Blessèd be he, who fears the Lord,Beati omnes, qui timent Dominum,And walks in his ways,Qui ambulant in viis ejus.Thou shalt feed thyself with the work of thy hands,Labores manuum tuarum quia manducabis;Blessèd be thou and peace be with thee,Beatus es et bene tibi erit.(A second raft appears with boys on one side and girls on the other. It has a flag with a rose on it.)Thy wife shall be like a fruitful vine,Uxor tua sicut vitis abundans,Within thy house,In lateribus domus tuae.(The third raft carries men and women. There is a flag with fruit upon it: figs, grapes, pomegranates, melons, ears of wheat, etc.)Filii tui sicut novellae olivarum,Thy children shall be like olive branches about thy table,In circuitu mensae tuae.(The fourth raft is filled with older men and women. The flag has a representation of a fir-tree under snow.)See, how blessèd is the man,Ecce sic benedicetur homo,Who feareth the Lord,Qui timet Dominum!(The raft glides by.)STRANGER. What were they singing?CONFESSOR. A pilgrim's song.STRANGER. Who wrote it?CONFESSOR. A royal person.STRANGER. Here? What was his name? Has he written anything else?CONFESSOR. About fifty songs; he was called David, the son of Isaiah! But he didn't always write psalms. When he was young, he did other things. Yes. Such things will happen!STRANGER. Can we go on now?CONFESSOR. In a moment. I've something to say to you first.STRANGER. Speak.CONFESSOR. Good. But don't be either sad or angry.STRANGER. Certainly not.CONFESSOR. Here, you see, on this bank, you're a well-known—let's say famous—person; but over there, on the other, you'll be quite unknown to the brothers. Nothing more, in fact, than an ordinary simple man.STRANGER. Oh! Don't they read in the monastery?CONFESSOR. Nothing light; only serious books.STRANGER. They take in papers, I suppose?CONFESSOR. Not the kind that write about you!STRANGER. Then on the other side of this river my life-work doesn't exist?CONFESSOR. What work?STRANGER. I see. Very well. Can't we cross now?CONFESSOR. In a minute. Is there no one you'd like to take leave of?STRANGER (after a pause.) Yes. But it's beyond the bounds of possibility.CONFESSOR. Have you ever seen anything impossible?STRANGER. Not really, since I've seen my own destiny.CONFESSOR. Well, who is it you'd like to meet?STRANGER. I had a daughter once; I called her Sylvia, because she sang all day long like a wren. It's some years since I saw her; she must be a girl of sixteen now. But I'm afraid if I were to meet her, life would regain its value for me.CONFESSOR. You fear nothing else?STRANGER. What do you mean?CONFESSOR. That she may have changed!STRANGER. She could only have changed for the better.CONFESSOR. Are you sure?STRANGER. Yes.CONFESSOR. She'll come to you. (He goes down to the bank and beckons to the right.)STRANGER. Wait! I'm wondering whether it's wise!CONFESSOR. It can do no harm.(He beckons once more. A boat appears on the river, rowed by a young girl. She is wearing summer clothing, her head is bare and her fair hair is hanging loose. She gets out of the boat behind the willow tree. The CONFESSOR draws back until he is near the ferryman's hut, but remains in sight of the audience. The STRANGER has waved to the girl and she has answered him. She now comes on to the stage, runs into the STRANGER'S arms, and kisses him.)DAUGHTER. Father. My dear father!STRANGER. Sylvia! My child!DAUGHTER. How in the world do you come to be up here in the mountains?STRANGER. And how haveyougot here? I thought I'd managed to hide so well.DAUGHTER. Why did you want to hide?STRANGER. Ask me as little as possible! You've grown into a big girl. And I've gone grey.DAUGHTER. No. You're not grey. You're just as young as you were when we parted.STRANGER. When we... parted!DAUGHTER. When you left us.... (The STRANGER does not reply.) Aren't you glad we're meeting again?STRANGER (faintly). Yes!DAUGHTER. Then show it.STRANGER. How can I be glad, when we're parting to-day for life?DAUGHTER. Why, where do you want to go?STRANGER (pointing to the monastery). Up there!DAUGHTER (with a sophisticated air). Into the monastery? Yes, now I come to think of it, perhaps it's best.STRANGER. You think so?DAUGHTER (with pity, but good-will.) I mean, if you've a ruined life behind you.... (Coaxingly.) Now you look sad. Tell me one thing.STRANGER. Tellmeone thing, my child, that's been worrying me more than anything else. You've a stepfather?DAUGHTER. Yes.STRANGER. Well?DAUGHTER. He's very good and kind.STRANGER. With every virtue that I lack....DAUGHTER. Aren't you glad we've got into better hands?STRANGER. Good, better, best! Why do you come here bare-headed?DAUGHTER. Because George is carrying my hat.STRANGER. Who's George? And where is he?DAUGHTER. George is a friend of mine; and he's waiting for me on the bank down below.STRANGER. Are you engaged to him?DAUGHTER. No. Certainly not!STRANGER. Do you want to marry?DAUGHTER. Never!STRANGER. I can see it by your mottled cheeks, like those of a child that has got up too early; I can hear it by your voice, that's no longer that of a warbler, but a jay; I can feel it in your kisses, that burn cold like the sun in May; and by your steady icy look that tells me you're nursing a secret of which you're ashamed, but of which you'd like to boast. And your brothers and sisters?DAUGHTER. They're quite well, thank you.STRANGER. Have we anything else to say to one another?DAUGHTER (coldly). Perhaps not.STRANGER. Now you look so like your mother.DAUGHTER. How do you know, when you've never been able to see her as she was!STRANGER. So you understood that, though you were so young?DAUGHTER. I learnt to understand it from you. If only you'd understand yourself.STRANGER. Have you anything else to teach me?DAUGHTER. Perhaps! But in your day that wasn't considered seemly.STRANGER. My day's over and exists no longer; just as Sylvia exists no longer, but is merely a name, a memory. (He takes a guide-book out of his pocket.) Look at this guide-book! Can you see small marks made here by tiny fingers, and others by little damp lips? You made them when you were five years old; you were sitting on my knee in the train, and we saw the Alps for the first time. You thought what you saw was Heaven; and when I explained that the mountain was the Jungfrau, you asked if you could kiss the name in the book.DAUGHTER. I don't remember that!STRANGER. Delightful memories pass, but hateful ones remain! Don't you remember anything about me?DAUGHTER. Oh yes.STRANGER. Quiet! I know what you mean. One night... one dreadful, horrible night... Sylvia, my child, when I shut my eyes I see a pale little angel, who slept in my arms when she was ill; and who thanked me when I gave her a present. Where is she whom I long for so and who exists no more, although she isn't dead? You, as you are, seem a stranger, whom I've never known and certainly don't long to see again. If Sylvia at least were dead and lay in her grave, there'd be a churchyard where I could take my flowers.... How strange it is! She's neither among the living, nor the dead. Perhaps she never existed, and was only a dream like everything else.DAUGHTER (wheedling).Father, dear!STRANGER. It's she! No, only her voice. (Pause.) So you think my life's been ruined?DAUGHTER. Yes. But why speak of it now?STRANGER. Because remember I once savedyourlife. You had brain fever for a whole month and suffered a great deal. Your mother wanted the doctor to deliver you from your unhappy existence by some powerful drug. But I prevented it, and so saved you from death and your mother from prison.DAUGHTER. I don't believe it!STRANGER. But a fact may be true, even if you don't believe it.DAUGHTER. You dreamed it.STRANGER. Who knows if I haven't dreamed everything, and am not even dreaming now. How I wish it were so!DAUGHTER. I must be going, father.STRANGER. Then good-bye!DAUGHTER. May I write to you?STRANGER. What? One of the dead write to another? Letters won't reach me in future. And I mayn't receive visitors. But I'm glad we've met, for now there's nothing else on earth I cling to. (Going to the left.) Good-bye, girl or woman, whatever I should call you. There's no need to weep!DAUGHTER. I wasn't thinking of weeping, though I dare say good breeding would demand I should. Well, good-bye! (She goes out right.)STRANGER (to the CONFESSOR). I think I came out of that well! It's a mercy to part with content on both sides. Mankind, after all, makes rapid progress, and self-control increases as the flow of the tear-ducts lessens. I've seen so many tears shed in my lifetime, that I'm almost taken aback at this dryness. She was a strong child, just the kind I once wished to be. The most beautiful thing that life can offer! She lay, like an angel, wrapped in the white veils of her cradle, with a blue coverlet when she slept. Blue and arched like the sky. That was the best: what will the worst look like?CONFESSOR. Don't excite yourself, but be of good cheer. First throw away that foolish guide-book, for this is your last journey.STRANGER. You mean this? Very well. (He opens the book, kisses one of the pages and then throws it into the river.) Anything else?CONFESSOR. If you've any gold or silver, you must give it to the poor.STRANGER. I've a silver watch. I never got as far as a gold one.CONFESSOR. Give that to the ferryman; and then you'll get a glass of wine.STRANGER. The last! It's like an execution! Perhaps I'll have to have my hair cut, too?CONFESSOR. Yes. Later. (He takes the watch and goes to the door of the ferryman's hut, speaking a few whispered words to someone within. He receives a bottle of wine and a glass in exchange, which he puts on the table.)STRANGER (filling his glass, but not drinking it.) Shall I never get wine up there?CONFESSOR. No wine; and you'll see no women. You may hear singing; but not the kind of songs that go with women and wine.STRANGER. I've had enough of women; they can't tempt me any more.CONFESSOR. Are you sure?STRANGER. Quite sure.... But tell me this: what do you think of women, who mayn't even set their feet within your consecrated walls?CONFESSOR. So you're still asking questions?STRANGER. And why may an abbess never hear confession, never read mass, and never preach?CONFESSOR. I can't answer that.STRANGER. Because the answer would accord with my thoughts on that theme.CONFESSOR. It wouldn't be a disaster if we were to agree for once.STRANGER. Not at all!CONFESSOR. Now drink up your wine.STRANGER. No. I only want to look at it for the last time. It's beautiful....CONFESSOR. Don't lose yourself in meditation; memories lie at the bottom of the cup.STRANGER. And oblivion, and songs, and power—imaginary power, but for that reason all the greater.CONFESSOR. Wait here a moment; I'll go and order the ferry.STRANGER. 'Sh! I can hear singing, and I can see.... I can see.... For a moment I saw a flag unfurling in a puff of wind, only to fall back on the flagstaff and hang there limply as if it were nothing but a dishcloth. I've witnessed my whole life flashing past in a second, with its joys and sorrows, its beauty and its misery! But now I can see nothing.CONFESSOR (going to the left). Wait here a moment, I'll go and order the ferry.