have always been held what they call "good-looking."
OLD LADY. Just like me—I never was a beauty—that is, Iamnot, considering my years—Oh, I am so stupid!—What was it I wanted to say?
MASTER OF CEREMONIES. Let the music begin!
The musicians appear to be playing, but not a sound is heard.
The musicians appear to be playing, but not a sound is heard.
MASTER OF CEREMONIES. Well? Are you not going to dance?
PRINCE. [Sadly] No, I don't care to dance.
MASTER OF CEREMONIES. But you must: you are the only presentable gentleman.
PRINCE. That's true, I suppose—[pensively] but is that a fit occupation for me?
MASTER OF CEREMONIES. How do you mean?
PRINCE. At times it seems as if I had something else to think of, but then—then I forget it.
MASTER OF CEREMONIES. Don't brood—enjoy yourself while youth is with you and the roses of life still bloom on your cheeks. Now! Up with the head, and step lively——
ThePRINCEgrins broadly; then he offers his hand to theOLD LADY,and together they perform a few steps of a minuet.
ThePRINCEgrins broadly; then he offers his hand to theOLD LADY,and together they perform a few steps of a minuet.
OLD LADY. [Interrupting the dance] Ugh! Your hands are cold as ice!goes to the throne] Why are those seven ladies not dancing?
MASTER OF CEREMONIES. How do you like the music, Queen?
OLD LADY. It's splendid, but they might play a little moreforte——
MASTER OF CEREMONIES. They are soloists, all of them, and formerly each one of them wanted to make himself heard above the rest, and so they have to use moderation now.
OLD LADY. But I asked why the seven sisters over there are not dancing. Couldn't you, as master of ceremonies, make them do so?
MASTER OF CEREMONIES. I don't think it would be of any use trying, for they are obstinate as sin—But please assume your throne, my Queen. We are going to perform a little play in honour of the occasion——
OLD LADY. Oh, what fun! But I want the prince to ... escort me——
PRINCE. [To theMASTER OF CEREMONIES] Have I got to do it?
OLD LADY. You ought to be ashamed of yourself—you with your hunch!
PRINCE. [Spits in her face] Hold your tongue, you cursed old hag!
OLD LADY. [Cuffs him on the ear] That'll teach you!
PRINCE. [Jumps at her and knocks her down] And that's, for you!
All the rest cover their faces with their hands.
PRINCE. [Tears off theOLD LADY'Swig so that her head appears totally bald] There's the false scalp! Now we'll pull out the teeth!
MASTER OF CEREMONIES. Enough! Enough!
He helps theOLD LADYto rise, and gives her a kerchief to cover her head.
He helps theOLD LADYto rise, and gives her a kerchief to cover her head.
OLD LADY. [Crying] Goodness gracious, that I could let myself be fooled like that! But I haven't deserved any better, I admit.
PRINCE. No, you have deserved a great deal worse. You should leave my hunch alone, for otherwise hell breaks loose—It's a miserable thing to see an old woman like you so foolish and so degraded. But, then, you are to be pitied—as all of us are to be pitied.
ALL. We are all to be pitied!
PRINCE. [With a sneer] The queen!
OLD LADY. [In the same tone] The prince!—But haven't we met before?
PRINCE. Perhaps—in our youth—for I am old, too. You had too much frippery on before—but now, when the disguise has been taken away—I begin to distinguish certain features——
OLD LADY. Don't say anything more—don't say anything more—Oh, what have I come to—what is happening to me?
PRINCE. Now I know: you are my sister!
OLD LADY. But—my brother is dead! Have I been deceived? Or are the dead coming back?
PRINCE. Everything comes back.
OLD LADY. Am I dead or am I living?
PRINCE. You may well ask that question, for I don't know the difference. But you are exactly the same as when I parted from you once: just as vain and just as thievish.
OLD LADY. Do you think you are any better?
PRINCE. Perhaps! I am guilty of all the seven deadly sins, but you have invented the eighth one—that of robbing the dead.
OLD LADY. What are you thinking of now?
PRINCE. Twelve years in succession I sent you money to buy a wreath for mother's grave, and instead of buying it you kept the money.
OLD LADY. How do you know?
PRINCE. How I came to know of it is the only thing that interests you about that crime of yours.
OLD LADY. Prove it!
PRINCE. [Taking a number of bills from his pocket] Here is the money!
TheOLD LADYsinks to the ground. A church bell begins to ring. All bend their heads, but nobody kneels.
TheOLD LADYsinks to the ground. A church bell begins to ring. All bend their heads, but nobody kneels.
LADY IN WHITE. [Enters, goes up to theOLD LADY,and assists her in rising] Do you know me?
OLD LADY. No.
LADY IN WHITE. I am Amelia's mother. You have taken the memory of me away from her. You have erased me from her life. But now you are to be wiped out, and I shall recover my child's love and the prayers my soul needs.
OLD LADY. Oh, somebody has been telling tales to that hussy—then I'll set her to herd the swine——
ThePRINCEstrikes her on the mouth.
