Contemporary Dramatists Serifs 
 
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 DEATH AND THE FOOL
 
 Contemporary Dramatists Series 
 
 HUGO VON HOFMANNSTHAL 
 Death and the Fool 
 
 JOSE ECHEGARAY 
 The Great Galeoto 
 
 AUGUST STRINDBERG 
 
 Advent 
 
 Uniform binding, \2rno., antique boards 
 Each 75<r. net, &5c. postpaid 
 
 Other Volumes in Preparation 
 
 RICHARD G. BADGER 
 PUBLISHER, BOSTON
 
 Contemporary Dramatists Series 
 
 A DRAMA IN 
 ONE ACT BY 
 
 HUGO VON HOFMANNSTHAL 
 
 Translated from the German 
 with the Consent of the Author 
 by ELISABETH WALTER 
 
 BOSTON: RICHARD G. BADGER 
 
 THE COPP CLARK CO., LIMITED, TORONTO
 
 Copyright, 1414, by Richard Q. Badger 
 
 All Rights Reserved 
 
 THE GORHAM PRESS, BOSTON, U.S. A.
 
 HUGO VON HOFMANNSTHAL 
 
 H 
 
 UGO VON HOFMANNSTHAL, 
 
 pioneer of the symbolic movement in 
 German literature, was born in Vienna 
 February i, 1874. His father, a no- 
 table lawyer, and "Vorstand des Rechts-bureau der 
 Oestreich-Zentral-Boden-Kredit-Bank" in Vienna, 
 is descended of an ancient Austrian family, which 
 in 1835 had been raised to the aristocracy. Hugo 
 received his early education at the gymnasium in 
 Vienna and later attended the university there to 
 study law and Romanic philology. After attain- 
 ing the doctorate, he devoted himself to literary 
 work. At the remarkably early age of seventeen he 
 published his first dramatic study Gestern, employ- 
 ing the pseudonym, Theophil Morren. This was 
 immediately followed by the dramas, Der Tod des 
 Tizian in 1892, and Der Tor und der Tod in 1893, 
 written under the penname of Loris. In 1899 the 
 volume, Theater in Versen appeared, containing the 
 dramas, Die Hochzeit der Zobeide, Die Frau im 
 Fenster, and Der Abendteurer und die Saengerin. 
 Two volumes of short plays were published in 1906 
 under the title Kleine Dramen. From these purely 
 lyrical and romantic works, Hofmannsthal turned 
 to the great psychological dramas of literature. He 
 5 
 
 2081903
 
 6 HUGO VON HOFMANNSTHAL 
 
 rewrote Sophocles' Elektra in 1903, his Oedipus 
 Rex in 1904, and Oedipus and the Spinx in 1906. 
 Otway's Venice Preserved was modernised under 
 the title Das Gerettete Venedig, in 1904. On this 
 side of the Atlantic Hofmannsthal is perhaps best 
 known as the poet of the opera Der Rosenkavalier 
 which was first published in 1911. Besides these 
 dramatic poems Hofmannsthal issued two volumes 
 of verses, Ausgewdhlte Gedichte, 1903 and Ges- 
 ammelte Gedichte' 1907. His prose writings in- 
 clude Talks on Literary Subjects 1905 and Prose 
 Works 1907. 
 
 To Hermann Bahr belongs the distinction of hav- 
 ing first discovered the genius of Hugo von Hof- 
 mannsthal. The youthful author of Gestern, how- 
 ever, was not long dependent upon his friends for 
 initiation into art circles, but soon spread his wings 
 to soar to atmospheres but little known to his fore- 
 runners. He became one of the select circle that 
 gathered around Stephan George and without doubt 
 may be reckoned its most illustrious member. This 
 circle is representative of that new movement in 
 literature known as the symbolistic school whose 
 aims and methods are diametrically opposed to those 
 of the naturalistic and realistic schools. In a maga- 
 zine, Blaetter fuer die Kunst (Art Leaflets) is- 
 sued by this group of young Viennese poets, the aims 
 of symbolism were set forth in the following words:
 
 HUGO VON HOFMANNSTHAL 7 
 
 "An art for art's sake, which is therefore im- 
 mediately opposed to that hackneyed and inferior 
 movement which had its source in a mistaken con- 
 ception of reality. Nor can this art occupy itself 
 with world reform, or dreams of an all-round 
 felicity, dreams that are very beautiful in their way, 
 but belong to a realm not akin to poetry." 
 
 Unlike most youthful authors these men scorned 
 publicity. The Art Leaflets were never to be had 
 for money, but were given to the select few whom 
 genius deemed worthy. In this magazine Death 
 and the Fool first appeared in 1893, nor was it 
 placed on sale in book form until seven years later, 
 when it met with such general favor among the 
 German reading public that within ten years twelve 
 editions had been exhausted. It was the influence 
 of Nietzschean philosophy that prompted this desire 
 to avoid publicity, this aristocratic reserve. And 
 it was also Nietzschean influence that led these 
 writers to express themselves in aphorisms and or- 
 acular maxims, rather than in the more plain but 
 ofttimes labored language of the realists. 
 
