ADVENT

MARIE. No, thank you, I don't want to be locked in as she was a while ago.

AXEL. [Interested] Was the door locked?

CECILIA. [ToMARIE] You don't dare say that the door was locked!

MARIE. As you expected it to be locked, I suppose you had tried to lock it and had not succeeded——

AXEL. [ObservesCECILIA;then toMARIE] It always seemed to me that you were a nice girl, Marie. Will you let me have my letters back now?

MARIE. No.

AXEL. What are you going to do with them?

MARIE. I hear that I can sell them, now when you have become famous.

AXEL. And get your revenge at the same time?

MARIE. Exactly.

AXEL. Is it Lindgren——?

MARIE. Yes!—And here he is now himself.

ELEVENTH SCENE

CECILIA.MARIE.AXEL.LINDGREN.

LINDGREN. [Enters in high spirits] Well, what a lot of skirts! And Marie, too—like the cuckoo that's in every nest! Now listen, Axel!

AXEL. I hear you even when I don't see you. You're in a fine humour—what new misfortune has befallen me?

LINDGREN. I was only a little sour this morning because I hadn't had a chance to get wound up. But now I've had a bite to eat—Well, you see—at bottom you don't owe me anything at all. For what I did, I did out of my heart's goodness, and it has brought me both honour and pleasure—and what you got was a gift and no loan!

AXEL. Now you are altogether too modest and generous.

LINDGREN. Not at all! However, one favour calls for another. Would you mind becoming my surety on this note?

AXELhesitates.

LINDGREN. Well, you needn't be afraid that I'm going to put you in the same kind of fix as your brother did——

AXEL. What do you mean? It was I who put him——

LINDGREN. Yes, to the tune of two hundred crowns—but he got your name as surety for five years' rent——

AXEL. [In a low voice] Jesus Christ!

LINDGREN. What's that?—Hm—hm!

AXEL. [Looking at his watch] Just wait a few minutes—I have only to write a couple of letters.

CECILIAstarts to go with him.

AXEL. [Holds her back] Just a few minutes, my dear—[He kisses her on the forehead] Just a few minutes!

[He goes toward the left.

LINDGREN. Here's the note—you might sign it while you are at it.

AXEL. Give it to me!

[He goes out with an air of determination.

TWELFTH SCENE

CECILIA.MARIE.LINDGREN.

LINDGREN. Well, girls, are you on good terms again?

MARIE. Oh, yes, and before we get away, we'll be on still better terms.

CECILIAmakes a face.

MARIE. I should like to have some fun to-day.

LINDGREN. Come along with me! I'll have money!

MARIE. No!

CECILIAsits down with evident anxiety near the door through whichAXELdisappeared—as if seeking support in that direction.

LINDGREN. Let's take in the fireworks to-night—then we can see how a great man looks in red light—what do you say to that, Cissie dear?

CECILIA. Oh, I'll be sick if I have to stay here longer!

MARIE. Well, it wouldn't be the first time.

LINDGREN. Scrap, girls, and I'll watch you! Fight till the fur flies—won't you?

THIRTEENTH SCENE

CECILIA.MARIE.LINDGREN.THUREand hisWIFEenter.

LINDGREN. Well, well! Old friends! How are you?

THURE. All right.

LINDGREN. And the child?

THURE. The child?

LINDGREN. Oh, you have forgotten it?—Are you equally forgetful about names?

THURE. Names?

LINDGREN. Signatures!—He must be writing an awful lot in there!

THURE. Is my brother, the doctor, in there?

LINDGREN. I don't know if the doctor is there, but your brother went in there a while ago.—And, for that matter, we might find out. [He knocks at the door] Silent as the grave! [Knocks again] Then I'll walk right in.

[He goes out; everybody appears restless and anxious.

CECILIA. What can it mean?

MARIE. Well, we'll see now.

THURE. What has happened here?

WIFE. Something is up!—You'll see he doesn't help us!

LINDGREN. [Returns, carrying in his hand a small bottle and some letters] What does it say? [He reads the label on the bottle] Cyanide of potassium!—How stupid! What a sentimental idiot—to kill himself for so little—[Everybody cries out] So you were no beast of prey, my dear Axel!—But—[He stares through the open door into the adjoining room]—he's not there—and his things are gone, too. So he has skipped out! And the bottle has never been opened! That means—he meant to kill himself, but changed his mind!—And these are his posthumous writings. "To Miss Cecilia"—seems to contain some round object—probably an engagement ring—there you are!—"To my brotherTHURE" [He holds up the letter to the light]—with a piece of blue paper inside—must be a note—for the amount involved! You're welcome!

TheFIANCÉappears in the doorway at the right.

THURE. [Who has opened his letter] Do you see that he helped us after all——

WIFE. Oh, in that way!

LINDGREN. And here's my note—without his name—He's a strong one, all right!Diable!

MARIE. Then the fireworks will be called off, I suppose?

FIANCÉ. Was there nothing for me?

LINDGREN. Yes, I think there was a fiancée—somewhere over there!—I tell you, that fellow is a wonder at clearing up tangled affairs!—Of course, it makes me mad to think that I let myself be fooled—but I'll be darned if I don't think I would have done just as he did!—And so would you, perhaps?—Or what do you think?

