and triumph awaits the steadfast.
MOTHER. That’s what I’ve often said to myself; but there are limits to the suffering one can bear. …
DOMINICAN. There are no limits. Suff’ering’s as boundless as grace.
MOTHER. First my husband leaves me for another woman.
DOMINICAN. Then let him go. He’ll come crawling back again on his bare knees!
MOTHER. And as you know, Father, my only daughter was married to a doctor. But she left him and came home with a stranger, whom she presented to me as her new husband.
DOMINICAN. That’s not easy to understand. Divorce isn’t recognised by our religion.
MOTHER. No. But they’d crossed the frontier, to a land where there are other laws. He’s an Old Catholic, and he found a priest to marry them.
DOMINICAN. That’s no real marriage, and can’t be dissolved because it never existed. But it can be nullified. Who is your present son-in-law?
MOTHER. Truly, I wish I knew! One thing I do know, and that’s enough to fill my cup of sorrow. He’s been divorced and his wife and children live in wretched circumstances.
DOMINICAN. A difficult case. But we’ll find a way to put it right. What does he do?
MOTHER. He’s a writer; said to be famous at home.
DOMINICAN. Godless, too, I suppose?
MOTHER. Yes. At least he used to be; but since his second marriage he’s not known a happy hour. Fate, as he calls it, seized him with an iron hand and drove him here in the shape of a ragged beggar. Ill-fortune struck him blow after blow, so that I pitied him at the very moment he fled from here. Then he wandered in the woods and, later, lay out in the fields where he fell, till he was found by merciful folk and taken to a convent. There he lay ill for three months, without our knowing where he was.
DOMINICAN. Wait! Last year a man was brought to the Convent of St. Saviour, where I’m Confessor, under the circumstances you describe. Whilst he was feverish he opened his heart to me, and there was scarcely a sin of which he didn’t confess his guilt. But when he came to himself again, he said he remembered nothing. So to prove him in heart and reins I used the secret apostolic powers that are given us; and, as a trial, employed the lesser curse. For when a crime’s been done in secret, the curse of Deuteronomy is read over the suspected man. If he’s innocent, he goes his way unscathed. But if he’s struck by it, then, as Paul relates, ‘he is delivered unto Satan for the destruction of the flesh, that his spirit may be saved.’
MOTHER. O God! It must be he!
DOMINICAN. Yes, it is he. Your son-in-law! The ways of Providence are inscrutable. Was he heavily struck by the curse?
MOTHER. Yes. That night he slept here, and was torn from his sleep by an unexplained power that, as he told me, turned his heart to ice. …
DOMINICAN. Did he have fearful visions?
MOTHER. Yes.
DOMINICAN. And was he harried by those terrible thoughts, of which Job says, ‘When I say, my bed shall comfort me, then Thou scarest me with dreams and terrifiest me with visions; so that my soul chooseth strangling, and death rather than life.’ That’s as it should be. Did it open his eyes?
MOTHER. Yes. But only so that his sight was blinded. For his sufferings grew so great that he could no longer find a natural explanation for them, and as no doctor could cure him, he began to see that he was fighting higher conscious powers.
DOMINICAN. Powers that meant him ill, and were therefore themselves evil. That’s the usual course of things. And then?
MOTHER. He came upon books that taught him that such evil powers could be fought.
DOMINICAN. Oh! So he looked for what’s hidden, and should remain so! Did he succeed in exorcising the spirits that chastised him?
MOTHER. He says he did. And it seems now that he can sleep again.
DOMINICAN. Yes, and he believes what he says. Yet, since he hasn’t truly accepted the love of truth, God will trouble him with great delusion, so that he’ll believe what is false.
MOTHER. The fault’s his own. But he’s changed my daughter: in other days she was neither hot nor cold; but now she’s on the way to becoming evil.
DOMINICAN. How do the two of them get on?
MOTHER. Half the time, happily; the other half they plague one another like devils.
DOMINICAN. That’s the way they must go. Plague one another till they come to the Cross.
MOTHER. If they don’t part again.
DOMINICAN. What? Have they done so?
MOTHER. They’ve left one another four times, but have always come back. It seems as if they’re chained together. It would be a good thing if they were, for a child’s on the way.
DOMINICAN. Let the child come. Children bring gifts that are refreshing to tired souls.
MOTHER. I hope it may be so. But it looks as if this one will be an apple of discord. They’re already quarrelling over its name; they’re quarrelling over its baptism; and the mother’s already jealous of her husband’s children by his first wife. He can’t promise to love this child as much as the others, and the mother absolutely insists that he shall! So there’s no end to their miseries.
DOMINICAN. Oh yes, there is. Wait! He’s had dealings with higher powers, so that we’ve gained a hold on him; and our prayers will be more, powerful than his resistance. Their effect is as extraordinary as it is mysterious. (The STRANGER appears on the terrace. He is in hunting costume and wears a tropical helmet. In his hand he has an alpenstock.) Is that him, up there?
MOTHER. Yes. That’s my present son-in-law.
DOMINICAN. Singularly like the first! But watch how he’s behaving. He hasn’t seen me yet, but he feels I’m here. (He makes the sign of the cross in the air.) Look how troubled he grows. … Now he stiffens like an icicle. See! In a moment he’ll cry out.
STRANGER (who has suddenly stopped, grown rigid, and clutched his heart). Who’s down there?
MOTHER. I am.
STRANGER. You’re not alone.
MOTHER. No. I’ve someone with me.
DOMINICAN (making the sign of the cross). Now he’ll say nothing; but fall like a felled tree. (The STRANGER crumples up and falls to the ground.) Now I shall go. It would be too much for him if he were to see me, But I’ll come back soon. You’ll see, he’s in good hands! Farewell and peace be with you. (He goes out.)
STRANGER (raising himself and coming down the steps). Who was that?
MOTHER. A traveller. Sit down; you look so pale.
STRANGER. It was a fainting fit.
MOTHER. You’ve always new names for it; but they mean nothing fresh. Sit down here, on the seat.
STRANGER. No; I don’t like sitting there. People are always passing.
MOTHER. Yet I’ve been sitting here since I was a child, watching life glide past as the river does below. Here, on the road, I’ve watched the children of men go by, playing, haggling, begging, cursing and dancing. I love this seat and I love the river below, though it does much damage every year and washes away the property we inherited. Last spring it carried our whole hay crop off, so that we had to sell our beasts. The property’s lost half its value in the last few years, and when the lake in the mountains has reached its new level and the swamp’s been drained into the river, the water will rise till it washes the house away. We’ve been at law about it for ten years, and we’ve lost every appeal; so we shall be destroyed. It’s as inevitable as fate.
STRANGER. Fate’s not inevitable.
MOTHER. Beware, if you think to fight it.
STRANGER. I’ve done so already.
MOTHER. There you go again! You learn nothing from the chastisement of Providence.
STRANGER. Oh yes. I’ve learned to hate. Can one love what does evil?
MOTHER. I’ve little learning, as you know; but I read yesterday in an encyclopaedia that the Eumenides are not evilly disposed.
STRANGER. That’s true; but it’s a lie they’re friendly. I only know one friendly fury. My own!
MOTHER. Can you call Ingeborg a fury?
STRANGER. Yes. She is one; and as a fury, she’s remarkable. Her talent for making me suffer excels my most infernal inventions; and if I escape from her hands with my life, I’ll come out of the fire as pure as gold.
MOTHER. You’ve got what you deserve. You wanted to mould her as you wished, and you’ve succeeded.
STRANGER. Completely. But where is this fury?
MOTHER. She went down the road a few minutes ago.
STRANGER. Down there? Then I’ll go to meet my own destruction. (He goes towards the back.)
MOTHER. So you can still joke about it? Wait! (The MOTHER is left alone for a moment, until the STRANGER has disappeared. The LADY then enters from the right. She is wearing a summer frock, and is carrying a post bag and some opened letters in her hand.)
LADY. Are you alone, Mother?