(The STRANGER goes so far up stage that the rays of the setting sun, which are streaming from the right through the trees, throw his shadow across the bank and the river. The LADY enters from the right, in deep mourning. Her shadow slowly approaches that of the STRANGER.)STRANGER (who, to begin with, looks only at his own shadow). Ah! The sun! It makes me a bloodless shape, a giant, who can walk on the water of the river, climb the mountain, stride over the roof of the monastery church, and rise, as he does now, up into the firmament—up to the stars. Ah, now I'm up here with the stars.... (He notices the shadow thrown by the LADY.) But who's following me? Who's interrupting my ascension? Trying to climb on my shoulders? (Turning.) You!LADY. Yes. I!STRANGER. So black! So black and so evil.LADY. No longer evil. I'm in mourning....STRANGER. For whom?LADY. For our Mizzi.STRANGER. My daughter! (The LADY opens her arms, in order to throw herself on to his breast, but he avoids her.) I congratulate the dead child. I'm sorry for you. I myself feel outside everything.LADY. Comfort me, too.STRANGER. A fine idea! I'm to comfort my fury, weep with my hangman, amuse my tormentor.LADY. Have you no feelings?STRANGER. None! I wasted the feelings I used to have on you and others.LADY. You're right. You can reproach me.STRANGER. I've neither the time nor the wish to do that. Where are you going?LADY. I want to cross with the ferry.STRANGER. Then I've no luck, for I wanted to do the same. (The LADY weeps into her handkerchief. The STRANGER takes it from her and dries her eyes.) Dry your eyes, child, and be yourself! As hard, and lacking in feeling, as you really are! (The LADY tries to put her arm round his neck. The STRANGER taps her gently on the fingers.) You mustn't touch me. When your words and glances weren't enough, you always wanted to touch me. You'll excuse a rather trivial question: are you hungry?LADY. No. Thank you.STRANGER. But you're tired. Sit down. (The LADY sits down at the table. The STRANGER throws the bottle and glass into the river.) Well, what are you going to live for now?LADY (sadly). I don't know.STRANGER. Where will you go?LADY (sobbing). I don't know.STRANGER. So you're in despair? You see no reason for living and no end to your misery! How like me you are! What a pity there's no monastery for both sexes, so that we could pair off together. Is the werewolf still alive?LADY. You mean...?STRANGER. Your first husband.LADY. He never seems to die.STRANGER. Like a certain worm! (Pause.) And now that we're so far from the world and its pettiness, tell me this: why did you leave him in those days, and come to me?LADY. Because I loved you.STRANGER. And how long did that last?LADY. Until I read your book, and the child was born.STRANGER. And then?LADY. I hated you! That is, I wanted to be rid of all the evil you'd given me, but I couldn't.STRANGER. So that's how it was! But we'll never really know the truth.LADY. Have you noticed how impossible it is to find things out? You can live with a person and their relations for twenty years, and yet not know anything about them.STRANGER. So you've discovered that? As you see so much, tell me this: how was it you came to love me?LADY. I don't know; but I'll try to remember. (Pause.) Well, you had the masculine courage to be rude to a lady. In me you sought the companionship of a human being and not merely of a woman. That honoured me; and, I thought, you too.STRANGER. Tell me also whether you held me to be a misogynist?LADY. A woman-hater? Every healthy man is one, in the secret places of his heart; and all perverted men are admirers of women.STRANGER. You're not trying to flatter me, are you?LADY. A woman who'd try to flatter a man's not normal.STRANGER. I see you've thought a great deal!LADY. Thinking's the least I've done; for when I've thought least I've understood most. Besides, what I said just how is perhaps only improvised, as you call it, and not true in the least.STRANGER. But if it agrees with many of my observations it becomes most probable. (The LADY weeps into her handkerchief.) You're weeping again?LADY. I was thinking of Mizzi. The loveliest thing we ever had is gone.STRANGER. No. You were the loveliest thing, when you sat all night watching over your child, who was lying in your bed, because her cradle was too cold! (Three loud knocks are heard on the ferryman's door.) 'Sh!LADY. What's that?STRANGER. My companion, who's waiting for me.LADY (continuing the conversation). I never thought life would give me anything so sweet as a child.STRANGER. And at the same time anything so bitter.LADY. Why bitter?STRANGER. You've been a child yourself, and you must remember how we, when we'd just married, came to your mother in rags, dirty and without money. I seem to remember she didn't find us very sweet.LADY. That's true.STRANGER. And I... well, just now I met Sylvia. And I expected that all that was beautiful and good in the child would have blossomed in the girl....LADY. Well?STRANGER. I found a faded rose, that seemed to have blown too soon. Her breasts were sunken, her hair untidy like that of a neglected child, and her teeth decayed.LADY. Oh!STRANGER. You mustn't grieve. Not for the child! You might perhaps have had to grieve for her later, as I did.LADY. So that's what life is?STRANGER. Yes. That's what life is. And that's why I'm going to bury myself alive.LADY. Where?STRANGER (pointing to the monastery). Up there!LADY. In the monastery? No, don't leave me. Bear me company. I'm so alone in the world and so poor, so poor! When the child died, my mother turned me out, and ever since I've been living in an attic with a dressmaker. At first she was kind and pleasant, but then the lonely evenings got too long for her, and she went out in search of company—so we parted. Now I'm on the road, and I've nothing but the clothes I'm wearing; nothing but my grief. I eat it and drink it; it nourishes me and sends me to sleep. I'd rather lose anything in the world than that! (The STRANGER weeps.) You're weeping. You! Let me kiss your eyelids.STRANGER. You've suffered all that for my sake!LADY. Not for your sake! You never did me an ill turn; but I plagued you till you left your fireside and your child!STRANGER. I'd forgotten that; but if you say so.... So you still love me?LADY. Probably. I don't know.STRANGER. And you'd like to begin all over again?LADY. All over again? The quarrels? No, we won't do that.STRANGER. You're right. The quarrels would only begin all over again. And yet it's difficult to part.LADY. To part. The word alone's terrible enough.STRANGER. Then what are we to do?LADY. I don't know.STRANGER. No, one knows nothing, hardly even that one knows nothing; and that's why, you see, I've got as far as tobelieve.LADY. How do you know you can believe, if belief's a gift?STRANGER. You can receive a gift, if you ask for it.LADY. Oh yes, if you ask; but I've never been able to beg.STRANGER. I've had to learn to. Why can't you?LADY. Because one has to demean oneself first.STRANGER. Life does that for one very well.LADY. Mizzi, Mizzi, Mizzi!... (She has taken a shawl she was carrying over her arm, rolled it up and put it on her knee like a baby in long clothes.) Sleep! Sleep! Sleep! Think of it! I can see her here! She's smiling at me; but she's dressed in black; she seems to be in mourning too! How stupid I am! Her mother's in mourning! She's got two teeth down below, and they're white—milk teeth; she should never have cut any others. Oh, can't you see her, when I can? It's no vision. Itisher!CONFESSOR (in the door of the ferryman's hut; sternly to the STRANGER). Come. Everything's ready!STRANGER. No. Not yet. I must first set my house in order; and look after this woman, who was once my wife.CONFESSOR. Oh, so you want to stay!STRANGER. No. I don't want to stay; but I can't leave duties behind me unfulfilled. This woman's on the road, deserted, without a home, without money!CONFESSOR. What has that to do with us? Let the dead bury their dead!STRANGER. Is that your teaching?CONFESSOR. No, yours.... Mine, on the other hand, commands me to send a Sister of Mercy here, to look after this unhappy one, who... who... The Sister will soon be here!STRANGER. I shall count on it.CONFESSOR (taking the STRANGER by the hand and drawing him away.) Then come!STRANGER (in despair). Oh, God in heaven! Help us every one!CONFESSOR. Amen!(The LADY, who has not been looking at the CONFESSOR and the STRANGER, now raises her eyes and glances at the STRANGER as if she wanted to spring up and hold him back; but she is prevented by the imaginary child she has put to her breast.)Curtain.ACT IICROSS-ROADS IN THE MOUNTAINS[A cross-roads high up in the mountains. On the right, huts. On the left a small pool, round which invalids are sitting. Their clothes are blue and their hands cinnabar-red. From the pond blue vapour and small blue flames rise now and then. Whenever this happens the invalids put them hands to their mouths and cough. The background is formed by a mountain covered with pine-wood, which is obscured above by a stationary bank of mist.][The STRANGER is sitting at a table outside one of the huts. The CONFESSOR comes forward from the right.]STRANGER. At last!CONFESSOR. What do you mean: at last?STRANGER. You left me here a week ago and told me to wait till you came back.CONFESSOR. Hadn't I prepared you for the fact that the way to the white house up there would be long and difficult.STRANGER. I don't deny it. How far have we come?CONFESSOR. Five hundred yards. We've still got fifteen hundred.STRANGER. But where's the sun?CONFESSOR. Up there, above the clouds....STRANGER. Then we shall have to go through them?CONFESSOR. Yes. Of course.STRANGER. What are those patients doing there? What a company! And why are their hands so red?CONFESSOR. For both our sakes I want to avoid using impure words, so I'll speak in pleasant riddles, which you, as a writer, will understand.STRANGER. Yes. Speak beautifully. There's so much that's ugly here.CONFESSOR. You may have noticed that the signs given to the planets correspond with those of certain metals? Good! Then you'll have seen that Venus is represented by a mirror. This mirror was originally made of copper, so that copper was called Venus and bore her stamp. But now the reverse of Venus' mirror is covered with quicksilver or mercury!STRANGER. The reverse of Venus... is Mercury. Oh!CONFESSOR. Quicksilver is therefore the reverse side of Venus. Quicksilver is itself as bright as a calm sea, as a lake at the height of summer; but when mercury meets firestone and burns, it blushes and turns red like newly-shed blood, like the cloth on the scaffold, like the cinnabar lips of the whore! Do you understand now, or not?STRANGER. Wait a moment! Cinnabar is quicksilver and sulphur.CONFESSOR. Yes. Mercury must be burnt, if it comes too near to Venus! Have we said enough now?STRANGER. So these are sulphur springs?CONFESSOR. Yes. And the sulphur flames purify or burn everything rotten! So when the source of life's grown tainted, one is sent to the sulphur springs....STRANGER. How does the source of life grow tainted?CONFESSOR. When Aphrodite, born of the pure seafoam, wallows in the mire.... When Aphrodite Urania, the heaven-born, degrades herself to Pandemos, the Venus of the streets.STRANGER. Why is desire born?CONFESSOR. Pure desire, to be satisfied; impure, to be stifled.STRANGER. What is pure, and what impure?CONFESSOR. Have you got back to that?STRANGER. Ask these men here....CONFESSOR. Take care! (He looks at the STRANGER, who is unable to support his gaze.)STRANGER. You're choking me.... My chest....CONFESSOR. Yes, I'll steal the air you use to form rebellious words, and ask outrageous questions. Sit down there, I'll come back—when you've learnt patience and undergone your probation. But don't forget that I can hear and see you, and am aware of you, wherever I may be!STRANGER. So I'm to be tested! I'm glad to know it!CONFESSOR. But you mustn't speak to the worshippers of Venus.