CHARACTERSTheJUDGETheOLD LADY,wife of the JudgeAMELIAADOLPHTheNEIGHBOURERICTHYRAbeing the same personTheOTHER ONETheFRANCISCANThePLAYMATETheWITCHThePRINCESubordinate characters, shadows, etc.ACT I. THE VINEYARD WITH THE MAUSOLEUMACT II. THE DRAWING-ROOMACT III. THE WINE-CELLARTHE GARDENACT IV. THE CROSS-ROADSTHE "WAITING-ROOM"THE CROSS-ROADSACT V. THE DRAWING-ROOMTHE "WAITING-ROOM"

The background represents a vineyard. At the left stands a mausoleum. It consists of a small whitewashed brick building with a door and a pointed window that lacks mullions and panes. The roof is made of red tiles. A cross crowns the gable. Clematis vines with purple-coloured, cross-shaped flowers cover the front wall, at the foot of which appear a number of other flowers.A peach-tree carrying fruit stands near the foreground. Beneath it sit theOLD LADYand theOLD LADY.TheJudgewears a green cap with a peak, yellow knee-breeches, and—a blue coat—all dating back to1820.TheOld Ladywears a kerchief on her head and carries a stick, spectacles, and snuff-box. She has the general appearance of a "witch." At the right is a small expiatory chapel containing an image of the Holy Virgin. The fence in front of it is hung with wreaths and nosegays. A prie-dieu is placed against the fence.

A peach-tree carrying fruit stands near the foreground. Beneath it sit theOLD LADYand theOLD LADY.

TheJudgewears a green cap with a peak, yellow knee-breeches, and—a blue coat—all dating back to1820.TheOld Ladywears a kerchief on her head and carries a stick, spectacles, and snuff-box. She has the general appearance of a "witch." At the right is a small expiatory chapel containing an image of the Holy Virgin. The fence in front of it is hung with wreaths and nosegays. A prie-dieu is placed against the fence.

JUDGE. Life's eve has at last brought the sunshine which its morning promised us. Early rains and late rains have blessed meadow and field. And soon the songs of the vintagers will be heard all over the country.

OLD LADY. Don't talk like that; somebody might hear you.

JUDGE. Who could be listening here, and what harm could it do to thank God for all good gifts?

OLD LADY. It's better not to mention one's good fortune lest misfortune overhear it.

JUDGE. What of it? Was I not born with a caul?

OLD LADY. Take care, take care! There are many who envy us, and evil eyes are watching us.

JUDGE. Well, let them! That's the way it has always been. And yet I have prospered.

OLD LADY. So far, yes. But I don't trust our neighbour. He has been going around the village saying that we have cheated him out of his property—and much more of the same kind which I don't care to repeat. Of course, it doesn't matter when one has a clean conscience and can point to a spotless life. Slander cannot hurt me. I go to confession and mass, and I am prepared to close my eyes whenever my hour may strike in order to open them again when I shall stand face to face with my Judge. And I know also what I am going to answer then.

JUDGE. What are you going to answer?

OLD LADY. Like this: I was not without fault, O Lord, but even if I was but a poor, sinful human creature, I was nevertheless a little better than my neighbour.

JUDGE. I don't know what has brought you to these thoughts just now, and I don't like them. Perhaps it is the fact that the mausoleum is to be consecrated in a few days?

OLD LADY. Perhaps that is it, for, as a rule, I don't give much thought to death. I have still every tooth left in my mouth, and my hair is as plentiful as when I was a bride.

JUDGE. Yes, yes—you have eternal youth, you as well as I, but just the same we shall have to pass away. And as fortune has smiled on us, we have wanted to avail ourselves of the privilege of resting in ground belonging to ourselves And so we have built this little tomb for ourselves here, where every tree knows us, where every flower will whisper of our labours, and our troubles, and our struggles——

OLD LADY. Yes, struggles against envious neighbours and ungrateful children——

JUDGE. There you said it: ungrateful children.—Have you seen anything of Adolph?

OLD LADY. No, I haven't seen him since he started out this morning to raise the money for the rent.

JUDGE. The money which he will never get—and I still less. But he knows now that the time of grace is up, for this is the third quarter rent that he has failed to pay.

OLD LADY. Yes, out with him into the world, and let him learn to work instead of sitting here and playing at son-in-law. I'll keep Amelia and the children——

JUDGE. Do you think Amelia will let herself be separated from Adolph?

OLD LADY. I think so, when it is a question whether her children are to inherit anything from us or not—No, look! There it is again!

On the wall of the mausoleum appears a spot of sunlight like those which children are fond of producing with a small mirror.[1]It is vibrating as if it were reflected by running water.

JUDGE. What is it? What is it?

OLD LADY. On the mausoleum. Don't you see?

JUDGE. It's the reflection of the sun on the river. It means——

OLD LADY. It means that we'll see the light of the sun for a long time to come——

JUDGE. On the contrary. But that's all one. The best pillow for one's head is a good conscience, and the reward of the righteous never fails.—There's our neighbour now.

NEIGHBOUR. [Enters] Good evening, Judge. Good evening, madam.

JUDGE. Good evening, neighbour. How goes it? It wasn't yesterday we had the pleasure. And how are your vines, I should have asked?

NEIGHBOUR. The vines, yes—there's mildew on them, and the starlings are after them, too.

JUDGE. Well, well! There's no mildew on my vines, and I have neither seen nor heard of any starlings.

NEIGHBOUR. Fate does not distribute its gifts evenly: one shall be taken and the other left.

OLD LADY. I suppose there are good reasons for it?

NEIGHBOUR. I see! The reward of the righteous shall not fail, and the wicked shall not have to wait for their punishment.

JUDGE. Oh, no malice meant! But you have to admit, anyhow, that it's queer: two parcels of land lie side by side, and one yields good harvests, the other poor ones——

NEIGHBOUR. One yields starlings and the other not: that's what I find queerer still. But, then, everybody wasn't born with a caul, like you, Judge.