MOTHER. I’ve just been left alone.
LADY. Here’s the post. This is for job.
MOTHER. What? Do you open his letters?
LADY. All of them, because I want to know who it is I’ve linked my life to. And I want to suppress everything that might minister to his pride. In a word, I isolate him, so that he has to keep his own electricity and run the danger of being broken to pieces.
MOTHER. How learned you’ve grown?
LADY. Yes. If he’s unwise enough to confide almost everything to me, I’ll soon hold his fate in my hand. Now, if you please, he’s making electrical experiments and claims he’ll be able to harness the lightning, so that it’ll give him light, warmth and power. Well, let him do as he likes! From a letter that came to-day I see he’s even corresponding with alchemists.
MOTHER. Does he want to make gold? Is the man sane?
LADY. That’s the important question. Whether he’s a charlatan doesn’t matter so much.
MOTHER. Do you suspect it?
LADY. I’d believe any evil of him, and any good, on the same day.
MOTHER. Is there any other news?
LADY. The plans my divorced husband made for a new marriage have gone wrong; he’s grown melancholic, abandoned his practice and is tramping the roads.
MOTHER. Oh! He was always my son-in-law. He had a kind heart under his rough manner.
LADY. Yes. I only called him a werewolf in his role as my husband and master. As long as I knew he was at peace, and on the way to find consolation, I was content. But now he’ll torment me like a bad conscience.
MOTHER. Have you a conscience?
LADY. I never used to have one. But my eyes have been opened since I read my husband’s works, and I know the difference between good and evil.
MOTHER. But he forbade you to read them, and never foresaw you wouldn’t obey him.
LADY. Who can foresee all the results of any action?
MOTHER. Have you more bad news in your pocket, Pandora?
LADY. The worst of all! Think of it, Mother, his divorced wife’s going to marry again.
MOTHER. That ought to be reassuring, to you and to him.
LADY. Didn’t you know it was his worst nightmare? That his wife would marry again and his children have a stepfather?
MOTHER. If he can bear that alone, I shall think him a strange man.
LADY. You believe he’s too sensitive? But didn’t he say himself that an educated man of the world at the end of the nineteenth century never lets himself be put out of countenance!
MOTHER. It’s easy to say so; but when things really happen. …
LADY. Yet there was a gift at the bottom of Pandora’s box that was no misfortune. Look, Mother! A portrait of his six-year-old son.
MOTHER (looking at the picture). A lovely child.
LADY. It does one good to see such a charming and expressive picture. Tell me, do you think my child will be as beautiful? Well, what do you say? Answer, or I’ll be unhappy! I love this boy already, but I feel I’d hate him if my child’s not as lovely as he. Yes, I’m jealous already.
MOTHER. When you came here after your unlucky honeymoon, I’d hoped you’d have got over the worst. But now I see it was only a foretaste of what was to come.
LADY. I’m ready for anything; and I don’t think this knot can ever be undone. It must be cut!
MOTHER. But you’re only making more difficulties for yourself by suppressing his letters.
LADY. In days gone by, when I went through life like a sleep-walker, everything seemed easy to me, but I begin to be uncertain now he’s started to waken thoughts in me. (She puts the letters into the post-bag.) Here he is. ‘Sh!
MOTHER. One thing more. Why do you let him wear that suit of your first husband’s?
LADY. I like torturing and humiliating him. I’ve persuaded him it fits him and belonged to my father. Now, when I see him in the werewolf’s things, I feel I’ve got both of them in my clutches.
MOTHER. Heaven defend us! How spiteful you’ve grown!
LADY. Perhaps that was my role, if I have one in this man’s life!
MOTHER. I sometimes wish the river would rise and carry us all away whilst we’re asleep at night. If it were to flow here for a thousand years perhaps it would wash out the sin on which this house is built.
LADY. Then it’s true that my grandfather, the notary, illegally seized property not his own? It’s said this place was built with the heritage of widows and orphans, the funds of ruined men, the property of dead ones and the bribes of litigants.
MOTHER. Don’t speak of it any more. The tears of those still living have run together and formed a lake. And it’s that lake, people say, that’s being drained now, and that’ll cause the river to wash us away.
LADY. Can’t it be stopped by taking legal action? Is there no justice on earth?
MOTHER. Not on earth. But there is in heaven. And heaven will drown us, for we’re the children of evildoers. (She goes up the steps.)
LADY. Isn’t it enough to put up with one’s own tears? Must one inherit other people’s?
(The STRANGER comes back.)
STRANGER. Did you call me?
LADY. No. I only tried to draw you to me, without really wanting you.
STRANGER. I felt you meddling with my destiny in a way that made me uneasy. Soon you’ll have learnt all I know.
LADY. And more.
STRANGER. But I must ask you not to lay rough hands on my fate. I am Cain, you see, and am under the ban of mysterious powers, who permit no mortals to interfere with their work of vengeance. You see this mark on my brow? (He removes his hat.) It means: Revenge is mine, saith the Lord.
LADY. Does your hat press. …
STRANGER. No. It chafes me. And so does the coat. If it weren’t that I wanted to please you, I’d have thrown them all into the river. When I walk here in the neighbourhood, do you know that people call me the doctor? They must take me for your husband, the werewolf. And I’m unlucky. If I ask who planted some tree: they say, the doctor. If I ask to whom the green fish basket belongs: they say, the doctor. And if it isn’t his then it belongs to the doctor’s wife. That is, to you! This confusion between him and me makes my visit unbearable. I’d like to go away. …
LADY. Haven’t you tried in vain to leave this place six times?
STRANGER. Yes. But the seventh, I’ll succeed.
LADY. Then try!
STRANGER. You say that as if you were convinced I’d fail.
LADY. I am.
STRANGER. Plague me in some other way, dear fury.
LADY. Well, I can.
STRANGER. A new way! Try to say something ill-natured that ‘the other one’s’ not said already.
LADY. Your first wife’s ‘the other one.’ How tactful to remind me of her.
STRANGER. Everything that lives and moves, everything that’s dead and cold, reminds me of what’s gone. …
LADY. Until the being comes, who can wipe out the darkness of the past and bring light.
STRANGER. You mean the child we’re expecting!
LADY. Our child!
STRANGER. Do you love it?
LADY. I began to to-day.
STRANGER. To-day? Why, what’s happened? Five months ago you wanted to run off to the lawyers and divorce me; because I wouldn’t take you to a quack who’d kill your unborn child.
LADY. That was some time ago. Things have changed now.
STRANGER. Why now? (He looks round as if expecting something.) Now? Has the post come?
LADY. You’re still more cunning than I am. But the pupil will outstrip the master.
STRANGER. Were there any letters for me?
LADY. No.
STRANGER. Then give me the wrapper?
LADY. What made you guess?
STRANGER. Give the wrapper, if your conscience can make such fine distinctions between it and the letter.
LADY (picking up the letter-bag, which she has hidden behind the seat). Look at this! (The STRANGER takes the photograph, looks at it carefully, and puts it in his breast-pocket.) What was it?
STRANGER. The past.
LADY. Was it beautiful?
STRANGER. Yes. More beautiful than the future can ever be.
LADY (darkly). You shouldn’t have said that.
STRANGER. No, I admit it. And I’m sorry. …
LADY. Tell me, are you capable of suffering?
STRANGER. Now, I suffer twice; because I feel when you’re suffering. And if I wound you in self-defence, it’s I who gets fever from the wound.
LADY. That means you’re at my mercy?
STRANGER. No. Less now than ever, because you’re protected by the innocent being you carry beneath your heart.
LADY. He shall be my avenger.
STRANGER. Or mine!
LADY (tearfully). Poor little thing. Conceived in sin and shame, and born to avenge by hate.
STRANGER. It’s a long time since I’ve heard you speak like that.
LADY. I dare say.
STRANGER. That was the voice that first drew me to you; it was like that of a mother speaking to her child.
LADY. When you say ‘mother’ I feel I can only believe good of you; but a moment after I say to myself: it’s only one more of your ways of deceiving me.