 Hofmannsthal has expressed the diversity of aims 
 of the two schools in these words: "Between the 
 older art and the art of to-day there is indeed great 
 conflict. We want no invention of narratives, but 
 the reproduction of emotions ; no contemplation, 
 but representation; not amusement, but impression.
 
 8 HUGO VON HOFMANNSTHAL 
 
 The majority of the older poets created their work 
 according to certain popular tenets, or what they 
 desired the world to accept as principle. We, on 
 the contrary, view the happenings of an era but as 
 a means of artistic inspiration." Shakespeare had 
 been attracted to the story of Macbeth by the course 
 of events in his history; Goethe was drawn to 
 Iphigenia by her character and personality ; but Hot- 
 mannsthal felt the forceful impression of a storm 
 of happenings upon a life-throbbing spirit, and it 
 is this that his dramas reproduce. He wrote not 
 to give pleasure, not to instruct, but that he, and 
 with him his audience might taste to the last, aye, 
 to the very dregs, the bitter cup that had been forced 
 to the lips of a suffering humanity. It is this that has 
 given such fearful force to his historical plays. 
 Mood and sensation are all important, character and 
 events are only a means of creating the same. 
 Neither time nor place binds the new-romanticists. 
 In their abrupt turning from the naturalistic trend 
 of their contemporaries, they reach back through the 
 ages into the cultured world of dead nations. In 
 this feeling at one with the people and customs of 
 far gone days Hofmannsthal is unsurpassed. His 
 favorite field is the time of the Renaissance. 
 
 With the hand of a magician he weaves symbolic 
 dreams unutterably rich in color and melody. His 
 plays are lyrical records of deep and poignant emo-
 
 HUGO VON HOFMANNSTHAL 9 
 
 tion occupied with the spiritual adventures of soul, 
 and mysterious as the mystery of a spirit's moods. 
 A disciple of D'Annunzio and Wilde, he far sur- 
 passes both in the lyrical quality of his verse, which 
 in its magnificent resonance is as the orchestration 
 of nature and humanity. A true word-artist, he 
 chooses his phrases with remarkable nicety, ever 
 pregnant with meaning and of piercing sweetness. 
 The perfection of his rhymes never palls, but at all 
 times is suited to the crest or trough of feeling em- 
 bodied, verse gliding into verse as wave overtaking 
 wave. E. W.
 
 CAST OF CHARACTERS 
 
 Death 
 
 Claudia, a Nobleman 
 
 His Valet 
 
 Claudia's Mother 
 
 Claudia's Sweetheart ^ Dead 
 
 His Chum 
 
 Claudia's House 
 
 Costumes of 1820
 
 Death and the Fool 
 
 Claudia's study in the style of Louis XVI. In 
 the background right and left are large windows, in 
 the center a glass door leading out to the balcony 
 from which a wooden staircase leads down into 
 the garden. At the left a white folding door, at the 
 right a similar one opening into his bedroom which 
 is shut off with a green velvet portier. A desk 
 near the window at the right, a chair in front of it. 
 To the pillars are fastened glass cabinets containing 
 antiques. Close to the wall at the right is a dark 
 Gothic carved chest, ancient musical instruments 
 hang above it. A picture by an old Italian master 
 is almost black with age. The wall is covered with 
 a very light wall-paper, stucco and gilt. 
 
 CLAVDIO alone. 
 He is seated at the window. Sunset, 
 
 The distant hills against th' horizon rear 
 Their crowned heads 'twixt rays of sun declining, 
 13
 
 14 DEATH AND THE FOOL 
 
 A wreath afloat In gilded atmosphere 
 Of snowy clouds with shadows deep entwining. 
 So were the clouds of ancient masters painted 
 That bear aloft the Virgin Mother sainted. 
 The precipice in sombre blue is shrouded, 
 The hollow vale of mountain shadows kissed, 
 The glistening meads in evening gray are clouded, 
 One suntinged peak gleams forth an amethyst. 
 With jealous pangs my yearning soul regards 
 The fortunate who golden fields have planted, 
 The earth their weary, fulsome toil rewards, 
 Them happy weariness of limb is granted. 
 With feet unshod, upon the fragrant heather 
 The morning wind disports in summer's glare; 
 He wakens them. The bees their honey gather 
 Near them; they breathe God's glorious, sunny air. 
 Nature's their lowly slave, and they inherit 
 Her choicest gifts; their wealth my soul doth taunt. 
 Between alternate fresh and wearied spirit, 
 To them no fortune's blessing is unwont. 
 The golden orb doth shift its place and sinks 
 Into the gleaming crystal of the sea, 
 The last faint streak on distant treetop blinks. 
 Now reddish smoke doth hover hazily,
 
 DEATH AND THE FOOL 15 
 
 Now fiery glare upon the shore 'tis there 
 
 Great cities lie, with arms of Naiades 
 
 In monstrous cradles high their children bear; 
 
 A noble people and audacious. These 
 
 The unexplored ocean waves patrol 
 
 That ne'er before were cut by any keel. 
 