JUDGE. What you say is true, and fortunehasfavoured me. I am thankful for it, and there are moments when I feel proud of it as if I had deserved it.—But listen, neighbour—you came as if you had been sent for.—That leasehold of mine is vacant, and I wanted to ask you if you care to take it.

[1]In Sweden such spots are called "sun-cats."

TheOLD LADYhas in the meantime left her seat and gone to the mausoleum, where she is busying herself with the flowers.

NEIGHBOUR. Oh, the leasehold is vacant. Hm! Since when?

JUDGE. Since this morning.

NEIGHBOUR. Hm! So!—That means your son-in-law has got to go?

JUDGE. Yes, that good-for-nothing doesn't know how to manage.

NEIGHBOUR. Tell me something else, Judge. Haven't you heard that the state intends to build a military road across this property?

JUDGE. Oh, I have heard some rumours to that effect, but I don't think it's anything but empty talk.

NEIGHBOUR. On the contrary, I have read it in the papers. That would mean condemnation proceedings, and the loser would be the holder of the lease.

JUDGE. I cannot think so, and I would never submit to it. I to leave this spot where I expect to end my days in peace, and where I have prepared a final resting-place to escape lying with all the rest——

NEIGHBOUR. Wait a minute! One never knows what may prove one's final resting-place. My father, who used to own this property, also expected to be laid to rest in his own ground, but it happened otherwise. As far as the leasehold is concerned, I must let it go.

JUDGE. As you please. On my part the proposition was certainly disinterested, as you are a man without luck. For it is no secret that you fail in everything you undertake, and people have their own thoughts about one who remains as solitary and friendless as you. Isn't it a fact that you haven't a single friend?

NEIGHBOUR. Yes, it's true. I have not a single friend, and that doesn't look well. It is something I cannot deny.

JUDGE. But to turn to other matters—is it true, as the legend has it, that this vineyard once was a battle-field, and that this explains why the wine from it is so fiery?

NEIGHBOUR. No, that isn't what I have heard. My father told me that this had been a place of execution, and that the gallows used to stand where the mausoleum is now.

JUDGE. Oh, how dreadful! Why did you tell me?

NEIGHBOUR. Because you asked, of course.—And the last man to be hanged on this spot was an unrighteous judge. And now he lies buried here, together with many others, among them being also an innocent victim of his iniquity.

JUDGE. What kind of stories are those! [He calls out] Caroline!

NEIGHBOUR. And that's why his ghost has to come back here. Have you never seen him, Judge?

JUDGE. I have never seen anything at all!

NEIGHBOUR. But I have seen him. As a rule, he appears at the time when the grapes are harvested, and then they hear him around the wine-press down in the cellar.

JUDGE. [Calling out] Caroline!

OLD LADY. What is it?

JUDGE. Come here!

NEIGHBOUR. And he will never be at peace until he has suffered all the torments his victim had to pass through.

JUDGE. Get away from here! Go!

NEIGHBOUR. Certainly, Judge! I didn't know you were so sensitive. [He goes out.

OLD LADY. What was the matter?

JUDGE. Oh, he told a lot of stories that upset me. But-but—he is plotting something evil, that fellow!

OLD LADY. Didn't I tell you so! But you always let your tongue run whenever you see anybody—What kind of foolish superstition was he giving you?

JUDGE. I don't want to talk of it. The mere thought of it makes me sick. I'll tell you some other time.—There's Adolph now!

ADOLPH. [Entering] Good evening!

JUDGE. [After a pause] Well?

ADOLPH. Luck is against me. I have not been able to get any money.

JUDGE. I suppose there are good reasons for it?

ADOLPH. I can see no reason why some people should fare well and others badly.

JUDGE. Oh, you can't?—Well, look into your own heart; search your own thoughts and actions, and you'll find that you have yourself to blame for your misfortunes.

ADOLPH. Perhaps I may not call myself righteous in every respect, but at least I have no serious crimes on my conscience.

OLD LADY. You had better think well——

ADOLPH. I don't think that's needful, for my conscience is pretty wakeful——

JUDGE. It can be put to sleep——

ADOLPH. Can it? Of course I have heard of evil-doers growing old in crime, but as a rule their consciences wake up just before death; and I have even heard of criminals whose consciences have awakened after death.

JUDGE. [Agitated] So that they had to come back, you mean? Have you heard that story, too? It's strange that everybody seems to have heard it except me——

OLD LADY. What are you talking about? Stick to business instead.

ADOLPH. Yes, I think that's wiser, too. And, as the subject has been broached, I want to tell you what I propose——

JUDGE. Look here, my boy! I think it a good deal more appropriate that I should tell you what I have decided. It is this: that from this day you cease to be my tenant, and that before the sun sets you must start out to look for work.

ADOLPH. Are you in earnest?

JUDGE. You ought to be ashamed! I am not in the habit of joking. And you have no cause for complaint, as you have been granted respite twice.

ADOLPH. While my crops have failed three times. Can I help that?

JUDGE. Nor have I said so. But I can help it still less. And you are not being judged by me. Here is the contract—here's the broken agreement. Was that agreement broken by me? Oh, no! So I am without responsibility and wash my hands of the matter.

ADOLPH. This may be the law, but I had thought there ought to be some forbearance among relatives—especially as, in the natural course of events, this property should pass on to your offspring.

OLD LADY. Well, well: the natural course of events! He's going around here wishing the life out of us! But you just look at me: I am good for twenty years more. And I amgoingto live just to spite you!

