A Dream Play

The background represents cloud banks that resemble corroding slate cliffs with ruins of castles and fortresses.

The constellations of Leo, Virgo, and Libra are visible, and from their midst the planet Jupiter is shining with a strong light.

THE DAUGHTER OF INDRA stands on the topmost cloud.

THE VOICE OF INDRA [from above].

Where are you, daughter, where?

THE DAUGHTER.

Here, father, here.

THE VOICE.

You've lost your way, my child---beware, you sink---How got you there?

THE DAUGHTER.

I followed from ethereal heights the ray
Of lightning, and for car a cloud I took---
It sank, and now my journey downward tends.
O, noble father, Indra, tell what realms
I now draw near? The air is here so close,
And breathing difficult.

THE VOICE.

Behind you lies the second world; the third
Is where you stand. From Cukra, morning star
You have withdrawn yourself to enter soon
The vapoury circle of the earth. For mark
The Seventh House you take. It's Libra called:
There stands the day-star in the balanced hour
When Fall gives equal weight to night and day.

THE DAUGHTER.

You named the earth---is that the ponderous world
And dark, that from the moon must take its light?

THE VOICE.

It is the heaviest and densest sphere
Of all that travel through the space.

THE DAUGHTER.

And is it never brightened by the sun?

THE VOICE.

Of course, the sun does reach it---now and then---

THE DAUGHTER.

There is a rift, and downward goes my glance------

THE VOICE.

What sees my child?

THE DAUGHTER.

I see---O beautiful!---with forests green,
With waters blue, white peaks, and yellow fields

THE VOICE.

Yes, beautiful as all that Brahma made---
But still more beautiful it was of yore,
In primal morn of ages. Then occurred
Some strange mishap; the orbit was disturbed;
Rebellion led to crime that called for check------

THE DAUGHTER.

Now from below I hear some sounds arise---
What sort of race is dwelling there?

THE VOICE.

See for yourself---Of Brahma's work no ill
I say: but what you hear, it is their speech.

THE DAUGHTER.

It sounds as if---it has no happy ring!

THE VOICE.

I fear me not---for even their mother-tongue
Is named complaint. A race most hard to please,
And thankless, are the dwellers on the earth

THE DAUGHTER.

O, say not so---for I hear cries of joy,
Hear noise and thunder, see the lightnings flash---
Now bells are ringing, fires are lit,
And thousand upon thousand tongues
Sing praise and thanks unto the heavens on high---
Too harshly, father, you are judging them.

THE VOICE.

Descend, that you may see and hear, and then
Return and let me know if their complaints
And wailings have some reasonable ground------

THE DAUGHTER.

Well then, I go; but, father, come with me.

THE VOICE.

No, there below I cannot breathe------

THE DAUGHTER.

Now sinks the cloud---what sultriness---I choke!
I am not breathing air, but smoke and steam---
With heavy weight it drags me down,
And I can feel already how it rolls---
Indeed, the best of worlds is not the third

THE VOICE.

The best I cannot call it, nor the worst.
Its name is Dust; and like them all, it rolls:
And therefore dizzy sometimes grows the race,
And seems to be half foolish and half mad---
Take courage, child---a trial, that is all!

THE DAUGHTER. [Kneeling as the cloud sinks downward]

I sink!

Curtain.

The background represents a forest of gigantic hollyhocks in bloom. They are white, pink, crimson, sulphureous, violet; and above their tops is seen the gilded roof of a castle, the apex of which is formed by a bud resembling a crown. At the foot of the castle walls stand a number of straw ricks, and around these stable litter is scattered. The side-scenes, which remain unchanged throughout the play, show conventionalised frescoes, suggesting at once internal decoration, architecture, and landscape.

Enter THE GLAZIER. and THE DAUGHTER.

THE DAUGHTER. The castle is growing higher and higher above the ground. Do you see how much it has grown since last year?

THE GLAZIER. [To himself] I have never seen this castle before---have never heard of a castle that grew, but---[To THE DAUGHTER, with firm conviction] Yes, it has grown two yards, but that is because they have manured it---and it you notice, it has put out a wing on the sunny side.

THE DAUGHTER. Ought it not to be blooming soon, as we are already past midsummer?

THE GLAZIER. Don't you see the flower up there?

THE DAUGHTER. Yes, I see! [Claps her hands] Say, father, why do flowers grow out of dirt?

THE GLAZIER, [Simply] Because they do not feel at home in the dirt, and so they make haste to get up into the light in order to blossom and die.

THE DAUGHTER. Do you know who lives in that castle?

THE GLAZIER. I have known it, but cannot remember.

THE DAUGHTER. I believe a prisoner is kept there---and he must be waiting for me to set him free.

THE GLAZIER. And what is he to pay for it?

THE DAUGHTER. One does not bargain about one's duty. Let us go into the castle.

THE GLAZIER. Yes, let us go in.

They go toward the background, which opens and slowly disappears to either side.

The stage shows now a humble, bare room, containing only a table and a few chairs. On one of the chairs sits an officer, dressed in a very unusual yet modern uniform. He is tilting the chair backward and beating the table with his sabre.

THE DAUGHTER. [Goes to the officer, from whose hand she gently takes the sabre] Don't! Don't!

THE OFFICER. Oh, Agnes dear, let me keep the sabre.

THE DAUGHTER. No, you break the table. [To THE GLAZIER.] Now you go down to the harness-room and fix that window pane. We'll meet later.

[THE GLAZIER goes out.

THE DAUGHTER. You are imprisoned in your own rooms---I have come to set you free.

THE OFFICER. I have been waiting for you, but I was not sure you were willing to do it.

THE DAUGHTER. The castle is strongly built; it has seven walls, but---it can be done!---Do you want it, or do you not?

THE OFFICER. Frankly speaking, I cannot tell---for in either case I shall suffer pain. Every joy that life brings has to be paid for with twice its measure of sorrow. It is hard to stay where I am, but if I buy the sweets of freedom, then I shall have to suffer twice as much---Agnes, I'll rather endure it as it is, if I can only see you.

THE DAUGHTER. What do you see in me?

THE OFFICER. Beauty, which is the harmony of the universe---There are lines of your body which are nowhere to be found, except in the orbits of the solar system, in strings that are singing softly, or in the vibrations of light---You are a child of heaven------

THE DAUGHTER. So are you.

THE OFFICER. Why must I then keep horses, tend stable, and cart straw?

THE DAUGHTER. So that you may long to get away from here.

THE OFFICER. I am longing, but it is so hard to find one's way out.

THE DAUGHTER. But it is a duty to seek freedom in the light.

THE OFFICER. Duty? Life has never recognised any duties toward me.

THE DAUGHTER. You feel yourself wronged by life?

THE OFFICER. Yes, it has been unjust------

Now voices are heard from behind a 'partition, which a moment later is pulled away. THE OFFICER and THE DAUGHTER look in that direction and stop as if paralysed in the midst of a gesture.

At a table sits THE MOTHER, looking very sick. In front of her a tallow candle is burning, and every little while she trims it with, a pair of snuffers. The table is piled with new-made shirts, and these she is marking with a quill and ink. To the left stands a brown-coloured wardrobe.

THE FATHER. [Holds out a silk mantilla toward THE MOTHER and says gently] You don't want it?

THE MOTHER. A silk mantilla for me, my dear---of what use would that be when I am going to die shortly?

THE FATHER. Do you believe what the doctor says?

THE MOTHER. Yes, I believe also what he says, but still more what the voice says in here.

THE FATHER. [Sadly] It is true then?---And you are thinking of your children first and last.

THE MOTHER. That has been my life and my reason for living---my joy and my sorrow

THE FATHER. Christine, forgive me---everything!

THE MOTHER. What have I to forgive? Dearest, you forgive me! We have been tormenting each other. Why? That we may not know. We couldn't do anything else---However, here is the new linen for the children. See that they change twice a week---Wednesdays and Sundays---and that Louise washes them---their whole bodies---Are you going out?

THE FATHER. I have to be in the Department at eleven o'clock.

THE MOTHER. Ask Alfred to come in before you go.

THE FATHER. [Pointing to THE OFFICER] Why, he is standing right there, dear heart.

THE MOTHER. So my eyes are failing, too---Yes, it is turning dark. [Trims the candle] Come here, Alfred.

THE FATHER goes out through the middle of the wall, nodding good-bye as he leaves.

THE OFFICER goes over to THE MOTHER.

THE MOTHER. Who is that girl?

THE OFFICER, [Whispers] It is Agnes.

THE MOTHER. Oh, is that Agnes?---Do you know what they say?---That she is a daughter of the god Indra who has asked leave to descend to the earth in order that she may find out what the conditions of men are---But don't say anything about it.

THE OFFICER. A child of the gods, indeed!

THE MOTHER. [Aloud] My Alfred, I must soon part from you and from the other children---But let me first speak a word to you that bears on all the rest of your life.

THE OFFICER. [Sadly] Speak, mother.

THE MOTHER. Only a word: don't quarrel with God!

THE OFFICER. What do you mean, mother?

THE MOTHER. Don't go around feeling that life has wronged you.

THE OFFICER. But when I am treated unjustly------

THE MOTHER. You are thinking of the time when you were unjustly punished for having taken a penny that later turned up?

THE OFFICER. Yes, and that one wrong gave a false twist to my whole life------

THE MOTHER. Perhaps. But please take a look into that wardrobe now------

THE OFFICER. [Embarrassed] You know, then? It is------

THE MOTHER. The Swiss Family Robinson---for which------

THE OFFICER. Don't say any more!

THE MOTHER. For which your brother was punished---and which you had torn and hidden away.

THE OFFICER. Just think that the old wardrobe is still standing there after twenty years---We have moved so many times, and my mother died ten years ago.

THE MOTHER. Yes, and what of it? You are always asking all sorts of questions, and in that way you spoil the better part of your life---There is Lena, now.

LENA. [Enters] Thank you very much, ma'am, but I can't go to the baptism.

THE MOTHER. And why not, my girl?

LENA. I have nothing to put on.

THE MOTHER. I'll let you use my mantilla here

LENA. Oh, no, ma'am, that wouldn't do!

THE MOTHER. Why not?---It is not likely that I'll go to any more parties.

THE OFFICER. And what will father say? It is a present from him------

THE MOTHER. What small minds------

THE FATHER. [Puts his head through the wall] Are you going to lend my present to the servant girl?

THE MOTHER. Don't talk that way! Can you not remember that I was a servant girl also? Why should you offend one who has done nothing?

THE FATHER. Why should you offend me, your husband?

THE MOTHER. Oh, this life! If you do anything nice, there is always somebody who finds it nasty. If you act kindly to one, it hurts another. Oh, this life!

She trims the candle so that it goes out. The stage turns dark and the partition is pushed back to its former position.

THE DAUGHTER. Men are to be pitied.

THE OFFICER. You think so?

THE DAUGHTER. Yes, life is hard---but love overcomes everything. You shall see for yourself.

[They go toward the background.

The background is raised and a new one revealed, showing an old, dilapidated party-wall. In the centre of it is a gate closing a passageway. This opens upon a green, sunlit space, where is seen a tremendous blue monk's-hood (aconite). To the left of the gate sits THE PORTRESS. Her head and shoulders are covered by a shawl, and she is crocheting at a bed-spread with a star-like pattern. To the right of the gate is a billboard, which THE BILLPOSTER is cleaning. Beside him stands a dipnet with a green pole. Further to the right is a door that has an air-hole shaped like a four-leaved clover. To the left of the gate stands a small linden tree with coal-black trunk and a few pale-green leaves. Near it is a small air-hole leading into a cellar.[[1]]

THE DAUGHTER. [Going to THE PORTRESS] Is the spread not done yet?

THE PORTRESS. No, dear. Twenty-six years on such a piece of work is not much.

THE DAUGHTER. And your lover never came back?

THE PORTRESS. No, but it was not his fault. He had to go---poor thing! That was thirty years ago now.

THE DAUGHTER. [To THE BILLPOSTER] She belonged to the ballet? Up there in the opera-house?

THE BILLPOSTER. She was number one---but when he went, it was as if her dancing had gone with him---and so she didn't get any more parts.

THE DAUGHTER. Everybody complains---with their eyes, at least, and often with words also------

THE BILLPOSTER. I don't complain very much---not now, since I have a dipnet and a green cauf------

THE DAUGHTER. And that can make you happy?

THE BILLPOSTER. Oh, I'm so happy, so---It was the dream of my youth, and now it has come true. Of course, I have grown to be fifty years------

THE DAUGHTER. Fifty years for a dipnet and a cauf------

THE BILLPOSTER. A green cauf---mind you, green------

THE DAUGHTER. [To THE PORTRESS] Let me have the shawl now, and I shall sit here and watch the human children. But you must stand behind me and tell me about everything.

[She takes the shawl and sits down at the gate.

THE PORTRESS. This is the last day, and the house will be closed up for the season. This is the day when they learn whether their contracts are to be renewed.

THE DAUGHTER. And those that fail of engagement------

THE PORTRESS. O, Lord have mercy! I pull the shawl over my head not to see them.

