IE : UNIVER% .>;lOSANGElfj> AUfOfy, ^/sm\m^ ^ahvmih^ ^Aavaaitt^ * •LIBRARY^ 33 ^•LIBRARY^ ^WE-UNIVEW/a ce UMMIB^ ^AMWIH^ ^TOW-SOI^ "%3AIM\\V MINIVERS//, ^Nvsrn ^LOSANCElfj> -< ftMAINIUtf^ ^UIBRARYQr «$UIBRARY0/ ^fOJUVO-JO^ ^OJIIVJ-JO^ CO ERJ//) o 33NV-SOl^ vvLOSANCELfj> ^«3AINn-3^ ^OF-CALIF0% LIBRARY^ UITCHO^ ^UIBRARY^ ^fOJITVD-JO^ % ^1J3NV-S0V^ %a3AINn-3WV & t_3 O CALIF0% ^OKALIFOJfcfc, .5ME-UNIVERS/A .KlOSANr.Flfrv v^lOSANCElfj> SO SO ^MAINfHW^ ^OFCAUFO/ Vr\ «$UIBRARY SO ft«3AINn-]WV S J»E-UNIVER% ^10S-ANGELQ^ Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2013 >N % > SO sn OC PLAYS BY AUGUST STRINDBERG PLAYS. FIRST SERIES : The Dream Play, The Link, The Dance of Death— Part I and Part II. PLAYS. SECOND SERIES: There are Crimes and Crimes,^Miss Julia, The Stronger, Credi- tors, Pariah. PLAYS. THIRD SERIES : Swanwhite, Simoom, Debit and Credit, Advent, The Thunder Storm, After the Fire. PLAYS. FOURTH SERIES: The Bridal Crown, ^'The Spook Sonata, The First Warning, Gus- tavus Vasa. CREDITORS. PARIAH. MISS JULIA. THE STRONGER. THERE ARE CRIMES AND CRIMES CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS PLAYS BY AUGUST STRINDBERG THIRD SERIES SWANWHITE SIMOOM DEBIT AND CREDIT , ADVENT THE THUNDERSTORM AFTER THE FIRE TBANSLATED FROM THE SWEDISH WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY EDWIN BJORKMAN AUTHORIZED EDITION NEW YORK CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 1921 Copyright, 1913, by CHARLES SCRIBNERS SONS Published October, 1913 T vi CONTENTS PAQB Introduction 1 Swanwhite 11 Simoom .... 65 Debit and Credit 79 Advent 105 The Thunderstorm . . < 181 After the Fire 229 90V :± INTRODUCTION INTRODUCTION The collection of plays contained in this volume is unu- sually representative, giving what might be called a cross- section of Strindberg's development as a dramatist from his naturalistic revolt in the middle eighties, to his final arrival at resigned mysticism and Swedenborgian symbolism. " Swan white" was written in the spring of 1901, about the time when Strindberg was courting and marrying his third wife, the gifted Swedish actress Harriet Bosse. In the fall of 1902 the play appeared in book form, together with "The Crown Bride" and "The Dream Play," all of them being issued simultaneously, at Berlin, in a German translation made by Emil Schering. Schering, who at that time was in close correspondence with Strindberg, says that the figure of Swanwhite had been drawn with direct reference to Miss Bosse, who had first attracted the attention of Strindberg by her spirited inter- pretation of Biskra in "Simoom." And Schering adds that it was Strindberg's bride who had a little previously intro- duced him to the work of Maeterlinck, thereby furnishing one more of the factors determining the play. Concerning the influence exerted upon him by the Belgian playwright-philosopher, Strindberg himself wrote in a pam- phlet named "Open Letters to the Intimate Theatre" (Stock- holm, 1909) : "I had long had in mind skimming the cream of our most beautiful folk-ballads in order to turn them into a picture for the stage. Then Maeterlinck came across my path, and 3 4 INTRODUCTION under the influence of his puppet-plays, which are not meant for the regular stage, I wrote my Swedish scenic spectacle, * Swan white.' It is impossible either to steal or to borrow from Maeterlinck. It is even difficult to become his pupil, for there are no free passes that give entrance to his world of beauty. But one may be urged by his example into search- ing one's own dross-heaps for gold — and it is in that sense I acknowledge my debt to the master. "Pushed ahead by the impression made on me by Maeter- linck, and borrowing his divining-rod for my purposes, I turned to such sources [i. e., of Swedish folk-lore] as the works of Geijer, Afzelius, and Dybeck. There I found a superabundance of princes and princesses. The stepmother theme I had discovered on my own hook as a constant — it figures in twenty-six different Swedish folk-tales. In the same place I found the resurrection theme, as, for instance, it appears in the story of Queen Dagmar. Then I poured it all into my separator, together with the Maids, the Green Gardener and the Young King, and in a short while the cream began to flow — and for that reason the story is my own. But it has also been made so by the fact that I have lived through that tale in my own fancy — a Spring in time of Winter!" Swedish critics have been unanimous in their praise of this play. John Landquist, who has since become Strindberg's literary executor, spoke of it once as "perhaps the most beautiful and most genuine fairy tale for old or young ever written in the Swedish language." Tor Hedberg has mar- velled at the charm with which Swanwhite herself has been endowed — "half child, half maid; knowing nothing, yet guessing all; playing with love as a while ago she was play- ing with her dolls." On the stage, too — in Germany as well as in Sweden — little Swanwhite has celebrated great triumphs. Whether that figure, and the play surrounding it, will also INTRODUCTION 5 triumph in English-speaking countries, remains still to be seen. But if, contrary to my hopes, it should fail to do so, I want, in advance, to shift the blame from the shoulders of the author to my own. In hardly any other work by Strind- berg