JUDGE. [ToAdolph] What rudeness—what a lack of all human feeling—to ask a couple of old people outright: are you not going to die soon? You ought to be ashamed of yourself, I say! But now you have broken the last tie, and all I can say is: go your way, and don't let yourself be seen here any more!

ADOLPH. That's plain talk! Well, I'll go, but not alone——

OLD LADY. So-o—you imagined that Amelia, our own child, should follow you out on the highways, and that all you would have to do would be to unload one child after another on us! But we have already thought of that and put a stop to it——

ADOLPH. Where is Amelia? Where?

OLD LADY. You may just as well know. She has gone on; a visit to the convent of the Poor Clares—only for a visit. So now you know it's of no use to look for her here.

ADOLPH. Some time you will have to suffer for your cruelty in depriving a man in distress of his only support. And if you break up our marriage, the penalty of that breach will fall on you.

JUDGE. You should be ashamed of putting your own guilt on those that are innocent! Go now! And may you hunger and thirst, with every door closed to you, until you have learned gratitude!

ADOLPH. The same to you in double measure!—But let me only bid my children good-bye, and I will go.

JUDGE. As you don't want to spare your children the pain of leave-taking, I'll do so—have already done it, in fact.

ADOLPH. That, too! Then I believe you capable of all the evil that has been rumoured. And now I know what our neighbour meant when he said that you couldn't—endure the sun!

JUDGE. Not another word! Or you will feel the heavy hand of law and justice——

He raises his right hand so that the absence of its forefinger becomes visible.

ADOLPH. [Takes hold of the hand and examines it] The hand of justice!—The hand of the perjurer whose finger stuck to the Bible when he took his false oath! Woe unto you! Woe! For the day of retribution is at hand, and your deeds will rise like corpses out of these hillsides to accuse you.

OLD LADY. What is that he is saying? It feels as if he were breathing fire at us!—Go, you lying spirit, and may hell be your reward!

ADOLPH. May Heaven reward you—according to your deserts—and may the Lord protect my children! [He goes out.

JUDGE. What was that? Who was it that spoke? It seemed to me as if the voice were coming out of some huge underground hall.

OLD LADY. Did you hear it, too?

JUDGE. God help us, then!—Do you remember what he said about the sun? That struck me as more peculiar than all the rest. How could he know—that it is so? Ever since my birth the sun has always burned me, and they have told me this is so because my mother suffered from sunstroke before I was born—but that you also——

OLD LADY. [Frightened] Hush! Talk of the devil, and—Isn't the sun down?

JUDGE. Of course it is down!

OLD LADY. How can that spot of sunlight remain on the mausoleum, then?

[The spot moves around.

JUDGE. Jesus Maria! That's an omen!

OLD LADY. An omen, you say! And on the grave! That doesn't happen every day—and only a few chosen people who are full of living faith in the highest things——

[The spot of light disappears.

JUDGE. There is something weird about the place to-night, something ghastly.—But what hurt me most keenly was to hear that good-for-nothing wishing the life out of us in order to get at the property. Do you know what I—well, I wonder if I dare to speak of it——

OLD LADY. Go on!

JUDGE. Have you heard the story that this spot here used to be a place of execution?

OLD LADY. So you have found that out, too?

JUDGE. Yes—and you knew it?—Well, suppose we gave this property to the convent? That would make the ground sacred, and it would be possible to rest in peace in it. The income might go to the children while they are growing up, and it would mean an additional gain, as Adolph would be fooled in his hope of inheriting from us. I think this a remarkably happy solution of a difficult problem: how to give away without losing anything by it.

OLD LADY. Your superior intelligence has again asserted itself, and I am quite of your opinion. But suppose condemnation proceedings should be started—what would happen then?

JUDGE. There is plenty of time to consider that when it happens. In the meantime, let us first of all, and as quietly as possible, get the mausoleum consecrated——

FRANCISCAN. [Enters] The peace of the Lord be with you, Judge, and with you, madam!

JUDGE. You come most conveniently, Father, to hear something that concerns the convent——

FRANCISCAN. I am glad of it.

The spot of light appears again on the mausoleum.

OLD LADY. And then we wanted to ask when the consecration of the mausoleum might take place.

FRANCISCAN. [Staring at her] Oh, is that so?

JUDGE. Look, Father—look at that omen——

OLD LADY. Yes, the spot must be sacred, indeed——

FRANCISCAN. That's a will-o'-the-wisp.

OLD LADY. Is it not a good sign? Does it not carry some kind of message? Does it not prompt a pious mind to stop and consider? Would it not be possible to turn this place into a refuge for desert wanderers who are seeking——

FRANCISCAN. Madam, let me speak a word to you in private. [He moves over to the right.

OLD LADY. [Following him] Father?

FRANCISCAN. [Speaking in a subdued voice] You, madam, enjoy a reputation in this vicinity which you don't deserve, for you are the worst sinner that I know of. You want to buy your pardon, and you want to steal heaven itself, you who have already stolen from the Lord.

OLD LADY. What is it I hear?

FRANCISCAN. When you were sick and near death you made a vow to the Lord that in case of recovery you would give a monstrance of pure gold to the convent church. Your health was restored and you gave the holy vessel, but it was of silver—gilded. Not for the sake of the gold, but because of your broken vow and your deception, you are already damned.

OLD LADY. I didn't know it. The goldsmith has cheated me.

FRANCISCAN. You are lying, for I have the goldsmith's bill.

OLD LADY. Is there no pardon for it?

FRANCISCAN. No! For it is a mortal sin to cheat God.

OLD LADY. Woe is me!