 The anger of the sea doth rouse the soul, 
 
 And every pain and passionate pang doth heal. 
 
 Thus meaning, and thus blessing I behold 
 
 Spread over all I gaze there longingly, 
 
 But meaningless is all, and pain untold 
 
 Doth fill the things, the scenes that nearer me. 
 
 So seems my life insensate, wholly wasted, 
 
 Confined within these walls, these streets my lot. 
 
 With unshed tears 'twas full, and joys untasted, 
 
 And yearning for, alas, I know not what. 
 
 He stands at the window. 
 
 They light their candles now, and they attain 
 Within their walls a narrowed world and dull, 
 With all that holds the human heart in chain, 
 Of joys and tears and pain 'tis full. 
 Each heart to each is ope; they share
 
 16 DEATH AND THE FOOL 
 
 Misgivings o'er the traveler not returned, 
 
 With cheering words they comfort, drive out care; 
 
 (Ah me, to comfort I have never learned.) 
 
 They know what tone each anguished hour calls, 
 
 To cull or smile or tear what word is needing, 
 
 Nor ever knock on sevenfold nailed walls 
 
 With wounded fingers torn and bleeding. 
 
 What do I know of life of man ? 
 
 As an outsider did I view it, 
 
 I could not weave my soul into it, 
 
 Was in it but not of the clan. 
 
 Myself I never could forget, 
 
 Nor give, nor take, like others blessed ; 
 
 My soul ne'er understanding met. 
 
 Tho many fond lips mine have pressed 
 
 I never drank the cup of happiness, 
 
 I never knew a deep and poignant anguish, 
 
 Nor sobbing trod the path of loneliness. 
 
 Whene'er of Heaven's choicest gifts in me 
 
 A fluttering caused, a thrill, immediately 
 
 My ever wakeful brain, forgetfulness 
 
 Unknowing, boldly spoke its name;
 
 DEATH AND THE FOOL 17 
 
 Comparisons arose, and with them came 
 Mistrust, and robbed me of all joyousness. 
 And agony devoid of colouring, 
 By contemplation torn, dissected quite 
 How could I press that horrid, mangled thing 
 Unto my breast and suck its rare delight? 
 Its wings just grazed and wearied me, 
 Uneasiness I felt, not agony. 
 
 With a sudden start. 
 
 'Tis darkening, I ponder foolishly. 
 
 Ah, Time, indeed, hath various progeny. 
 
 But I am tired, I shall try to sleep. 
 
 The valet brings in a lamp and immediately with- 
 draws. 
 
 In glaring light once more the lamp doth steep 
 For me this storeroom's lifeless frippery, 
 Through which I fain by stealthy way had crept, 
 Since barred the open path must ever be, 
 Into that life for which I yearning wept. 
 
 He stops in front of the Crucifix.
 
 1 8 DEATH AND THE FOOL 
 
 At Thy poor, wounded feet of ivory, 
 
 Oh, Savior crucified, have many knelt, 
 
 To quench the burning flames prayed fervently, 
 
 That in their hearts so marvelously dwelt; 
 
 And when an icy chill the glow displaced, 
 
 Repentance vain, and fierce remorse they faced. 
 
 He stands in front of the old picture. 
 
 Giaconda, from a background wondrous 
 
 Thy soulful form in mystic splendor gleams, 
 
 Thy mouth austere, and sweet mysterious, 
 
 Thine eyelids weighted down with golden dreams; 
 
 Hast just so much of life to me reveal'd 
 
 As my interrogating soul to thee did yield. 
 
 He turns to the chest. 
 
 Ye cups, upon whose cool refreshing rim 
 
 Full many lips in rapture rare have hung, 
 
 Ye ancient lutes, whose twanging strings have sung 
 
 To man oppressed of woe, and solaced him, 
 
 Ah, could ye weave your magic spell o'er me 
 
 How glad your willing prisoner I should be.
 
 DEATH AND THE FOOL 19 
 
 Ye wooden, and ye brazen shields of old, 
 
 With strange devices half concealed, half bold, 
 
 Ye cherubs, grifons, fauns, and toads, 
 
 Fantastic birds, and fruit of jungle weird, 
 
 Intoxicating things and to be feared, 
 
 Wert born of some deep human heart's emotion, 
 
 Art progeny of palpitating moods, 
 
 Washed upward by the mighty waves of ocean; 
 
 And as the net the fish, so form imprisoned ye. 
 
 In vain, alas, in vain, I followed ye, 
 
 Your charms as fetters ever have I felt. 
 
 And tho like masks in turn I donned your souls 
 
 That quivered so with life, and in them dwelt, 
 
 Nor life, nor hearts, or world of me were visioned, 
 
 Held by these as a swarm of motes imprisoned; 
 
 While Harpies, cold, repellent, guarded e'er 
 
 Each cool, refreshing spring's sweet blossoms fair. 
 
 The artificial so completely bound me 
 
 That dead mine eyes looked on the golden sun, 
 
 And deaf mine ears were to the world around me. 
 