do form and style count for so much. The play is, in its original shape, as poetical in form as in spirit — even to the extent of being strongly rhythmical in its prose, and containing many of the inversions which are so character- istic of Swedish verse. It is not impossible to transfer these qualities into English, but my efforts to do so have had to be influenced by certain differences in the very grain of the two languages involved. Like all other languages, each possesses a natural basic rhythm. This rhythm varies frequently and easily in Swe- dish, so that you may pass from iambic to trochaic metre without giving offence to the ear — or to that subtle rhyth- mical susceptibility that seems to be inherent in our very pulses. But the rhythm dearest and most natural to the ge- nius of the Swedish language seems to be the falling pulse- beat manifested in the true trochee. The swing and motion of English, on the other hand, is almost exclusively, com- mandingly iambic. And it was not until I made the iambic rising movement prevail in my translation, that I felt myself approaching the impression made on me by the original. But for that very reason — because the genius of the new medium has forced me into making the movement of my style more monotonous — it is to be feared that the rhythmical quality of that movement may seem overemphasised. Should such a criticism be advanced, I can only answer: I have tried several ways, and this is the only one that will work. "Simoom" seems to have been written in 1888, in close connection with "Creditors" and "Pariah." And, like these, 6 INTRODUCTION it shows the unmistakable influence of Edgar Allan Poe, with whose works Strindberg had become acquainted a short while before. The play was first printed in one of the three thin volumes of varied contents put out by Strindberg in 1890 and 1891 under the common title of "Pieces Printed and Imprinted." But, strange to say, it was not put on the stage (except in a few private performances) until 1902, although, from a purely theatrical viewpoint, Strindberg — master of stagecraft though he was — had rarely produced a more effective piece of work. "Debit and Credit" belongs to the same general period as the previous play, but has in it more of Nietzsche than of Poe. Its central figure is also a sort of superman, but as such he is not taken too seriously by his creator. The play has humour, but it is of a grim kind — one seems to be hearing the gritting of teeth through the laughter. Like "Simoom," however, it should be highly effective on the stage. It was first published in 1893, with three other one-act plays, the volume being named "Dramatic Pieces." "Advent" was published in 1899, together with "There Are Crimes and Crimes," under the common title of "In a Higher Court." Its name refers, of course, to the ecclesias- tical designation of the four weeks preceding Christmas. The subtitle, literally rendered, would be "A Mystery." But as this term has a much wider application in Swedish than in English, I have deemed it better to observe the dis- tinction which the latter language makes between mys- teries, miracle-plays, and moralities. The play belongs to what Strindberg called his "Inferno period," during which he struggled in a state of semi-madness to rid himself of the neurasthenic depression which he re- garded as a punishment brought about by his previous atti- tude of materialistic scepticism. It is full of Swedenbor- INTRODUCTION 7 gian symbolism, which, perhaps, finds its most characteris- tic expression in the two scenes laid in "The Waiting Room." The name selected by Strindberg for the region where dwell the "lost" souls of men is not a mere euphemism. It sig- nifies his conception of that place as a station on the road to redemption or annihilation. In its entirety the play forms a Christmas sermon with a quaint blending of law and gospel. A prominent Swedish critic, Johan Mortensen, wrote: "Reading it, one almost gets the feeling that Strindberg, the dread revolutionist, has, of a sudden, changed into a nice village school-teacher, seated at his desk, with his rattan cane laid out in front of him. He has just been delivering a lesson in Christianity, and he has noticed that the attention of the children strayed and that they either failed to understand or did not care to take in the difficult matters he was dealing with. But they must be made to listen and understand. And so — with serious eyes, but with a sly smile playing around the corners of his mouth — he begins all over again, in that fairy-tale style which never grows old: 'Once upon a time!'" In November, 1907, a young theatrical manager, August Falck, opened the Intimate Theatre at Stockholm. From the start Strindberg was closely connected with the venture, and soon the little theatre, with its tiny stage and its audito- rium seating only one hundred and seventy-five persons, was turned wholly into a Strindberg stage, where some of the most interesting and daring theatrical experiments of our own day were made. With particular reference to the needs and limitations of this theatre, Strindberg wrote a series of "chamber plays," four of which were published in 1907 — each one of them appearing separately in a paper-covered duodecimo volume. 