STRANGER. What ill have I ever really done you? (The LADY is uncertain what to reply.) Answer me. What ill have I done you?
LADY. I don’t know.
STRANGER. Then invent something. Say to me: I hate you, because I can’t deceive you.
LADY. Can’t I? Oh, I’m sorry for you.
STRANGER. You must have poison in the pocket of your dress.
LADY. Well, I have!
STRANGER. What can it be? (Pause.) Who’s that coming down the road?
LADY. A harbinger.
STRANGER. Is it a man, or a spectre?
LADY. A spectre from the past.
STRANGER. He’s wearing a black coat and a laurel crown. But his feet are bare.
LADY. It’s Caesar.
STRANGER (confused). Caesar? That was my nickname at school.
LADY. Yes. But it’s also the name of the madman whom my … first husband used to look after. Forgive me speaking of him like that.
STRANGER. Has this madman got away?
LADY. It looks like it, doesn’t it?
(CAESAR comes in from the back; he wears a black frock coat and is without a collar; he has a laurel crown on his head and his feet are bare. His general appearance is bizarre.)
CAESAR. Why don’t you greet me? You ought to say: Ave, Caesar! For now I’m the master. The werewolf, you must know, has gone out of his mind since the Great Man went off with his wife, whom he himself snatched from her first lover, or bridegroom, or whatever you call him.
STRANGER (to the LADY). That was strychnine for two adults! (To CAESAR) Where’s your master now–or your slave, or doctor, or warder?
CAESAR. He’ll be here soon. But you needn’t be frightened of him. He won’t use daggers or poison. He only has to show himself, for all living things to fly from him; for trees to drop their leaves, and the very dust of the highway to run before him in a whirlwind like the pillar of cloud before the Children of Israel. …
STRANGER. Listen. …
CAESAR. Quiet, whilst I’m speaking. … Sometimes he believes himself to be a werewolf, and says he’d like to eat a little child that’s not yet born, and that’s really his according to the right of priority. … (He goes on his way.)
LADY (to the STRANGER). Can you exorcise this demon?
STRANGER. I can do nothing against devils who brave the sunshine.
LADY. Yesterday you made an arrogant remark, and now you shall have it back. You said it wasn’t fair for invisible ones to creep in by night and strike in the darkness, they should come by day when the sun’s shining. Now they’ve come!
STRANGER. And that pleases you!
LADY. Yes. Almost.
STRANGER. What a pity it gives me no pleasure when it’s you who’s struck! Let’s sit down on the seat–the bench for the accused. For more are coming.
LADY. I’d rather we went.
STRANGER. No, I want to see how much I can bear. You see, at every stroke of the lash I feel as if a debit entry had been erased from my ledger.
LADY. But I can stand no more. Look, there he comes himself. Heavens! This man, whom I once thought I loved!
STRANGER. Thought? Yes, because everything’s merely delusion. And that means a great deal. You go! I’ll take the duty on myself of confronting him alone.
(The LADY goes up the steps, but does not reach the toy before the DOCTOR becomes visible at the back of the stage. The DOCTOR comes in, his grey hair long and unkempt. He is wearing a tropical helmet and a hunting coat, which are exactly similar to the clothes of the STRANGER. He behaves as though he doesn’t notice the STRANGER’S presence, and sits down on a stone on the other side of the road, opposite the STRANGER, who is sitting on the seat. He takes of his hat and mops the sweat from his brow. The STRANGER grows impatient.) What do you want?
DOCTOR. Only to see this house again, where my happiness once dwelt and my roses blossomed. …
STRANGER. An intelligent man of the world would have chosen a time when the present inhabitants of the house were away for a short while; even on his own account, so as not to make himself ridiculous.
DOCTOR. Ridiculous? I’d like to know which of us two’s the more ridiculous?
STRANGER. For the moment, I suppose I am.
DOCTOR. Yes. But I don’t think you know the whole extent of your wretchedness.
STRANGER. What do you mean?
DOCTOR. That you want to possess what I used to possess.
STRANGER. Well, go on.
DOCTOR. Have you noticed that we’re wearing similar clothes? Good! Do you know the reason? It’s this: you’re wearing the things I forgot to fetch when the catastrophe took place. No intelligent man of the world at the end of the nineteenth century would ever put himself into such a position.
STRANGER (throwing down his hat and coat). Curse the woman!
DOCTOR. You needn’t complain. Cast-off male attire has always been fatal ever since the celebrated shirt of Nessus. Go in now and change. I’ll sit out here and watch, and listen, how you settle the matter alone with that accursed woman. Don’t forget your stick! (The LADY, who is hurrying towards the house, trips in front of the steps. The STRANGER stays where he is in embarrassment.) The stick! The stick!
STRANGER. I don’t ask mercy for the woman’s sake, but for the child’s.
DOCTOR (wildly). So there’s a child, too. Our house, our roses, our clothes, the bed-clothes not forgotten, and now our child! I’m within your doors, I sit at your table, I lie in your bed; I exist in your blood; in your lungs, in your brain; I am everywhere and yet you can’t get hold of me. When the pendulum strikes the hour of midnight, I’ll blow cold, on your heart, so that it stops like a clock that’s run down. When you sit at your work, I shall come with a poppy, invisible to you, that will put your thoughts to sleep, and confuse your mind, so that you’ll see visions you can’t distinguish from reality. I shall lie like a stone in your path, so that you stumble; I shall be the thorn that pricks your hand when you go to pluck the rose. My soul shall spin itself about you like a spider’s web; and I shall guide you like an ox by means of the woman you stole from me. Your child shall be mine and I shall speak through its mouth; you shall see my look in its eyes, so that you’ll thrust it from you like a foe. And now, beloved house, farewell; farewell, ‘rose’ room–where no happiness shall dwell that I could envy. (He goes out. The STRANGER has been sitting on the seat all this time, without being able to answer, and has been listening as if he were the accused.)
Curtain.
ACT II
SCENE I
LABORATORY
[A Garden Pavilion in rococo style with high windows. In the middle of the room there is a large writing desk on which are various pieces of chemical and physical apparatus. Two copper wires are suspended from the ceiling to an electroscope that is standing on the middle of the table and which is provided with a number of bells, intended to record the tension of atmospheric electricity.]
[On the table to the left a large old-fashioned frictional electric generating machine, with glass plates, brass conductors, and Leyden battery. The stands are lacquered red and white. On the right a large old-fashioned open fireplace with tripods, crucibles, pincers, bellows, etc.]
[In the background a door with a view of the country beyond; it is dark and cloudy weather, but the red rays of the sun occasionally shine into the room. A brown cloak with a cape and hood is hanging up by the fireplace; nearby a travelling bag and an alpenstock. The STRANGER and the MOTHER are discovered together.]
STRANGER. Where is … Ingeborg?
MOTHER. You know that better than I.
STRANGER. With the lawyer, arranging a divorce. …
MOTHER. Why?
STRANGER. I told you. No, it’s so far-fetched, you’ll think I’m lying to you.
MOTHER. Well, tell me!
STRANGER. She wants a divorce, because I’ve refused to turn this man out, although he’s deranged. She says it’s cowardly of me. …
MOTHER. I don’t believe it.
STRANGER. You see! You only believe what you wish; all the rest is lies. Well, can you find it in accordance with your interests to believe that she’s been stealing my letters?
MOTHER. I know nothing of that.
STRANGER. I’m not asking you whether you know of it, but whether you believe it.
MOTHER (changing the subject). What are you trying to do here?
STRANGER. I’m making experiments concerning atmospheric electricity.
MOTHER. And that’s the lighting conductor, that you’ve connected to the desk!
STRANGER. Yes. But there’s no danger; for the bells would ring if there were an atmospheric disturbance.
MOTHER. That’s blasphemy and black magic. Take care! And what are you doing there, in the fireplace?
STRANGER. Making gold.
MOTHER. You think it possible?