(MAIA, an old woman, appears in the background.)STRANGER (rising in horror). Who am I meeting here after all this time? Who is it?CONFESSOR. Who are you speaking of?STRANGER. That old woman there?CONFESSOR. Who's she?STRANGER (calling). Maia! Listen! (Old Maia has disappeared. The STRANGER hurries after her.) Maia, my friend, listen! She's gone!CONFESSOR. Who was it?STRANGER (sitting down). O God! Now, when I find her again at last, she goes.... I've looked for her for seven long years, written letters, advertised....CONFESSOR. Why?STRANGER. I'll tell you how her fate was linked to mine! (Pause.) Maia was the nurse in my first family... during those hard years... when I was fighting the Invisible Ones, who wouldn't bless my work! I wrote till my brain and nerves dissolved like fat in alcohol... but it wasn't enough! I was one of those who never could earn enough. And the day came when I couldn't pay the maids their wages—it was terrible—and I became the servant of my servant, and she became my mistress. At last... in order, at least, to save my soul, I fled from what was too powerful for me. I fled into the wilderness, where I collected my spirit in solitude and recovered my strength! My first thought then was—my debts! For seven years I looked for Maia, but in vain! For seven years I saw her shadow, out of the windows of trains, from the decks of steamers, in strange towns, in distant lands, but without ever being able to find her. I dreamed of her for seven years; and whenever I drank a glass of wine I blushed at the thought of old Maia, who perhaps was drinking water in a poorhouse! I tried to give the sum I owed her to the poor; but it was no use. And now—she's found and lost in the same moment! (He gets up and goes towards the back as if searching for her.) Explain this, if you can! I want to pay my debt; I can pay it now, but I'm not allowed to.CONFESSOR. Foolishness' Bow to what seems inexplicable; you'll see that the explanation will come later. Farewell!STRANGER. Later. Everything comes later.CONFESSOR. Yes. If it doesn't come at once! (He goes out. The LADY enters pensively and sits down at the table, opposite the STRANGER.)STRANGER. What? You back again? The same and not the same? How beautiful you've grown; as beautiful as you were the first time I ever saw you; when I asked if I might be your friend, your dog.LADY. That you can see beauty I don't possess shows that once more you have a mirror of beauty in your eye. The werewolf never thought me beautiful, for he'd nothing beautiful with which to see me.STRANGER. Why did you kiss me that day? What made you do it?LADY. You've often asked me that, and I've never been able to find the answer, because I don't know. But just now, when I was away from you, here in the mountains, where the air's purer and the sun nearer.... Hush! Now I can see that Sunday afternoon, when you sat on that seat like a lost and helpless child, with a broken look in your eyes, and stared at your own destiny.... A maternal feeling I'd never known before welled up in me then, and I was overcome with pity, pity for a human soul—so that I forgot myself.STRANGER. I'm ashamed. Now I believe it was so.LADY. But you took it another way. You thought...STRANGER. Don't tell me. I'm ashamed.LADY. Why did you think so badly of me? Didn't you notice that I drew down my veil; so that it was between us, like the knight's sword in the bridal bed....STRANGER. I'm ashamed. I attributed my evil thoughts to you. Ingeborg, you were made of better stuff than I. I'm ashamed!LADY. Now you look handsome. How handsome!STRANGER. Oh no. Not I. You!LADY (ecstatically). No, you! Yes, now I've seen through the mask and the false beard. Now I can see the man you hid from me, the man I thought I'd found in you... the man I was always searching for. I've often thought you a hypocrite; but we're no hypocrites. No, no, we can't pretend.STRANGER. Ingeborg, now we're on the other side of the river, and have life beneath us, behind us... how different everything seems. Now, now, I can see your soul; the ideal, the angel, who was imprisoned in the flesh because of sin. So there is an Above, and an Earlier Age. When we began it wasn't the beginning, and it won't be the end when we are ended. Life is a fragment, without beginning or end! That's why it's so difficult to make head or tail of it.LADY (kindly). So difficult. So difficult. Tell me, for instance—now we're beyond guilt or innocence—how was it you came to hate women?STRANGER. Let me think! To hate women? Hate them? I never hated them. On the contrary! Ever since I was eight years old I've always had some love affair, preferably an innocent one. And I've loved like a volcano three times! But wait—I've always felt that women hated me... and they've always tortured me.LADY. How strange!STRANGER. Let me think about it a little.... Perhaps I've been jealous of my own personality; and been afraid of being influenced too much. My first love made herself into a sort of governess and nurse to me. But, of course, therearemen who detest children; who detest women too, if they're superior to them, that is!LADY (amiably). But you've called women the enemies of mankind. Did you mean it?STRANGER. Of course I meant it, if I wrote it! For I wrote out of experience, not theory.... In woman I sought an angel, who could lend me wings, and I fell into the arms of an earth-spirit, who suffocated me under mattresses stuffed with the feathers of wings! I sought an Ariel and I found a Caliban; when I wanted to rise she dragged me down; and continually reminded me of the fall....LADY (kindly). Solomon knew much of women; do you know what he said? 'I find more bitter than death a woman, whose heart is snares and nets and her hands as bands; whoso pleaseth God shall escape from her; but the sinner shall be taken by her.'STRANGER. I was never acceptable in God's sight. Was that a punishment? Perhaps. But I was never acceptable to anyone, and I've never had a good word addressed to me! Have I never done a good action? Is it possible for a man never to have done anything good? (Pause.) It's terrible never to hear any good words about oneself!LADY. You've heard them. But when people have spoken well of you, you've refused to listen, as if it hurt you.STRANGER. That's true, now you remind me. But can you explain it?LADY. Explain it? You're always asking for explanations of the inexplicable. 'When I applied my heart to know wisdom... I beheld all the work of God, that a man cannot find out that is done under the sun. Because, though a man labour to seek it out, yet he shall not find it; yea, further, though a wise man think to know it, yet shall he not be able to find it!'STRANGER. Who says that?LADY. The Prophet Ecclesiastes. (She takes a doll out of her pocket.) This is Mizzi's doll. You see she longs for her little mistress! How pale she's grown... and she seems to know where Mizzi is, for she's always gazing up to heaven, whichever way I hold her. Look! Her eyes follow the stars as the compass the pole. She is my compass and always shows me where heaven is. She should, of course, be dressed in black, because she's in mourning; but we're so poor.... Do you know why we never had money? Because God was angry with us for our sins. 'The righteous suffer no dearth.'STRANGER. Where did you learn that?LADY. In a book in which everything's written. Everything! (She wraps the doll up in her cloak.) See, she's beginning to get cold—that's because of the cloud up there....STRANGER. How can you dare to wander up here in the mountains?LADY. God is with me; so what have I to fear from human beings?STRANGER. Aren't you tormented by those people at the pool?LADY (turning towards them). I can't see them. I can't see anything horrible now.STRANGER. Ingeborg! I have made you evil, yet you're on the way to make me good! It was my dream, you know, to seek redemption through a woman. You don't believe it! But it's true. In the old days nothing was of value to me if I couldn't lay it at a woman's feet. Not as a tribute to an overbearing mistress,... but as a sacrifice to the beautiful and good. It was my pleasure to give; but she wanted to take and not receive: that's why she hated me! When I was helpless and thought the end was near, a desire grew in me to fall asleep on a mother's knee, on a tremendous breast where I could bury my tired head and drink in the tenderness I'd been deprived of.LADY. You had no mother?STRANGER. Hardly! And I've never felt any bond between myself and my father or my brothers and sisters.... Ingeborg, I was the son of a servant of whom it is written. 'Drive forth the handmaid with her son, for this son shall not inherit with the son of peace.'LADY. Do you know why Ishmael was driven out? It says just before—that he was a scoffer. And then it goes on: 'He will be a wild man, his hand will be against every man, and every man's hand against him; and against all his brothers.'STRANGER. Is that also written?LADY. Oh yes, my child; it's all there!STRANGER. All?LADY. All. There you'll find answers to all your questions even the most inquisitive!STRANGER. Call me your child, and then I'll love you.... And if I love anyone, I long to serve them, to obey them, to let myself be ill-treated, to suffer and to bear it.LADY. You shouldn't love me, but your Creator.STRANGER. He's unfriendly—like my father!LADY. He is Love itself; and you are Hate.STRANGER. You're his daughter; but I'm his cast-out son.LADY (coaxingly). Quiet! Be still!STRANGER. If you only knew what I've suffered this last week. I don't know where I am.LADY. Where do you think?STRANGER. There's a woman in that but who looks at me as if I'd come to rob her of her last mite. She says nothing—that's the trouble. But I think it's prayers she mutters, when she sees me.LADY. What sort of prayers?STRANGER. The sort one whispers behind the backs of those who have the evil eye or bring misfortune.LADY. How strange! Don't you realise that one's sight can be blinded?STRANGER. Yes, of course. But who can do it?HOSTESS (coming across to their table). Well, look at that! I suppose she's your sister?STRANGER. Yes. We can say so now.HOSTESS (to the LADY). Fancy meeting someone I can speak to at last! This gentleman's so silent, you see, that one feels at once one must respect him; particularly as he seems to have had trouble. But I can say this to his sister, and he shall hear it: that from the moment he entered the house I felt that I was blessed. I'd been dogged by misfortune; I'd no lodger, my only cow had died, my husband was in a home for drunkards and my children had nothing to eat. I prayed God to send me help from heaven, because I expected nothing more on earth. Then this gentleman came. And apart from giving me double what I asked, he brought me good luck—and my house was blessed. God bless you, good sir!STRANGER (getting up excitedly). Silence, woman. That's blasphemy!LADY. He won't believe. O God! He won't believe. Look at me!STRANGER. When I look at you, I do believe. She's giving me her blessing! And I, who'm damned, have brought a blessing on her! How can I believe it? I, of all men! (He falls down by the table and weeps in his hands.)LADY. He's weeping! Tears, rain from heaven, that can soften rocks, are falling on his stony heart.... He's weeping!HOSTESS. He? Who has a heart of gold! Who's been so open handed and so good to my children!LADY. You hear what she says!HOSTESS. There's only one thing about him I don't understand; but I don't want to say anything unpleasant....LADY. What is it?HOSTESS. Only a trifle; and yet...LADY. Well?HOSTESS. He didn't like my dogs.LADY. I can't blame him for not caring for an impure beast. I hate everything animal, in myself and others. I don't hate animals on that account, for I hate nothing that's created....STRANGER. Thank you, Ingeborg!LADY. You see! I've an eye for your merits, even though you don't believe it.... Here comes the Confessor.(The CONFESSOR enters.)HOSTESS. Then I'll go; for the Confessor has no love for me.LADY. The Confessor loves all mankind.CONFESSOR (coming forward and speaking to the LADY). You best of all, my child; for you're goodness itself. Whether you're beautiful to look at, I can't see; but I know you must be, because you're good. Yes, you were the bride of my youth, and my spiritual mate; and you'll always be so, for you gave me what you were never able to give to others. I've lived your life in my spirit, suffered your pains, enjoyed your pleasures—pleasure rather, for you'd no others than what your child gave you. I alone have seen the beauty of your soul—my friend here has divined it; that's why he felt attracted to you—but the evil in him was too strong; you had to draw it out of him into yourself to free him. Then, being evil, you had to suffer the worst pains of hell for his sake, to bring atonement. Your work's ended. You can go in peace!LADY. Where?CONFESSOR. Up there. Where the sun's always shining.LADY (rising). Is there a home for me there, too?CONFESSOR. There's a home for everyone! I'll show you the way. (He goes with her into the background. The STRANGER makes a movement.) You're impatient? You mustn't be! (He goes out. The STRANGER remains sitting alone. The WORSHIPPERS OF VENUS get up, go towards him and form a circle round him.)STRANGER. What do you want with me?WORSHIPPERS. Hail! Father.STRANGER (much upset). Why call me that?FIRST VOICE. Because we're your children. Your dear ones!STRANGER (tries to escape, but is surrounded and cannot). Let me go. Let me go!SECOND VOICE (that of a pale youth). Don't you recognise me, Father?TEMPTER (appearing in the background at the left-hand fork of the path). Ha!STRANGER (to the Second Voice). Who are you? I seem to know your face.SECOND VOICE. I'm Erik—your son!STRANGER. Erik! You here?SECOND VOICE. Yes. I'm here.STRANGER. God have mercy! And you, my boy, forgive me!SECOND VOICE. Never! You showed us the way to the sulphur springs! Is it far to the lake?