 The mystic curse forever on my head, 
 
 Ne'er conscious quite, ne'er quite my senses lost, 
 
 To live my life e'en as a book that read 
 
 Is understood but half, while for the rest the brain
 
 ao DEATH AND THE FOOL 
 
 Gropes in the sombre realms of life and gropes in 
 
 vain. 
 
 And all that pleased, and all that made me sad, 
 It seemed as tho no meaning of itself it had. 
 Nay, this was naught but future life's forseeing, 
 A hollow picture of completer being. 
 In sorrows and in love I battled ever 
 'Gainst shadows, all my sense bewildered quite, 
 Employed my instincts but exhausted never, 
 And vaguely dreamed that day would follow night. 
 I turned and looked upon this life 
 Wherein no race was ever won by speed, 
 And bravery is not an aid in strife, 
 Where sorrows sadden not nor joys make glad, 
 Where senseless answers senseless questions breed. 
 Entangled dreams rise in the harrowed mind, 
 And chance rules all, the hour, wave, and wind. 
 So painfully astute and mortified 
 In wearied pride, with disappointment faint, 
 I lie deep buried here without complaint, 
 Within these walls, this town do I abide; 
 The people, too, have ceased to give me heed, 
 They've found that I am commonplace indeed.
 
 DEATH AND THE FOOL 21 
 
 The valet enters with a plateful of cherries which 
 he places on the table, then turns to close the doors 
 of the balcony. 
 
 CL AUDIO 
 
 Why shut the doors so soon? What's frighten- 
 ed you? 
 
 THE VALET 
 
 Your Honor wont believe it if I tell. 
 To himself, fearfully. 
 
 And now they've hidden in the arbor there! 
 CLAUDIO 
 
 Why who? 
 
 THE VALET 
 
 Your pardon, sir, I do not know; 
 It seems an army of uncanny folk.
 
 22 DEATH AND THE FOOL 
 
 CL AUDIO 
 
 Beggars? 
 
 THE VALET 
 I do not know. 
 CL AUDIO 
 
 Oh, shut the door 
 
 That leads from out the garden to the street, 
 Then go to bed and bother me no more. 
 
 THE VALET 
 
 'Tis even that has just alarmed me so, 
 The garden gate is bolted, but 
 
 CLAUDIO 
 
 But what? 
 THE VALET 
 
 They're sitting in the garden even now, 
 Upon the sandstone figure of Apollo some,
 
 DEATH AND THE FOOL 23 
 
 A pair are hidden in the shadows there 
 Beneath the fountain, one is on the Sphinx, 
 The yewtree hides him, you can't see him now. 
 
 CL AUDIO 
 
 Are they men? 
 
 THE VALET 
 
 Some men and women also, 
 Not beggar-folk, old fashioned are their clothes. 
 They look just like the etchings on your walls. 
 In such appalling manner there they sit, 
 With eyes that stare at one as empty air. 
 They can't be human beings. Your Honor, pray, 
 Be not annoyed, but not for all the world 
 Would I go out in their vicinity, 
 Pray God, to-morrow they'll have disappeared. 
 And now, with your permission, sir, I'll close 
 The doors and bolt them too, and all the locks 
 With holy water I shall sprinkle. 'Cause 
 I've never yet seen humans looked like those, 
 And eyes like theirs are not in human heads.
 
 24 DEATH AND THE FOOL 
 
 CLAUD1O 
 
 Do as you like and now good-night. 
 
 He walks musingly up and down the room. Be- 
 hind the scenes are heard the yearning, mournful 
 strains of a violin, soft and distant at first, gradually 
 coming nearer, until at last the full, warm notes 
 seem to come from the adjoining room. 
 
 CLAUDIO 
 
 Music? 
 
 Rare music, too, that speaks unto the soul! 
 The fellow's nonsense has bewitched me quite, 
 Methinks no human hand e're culled 
 Such tones from out a violin. 
 
 Remains in listening attitude turned toward the 
 right. 
 
 It seems as tho my soul 'twere rending 
 In tremors solemn, deep, supernal, 
 It seems to speak remorse unending,
 
 DEATH AND THE FOOL 25 
 
 And sings of hope, sweet hope eternal; 
 
 As tho from out these ancient walls and wide 
 
 My life unrolled before me glorified. 
 
 'Tis like a mother's or a loved one's ent'ring; 
 
 Like every long lost one's return 
 
 It rouses thoughts 'round good things cent'ring, 
 
 That in my breast with youthful fire burn. 
 
 When beauteous Spring in boyhood did inflame me, 
 
 The vast unknown brought quickening to my blood, 
 
 A yearning, boundless, infinite, o'ercame me, 
 
 An apprehensive, wild, prophetic flood. 
 
 Then days of wandering came, intoxicating, 
 
 When all the world was bathed in wondrous light, 
 
 And roses bloomed, and bells rang celebrating, 
 
 And ecstacy was 'round me and delight. 
 
 What throbbing life all things then did contain! 
 