STRANGER. You take it for granted I’m a charlatan? I shan’t blame you for that; but don’t judge too quickly. At any moment I expect to get a sworn statement of analysis.
MOTHER. I dare say. But what are you going to do if Ingeborg doesn’t come back?
STRANGER. She will, this time. Later, perhaps, when the child’s here, she’ll cut herself adrift.
MOTHER. You seem very sure.
STRANGER. Yes. As I said, I still am. So long as the bond’s not broken you can feel it. When it is, you’ll feel that unpleasantly clearly, too.
MOTHER. But when you’ve parted from one another, you may yet both be bound to the child. You can’t tell in advance.
STRANGER. I’ve been providing against that by a great interest, that I hope will fill my empty life.
MOTHER. You mean gold. And honour!
STRANGER. Precisely! For a man the most enduring of all illusions.
MOTHER. So you’d build on illusions?
STRANGER. On what else should I build, when everything’s illusion?
MOTHER. If you ever awake from your dream, you’ll find a reality of which you’ve never been able to dream.
STRANGER. Then I’ll wait till that happens.
MOTHER. Wait then. Now I’ll go and shut the window, before the thunderstorm breaks.
STRANGER (going towards the back of the stage). That’s going to be interesting. (A hunting horn is heard in the distance.) Who’s sounding that horn?
MOTHER. No one knows; and it means nothing good. (She goes out.)
STRANGER (busying himself with the electroscope, and turning his back on the open window as he does so; then taking up a book and reading aloud.) ‘When Adam’s race of giants had increased enough for them to consider their number sufficient to risk an attack on those above, they began to build a tower that was to reach up to Heaven. Those above were then seized with fear and, in order to protect themselves, broke up the assembled multitude by so confusing their tongues and their minds that two people who met could not understand one another, even if they spoke the same language Since then, those above rule by discord: divide and rule. And the discord is upheld by the belief that the truth has been found; but when one of the prophets is believed, he is a lying prophet. If on the other hand a mortal succeeds in penetrating the secret of those above, no one believes him, and he is struck with madness so that no one ever shall. Since then mortals have been more or less demented, particularly those who are held to be wise, but madmen are in reality the only wise men; for they can see, hear and feel the invisible, the inaudible and the intangible, though they cannot relate their experiences to others.’ Thus Zohar, the wisest of all the books of wisdom, and therefore one that no one believes. I shall build no tower of Babel, but I shall tempt the Powers into my mousetrap, and send them to the Powers below, the subterranean ones, so that they can be neutralised. It is the higher Schedim, who have come between mortal men and the Lord Zabaoth; and that is why joy, peace and happiness have vanished from the earth.
LADY (coming back in despair, throwing herself down in front of the STRANGER and putting her arms round his feet and her head on the ground.) Help me! Help me! And forgive me.
STRANGER. Get up. In God’s name! Get up. Don’t do that. What’s happened?
LADY. In my anger I’ve behaved foolishly. I’ve been caught in my own net.
STRANGER (lifting her up). Stand up, foolish child; and tell me what’s happened.
LADY. I went to the public prosecutor.
STRANGER. … and asked for a divorce. …
LADY. … that was my intention; but when I got there, I laid information against the werewolf for a breach of the peace and attempted murder.
STRANGER. But he’s guilty of neither!
LADY. No, but I laid the information all the same. … And when I was there, he came himself to lay information against me for bearing false witness. Then I went to the lawyer and he told me that I could expect a sentence of at least a month. Think of it, my child will be born in prison! How can I escape from that? Help me. You can. Speak!
STRANGER. Yes, I can help you. But, if I do, don’t revenge yourself on me afterwards.
LADY. How little you know me. But tell me quickly.
STRANGER. I must take the blame on myself, and say I sent you.
LADY. How generous you are! Am I rid of the whole business now?
STRANGER. Dry your eyes, my child, and take comfort. But tell me about something else, that’s nothing to do with this. Did you leave this purse here? (The LADY is embarrassed.) Tell me!
LADY. Has such a thing ever happened before?
STRANGER. Yes. The ‘other one’ wanted to discover, in this way, whether I stole. The first time it happened I wept, because I was still young and innocent.
LADY. Oh no!
STRANGER. Now you seem to me the most wretched creature on earth.
LADY. Is that why you love me?
STRANGER. No. You’ve been stealing my letters, too! Answer, yes! And that’s why you wanted to prove me a thief with this purse.
LADY. What have you got there, on the table.
STRANGER. Lightning!
(There is a flash of lightning, but no thunder.)
LADY. Aren’t you afraid?
STRANGER. Yes, sometimes; but not of what you fear.
(The contorted face of the DOCTOR appears outside the window.)
LADY. Is there a cat in the room? I feel uneasy.
STRANGER. I don’t think so. Yet I too have a feeling that there’s someone here.
LADY (turning and seeing the DOCTOR’s face; then screaming and hurrying to the STRANGER for protection.) Oh! There he is!
STRANGER. Where? Who?
(The DOCTOR’S face disappears.)
LADY. There, at the window. It’s he!
STRANGER. I can see no one. You must be wrong.
LADY. No, I saw him. The werewolf! Can’t we be rid of him?
STRANGER. Yes, we could. But it’d be useless, because he has an immortal soul, which is bound to yours.
LADY. If I’d only known that before!
STRANGER. It’s surely in the Catechism.
LADY. Then let us die!
STRANGER. That was once my religion; but as I no longer believe that death’s the end, nothing remains but to bear everything–to fight, and to suffer!
LADY. For how long must we suffer?
STRANGER. As long as he suffers and our consciences plague us.
LADY. Then we must try and justify ourselves to our consciences; find excuses for our frivolous actions, and discover his weaknesses.
STRANGER. Well, you can try!
LADY. You say that! Since I’ve known he’s unhappy I can see nothing but his qualities, and you lose when I compare you with him.
STRANGER. See how well it’s arranged! His sufferings sanctify him, but mine make me abhorrent and laughable! We must face the immutable. We’ve destroyed a soul, so we are murderers.
LADY. Who is to blame?
STRANGER. He who’s so mismanaged the fate of men.
(There is a flash of lightning; the electric bells begin to ring.)
LADY. O God! What’s that?
STRANGER. The answer.
LADY. Is there a lightning conductor here?
STRANGER. The priest of Baal wishes to coax the lightning from heaven. …
LADY. Now I’m frightened, frightened of you. You’re terrifying.
STRANGER. You see!
LADY. Who are you to defy Heaven, and to dare to play with the destinies of men?
STRANGER. Get up and collect your thoughts. Listen to me, believe me, and pay me the respect that’s my due; and I’ll lift both of us high above this frog pond, to which we’ve both descended. I’ll breathe on your sick conscience so that it heals like a wound. Who am I? A man who has done what no one else has ever done; who will overthrow the Golden Calf and upset the tables of the money-changers. I hold the fate of the world in my crucible; and in a week I can make the richest of the rich a poor man. Gold, the most false of all standards, has ceased to rule; every man will now be as poor as his neighbour, and the children of men will hurry about like ants whose heap has been disturbed.
LADY. What good will that be to us?
STRANGER. Do you think I’ll make gold in order to enrich ourselves and others? No. I’ll do it to paralyse the present order, to disrupt it, as you’ll see! I am the destroyer, the dissolver, the world incendiary; and when all lies in ashes, I shall wander hungrily through the heaps of ruins, rejoicing at the thought that it is all my work: that I have written the last page of world history, which can then be held to be ended.
(The face of the DOMINICAN appears at the open window, without being seen by those on the stage.)
LADY. Then that was the real meaning of your last book! It was no invention!
STRANGER. No. But in order to write it, I had to link myself with the self of another, who could take everything from me that fettered my soul. So that my spirit could once more find a fiery blast, on which to mount to the ether, elude the Powers, and reach the Throne, in order to lay the lamentations of mankind at the feet of the Eternal One. … (The DOMINICAN makes the sign of the cross in the air and disappears.) Who’s here? Who is the Terrible One who follows me and cripples my thoughts? Did you see no one?