THE DAUGHTER. Poor human creatures!

THE PORTRESS. Look, here comes one---She's not one of the chosen. See, how she cries.

THE SINGER enters from the right; rushes through the gate with her handkerchief to her eyes; stops for a moment in the passageway beyond the gate and leans her head against the wall; then out quickly.

THE DAUGHTER. Men are to be pitied!

THE PORTRESS. But look at this one. That's the way a happy person looks.

THE OFFICER enters through the passageway; dressed in Prince Albert coat and high hat, and carrying a bunch of roses in one hand; he is radiantly happy.

THE PORTRESS. He's going to marry Miss Victoria.

THE OFFICER. [Far down on the stage, looks up and sings] Victoria!

THE PORTRESS. The young lady will be coming in a moment.

THE OFFICER. Good! The carriage is waiting, the table is set, the wine is on ice---Oh, permit me to embrace you, ladies! [He embraces THE PORTRESS and THE DAUGHTER. Sings] Victoria!

A WOMAN'S VOICE FROM ABOVE. [Sings] I am here!

THE DAUGHTER. Do you know me?

THE OFFICER. No, I know one woman only---Victoria. Seven years I have come here to wait for her---at noon, when the sun touched the chimneys, and at night, when it was growing dark. Look at the asphalt here, and you will see the path worn by the steps of a faithful lover. Hooray! She is mine. [Sings] Victoria! [There is no reply] Well, she is dressing, I suppose. [To THE BILLPOSTER] There is the dipnet, I see. Everybody belonging to the opera is crazy about dipnets---or rather about fishes---because the fishes are dumb and cannot sing!---What is the price of a thing like that?

THE BILLPOSTER. It is rather expensive.

THE OFFICER. [Sings] Victoria! [Shakes the linden tree] Look, it is turning green once more. For the eighth time. [Sings] Victoria!---Now she is fixing her hair. [To THE DAUGHTER] Look here, madam, could I not go up and get my bride?

THE PORTRESS. Nobody is allowed on the stage.

THE OFFICER. Seven years I have been coming here. Seven times three hundred and sixty-five makes two thousand five hundred and fifty-five. [Stops and pokes at the door with the four-leaved clover hole] And I have been looking two thousand five hundred and fifty-five times at that door without discovering where it leads. And that clover leaf which is to let in light---for whom is the light meant? Is there anybody within? Does anybody live there?

THE PORTRESS. I don't know. I have never seen it opened.

THE OFFICER. It looks like a pantry door which I saw once when I was only four years old and went visiting with the maid on a Sunday afternoon. We called at several houses---on other maids---but I did not get beyond the kitchen anywhere, and I had to sit between the water barrel and the salt box. I have seen so many kitchens in my days, and the pantry was always just outside, with small round holes bored in the door, and one big hole like a clover leaf---But there cannot be any pantry in the opera-house as they have no kitchen. [Sings] Victoria!---Tell me, madam, could she have gone out any other way?

THE PORTRESS. No, there is no other way.

THE OFFICER. Well, then I shall see her here.

STAGE PEOPLE rush out and are closely watched by THE OFFICER as they pass.

THE OFFICER. Now she must soon be coming---Madam, that blue monk's-hood outside---I have seen it since I was a child. Is it the same?---I remember it from a country rectory where I stopped when I was seven years old---There are two doves, two blue doves, under the hood---but that time a bee came flying and went into the hood. Then I thought: now I have you! And I grabbed hold of the flower. But the sting of the bee went through it, and I cried---but then the rector's wife came and put damp dirt on the sting---and we had strawberries and cream for dinner---I think it is getting dark already. [To THE BILLPOSTER] Where are you going?

THE BILLPOSTER. Home for supper.

THE OFFICER. [Draws his hand across his eyes] Evening? At this time?---O, please, may I go in and telephone to the Growing Castle?

THE DAUGHTER. What do you want there?

THE OFFICER. I am going to tell the Glazier to put in double windows, for it will soon be winter, and I am feeling horribly cold. [Goes into the gatekeeper's lodge.

THE DAUGHTER. Who is Miss Victoria?

THE PORTRESS. His sweetheart.

THE DAUGHTER. Right said! What she is to us and others matters nothing to him. And what she is to him, that alone is her real self.

It is suddenly turning dark.

THE PORTRESS. [Lights a lantern] It is growing dark early to-day.

THE DAUGHTER. To the gods a year is as a minute.

THE PORTRESS. And to men a minute may be as long as a year.

THE OFFICER. [Enters again, looking dusty; the roses are withered] She has not come yet?

THE PORTRESS. No.

THE OFFICER. But she will come---She will come! [Walks up and down] But come to think of it, perhaps I had better call off the dinner after all---as it is late? Yes, I will do that.

[Goes back into the lodge and telephones.

THE PORTRESS. [To THE DAUGHTER] Can I have my shawl back now?

THE DAUGHTER. No, dear, be free a while. I shall attend to your duties---for I want to study men and life, and see whether things really are as bad as they say.

THE PORTRESS. But it won't do to fall asleep here---never sleep night or day------

THE DAUGHTER. No sleep at night?

THE PORTRESS. Yes, if you are able to get it, but only with the bell string tied around the wrist---for there are night watchmen on the stage, and they have to be relieved every third hour.

THE DAUGHTER. But that is torture!

THE PORTRESS. So you think, but people like us are glad enough to get such a job, and if you only knew how envied I am------

THE DAUGHTER. Envied?---Envy for the tortured?

THE PORTRESS. Yes---But I can tell you what is harder than all drudging and keeping awake nights, harder to bear than draught and cold and dampness---it is to receive the confidences of all the unhappy people up there---They all come to me. Why? Perhaps they read in the wrinkles of my face some runes that are graved by suffering and that invite confessions---In that shawl, dear, lie hidden thirty years of my own and other people's agonies.

THE DAUGHTER. It is heavy, and it burns like nettles.

THE PORTRESS. As it is your wish, you may wear it. When it grows too burdensome, call me, and I shall relieve you.

THE DAUGHTER. Good-bye. What can be done by you ought not to surpass my strength.

THE PORTRESS. We shall see!---But be kind to my poor friends, and don't grow impatient of their complaints.

[She disappears through the passageway. Complete darkness covers the stage, and while it lasts the scene is changed so that the linden tree appears stripped of all its leaves. Soon the blue monk's-hood is withered, and when the light returns, the verdure in the open space beyond the passageway has changed into autumnal brown.

THE OFFICER. [Enters when it is light again. He has gray hair and a gray beard. His clothes are shabby, his collar is soiled and wrinkled. Nothing but the bare stems remain of the bunch of roses. He walks to and fro] To judge by all signs, Summer is gone and Fall has come. The linden shows it, and the monk's-hood also. [Walks] But the Fall is my Spring, for then the opera begins again, and then she must come. Please, madam, may I sit down a little on this chair?

THE DAUGHTER. Yes, sit down, friend---I am able to stand.

THE OFFICER. [Sits down] If I could only get some sleep, then I should feel better---[He falls asleep for a few moments. Then he jumps up and walks back and forth again. Stops at last in front of the door with the clover leaf and pokes at] This door here will not leave me any peace---what is behind it? There must be something. [Faint dance music is heard from above] Oh, now the rehearsals have begun. [The light goes out and flares up again, repeating this rhythmically as the rays of a lighthouse come and go] What does this mean? [Speaking in time with the blinkings of the light] Light and dark---light and dark?

THE DAUGHTER. [Imitating him] Night and day---night and day! A merciful Providence wants to shorten your wait. Therefore the days are flying in hot pursuit of the nights.

The light shines unbrokenly once more.

THE BILLPOSTER enters with his dipnet and his implements.

THE OFFICER. There is the Billposter with his dipnet. Was the fishing good?

THE BILLPOSTER. I should say so. The Summer was hot and a little long---the net turned out pretty good, but not as I had expected.

THE OFFICER. [With emphasis] Not as I had expected!---That is well said. Nothing ever was as I expected it to be---because the thought is more than the deed, more than the thing.

Walks to and fro, striking at the wall with the rose stems so that the last few leaves fall off.

THE BILLPOSTER. Has she not come down yet?

THE OFFICER. Not yet, but she will soon be here---Do you know what is behind that door, Billposter?

THE BILLPOSTER. No, I have never seen that door open yet.

THE OFFICER. I am going to telephone for a locksmith to come and open it. [Goes into the lodge.

[THE BILLPOSTER posts a bill and goes toward the right.

THE DAUGHTER. What is the matter with the dipnet?

THE BILLPOSTER. Matter? Well, I don't know as there is anything the matter with it---but it just didn't turn out as I had expected, and the pleasure of it was not so much after all.

THE DAUGHTER. How did you expect it to be?

THE BILLPOSTER. How?---Well, I couldn't tell exactly------

THE DAUGHTER. I can tell you! You had expected it to be what it was not. It had to be green, but not that kind of green.

THE BILLPOSTER. You have it, madam. You understand it all---and that is why everybody goes to you with his worries. If you would only listen to me a little also------

THE DAUGHTER. Of course, I will!---Come in to me and pour out your heart. [She goes into the lodge.

[THE BILLPOSTER remains outside, speaking to her. The stage is darkened again. When the light is turned on, the tree has resumed its leaves, the monk's-hood is blooming once more, and the sun is shining on the green space beyond the passageway.

THE OFFICER enters. Now he is old and white-haired, ragged, and wearing worn-out shoes. He carries the bare remnants of the rose stems. Walks to and fro slowly, with the gait of an aged man. Reads on the posted bill.

A BALLET GIRL comes in from the right.

THE OFFICER. Is Miss Victoria gone?

THE BALLET GIRL. No, she has not gone yet.

THE OFFICER. Then I shall wait. She will be coming soon, don't you think?

THE BALLET GIRL. Oh, yes, I am sure.

THE OFFICER. Don't go away now, for I have sent word to the locksmith, so you will soon see what is behind that door.

THE BALLET GIRL. Oh, it will be awfully interesting to see that door opened. That door, there, and the Growing Castle---have you heard of the Growing Castle?

THE OFFICER. Have I?---I have been a prisoner in it.

THE BALLET GIRL. No, was that you? But why do they keep such a lot of horses there?

THE OFFICER. Because it is a stable castle, don't you know.

THE BALLET GIRL. [With confusion] How stupid of me not to guess that!

A MALE CHORUS SINGER enters from the right.

THE OFFICER. Has Miss Victoria gone yet?

THE CHORUS SINGER. [Earnestly] No, she has not. She never goes away.

THE OFFICER. That is because she loves me---See here, don't go before the locksmith comes to open the door here.

THE CHORUS SINGER. No, is the door going to be opened? Well, that will be fun!---I just want to ask the Portress something.

THE PROMPTER enters from the right.

THE OFFICER. Is Miss Victoria gone yet?

THE PROMPTER. Not that I know of.

THE OFFICER. Now, didn't I tell you she was waiting for me!---Don't go away, for the door is going to be opened.

THE PROMPTER. Which door?

THE OFFICER. Is there more than one door?

THE PROMPTER. Oh, I know---that one with the clover leaf. Well, then I have got to stay---I am only going to have a word with the Portress.

THE BALLET GIRL, THE CHORUS SINGER, and THE PROMPTER gather beside THE BILLPOSTER in front of the lodge window and talk by turns to THE DAUGHTER.

THE GLAZIER. enters through the gate.

THE OFFICER. Are you the locksmith?

THE GLAZIER. No, the locksmith had visitors, and a glazier will do just as well.

THE OFFICER. Yes, of course, of course---but did you bring your diamond along?

THE GLAZIER. Why, certainly!---A glazier without his diamond, what would that be?

THE OFFICER. Nothing at all!---Let us get to work then.

[Claps his hands together.

ALL gather in a ring around the door.

Male members of the chorus dressed as Master Singers and Ballet Girls in costumes from the opera "Aïda" enter from the right and join the rest.

THE OFFICER. Locksmith---or glazier---do your duty!

THE GLAZIER goes up to the door with the diamond in his hand.

THE OFFICER. A moment like this will not occur twice in a man's life. For this reason, my friends, I ask you---please consider carefully------

A POLICEMAN. [Enters] In the name of the law, I forbid the opening of that door!

THE OFFICER. Oh, Lord! What a fuss there is as soon as anybody wants to do anything new or great. But we will take the matter into court---let us go to the Lawyer. Then we shall see whether the laws still exist or not---Come along to the Lawyer.

Without lowering of the curtain, the stage changes to a lawyer's office, and in this manner. The gate remains, but as a wicket in the railing running clear across the stage. The gatekeeper's lodge turns into the private enclosure of the Lawyer, and it is now entirely open to the front. The linden, leafless, becomes a hat tree. The billboard is covered with legal notices and court decisions. The door with the four-leaved clover hole forms part of a document chest.

THE LAWYER, in evening dress and white necktie, is found sitting to the left, inside the gate, and in front of him stands a desk covered with papers. His appearance indicates enormous sufferings. His face is chalk-white and full of wrinkles, and its shadows have a purple effect. He is ugly, and his features seem to reflect all the crimes and vices with which he has been forced by his profession to come into contact.