 What meaningfulness all things then acquired! 
 
 I felt my soul enraptured, felt inspired, 
 
 I living link within the human chain. 
 
 And love I then divined, the mighty stream 
 
 That nourisheth all hearts, thru mine heart urged ; 
 
 And a contentment, that not e'en in dream 
 
 I now know, then thru all my being surged. 
 
 Sing on, oh mystic music, sing to me,
 
 26 DEATH AND THE FOOL 
 
 And stir my sluggish soul unto its source! 
 It seems, reviewed thus retrospectively, 
 My life in joy and warmth had run its course. 
 The crust of age subsideth meltingly 
 Beneath this fiery glow of youthful force; 
 The useless learning which my wilful choice 
 In weary weight upon these shoulders lays, 
 Is lost before the great Primordial Voice, 
 These sacred tones, this call of childhood days. 
 While heralded afar with bells loud ringing, 
 A new life cometh forth, a new awaking, 
 In forms to which is boundless meaning clinging, 
 Sincerely great in giving and in taking. 
 
 The music ceases suddenly. 
 
 Ah, there, 'tis silent now, the violin! 
 Divinely human grace I felt therein. 
 And he who so had power to enchant 
 Most likely standeth in the street below 
 And holdeth out his hat, a mendicant. 
 
 He goes to the window at the right. 
 
 I do not see him here. Indeed 'tis strange ! 
 Where may he be? Perhaps at t'other window.
 
 DEATH AND THE FOOL 27 
 
 While Claudia moves toward the door at the 
 right, the curtain is softly drawn, and Death stands 
 revealed in the doorway, bow in hand, and his fiddle 
 hanging from his belt. He calmly views Claudio, 
 who has drawn back in extreme terror. 
 
 CLAUDIO. 
 
 Why does such senseless fear the joy displace 
 With which ere now I did thy notes attend? 
 Whence comes this spasm as I view thy face? 
 What binds my throat? What draws my hair on 
 
 end? 
 Begone ! Thou art the Death ! What wouldst thou 
 
 here? 
 I am afeared ! Begone ! My voice fails me ! 
 
 He sinks to the floor. 
 
 I cannot breathe! I stifle! Air, oh, air! 
 
 Begone ! Who called thee ? Go ! Who oped to thee ? 
 
 DEATH. 
 
 Arise! Cast this hereditary fear from thee! 
 I am no grewsome thing, no skeleton.
 
 28 DEATH AND THE FOOL 
 
 From Venus I'm descended, Dionysos' son, 
 The god of Souls before thee thou dost see. 
 When thou thru summer shadows going, 
 Hast seen a leaf borne thru the gilded air, 
 'Tis then my breath hath touched thee, thou un- 
 knowing, 
 
 That dreamlike doth all ripened things ensnare 
 Whenever overflowing feelings fill 
 Thy trembling soul with flood of warmth and light, 
 Whene'er in momentary thrill 
 The vast Unknown is brought before thy sight, 
 And thou surrend'ring to the wheel of fate 
 Dost look upon the world as thine estate ; 
 In every truly solemn hour 
 That made thine earthly form to quiver, 
 I touched thy soul's foundation ever 
 With sacred, with mysterious power. 
 
 CLAVDIO. 
 
 Enough. I greet thee now as 'tis becoming, 
 Tho nervous still. 
 
 Short pause.
 
 DEATH AND THE FOOL 29 
 
 But say what means thy coming? 
 
 DEATH. 
 
 My coming, friend, hath but one meaning e'er. 
 CLAUDIO. 
 
 But surely I have time and much to spare ! 
 Behold, the leaf ere from the branch 'tis freed 
 With all the sap of life hath been imbued, 
 I've not had that! I have not lived, indeed! 
 
 DEATH. 
 
 Hast not like others too thy way pursued? 
 CLAUDIO. 
 
 Like meadow flowers, torn and cast 
 
 Upon the turbid rushing stream, 
 
 The days of my youth onward passed; 
 
 That such was life, I knew not, did not dream. 
 
 And then I stood at life's gates, longingly,
 
 30 DEATH AND THE FOOL 
 
 Delicious apprehension in my heart, 
 
 Expecting in majestic storms to see 
 
 A sudden miracle burst them apart. 
 
 It came not so to pass. And once I stood 
 
 Within, the sacredness was gone, then did 
 
 Desire, too, my memory elude, 
 
 And neath a ban I was those things amid. 
 
 Bewildered by the twilight, nigh submerged, 
 
 Impatient, sore, my inner being scourged, 
 
 Half-heartedly, with all my senses numb, 
 
 In every whole mysteriously thwarted, 
 
 I ne'er by inner fires was overcome, 
 
 On mighty waves my soul was ne'er transported. 
 
 Nor was I e'er with that God face to face 
 
 With whom one must contend to gain his grace. 
 
 DEATH. 
 