LADY. No. No one.
STRANGER. But I can feel his presence. (He puts his hand to his heart.) Can’t you hear, far, far away, someone saying a rosary?
LADY. Yes, I can hear it. But it’s not the Angels’ Greeting. It’s the Curse of Deuteronomy! Woe unto us!
STRANGER. Then it must be in the convent of St. Saviour.
LADY. Woe! Woe!
STRANGER. Beloved. What is it?
LADY. Beloved! Say that word again.
STRANGER. Are you ill?
LADY. No, but I’m in pain, and yet glad at the same time. Go and ask my mother to make up my bed. But first give me your blessing.
STRANGER. Shall I …?
LADY. Say you forgive me; I may die, if the child takes my life. Say that you love me.
STRANGER. Strange: I can’t get the word to cross my lips.
LADY. Then you don’t love me?
STRANGER. When you say so, it seems so to me. It’s terrible, but I fear I hate you.
LADY. Then at least give me your hand; as you’d give it to someone in distress.
STRANGER. I’d like to, but I can’t. Someone in me takes pleasure in your agony; but it’s not I. I’d like to carry you in my arms and bear your suffering for you. But I may not. I cannot!
LADY. You’re as hard as stone.
STRANGER (with restrained emotion). Perhaps not. Perhaps not.
LADY. Come to me!
STRANGER. I can’t stir from here. It’s as if someone had taken possession of my soul; and I’d like to kill myself so as to take the life of the other.
LADY. Think of your child with joy. …
STRANGER. I can’t even do that, for it’ll bind me to earth.
LADY. If we’ve sinned, we’ve been punished! Haven’t we suffered enough?
STRANGER. Not yet. But one day we shall have.
LADY (sinking down). Help me. Mercy! I shall faint!
(The STRANGER extends his hand, as if he had recovered from a cramp. The LADY kisses it. The STRANGER lifts her up and leads her to the door of the house.)
Curtain.
SCENE II
THE ‘ROSE’ ROOM
[A room with rose-coloured walls; it has small windows with iron lattices and plants in pots. The curtains are rose red; the furniture is white and red. In the background a door leading to a white bed-chamber; when this door is opened, a large bed can be seen with a canopy and white hangings. On the right the door leading out of the house. On the left a fireplace with a coal fire. In front of it a bath tub, covered with a white towel. A cradle covered with white, rose-coloured and light-blue stuff. Baby clothes are spread out here and there. A green dress hangs on the right-hand wall. Four Sisters of Mercy are on their knees, facing the door at the back, dressed in the black and white of Augustinian nuns. The midwife, who is in black, is by the fireplace. The child’s nurse wears a peasant’s dress, of black and white, from Brittany. The MOTHER is standing listening by the door at the back. The STRANGER is sitting on a chair right and is trying to read a book. A hat and a brown cloak with a cape and hood hang nearby, and on the floor there is a small travelling bag. The Sisters of Mercy are singing a psalm. The others join in from time to time, but not the STRANGER.]
SISTERS. Salve, Regina, mater misericordiae; Vita, dulcedo, et spes nostra, salve. Ad to clamamus, exules filii Evae; Ad to suspiramus gementes et flentes In hac lacrymarum valle.
(The STRANGER rises and goes to the MOTHER.)
MOTHER. Stay where you are! A human being’s coming into the world; another’s dying. It’s all the same to you.
STRANGER. I’m not so sure! If I want to go in, I’m not allowed to. And when I don’t want to, you wish it. I’d like to now.
MOTHER. She doesn’t want to see you. Besides, presence here’s no longer needed. The child matters most now.
STRANGER. For you, yes; but I’m still of most importance to myself.
MOTHER. The doctor’s forbidden anyone to go in, whoever they may be, because she’s in danger.
STRANGER. What doctor?
MOTHER. So your thoughts are there again!
STRANGER. Yes. And it’s you who led them! An hour ago you gave me to understand that the child couldn’t be mine. With that you branded your daughter a whore; but that means nothing to you, if you can only strike me to the heart! You are almost the most contemptible creature I know!
MOTHER (to the SISTERS). Sisters! Pray for this unhappy man.
STRANGER. Make way for me to go in. For the last time–out of the way.
MOTHER. Leave this room, and this house too.
STRANGER. If I were to do as you ask, in ten minutes you’d send the police after me, for abandoning my wife and child!
MOTHER. I’d only do that to have you taken to a convent you know of.
MAID (entering at the back). The Lady’s asking you to do something for her.
STRANGER. What is it?
MAID. There’s supposed to be a letter in the dress she left hanging here.
STRANGER (looks round and notices the green dress; he goes over to it and takes a letter from the pocket). This is addressed to me, and was opened two days ago. Broken open! That’s good!
MOTHER. You must forgive someone who’s as ill as your wife.
STRANGER. She wasn’t ill two days ago.
MOTHER. No. But she is now.
STRANGER. But not two days ago! (Reading the letter.) Well, I’ll forgive her now, with the magnanimity of the victor.
MOTHER. Of the victor?
STRANGER. Yes. For I’ve done something no one’s ever done before.
MOTHER. You mean the gold. …?
STRANGER. Here’s a certificate from the greatest living authority. Now I’ll go and see him myself.
MOTHER. Now!
STRANGER. At your request.
MAID (to the STRANGER). The Lady asks you to come in.
MOTHER. You hear?
STRANGER. No, now I don’t want to! You’ve made your own daughter, my wife, into a whore; and branded my unborn child a bastard. You can keep them both. You’ve murdered my honour. There’s nothing for me to do but to revive it elsewhere.
MOTHER. You can never forgive!
STRANGER. I can. I forgive you–and I shall leave you. (He puts on the brown cloak and hat, picks up his stick and travelling bag.) For if I were to stay, I’d soon grow worse than I am now. The innocent child, whose mission was to ennoble our warped relationship, has been defiled by you in his mother’s womb and made an apple of discord and a source of punishment a revenge. Why should I stay here to be torn to pieces?
MOTHER. For you, duties don’t exist.
STRANGER. Oh yes, they do! And the first of them’s this: To protect myself from total destruction. Farewell!
Curtain.
ACT III
SCENE I
THE BANQUETING HALL
[Room in a hotel prepared for a banquet. There are long tables laden with flowers and candelabra. Dishes with peacocks, pheasants in full plumage, boars’ heads, entire lobsters, oysters, salmon, bundles of asparagus, melons and grapes. There is a musicians’ gallery with eight players in the right-hand corner at the back.]
[At the high table: the STRANGER in a frock coat; next to him a Civil Uniform with orders; a professorial Frock Coat with an order; and other black Frock Coats with orders of a more or less striking kind. At the second table a few Frock Coats between black Morning Coats. At the third table clean every-day costumes. At the fourth table dirty and ragged figures of strange appearance.]
[The tables are so arranged that the first is furthest to the left and the fourth furthest to the right, so that the people sitting at the fourth table cannot be seen by the STRANGER. At the fourth table CAESAR and the DOCTOR are seated, in shabby clothes. They are the farthest down stage. Dessert has just been handed round and the guests have golden goblets in front of them. The band is playing a passage in the middle of Mendelssohn’s Dead March pianissimo. The guests are talking to one another quietly.]
DOCTOR (to CAESAR). The company seems rather depressed and the dessert came too soon!
CAESAR. By the way, the whole thing look’s like a swindle! He hasn’t made any gold, that’s merely a lie, like everything else.
DOCTOR. I don’t know, but that’s what’s being said. But in our enlightened age anything whatever may be expected.
CAESAR. There’s a professor at the high table, who’s supposed to be an authority. But what subject is he professor of?
DOCTOR: I’ve no idea. It must be metallurgy and applied chemistry.
CAESAR. Can you see what order he’s wearing?
DOCTOR. I don’t know it. I expect it’s some tenth rate foreign order.
CAESAR. Well, at a subscription dinner like this the company’s always rather mixed.