8 INTRODUCTION The first of these plays to appear in book form — though not the first one to be staged — was "The Thunder-Storm, " designated on the front cover as "Opus I." Two of the prin- cipal ideas underlying its construction were the abolition of intermissions — which, according to Strindberg, were put in chiefly for the benefit of the liquor traffic in the theatre cafe — and the reduction of the stage-setting to quickly inter- changeable backgrounds and a few stage-properties. Con- cerning the production of "The Thunder-Storm, " at the Inti- mate Theatre, Strindberg wrote subsequently that, in their decorative effects, the first and last scenes were rather failures. But he held the lack of space wholly responsible for this failure. His conclusion was that the most difficult problem of the small theatre would be to give the illusion of distance required by a scene laid in the open — particularly in an open place surrounded or adjoined by buildings. Of the second act he wrote, on the other hand, that it proved a triumph of artistic simplification. The only furniture appearing on the stage consisted of a buffet, a piano, a dinner-table and a few chairs — that is, the pieces expressly mentioned in the text of the play. And yet the effect of the setting satisfied equally the demands of the eye and the reason. "The Thunder-Storm" might be called a drama of old age — nay, the drama of man's inevitable descent through a series of resignations to the final dissolution. Its subject- matter is largely autobiographical, embodying the author's experiences in his third and last marriage, as seen in retro- spect — the anticipatory conception appearing in "Swan- white." However, justice to Miss Harriet Bosse, who was Mrs. Strindberg from 1901 to 1904, requires me to point out that echoes of the dramatist's second marriage also appear, especially in the references to the postmarital relationship. "After the Fire" was published as "Opus II" of the cham- INTRODUCTION 9 ber-plays, and staged ahead of "The Thunder-Storm." Its Swedish name is Branda Tomten* meaning literally "the burned-over site." This name has previously been rendered in English as "The Burned Lot" and "The Fire Ruins." Both these titles are awkward and ambiguous. The name I have now chosen embodies more closely the fundamental premise of the play. The subject-matter is even more autobiographical than that of "The Thunder-Storm" — almost as much so as "The Bondwoman's Son." The perished home is Strindberg's own at the North Tollgate Street in Stockholm, where he spent the larger part of his childhood and youth. The old Mason, the Gardener, the Stone-Cutter, and other figures appearing in the play are undoubtedly lifted straight out of real life — and so are probably also the exploded family reputation and the cheap table painted to represent ebony — although one may take for granted that the process has not taken place without a proper disguising of externals. There is one passage in this little play which I want to point out as containing one of the main keys to Strindberg's character and art. It is the passage where The Stranger — who, of course, is none but the author himself — says to his brother: "I have beheld life from every quarter, from every standpoint, from above and from below, but always it has seemed to me like a scene staged for my particular benefit," SWAN WHITE (SVANEHVIT) A FAIRY PLAY 1902 CHARACTERS The Duke The Stepmother Swanwhite The Prince Signe \ Elsa > Maids Tova ) The Kitchen Gardener The Fisherman The Mother of Swanwhite The Mother of the Prince The Gaoler The Equerry The Butler The Flower Gardener Two Knights SWANWHITE An apartment in a mediaeval stone castle. The walls and the cross-vaulted ceiling are whitewashed. In the centre of the rear wall is a triple-arched doorway leading to a balcony with a stone balustrade. There are draperies of brocade over the doorway. Beyond the balcony appear the top branches of a rose-garden, laden with white and pink roses. In the background there can be seen a white, sandy beach and the blue sea. To the right of the main doorway is a small door which, when left open, discloses a vista of three closets, one beyond the other. The first one is stored with vessels of pewter arranged on shelves. The walls of the second closet are hung with all sorts of costly and ornate garments. The third closet contains piles and rows of apples, pears, melons, pump- kins, and so forth. The floors of all the rooms are inlaid with alternating squares of black and red. At the centre of the apartment stands a gilded dinner-table covered with a cloth; a twig of mistletoe is suspended above the table. A clock and a vase filled with roses stand on the table, near which are placed two gilded tabourets. Two swallows' nests are visible on the rear wall above the doorway. A lion skin is spread on the floor near the foreground. At the left, well to the front, stands a white bed with a rose-coloured canopy supported by two columns at the head of the bed {and by none at the foot). The bed-clothing is pure white except for a coverlet 13 14 SWANWHITE of pale-blue silk. Across the bed is laid a night-dress of finest muslin trimmed with lace. Behind the bed stands a huge wardrobe containing linen, bathing utensils, and toilet things. A small gilded table in Roman style (with round top supported by a single