Of his two clerks, one has lost an arm, the other an eye.

The people gathered to witness "the opening of the door" remain as before, bid they appear now to be waiting for an audience with the Lawyer. Judging by their attitudes, one would think they had been standing there forever.

THE DAUGHTER, still wearing the shawl, and THE OFFICER are near the footlights.

THE LAWYER. [Goes over to THE DAUGHTER] Tell me, sister, can I have that shawl? I shall keep it here until I have a fire in my grate, and then I shall burn it with all its miseries and sorrows.

THE DAUGHTER. Not yet, brother. I want it to hold all it possibly can, and I want it above all to take up your agonies ---all the confidences you have received about crime, vice, robbery, slander, abuse------

THE LAWYER. My dear girl, for such a purpose your shawl would prove totally insufficient. Look at these walls. Does it not look as if the wall-paper itself had been soiled by every conceivable sin? Look at these documents into which I write tales of wrong. Look at myself---No smiling man ever comes here; nothing is to be seen here but angry glances, snarling lips, clenched fists---And everybody pours his anger, his envy, his suspicions, upon me. Look---my hands are black, and no washing will clean them. See how they are chapped and bleeding---I can never wear my clothes more than a few days because they smell of other people's crimes---At times I have the place fumigated with sulphur, but it does not help. I sleep near by, and I dream of nothing but crimes---Just now I have a murder case in court---oh, I can stand that, but do you know what is worse than anything else?---That is to separate married people! Then it is as if something cried way down in the earth and up there in the sky---as if it cried treason against the primal force, against the source of all good, against love---And do you know, when reams of paper have been filled with mutual accusations, and at last a sympathetic person takes one of the two apart and asks, with a pinch of the ear or a smile, the simple question: what have you really got against your husband?---or your wife?---then he, or she, stands perplexed and cannot give the cause. Once---well, I think a lettuce salad was the principal issue; another time it was just a word---mostly it is nothing at all. But the tortures, the sufferings---these I have to bear---See how I look! Do you think I could ever win a woman's love with this countenance so like a criminal's? Do you think anybody dares to be friendly with me, who has to collect all the debts, all the money obligations, of the whole city?---It is a misery to be man!

THE DAUGHTER. Men are to be pitied!

THE LAWYER. They are. And what people are living on puzzles me. They marry on an income of two thousand, when they need four thousand. They borrow, of course---everybody borrows. In some sort of happy-go-lucky fashion, by the skin of their teeth, they manage to pull through---and thus it continues to the end, when the estate is found to be bankrupt. Who pays for it at last no one can tell.

THE DAUGHTER. Perhaps He who feeds the birds.

THE LAWYER. Perhaps. But if He who feeds the birds would only pay a visit to this earth of His and see for Himself how the poor human creatures fare---then His heart would surely fill with compassion.

THE DAUGHTER. Men are to be pitied!

THE LAWYER. Yes, that is the truth!---[To THE OFFICER] What do you want?

THE OFFICER. I just wanted to ask if Miss Victoria has gone yet.

THE LAWYER. No, she has not; you can be sure of it---Why are you poking at my chest over there?

THE OFFICER. I thought the door of it looked exactly------

THE LAWYER. Not at all! Not at all!

All the church bells begin to ring.

THE OFFICER. Is there going to be a funeral?

THE LAWYER. No, it is graduation day---a number of degrees will be conferred, and I am going to be made a Doctor of Laws. Perhaps you would also like to be graduated and receive a laurel wreath?

THE OFFICER. Yes, why not. That would be a diversion, at least.

THE LAWYER. Perhaps then we may begin upon this solemn function at once---But you had better go home and change your clothes.

[THE OFFICER goes out.

The stage is darkened and the following changes are made. The railing stays, but it encloses now the chancel of a church. The billboard displays hymn numbers. The linden hat tree becomes a candelabrum. The Lawyer's desk is turned into the desk of the presiding functionary, and the door with the clover leaf leads to the vestry.

The chorus of Master Singers become heralds with staffs, and the Ballet Girls carry laurel wreaths. The rest of the people act as spectators.

The background is raised, and the new one thus discovered represents a large church organ, with the keyboards below and the organist's mirror above.

Music is heard. At the sides stand figures symbolising the four academic faculties: Philosophy, Theology, Medicine, and Jurisprudence.

At first the stage is empty for a few moments.

HERALDS enter from the right.

BALLET GIRLS follow with laurel wreaths carried high before them.

THREE GRADUATES appear one after another from the left, receive their wreaths from the BALLET GIRLS, and go out to the right.

THE LAWYER steps forward to get his wreath.

The BALLET GIRLS turn away from him and refuse to place the wreath on his head. Then they withdraw from the stage.

THE LAWYER, shocked, leans against a column. All the others withdraw gradually until only THE LAWYER remains on the stage.

THE DAUGHTER. [Enters, her head and shoulders covered by a white veil] Do you see, I have washed the shawl! But why are you standing there? Did you get your wreath?

THE LAWYER. No, I was not held worthy.

THE DAUGHTER. Why? Because you have defended the poor, put in a good word for the wrong-doing, made the burden easier for the guilty, obtained a respite for the condemned? Woe upon men: they are not angels---but they are to be pitied!

THE LAWYER. Say nothing evil of men---for after all it is my task to voice their side.

THE DAUGHTER. [Leaning against the organ] Why do they strike their friends in the face?

THE LAWYER. They know no better.

THE DAUGHTER. Let us enlighten them. Will you try? Together with me?

THE LAWYER. They do not accept enlightenment---Oh, that our plaint might reach the gods of heaven!

THE DAUGHTER. It shall reach the throne---[Turns toward the organ] Do you know what I see in this mirror?---The world turned the right way!---Yes indeed, for naturally we see it upside down.

THE LAWYER. How did it come to be turned the wrong way?

THE DAUGHTER. When the copy was taken------

THE LAWYER. You have said it! The copy---I have always had the feeling that it was a spoiled copy. And when I began to recall the original images, I grew dissatisfied with everything. But men called it soreheadedness, looking at the world through the devil's eyes, and other such things.

THE DAUGHTER. It is certainly a crazy world! Look at the four faculties here. The government, to which has fallen the task of preserving society, supports all four of them. Theology, the science of God, is constantly attacked and ridiculed by philosophy, which declares itself to be the sum of all wisdom. And medicine is always challenging philosophy, while refusing entirely to count theology a science and even insisting on calling it a mere superstition. And they belong to a common Academic Council, which has been set to teach the young respect---for the university. It is a bedlam. And woe unto him who first recovers his reason!

THE LAWYER. Those who find it out first are the theologians. As a preparatory study, they take philosophy, which teaches them that theology is nonsense. Later they learn from theology that philosophy is nonsense. Madmen, I should say!

THE DAUGHTER. And then there is jurisprudence which serves all but the servants.

THE LAWYER. Justice, which, when it wants to do right, becomes the undoing of men. Equity, which so often turns into iniquity!

THE DAUGHTER. What a mess you have made of it, you man-children. Children, indeed!---Come here, and I will give you a wreath---one that is more becoming to you. [Puts a crown of thorns on his head] And now I will play for you.

She sits down at the keyboards, but instead of organ-notes human voices are heard.

VOICES OF CHILDREN. O Lord everlasting!

[Last note sustained.

VOICES OF WOMEN. Have mercy upon us!

[Last note sustained.

VOICES OF MEN. [Tenors] Save us for Thy mercy's sake!

[Last note sustained.

VOICES OF MEN. [Basses] Spare Thy children, O Lord, and deliver us from Thy wrath!

ALL. Have mercy upon us! Hear us! Have pity upon the mortals!---? O Lord eternal, why art Thou afar?---Out of the depths we call unto Thee: Make not the burden of Thy children too heavy! Hear us! Hear us!

The stage turns dark. THE DAUGHTER rises and draws close to THE LAWYER. By a change of light, the organ becomes Fingal's Cave. The ground-swell of the ocean, which can be seen rising and falling between the columns of basalt, produces a deep harmony that blends the music of winds and waves.

THE LAWYER. Where are we, sister?

THE DAUGHTER. What do you hear?

THE LAWYER. I hear drops falling------

THE DAUGHTER. Those are the tears that men are weeping---What more do you hear?

THE LAWYER. There is sighing---and whining---and wailing------

THE DAUGHTER. Hither the plaint of the mortals has reached---and no farther. But why this never-ending wailing? Is there then nothing in life to rejoice at?

THE LAWYER. Yes, what is most sweet, and what is also most bitter---love---wife and home---the highest and the lowest!

THE DAUGHTER. May I try it?

THE LAWYER. With me?

THE DAUGHTER. With you---You know the rocks, the stumbling-stones. Let us avoid them.

THE LAWYER. I am so poor.

THE DAUGHTER. What does that matter if we only love each other? And a little beauty costs nothing.

THE LAWYER. I have dislikes which may prove your likes.

THE DAUGHTER. They can be adjusted.

THE LAWYER. And if we tire of it?

THE DAUGHTER. Then come the children and bring with them a diversion that remains for ever new.

THE LAWYER. You, you will take me, poor and ugly, scorned and rejected?

THE DAUGHTER. Yes---let us unite our destinies.

THE LAWYER. So be it then!

Curtain.

Though the author says nothing about it here, subsequent stage directions indicate a door and a window behind the place occupied by THE PORTRESS. Both lead into her room or lodge, which contains a telephone.

A floating wooden box with holes in it used to hold fish.

An extremely plain room inside THE LAWYER's office. To the right, a big double bed covered by a canopy and curtained in. Next to it, a window. To the left, an iron heater with cooking utensils on top of it. CHRISTINE is pasting paper strips along the cracks of the double windows. In the background, an open door to the office. Through the door are visible a number of poor clients waiting for admission.

CHRISTINE. I paste, I paste.

THE DAUGHTER. [Pale and emaciated, sits by the stove] You shut out all the air. I choke!

CHRISTINE. Now there is only one little crack left.

THE DAUGHTER. Air, air---I cannot breathe!

CHRISTINE. I paste, I paste.

THE LAWYER. That's right, Christine! Heat is expensive.

THE DAUGHTER. Oh, it feels as if my lips were being glued together.

THE LAWYER. [Standing in the doorway, with a paper in his hand] Is the child asleep?

THE DAUGHTER. Yes, at last.

THE LAWYER. [Gently] All this crying scares away my clients.

THE DAUGHTER. [Pleasantly] What can be done about it?

THE LAWYER. Nothing.

THE DAUGHTER. We shall have to get a larger place.

THE LAWYER. We have no money for it.

THE DAUGHTER. May I open the window---this bad air is suffocating.

THE LAWYER. Then the heat escapes, and we shall be cold.

THE DAUGHTER. It is horrible!---May we clean up out there?

THE LAWYER. You have not the strength to do any cleaning, nor have I, and Christine must paste. She must put strips through the whole house, on every crack, in the ceiling, in the floor, in the walls.

THE DAUGHTER. Poverty I was prepared for, but not for dirt.

THE LAWYER. Poverty is always dirty, relatively speaking.

THE DAUGHTER. This is worse than I dreamed!

THE LAWYER. We are not the worst off by far. There is still food in the pot.

THE DAUGHTER. But what sort of food?

THE LAWYER. Cabbage is cheap, nourishing, and good to eat.

THE DAUGHTER. For those who like cabbage---to me it is repulsive.

THE LAWYER. Why didn't you say so?

THE DAUGHTER. Because I loved you, I wanted to sacrifice my own taste.

THE LAWYER. Then I must sacrifice my taste for cabbage to you---for sacrifices must be mutual.

THE DAUGHTER. What are we to eat, then? Fish? But you hate fish?

THE LAWYER. And it is expensive.

THE DAUGHTER. This is worse than I thought it!

THE LAWYER. [Kindly] Yes, you see how hard it is---And the child that was to become a link and a blessing---it becomes our ruin.

THE DAUGHTER. Dearest, I die in this air, in this room, with its backyard view, with its baby cries and endless hours of sleeplessness, with those people out there, and their whinings, and bickerings, and incriminations---I shall die here!

THE LAWYER. My poor little flower, that has no light and no air------

THE DAUGHTER. And you say that people exist who are still worse off?

THE LAWYER. I belong with the envied ones in this locality.

THE DAUGHTER. Everything else might be borne if I could only have some beauty in my home.

THE LAWYER. I know you are thinking of flowers---and especially of heliotropes---but a plant costs half a dollar, which will buy us six quarts of milk or a peck of potatoes.

THE DAUGHTER. I could gladly get along without food if I could only have some flowers.

THE LAWYER. There is a kind of beauty that costs nothing---but the absence of it in the home is worse than any other torture to a man with a sense for the beautiful.

THE DAUGHTER. What is it?

THE LAWYER. If I tell, you will get angry.

THE DAUGHTER. We have agreed not to get angry.

THE LAWYER. We have agreed---Everything can be over-come, Agnes, except the short, sharp accents---Do you know them? Not yet!

THE DAUGHTER. They will never be heard between us.

THE LAWYER. Not as far as it lies on me!