DOCTOR. Hm!
CAESAR. You mean, that we … hm. … I admit we’re not well dressed, but as far as intelligence goes. …
DOCTOR. Listen, Caesar, you’re a lunatic in my charge, and you must avoid speaking about intelligence as much as you can.
CAESAR. That’s the greatest impertinence I’ve heard for a long time. Don’t you realise, idiot, that I’ve been engaged to look after you, since you lost your wits?
PROFESSOR (taping his goblet). Gentlemen!
CAESAR. Hear, hear!
PROFESSOR. Gentlemen! Our small society is to-day honoured by the presence of the great man, who is our guest of honour, and when the committee …
CAESAR (to the DOCTOR). That’s the government, you know!
PROFESSOR. … and when the committee asked me to act as interpreter and to explain the motives that prompted them I was at first doubtful whether I could accept the honour. But when I compared my own incapacity with that of others, I discovered that neither lost in the comparison.
VOICES. Bravo!
PROFESSOR. Gentlemen! A century of discovery is ending with the greatest of all discoveries–foreseen by Pythagoras, prepared for by Albertus and Paracelsus and first carried out by our guest of honour. You will permit me to give this feeble expression of our admiration for the greatest man of a great century. A laurel crown from the society! (He places a laurel frown on the STRANGER’S head.) And from the committee: this! (He hangs a shining order round the STRANGER’S neck.) Gentlemen! Three cheers for the Great Man who has made gold!
ALL (with the exception of the STRANGER). Hurrah!
(The band plays chords from Mendelssohn’s Dead March. During the last part of the foregoing speech servants have exchanged the golden goblets for dull tin ones, and they now begin to take away the pheasants, peacocks, etc. The music plays softly. General conversation.)
CAESAR. Oughtn’t we to taste these things before they take them away?
DOCTOR. It all seems humbug, except that about making gold.
STRANGER (knocking on the table). Gentlemen! I’ve always been proud of the fact that I’m not easy to deceive …
CAESAR. Hear, hear!
STRANGER. … that I’m not easily carried away, but I am touched at the sincerity so obvious in the great tribute you’ve just paid me; and when I say touched, I mean it.
CAESAR. Bravo!
STRANGER. There are always sceptics; and moments in the life of every man, when doubts creep into the hearts of even the strongest. I’ll confess that I myself have doubted; but after finding myself the object this sincere and hearty demonstration, and after taking part in this royal feast, for it is royal; and seeing that, finally, the government itself …
VOICE. The committee!
STRANGER. … the committee, if you like, has so signally recognised my modest merits, I doubt no longer, but believe! (The Civil Uniform creeps out.) Yes, gentlemen, this is the greatest and most satisfying moment of my life, because it has given me back the greatest thing any man can possess, the belief in himself.
CAESAR. Splendid! Bravo!
STRANGER. I thank you. Your health!
(The PROFESSOR gets up. Everyone rises and the company begins to mix. Most of the musicians go out, but two remain.)
GUEST (to the STRANGER). A delightful evening!
STRANGER. Wonderful.
(All the Frock Coats creep away.)
FATHER (an elderly, overdressed man with an eye-glass and military bearing crosses to the doctor). What? Are you here?
DOCTOR. Yes, Father-in-law. I’m here. I go everywhere he goes.
FATHER. It’s too late in the day to call me father-in-law. Besides, I’m _his_ father-in-law now.
DOCTOR. Does he know you?
FATHER. No. He’s not had that honour; and I must ask you to preserve my incognito. Is it true he’s made gold?
DOCTOR. So it’s said. But it’s certain he left his wife while she was in childbed.
FATHER. Does that mean I can expect a third son-in-law soon? I don’t like the idea! The uncertainty of my position makes me hate being a father-in-law at all. Of course, I’ve nothing to say against it, since. …
(The tables have now been cleared; the cloths and the candelabra have been removed, so that the tables themselves, which are merely boards supported on trestles, are all that remain. A big stoneware jug has been brought in and small jugs of simple form have been put on the high table. The people in rags sit down next to the STRANGER at the high table; and the FATHER sits astride a chair and stares at him.)
CAESAR (knocking on the table). Gentlemen! This feast has been called royal, not on account of the excellence of the service which, on the contrary, has been wretched; but because the man, whom we have honoured, is a king, a king in the realm of the Intellect. Only I am able to judge of that. (One of the people in rags laughs.) Quiet. Wretch! But he’s more than a king, he’s a man of the people, of the humblest. A friend of the oppressed, the guardian of fools, the bringer of happiness to idiots. I don’t know whether he’s succeeded in making gold. I don’t worry about that, and I hardly believe it … (There is a murmur. Two policemen come in and sit by the door; the musicians come down and take seats at the tables.) … but supposing he has, he has answered all the questions that the daily press has been trying to solve for the last fifty years. … It’s only an assumption–
STRANGER. Gentlemen!
RAGGED PERSON. No. Don’t interrupt him.
CAESAR. A mere assumption without real foundation, and the analysis may be wrong!
ANOTHER RAGGED PERSON. Don’t talk nonsense!
STRANGER. Speaking in my capacity as guest of honour at this gathering I should say that it would be of interest to those taking part to hear the grounds on which I’ve based my proof. …
CAESAR. We don’t want to hear that. No, no.
FATHER. Wait! I think justice demands that the accused should be allowed to explain himself. Couldn’t our guest of honour tell the company his secret in a few words?
STRANGER. As the discoverer I can’t give away my secret. But that’s not necessary, because I’ve submitted my results to an authority under oath.
CAESAR. Then the whole thing’s nonsense, the whole thing! We don’t believe authorities–we’re free-thinkers. Did you ever hear anything so impudent? That we should honour a mystery man, an arch-swindler, a charlatan, in good faith.
FATHER. Wait a little, my good people!
(During this scene a wall screen, charmingly decorated with palm trees and birds of paradise, has been taken away, disclosing a wretched serving-counter and stand for beer mugs, behind which a waitress is seen dispensing tots of spirits. Scavengers and dirty-looking women go over to the counter and start drinking.)
STRANGER. Was I asked here to be insulted?
FATHER. Not at all. My friend’s rather loquacious, but he’s not said anything insulting yet.
STRANGER. Isn’t it insulting to be called a charlatan?
FATHER. He didn’t mean it seriously.
STRANGER. Even as a joke I think the word arch-swindler slanderous.
FATHER. He didn’t use _that_ word.
STRANGER. What? I appeal to the company: wasn’t the word he used arch-swindler?
ALL. No. He never said that!
STRANGER. Then I don’t know where I am–or what company I’ve got into.
RAGGED PERSON. Is there anything wrong with it?
(The people murmur.)
BEGGAR (comes forward, supporting himself on crutches; he strikes the table so hard with his crutch, that some mugs are broken.) Mr. Chairman! May I speak? (He breaks some more crockery.) Gentlemen, in this life I’ve not allowed thyself to be easily deceived, but this time I have been. My friend in the chair there has convinced me that I’ve been completely deceived on the question of his power of judgment and sound understanding, and I feel touched. There are limits to pity and limits also to cruelty. I don’t like to see real merit being dragged into the dust, and this man’s worth a better fate than his folly’s leading him to.
STRANGER. What does this mean?
(The FATHER and the DOCTOR have gone out during this scene without attracting attention. Only beggars remain at the high table. Those who are drinking gather into groups and stare at the STRANGER.)
BEGGAR. You take yourself to be the man of the century, and accept the invitation of the Drunkards’ Society, in order to have yourself feted as a man of science. …
STRANGER (rising). But the government. …
BEGGAR. Oh yes, the Committee of the Drunkards’ Society have given you their highest distinction–that order you’ve had to pay for yourself. …
STRANGER. What about the professor?
BEGGAR. He only calls himself that; he’s no professor really, though he does give lessons. And the uniform that must have impressed you most was that of a lackey in a chancellery.