 Thou didst receive as all earth's mortals, too, 
 A mortal life to live as others do. 
 A faithful spirit you within ye bear, 
 Which to this chaos of unmeaning things 
 Analogy, interpretation brings, 
 And bids ye plant your garden there
 
 DEATH AND THE FOOL 31 
 
 Of sorrow, mercy, and efficiency. 
 Ah, woe to thee, that must be taught by me! 
 Some men are born to bind, and some are bound. 
 With sultry hours and storms does growth abound. 
 With tear-wet lids, and worn, harassed by care, 
 Still yearning, wishing still, half in despair, 
 Deep breathing, and with love of life still warm, 
 But ripened all, ye fall into my arm. 
 
 CL AUDIO 
 
 I am not ripe, indeed, so pass me by. 
 
 I will no longer foolishly lament, 
 
 But from this mortal soil I'll not be rent. 
 
 A longing deep, for life doth in me cry. 
 
 Before this dreadful fear the ban doth give, 
 
 I feel it now I can oh, let me live! 
 
 I feel it in this infinite, wild yearning, 
 
 My heart a love for earthly things is learning. 
 
 Oh, thou shalt see, no more a poor dumb brute 
 
 Or puppet, shall another seem to me; 
 
 No heart to me, hereafter, shall be mute. 
 
 All joys I'll force, I'll share each misery. 
 
 And faithfulness, that doth all life sustain,
 
 32 DEATH AND THE FOOL 
 
 I will acquire. . . . And so my life I'll live, 
 That good and evil over me shall reign, 
 And to my heart or grief, or smile shall give. 
 The mundane scheme with meaning new conceiving, 
 Now human beings on my way I'll find; 
 No longer mutely giving, and receiving, 
 I will be bound, and I, I, too, will bind ! 
 
 Perceiving Death's unmoved expression, his ter- 
 ror increases. 
 
 Why see, believe me, 'twas not so before! 
 Thou thinkst I have known hate, known love di- 
 vine? 
 
 Ah, no, the kernel never yet was mine, 
 'Twas empty seeming, words, and nothing more. 
 Behold, I'll prove this thing, these letters, see, 
 
 He takes a bundle of old letters from a drawer. 
 
 The vows, the tender notes that thru them thread, 
 Dost think that I had felt these things as she? 
 Or as my letters writ in answer said ? 
 
 He throws the packet at Death's feet; the letters 
 are scattered over the floor.
 
 DEATH AND THE FOOL 33 
 
 There keep this whole, this empty amorous life, 
 Where I reecho e'er, and I'm supreme, 
 Where borne on crest or trough of human strife, 
 I sway, and every sacred thing blaspheme. 
 There ! There ! And all things else are but as this, 
 Devoid of sense, or love, or hate, or bliss! 
 
 DEATH 
 
 Thou fool ! Thou senseless fool, true reverence 
 For life I'll teach thee e're thou goest hence. 
 Stand there, and learn, and silently behold 
 That others, when from out this life were going, 
 Their veins with human rapture sweet were flowing, 
 And thou alone wast unresponsive, cold. 
 
 Death plays a few notes on fiddle and calls. He 
 stands near the door of the bedroom, in the fore- 
 ground, at the right; Claudia is near the wall at 
 the left, in semi-darkness. His Mother enters at 
 the door at the right. She is not very old. She 
 wears a long, black velvet dress. A black velvet 
 cap with white ruche frames her face. In her white 
 delicate hands she carries a lace handkerchief. She
 
 34 DEATH AND THE FOOL 
 
 steps softly through the doorway, and walks noise- 
 lessly about the room. 
 
 HIS MOTHER 
 
 How many tender pangs this atmosphere 
 
 For me doth hold. A faint and subtle breath 
 
 As tho of flowers of lavender, doth waft 
 
 To me one half of all my earthly life. 
 
 A mother's life, ah well, 'tis one-third pain, 
 
 One-third 'tis anguish, one-third care. What knows 
 
 A man of that? 
 
 She stops at the chest. 
 
 Is still the edge as keen? 
 He fell against it once, and cut his head; 
 He was quite small and headstrong, then, and wild, 
 He would not be controlled. The window, ah! 
 There oft I stood, and stared into the night, 
 And eagerly I listened for his step, 
 When dread misgiving drove me out of bed. 
 And when he came not, tho the clock struck two, 
 And then struck . three, the dawn began to glim- 
 mer
 
 DEATH AND THE FOOL 35 
 
 How oft . . . But he has never known of 
 
 that . . . 
 
 By day I, too, was ofttimes quite alone. 
 One's hands, they tend the flowers, and they dust, 
 And shake the pillows, polish bright the brass, 
 Thus goes the day; one's head, alas, has naught 
 To do; a dull and heavy wheel turns there, 
 With vague forebodings and dark dreams 'tis 
 
 freighted, 
 
 And inexplicable anxiety. 
 It must be portion of that sacred state 
 Of holy, transcendental motherhood, 
 Allied to all profound, mysterious working 
 In this world. But 'tis not given me 
 To longer breathe this sweet, oppressive air, 
 This pain-frought atmosphere of bygone days. 
 Yes, I must go, must go. ... 
 