column) is placed near the bed; also a lamp-stand containing a Roman lamp of gold. At the right is an ornamental chimney-piece. On the man- tel stands a vase with a white lily in it. In the left arch of the doorway, a peacock is asleep on a perch, with its back turned toward the audience. In the right arch hangs a huge gilded cage with two white doves at rest. As the curtain rises, the three maids are seen in the doorways of the three closets, each one half hidden by the door-post against which she leans. Signe, the false maid, is in the pewter-closet, Elsa in the clothes-closet, and Tova in the fruit-closet. The Duke enters from the rear. After him comes the Step- mother carrying in her hand a wire-lashed whip. The stage is darkened when they enter. Stepmother. Swan white is not here? Duke. It seems so! Stepmother. So it seems, but — is it seemly? Maids! — Signe! — Signe, Elsa, Tova! The maids enter, one after the other, and stand in front of the Stepmother. Stepmother. Where is Lady Swan white? Signe folds her arms across her breast and makes no reply. Stepmother. You do not know? What see you in my hand? — Answer, quick! [Pause] Quick! Do you hear the SWANWHITE 15 whistling of the falcon? It has claws of steel, as well as bill! What is it? Signe. The wire-lashed whip! Stepmother. The wire-lashed whip, indeed! And now, where is Lady Swan white? Signe. How can I tell what I don't know? Stepmother. It is a failing to be ignorant, but carelessness is an offence. Were you not placed as guardian of your young mistress? — Take off your neckerchief! — Down on your knees! The Duke turns his back on her in disgust. Stepmother. Hold out your neck! And I'll put such a necklace on it that no youth will ever kiss it after this ! — Hold out your neck! — Still more! Signe. For Christ's sake, mercy! Stepmother. 'Tis mercy that you are alive! Duke. [Pulls out his sword and tries the edge of it> first on one of his finger-nails t and then on a hair out of his long beard] Her head should be cut off — put in a sack — hung on a tree Stepmother. So it should! Duke. We are agreed! How strange! Stepmother. It did not happen yesterday. Duke. And may not happen once again. Stepmother. [To Signe, who, still on her knees, has been moving farther away] Stop! Whither? [She raises the whip and strikes; Signe turns aside so that the lash merely cuts the air.] Swan white. [Comes forward from behind the bed and falls on her knees] Stepmother — here I am — the guilty one ! She's not at fault. Stepmother. Say "mother"! You must call me "moth- er' "! 16 SWANWHITE Swanwhite. I cannot! One mother is as much as any human being ever had. Stepmother. Your father's wife must be your mother. Swanwhite. My father's second wife can only be my stepmother. Stepmother. You are a stiffnecked daughter, but my whip is pliant and will make you pliant too. [She raises the whip to strike Swanwhite. Duke. [Raising his sword] Take heed of the head! Stepmother. Whose head? Duke. Your own ! The Stepmother turns pale at first, and then angry; but she controls herself and remains silent; long pause. Stepmother. [Beaten for the moment, she changes her tone] Then will Your Grace inform your daughter what is now in store for her? Duke. [Sheathing his sword] Rise up, my darling child, and come into my arms to calm yourself. Swanwhite. [Throwing herself into the arms of the Duke] Father! — You're like a royal oak-tree which my arms cannot encircle. But beneath your leafage there is refuge from all threatening showers. [She hides her head beneath his immense beard, which reaches down to his waist] And like a bird, I will be swinging on your branches — lift me up, so I can reach the top. The Duke holds out his arm. Swanwhite. [Climbs up on his arm and perches herself on his shoulder] Now lies the earth beneath me and the air above — now I can overlook the rosery, the snowy beach, the deep-blue sea, and all the seven kingdoms stretched beyond. Duke. Then you can also see the youthful king to whom your troth is promised SWANWHITE 17 Swanwhite. No — nor have I ever seen him. Is he band- some? Duke. Dear heart, it will depend on your own eyes how he appears to you. Swanwhite. [Rubbing her eyes] My eyes? — They cannot see what is not beautiful. Duke. [Kissing her foot] Poor little foot, that is so black! Poor little blackamoorish foot! The Stepmother gives a sign to the maids, who resume their previous positions in the closet doors; she herself steals with panther-like movements out through the middle arch of the doorway. Swanwhite. [Leaps to the floor; the Duke places her on the table and sits down on a chair beside it; Swanwhite looks meaningly after the Stepmother] Was it the dawn? Or did the wind turn southerly? Or has the Spring arrived? Duke. [Puts his hand over her mouth] You little chatter- box! You joy of my old age — my evening star! Now open wide your rosy ear, and close your little mouth's crimson shell. Give heed, obey, and all will then be well with you. Swanwhite. [Putting her fingers in her ears] With my eyes I hear, and with my ears I see — and now I cannot see at all, but only hear. Duke. My child, when still a cradled babe, your troth was plighted to the youthful King of Rigalid. You have not seen him yet, such being courtly usage. But the time to tie the sacred knot is drawing near. To teach you