STRANGER (tearing of the wreath and the ribbon of the order). Very well! But who was the elderly man with the eyeglass?
BEGGAR. Your father-in-law!
STRANGER. Who got up this hoax?
BEGGAR. It’s no hoax, it’s quite serious. The professor came on behalf of the Society, for so they call themselves, and asked you whether you’d accept the fete. You accepted it; so it became serious!
(Two dirty-looking women carry in a dust-bin suspended from a stick and set it down on the high table.)
FIRST WOMAN. If you’re the man who makes gold, you might buy two brandies for us.
STRANGER. What’s this mean?
BEGGAR. It’s the last part of the reception; and it’s supposed to mean that gold’s mere rubbish.
STRANGER. If only that were true, rubbish could be exchanged for gold.
BEGGAR. Well, it’s only the philosophy of the Society of Drunkards. And you’ve got to take your philosophy where you find it.
SECOND WOMAN (sitting down next to the STRANGER). Do you recognise me?
STRANGER. No.
SECOND WOMAN. Oh, you needn’t be embarrassed so late in the evening as this!
STRANGER. You believe you’re one of my victims? That I was amongst the first hundred who seduced you?
SECOND WOMAN. No. It’s not what you think. But I once came across a printed paper, when I was about to be confirmed, which said that it was a duty to oneself to give way to all desires of the flesh. Well, I grew free and blossomed; and this is the fruit of my highly developed self!
STRANGER (rising). Perhaps I may go now?
WAITRESS (coming over with a bill). Yes. But the bill must be paid first.
STRANGER. What? By me? I haven’t ordered anything.
WAITRESS. I know nothing of that; but you’re the last of the company to have had anything.
STRANGER (to the BEGGAR). Is this all a part of the reception?
BEGGAR. Yes, certainly. And, as you know, everything costs money, even honour. …
STRANGER (taking a visiting card and handing it to the waitress). There’s my card. You’ll be paid to-morrow.
WAITRESS (putting the card in the dust-bin). Hm! I don’t know the name; and I’ve put a lot of such cards into the dust-bin. I want the money.
BEGGAR. Listen, madam, I’ll guarantee this man will pay.
WAITRESS. So you’d like to play tricks on me too! Officer! One moment, please.
POLICEMAN. What’s all this about? Payment, I suppose. Come to the station; we’ll arrange things there. (He writes something in his note-book.)
STRANGER. I’d rather do that than stay here and quarrel. … (To the BEGGAR.) I don’t mind a joke, but I never expected such cruel reality as this.
BEGGAR. Anything’s to be expected, once you challenge persons as powerful as you have! Let me tell you this in confidence. You’d better be prepared for worse, for the very worst!
STRANGER. To think I’ve been so duped … so …
BEGGAR. Feasts of Belshazzar always end in one way a hand’s stretched out–and writes a bill. And another hand’s laid on the guest’s shoulder and leads him to the police station! But it must be done royally!
POLICEMAN (laying his hand on the STRANGER). Have you talked enough?
THE WOMEN and RAGGED ONES. The alchemist can’t pay. Hurrah! He’s going to gaol. He’s going to gaol!
SECOND WOMAN. Yes, but it’s a shame.
STRANGER. You’re sorry for me? I thank you for that, even if I don’t quite deserve it! _You_ felt pity for me!
SECOND WOMAN. Yes. That’s also something I learnt from you.
(The scene is changed without lowering the curtain. The stage is darkened, and a medley of scenes, representing landscapes, palaces, rooms, is lowered and brought forward; so that characters and furniture are no longer seen, but the STRANGER alone remains visible and seems to be standing stiffly as though unconscious. At last even he disappears, and from the confusion a prison cell emerges.)
SCENE II
PRISON CELL
[On the right a door; and above it a barred opening, through which a ray of sunlight is shining, throwing a patch of light on the left-hand wall, where a large crucifix hangs.]
[The STRANGER, dressed in a brown cloak and wearing a hat, is sitting at the table looking at the patch of sunlight. The door is opened and the BEGGAR is let in.]
BEGGAR. What are you brooding over?
STRANGER. I’m asking myself why I’m here; and then: where I was yesterday?
BEGGAR. Where do you think?
STRANGER. It seems in hell; unless I dreamed everything.
BEGGAR. Then wake up now, for this is going to be reality.
STRANGER. Let it come. I’m only afraid of ghosts.
BEGGAR (taking out a newspaper). Firstly, the great authority has withdrawn the certificate he gave you for making gold. He says, in this paper, that you deceived him. The result is that the paper calls you a charlatan!
STRANGER. O God! What is it I’m fighting?
BEGGAR. Difficulties, like other men.
STRANGER. No, this is something else. …
BEGGAR. Your own credulity, then.
STRANGER. No, I’m not credulous, and I know I’m right.
BEGGAR. What’s the good of that, if no one else does,
STRANGER. Shall I ever get out of this prison? If I do, I’ll settle everything.
BEGGAR. The matter’s arranged; everything’s paid for.
STRANGER. Oh? Who paid, then?
BEGGAR. The Society, I suppose; or the Drunkard’s Government.
STRANGER. Then I can go?
BEGGAR. Yes. But there’s one thing. …
STRANGER. Well, what is it?
BEGGAR. Remember, an enlightened man of the world mustn’t let himself be taken by surprise.
STRANGER. I begin to divine. …
BEGGAR. The announcement’s on the front page.
STRANGER. That means: she’s already married again, and my children have a stepfather. Who is he?
BEGGAR. Whoever he is, don’t murder him; for he’s not to blame for taking in a forsaken woman.
STRANGER. My children! O God, my children!
BEGGAR. I notice you didn’t foresee what’s happened; but why not look ahead, if you’re so old and such an enlightened man of the world.
STRANGER (beside himself). O God! My children!
BEGGAR. Enlightened men of the world don’t weep! Stop it, my son. When such disasters happen men of the world … either … well, tell me. …
STRANGER. Shoot themselves!
BEGGAR. Or?
STRANGER. No, not that!
BEGGAR. Yes, my son, precisely that! He’s throwing out a sheet-anchor as an experiment.
STRANGER. This is irrevocable. Irrevocable!
BEGGAR. Yes, it is. Quite irrevocable. And you can live another lifetime, in order to contemplate your own rascality in peace.
STRANGER. You should be ashamed to talk like that.
BEGGAR. And you?
STRANGER. Have you ever seen a human destiny like mine?
BEGGAR. Well, look at mine!
STRANGER. I know nothing of yours.
BEGGAR. It’s never occurred to you, in all our long acquaintance, to ask about my affairs. You once scorned the friendship I offered you, and fell straightway into the arms of boon companions. I hope it’ll do you good. And so farewell, till the next time.
STRANGER. Don’t go.
BEGGAR. Perhaps you’d like company when you get out of prison?
STRANGER. Why not?
BEGGAR. It hasn’t occurred to you I mightn’t want to show myself in _your_ company?
STRANGER. It certainly hasn’t.
BEGGAR. But it’s true. Do you think I want to be suspected of having been at that immortal banquet in the alchemist’s honour, of which there’s an account in the morning paper?
STRANGER. He doesn’t want to be seen with me!
BEGGAR. Even a beggar has his pride and fears ridicule.
STRANGER. He doesn’t want to be seen with me. Am I then sunk to such misery?
BEGGAR. You must ask yourself that, and answer it, too.
(A mournful cradle song is heard in the distance.)
STRANGER. What’s that?
BEGGAR. A song sung by a mother at her baby’s cradle.
STRANGER. Why must I be reminded of it just now?
BEGGAR. Probably so that you can feel really keenly what you’ve left for a chimera.
STRANGER. Is it possible I could have been wrong? If so it’s the devil’s work, and I’ll lay down my arms.
BEGGAR. You’d better do that as soon as you can. …
STRANGER. Not yet! (A rosary can be heard being repeated in the distance.) What’s that? (A sustained note of a horn is heard.) That’s the unknown huntsman! (The chord from the Dead March is heard.) Where am I? (He remains where he is as if hypnotised.)