THE DAUGHTER. Tell me now.

THE LAWYER. Well---when I come into a room, I look first of all at the curtains---[Goes over to the window and straightens out the curtains] If they hang like ropes or rags, then I leave soon. And next I take a glance at the chairs---if they stand straight along the wall, then I stay. [Puts a chair back against the wall] Finally I look at the candles in their sticks---if they point this way and that, then the whole house is askew. [Straightens up a candle on the chest of drawers] This is the kind of beauty, dear heart, that costs nothing.

THE DAUGHTER. With bent head] Beware of the short accents, Axel!

THE LAWYER. They were not short.

THE DAUGHTER. Yes, they were.

THE LAWYER. Well, I'll be------

THE DAUGHTER. What kind of language is that?

THE LAWYER. Pardon me, Agnes! But I have suffered as much from your lack of orderliness as you have suffered from dirt. And I have not dared to set things right myself, for when I do so, you get as angry as if I were reproaching you---ugh! Hadn't we better quit now?

THE DAUGHTER. It is very difficult to be married---it is more difficult than anything else. One has to be an angel, I think!

THE LAWYER. I think so, too.

THE DAUGHTER. I fear I shall begin to hate you after this!

THE LAWYER. Woe to us then!---But let us forestall hatred. I promise never again to speak of any untidiness---although it is torture to me!

THE DAUGHTER. And I shall eat cabbage though it means agony to me.

THE LAWYER. A life of common suffering, then! One's pleasure, the other one's pain!

THE DAUGHTER. Men are to be pitied!

THE LAWYER. You see that?

THE DAUGHTER. Yes, but for heaven's sake, let us avoid the rocks, now when we know them so well.

THE LAWYER. Let us try! Are we not decent and intelligent persons? Able to forbear and forgive?

THE DAUGHTER. Why not smile at mere trifles?

THE LAWYER. We---only we---can do so. Do you know, I read this morning---by the bye, where is the newspaper?

THE DAUGHTER. [Embarrassed] Which newspaper?

THE LAWYER. [Sharply] Do I keep more than one?

THE DAUGHTER. Smile now, and don't speak sharply---I used your paper to make the fire with------

THE LAWYER. [Violently] Well, I'll be damned!

THE DAUGHTER. Why don't you smile?---I burned it because it ridiculed what is holy to me.

THE LAWYER. Which is unholy to me! Yah! [Strikes one clenched fist against the open palm of the other hand] I smile, I smile so that my wisdom teeth show---Of course, I am to be nice, and I am to swallow my own opinions, and say yes to everything, and cringe and dissemble! [Tidies the curtains around the bed] That's it! Now I am going to fix things until you get angry again---Agnes, this is simply impossible!

THE DAUGHTER. Of course it is!

THE LAWYER. And yet we must endure---not for the sake of our promises, but for the sake of the child!

THE DAUGHTER. You are right---for the sake of the child. Oh, oh---we have to endure!

THE LAWYER. And now I must go out to my clients. Listen to them---how they growl with impatience to tear each other, to get each other fined and jailed---Lost souls!

THE DAUGHTER. Poor, poor people! And this pasting!

[She drops her head forward in dumb despair.

CHRISTINE. I paste, I paste.

THE LAWYER stands at the door, twisting the door-knob nervously.

THE DAUGHTER. How that knob squeaks! It is as if you were twisting my heart-strings------

THE LAWYER. I twist, I twist!

THE DAUGHTER. Don't!

THE LAWYER. I twist!

THE DAUGHTER. No!

THE LAWYER. I------

THE OFFICER. [In the office, on the other side of the door, takes hold of the knob] Will you permit me?

THE LAWYER. [Lets go his hold] By all means. Seeing that you have your degree!

THE OFFICER. Now all life belongs to me. Every road lies open. I have mounted Parnassus. The laurel is won. Immortality, fame, all is mine!

THE LAWYER. And what are you going to live on?

THE OFFICER. Live on?

THE LAWYER. You must have a home, clothes, food------

THE OFFICER. Oh, that will come---if you can only find somebody to love you!

THE LAWYER. You don't say so!---You don't---Paste, Christine, paste until they cannot breathe!

[Goes out backward, nodding.

CHRISTINE. I paste, I paste---until they cannot breathe.

THE OFFICER. Will you come with me now?

THE DAUGHTER. At once! But where?

THE OFFICER. To Fairhaven. There it is summer; there the sun is shining; there we find youth, children, and flowers, singing and dancing, feasting and frolicking.

THE DAUGHTER. Then I will go there.

THE OFFICER. Come!

THE LAWYER. [Enters again] Now I go back to my first hell---this was the second and greater. The sweeter the hell, the greater---And look here, now she has been dropping hair-pins on the floor again. [He picks up some hair-pins.

THE OFFICER. My! but he has discovered the pins also.

THE LAWYER. Also?---Look at this one. You see two prongs, but it is only one pin. It is two, yet only one. If I bend it open, it is a single piece. If I bend it back, there are two, but they remain one for all that. It means: these two are one. But if I break---like this!---then they become two.

[Breaks the pin and throws the pieces away.

THE OFFICER. All that he has seen!---But before breaking, the prongs must diverge. If they point together, then it holds.

THE LAWYER. And if they are parallel, then they will never meet---and it neither breaks nor holds.

THE OFFICER. The hair-pin is the most perfect of all created things. A straight line which equals two parallel ones.

THE LAWYER. A lock that shuts when it is open.

THE OFFICER. And thus shuts in a braid of hair that opens up when the lock shuts.

THE LAWYER. It is like this door. When I close it, then I open---the way out---for you, Agnes!

[Withdraws and closes the door behind him.

THE DAUGHTER. Well then?

The stage changes. The bed with its curtains becomes a tent.

The stove stays as it was. The background is raised. To the right, in the foreground, are seen hills stripped of their trees by fire, and red heather growing between the blackened tree stumps. Red-painted pig-sties and outhouses. Beyond these, in the open, apparatus for mechanical gymnastics, where sick persons are being treated on machines resembling instruments of torture.

To the left, in the foreground, the quarantine station, consisting of open sheds, with ovens, furnaces, and pipe coils.

In the middle distance, a narrow strait.

The background shows a beautiful wooded shore. Flags are flying on its piers, where ride white sailboats, some with sails set and some without. Little Italian villas, pavilions, arbors, marble statues are glimpsed through the foliage along the shore.

THE MASTER OF QUARANTINE, made up like a blackamoor, is walking along the shore.

THE OFFICER. [Meets him and they shake hands] Why, Ordström! Have you landed here?

MASTER OF Q. Yes, here I am.

THE OFFICER. Is this Fairhaven?

MASTER OF Q. No, that is on the other side. This is Foulstrand.

THE OFFICER. Then we have lost our way.

MASTER OF Q. We?---Won't you introduce me?

THE OFFICER. No, that wouldn't do. [In a lowered voice] It is Indra's own daughter.

MASTER OF Q. Indra's? And I was thinking of Varuna himself---Well, are you not surprised to find me black in the face?

THE OFFICER. I am past fifty, my boy, and at that age one has ceased to be surprised. I concluded at once that you were bound for some fancy ball this afternoon.

MASTER OF Q. Right you were! And I hope both of you will come along.

THE OFFICER. Why, yes---for I must say---the place does not look very tempting. What kind of people live here anyhow?

MASTER OF Q. Here you find the sick; over there, the healthy.

THE OFFICER. Nothing but poor folk on this side, I suppose.

MASTER OF Q. No, my boy, it is here you find the rich. Look at that one on the rack. He has stuffed himself with paté de foie gras and truffles and Burgundy until his feet have grown knotted.

THE OFFICER. Knotted?

MASTER OF Q. Yes, he has a case of knotted feet. And that one who lies under the guillotine---he has swilled brandy so that his backbone has to be put through the mangle.

THE OFFICER. There is always something amiss!

MASTER OF Q. Moreover, everybody living on this side has some kind of canker to hide. Look at the fellow coming here, for instance.

An old dandy is pushed on the stage in a wheel-chair, he is accompanied by a gaunt and grisly coquette in the sixties, to whom THE FRIEND, a man of about forty, is paying court.

THE OFFICER. It is the major---our schoolmate!

MASTER OF Q. Don Juan. Can you see that he is still enamored of that old spectre beside him? He does not notice that she has grown old, or that she is ugly, faithless, cruel.

THE OFFICER. Why, that is love! And I couldn't have dreamt that a fickle fellow like him would prove capable of loving so deeply and so earnestly.

MASTER OF Q. That is a mighty decent way of looking at it.

THE OFFICER. I have been in love with Victoria myself---in fact I am still waiting for her in the passageway------

MASTER OF Q. Oh, you are the fellow who is waiting in the passageway?

THE OFFICER. I am the man.

MASTER OF Q. Well, have you got that door opened yet?

THE OFFICER. No, the case is still in court---THE BILLPOSTER is out with his dipnet, of course, so that the taking of evidence is always being put off---and in the meantime the Glazier has mended all the window panes in the castle, which has grown half a story higher---This has been an uncommonly good year---warm and wet------

MASTER OF Q. But just the same you have had no heat comparing with what I have here.

THE OFFICER. How much do you have in your ovens?

MASTER OF Q. When we fumigate cholera suspects, we run it up to one hundred and forty degrees.

THE OFFICER. Is the cholera going again?

MASTER OF Q. Don't you know that?

THE OFFICER. Of course, I know it, but I forget so often what I know.

MASTER OF Q. I wish often that I could forget---especially myself. That is why I go in for masquerades and carnivals and amateur theatricals.

THE OFFICER. What have you been up to then?

MASTER OF Q. If I told, they would say that I was boasting; and if I don't tell, then they call me a hypocrite.

THE OFFICER. That is why you blackened your face?

MASTER OF Q. Exactly---making myself a shade blacker than I am.

THE OFFICER. Who is coming there?

MASTER OF Q. Oh, a poet who is going to have his mud bath.

THE POET enters with his eyes raised toward the sky and carrying a pail of mud in one hand.

THE OFFICER. Why, he ought to be having light baths and air baths.

MASTER OF Q. No, he is roaming about the higher regions so much that he gets homesick for the mud---and wallowing in the mire makes the skin callous like that of a pig. Then he cannot feel the stings of the wasps.

THE OFFICER. This is a queer world, full of contradictions.

THE POET. [Ecstatically] Man was created by the god Phtah out of clay on a potter's wheel, or a lathe---[sceptically], or any damned old thing! [Ecstatically] Out of clay does the sculptor create his more or less immortal masterpieces---[sceptically], which mostly are pure rot. [Ecstatically] Out of clay they make those utensils which are so indispensable in the pantry and which generically are named pots and plates---[sceptically], but what in thunder does it matter to me what they are called anyhow? [Ecstatically] Such is the clay! When clay becomes fluid, it is called mud---C'est mon affaire!---[shouts] Lena!

LENA enters with a pail in her hand.

THE POET. Lena, show yourself to Miss Agnes---She knew you ten years ago, when you were a young, happy and, let us say, pretty girl---Behold how she looks now. Five children, drudgery, baby-cries, hunger, ill-treatment. See how beauty has perished and joy vanished in the fulfilment of duties which should have brought that inner satisfaction which makes each line in the face harmonious and fills the eye with a quiet glow.

MASTER OF Q. [Covering the poet's mouth with his hand] Shut up! Shut up!

THE POET. That is what they all say. And if you keep silent, then they cry: speak! Oh, restless humanity!

THE DAUGHTER. [Goes to Lena] Tell me your troubles.

LENA. No, I dare not, for then they will be made worse.

THE DAUGHTER. Who could be so cruel?

LENA. I dare not tell, for if I do, I shall be spanked.

THE POET. That is just what will happen. But I will speak, even though the blackamoor knock out all my teeth---I will tell that justice is not always done---Agnes, daughter of the gods, do you hear music and dancing on the hill over there?---Well, it is Lena's sister who has come home from the city where she went astray---you understand? Now they are killing the fatted calf; but Lena, who stayed at home, has to carry slop pails and feed the pigs.

THE DAUGHTER. There is rejoicing at home because the stray has left the paths of evil, and not merely because she has come back. Bear that in mind.

THE POET. But then they should give a ball and banquet every night for the spotless worker that never strayed into paths of error---Yet they do nothing of the kind, but when Lena has a free moment, she is sent to prayer-meetings where she has to hear reproaches for not being perfect. Is this justice?

THE DAUGHTER. Your question is so difficult to answer because---There are so many unforeseen cases THE POET. That much the Caliph, Haroun the Just, came to understand. He was sitting on his throne, and from its height he could never make out what happened below. At last complaints penetrated to his exalted ears. And then, one fine day, he disguised himself and descended unobserved among the crowds to find out what kind of justice they were getting.

THE DAUGHTER. I hope you don't take me for Haroun the Just!

THE OFFICER. Let us talk of something else---Here come visitors.

A white boat, shaped like a viking ship, with a dragon for figure-head, with a pale-blue silken sail on a gilded yard, and with a rose-red standard flying from the top of a gilded mast, glides through the strait from the left. He and She are seated in the stern with their arms around each other.