(The STRANGER falls to the ground.)TEMPTER. Ha! Jubilate, temptatores!VENUS WORSHIPPERS. Sulphur! Sulphur! Sulphur! Mercury!TEMPTER (coming forward and touching the STRANGER with his foot). The worm! You can make him believe whatever you like. That comes from his unbelievable pride. Does he think he's the mainspring of the universe, the originator of all evil? This foolish man believes he taught youth to go in search of Venus; as if youth hadn't done that long before he was born! His pride's insupportable, and he's been rash enough to try to botch my work for me. Give him another greeting, lying Erik! (The SECOND VOICE—that is the youth—bends over the STRANGER and whispers in his ear.) There were seven deadly sins; but now there are eight. The eighth I discovered! It's called despair. For to despair of what is good, and not to hope for forgiveness, is to call... (He hesitates before pronouncing the word God, as if it burnt his lips.) God wicked. That is calumny, denial, blasphemy.... Look how he winces!STRANGER (rising quickly, and looking the TEMPTER to the eyes). Who are you?TEMPTER. Your brother. Don't we resemble one another? Some of your features seem to remind me of my portrait.STRANGER. Where have I seen it?TEMPTER. Almost everywhere! I'm often to be found in churches, though not amongst the saints.STRANGER. I can't remember....TEMPTER. Is it so long since you've been to church? I'm usually represented with St. George. (The STRANGER totters and would like to fly, but cannot.) Michael and I are sometimes to be seen in a group, in which, to be sure, I don't appear in the most favourable light; but that can be altered. All can be altered; and one day the last shall be first. It's just the same in your case. For the moment, things are going badly with you, but that can be altered too... if you've enough intelligence to change your company. You've had too much to do with skirts, my son. Skirts raise dust, and dust lies on eyes and breast.... Come and sit down. We'll have a chat.... (He takes the STRANGER jocularly by the ear and leads him round the table.) Sit down and tremble, young man! (They both sit down.) Well? What shall we do? Call for wine—and a woman? No! That's too old a trick, as old as Doctor Faust! Bon! We modern are in search of mental dissipation.... So you're on your way to those holy men up there, who think that they who sleep can't sin; to the cowardly ones, who've given up the battle of life, because they were defeated once or twice; to those that bind souls rather than free them.... And talking of that! Has any saintly man ever freed you from the burden of sin? No! Do you know why sin has been oppressing you for so long? Through renunciation and abstinence, you've grown so weak that anyone can seize your soul and take possession of it. Why, they can even do it from a distance! You've so destroyed your personality that you see with strange eyes, hear with strange ears and think strange thoughts. In a word you've murdered your own soul. Just now, didn't you speak well of the enemies of mankind; of Woman, who made a hell of paradise? You needn't answer me; I can read your answer in your eyes and hear it on your lips. You talk of pure love for a woman! That's lust, young man, lust after a woman, which we have to pay for so dearly. You say you don't desire her. Then why do you want to be near her? You'd like to have a friend? Take a male friend, many of them! You've let them convince you you're no woman hater. But the woman gave you the right answer; every healthy man's a woman hater, but can't live without linking himself to his enemy, and so must fight her! All perverse and unmanly men are admirers of women! How's it with you now? So you saw those invalids and thought yourself responsible for their misery? They're tough fellows, you can believe me; they'll be able to leave here in a few days and go back to their occupations. Oh yes, lying Erik's a wag! But things have gone so far with you, that you can't distinguish between your own and other people's children. Wouldn't it be a great thing to escape from all this? What do you say? Oh, I could free you... but I'm no saint. Now we'll call old Maia. (He whistles between his fingers: MAIA appears.) Ah, there you are! Well, what are you doing here? Have you any business with this fellow?MAIA. No. He's good and always was; but he'd a terrible wife.TEMPTER (to the STRANGER). Listen! You've not heard that yet, have you? Rather the opposite. She was the good angel, whom you ruined... we've all been told that! Now, old Maia, what kind of story is it he prattles of? He says he was plagued with remorse for seven years because he owed you money.MAIA. He owed me a small sum once; but I got it back from him—and with good interest—much better than the savings bank would have given me. It was very good of him—very kind.STRANGER (starting up). What's that you said? Is it possible I've forgotten?TEMPTER. Have you the receipt, Maia? If so, give it me.MAIA. The gentleman must have the receipt; but I've got the savings bank book here. He paid the money into it in my name. (She produces a savings bank book, and hands it to the STRANGER, who looks at it.)STRANGER. Yes, that's quite right. Now I remember. Then why this seven-year torment, shame and disgrace? Those reproaches during sleepless nights? Why? Why? Why?TEMPTER. Old Maia, you can go now. But first say something nice about this self-tormentor. Can't you remember any human quality in this wild beast, whom human beings have baited for years?STRANGER (to MAIA). Quiet, don't answer him! (He stops his ears with his fingers.)TEMPTER. Well, Maia?MAIA. I know well enough what they say about him, but that refers to what he writes—and I've not read it for I can't read. Still, no one need read it, if they don't want to. Anyhow the gentleman's been very kind. Now he's stopping his ears. I don't know how to flatter; but I can say this in a whisper.... (She whispers some thing to the TEMPTER.)TEMPTER. Yes. All human beings who are easily moved are baited like wild beasts! It's the rule. Good bye, old Maia!MAIA. Good-bye, kind gentlemen. (She goes out.)STRANGER. Why did I suffer innocently for seven years?TEMPTER (pointing upwards with one finger). Ask up there!STRANGER. Where I never get an answer!TEMPTER. Well, that may be. (Pause.) Do you thinkIlook good?STRANGER. I can't say I do.TEMPTER. You look extremely wicked, too! Do you know why we look like that?STRANGER. No.TEMPTER. The hate and malice of our fellow human beings have fastened themselves on us. Up there, you know, there are real saints, who've never done anything wicked themselves, but who suffer for others, for relations, who've committed unexpiated sins. Those angels, who've taken the depravity of others on themselves, really resemble bandits. What do you say to that?STRANGER. I don't know who you are; but you're the first to answer questions that might reconcile me to life. You are....TEMPTER. Well, say it!STRANGER. The deliverer!TEMPTER. And therefore....?STRANGER. Therefore you've been given a vulture.... But listen, have you ever thought that there's as good a reason for this as for everything else? Granted the earth's a prison, on which dangerous prisoners are confined—is it a good thing to set them free? Is it right?TEMPTER. What a question! I've never really thought about it. Hm!STRANGER. And have you ever thought of this: we may be born in guilt?TEMPTER. That's nothing to do with me: I concern myself with the present.STRANGER. Good! Don't you think we're sometimes punished wrongly, so that we fail to see the logical connection, though it exists?TEMPTER. Logic's not missing; but all life's a tissue of offences, mistakes, errors, that are comparatively blameless owing to human weakness, but that are punished by the most consistent revenge. Everything's revenged, even our injudicious actions. Who forgives? A magnanimous man-sometimes; heavenly justice, never! (A PILGRIM appears in the background.) See! A penitent! I'd like to know what wrong he's done. We'll ask him. Welcome to our quiet meadows, peaceful wanderer! Take your place at the simple table of the ascetic, at which there are no more temptations.PILGRIM. Thank you, fellow traveller in the vale of woe.TEMPTER. What kind of woe is yours?PILGRIM. None in particular; on the contrary, the hour of liberation's struck, and I'm going up there to receive absolution.STRANGER. Listen, haven't we two met before?PILGRIM. I think so, certainly.STRANGER. Caesar! You're Caesar!PILGRIM. I used to be; but I am no longer.TEMPTER. Ha ha! Imperial acquaintance. Really! But tell us, tell us!PILGRIM. You shall hear. Now I've a right to speak, for my penance is at an end. When we met at a certain doctor's house, I was shut up there as a madman and supposed to be suffering from the illusion that I was Caesar. Now the Stranger shall hear the truth of the matter: I never believed it, but I was forced by scruples of conscience to put a good face on it.... A friend of mine, a bad friend, had written proof that I was the victim of a misunderstanding; but he didn't speak when he should have, and I took his silence as a request not to speak either-and to suffer. Why did I? Well, in my youth I was once in great need. I was received as a guest in a house on an island far out to sea by a man who, in spite of unusual gifts, had been passed over for promotion—owing to his senseless pride. This man, by solitary brooding on his lot, had come to hold quite extraordinary views about himself. I noticed it, but I said nothing. One day this man's wife told me that he was sometimes mentally unbalanced; and then thought he was Julius Caesar. For many years I kept this secret conscientiously, for I'm not ungrateful by nature. But life's tricky. It happened a few years later that this Caesar laid rough hands on my most intimate fate. In anger at this I betrayed the secret of his Caesar mania and made my erstwhile benefactor such a laughing stock, that his existence became unbearable to him. And now listen how Nemesis overtakes one! A year later I wrote a book-I am, you must know, an author who's not made his name.... And in this book I described incidents of family life: how I played with my daughter—she was called Julia, as Caesar's daughter was—and with my wife, whom we called Caesar's wife because no one spoke evil of her.... Well, this recreation, in which my mother-in-law joined too, cost me dear. When I was looking through the proofs of my book, I saw the danger and said to myself: you'll trip yourself up. I wanted to cut it out but, if you'll believe it, the pen refused, and an inner voice said to me: let it stand! It did stand! And I fell.STRANGER. Why didn't you publish the letter from your friend that would have explained everything?PILGRIM. When the disaster had happened I felt at once that it was the finger of God, and that I must suffer for my ingratitude.STRANGER. And you did suffer?PILGRIM. Not at all! I smiled to myself and wouldn't let myself be put out. And because I accepted my punishment with calmness and humility God lightened my burden; and I didn't feel myself ridiculous.TEMPTER. That's a strange story; but such things happen. Shall we move on now? We'll go for an excursion, now we've weathered the storms. Pull yourself up by the roots, and then we'll climb the mountain.STRANGER. The Confessor told me to wait for him.TEMPTER. He'll find you, anyhow! And up here in the village the court's sitting to-day. A particularly interesting case is to be tried; and I dare say I'll be called as a witness. Come!STRANGER. Well, whether I sit here, or up there, is all the same to me.PILGRIM (to the STRANGER). Who's that?STRANGER. I don't know. He looks like an anarchist.PILGRIM. Interesting, anyhow!STRANGER. He's a sceptical gentleman, who's seen life.TEMPTER. Come, children; I'll tell you stories on the way. Come. Come!(They go out towards the background.)Curtain.
Blessèd be he, who fears the Lord,Beati omnes, qui timent Dominum,And walks in his ways,Qui ambulant in viis ejus.Thou shalt feed thyself with the work of thy hands,Labores manuum tuarum quia manducabis;Blessèd be thou and peace be with thee,Beatus es et bene tibi erit.
(A second raft appears with boys on one side and girls on the other. It has a flag with a rose on it.)
Thy wife shall be like a fruitful vine,Uxor tua sicut vitis abundans,Within thy house,In lateribus domus tuae.