 Exit through middle door, 
 
 CL AUDIO 
 Mother ! 
 DEATH 
 
 Silence! 
 Thou canst not call her back!
 
 36 DEATH AND THE FOOL 
 
 CL AUDIO 
 
 Oh, mother, come! 
 
 And let me once, just once, with my lips feel 
 Thy quivering own, so tightly pressed, lest they 
 The prideful silence break; and let me kneel 
 Before thee, thus . . . Oh, call her! Bid her 
 
 stay! 
 
 Didst thou not see, she did not want to go? 
 Inhuman one, why dost compel her so? 
 
 DEATH 
 
 Grudge not what's mine. Thou hadst her. 
 CL AUDIO 
 
 Aye! And ne'er 
 
 I felt it! Barren quite! When did I e'er 
 Within me know each fibre of my being 
 With yearning for her throb? And when did so 
 Her presence like a sacred deity 
 Engulf my trembling soul o'erwhelmingly, 
 In human passion, human joy, and woe!
 
 DEATH AND THE FOOL 37 
 
 Death, indifferent to Claudia's lament, plays a 
 simple folk-melody. A young Girl enters, softly. 
 She wears a plain, large figured dress, laced shoes, 
 a small scarf about her neck. She is bareheaded. 
 
 THE GIRL 
 
 'Twas beautiful! Don't you think of it more? 
 
 'Tis true, you hurt me deeply, deeply, 
 
 But then, what is't that does not end in pain? 
 
 The happy days I've seen, are very few, 
 
 And these, they were as good as any dream! 
 
 The flowers at the window, my own flowers, 
 
 The little joggling spinnet, there the clothespress, 
 
 In which I laid away your letters, and 
 
 What little gifts you brought me ... all 
 
 these things 
 
 Don't laugh at me grew beautiful again, 
 And talked to me with living, loving lips. 
 When rain on sultry, summer evening fell, 
 And we stood at the window . . . oh, the 
 
 fragrance 
 
 Of the humid trees! . . . All that is gone! 
 And now is dead all that was living then,
 
 38 DEATH AND THE FOOL 
 
 Lies buried in our sweet love's little grave. 
 Ah, but 'twas beautiful, and you're to blame 
 For all its beauty! Then you cast me off, 
 Threw me aside, unthinking, cruel, as 
 A child, of playing wearied, drops his flowers. 
 Ah, God, I did have naught to hold you! 
 
 A pause. 
 
 Your letter came, the last, the dreadful one; 
 And then I wished to die. Not to distress you 
 Do I tell you this. One letter more 
 I meant to write in parting; no lament, 
 Not passionate, or fierce, unbridled grief, 
 But just to make you yearn a bit for me, 
 And teach you to feel homesick for my love, 
 And shed a few tears, 'cause 'twas then too late. 
 I did not write that letter, no, why should I ? 
 I could not know how much of your real heart 
 Was in all this, that so with glittering 
 And so with fever filled my senses full, 
 That thru the day I walked as in a dream. 
 No good intent turns faithlessness to truth. 
 And tears can not recall that which is dead.
 
 DEATH AND THE FOOL 39 
 
 One does not die of these things. Nay, much latei, 
 After long and weary misery 'twas granted 
 That I might lay me down and die. I prayed 
 That in your last hour I might come to you, 
 Not horrible, not to torment you then, 
 But as the cup of wine that one has drunk 
 And set aside, its fragrance vague recalls 
 A distant, half forgotten, gentle joy. 
 
 Exit. 
 
 Claudia buries his face in his hands. A Man en- 
 ters immediately after. He is apparently of Claudia's 
 age. He is carelessly dressed in a dusty traveling 
 suit. The wooden handle of a knife protrudes from 
 his left breast-pocket. He remains standing in the 
 center of the stage facing Claudia. 
 
 THE MAN. 
 
 And are you living still, eternal trifler? 
 And do you still read Horace, and take pride 
 In mocking brilliancy and unmoved heart? 
 With pretty speech you found your way to me,
 
 40 DEATH AND THE FOOL 
 
 Pretended interest in what moved me. 
 
 You said that I brought things up in your mind 
 
 That secret slept in you ; just as the wind 
 
 Of night at times of distant goal doth whisper. 
 
 O, yes, a fine Eolian harp, indeed, 
 
 You were, and ever was the lovesick wind 
 
 For it, another's worn, exhausted breath, 
 
 'Twas mine or someone else's. We had been 
 
 Good chums for years. Good chums? That is 
 
 'twixt us 
 
 Was common conversation day and night. 
 We had the same acquaintances, and played 
 Alike with women. Common, even as 
 Between a master and his slave is common 
 His house, his sedan, dog, and meals, and whip. 
 To one the house is pleasure, t'other, prison ; 
 Him the sedan bears, while he its weight 
 Upon his shoulder feels; one in the garden 
 Frolics with the dog, the other waits on it. 
 Emotions half completed, pearls, in pain 
 My soul had once conceived, you took from me, 
 And as your playthings threw them up in air. 
 You, quick to chum, and quick t' have done with 
 
 friends ;
 
 DEATH AND THE FOOL 41 
 
 I, with silent wooing in my soul 
 
 And teeth fast locked ; while you without constraint 
 
 At all things fumbled, I stood by abashed, 
 
 Confused, my words died ere I spoke them. 
 