FRANCISCAN. The settlement of your other crimes will have to take place within yourself. But if you as much as touch a hair on the heads of the children, then you shall learn who is their protector, and you shall feel the iron rod.

OLD LADY. The idea—that this infernal monk should dare to say such things to me! If I am damned—then I want to be damned! Ha, ha!

FRANCISCAN. Well, you may be sure that there will be no blessing for your house and no peace for yourself until you have suffered every suffering that you have brought on others.—May I speak a word with you, Judge?

TheJudgeapproaches.

OLD LADY. Yes, give him what he deserves, so that one may be as good as the other.

FRANCISCAN. [To theJudge] Where did you get the idea of building your tomb where the gallows used to stand?

JUDGE. I suppose I got it from the devil!

FRANCISCAN. Like the idea of casting off your children and robbing them of their inheritance? But you have also been an unrighteous judge—you have violated oaths and accepted bribes.

JUDGE. I?

FRANCISCAN. And now you want to erect a monument to yourself! You want to build yourself an imperishable house in heaven! But listen to me: this spot will never be consecrated, and you may consider it a blessing if you are permitted to rest in common ground among ordinary little sinners. There is a curse laid on this soil, because blood-guilt attaches to it and because it is ill-gotten.

JUDGE. What am I to do?

FRANCISCAN. Repent, and restore the stolen property.

JUDGE. I have never stolen. Everything has been legally acquired.

FRANCISCAN. That, you see, is the worst part of all—that you regard your crimes as lawful. Yes, I know that you even consider yourself particularly favoured by Heaven because of your righteousness. But now you will soon see what harvest is in store for you. Thorns and thistles will grow in your vineyard. Helpless and abandoned you shall be, and the peace of your old age will turn into struggle and strife.

JUDGE. The devil you say!

FRANCISCAN. Don't call him—he'll come anyhow!

JUDGE. Let him come! Because we believe, we have no fear!

FRANCISCAN. The devils believe also, and tremble!—Farewell! [He goes out.

JUDGE. [To his wife] What did he say to you?

OLD LADY. You think I'll tell? What did he have to say to you?

JUDGE. And you think I'll tell?

OLD LADY. Are you going to keep any secrets from me?

JUDGE. And how about you? It's what you have always done, but I'll get to the bottom of your tricks some time.

OLD LADY. Just wait a little, and I'll figure out where you keep the money that is missing.

JUDGE. So you are hiding money, too! Now there is no longer any use in playing the hypocrite—just let yourself be seen in all your abomination, you witch!

OLD LADY. I think you have lost your reason—not that it was much to keep! But you might at least preserve an appearance of decency, if you can——

JUDGE. And you might preserve your beauty—if you can! And your perennial youth—ha, ha, ha! And your righteousness! You must have known how to bewitch people, and hoodwink them, for now I see how horribly ugly and old you are.

OLD LADY. [On whom the spot of light now appears] Woe! It is burning me!

JUDGE. There I see you as you really are! [The spot jumps to theJUDGE] Woe! It is burning me now!

OLD LADY. And how you look! [Both withdraw to the right.

[TheNEIGHBOURandAMELIAenter from the left.

NEIGHBOUR. Yes, child, there is justice, both human and divine, but we must have patience.

AMELIA. I am willing to believe that justice is done, in spite of all appearances to the contrary. But I cannot love my mother, and I have never been able to do so. There is something within me that keeps telling me that she is not only indifferent to me but actually hostile.

NEIGHBOUR. So you have found it out?

AMELIA. Why—she hates me, and a mother couldn't do that!

NEIGHBOUR. Well, well!

AMELIA. And I suffer from not being able to do my duty as a child and love her.

NEIGHBOUR. Well, asthathas made you suffer, then you will soon—in the hour of retribution—learn the great secret of your life.

AMELIA. And I could stand everything, if she were only kind to my children.

NEIGHBOUR. Don't fear on that account, for her power is now ended. The measure of her wickedness has been heaped full and is now overflowing.

AMELIA. Do you think so? But this very day she tore my Adolph away from me, and now she has humiliated me still further by dressing me as a servant girl and making me do the work in the kitchen.

NEIGHBOUR. Patience!

AMELIA. Yes, so you say! Oh, I can understand deserved suffering, but to suffer without cause——

NEIGHBOUR. My dear child, the prisoners in the penitentiary are suffering justly, so there is no honour in that; but to be permitted to suffer unjustly, that's a grace and a trial of which steadfast souls bring home golden fruits.

AMELIA. You speak so beautifully that everything you say seems true to me.—Hush! There are the children—and I don't want them to see me dressed like this.

She and theNEIGHBOURtake up a position where they are hidden by a tall shrub.

ERICandTHYRAenter; the spot of light rests now on one of them and now on the other.

ERIC. Look at the sun spot!

THYRA. Oh, you beautiful sun! But didn't he go to bed a while ago?

ERIC. Perhaps he is allowed to stay up longer than usual because he has been very good all day.

THYRA. But how could the sun be good? Now you are stupid, Eric.

ERIC. Of course the sun can be good—doesn't he make the grapes and the peaches?

THYRA. But if he is so good, then he might also give us a peach.

ERIC. So he will, if we only wait a little. Aren't there any on the ground at all?

THYRA. [Looking] No, but perhaps we might get one from the tree.

ERIC. No, grandmother won't let us.

THYRA. Grandmother has said that we mustn't shake the tree, but I thought we could play around the tree so that one might fall down anyhow—of itself.

ERIC. Now you are stupid, Thyra. That would be exactly the same thing. [Looking up at the tree] Oh, if only a peach would fall down!