(The third raft carries men and women. There is a flag with fruit upon it: figs, grapes, pomegranates, melons, ears of wheat, etc.)
Filii tui sicut novellae olivarum,Thy children shall be like olive branches about thy table,In circuitu mensae tuae.
(The fourth raft is filled with older men and women. The flag has a representation of a fir-tree under snow.)
See, how blessèd is the man,Ecce sic benedicetur homo,Who feareth the Lord,Qui timet Dominum!
(The raft glides by.)
STRANGER. What were they singing?
CONFESSOR. A pilgrim's song.
STRANGER. Who wrote it?
CONFESSOR. A royal person.
STRANGER. Here? What was his name? Has he written anything else?
CONFESSOR. About fifty songs; he was called David, the son of Isaiah! But he didn't always write psalms. When he was young, he did other things. Yes. Such things will happen!
STRANGER. Can we go on now?
CONFESSOR. In a moment. I've something to say to you first.
STRANGER. Speak.
CONFESSOR. Good. But don't be either sad or angry.
STRANGER. Certainly not.
CONFESSOR. Here, you see, on this bank, you're a well-known—let's say famous—person; but over there, on the other, you'll be quite unknown to the brothers. Nothing more, in fact, than an ordinary simple man.
STRANGER. Oh! Don't they read in the monastery?
CONFESSOR. Nothing light; only serious books.
STRANGER. They take in papers, I suppose?
CONFESSOR. Not the kind that write about you!
STRANGER. Then on the other side of this river my life-work doesn't exist?
CONFESSOR. What work?
STRANGER. I see. Very well. Can't we cross now?
CONFESSOR. In a minute. Is there no one you'd like to take leave of?
STRANGER (after a pause.) Yes. But it's beyond the bounds of possibility.
CONFESSOR. Have you ever seen anything impossible?
STRANGER. Not really, since I've seen my own destiny.
CONFESSOR. Well, who is it you'd like to meet?
STRANGER. I had a daughter once; I called her Sylvia, because she sang all day long like a wren. It's some years since I saw her; she must be a girl of sixteen now. But I'm afraid if I were to meet her, life would regain its value for me.
CONFESSOR. You fear nothing else?
STRANGER. What do you mean?
CONFESSOR. That she may have changed!
STRANGER. She could only have changed for the better.
CONFESSOR. Are you sure?
STRANGER. Yes.
CONFESSOR. She'll come to you. (He goes down to the bank and beckons to the right.)
STRANGER. Wait! I'm wondering whether it's wise!
CONFESSOR. It can do no harm.
(He beckons once more. A boat appears on the river, rowed by a young girl. She is wearing summer clothing, her head is bare and her fair hair is hanging loose. She gets out of the boat behind the willow tree. The CONFESSOR draws back until he is near the ferryman's hut, but remains in sight of the audience. The STRANGER has waved to the girl and she has answered him. She now comes on to the stage, runs into the STRANGER'S arms, and kisses him.)
DAUGHTER. Father. My dear father!
STRANGER. Sylvia! My child!
DAUGHTER. How in the world do you come to be up here in the mountains?
STRANGER. And how haveyougot here? I thought I'd managed to hide so well.
DAUGHTER. Why did you want to hide?
STRANGER. Ask me as little as possible! You've grown into a big girl. And I've gone grey.
DAUGHTER. No. You're not grey. You're just as young as you were when we parted.
STRANGER. When we... parted!
DAUGHTER. When you left us.... (The STRANGER does not reply.) Aren't you glad we're meeting again?
STRANGER (faintly). Yes!
DAUGHTER. Then show it.
STRANGER. How can I be glad, when we're parting to-day for life?
DAUGHTER. Why, where do you want to go?
STRANGER (pointing to the monastery). Up there!
DAUGHTER (with a sophisticated air). Into the monastery? Yes, now I come to think of it, perhaps it's best.
STRANGER. You think so?
DAUGHTER (with pity, but good-will.) I mean, if you've a ruined life behind you.... (Coaxingly.) Now you look sad. Tell me one thing.
STRANGER. Tellmeone thing, my child, that's been worrying me more than anything else. You've a stepfather?
DAUGHTER. Yes.
STRANGER. Well?
DAUGHTER. He's very good and kind.
STRANGER. With every virtue that I lack....
DAUGHTER. Aren't you glad we've got into better hands?
STRANGER. Good, better, best! Why do you come here bare-headed?
DAUGHTER. Because George is carrying my hat.
STRANGER. Who's George? And where is he?
DAUGHTER. George is a friend of mine; and he's waiting for me on the bank down below.
STRANGER. Are you engaged to him?
DAUGHTER. No. Certainly not!
STRANGER. Do you want to marry?
DAUGHTER. Never!
STRANGER. I can see it by your mottled cheeks, like those of a child that has got up too early; I can hear it by your voice, that's no longer that of a warbler, but a jay; I can feel it in your kisses, that burn cold like the sun in May; and by your steady icy look that tells me you're nursing a secret of which you're ashamed, but of which you'd like to boast. And your brothers and sisters?
DAUGHTER. They're quite well, thank you.
STRANGER. Have we anything else to say to one another?
DAUGHTER (coldly). Perhaps not.
STRANGER. Now you look so like your mother.
DAUGHTER. How do you know, when you've never been able to see her as she was!
STRANGER. So you understood that, though you were so young?
DAUGHTER. I learnt to understand it from you. If only you'd understand yourself.
STRANGER. Have you anything else to teach me?
DAUGHTER. Perhaps! But in your day that wasn't considered seemly.
STRANGER. My day's over and exists no longer; just as Sylvia exists no longer, but is merely a name, a memory. (He takes a guide-book out of his pocket.) Look at this guide-book! Can you see small marks made here by tiny fingers, and others by little damp lips? You made them when you were five years old; you were sitting on my knee in the train, and we saw the Alps for the first time. You thought what you saw was Heaven; and when I explained that the mountain was the Jungfrau, you asked if you could kiss the name in the book.
DAUGHTER. I don't remember that!
STRANGER. Delightful memories pass, but hateful ones remain! Don't you remember anything about me?
DAUGHTER. Oh yes.
STRANGER. Quiet! I know what you mean. One night... one dreadful, horrible night... Sylvia, my child, when I shut my eyes I see a pale little angel, who slept in my arms when she was ill; and who thanked me when I gave her a present. Where is she whom I long for so and who exists no more, although she isn't dead? You, as you are, seem a stranger, whom I've never known and certainly don't long to see again. If Sylvia at least were dead and lay in her grave, there'd be a churchyard where I could take my flowers.... How strange it is! She's neither among the living, nor the dead. Perhaps she never existed, and was only a dream like everything else.
DAUGHTER (wheedling).Father, dear!
STRANGER. It's she! No, only her voice. (Pause.) So you think my life's been ruined?
DAUGHTER. Yes. But why speak of it now?
STRANGER. Because remember I once savedyourlife. You had brain fever for a whole month and suffered a great deal. Your mother wanted the doctor to deliver you from your unhappy existence by some powerful drug. But I prevented it, and so saved you from death and your mother from prison.
DAUGHTER. I don't believe it!
STRANGER. But a fact may be true, even if you don't believe it.
DAUGHTER. You dreamed it.
STRANGER. Who knows if I haven't dreamed everything, and am not even dreaming now. How I wish it were so!
DAUGHTER. I must be going, father.
STRANGER. Then good-bye!
DAUGHTER. May I write to you?
STRANGER. What? One of the dead write to another? Letters won't reach me in future. And I mayn't receive visitors. But I'm glad we've met, for now there's nothing else on earth I cling to. (Going to the left.) Good-bye, girl or woman, whatever I should call you. There's no need to weep!
DAUGHTER. I wasn't thinking of weeping, though I dare say good breeding would demand I should. Well, good-bye! (She goes out right.)
STRANGER (to the CONFESSOR). I think I came out of that well! It's a mercy to part with content on both sides. Mankind, after all, makes rapid progress, and self-control increases as the flow of the tear-ducts lessens. I've seen so many tears shed in my lifetime, that I'm almost taken aback at this dryness. She was a strong child, just the kind I once wished to be. The most beautiful thing that life can offer! She lay, like an angel, wrapped in the white veils of her cradle, with a blue coverlet when she slept. Blue and arched like the sky. That was the best: what will the worst look like?
CONFESSOR. Don't excite yourself, but be of good cheer. First throw away that foolish guide-book, for this is your last journey.
STRANGER. You mean this? Very well. (He opens the book, kisses one of the pages and then throws it into the river.) Anything else?
CONFESSOR. If you've any gold or silver, you must give it to the poor.
STRANGER. I've a silver watch. I never got as far as a gold one.
CONFESSOR. Give that to the ferryman; and then you'll get a glass of wine.
STRANGER. The last! It's like an execution! Perhaps I'll have to have my hair cut, too?
CONFESSOR. Yes. Later. (He takes the watch and goes to the door of the ferryman's hut, speaking a few whispered words to someone within. He receives a bottle of wine and a glass in exchange, which he puts on the table.)
STRANGER (filling his glass, but not drinking it.) Shall I never get wine up there?
CONFESSOR. No wine; and you'll see no women. You may hear singing; but not the kind of songs that go with women and wine.
STRANGER. I've had enough of women; they can't tempt me any more.
CONFESSOR. Are you sure?
STRANGER. Quite sure.... But tell me this: what do you think of women, who mayn't even set their feet within your consecrated walls?
CONFESSOR. So you're still asking questions?
STRANGER. And why may an abbess never hear confession, never read mass, and never preach?
CONFESSOR. I can't answer that.
STRANGER. Because the answer would accord with my thoughts on that theme.
CONFESSOR. It wouldn't be a disaster if we were to agree for once.
STRANGER. Not at all!
CONFESSOR. Now drink up your wine.
STRANGER. No. I only want to look at it for the last time. It's beautiful....
CONFESSOR. Don't lose yourself in meditation; memories lie at the bottom of the cup.
STRANGER. And oblivion, and songs, and power—imaginary power, but for that reason all the greater.
CONFESSOR. Wait here a moment; I'll go and order the ferry.
STRANGER. 'Sh! I can hear singing, and I can see.... I can see.... For a moment I saw a flag unfurling in a puff of wind, only to fall back on the flagstaff and hang there limply as if it were nothing but a dishcloth. I've witnessed my whole life flashing past in a second, with its joys and sorrows, its beauty and its misery! But now I can see nothing.
CONFESSOR (going to the left). Wait here a moment, I'll go and order the ferry.
(The STRANGER goes so far up stage that the rays of the setting sun, which are streaming from the right through the trees, throw his shadow across the bank and the river. The LADY enters from the right, in deep mourning. Her shadow slowly approaches that of the STRANGER.)
STRANGER (who, to begin with, looks only at his own shadow). Ah! The sun! It makes me a bloodless shape, a giant, who can walk on the water of the river, climb the mountain, stride over the roof of the monastery church, and rise, as he does now, up into the firmament—up to the stars. Ah, now I'm up here with the stars.... (He notices the shadow thrown by the LADY.) But who's following me? Who's interrupting my ascension? Trying to climb on my shoulders? (Turning.) You!
LADY. Yes. I!
STRANGER. So black! So black and so evil.
LADY. No longer evil. I'm in mourning....
STRANGER. For whom?