THE OFFICER. Behold perfect happiness, bliss without limits, young love's rejoicing!

The stage grows brighter.

HE. [Stands up in the boat and sings]

Hail, beautiful haven,
Where the Springs of my youth were spent,
Where my first sweet dreams were dreamt---
To thee I return,
But lonely no longer!
Ye hills and groves,
Thou sky o'erhead,
Thou mirroring sea,
Give greeting to her:
My love, my bride,
My light and my life!

The flags at the landings of Fairhaven are dipped in salute; white handkerchiefs are waved from verandahs and boats, and the air is filled with tender chords from harps and violins.

THE POET. See the light that surrounds them! Hear how the air is ringing with music!---Eros!

THE OFFICER. It is Victoria.

MASTER OF Q. Well, what of it?

THE OFFICER. It is his Victoria---My own is still mine. And nobody can see her---Now you hoist the quarantine flag, and I shall pull in the net.

[The MASTER OF QUARANTINE waves a yellow flag. THE OFFICER. [Pulling a rope that turns the boat toward Foulstrand] Hold on there!

HE and SHE become aware of the hideous view and give vent to their horror.

MASTER OF Q. Yes, it comes hard. But here every one must stop who hails from plague-stricken places.

THE POET. The idea of speaking in such manner, of acting in such a way, within the presence of two human beings united in love! Touch them not! Lay not hands on love! It is treason!---Woe to us! Everything beautiful must now be dragged down---dragged into the mud!

[HE and SHE step ashore, looking sad and shamefaced.

HE. Woe to us! What have we done?

MASTER OF Q. It is not necessary to have done anything in order to encounter life's little pricks.

SHE. So short-lived are joy and happiness!

HE. How long must we stay here?

MASTER OF Q. Forty days and nights.

SHE. Then rather into the water!

HE. To live here---among blackened hills and pig-sties?

THE POET. Love overcomes all, even sulphur fumes and carbolic acid.

MASTER OF Q. [Starts a fire in the stove; blue, sulphurous flames break forth] Now I set the sulphur going. Will you please step in?

SHE. Oh, my blue dress will fade.

MASTER OF Q. And become white. So your roses will also turn white in time.

HE. Even your cheeks---in forty days!

SHE. [To THE OFFICER] That will please you.

THE OFFICER. No, it will not!---Of course, your happiness was the cause of my suffering, but---it doesn't matter---for I am graduated and have obtained a position over there---heigh-ho and alas! And in the Fall I shall be teaching school---teaching boys the same lessons I myself learned during my childhood and youth---the same lessons throughout my manhood and, finally, in my old age---the self-same lessons! What does twice two make? How many times can four be evenly divided by two?---Until I get a pension and can do nothing at all---just wait around for meals and the newspapers---until at last I am carted to the crematorium and burned to ashes---Have you nobody here who is entitled to a pension? Barring twice two makes four, it is probably the worst thing of all---to begin school all over again when one already is graduated; to ask the same questions until death comes------

An elderly man goes by, with his hands folded behind his back.

THE OFFICER. There is a pensioner now, waiting for himself to die. I think he must be a captain who missed the rank of major; or an assistant judge who was not made a chief justice. Many are called but few are chosen---He is waiting for his breakfast now.

THE PENSIONER. No, for the newspaper---the morning paper.

THE OFFICER. And he is only fifty-four years old. He may spend twenty-five more years waiting for meals and newspapers---is it not dreadful?

THE PENSIONER. What is not dreadful? Tell me, tell me!

THE OFFICER. Tell that who can!---Now I shall have to teach boys that twice two makes four. And how many times four can be evenly divided by two. [He clutches his head in despair] And Victoria, whom I loved and therefore wished all the happiness life can give---now she has her happiness, the greatest one known to her, and for this reason I suffer---suffer, suffer!

SHE. Do you think I can be happy when I see you suffering? How can you think it? Perhaps it will soothe your pains that I am to be imprisoned here for forty days and nights? Tell me, does it soothe your pains?

THE OFFICER. Yes and no. How can I enjoy seeing you suffer? Oh!

SHE. And do you think my happiness can be founded on your torments?

THE OFFICER. We are to be pitied---all of us!

ALL. [Raise their arms toward the sky and utter a cry of anguish that sounds like a dissonant chord] Oh!

THE DAUGHTER. Everlasting One, hear them! Life is evil! Men are to be pitied!

ALL. [As before] Oh!

For a moment the stage is completely darkened, and during that moment everybody withdraws or takes up a new position. When the light is turned on again, Foulstrand is seen in the background, lying in deep shadow. The strait is in the middle distance and Fairhaven in the foreground, both steeped in light. To the right, a corner of the Casino, where dancing couples are visible through the open windows. Three servant maids are standing outside on top of an empty box, with arms around each other, staring at the dancers within. On the verandah of the Casino stands a bench, where "Plain" EDITH is sitting. She is bare-headed, with an abundance of tousled hair, and looks sad. In front of her is an open piano.

To the left, a frame house painted yellow. Two children in light dresses are playing ball outside.

In the centre of the middle distance, a pier with white sailboats tied to it, and flag poles with hoisted flags. In the strait is anchored a naval vessel, brig-rigged, with gun ports. But the entire landscape is in winter dress, with snow on the ground and on the bare trees.

THE DAUGHTER and THE OFFICER enter.

THE DAUGHTER. Here is peace, and happiness, and leisure. No more toil; every day a holiday; everybody dressed up in their best; dancing and music in the early morning. [To the maids] Why don't you go in and have a dance, girls?

THE MAIDS. We?

THE OFFICER. They are servants, don't you see!

THE DAUGHTER. Of course!---But why is Edith sitting there instead of dancing?

[EDITH buries her face in her hands.

THE OFFICER. Don't question her! She has been sitting there three hours without being asked for a dance.

[Goes into the yellow house on the left.

THE DAUGHTER. What a cruel form of amusement!

THE MOTHER. [In a low-necked dress, enters from the Casino and goes up to EDITH] Why don't you go in as I told you?

EDITH. Because---I cannot throw myself at them. That I am ugly, I know, and I know that nobody wants to dance with me, but I might be spared from being reminded of it.

Begins to play on the piano, the Toccata Con Fuga, Op. 10, by Sebastian Bach.

The waltz music from within is heard faintly at first. Then it grows in strength, as if to compete with the Bach Toccata. EDITH prevails over it and brings it to silence. Dancers appear in the doorway to hear her play. Everybody on the stage stands still and listens reverently.

A NAVAL OFFICER. [Takes ALICE, one of the dancers, around the waist and drags her toward the pier] Come quick!

EDITH breaks off abruptly, rises and stares at the couple with an expression of utter despair; stands as if turned to stone.

Now the front wall of the yellow house disappears, revealing three benches full of schoolboys. Among these THE OFFICER is seen, looking worried and depressed. In front of the boys stands THE TEACHER, bespectacled and holding a piece of chalk in one hand, a rattan cane in the other.

THE TEACHER. [To THE OFFICER] Well, my boy, can you tell me what twice two makes?

THE OFFICER remains seated while he racks his mind without finding an answer.

THE TEACHER. You must rise when I ask you a question.

THE OFFICER. [Harassed, rises] Two---twice---let me see. That makes two-two.

THE TEACHER. I see! You have not studied your lesson.

THE OFFICER. [Ashamed] Yes, I have, but---I know the answer, but I cannot tell it------

THE TEACHER. You want to wriggle out of it, of course. You know it, but you cannot tell. Perhaps I may help you.

[Pulls his hair.

THE OFFICER. Oh, it is dreadful, it is dreadful!

THE TEACHER. Yes, it is dreadful that such a big boy lacks all ambition------

THE OFFICER. [Hurt] Big boy---yes, I am big---bigger than all these others---I am full-grown, I am done with school---[As if waking up] I have graduated---why am I then sitting here? Have I not received my doctor's degree?

THE TEACHER. Certainly, but you are to sit here and mature, you know. You have to mature---isn't that so?

THE OFFICER. [Feels his forehead] Yes, that is right, one must mature---Twice two---makes two---and this I can demonstrate by analogy, which is the highest form of all reasoning. Listen!---Once one makes one; consequently twice two must make two. For what applies in one case must also apply in another.

THE TEACHER. Your conclusion is based on good logic, but your answer is wrong.

THE OFFICER. What is logical cannot be wrong. Let us test it. One divided by one gives one, so that two divided by two must give two.

THE TEACHER. Correct according to analogy. But how much does once three make?

THE OFFICER. Three, of course.

THE TEACHER. Consequently twice three must also make three.

THE OFFICER. [Pondering] No, that cannot be right---it cannot---or else---[Sits down dejectedly] No, I am not mature yet.

THE TEACHER. No, indeed, you are far from mature.

THE OFFICER. But how long am I to sit here, then?

THE TEACHER. Here---how long? Do you believe that time and space exist?---Suppose that time does exist, then you should be able to say what time is. What is time?

THE OFFICER. Time---[Thinks] I cannot tell, but I know what it is. Consequently I may also know what twice two is without being able to tell it. And, teacher, can you tell what time is?

THE TEACHER. Of course I can.

ALL THE BOYS. Tell us then!

THE TEACHER. Time---let me see. [Stands immovable until one finger on his nose] While we are talking, time flies. Consequently time is something that flies while we talk.

A BOY. [Rising] Now you are talking, teacher, and while you are talking, I fly: consequently I am time. [Runs out.

THE TEACHER. That accords completely with the laws of logic.

THE OFFICER. Then the laws of logic are silly, for Nils who ran away, cannot be time.

THE TEACHER. That is also good logic, although it is silly.

THE OFFICER. Then logic itself is silly.

THE TEACHER. So it seems. But if logic is silly, then all the world is silly---and then the devil himself wouldn't stay here to teach you more silliness. If anybody treats me to a drink, we'll go and take a bath.

THE OFFICER. That is a posterus prius, or the world turned upside down, for it is customary to bathe first and have the drink afterward. Old fogy!

THE TEACHER. Beware of a swelled head, doctor!

THE OFFICER. Call me captain, if you please. I am an officer, and I cannot understand why I should be sitting here to get scolded like a schoolboy------

THE TEACHER. [With raised index finger] We were to mature!

MASTER OF Q. [Enters] The quarantine begins.

THE OFFICER. Oh, there you are. Just think of it, this fellow makes me sit among the boys although I am graduated.

MASTER OF Q. Well, why don't you go away?

THE OFFICER. Heaven knows!---Go away? Why, that is no easy thing to do.

THE TEACHER. I guess not---just try!

THE OFFICER. [To MASTER OF QUARANTINE] Save me! Save me from his eye!

MASTER OF Q. Come on. Come and help us dance---We have to dance before the plague breaks out. We must!

THE OFFICER. Is the brig leaving?

MASTER OF Q. Yes, first of all the brig must leave---Then there will be a lot of tears shed, of course.

THE OFFICER. Always tears: when she comes and when she goes---Let us get out of here.

They go out. THE TEACHER continues his lesson in silence.

THE MAIDS that were staring through the window of the dance hall walk sadly down to the pier. EDITH, who has been standing like a statue at the piano, follows them.

THE DAUGHTER. [To THE OFFICER] Is there not one happy person to be found in this paradise?

THE OFFICER. Yes, there is a newly married couple. Just watch them.

THE NEWLY MARRIED COUPLE enter.

HUSBAND. [To his WIFE] My joy has no limits, and I could now wish to die------

WIFE. Why die?

HUSBAND. Because at the heart of happiness grows the seed of disaster. Happiness devours itself like a flame---it cannot burn for ever, but must go out some time. And this presentiment of the coming end destroys joy in the very hour of its culmination.

WIFE. Let us then die together---this moment!

HUSBAND. Die? All right! For I fear happiness---that cheat! [They go toward the water.

THE DAUGHTER. Life is evil! Men are to be pitied!

THE OFFICER. Look at this fellow. He is the most envied mortal in this neighbourhood.

THE BLIND MAN is led in.

THE OFFICER. He is the owner of these hundred or more Italian villas. He owns all these bays, straits, shores, forests, together with the fishes in the water, the birds in the air, the game in the woods. These thousand or more people are his tenants. The sun rises upon his sea and sets upon his land------

THE DAUGHTER. Well---is he complaining also?

THE OFFICER. Yes, and with right, for he cannot see.

MASTER OF Q. He is blind.

THE DAUGHTER. The most envied of all!

THE OFFICER. Now he has come to see the brig depart with his son on board.

THE BLIND MAN. I cannot see, but I hear. I hear the anchor bill claw the clay bottom as when the hook is torn out of a fish and brings up the heart with it through the neck---My son, my only child, is going to journey across the wide sea to foreign lands, and I can follow him only in my thought! Now I hear the clanking of the chain---and---there is something that snaps and cracks like clothes drying on a line---wet handkerchiefs perhaps. And I hear it blubber and snivel as when people are weeping---maybe the splashing of the wavelets among the seines---or maybe girls along the shore, deserted and disconsolate---Once I asked a child why the ocean is salt, and the child, which had a father on a long trip across the high seas, said immediately: the ocean is salt because the sailors shed so many tears into it. And why do the sailors cry so much then?---Because they are always going away, replied the child; and that is why they are always drying their handkerchiefs in the rigging---And why does man weep when he is sad? I asked at last---Because the glass in the eyes must be washed now and then, so that we can see clearly, said the child.