 A Woman came upon our path. And I 
 
 Was overcome as with a dreadful illness, 
 
 Wherein the senses reel with overstrain 
 
 From having gazed too long toward one desire, 
 
 One goal, with fascinating melancholy, 
 
 With fragrance filled, and fiery glow, as lightning 
 
 Thru sombre darkness hovers. And you, too, 
 
 Beheld these things and were attracted. "Yes, 
 
 "Because I, too, am just like that at times; 
 
 "The Girl's rare lassitude allured me, 
 
 "Her stern disdain, her chastened mien, all this 
 
 "In one so young." Did you not tell me this 
 
 In later years? It all allured you so! 
 
 To me 'twas more than merely blood and brains! 
 
 And satiated, then, to me you flung 
 
 The puppet, all defaced her image was 
 
 In you with surfeit, terribly disfigured, 
 
 Of all her wondrous charm she was denuded, 
 
 Her features senseless, and her living hair
 
 42 DEATH AND THE FOOL 
 
 Hung dead; You threw a spectre to me, 
 With your vile art to brutish nothingness 
 You analyzed her sweet and subtle charm. 
 For this, at last, I hated you, e'en as 
 In dim foreboding I had always hated, 
 And I avoided you. 
 
 Then Destiny 
 
 At last my shattered spirit blessed and placed 
 Once more an aim and will within my breast, 
 Which was not quite dead to all good endeavor 
 Despite your poisonous proximity, 
 Aye, for a lofty purpose, Destiny 
 Drove me to seek death thru this murd'rous blade, 
 Which flung me down into a wayside ditch. 
 There lying, I by slow degrees decayed, 
 For reasons which you could not comprehend ; 
 And still was thrice more blessed than you, who ne'er 
 Was aught to one, nor any aught to you. 
 
 Exit. 
 
 CLAUDIO. 
 
 Was naught to one, nor any aught to me.
 
 DEATH AND THE FOOL 43 
 
 Slowly rising. 
 
 As on the stage a poor comedian 
 
 In answer to his cue comes, speaks his part, 
 
 And goes, indifferent toward all things, dull, 
 
 The sound of his own voice doth leave him cold, 
 
 Nor have his hollow tones aught power to move, 
 
 So I have gone upon the stage of life, 
 
 Have walked across it, void of power and worth. 
 
 Why did this hap to me? Thou, Death, oh why 
 
 Didst thou first have to teach me life to see, 
 
 No longer thru a veil, alert and whole, 
 
 Here waking somewhat, and thus passing on? 
 
 And wherefore is with such exalted presage 
 
 Of things of life, the childish spirit cleft, 
 
 That when those things at last have come to pass 
 
 But empty thrills of memory are left? 
 
 Why sings for us no magic violin, 
 
 Wherein the mystic spirit world's revealed 
 
 That buried lies each human breast within, 
 
 As blossoms buried 'neath the mountain slide? 
 
 Could I but be with thee, and hear but thee, 
 
 Unthwarted by aught petty mystery! 
 
 I can ! Grant unto me as thou hast said,
 
 44 DEATH AND THE FOOL 
 
 Be thou my life, Death, since my life was dead! 
 What forces me, who neither state affrm, 
 To call thee death, and t'other life to term? 
 More living life than all life ever held 
 Thou didst confine within one little hour. 
 With earthly phantoms from my brain dispelled. 
 I give myself unto thy mystic power. 
 
 He stops a moment to reflect. 
 
 Mayhap 'tis but a dying, feeble notion, 
 
 Washed upward by my deadly, wakeful blood, 
 
 But ne'er before in living, fierce emotion 
 
 Have I felt thus, it therefore seemeth good. 
 
 If now 'tis destined I shall be effaced, 
 
 My brain this last hour fully hath embraced ; 
 
 And life may go with all its soulless sham. 
 
 Now that I die, I feel at last I am. 
 
 In sleep our dreamed emotions oft amass 
 
 Till consciousness at last thru sleep is breaking; 
 
 So now do I thru excess feeling pass 
 
 From out life's dreaming, unto death's awaking. 
 
 He sinks dead at Death's feet.
 
 DEATH AND THE FOOL 45 
 
 DEATH 
 
 Slowly passes out, shaking his head. 
 
 How wonderful these humans are, indeed, 
 
 Who do explain the inexplicable, 
 
 And what was never writ, they read; 
 
 The intricate they, subjugating, bind, 
 
 And thru eternal darkness paths they find. 
 
 He goes out thru the middle door, his last words 
 are faintly audible. The room remains quiet. 
 Through the window Death, drawing his bow 
 across the strings, is seen to pass, immediately be- 
 hind him follow the Mother, the Girl, and a figure 
 closely resembling Claudio.
 
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