the deport- ment of a queen and courtly manners, the king has sent a prince with whom you are to study reading out of books, gaming at chess, treading the dance, and playing on the harp. Swanwhite. What is the prince's name? Duke. That, child, is something you must never ask of 18 SWANWHITE him or anybody else. For it is prophesied that whosoever calls him by his name shall have to love him. Swan white. Is he handsome? Duke. He is, because your eye sees beauty everywhere. Swanwhite. But is he beautiful ? Duke. Indeed he is. And now be careful of your little heart, and don't forget that in the cradle you were made a queen. — With this, dear child, I leave you, for I have war to wage abroad. — Submit obediently to your stepmother. She's hard, but once your father loved her — and a sweet temper will find a way to hearts of stone. If, despite of promises and oaths, her malice should exceed what is permis- sible, then you may blow this horn [he takes a horn of carved ivory from under his cloak], and help will come. But do not use it till you are in danger — not until the danger is ex- treme. — Have you understood? Swanwhite. How is it to be understood? Duke. This way : the prince is here, is in the court already. Is it your wish to see the prince? Swanwhite. Is it my wish? Duke. Or shall I first bid you farewell? Swanwhite. The prince is here already? Duke. Already here, and I — already there — far, far away where sleeps the heron of forgetfulness, with head beneath his wing. Swanwhite. [Leaping into the lap of the Duke and bury- ing her head in his beard] Mustn't speak like that! Baby is ashamed! Duke. Baby should be spanked — who forgets her aged father for a little prince. Fie on her! A trumpet is heard in the distance. Duke. [Rises quickly, takes Swanwhite in his arms, throws her up into the air and catches her again] Fly, little SWANWHITE 19 bird, fly high above the dust, with lots of air beneath your wings! — And then, once more on solid ground! — I am called by war and glory — you, by love and youth! [Girding on his sword] And now hide your wonder-horn, that it may not be seen by evil eyes. Swan white. Where shall I hide it? Where? Duke. The bed! Swanwhite. [Hiding the horn in the bed-clothing] There! Sleep well, my little tooteroot! When it is time, I'll wake you up. And don't forget your prayers! Duke. And child! Do not forget what I said last: your stepmother must be obeyed. Swanwhite. In all? Duke. In all. Swanwhite. But not in what is contrary to cleanliness! — Two linen shifts my mother let me have each sennight; this woman gives but one! And mother gave me soap and water, which stepmother denies. Look at my little footies! Duke. Keep clean within, my daughter, and clean will be the outside. You know that holy men, who, for the sake of penance, deny themselves the purging waters, grow white as swans, while evil ones turn raven-black. Swanwhite. Then I will be as white ! Duke. Into my arms! And then, farewell! Swanwhite. [Throwing herself into his arms] Farewell, my great and valiant hero, my glorious father! May for- tune follow you, and make you rich in years and friends and victories ! Duke. Amen — and let your gentle prayers be my protec- tion ! [He closes the visor of his golden helmet. Swanwhite. [Jumps up and plants a kiss on the visor] The golden gates are shut, but through the bars I still can see your kindly, watchful eyes. [Knocking at the visor] Let up, 20 SWANWHITE let up, for little Red Riding-hood. No one at home? "Well- away," said the wolf that lay in the bed! Duke. [Putting her down on the floor] Sweet flower of mine, grow fair and fragrant! If I return — well — I return! If not, then from the starry arch above my eye shall follow you, and never to my sight will you be lost, for there above all-seeing we become, even as the all-creating Lord himself. Goes out firmly ; with a gesture that bids her not to follow. Swanwhite falls on her knees in prayer for the Duke; all the rose-trees sway before a wind that passes with the sound of a sigh; the peacock shakes its wings and tail. Swanwhite. [Rises, goes to the peacock and begins to stroke its back and tail] Pavo, dear Pavo, what do you see and what do you hear? Is any one coming? Who is it? A little prince? Is he pretty and nice? You, with your many blue eyes, should be able to tell. [She lifts up one of the bird's tail feathers and gazes intently at its "eye"] Are you to keep your eyes on us, you nasty Argus? Are you to see that the little hearts of two young people don't beat too loudly? — You stupid thing — all I have to do is to close the curtain! [She closes the curtain, which hides the bird, but not the landscape outside; then she goes to the doves] My white doves — oh, so white, white, white — now you'll see what is whitest of all — Be silent, wind, and roses, and doves — my prince is coming! She looks out for a moment; then she withdraws to the pewter-closet, leaving the door slightly ajar so that through the opening she can watch the Prince; there she remains standing, visible to the spectators but not to the Prince. Prince. [Enters through the middle arch of the doorway. He wears armour of steel; what shows of his clothing is black. Having carefully observed everything in the room, he sits down at the table, takes off his helmet and begins to study it. His