ThePRINCEstrikes her on the mouth.
LADY IN WHITE. Don't strike her!
OLD LADY. Are you interceding for me?
LADY IN WHITE. It is what I have been taught to do.
OLD LADY. You hypocrite! If you only dared, you would wish me buried as deep as there are miles from here to the sun!
MASTER OF CEREMONIES. Down with you—monster!
[Ashe touches her with his staff she falls to the groundAgain the scene is changed while the curtain remains up. The bust of Pan sinks into the earth. The musicians and the throne with its attendant sins disappear behind pieces of; scenery that are lowered from above. At last the cross-roads with the surrounding pine woods appear again, and theOLD LADYis discovered lying at the foot of a sign-post.
[Ashe touches her with his staff she falls to the ground
Again the scene is changed while the curtain remains up. The bust of Pan sinks into the earth. The musicians and the throne with its attendant sins disappear behind pieces of; scenery that are lowered from above. At last the cross-roads with the surrounding pine woods appear again, and theOLD LADYis discovered lying at the foot of a sign-post.
WITCH. Get up!
OLD LADY. I cannot—I am frozen stiff——
WITCH. The sun will rise in a moment. The cock has crowed. The matin bells are ringing.
OLD LADY. I don't care for the sun.
WITCH. Then you'll have to walk in darkness.
OLD LADY. Oh, my eyes! What have you done to me?
WITCH. I have only turned out the light because it troubled you. Now, up and away with you—through cold and darkness—until you drop!
OLD LADY. Where is my husband?—Amelia! Eric and Thyra! My children!
WITCH. Yes, where are they? But wherever they may be, you shall not see them until your pilgrimage is ended. Now, up and away! Or I will loose my dogs!
TheOLD LADYgropes her way out.
TheOLD LADYgropes her way out.
The court-room. In the background is the desk of the presiding judge, decorated in white and gold with the emblems of justice. In front of the desk, covering the centre of the floor, stands a big table, and on it are placed writing-materials, inkstand, Bible, bell, and gavel.
The axe of the executioner hangs on the rear wall, with a pair of handcuffs below it and a big black crucifix above.
TheJUDGEenters and makes his way into the room on tiptoe. The bell rings. The gavel raps once on the table. All the chairs are pulled up to the table at once. The Bible is opened. The candles on the table become lighted.For a moment theJUDGEstands still, stricken with horror. Then he resumes his advance toward a huge cabinet. Suddenly the doors of this fly open. A number of documents are thrown out, and theJUDGEpicks them up.
TheJUDGEenters and makes his way into the room on tiptoe. The bell rings. The gavel raps once on the table. All the chairs are pulled up to the table at once. The Bible is opened. The candles on the table become lighted.
For a moment theJUDGEstands still, stricken with horror. Then he resumes his advance toward a huge cabinet. Suddenly the doors of this fly open. A number of documents are thrown out, and theJUDGEpicks them up.
JUDGE. [Reassured] This time I am in luck! Here are the accounts of my guardianship; here is the contract for the lease—my report as executor—all of it! [The handcuffs on the wall begin to clank] Make all the noise you please! As long as the axe stays still, I won't be scared. [He puts the documents on the table and goes back to close the door of the cabinet, but this flies open again as soon as he shuts it] Everything has a cause:ratio sufficiens. This door must have a spring with which I am not familiar. It surprises me that I don't know it, but it cannot scare me. [The axe moves on the wall] The axe moved—as a rule, that foretells an execution, but to-day it means only that its equilibrium has become disturbed in some way. Oh, no, nothing will give me pause but seeing my own ghost—for that would be beyond the tricks of any charlatan.
TheGHOSTenters from behind the cabinet; the figure resembles in every way theJUDGE,but where the eyes should be appear two white surfaces, as on a plaster bust.
TheGHOSTenters from behind the cabinet; the figure resembles in every way theJUDGE,but where the eyes should be appear two white surfaces, as on a plaster bust.
JUDGE. [Frightened] Who are you?
GHOST. I am not—I have been. I have been that unrighteous judge who is now come here to receive his sentence.
JUDGE. What have you done then, poor man?
GHOST. Everything wrong that an unrighteous judge might do. Pray for me, you whose conscience is clear——
JUDGE. Am I—to pray for you?
GHOST. Yes, you who have caused no innocent blood to be shed——
JUDGE. That's true; that's something I haven't done. And besides, as I have always obeyed the letter of the law, I have good reason to let myself be called a righteous judge—yes, without irony!
GHOST. It would, indeed, be a bad moment for joking, as the Invisible Ones are sitting in judgment——
JUDGE. What do you mean? Who are sitting in judgment?
GHOST. [Pointing to the table] You don't see them, but I do. [The bell rings; a chair is pushed back from the table] Pray for me!
JUDGE. No, I won't. Justice must take its course. You must have been a great offender to reach consciousness of your guilt so late.
GHOST. You are as stern as a good conscience.
JUDGE. That's just the word for it. Stern, but just!