LADY. For our Mizzi.
STRANGER. My daughter! (The LADY opens her arms, in order to throw herself on to his breast, but he avoids her.) I congratulate the dead child. I'm sorry for you. I myself feel outside everything.
LADY. Comfort me, too.
STRANGER. A fine idea! I'm to comfort my fury, weep with my hangman, amuse my tormentor.
LADY. Have you no feelings?
STRANGER. None! I wasted the feelings I used to have on you and others.
LADY. You're right. You can reproach me.
STRANGER. I've neither the time nor the wish to do that. Where are you going?
LADY. I want to cross with the ferry.
STRANGER. Then I've no luck, for I wanted to do the same. (The LADY weeps into her handkerchief. The STRANGER takes it from her and dries her eyes.) Dry your eyes, child, and be yourself! As hard, and lacking in feeling, as you really are! (The LADY tries to put her arm round his neck. The STRANGER taps her gently on the fingers.) You mustn't touch me. When your words and glances weren't enough, you always wanted to touch me. You'll excuse a rather trivial question: are you hungry?
LADY. No. Thank you.
STRANGER. But you're tired. Sit down. (The LADY sits down at the table. The STRANGER throws the bottle and glass into the river.) Well, what are you going to live for now?
LADY (sadly). I don't know.
STRANGER. Where will you go?
LADY (sobbing). I don't know.
STRANGER. So you're in despair? You see no reason for living and no end to your misery! How like me you are! What a pity there's no monastery for both sexes, so that we could pair off together. Is the werewolf still alive?
LADY. You mean...?
STRANGER. Your first husband.
LADY. He never seems to die.
STRANGER. Like a certain worm! (Pause.) And now that we're so far from the world and its pettiness, tell me this: why did you leave him in those days, and come to me?
LADY. Because I loved you.
STRANGER. And how long did that last?
LADY. Until I read your book, and the child was born.
STRANGER. And then?
LADY. I hated you! That is, I wanted to be rid of all the evil you'd given me, but I couldn't.
STRANGER. So that's how it was! But we'll never really know the truth.
LADY. Have you noticed how impossible it is to find things out? You can live with a person and their relations for twenty years, and yet not know anything about them.
STRANGER. So you've discovered that? As you see so much, tell me this: how was it you came to love me?
LADY. I don't know; but I'll try to remember. (Pause.) Well, you had the masculine courage to be rude to a lady. In me you sought the companionship of a human being and not merely of a woman. That honoured me; and, I thought, you too.
STRANGER. Tell me also whether you held me to be a misogynist?
LADY. A woman-hater? Every healthy man is one, in the secret places of his heart; and all perverted men are admirers of women.
STRANGER. You're not trying to flatter me, are you?
LADY. A woman who'd try to flatter a man's not normal.
STRANGER. I see you've thought a great deal!
LADY. Thinking's the least I've done; for when I've thought least I've understood most. Besides, what I said just how is perhaps only improvised, as you call it, and not true in the least.
STRANGER. But if it agrees with many of my observations it becomes most probable. (The LADY weeps into her handkerchief.) You're weeping again?
LADY. I was thinking of Mizzi. The loveliest thing we ever had is gone.
STRANGER. No. You were the loveliest thing, when you sat all night watching over your child, who was lying in your bed, because her cradle was too cold! (Three loud knocks are heard on the ferryman's door.) 'Sh!
LADY. What's that?
STRANGER. My companion, who's waiting for me.
LADY (continuing the conversation). I never thought life would give me anything so sweet as a child.
STRANGER. And at the same time anything so bitter.
LADY. Why bitter?
STRANGER. You've been a child yourself, and you must remember how we, when we'd just married, came to your mother in rags, dirty and without money. I seem to remember she didn't find us very sweet.
LADY. That's true.
STRANGER. And I... well, just now I met Sylvia. And I expected that all that was beautiful and good in the child would have blossomed in the girl....
LADY. Well?
STRANGER. I found a faded rose, that seemed to have blown too soon. Her breasts were sunken, her hair untidy like that of a neglected child, and her teeth decayed.
LADY. Oh!
STRANGER. You mustn't grieve. Not for the child! You might perhaps have had to grieve for her later, as I did.
LADY. So that's what life is?
STRANGER. Yes. That's what life is. And that's why I'm going to bury myself alive.
LADY. Where?
STRANGER (pointing to the monastery). Up there!
LADY. In the monastery? No, don't leave me. Bear me company. I'm so alone in the world and so poor, so poor! When the child died, my mother turned me out, and ever since I've been living in an attic with a dressmaker. At first she was kind and pleasant, but then the lonely evenings got too long for her, and she went out in search of company—so we parted. Now I'm on the road, and I've nothing but the clothes I'm wearing; nothing but my grief. I eat it and drink it; it nourishes me and sends me to sleep. I'd rather lose anything in the world than that! (The STRANGER weeps.) You're weeping. You! Let me kiss your eyelids.
STRANGER. You've suffered all that for my sake!
LADY. Not for your sake! You never did me an ill turn; but I plagued you till you left your fireside and your child!
STRANGER. I'd forgotten that; but if you say so.... So you still love me?
LADY. Probably. I don't know.
STRANGER. And you'd like to begin all over again?
LADY. All over again? The quarrels? No, we won't do that.
STRANGER. You're right. The quarrels would only begin all over again. And yet it's difficult to part.
LADY. To part. The word alone's terrible enough.
STRANGER. Then what are we to do?
LADY. I don't know.
STRANGER. No, one knows nothing, hardly even that one knows nothing; and that's why, you see, I've got as far as tobelieve.
LADY. How do you know you can believe, if belief's a gift?
STRANGER. You can receive a gift, if you ask for it.
LADY. Oh yes, if you ask; but I've never been able to beg.
STRANGER. I've had to learn to. Why can't you?
LADY. Because one has to demean oneself first.
STRANGER. Life does that for one very well.
LADY. Mizzi, Mizzi, Mizzi!... (She has taken a shawl she was carrying over her arm, rolled it up and put it on her knee like a baby in long clothes.) Sleep! Sleep! Sleep! Think of it! I can see her here! She's smiling at me; but she's dressed in black; she seems to be in mourning too! How stupid I am! Her mother's in mourning! She's got two teeth down below, and they're white—milk teeth; she should never have cut any others. Oh, can't you see her, when I can? It's no vision. Itisher!
CONFESSOR (in the door of the ferryman's hut; sternly to the STRANGER). Come. Everything's ready!
STRANGER. No. Not yet. I must first set my house in order; and look after this woman, who was once my wife.
CONFESSOR. Oh, so you want to stay!
STRANGER. No. I don't want to stay; but I can't leave duties behind me unfulfilled. This woman's on the road, deserted, without a home, without money!
CONFESSOR. What has that to do with us? Let the dead bury their dead!
STRANGER. Is that your teaching?
CONFESSOR. No, yours.... Mine, on the other hand, commands me to send a Sister of Mercy here, to look after this unhappy one, who... who... The Sister will soon be here!
STRANGER. I shall count on it.
CONFESSOR (taking the STRANGER by the hand and drawing him away.) Then come!
STRANGER (in despair). Oh, God in heaven! Help us every one!
CONFESSOR. Amen!
(The LADY, who has not been looking at the CONFESSOR and the STRANGER, now raises her eyes and glances at the STRANGER as if she wanted to spring up and hold him back; but she is prevented by the imaginary child she has put to her breast.)
Curtain.
[A cross-roads high up in the mountains. On the right, huts. On the left a small pool, round which invalids are sitting. Their clothes are blue and their hands cinnabar-red. From the pond blue vapour and small blue flames rise now and then. Whenever this happens the invalids put them hands to their mouths and cough. The background is formed by a mountain covered with pine-wood, which is obscured above by a stationary bank of mist.]
[The STRANGER is sitting at a table outside one of the huts. The CONFESSOR comes forward from the right.]
STRANGER. At last!
CONFESSOR. What do you mean: at last?
STRANGER. You left me here a week ago and told me to wait till you came back.
CONFESSOR. Hadn't I prepared you for the fact that the way to the white house up there would be long and difficult.
STRANGER. I don't deny it. How far have we come?
CONFESSOR. Five hundred yards. We've still got fifteen hundred.
STRANGER. But where's the sun?
CONFESSOR. Up there, above the clouds....
STRANGER. Then we shall have to go through them?
CONFESSOR. Yes. Of course.
STRANGER. What are those patients doing there? What a company! And why are their hands so red?
CONFESSOR. For both our sakes I want to avoid using impure words, so I'll speak in pleasant riddles, which you, as a writer, will understand.
STRANGER. Yes. Speak beautifully. There's so much that's ugly here.
CONFESSOR. You may have noticed that the signs given to the planets correspond with those of certain metals? Good! Then you'll have seen that Venus is represented by a mirror. This mirror was originally made of copper, so that copper was called Venus and bore her stamp. But now the reverse of Venus' mirror is covered with quicksilver or mercury!
STRANGER. The reverse of Venus... is Mercury. Oh!
CONFESSOR. Quicksilver is therefore the reverse side of Venus. Quicksilver is itself as bright as a calm sea, as a lake at the height of summer; but when mercury meets firestone and burns, it blushes and turns red like newly-shed blood, like the cloth on the scaffold, like the cinnabar lips of the whore! Do you understand now, or not?
STRANGER. Wait a moment! Cinnabar is quicksilver and sulphur.
CONFESSOR. Yes. Mercury must be burnt, if it comes too near to Venus! Have we said enough now?
STRANGER. So these are sulphur springs?
CONFESSOR. Yes. And the sulphur flames purify or burn everything rotten! So when the source of life's grown tainted, one is sent to the sulphur springs....
STRANGER. How does the source of life grow tainted?
CONFESSOR. When Aphrodite, born of the pure seafoam, wallows in the mire.... When Aphrodite Urania, the heaven-born, degrades herself to Pandemos, the Venus of the streets.
STRANGER. Why is desire born?
CONFESSOR. Pure desire, to be satisfied; impure, to be stifled.
STRANGER. What is pure, and what impure?
CONFESSOR. Have you got back to that?
STRANGER. Ask these men here....
CONFESSOR. Take care! (He looks at the STRANGER, who is unable to support his gaze.)
STRANGER. You're choking me.... My chest....
CONFESSOR. Yes, I'll steal the air you use to form rebellious words, and ask outrageous questions. Sit down there, I'll come back—when you've learnt patience and undergone your probation. But don't forget that I can hear and see you, and am aware of you, wherever I may be!
STRANGER. So I'm to be tested! I'm glad to know it!
CONFESSOR. But you mustn't speak to the worshippers of Venus.
(MAIA, an old woman, appears in the background.)
STRANGER (rising in horror). Who am I meeting here after all this time? Who is it?
CONFESSOR. Who are you speaking of?
STRANGER. That old woman there?
CONFESSOR. Who's she?
STRANGER (calling). Maia! Listen! (Old Maia has disappeared. The STRANGER hurries after her.) Maia, my friend, listen! She's gone!
CONFESSOR. Who was it?
STRANGER (sitting down). O God! Now, when I find her again at last, she goes.... I've looked for her for seven long years, written letters, advertised....
CONFESSOR. Why?