SWANWHITE 21 back is turned toward the door behind which Swanwhite is hiding] If anybody be here, let him answer! [Silence) There is somebody here, for I can feel the warmth of a young body come billowing toward me like a southern wind. I can hear a breath — it carries the fragrance of roses — and, gentle though it be, it makes the plume on my helmet move. [He puts the helmet to his ear) "lis murmuring as if it were a huge shell. It's the thoughts within my own head that are crowd- ing each other like a swarm of bees in a hive. "Zum, zum," say the thoughts — just like bees that are buzzing around their queen — the little queen of my thoughts and of my dreams! [He places the helmet on the table and gazes at it) Dark and arched as the sky at night, but starless, for the black plume is spreading darkness everywhere since my mother's death — [He turns the helmet around and gazes at it again] But there, in the midst of the darkness, deep down — there, on the other side, I see a rift of light! — Has the sky been split open? — And there, in the rift, I see — not a star, for it would look like a diamond — but a blue sapphire, queen of the precious stones — blue as the sky of summer — set in a cloud white as milk and curved as the dove's egg. What is it? My ring? And now another feathery cloud, black as velvet, passes by — and the sapphire is smiling — as if sap- phires could smile! And there, the lightning flashed, but blue- — heat-lightning mild, that brings no thunder! — What are you? Who? And where? [He looks at the back of the helmet] Not here! Not there! And nowhere else! [He puts his face close to the helmet] As I come nearer, you withdraw. Swanwhite steals forward on tiptoe. Prince. And now there are two — two eyes — two little human eyes — I kiss you ! [He kisses the helmet. Swanwhite goes up to the table and seats herself slowly opposite the Prince. 22 SWANWHITE The Prince rises, bows, with his hand to his heart, and gazes steadily at Swanwhite. Swanwhite. Are you the little prince? Prince. The faithful servant of the king, and yours! Swanwhite. What message does the young king send his bride? Prince. This is his word to Lady Swanwhite — whom lov- ingly he greets — that by the thought of coming happiness the long torment of waiting will be shortened. Swanwhite. [Who has been looking at the Prince as if to study him] Why not be seated, Prince? Prince. If seated when you sit, then I should have to kneel when you stand up. Swanwhite. Speak to me of the king! How does he look? Prince. How does he look? [Putting one of his hands up to his eyes] I can no longer see him — how strange! Swanwhite. What is his name? Prince. He's gone — invisible Swanwhite. And is he tall? Prince. [Fixing his glance on Swanwhite] Wait! — I see him now! — Taller than you! Swanwhite. And beautiful? Prince. Not in comparison with you! Swanwhite. Speak of the king, and not of me! Prince. I do speak of the king ! Swanwhite. Is his complexion light or dark? Prince. If he were dark, on seeing you he would turn light at once. Swanwhite. There's more of flattery than wit in that! His eyes are blue? Prince. [Glancing at his helmet] I think I have to look? SWANWHITE 23 Swanwhite. [Holding out her hand between them] Oh, you —you! Prince. You with t h makes youth! Swanwhite. Are you to teach me how to spell? Prince. The young king is tall and blond and blue-eyed, with broad shoulders and hair like a new-grown forest Swanwhite. Why do you carry a black plume? Prince. His lips are red as the ripe currant, his cheeks are white, and the lion's cub needn't be ashamed of his teeth. Swanwhite. Why is your hair wet? Prince. His mind knows no fear, and no evil deed ever made his heart quake with remorse. Swanwhite. Why is your hand trembling? Prince. We were to speak of the young king and not of me! Swanwhite. So, you, you are to teach me? Prince. It is my task to teach you how to love the young king whose throne you are to share. Swanwhite. How did you cross the sea? Prince. In my bark and with my sail. Swanwhite. And the wind so high? Prince. Without wind there is no sailing. Swanwhite. Little boy — how wise you are! — Will you play with me? Prince. What I must do, I will. Swanwhite. And now I'll show you what I have in my chest. [She goes to the chest and kneels down beside it; then she takes out several dolls, a rattle, and a hobby-horse] Here's the doll. It's my child — the child of sorrow that can never keep its face clean. In my own arms I have carried her to the lavendrey, and there I have washed her with white sand — but it only made her worse. I have spanked her — but 24 SWANWHITE nothing helped. Now I have figured out what's worst of all! Prince. And what is that? Swanwhite. [After a glance around the room] I'll give her a stepmother! Prince. But how's that to be? She should have a mother first. Swanwhite. I am her mother. And if I marry twice, I shall become a stepmother. Prince. Oh, how you talk! That's not the way! Swanwhite. And you shall be her stepfather. Prince. Oh, no! Swanwhite. You must be very kind to her, although she cannot wash her face. — Here, take her — let me see if you have learned to carry children right. The Prince receives the doll unwillingly. Swanwhite. You haven't learned yet, but you will ! Now take the rattle, too, and play with her. The Prince receives the