The brig has set sail and is gliding off. The girls along the shore are alternately waving their handkerchiefs and wiping off their tears with them. Then a signal is set on the foremast---a red ball in a white field, meaning "yes." In response to it ALICE waves her handkerchief triumphantly.

THE DAUGHTER. [To THE OFFICER] What is the meaning of that flag?

THE OFFICER. It means "yes." It is the lieutenant's troth---red as the red blood of the arteries, set against the blue cloth of the sky.

THE DAUGHTER. And how does "no" look?

THE OFFICER. It is blue as the spoiled blood in the veins---but look, how jubilant Alice is.

THE DAUGHTER. And how Edith cries.

THE BLIND MAN. Meet and part. Part and meet. That is life. I met his mother. And then she went away from me. He was left to me; and now he goes.

THE DAUGHTER. But he will come back.

THE BLIND MAN. Who is speaking to me? I have heard that voice before---in my dreams; in my youth, when vacation began; in the early years of my marriage, when my child was born. Every time life smiled at me, I heard that voice, like a whisper of the south wind, like a chord of harps from above, like what I feel the angels' greeting must be in the Holy Night------

THE LAWYER enters and goes up to whisper something into THE BLIND MAN's ear.

THE BLIND MAN. Is that so?

THE LAWYER. That's the truth. [Goes to THE DAUGHTER] Now you have seen most of it, but you have not yet tried the worst of it.

THE DAUGHTER. What can that be?

THE LAWYER. Repetition---recurrence. To retrace one's own tracks; to be sent back to the task once finished---come!

THE DAUGHTER. Where?

THE LAWYER. To your duties.

THE DAUGHTER. What does that mean?

THE LAWYER. Everything you dread. Everything you do not want but must. It means to forego, to give up, to do without, to lack---it means everything that is unpleasant, repulsive, painful.

THE DAUGHTER. Are there no pleasant duties?

THE LAWYER. They become pleasant when they are done.

THE DAUGHTER. When they have ceased to exist---Duty is then something unpleasant. What is pleasant then?

THE LAWYER. What is pleasant is sin.

THE DAUGHTER. Sin?

THE LAWYER. Yes, something that has to be punished. If I have had a pleasant day or night, then I suffer infernal pangs and a bad conscience the next day.

THE DAUGHTER. How strange!

THE LAWYER. I wake up in the morning with a headache; and then the repetitions begin, but so that everything becomes perverted. What the night before was pretty, agreeable, witty, is presented by memory in the morning as ugly, distasteful, stupid. Pleasure seems to decay, and all joy goes to pieces. What men call success serves always as a basis for their next failure. My own successes have brought ruin upon me. For men view the fortune of others with an instinctive dread. They regard it unjust that fate should favour any one man, and so they try to restore balance by piling rocks on the road. To have talent is to be in danger of one's life, for then one may easily starve to death!---However, you will have to return to your duties, or I shall bring suit against you, and we shall pass through every court up to the highest---one, two, three!

THE DAUGHTER. Return?---To the iron stove, and the cabbage pot, and the baby clothes------

THE LAWYER. Exactly! We have a big wash to-day, for we must wash all the handkerchiefs------

THE DAUGHTER. Oh, must I do it all over again?

THE LAWYER. All life is nothing but doing things over again. Look at the teacher in there---He received his doctor's degree yesterday, was laurelled and saluted, climbed Parnassus and was embraced by the monarch---and to-day he starts school all over again, asks how much twice two makes, and will continue to do so until his death---However, you must come back to your home!

THE DAUGHTER. I shall rather die!

THE LAWYER. Die?---That is not allowed. First of all, it is a disgrace---so much so that even the dead body is subjected to insults; and secondly, one goes to hell---it is a mortal sin!

THE DAUGHTER. It is not easy to be human!

ALL. Hear!

THE DAUGHTER. I shall not go back with you to humiliation and dirt---I am longing for the heights whence I came---but first the door must be opened so that I may learn the secret---It is my will that the door be opened!

THE LAWYER. Then you must retrace your own steps, cover the road you have already travelled, suffer all annoyances, repetitions, tautologies, recopyings, that a suit will bring with it------

THE DAUGHTER. May it come then---But first I must go into the solitude and the wilderness to recover my own self. We shall meet again! [To THE POET] Follow me.

Cries of anguish are heard from a distance. Woe! Woe! Woe!

THE DAUGHTER. What is that?

THE LAWYER. The lost souls at Foulstrand.

THE DAUGHTER. Why do they wail more loudly than usual to-day?

THE LAWYER. Because the sun is shining here; because here we have music, dancing, youth. And it makes them feel their own sufferings more keenly.

THE DAUGHTER. We must set them free.

THE LAWYER. Try it! Once a liberator appeared, and he was nailed to a cross.

THE DAUGHTER. By whom?

THE LAWYER. By all the right-minded.

THE DAUGHTER. Who are they?

THE LAWYER. Are you not acquainted with all the right-minded? Then you must learn to know them.

THE DAUGHTER. Were they the ones that prevented your graduation?

THE LAWYER. Yes.

THE DAUGHTER. Then I know them!

Curtain.

On the shores of the Mediterranean. To the left, in the foreground, a white wall, and above it branches of an orange tree with ripe fruit on them. In the background, villas and a Casino placed on a terrace. To the right, a huge pile of coal and two wheel-barrows. In the background, to the right, a corner of blue sea.

Two coalheavers, naked to the waist, their faces, hands, and bodies blackened by coal dust, are seated on the wheel-barrows. Their expressions show intense despair.

THE DAUGHTER and THE LAWYER in the background.

THE DAUGHTER. This is paradise!

FIRST COALHEAVER. This is hell!

SECOND COALHEAVER. One hundred and twenty degrees in the shadow.

FIRST HEAVER. Let's have a bath.

SECOND HEAVER. The police won't let us. No bathing here.

FIRST HEAVER. Couldn't we pick some fruit off that tree?

SECOND HEAVER. Then the police would get after us.

FIRST HEAVER. But I cannot do a thing in this heat---I'll just chuck the job------

SECOND HEAVER. Then the police will get you for sure!--- [Pause] And you wouldn't have anything to eat anyhow.

FIRST HEAVER. Nothing to eat? We, who work hardest, get least food; and the rich, who do nothing, get most. Might one not---without disregard of truth---assert that this is injustice ---What has the daughter of the gods to say about it?

THE DAUGHTER. I can say nothing at all---But tell me, what have you done that makes you so black and your lot so hard?

FIRST HEAVER. What have we done? We have been born of poor and perhaps not very good parents---Maybe we have been punished a couple of times.

THE DAUGHTER. Punished?

FIRST HEAVER. Yes, the unpunished hang out in the Casino up there and dine on eight courses with wine.

THE DAUGHTER. [To THE LAWYER] Can that be true?

THE LAWYER. On the whole, yes.

THE DAUGHTER. You mean to say that every man at some time has deserved to go to prison?

THE LAWYER. Yes.

THE DAUGHTER. You, too?

THE LAWYER. Yes.

THE DAUGHTER. Is it true that the poor cannot bathe in the sea?

THE LAWYER. Yes. Not even with their clothes on. None but those who intend to take their own lives escape being fined. And those are said to get a good drubbing at the police station.

THE DAUGHTER. But can they not go outside of the city, out into the country, and bathe there?

THE LAWYER. There is no place for them---all the land is fenced in.

THE DAUGHTER. But I mean in the free, open country.

THE LAWYER. There is no such thing---it all belongs to somebody.

THE DAUGHTER. Even the sea, the great, vast sea------

THE LAWYER. Even that! You cannot sail the sea in a boat and land anywhere without having it put down in writing and charged for. It is lovely!

THE DAUGHTER. This is not paradise.

THE LAWYER. I should say not!

THE DAUGHTER. Why don't men do something to improve their lot?

THE LAWYER. Oh, they try, of course, but all the improvers end in prison or in the madhouse------

THE DAUGHTER. Who puts them in prison?

THE LAWYER. All the right-minded, all the respectable------

THE DAUGHTER. Who sends them to the madhouse?

THE LAWYER. Their own despair when they grasp the hopelessness of their efforts.

THE DAUGHTER. Has the thought not occurred to anybody, that for secret reasons it must be as it is?

THE LAWYER. Yes, those who are well off always think so.

THE DAUGHTER. That it is all right as it is?

FIRST HEAVER. And yet we are the foundations of society. If the coal is not unloaded, then there will be no fire in the kitchen stove, in the parlour grate, or in the factory furnace; then the light will go out in streets and shops and homes; then darkness and cold will descend upon you---and, therefore, we have to sweat as in hell so that the black coals may be had---And what do you do for us in return?

THE LAWYER. [To THE DAUGHTER] Help them!---[Pause] That conditions cannot be quite the same for everybody, I understand, but why should they differ so widely?

A GENTLEMAN and A LADY pass across the stage.

THE LADY. Will you come and play a game with us?

THE GENTLEMAN. No, I must take a walk, so I can eat something for dinner.

FIRST HEAVER. So that he can eat something?

SECOND HEAVER. So that he can------?

Children enter and cry with horror when they catch sight of the grimy workers.

FIRST HEAVER. They cry when they see us. They cry------

SECOND HEAVER. Damn it all!---I guess we'll have to pull out the scaffolds soon and begin to operate on this rotten body------

FIRST HEAVER. Damn it, I say, too! [Spits.

THE LAWYER. [To THE DAUGHTER] Yes, it is all wrong. And men are not so very bad---but------

THE DAUGHTER. But------

THE LAWYER. But the government------

THE DAUGHTER. [Goes out, hiding her face in her hands] This is not paradise.

COALHEAVERS. No, hell, that's what it is!

Curtain.

Means literally "wordspout."

Fingal's Cave. Long green waves are rolling slowly into the cave. In the foreground, a siren buoy is swaying to and fro in time with the waves, but without sounding except at the indicated moment. Music of the winds. Music of the waves.

THE DAUGHTER and THE POET.

THE POET. Where are you leading me?

THE DAUGHTER. Far away from the noise and lament of the man-children, to the utmost end of the ocean, to the cave that we name Indra's Ear because it is the place where the king of the heavens is said to listen to the complaints of the mortals.

THE POET. What? In this place?

THE DAUGHTER. Do you see how this cave is built like a shell? Yes, you can see it. Do you know that your ear, too, is built in the form of a shell? You know it, but have not thought of it. [She picks up a shell from the beach] Have you not as a child held such a shell to your ear and listened---and heard the ripple of your heart-blood, the humming of your thoughts in the brain, the snapping of a thousand little worn-out threads in the tissues of your body? All that you hear in this small shell. Imagine then what may be heard in this larger one!

THE POET. [Listening] I hear nothing but the whispering of the wind.

THE DAUGHTER. Then I shall interpret it for you. Listen. The wail of the winds. [Recites to subdued music:

Born beneath the clouds of heaven,
Driven we were by the lightnings of Indra
Down to the sand-covered earth.
Straw from the harvested fields soiled our feet;
Dust from the high-roads,
Smoke from the cities,
Foul-smelling breaths,
Fumes from cellars and kitchens,
All we endured.
Then to the open sea we fled,
Filling our lungs with air,
Shaking our wings,
And laving our feet.

Indra, Lord of the Heavens,
Hear us!
Hear our sighing!
Unclean is the earth;
Evil is life;
Neither good nor bad
Can men be deemed.
As they can, they live,
One day at a time.
Sons of dust, through dust they journey;
Born out of dust, to dust they return.
Given they were, for trudging,
Feet, not wings for flying.
Dusty they grow---
Lies the fault then with them,
Or with Thee?

THE POET. Thus I heard it once------

THE DAUGHTER. Hush! The winds are still singing.

[Recites to subdued music:

We, winds that wander,
We, the air's offspring,
Bear with us men's lament.

Heard us you have
During gloom-filled Fall nights,
In chimneys and pipes,
In key-holes and door cracks,
When the rain wept on the roof:
Heard us you have
In the snowclad pine woods
Midst wintry gloom:
Heard us you have,
Crooning and moaning
In ropes and rigging
On the high-heaving sea.

It was we, the winds,
Offspring of the air,
Who learned how to grieve
Within human breasts
Through which we passed---
In sick-rooms, on battle-fields,
But mostly where the newborn
Whimpered and wailed
At the pain of living.

We, we, the winds,
We are whining and whistling:
Woe! Woe! Woe!

THE POET. It seems to me that I have already------

THE DAUGHTER. Hush! Now the waves are singing.

[Recites to subdued music:

We, we waves,
That are rocking the winds
To rest---
Green cradles, we waves!

Wet are we, and salty;
Leap like flames of fire---
Wet flames are we:
Burning, extinguishing;
Cleansing, replenishing;
Bearing, engendering.