STRANGER. I'll tell you how her fate was linked to mine! (Pause.) Maia was the nurse in my first family... during those hard years... when I was fighting the Invisible Ones, who wouldn't bless my work! I wrote till my brain and nerves dissolved like fat in alcohol... but it wasn't enough! I was one of those who never could earn enough. And the day came when I couldn't pay the maids their wages—it was terrible—and I became the servant of my servant, and she became my mistress. At last... in order, at least, to save my soul, I fled from what was too powerful for me. I fled into the wilderness, where I collected my spirit in solitude and recovered my strength! My first thought then was—my debts! For seven years I looked for Maia, but in vain! For seven years I saw her shadow, out of the windows of trains, from the decks of steamers, in strange towns, in distant lands, but without ever being able to find her. I dreamed of her for seven years; and whenever I drank a glass of wine I blushed at the thought of old Maia, who perhaps was drinking water in a poorhouse! I tried to give the sum I owed her to the poor; but it was no use. And now—she's found and lost in the same moment! (He gets up and goes towards the back as if searching for her.) Explain this, if you can! I want to pay my debt; I can pay it now, but I'm not allowed to.
CONFESSOR. Foolishness' Bow to what seems inexplicable; you'll see that the explanation will come later. Farewell!
STRANGER. Later. Everything comes later.
CONFESSOR. Yes. If it doesn't come at once! (He goes out. The LADY enters pensively and sits down at the table, opposite the STRANGER.)
STRANGER. What? You back again? The same and not the same? How beautiful you've grown; as beautiful as you were the first time I ever saw you; when I asked if I might be your friend, your dog.
LADY. That you can see beauty I don't possess shows that once more you have a mirror of beauty in your eye. The werewolf never thought me beautiful, for he'd nothing beautiful with which to see me.
STRANGER. Why did you kiss me that day? What made you do it?
LADY. You've often asked me that, and I've never been able to find the answer, because I don't know. But just now, when I was away from you, here in the mountains, where the air's purer and the sun nearer.... Hush! Now I can see that Sunday afternoon, when you sat on that seat like a lost and helpless child, with a broken look in your eyes, and stared at your own destiny.... A maternal feeling I'd never known before welled up in me then, and I was overcome with pity, pity for a human soul—so that I forgot myself.
STRANGER. I'm ashamed. Now I believe it was so.
LADY. But you took it another way. You thought...
STRANGER. Don't tell me. I'm ashamed.
LADY. Why did you think so badly of me? Didn't you notice that I drew down my veil; so that it was between us, like the knight's sword in the bridal bed....
STRANGER. I'm ashamed. I attributed my evil thoughts to you. Ingeborg, you were made of better stuff than I. I'm ashamed!
LADY. Now you look handsome. How handsome!
STRANGER. Oh no. Not I. You!
LADY (ecstatically). No, you! Yes, now I've seen through the mask and the false beard. Now I can see the man you hid from me, the man I thought I'd found in you... the man I was always searching for. I've often thought you a hypocrite; but we're no hypocrites. No, no, we can't pretend.
STRANGER. Ingeborg, now we're on the other side of the river, and have life beneath us, behind us... how different everything seems. Now, now, I can see your soul; the ideal, the angel, who was imprisoned in the flesh because of sin. So there is an Above, and an Earlier Age. When we began it wasn't the beginning, and it won't be the end when we are ended. Life is a fragment, without beginning or end! That's why it's so difficult to make head or tail of it.
LADY (kindly). So difficult. So difficult. Tell me, for instance—now we're beyond guilt or innocence—how was it you came to hate women?
STRANGER. Let me think! To hate women? Hate them? I never hated them. On the contrary! Ever since I was eight years old I've always had some love affair, preferably an innocent one. And I've loved like a volcano three times! But wait—I've always felt that women hated me... and they've always tortured me.
LADY. How strange!
STRANGER. Let me think about it a little.... Perhaps I've been jealous of my own personality; and been afraid of being influenced too much. My first love made herself into a sort of governess and nurse to me. But, of course, therearemen who detest children; who detest women too, if they're superior to them, that is!
LADY (amiably). But you've called women the enemies of mankind. Did you mean it?
STRANGER. Of course I meant it, if I wrote it! For I wrote out of experience, not theory.... In woman I sought an angel, who could lend me wings, and I fell into the arms of an earth-spirit, who suffocated me under mattresses stuffed with the feathers of wings! I sought an Ariel and I found a Caliban; when I wanted to rise she dragged me down; and continually reminded me of the fall....
LADY (kindly). Solomon knew much of women; do you know what he said? 'I find more bitter than death a woman, whose heart is snares and nets and her hands as bands; whoso pleaseth God shall escape from her; but the sinner shall be taken by her.'
STRANGER. I was never acceptable in God's sight. Was that a punishment? Perhaps. But I was never acceptable to anyone, and I've never had a good word addressed to me! Have I never done a good action? Is it possible for a man never to have done anything good? (Pause.) It's terrible never to hear any good words about oneself!
LADY. You've heard them. But when people have spoken well of you, you've refused to listen, as if it hurt you.
STRANGER. That's true, now you remind me. But can you explain it?
LADY. Explain it? You're always asking for explanations of the inexplicable. 'When I applied my heart to know wisdom... I beheld all the work of God, that a man cannot find out that is done under the sun. Because, though a man labour to seek it out, yet he shall not find it; yea, further, though a wise man think to know it, yet shall he not be able to find it!'
STRANGER. Who says that?
LADY. The Prophet Ecclesiastes. (She takes a doll out of her pocket.) This is Mizzi's doll. You see she longs for her little mistress! How pale she's grown... and she seems to know where Mizzi is, for she's always gazing up to heaven, whichever way I hold her. Look! Her eyes follow the stars as the compass the pole. She is my compass and always shows me where heaven is. She should, of course, be dressed in black, because she's in mourning; but we're so poor.... Do you know why we never had money? Because God was angry with us for our sins. 'The righteous suffer no dearth.'
STRANGER. Where did you learn that?
LADY. In a book in which everything's written. Everything! (She wraps the doll up in her cloak.) See, she's beginning to get cold—that's because of the cloud up there....
STRANGER. How can you dare to wander up here in the mountains?
LADY. God is with me; so what have I to fear from human beings?
STRANGER. Aren't you tormented by those people at the pool?
LADY (turning towards them). I can't see them. I can't see anything horrible now.
STRANGER. Ingeborg! I have made you evil, yet you're on the way to make me good! It was my dream, you know, to seek redemption through a woman. You don't believe it! But it's true. In the old days nothing was of value to me if I couldn't lay it at a woman's feet. Not as a tribute to an overbearing mistress,... but as a sacrifice to the beautiful and good. It was my pleasure to give; but she wanted to take and not receive: that's why she hated me! When I was helpless and thought the end was near, a desire grew in me to fall asleep on a mother's knee, on a tremendous breast where I could bury my tired head and drink in the tenderness I'd been deprived of.
LADY. You had no mother?
STRANGER. Hardly! And I've never felt any bond between myself and my father or my brothers and sisters.... Ingeborg, I was the son of a servant of whom it is written. 'Drive forth the handmaid with her son, for this son shall not inherit with the son of peace.'
LADY. Do you know why Ishmael was driven out? It says just before—that he was a scoffer. And then it goes on: 'He will be a wild man, his hand will be against every man, and every man's hand against him; and against all his brothers.'
STRANGER. Is that also written?
LADY. Oh yes, my child; it's all there!
STRANGER. All?
LADY. All. There you'll find answers to all your questions even the most inquisitive!
STRANGER. Call me your child, and then I'll love you.... And if I love anyone, I long to serve them, to obey them, to let myself be ill-treated, to suffer and to bear it.
LADY. You shouldn't love me, but your Creator.
STRANGER. He's unfriendly—like my father!
LADY. He is Love itself; and you are Hate.
STRANGER. You're his daughter; but I'm his cast-out son.
LADY (coaxingly). Quiet! Be still!
STRANGER. If you only knew what I've suffered this last week. I don't know where I am.
LADY. Where do you think?
STRANGER. There's a woman in that but who looks at me as if I'd come to rob her of her last mite. She says nothing—that's the trouble. But I think it's prayers she mutters, when she sees me.
LADY. What sort of prayers?
STRANGER. The sort one whispers behind the backs of those who have the evil eye or bring misfortune.
LADY. How strange! Don't you realise that one's sight can be blinded?
STRANGER. Yes, of course. But who can do it?
HOSTESS (coming across to their table). Well, look at that! I suppose she's your sister?
STRANGER. Yes. We can say so now.
HOSTESS (to the LADY). Fancy meeting someone I can speak to at last! This gentleman's so silent, you see, that one feels at once one must respect him; particularly as he seems to have had trouble. But I can say this to his sister, and he shall hear it: that from the moment he entered the house I felt that I was blessed. I'd been dogged by misfortune; I'd no lodger, my only cow had died, my husband was in a home for drunkards and my children had nothing to eat. I prayed God to send me help from heaven, because I expected nothing more on earth. Then this gentleman came. And apart from giving me double what I asked, he brought me good luck—and my house was blessed. God bless you, good sir!
STRANGER (getting up excitedly). Silence, woman. That's blasphemy!
LADY. He won't believe. O God! He won't believe. Look at me!
STRANGER. When I look at you, I do believe. She's giving me her blessing! And I, who'm damned, have brought a blessing on her! How can I believe it? I, of all men! (He falls down by the table and weeps in his hands.)
LADY. He's weeping! Tears, rain from heaven, that can soften rocks, are falling on his stony heart.... He's weeping!
HOSTESS. He? Who has a heart of gold! Who's been so open handed and so good to my children!
LADY. You hear what she says!
HOSTESS. There's only one thing about him I don't understand; but I don't want to say anything unpleasant....
LADY. What is it?
HOSTESS. Only a trifle; and yet...
LADY. Well?
HOSTESS. He didn't like my dogs.
LADY. I can't blame him for not caring for an impure beast. I hate everything animal, in myself and others. I don't hate animals on that account, for I hate nothing that's created....
STRANGER. Thank you, Ingeborg!
LADY. You see! I've an eye for your merits, even though you don't believe it.... Here comes the Confessor.
(The CONFESSOR enters.)
HOSTESS. Then I'll go; for the Confessor has no love for me.
LADY. The Confessor loves all mankind.
CONFESSOR (coming forward and speaking to the LADY). You best of all, my child; for you're goodness itself. Whether you're beautiful to look at, I can't see; but I know you must be, because you're good. Yes, you were the bride of my youth, and my spiritual mate; and you'll always be so, for you gave me what you were never able to give to others. I've lived your life in my spirit, suffered your pains, enjoyed your pleasures—pleasure rather, for you'd no others than what your child gave you. I alone have seen the beauty of your soul—my friend here has divined it; that's why he felt attracted to you—but the evil in him was too strong; you had to draw it out of him into yourself to free him. Then, being evil, you had to suffer the worst pains of hell for his sake, to bring atonement. Your work's ended. You can go in peace!
LADY. Where?
CONFESSOR. Up there. Where the sun's always shining.
LADY (rising). Is there a home for me there, too?
CONFESSOR. There's a home for everyone! I'll show you the way. (He goes with her into the background. The STRANGER makes a movement.) You're impatient? You mustn't be! (He goes out. The STRANGER remains sitting alone. The WORSHIPPERS OF VENUS get up, go towards him and form a circle round him.)
STRANGER. What do you want with me?
WORSHIPPERS. Hail! Father.