rattle. Swanwhite. That's something you don't understand, I see. [She takes the doll and the rattle away from him and throws them back into the chest; then she takes out the hobby-horse] Here is my steed. — It has saddle of gold and shoes of silver. — It can run forty miles in an hour, and on its back I have travelled through Sounding Forest, across Big Heath and King's Bridge, along High Road and Fearful Alley, all the way to the Lake of Tears. And there it dropped a golden shoe that fell into the lake, and then came a fish, and after came a fisherman, and so I got the golden shoe back. That's all there was to that ! [She throws the hobby-horse into the chest; instead she takes out a chess-board with red and white squares, and chessmen made of silver and gold] If you will play with me, come here and sit upon the lion skin. [Ske seats herself SWANWHITE 25 on the skin and begins to put up the pieces] Sit down, won't you — the maids can't see us here! The Prince sits down on the skin, looking very em- barrassed. Swanwhite. It's like sitting in the grass — not the green grass of the meadow, but the desert grass which has been burned by the sun. — Now you must say something about me! Do you like me a little? Prince. Are we to play? Swanwhite. To play? What care I for that? — Oh — you were to teach me something! Prince. Poor me, what can I do but saddle a horse and carry arms — with which you are but poorly served. Swanwhite. You are so sad ! Prince. My mother died quite recently. Swanwhite. Poor little prince! — My mother, too, has gone to God in heaven, and she's an angel now. Sometimes in the nights I see her — do you also see yours? Prince. No-o. Swanwhite. And have you got a stepmother? Prince. Not yet. So little time has passed since she was laid to rest. Swanwhite. Don't be so sad! There's nothing but will wear away in time, you see. Now I'll give you a flag to gladden you again — Oh, no, that's right — this one I sewed for the young king. But now I'll sew another one for you! — This is the king's, with seven flaming fires — you shall have one with seven red roses on it — but first of all you have to hold this skein of yarn for me. [She takes from the chest a skein of rose-coloured yarn and hands it to the Prince] One, two, three, and now you'll see! — Your hands are trembling — that won't do! — Perhaps you want a hair of mine among the yarn? — Pull one yourself! 26 SWANWHITE Prince. Oh, no, I couldn't- Swanwhite. I'll do it, then, myself. [She pulls a hair from her head and winds it into the ball of yarn] What is your name? Prince. You shouldn't ask. Swan white. Why not? Prince. The duke has told you — hasn't he? Swanwhite. No, he hasn't! What could happen if you told your name? Might something dreadful happen? Prince. The duke has told you, I am sure. Swanwhite. I never heard of such a thing before — of one who couldn't tell his name! The curtain behind which the peacock is hidden moves; a faint sound as of castanets is heard. Prince. What was that? Swanwhite. That's Pavo — do you think he knows what we are saying? Prince. It's hard to tell. Swanwhite. Well, what's your name? Again the peacock makes the same kind of sound with his bill. Prince. I am afraid — don't ask again! Swanwhite. He snaps his bill, that's all — Keep your hands still ! — Did you ever hear the tale of the little princess that mustn't mention the name of the prince, lest something happen? And do you know ? The curtain hiding the peacock is pulled aside, and the bird is seen spreading out his tail so that it looks as if all the "eyes" were staring at Swanwhite and the Prince. Prince. Who pulled away the curtain? Who made the bird behold us with its hundred eyes? — You mustn't ask again ! SWAN WHITE 27 Swanwhite. Perhaps I mustn't — Down, Pavo — there! The curtain resumes its previous position. Prince. Is this place haunted? Swanwhite. You mean that things will happen — just like that? Oh, well, so much is happening here — but I have grown accustomed to it. And then, besides — they call my stepmother a witch — There, now, I have pricked my finger! Prince. What did you prick it with? Swanwhite. There was a splinter in the yarn. The sheep have been locked up all winter — and then such things will happen. Please see if you can get it out. Prince. We must sit at the table then, so I can see. [They rise and take seats at the table. Swanwhite. [Holding out one of her little fingers] Can you see anything? Prince. What do I see? Your hand is red within, and through it all the world and life itself appear in rosy col- ouring Swanwhite. Now pull the splinter out — ooh, it hurts! Prince. But I shall have to hurt you, too — and ask your pardon in advance! Swanwhite. Oh, help me, please! Prince. [Squeezing her little finger and pulling out the splinter with his nails] There is the cruel little thing that dared to do you harm. Swanwhite. Now you must suck the blood to keep the wound from festering. Prince. [Sucking the blood from her finger] I've drunk your blood — and so I am your foster-brother now. Swanwhite. My foster-brother — so you were at once — or how do you think I could have talked to you as I have done? £8 SWANWHITE Prince. If you have talked to me like that, how did I talk to you? Swanwhite. Just think, he didn't notice it! — And now I have got a brother of my own, and that