THYRA. None will fall unless you shake.

ERIC. You mustn't talk like that, Thyra, for that is a sin.

THYRA. Let's pray God to let one fall.

ERIC. One shouldn't pray God for anything nice—that is, to eat!—Oh, little peach, won't you fall? I want you to fall! [A peach falls from the tree, andERICpicks it up] There, what a nice tree!

THYRA. But now you must give me half, for it was I who said that the tree had to be shaken——

OLD LADY. [Enters with a big birch rod] So you have been shaking the tree—now you'll see what you'll get, you nasty children——

ERIC. No, grandmother, we didn't shake the tree!

OLD LADY. So you are lying, too. Didn't I hear Thyra say that the tree had to be shaken? Come along now, and I'll lock you up in the cellar where neither sun nor moon is to be seen——

AMELIA. [Coming forward] The children are innocent, mother.

OLD LADY. That's a fine thing—to stand behind the bushes listening, and then to teach one's own children how to lie besides!

NEIGHBOUR. [Appearing] Nothing has been spoken here but the truth, madam.

OLD LADY. Two witnesses behind the bushes—exactly as if we were in court. But I know the tricks, I tell you, and what I have heard and seen is sufficient evidence for me.—Come along, you brats!

AMELIA. This is sinful and shameful——

TheNEIGHBOURsignals toAMELIAby putting his finger across his lips.

AMELIA. [Goes up to her children] Don't cry, children! Obey grandmother now—there is nothing to be afraid of. It is better to suffer evil than to do it, and I know that you are innocent. May God preserve you! And don't forget your evening prayer!

TheOLD LADYgoes out with the children.

AMELIA. Belief comes so hard, but it is sweet if you can achieve it.

NEIGHBOUR. Is it so hard to believe that God is good—at the very moment when his kind intentions are most apparent?

AMELIA. Give me a great and good word for the night, so that I may sleep on it as on a soft pillow.

NEIGHBOUR. You shall have it. Let me think a moment.—This is it: Isaac was to be sacrificed——

AMELIA. Oh, no, no!

NEIGHBOUR. Quiet, now!—Isaac was tobesacrificed, but he never was!

AMELIA. Thank you! Thank you! And good night!

She goes out to the right.

NEIGHBOUR. Good night, my child!

[He goes slowly out by a path leading to the rear.

THE PROCESSION OF SHADOWSenters from the mausoleum and moves without a sound across the stage toward the right; between every two figures there is a distance of five steps:DEATHwith its scythe and hour-glass.THE LADY IN WHITE—blond, tall, and slender; on one of her fingers she wears a ring with a green stone that seems to emit rays of light.THE GOLDSMITH,with the counterfeit monstrance.THE BEHEADED SAILOR,carrying his head in one hand.THE AUCTIONEER,with hammer and note-book.THE CHIMNEY-SWEEP,with rope, scraper, and broom.THE FOOL,carrying his cap with the ass's ears and bells at the top of a pole, across which is placed a signboard with the word "Caul" on it.THE SURVEYOR,with measuring rod and tripod.THE MAGISTRATE,dressed and made up like theJUDGE;he carries a rope around his neck; and his right hand is raised to show that the forefinger is missing.The stage is darkened at the beginning of the procession and remains empty while it lasts.When it is over, theJUDGEenters from the left, followed by theOLD LADY.

THE PROCESSION OF SHADOWSenters from the mausoleum and moves without a sound across the stage toward the right; between every two figures there is a distance of five steps:

DEATHwith its scythe and hour-glass.

THE LADY IN WHITE—blond, tall, and slender; on one of her fingers she wears a ring with a green stone that seems to emit rays of light.

THE GOLDSMITH,with the counterfeit monstrance.

THE BEHEADED SAILOR,carrying his head in one hand.

THE AUCTIONEER,with hammer and note-book.

THE CHIMNEY-SWEEP,with rope, scraper, and broom.

THE FOOL,carrying his cap with the ass's ears and bells at the top of a pole, across which is placed a signboard with the word "Caul" on it.

THE SURVEYOR,with measuring rod and tripod.

THE MAGISTRATE,dressed and made up like theJUDGE;he carries a rope around his neck; and his right hand is raised to show that the forefinger is missing.

The stage is darkened at the beginning of the procession and remains empty while it lasts.

When it is over, theJUDGEenters from the left, followed by theOLD LADY.

JUDGE. Why are you playing the ghost at this late hour?

OLD LADY. And how about yourself?

JUDGE. I couldn't sleep.

OLD LADY. Why not?

JUDGE. Don't know. Thought I heard children crying in the cellar.

OLD LADY. That's impossible. Oh, no, I suppose you didn't dare to sleep for fear I might be prying in your hiding-places.

JUDGE. And you feared I might be after yours! A pleasant old age this will be for Philemon and Baucis!

OLD LADY. At least no gods will come to visit us.

JUDGE. No, I shouldn't call them gods.

At this moment thePROCESSIONbegins all over again, starting from the mausoleum as before and moving in silence toward the right.

OLD LADY. O Mary, Mother of God, what is this?

JUDGE. Merciful heavens! [Pause]

OLD LADY. Pray! Pray for us!

JUDGE. I have tried, but I cannot.

OLD LADY. Neither can I! The words won't come—and no thoughts! [Pause]

JUDGE. How does the Lord's Prayer begin?

OLD LADY. I can't remember, but I knew it this morning. [Pause] Who is the woman in white?

JUDGE. It is she—Amelia's mother—whose very memory we wanted to kill.