BEGGAR. Bow yourself or break!
STRANGER. I cannot bow!
BEGGAR. Then break.
(The STRANGER falls to the ground. The same confused medley of scenes as before.)
Curtain.
SCENE III
THE ‘ROSE’ ROOM
[The same scene as Act I. The kneeling Sisters of Mercy are now reading their prayer books, ‘… exules filii Evae; Ad to suspiramus et flentes In hac lacrymarum aalle.’ The MOTHER is by the door at the back; the FATHER by the door on the right.]
MOTHER (going towards him). So you’ve come back again?
FATHER (humbly). Yes.
MOTHER. Your lady-love’s left you?
RATHER. Don’t be more cruel than you need!
MOTHER. You say that to me, you who gave my wedding presents to your mistress. You, who were so dishonourable as to expect me, your wife, to choose presents for her. You, who wanted my advice about colour and cut, in order to educate her taste in dress! What do you want here?
FATHER. I heard that my daughter …
MOTHER. Your daughter’s lying there, between life and death; and you know that her feelings for you have grown hostile. That’s why I ask you to go; before she suspects your presence.
FATHER. You’re right, and I can’t answer you. But let me sit in the kitchen, for I’m tired. Very tired.
MOTHER. Where were you last night?
FATHER. At the club. But I wanted to ask you if the husband weren’t here?
MOTHER. Am I to lay bare all this misery? Don’t you know your daughter’s tragic fate?
FATHER. Yes … I do. And what a husband!
MOTHER. What men! Go downstairs now and sleep off your liquor.
FATHER. The sins of the fathers. …
MOTHER. You’re talking nonsense.
FATHER. Of course I don’t mean my sins … but those of our parents. And now they say the lake up there’s to be drained, so that the river will rise. …
MOTHER (pushing him out of the door). Silence. Misfortune will overtake us soon enough, without you calling it up.
MAID (from the bedroom at the back). The lady’s asking for the master.
MOTHER. She means her husband.
MAID. Yes. The master of the house, her husband.
MOTHER. He went out a little while ago.
(The STRANGER comes in.)
STRANGER. Has the child been born?
MOTHER. No. Not yet.
STRANGER (putting his hand to his forehead). What? Can it take so long?
MOTHER. Long? What do you mean?
STRANGER (looking about him). I don’t know what I mean. How is it with the mother?
MOTHER. She’s just the same.
STRANGER. The same?
MOTHER. Don’t you want to get back to your gold making?
STRANGER. I can’t make head or tail of it! But there’s still hope my worst dream was nothing but a dream.
MOTHER. You really look as if you were walking in your sleep.
STRANGER. Do I? Oh, I wish I were! The one thing I fear I’d fear no longer.
MOTHER. He who guides your destiny seems to know your weakest spots.
STRANGER. And when there was only one left, he found that too; happily for me only in a dream! Blind Powers! Powerless Ones!
MAID (coming in again). The lady asks you to do her a service.
STRANGER. There she lies like an electric eel, giving shocks from a distance. What kind of service is it to be now?
MAID. There’s a letter in the pocket of her green coat.
STRANGER. No good will come of that! (He takes the letter out of the green coat, which is hanging near the dress by fireplace.) I must be dead. I dreamed this, and now it’s happening. My children have a stepfather!
MOTHER. Who are you going to blame?
STRANGER. Myself! I’d rather blame no one. I’ve lost my children.
MOTHER. You’ll get a new one here.
STRANGER. He might be cruel to them. …
MOTHER. Then their sufferings will burden your conscience, if you have one.
STRANGER. Supposing he were to beat them?
MOTHER. Do you know what I’d do in your place?
STRANGER. Yes, I know what you’d do; but I don’t know what I’ll do.
MOTHER (to the Sisters of Mercy). Pray for this man!
STRANGER. No, no. Not that! It’ll do no good, and I don’t believe in prayer.
MOTHER. But you believe in your gold?
STRANGER. Not even in that. It’s over. All over!
(The MIDWIFE comes out of the bedroom.)
MIDWIFE. A child’s born. Praise the Lord!
MOTHER. Let the Lord be praised!
SISTERS. Let the Lord be praised!
MIDWIFE (to the STRANGER). Your wife’s given you daughter.
MOTHER (to the STRANGER). Don’t you want to see your child?
STRANGER. No. I no longer want to tie myself anything on earth. I’m afraid I’d get to love her, and then you’d tear the heart from my body. Let me get out of this atmosphere, which is too pure for me. Don’ t let that innocent child come near me, for I’m a man already damned, already sentenced, and for me there’s no joy, no peace, and no … forgiveness!
MOTHER. My son, now you’re speaking words of wisdom! Truthfully and without malice: I welcome your decision. There’s no place for you here, and amongst us women you’d be plagued to death. So go in peace.
STRANGER. There’ll be no more peace, but I’ll go. Farewell!
MOTHER. Exules filii Evae; on earth you shall be a fugitive and a vagabond.
STRANGER. Because I have slain my brother.
Curtain.
ACT IV
SCENE I
BANQUETING HALL
[The room in which the banquet took place in Act III. It is dirty, and furnished with unpainted wooden tables. Beggars, scavengers and loose women. Cripples are seated here and there drinking by the light of tallow dips.]
[The STRANGER and the SECOND WOMAN are sitting together drinking brandy, which stands on the table in front of them in a carafe. The STRANGER is drinking heavily.]
WOMAN. Don’t drink so much!
STRANGER. You see. You’ve scruples, too!
WOMAN. No. But I don’t like to see a man I respect lowering himself so.
STRANGER. But I came here specially to do so; to take a mud-bath that would harden my skin against the pricks of life. To find immoral support about me. And I chose your company, because you’re the most despicable, though you’ve still retained a spark of humanity. You were sorry for me, when no one else was. Not even myself! Why?
WOMAN. Really, I don’t know.
STRANGER. But you must know that there are moments when you look almost beautiful.
WOMAN. Oh, listen to him!
STRANGER. Yes. And then you resemble a woman who was dear to me.
WOMAN. Thank you!
WAITRESS. Don’t talk so loud, there’s a sick man here.
STRANGER. Tell me, have you ever been in love?
WOMAN. We don’t use that word, but I know what you mean. Yes. I had a lover once and we had a child.
STRANGER. That was foolish!
WOMAN. I thought so, too, but he said the days liberation were at hand, when all chains would he struck off, all barriers thrown down, and …
STRANGER (tortured). And then …?
WOMAN. Then he left me.
STRANGER. He was a scoundrel. (He drinks.)
WOMAN (looking at him.) You think so?
STRANGER. Yes. He must have been.
WOMAN. Now you’re so intolerant.
STRANGER (drinking). Am I?
WOMAN. Don’t drink so much; I want to see you far above me, otherwise you can’t raise me up.
STRANGER. What illusions you must have! Childish! I lift you up! I who am down below. Yet I’m not; it’s not I who sit here, for I’m dead. I know that my soul’s far away, far, far away. … (He stares in front of him with an absent-minded air) … where a great lake lies in the sunshine like molten gold; where roses blossom on the wall amongst the vines; where a white cot stands under the acacias. But the child’s asleep and the mother’s sitting beside the cot doing crochet work. There’s a long, long strip coming from her mouth and on the strip is written … wait … ‘Blessed are the sorrowful, for they shall be comforted.’ But that’s not so, really. I shall never be comforted. Tell me, isn’t there thunder in the air, it’s so close, so hot?
WOMAN (looking out of the window). No. I can see no clouds out there. …
STRANGER. Strange … that’s lightning.
WOMAN. No. You’re wrong.
STRANGER. One, two, three, four, five … now the thunder must come! But it doesn’t. I’ve never been frightened of a thunderstorm until to-day–I mean, until to-night. But is it day or night?
WOMAN. My dear, it’s night.
STRANGER. Yes. It _is_ night.
(The DOCTOR has come in during this scene and has sat down behind