We, we waves,
That are rocking the winds
To rest!

THE DAUGHTER. False waves and faithless! Everything on earth that is not burned, is drowned---by the waves. Look at this. [Pointing to pile of debris] See what the sea has taken and spoiled! Nothing but the figure-heads remain of the sunken ships---and the names: Justice, Friendship, Golden Peace, Hope---this is all that is left of Hope---of fickle Hope---Railings, tholes, bails! And lo: the life buoy---which saved itself and let distressed men perish.

THE POET. [Searching in the pile] Here is the name-board of the ship Justice. That was the one which left Fairhaven with the Blind Man's son on board. It is lost then! And with it are gone the lover of Alice, the hopeless love of Edith.

THE DAUGHTER. The Blind Man? Fairhaven? I must have been dreaming of them. And the lover of Alice, "Plain" Edith, Foulstrand and the Quarantine, sulphur and carbolic acid, the graduation in the church, the Lawyer's office, the passageway and Victoria, the Growing Castle and the Officer---All this I have been dreaming------

THE POET. It was in one of my poems.

THE DAUGHTER. You know then what poetry is------

THE POET. I know then what dreaming is---But what is poetry?

THE DAUGHTER. Not reality, but more than reality---not dreaming, but daylight dreams------

THE POET. And the man-children think that we poets are only playing---that we invent and make believe.

THE DAUGHTER. And fortunate it is, my friend, for otherwise the world would lie fallow for lack of ministration. Everybody would be stretched on his back, staring into the sky. Nobody would be touching plough or spade, hammer or plane.

THE POET. And you say this, Indra's daughter, you who belong in part up there------

THE DAUGHTER. You do right in reproaching me. Too long have I stayed down here taking mud baths like you---My thoughts have lost their power of flight; there is clay on their wings---mire on their feet---and I myself---[raising her arms] I sink, I sink---Help me, father, Lord of the Heavens! [Silence] I can no longer hear his answer. The ether no longer carries the sound from his lips to my ear's shell the silvery thread has snapped---Woe is me, I am earthbound!

THE POET. Do you mean to ascend---soon?

THE DAUGHTER. As soon as I have consigned this mortal shape to the flames---for even the waters of the ocean cannot cleanse me. Why do you question me thus?

THE POET. Because I have a prayer------

THE DAUGHTER. What kind of prayer?

THE POET. A written supplication from humanity to the ruler of the universe, formulated by a dreamer.

THE DAUGHTER. To be presented by whom?

THE POET. By Indra's daughter.

THE DAUGHTER. Can you repeat what you have written?

THE POET. I can.

THE DAUGHTER. Speak it then.

THE POET. Better that you do it.

THE DAUGHTER. Where can I read it?

THE POET. In my mind---or here.

[Hands her a roll of paper.

THE DAUGHTER. [Receives the roll, but reads without looking at it] Well, by me it shall be spoken then:

"Why must you be born in anguish?
Why, O man-child, must you always
Wring your mother's heart with torture
When you bring her joy maternal,
Highest happiness yet known?
Why to life must you awaken,
Why to light give natal greeting,
With a cry of anger and of pain?
Why not meet it smiling, man-child,
When the gift of life is counted
In itself a boon unmatched?
Why like beasts should we be coming,
We of race divine and human?
Better garment craves the spirit
Than one made of filth and blood!
Need a god his teeth be changing------"

---Silence, rash one! Is it seemly
For the work to blame its maker?
No one yet has solved life's riddle.

"Thus begins the human journey
O'er a road of thorns and thistles;
If a beaten path be offered.
It is named at once forbidden;
If a flower you covet, straightway
You are told it is another's;
If a field should bar your progress,
And you dare to break across it,
You destroy your neighbour's harvest;
Others then your own will trample,
That the measure may be evened!
Every moment of enjoyment
Brings to some one else a sorrow,
But your sorrow gladdens no one,
For from sorrow naught but sorrow springs.

"Thus you journey till you die,
And your death brings others' bread."

---Is it thus that you approach,
Son of Dust, the One Most High?

THE POET.

Could the son of dust discover
Words so pure and bright and simple
That to heaven they might ascend------?

Child of gods, wilt thou interpret
Mankind's grievance in some language
That immortals understand?

THE DAUGHTER. I will.

THE POET. [Pointing to the buoy] What is that floating there?---A buoy?

THE DAUGHTER. Yes.

THE POET. It looks like a lung with a windpipe.

THE DAUGHTER. It is the watchman of the seas. When danger is abroad, it sings.

THE POET. It seems to me as if the sea were rising and the waves growing larger------

THE DAUGHTER. Not unlikely.

THE POET. Woe! What do I see? A ship bearing down upon the reef.

THE DAUGHTER. What ship can that be?

THE POET. The ghost ship of the seas, I think.

THE DAUGHTER. What ship is that?

THE POET. The Flying Dutchman.

THE DAUGHTER. Oh, that one. Why is he punished so hard, and why does he not seek harbour?

THE POET. Because he had seven faithless wives.

THE DAUGHTER. And for this he should be punished?

THE POET. Yes, all the right-minded condemned him------

THE DAUGHTER. Strange world, this!---How can he then be freed from his curse?

THE POET. Freed?---Oh, they take good care that none is set free.

THE DAUGHTER. Why?

THE POET. Because---No, it is not the Dutchman! It is an ordinary ship in distress. Why does not the buoy cry out now? Look, how the sea is rising---how high the waves are---soon we shall be unable to get out of the cave! Now the ship's bell is ringing---Soon we shall have another figure-head. Cry out, buoy! Do your duty, watchman! [The buoy sounds a four-voice chord of fifths and sixths, reminding one of fog horns] The crew is signalling to us---but we are doomed ourselves.

THE DAUGHTER. Do you not wish to be set free?

THE POET. Yes, of course---of course, I wish it---but not just now, and not by water.

THE CREW. [Sings in quartet] Christ Kyrie!

THE POET. Now they are crying aloud, and so is the sea, but no one gives ear.

THE CREW. [As before] Christ Kyrie!

THE DAUGHTER. Who is coming there?

THE POET. Walking on the waters? There is only one who does that---and it is not Peter, the Rock, for he sank like a stone------

A white light is seen shining over the water at some distance.

THE CREW. Christ Kyrie!

THE DAUGHTER. Can this be He?

THE POET. It is He, the crucified------

THE DAUGHTER. Why---tell me---why was He crucified?

THE POET. Because He wanted to set free------

THE DAUGHTER. Who was it---I have forgotten---that crucified Him?

THE POET. All the right-minded.

THE DAUGHTER. What a strange world!

THE POET. The sea is rising. Darkness is closing in upon us. The storm is growing------

[THE CREW set up a wild outcry.

THE POET. The crew scream with horror at the sight of their Saviour---and now---they are leaping overboard for fear of the Redeemer------

[THE CREW utter another cry.

THE POET. Now they are crying because they must die. Crying when they are born, and crying when they pass away!

[The rising waves threaten to engulf the two in the cave.

THE DAUGHTER. If I could only be sure that it is a ship------

THE POET. Really---I don't think it is a ship---It is a two-storied house with trees in front of it---and---a telephone tower---a tower that reaches up into the skies---It is the modern Tower of Babel sending wires to the upper regions---to communicate with those above------

THE DAUGHTER. Child, the human thought needs no wires to make a way for itself---the prayers of the pious penetrate the universe. It cannot be a Tower of Babel, for if you want to assail the heavens, you must do so with prayer.

THE POET. No, it is no house---no telephone tower---don't you see?

THE DAUGHTER. What are you seeing?

THE POET. I see an open space covered with snow---a drill ground---The winter sun is shining from behind a church on a hill, and the tower is casting its long shadow on the snow---Now a troop of soldiers come marching across the grounds. They march up along the tower, up the spire. Now they have reached the cross, but I have a feeling that the first one who steps on the gilded weathercock at the top must die. Now they are near it---a corporal is leading them---ha-ha! There comes a cloud sweeping across the open space, and right in front of the sun, of course---now everything is gone---the water in the cloud put out the sun's fire!---The light of the sun created the shadow picture of the tower, but the shadow picture of the cloud swallowed the shadow picture of the tower------

While THE POET is still speaking, the stage is changed and shows once more the passageway outside the opera-house.

THE DAUGHTER. [To THE PORTRESS] Has the Lord Chancellor arrived yet?

THE PORTRESS. No.

THE DAUGHTER. And the Deans of the Faculties?

THE PORTRESS. No.

THE DAUGHTER. Call them at once, then, for the door is to be opened------

THE PORTRESS. Is it so very pressing?

THE DAUGHTER. Yes, it is. For there is a suspicion that the solution of the world-riddle may be hidden behind it. Call the Lord Chancellor, and the Deans of the Four Faculties also.

[THE PORTRESS blows in a whistle.

THE DAUGHTER. And do not forget the Glazier and his diamond, for without them nothing can be done.

STAGE PEOPLE enter from the left as in the earlier scene.

THE OFFICER. [Enters from the background, in Prince Albert and high hat, with a bunch of roses in his hand, looking radiantly happy] Victoria!

THE PORTRESS. The young lady will be coming in a moment.

THE OFFICER. Good! The carriage is waiting, the table is set, the wine is on ice---Permit me to embrace you, madam! [Embraces THE PORTRESS] Victoria!

A WOMAN'S VOICE FROM ABOVE. [Sings] I am here!

THE OFFICER. [Begins to walk to and fro] Good! I am waiting.

THE POET. It seems to me that all this has happened before------

THE DAUGHTER. So it seems to me also.

THE POET. Perhaps I have dreamt it.

THE DAUGHTER. Or put it in a poem, perhaps.

THE POET. Or put it in a poem.

THE DAUGHTER. Then you know what poetry is.

THE POET. Then I know what dreaming is.

THE DAUGHTER. It seems to me that we have said all this to each other before, in some other place.

THE POET. Then you may soon figure out what reality is.

THE DAUGHTER. Or dreaming!

THE POET. Or poetry!

Enter the LORD CHANCELLOR and the DEANS of the THEOLOGICAL, PHILOSOPHICAL, MEDICAL, and LEGAL FACULTIES.

LORD CHANCELLOR. It is about the opening of that door, of course---What does the Dean of the Theological Faculty think of it?

DEAN OF THEOLOGY. I do not think---I believe---Credo------

DEAN OF PHILOSOPHY. I hold------

DEAN OF MEDICINE. I know------

DEAN OF JURISPRUDENCE. I doubt until I have evidence and witnesses.

LORD CHANCELLOR. Now they are fighting again!---Well, what does Theology believe?

THEOLOGY. I believe that this door must not be opened, because it hides dangerous truths------

PHILOSOPHY. Truth is never dangerous.

MEDICINE. What is truth?

JURISPRUDENCE. What can be proved by two witnesses.

THEOLOGY. Anything can be proved by two false witnesses---thinks the pettifogger.

PHILOSOPHY. Truth is wisdom, and wisdom, knowledge, is philosophy itself---Philosophy is the science of sciences, the knowledge of knowing, and all other sciences are its servants.

MEDICINE. Natural science is the only true science---and philosophy is no science at all. It is nothing but empty speculation.

THEOLOGY. Good!

PHILOSOPHY. [To THEOLOGY] Good, you say! And what are you, then? You are the arch-enemy of all knowledge; you are the very antithesis of knowledge; you are ignorance and obscuration------

MEDICINE. Good!

THEOLOGY. [To MEDICINE] You cry "good," you, who cannot see beyond the length of your own nose in the magnifying glass; who believes in nothing but your own unreliable senses---in your vision, for instance, which may be far-sighted, near-sighted, blind, purblind, cross-eyed, one-eyed, colour-blind, red-blind, green-blind------

MEDICINE. Idiot!

THEOLOGY. Ass! [They fight.

LORD CHANCELLOR. Peace! One crow does not peck out the other's eye.

PHILOSOPHY. If I had to choose between those two, Theology and Medicine, I should choose---neither!

JURISPRUDENCE. And if I had to sit in judgment on the three of you, I should find---all guilty! You cannot agree on a single point, and you never could. Let us get back to the case in court. What is the opinion of the Lord Chancellor as to this door and its opening?

LORD CHANCELLOR. Opinion? I have no opinion whatever. I am merely appointed by the government to see that you don't break each other's arms and legs in the Council---while you are educating the young! Opinion? Why, I take mighty good care to avoid everything of the kind. Once I had one or two, but they were refuted at once. Opinions are always refuted---by their opponents, of course---But perhaps we might open the door now, even with the risk of finding some dangerous truths behind it?

JURISPRUDENCE. What is truth? What is truth?

THEOLOGY. I am the truth and the life------

PHILOSOPHY. I am the science of sciences------

MEDICINE. I am the only exact science------

JURISPRUDENCE. I doubt------ [They fight.

THE DAUGHTER. Instructors of the young, take shame!

JURISPRUDENCE. Lord Chancellor, as representative of the government, as head of the corps of instructors, you must prosecute this woman's offence. She has told all of you to take shame, which is an insult; and she has---in a sneering, ironical sense---called you instructors of the young, which is a slanderous speech.