OLD LADY. Are these shadows or ghosts, or nothing but our own sickly dreams?

JUDGE. [Takes up his pocket-knife] They are delusions sent by the devil. I'll throw cold steel after them.—Open the knife for me, Caroline! I can't, don't you see?

OLD LADY. Yes, I see—it isn't easy without a forefinger.—But I can't either! [She drops the knife]

JUDGE. Woe to us! Steel won't help here! Woe! There's the beheaded sailor! Let us get away from here!

OLD LADY. That's easy to say, but I can't move from the spot.

JUDGE. And I seem to be rooted to the ground.—No, I am not going to look at it any longer!

[He covers his eyes with one hand.

OLD LADY. But what is it? Mists out of the earth, or shadows cast by the trees?

JUDGE. No, it's our own vision that plays us false. There I go now, and yet I am standing here. Just let me get a good night's sleep, and I'll laugh at the whole thing!—The devil! Is this masquerade never going to end?

OLD LADY. But why do you look at it then?

JUDGE. I see it right through my hand—I see it in the dark, with my eyelids closed!

OLD LADY. But now it's over.

ThePROCESSIONhas passed out.

JUDGE. Praised be—why, I can't get the word out!—I wonder if it will be possible to sleep to-night? Perhaps we had better send for the doctor?

OLD LADY. Or Father Colomba, perhaps?

JUDGE. He can't help, and he who could won't!—Well, let the Other One do it then!

THE OTHER ONEenters from behind the Lady Chapel. He is extremely thin and moth-eaten. His thin, snuff-coloured hair is parted in the middle. His straggly beard looks as if it were made out of tow. His clothes are shabby and outgrown, and he seems to wear no linen. A red woollen muffler is wound around his neck. He wears spectacles and carries a piece of rattan under his arm.

JUDGE. Who is that?

THE OTHER ONE. [In a low voice] I am the Other One!

Judge. [To his wife] Make the sign of the cross! I can't!

THE OTHER ONE. The sign of the cross does not frighten me, for I am undergoing my ordeal merely that I may wear it.

JUDGE. Who are you?

THE OTHER ONE. I became the Other One because I wanted to be the First One. I was a man of evil, and my punishment is to serve the good.

JUDGE. Then you are not the Evil One?

THE OTHER ONE. I am. And it is my task to torment you into finding the cross, before which we are to meet some time.

OLD LADY. [ToJudge] Don't listen to him! Tell him to go!

THE OTHER ONE. It won't help. You have called me, and you'll have to bear with me.

TheJUDGEand theOLD LADYgo out to the left.THE OTHER ONEgoes after them.

TheJUDGEand theOLD LADYgo out to the left.

THE OTHER ONEgoes after them.

Curtain.

A huge room with whitewashed walls and a ceiling of darkened beams. The windows are small and deeply set, with bars on the outside. The room is crowded with furniture of every kind: wardrobes, chiffoniers, dressers, chests, tables. On the furniture are placed silver services, candelabra, candlesticks, pitchers, table ware, vases, statues, etc.There is a door in the rear. Portraits of theJUDGEand theOLD LADYhang on the rear wall, one on either side of the door.A harp stands beside a small sewing-table with an easy chair near it.AMELIAis standing before a table at the right, trying to clean a coffee-set of silver.The sun is shining in through the windows in the background.

There is a door in the rear. Portraits of theJUDGEand theOLD LADYhang on the rear wall, one on either side of the door.

A harp stands beside a small sewing-table with an easy chair near it.

AMELIAis standing before a table at the right, trying to clean a coffee-set of silver.

The sun is shining in through the windows in the background.

NEIGHBOUR. [Enters] Well, child, how is your patience?

AMELIA. Thank you, neighbour, it might be worse. But I never had a worse job than this silver service here. I have worked at it for half an hour and cannot get it clean.

NEIGHBOUR. That's strange, but I suppose there are reasons for it, as the Judge says. Could you sleep last night?

AMELIA. Thank you, I slept very well. But do you know that father spent the whole night in the vineyard with his rattle——?

NEIGHBOUR. Yes, I heard him. What kind of foolish idea was that?

AMELIA. He thought he heard the starlings that had come to eat the grapes.

NEIGHBOUR. Poor fellow! As if the starlings were abroad nights!—And the children?

AMELIA. Well, the children—she is still keeping them in the cellar, and I hope she won't forget to give them something to eat.

NEIGHBOUR. He who feeds the birds will not forget your children, my dear Amelia. And now I'll tell you something which, as a rule, shouldn't be told. There is a small hole in the wall between the Judge's wine-cellar and my own. When I was down there this morning to get the place aired out, I heard voices. And when I looked through the hole, I saw Eric and Thyra playing with a strange little boy.

AMELIA. You could see them, neighbour? And——

NEIGHBOUR. They were happy and well——

AMELIA. Who was their playmate?

NEIGHBOUR. That's more than I can guess.

AMELIA. This whole dreadful house is nothing but secrets.

NEIGHBOUR. That is true, but it is not for us to inquire into them.

JUDGE. [Enters, carrying a rattle] So you are in here conspiring, neighbour! Is it not enough that your evil eye has brought the starlings into my vineyard? For you do have the evil eye—but we'll soon put it out. I know a trick or two myself.

NEIGHBOUR. [ToAMELIA] Is it worth while to set him right? One who doesn't believe what is told him! [He goes out.

AMELIA. No, this is beyond us!

JUDGE. Tell me, Amelia, have you noticed where your mother is looking for things when she believes herself to be alone?

AMELIA. No, father.