GHOST. No pity, then?
JUDGE. None whatever.
GHOST. No mercy?
JUDGE. No mercy!
The gavel raps on the table; the chairs are pushed away.
The gavel raps on the table; the chairs are pushed away.
GHOST. Now the verdict is being delivered. Can't you hear?
JUDGE. I hear nothing.
GHOST. [Pointing to the table] And you see nothing? Don't you see the beheaded sailor, the surveyor, the chimney-sweep, the lady in white, the tenant——
JUDGE. I see absolutely nothing.
GHOST. Woe unto you, then, when your eyes become opened as mine have been. Now the verdict has been given: guilty!
JUDGE. Guilty!
GHOST. You have said it—yourself! And you have already been sentenced. All that remains now is the big auction.
Curtain.
The same room as in the second act, but it is now arranged for the auction. Benches are placed in the middle of the room. On the table behind which the auctioneer is to preside stand the silver coffee-set, the clock, vases, candelabra, etc.The portraits of theJUDGEand theOLD LADYhave been taken down and are leaning against the table.TheNEIGHBOURandAMELIAare on the stage.
The same room as in the second act, but it is now arranged for the auction. Benches are placed in the middle of the room. On the table behind which the auctioneer is to preside stand the silver coffee-set, the clock, vases, candelabra, etc.
The portraits of theJUDGEand theOLD LADYhave been taken down and are leaning against the table.
TheNEIGHBOURandAMELIAare on the stage.
AMELIA. [Dressed as a scrub-woman] Before my mother left, she ordered me to clean the hallway and the stairs. It is winter now, and cold, and I cannot say that it has been any pleasure to carry out her order——
NEIGHBOUR. So you didn't get any pleasure out of it? Well, my child, I must say that you demand rather too much of yourself. But as you have obeyed, and stood the test, your time of trial shall be over, and I will let you know your life's secret.
AMELIA. Speak out, neighbour, for I dare hardly trust my good resolutions much longer.
NEIGHBOUR. Well, then! The woman you have been calling mother is your stepmother. Your father married her when you were only one year old. And the reason you have never seen your mother is that she died when you were born.
AMELIA. So that was it!—How strange to have had a mother and yet never to have seen her! Tell me—did you ever see her?
NEIGHBOUR. I knew her.
AMELIA. How did she look?
NEIGHBOUR. Well, howdid, she look?—Her eyes were blue as the blossom of the flax—her hair was yellow as the dry stalks of wheat——
AMELIA. And tall and slender—and her hand was small and white as if it had touched nothing but silk in all her days—and her mouth was shaped like a heart, and her lips looked as if none but good words had ever passed them.
NEIGHBOUR. How can you know all that?
AMELIA. Because that is the image which appears in my dreams when I have not been good—And then she raises her hand as if to warn me, and on one of her fingers there is a ring with a green stone that seems to radiate light. It is she!—Tell me, neighbour, is there a picture of her in the place?
NEIGHBOUR. There used to be one, but I don't know whether it's still here.
AMELIA. So this one is my stepmother? Well, God was good when he let me keep my mother's image free from stain—and hereafter I shall find it quite natural that this other woman is cruel to me.
NEIGHBOUR. Cruel stepmothers exist to make children kind. And you were not kind, Amelia, but you have become so, and for that reason I shall now give you a Christmas present in advance.
He takes the portrait of theOLD LADYout of its frame, when in its place appears a picture in water-colours corresponding to the description given above.
He takes the portrait of theOLD LADYout of its frame, when in its place appears a picture in water-colours corresponding to the description given above.
AMELIA. [Kneeling in front of the picture] My mother—mother of my dreams! [Rising] But how can I keep the picture when it is to be sold at auction?
NEIGHBOUR. You can, because the auction has already taken place.
AMELIA. Where and when was it held?
NEIGHBOUR. It was held elsewhere—in a place not known to you—and to-day the things are merely to be taken away.
AMELIA. What a lot of queer things are happening! And how full of secrets the house is!—But tell me, where is my stepmother? I have not seen her in a long time.
NEIGHBOUR. I suppose it must be told: she is in a place from which nobody returns.
AMELIA. Is she dead?
NEIGHBOUR. She is dead. She was found frozen to death in a swamp into which she had stumbled.
AMELIA. Merciful God have pity on her soul!
NEIGHBOUR. So he will in time, especially if you pray for her.
AMELIA. Of course I will.
NEIGHBOUR. How good you have become, my child—as a result of her becoming so bad!
AMELIA. Don't say so now when she is dead——
NEIGHBOUR. Right you are! Let her rest in peace!
AMELIA. But where is my father?
NEIGHBOUR. That's a secret to all of us. But it is sweet of you to ask for him before you ask for your own Adolph.
AMELIA. Adolph—yes, where is he? The children are crying for him, and Christmas is near.—Oh, what a Christmas this will be to us!
NEIGHBOUR. Leave to each day its own trouble—and now take your Christmas present and go. The affairs connected with the auction are to be settled, and then you'll hear news.