THE DAUGHTER. Poor youth!

JURISPRUDENCE. She pities the young, which is to accuse us. Lord Chancellor, you must prosecute the offence.

THE DAUGHTER. Yes, I accuse you---you in a body---of sowing doubt and discord in the minds of the young.

JURISPRUDENCE. Listen to her---she herself is making the young question our authority, and then she charges us with sowing doubt. Is it not a criminal act, I ask all the right-minded?

ALL RIGHT-MINDED. Yes, it is criminal.

JURISPRUDENCE. All the right-minded have condemned you. Leave in peace with your lucre, or else------

THE DAUGHTER. My lucre? Or else? What else?

JURISPRUDENCE. Else you will be stoned.

THE POET. Or crucified.

THE DAUGHTER. I leave. Follow me, and you shall learn the riddle.

THE POET. Which riddle?

THE DAUGHTER. What did he mean with "my lucre"?

THE POET. Probably nothing at all. That kind of thing we call talk. He was just talking.

THE DAUGHTER. But it was what hurt me more than anything else!

THE POET. That is why he said it, I suppose---Men are that way.

ALL RIGHT-MINDED. Hooray! The door is open.

LORD CHANCELLOR. What was behind the door?

THE GLAZIER. I can see nothing.

LORD CHANCELLOR. He cannot see anything---of course, he cannot! Deans of the Faculties: what was behind that door?

THEOLOGY. Nothing! That is the solution of the world-riddle. In the beginning God created heaven and the earth out of nothing------

PHILOSOPHY. Out of nothing comes nothing.

MEDICINE. Yes, bosh---which is nothing!

JURISPRUDENCE. I doubt. And this is a case of deception. I appeal to all the right-minded.

THE DAUGHTER. [To THE POET] Who are the right-minded?

THE POET. Who can tell? Frequently all the right-minded consist of a single person. To-day it is me and mine; to-morrow it is you and yours. To that position you are appointed---or rather, you appoint yourself to it.

ALL RIGHT-MINDED. We have been deceived.

LORD CHANCELLOR. Who has deceived you?

ALL RIGHT-MINDED. The Daughter!

LORD CHANCELLOR. Will the Daughter please tell us what she meant by having this door opened?

THE DAUGHTER. No, friends. If I did, you would not believe me.

MEDICINE. Why, then, there is nothing there.

THE DAUGHTER. You have said it---but you have not understood.

MEDICINE. It is bosh, what she says!

ALL. Bosh!

THE DAUGHTER. [To THE POET] They are to be pitied.

THE POET. Are you in earnest?

THE DAUGHTER. Always in earnest.

THE POET. Do you think the right-minded are to be pitied also?

THE DAUGHTER. They most of all, perhaps.

THE POET. And the four faculties, too?

THE DAUGHTER. They also, and not the least. Four heads, four minds, and one body. Who made that monster?

ALL. She has not answered!

LORD CHANCELLOR. Stone her then!

THE DAUGHTER. I have answered.

LORD CHANCELLOR. Hear---she answers.

ALL. Stone her! She answers!

THE DAUGHTER. Whether she answer or do not answer, stone her! Come, prophet, and I shall tell you the riddle---but far away from here---out in the desert, where no one can hear us, no one see us, for------

THE LAWYER. [Enters and takes THE DAUGHTER by the arm] Have you forgotten your duties?

THE DAUGHTER. Oh, heavens, no! But I have higher duties.

THE LAWYER. And your child?

THE DAUGHTER. My child---what of it?

THE LAWYER. Your child is crying for you.

THE DAUGHTER. My child! Woe, I am earth-bound! And this pain in my breast, this anguish---what is it?

THE LAWYER. Don't you know?

THE DAUGHTER. No.

THE LAWYER. It is remorse.

THE DAUGHTER. Is that remorse?

THE LAWYER. Yes, and it follows every neglected duty; every pleasure, even the most innocent, if innocent pleasures exist, which seems doubtful; and every suffering inflicted upon one's fellow-beings.

THE DAUGHTER. And there is no remedy?

THE LAWYER. Yes, but only one. It consists in doing your duty at once------

THE DAUGHTER. You look like a demon when you speak that word duty---And when, as in my case, there are two duties to be met?

THE LAWYER. Meet one first, and then the other.

THE DAUGHTER. The highest first---therefore, you look after my child, and I shall do my duty------

THE LAWYER. Your child suffers because it misses you---can you bear to know that a human being is suffering for your sake?

THE DAUGHTER. Now strife has entered my soul---it is rent in two, and the halves are being pulled in opposite directions!

THE LAWYER. Such, you know, are life's little discords.

THE DAUGHTER. Oh, how it is pulling!

THE POET. If you could only know how I have spread sorrow and ruin around me by the exercise of my calling---and note that I say calling, which carries with it the highest duty of all---then you would not even touch my hand.

THE DAUGHTER. What do you mean?

THE POET. I had a father who put his whole hope on me as his only son, destined to continue his enterprise. I ran away from the business college. My father grieved himself to death. My mother wanted me to be religious, and I could not do what she wanted---and she disowned me. I had a friend who assisted me through trying days of need---and that friend acted as a tyrant against those on whose behalf I was speaking and writing. And I had to strike down my friend and benefactor in order to save my soul. Since then I have had no peace. Men call me devoid of honour, infamous---and it does not help that my conscience says, "you have done right," for in the next moment it is saying, "you have done wrong." Such is life.

THE DAUGHTER. Come with me into the desert.

THE LAWYER. Your child!

THE DAUGHTER. [Indicating all those present] Here are my children. By themselves they are good, but if they only come together, then they quarrel and turn into demons---Farewell!

Outside the castle. The same scenery as in the first scene of the first act. But now the ground in front of the castle wall is covered with flowers---blue monk's-hood or aconite. On the roof of the castle, at the very top of its lantern, there is a chrysanthemum bud ready to open. The castle windows are illuminated with candles.

THE DAUGHTER and THE POET.

THE DAUGHTER. The hour is not distant when, with the help of the flames, I shall once more ascend to the ether. It is what you call to die, and what you approach in fear.

THE POET. Fear of the unknown.

THE DAUGHTER. Which is known to you.

THE POET. Who knows it?

THE DAUGHTER. All! Why do you not believe your prophets?

THE POET. Prophets have always been disbelieved. Why is that so? And "if God has spoken, why will men not believe then?" His convincing power ought to be irresistible.

THE DAUGHTER. Have you always doubted?

THE POET. No. I have had certainty many times. But after a while it passed away, like a dream when you wake up.

THE DAUGHTER. It is not easy to be human!

THE POET. You see and admit it?

THE DAUGHTER. I do.

THE POET. Listen! Was it not Indra that once sent his son down here to receive the complaints of mankind?

THE DAUGHTER. Thus it happened---and how was he received?

THE POET. How did he fill his mission?---to answer with another question.

THE DAUGHTER. And if I may reply with still another---was not man's position bettered by his visit to the earth? Answer truly!

THE POET. Bettered?---Yes, a little. A very little---But instead of asking questions---will you not tell the riddle?

THE DAUGHTER. Yes. But to what use? You will not believe me.

THE POET. In you I shall believe, for I know who you are.

THE DAUGHTER. Then I shall tell! In the morning of the ages, before the sun was shining, Brahma, the divine primal force, let himself be persuaded by Maya, the world-mother, to propagate himself. This meeting of the divine primal matter with the earth-matter was the fall of heaven into sin. Thus the world, existence, mankind, are nothing but a phantom, an appearance, a dream-image------

THE POET. My dream!

THE DAUGHTER. A dream of truth! But in order to free themselves from the earth-matter, the offspring of Brahma seek privation and suffering. There you have suffering as a liberator. But this craving for suffering comes into conflict with the craving for enjoyment, or love---do you now understand what love is, with its utmost joys merged into its utmost sufferings, with its mixture of what is most sweet and most bitter? Can you now grasp what woman is? Woman, through whom sin and death found their way into life?

THE POET. I understand!---And the end?

THE DAUGHTER. You know it: conflict between the pain of enjoyment and the pleasure of suffering---between the pangs of the penitent and the joys of the prodigal------

THE POET. A conflict it is then?

THE DAUGHTER. Conflict between opposites produces energy, as fire and water give the power of steam------

THE POET. But peace? Rest?

THE DAUGHTER. Hush! You must ask no more, and I can no longer answer. The altar is already adorned for the sacrifice---the flowers are standing guard---the candles are lit---there are white sheets in the windows---spruce boughs have been spread in the gateway------

THE POET. And you say this as calmly as if for you suffering did not exist!

THE DAUGHTER. You think so?---I have suffered all your sufferings, but in a hundredfold degree, for my sensations were so much more acute------

THE POET. Relate your sorrow!

THE DAUGHTER. Poet, could you tell yours so that not one word went too far? Could your word at any time approach your thought?

THE POET. No, you are right! To myself I appeared like one struck dumb, and when the mass listened admiringly to my song, I found it mere noise---for this reason, you see, I have always felt ashamed when they praised me.

THE DAUGHTER. And then you ask me---Look me straight in the eye!

THE POET. I cannot bear your glance------

THE DAUGHTER. How could you bear my word then, were I to speak in your tongue?

THE POET. But tell me at least before you go: from what did you suffer most of all down here?

THE DAUGHTER. From---being: to feel my vision weakened by an eye, my hearing blunted by an ear, and my thought, my bright and buoyant thought, bound in labyrinthine coils of fat. You have seen a brain---what roundabout and sneaking paths------

THE POET. Well, that is because all the right-minded think crookedly!

THE DAUGHTER. Malicious, always malicious, all of you!

THE POET. How could one possibly be otherwise?

THE DAUGHTER. First of all I now shake the dust from my feet---the dirt and the clay---

[Takes off her shoes and puts them into the fire.

THE PORTRESS. [Puts her shawl into the fire] Perhaps I may burn my shawl at the same time? [Goes out.

THE OFFICER. [Enters] And I my roses, of which only the thorns are left. [Goes out.

THE BILLPOSTER. [Enters] My bills may go, but never the dipnet! [Goes out.

THE GLAZIER. [Enters] The diamond that opened the door---good-bye! [Goes out.

THE LAWYER. [Enters] The minutes of the great process concerning the pope's beard or the water loss in the sources of the Ganges. [Goes out.

MASTER OF QUARANTINE. [Enters] A small contribution in shape of the black mask that made me a blackamoor against my will! [Goes out.

VICTORIA. [Enters] My beauty, my sorrow! [Goes out.

EDITH. [Enters] My plainness, my sorrow! [Goes out.

THE BLIND MAN. [Enters; puts his hand into the fire] I give my hand for my eye. [Goes out.

DON JUAN in his wheel chair; SHE and THE FRIEND.

DON JUAN. Hurry up! Hurry up! Life is short!

[Leaves with the other two.

THE POET. I have read that when the end of life draws near, everything and everybody rushes by in continuous review---Is this the end?

THE DAUGHTER. Yes, it is my end. Farewell!

THE POET. Give us a parting word.

THE DAUGHTER. No, I cannot. Do you believe that your words can express our thoughts?

DEAN OF THEOLOGY. [Enters in a rage] I am cast off by God and persecuted by man; I am deserted by the government and scorned by my colleagues! How am I to believe when nobody else believes? How am I to defend a god that does not defend his own? Bosh, that's what it is!

[Throws a book on the fire and goes out.

THE POET. [Snatches the book out of the fire] Do you know what it is? A martyrology, a calendar with a martyr for each day of the year.

THE DAUGHTER. Martyr?

THE POET. Yes, one that has been tortured and killed on account of his faith! Tell me why?---Do you think that all who are tortured suffer, and that all who are killed feel pain? Suffering is said to be salvation, and death a liberation.

CHRISTINE. [With slips of paper] I paste, I paste until there is nothing more to paste------

THE POET. And if heaven should split in twain, you would try to paste it together---Away!

CHRISTINE. Are there no double windows in this castle?

THE POET. Not one, I tell you.

CHRISTINE. Well, then I'll go. [Goes out.

THE DAUGHTER.

The parting hour has come, the end draws near.
And now farewell, thou dreaming child of man,
Thou singer, who alone knows how to live!
When from thy winged flight above the earth
At times thou sweepest downward to the dust,
It is to touch it only, not to stay!

And as I go---how, in the parting hour,
As one must leave for e'er a friend, a place,
The heart with longing swells for what one loves,
And with regret for all wherein one failed!
O, now the pangs of life in all their force
I feel: I know at last the lot of man
Regretfully one views what once was scorned;
For sins one never sinned remorse is felt;
To stay one craves, but equally to leave:
As if to horses tied that pull apart,
One's heart is split in twain, one's feelings rent,
By indecision, contrast, and discord.

Farewell! To all thy fellow-men make known
That where I go I shall forget them not;
And in thy name their grievance shall be placed
Before the throne. Farewell!

She goes into the castle. Music is heard. The background is lit up by the burning castle and reveals a wall of human faces, questioning, grieving, despairing. As the castle breaks into flames, the bud on the roof opens into a gigantic chrysanthemum flower.

Curtain.