JUDGE. I can see by your eyes that you know. You were looking this way. [He goes up to a chest of drawers and happens to get into the sunlight] Damn the sun that is always burning me! [He pulls down one of the shades and returns to the chest of drawers] This must be the place!—Now, let me see! The stupidest spot is also the cleverest, so that's where I must look—as in this box of perfume, for instance—And right I was! [He pulls out a number of bank-notes and stocks] What's this? Twelve English bills of a pound each. Twelve of them!—Oho! Then it is easy to imagine the rest. [Pushes the bills and securities into his pockets] But what is it I hear? There are the starlings again! [He goes to an open window and begins to play the rattle] Get away there!

OLD LADY. [Enters] Are you still playing the ghost?

JUDGE. Are you not in the kitchen?

OLD LADY. No, as you see, I am not. [ToAMELIA] Are you not done with the cleaning yet?

AMELIA. No, mother, I'll never get done with it. The silver won't clean, and I don't think it is real.

OLD LADY. Not real? Let me see!—Why, indeed, it's quite black! [To theJUDGE,who in the meantime has pulled down another shade] Where did you get this set from?

JUDGE. That one? Why, it came from an estate.

OLD LADY. For your services as executor! What you got was like what you gave!

JUDGE. You had better not make any defamatory remarks, for they are punishable under the law.

OLD LADY. Are you crazy, or was there anything crazy about my remark?

JUDGE. And for that matter, it is silver—sterling silver.

OLD LADY. Then it must be Amelia's fault.

AVOICE. [Coming through the window from the outside] The Judge can turn white into black, but he can't turn black into white!

JUDGE. Who said that?

OLD LADY. It seemed as if one of the starlings had been speaking.

JUDGE. [Pulling down the remaining shade] Now the sun is here, and a while ago it seemed to be over there.

OLD LADY. [ToAMELIA] Who was it that spoke?

AMELIA. I think it was that strange school-teacher with the red muffler.

JUDGE. Ugh! Let us talk of something else.

SERVANT GIRL. [Enters] Dinner is served.

[She goes out; a pause follows.

OLD LADY. You go down and eat, Amelia.

AMELIA. Thank you, mother. [She goes out.

TheJUDGEsits down on a chair close to one of the chests.

OLD LADY. [Sliding up to the chest of drawers >where the box of perfume stands] Are you not going to eat anything?

JUDGE. No, I am not hungry. How about you?

OLD LADY. I have just eaten. [Pause.

JUDGE. [Takes a piece of bread from his pocket] Then you'll excuse me, I'm sure.

OLD LADY. There's a roast of venison on the table.

JUDGE. You don't say so!

OLD LADY. Do you think I poison the food?

JUDGE. Yes, it tasted of carbolic acid this morning.

OLD LADY. And what I ate had a sort of metallic taste——

JUDGE. If I assure you that I have put nothing whatever in your food——

OLD LADY. Then I don't believe you. But I can assure you——

JUDGE. And I won't believe it. [Eating his bread] Roast of venison is a good thing—I can smell it from here—but bread isn't bad either. [Pause.

OLD LADY. Why are you sitting there watching that chest?

JUDGE. For the same reason that makes you guard those perfumes.

OLD LADY. So you have been there, you sneak-thief!

JUDGE. Ghoul!

OLD LADY. To think of it—such words between us!Us!

[She begins to weep.

JUDGE. Yes, the world is evil and so is man.

OLD LADY. Yes, you may well say so—and ungrateful above all. Ungrateful children rob you of the rent; ungrateful grandchildren rob the fruit from the trees. You are right, indeed: the world is evil——

JUDGE. I ought to know, I who have had to witness all the rottenness, and who have been forced to pass the death sentence. That is why the mob hates me, just as if I had made the laws——

OLD LADY. It doesn't matter what the people say, if you have only a clean conscience—[Three loud knocks are heard from the inside of the biggest wardrobe] What was that? Who is there?

JUDGE. Oh, it was that wardrobe. It always cracks when there is rain coming. [Three distinct knocks are heard again.

OLD LADY. It's some kind of performance started by that strolling charlatan.

The cover of the coffee-pot whichAMELIAwas cleaning, opens and drops down again with a bang; this happens several times in succession.

JUDGE. What wasthat, then?

OLD LADY. Oh, yes, it's that same juggler. He can play tricks, but he can't scare me. [The coffee-pot acts as before.

JUDGE. Do you think he is one of those mesmerists?

OLD LADY. Well, whatever it happens to be called——

JUDGE. If that's so, how can he know our private secrets?

OLD LADY. Secrets? What do you mean by that?

A clock begins to strike and keeps it up as if it never meant to stop.

JUDGE. Now I am getting scared.

OLD LADY. Then Old Nick himself may take me if I stay here another minute! [The spot of sunlight appears suddenly on the portrait of theOLD LADY] Look! He knows that secret, too!

JUDGE. You mean that there is a portrait ofherbehind yours?

OLD LADY. Come away from here and let us go down and eat. And let us see whether we can't sell off the house and all the rest at auction——

JUDGE. You are right—sell off the whole caboodle and start a new life!—And now let us go down and eat.

THE OTHER ONEappears in the doorway.TheJUDGEand theOLD LADYdraw back from him.

THE OTHER ONEappears in the doorway.

TheJUDGEand theOLD LADYdraw back from him.

JUDGE. That's an ordinary human being!

OLD LADY. Speak to him!

JUDGE. [ToTHE OTHER ONE] Who are you, sir?

THE OTHER ONE. I have told you twice. That you don't believe me is a part of your punishment, for if you could believe, your sufferings would be shortened by it.

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