STRANGER (much upset). Why call me that?
FIRST VOICE. Because we're your children. Your dear ones!
STRANGER (tries to escape, but is surrounded and cannot). Let me go. Let me go!
SECOND VOICE (that of a pale youth). Don't you recognise me, Father?
TEMPTER (appearing in the background at the left-hand fork of the path). Ha!
STRANGER (to the Second Voice). Who are you? I seem to know your face.
SECOND VOICE. I'm Erik—your son!
STRANGER. Erik! You here?
SECOND VOICE. Yes. I'm here.
STRANGER. God have mercy! And you, my boy, forgive me!
SECOND VOICE. Never! You showed us the way to the sulphur springs! Is it far to the lake?
(The STRANGER falls to the ground.)
TEMPTER. Ha! Jubilate, temptatores!
VENUS WORSHIPPERS. Sulphur! Sulphur! Sulphur! Mercury!
TEMPTER (coming forward and touching the STRANGER with his foot). The worm! You can make him believe whatever you like. That comes from his unbelievable pride. Does he think he's the mainspring of the universe, the originator of all evil? This foolish man believes he taught youth to go in search of Venus; as if youth hadn't done that long before he was born! His pride's insupportable, and he's been rash enough to try to botch my work for me. Give him another greeting, lying Erik! (The SECOND VOICE—that is the youth—bends over the STRANGER and whispers in his ear.) There were seven deadly sins; but now there are eight. The eighth I discovered! It's called despair. For to despair of what is good, and not to hope for forgiveness, is to call... (He hesitates before pronouncing the word God, as if it burnt his lips.) God wicked. That is calumny, denial, blasphemy.... Look how he winces!
STRANGER (rising quickly, and looking the TEMPTER to the eyes). Who are you?
TEMPTER. Your brother. Don't we resemble one another? Some of your features seem to remind me of my portrait.
STRANGER. Where have I seen it?
TEMPTER. Almost everywhere! I'm often to be found in churches, though not amongst the saints.
STRANGER. I can't remember....
TEMPTER. Is it so long since you've been to church? I'm usually represented with St. George. (The STRANGER totters and would like to fly, but cannot.) Michael and I are sometimes to be seen in a group, in which, to be sure, I don't appear in the most favourable light; but that can be altered. All can be altered; and one day the last shall be first. It's just the same in your case. For the moment, things are going badly with you, but that can be altered too... if you've enough intelligence to change your company. You've had too much to do with skirts, my son. Skirts raise dust, and dust lies on eyes and breast.... Come and sit down. We'll have a chat.... (He takes the STRANGER jocularly by the ear and leads him round the table.) Sit down and tremble, young man! (They both sit down.) Well? What shall we do? Call for wine—and a woman? No! That's too old a trick, as old as Doctor Faust! Bon! We modern are in search of mental dissipation.... So you're on your way to those holy men up there, who think that they who sleep can't sin; to the cowardly ones, who've given up the battle of life, because they were defeated once or twice; to those that bind souls rather than free them.... And talking of that! Has any saintly man ever freed you from the burden of sin? No! Do you know why sin has been oppressing you for so long? Through renunciation and abstinence, you've grown so weak that anyone can seize your soul and take possession of it. Why, they can even do it from a distance! You've so destroyed your personality that you see with strange eyes, hear with strange ears and think strange thoughts. In a word you've murdered your own soul. Just now, didn't you speak well of the enemies of mankind; of Woman, who made a hell of paradise? You needn't answer me; I can read your answer in your eyes and hear it on your lips. You talk of pure love for a woman! That's lust, young man, lust after a woman, which we have to pay for so dearly. You say you don't desire her. Then why do you want to be near her? You'd like to have a friend? Take a male friend, many of them! You've let them convince you you're no woman hater. But the woman gave you the right answer; every healthy man's a woman hater, but can't live without linking himself to his enemy, and so must fight her! All perverse and unmanly men are admirers of women! How's it with you now? So you saw those invalids and thought yourself responsible for their misery? They're tough fellows, you can believe me; they'll be able to leave here in a few days and go back to their occupations. Oh yes, lying Erik's a wag! But things have gone so far with you, that you can't distinguish between your own and other people's children. Wouldn't it be a great thing to escape from all this? What do you say? Oh, I could free you... but I'm no saint. Now we'll call old Maia. (He whistles between his fingers: MAIA appears.) Ah, there you are! Well, what are you doing here? Have you any business with this fellow?
MAIA. No. He's good and always was; but he'd a terrible wife.
TEMPTER (to the STRANGER). Listen! You've not heard that yet, have you? Rather the opposite. She was the good angel, whom you ruined... we've all been told that! Now, old Maia, what kind of story is it he prattles of? He says he was plagued with remorse for seven years because he owed you money.
MAIA. He owed me a small sum once; but I got it back from him—and with good interest—much better than the savings bank would have given me. It was very good of him—very kind.
STRANGER (starting up). What's that you said? Is it possible I've forgotten?
TEMPTER. Have you the receipt, Maia? If so, give it me.
MAIA. The gentleman must have the receipt; but I've got the savings bank book here. He paid the money into it in my name. (She produces a savings bank book, and hands it to the STRANGER, who looks at it.)
STRANGER. Yes, that's quite right. Now I remember. Then why this seven-year torment, shame and disgrace? Those reproaches during sleepless nights? Why? Why? Why?
TEMPTER. Old Maia, you can go now. But first say something nice about this self-tormentor. Can't you remember any human quality in this wild beast, whom human beings have baited for years?
STRANGER (to MAIA). Quiet, don't answer him! (He stops his ears with his fingers.)
TEMPTER. Well, Maia?
MAIA. I know well enough what they say about him, but that refers to what he writes—and I've not read it for I can't read. Still, no one need read it, if they don't want to. Anyhow the gentleman's been very kind. Now he's stopping his ears. I don't know how to flatter; but I can say this in a whisper.... (She whispers some thing to the TEMPTER.)
TEMPTER. Yes. All human beings who are easily moved are baited like wild beasts! It's the rule. Good bye, old Maia!
MAIA. Good-bye, kind gentlemen. (She goes out.)
STRANGER. Why did I suffer innocently for seven years?
TEMPTER (pointing upwards with one finger). Ask up there!
STRANGER. Where I never get an answer!
TEMPTER. Well, that may be. (Pause.) Do you thinkIlook good?
STRANGER. I can't say I do.
TEMPTER. You look extremely wicked, too! Do you know why we look like that?
STRANGER. No.
TEMPTER. The hate and malice of our fellow human beings have fastened themselves on us. Up there, you know, there are real saints, who've never done anything wicked themselves, but who suffer for others, for relations, who've committed unexpiated sins. Those angels, who've taken the depravity of others on themselves, really resemble bandits. What do you say to that?
STRANGER. I don't know who you are; but you're the first to answer questions that might reconcile me to life. You are....
TEMPTER. Well, say it!
STRANGER. The deliverer!
TEMPTER. And therefore....?
STRANGER. Therefore you've been given a vulture.... But listen, have you ever thought that there's as good a reason for this as for everything else? Granted the earth's a prison, on which dangerous prisoners are confined—is it a good thing to set them free? Is it right?
TEMPTER. What a question! I've never really thought about it. Hm!
STRANGER. And have you ever thought of this: we may be born in guilt?
TEMPTER. That's nothing to do with me: I concern myself with the present.
STRANGER. Good! Don't you think we're sometimes punished wrongly, so that we fail to see the logical connection, though it exists?
TEMPTER. Logic's not missing; but all life's a tissue of offences, mistakes, errors, that are comparatively blameless owing to human weakness, but that are punished by the most consistent revenge. Everything's revenged, even our injudicious actions. Who forgives? A magnanimous man-sometimes; heavenly justice, never! (A PILGRIM appears in the background.) See! A penitent! I'd like to know what wrong he's done. We'll ask him. Welcome to our quiet meadows, peaceful wanderer! Take your place at the simple table of the ascetic, at which there are no more temptations.
PILGRIM. Thank you, fellow traveller in the vale of woe.
TEMPTER. What kind of woe is yours?
PILGRIM. None in particular; on the contrary, the hour of liberation's struck, and I'm going up there to receive absolution.
STRANGER. Listen, haven't we two met before?
PILGRIM. I think so, certainly.
STRANGER. Caesar! You're Caesar!
PILGRIM. I used to be; but I am no longer.
TEMPTER. Ha ha! Imperial acquaintance. Really! But tell us, tell us!
PILGRIM. You shall hear. Now I've a right to speak, for my penance is at an end. When we met at a certain doctor's house, I was shut up there as a madman and supposed to be suffering from the illusion that I was Caesar. Now the Stranger shall hear the truth of the matter: I never believed it, but I was forced by scruples of conscience to put a good face on it.... A friend of mine, a bad friend, had written proof that I was the victim of a misunderstanding; but he didn't speak when he should have, and I took his silence as a request not to speak either-and to suffer. Why did I? Well, in my youth I was once in great need. I was received as a guest in a house on an island far out to sea by a man who, in spite of unusual gifts, had been passed over for promotion—owing to his senseless pride. This man, by solitary brooding on his lot, had come to hold quite extraordinary views about himself. I noticed it, but I said nothing. One day this man's wife told me that he was sometimes mentally unbalanced; and then thought he was Julius Caesar. For many years I kept this secret conscientiously, for I'm not ungrateful by nature. But life's tricky. It happened a few years later that this Caesar laid rough hands on my most intimate fate. In anger at this I betrayed the secret of his Caesar mania and made my erstwhile benefactor such a laughing stock, that his existence became unbearable to him. And now listen how Nemesis overtakes one! A year later I wrote a book-I am, you must know, an author who's not made his name.... And in this book I described incidents of family life: how I played with my daughter—she was called Julia, as Caesar's daughter was—and with my wife, whom we called Caesar's wife because no one spoke evil of her.... Well, this recreation, in which my mother-in-law joined too, cost me dear. When I was looking through the proofs of my book, I saw the danger and said to myself: you'll trip yourself up. I wanted to cut it out but, if you'll believe it, the pen refused, and an inner voice said to me: let it stand! It did stand! And I fell.
STRANGER. Why didn't you publish the letter from your friend that would have explained everything?
PILGRIM. When the disaster had happened I felt at once that it was the finger of God, and that I must suffer for my ingratitude.
STRANGER. And you did suffer?
PILGRIM. Not at all! I smiled to myself and wouldn't let myself be put out. And because I accepted my punishment with calmness and humility God lightened my burden; and I didn't feel myself ridiculous.
TEMPTER. That's a strange story; but such things happen. Shall we move on now? We'll go for an excursion, now we've weathered the storms. Pull yourself up by the roots, and then we'll climb the mountain.
STRANGER. The Confessor told me to wait for him.
TEMPTER. He'll find you, anyhow! And up here in the village the court's sitting to-day. A particularly interesting case is to be tried; and I dare say I'll be called as a witness. Come!
STRANGER. Well, whether I sit here, or up there, is all the same to me.
PILGRIM (to the STRANGER). Who's that?
STRANGER. I don't know. He looks like an anarchist.
PILGRIM. Interesting, anyhow!
STRANGER. He's a sceptical gentleman, who's seen life.
TEMPTER. Come, children; I'll tell you stories on the way. Come. Come!
(They go out towards the background.)
Curtain.