is you! — My little brother — take my hand! Prince. [Taking her hand] My little sister! [Feels her pulse beating under his thumb] What have you there, that's ticking — one, and two, and three, and four ? Continues to count silently after having looked at his watch. Swanwhite. Yes, tell me what it is that ticks — so steady, steady, steady? It cannot be my heart, for that is here, beneath my breast — Put your hand here, and you can feel it too. [The doves begin to stir and coo] What is it, little white ones? Prince. And sixty! Now I know what makes that tick- ing — it is the time! Your little finger is the second-hand that's ticking sixty times for every minute that goes by. And don't you think there is a heart within the watch? Swanwhite. [Handling the watch] We cannot reach the inside of the watch — no more than of the heart — Just feel my heart! Signe. [Enters from the pewter-closet carrying a whip, which she puts down on the table] Her Grace commands that the children be seated at opposite sides of the table. The Prince sits down at the opposite end of the table. He and Swanwhite look at each other in silence for a while. Swanwhite. Now we are far apart, and yet a little nearer than before. Prince. It's when we part that we come nearest to each other. Swanwhite. And you know that? SWANWHITE 29 Prince. I have just learned it! Swanwhite. Now my instruction has begun. Prince. You're teaching me! Swanwhite. [Pointing to a dish of fruit] Would you like some fruit? Prince. No, eating is so ugly. Swanwhite. Yes, so it is. Prince. Three maids are standing there — one in the pewter-closet, one among the clothes, and one among the fruits. Why are they standing there? Swanwhite. To watch us two — lest we do anything that is forbidden. Prince. May we not go into the rosery? Swanwhite. The morning is the only time when I can go into the rosery, for there the bloodhounds of my step- mother are kept. They never let me reach the shore — and so I get no chance to bathe. Prince. Have you then never seen the shore? And never heard the ocean wash the sand along the beach? Swanwhite. No — never! Here I can only hear the roar- ing waves in time of storm. Prince. Then you have never heard the murmur made by winds that sweep across the waters ? Swanwhite. It cannot reach me here. Prince. [Pushing his helmet across the table to Swanwhite] Put it to your ear and listen. Swanwhite. [With the helmet at her ear] What is that I hear? Prince. The song of waves, the whispering winds Swanwhite. No, I hear human voices — hush! My step- mother is speaking — speaking to the steward — and men- tioning my name — and that of the young king, too! She's speaking evil words. She's swearing that I never shall be 30 SWANWHITE queen — and vowing that — you — shall take that daughter of her own — that loathsome Lena Prince. Indeed! — And you can hear it in the helmet? Swanwhite. I can. Prince. I didn't know of that. But my godmother gave me the helmet as a christening present. Swanwhite. Give me a feather, will you? Prince. It is a pleasure — great as life itself. Swanwhite. But you must cut it so that it will write. Prince. You know a thing or two! Swanwhite. My father taught me The Prince 'pulls a black feather out of the plume on his helmet; then he takes a silver-handled knife from his belt and cuts the quill. Swanwhite takes out an ink-well and parchment from a drawer in the table. Prince. Who is Lady Lena? Swanwhite. You mean, what kind of person? You want her, do you? Prince. Some evil things are brewing in this house Swanwhite. Fear not! My father has bestowed a gift on me that will bring help in hours of need. Prince. What is it called? Swanwhite. It is the horn Stand-By. Prince. Where is it hid? Swanwhite. Read in my eye. I dare not let the maids discover it. Prince. [Gazing at her eyes] I see! Swanwhite. [Pushing pen, ink and parchment across the table to the Prince] Write it. The Prince writes. Swanwhite. Yes, that's the place. [She writes again. Prince. What do you write? SWANWHITE 31 Swanwhite. Names — all pretty names that may be worn by princes! Prince. Except my own! Swanwhite. Yours, too! Prince. Leave that alone! Swanwhite. Here I have written twenty names — all that I know — and so your name must be there, too. [Pushing the parchment across the table] Read ! The Prince reads. Swanwhite. Oh, I have read it in your eye! Prince. Don't utter it! I beg you in the name of God the merciful, don't utter it! Swanwhite. I read it in his eye! Prince. But do not utter it, I beg of you! Swanwhite. And if I do? What then? — Can Lena tell, you think? Your bride! Your love! Prince. Oh, hush, hush, hush! Swanwhite. [Jumps up and begins to dance] I know his name — the prettiest name in all the land! The Prince runs up to her y catches hold of her and covers her mouth with his hand. Swanwhite. I'll bite your hand; I'll suck your blood; and so I'll be your sister twice — do you know what that can mean? Prince. I'll have two sisters then. Swanwhite. [Throwing back her head] O-ho! O-ho! Be- hold, the ceiling has a hole, and I can see the sky — a tiny piece of sky, a window-pane — and there's a face behind it. Is it an angel's? — See — but see, I tell you! — It's your face! Prince. The angels are not boys, but girls. Swanwhite. But it is you. Prince. [Looking up] "Pis a mirror. 32 SWANWHITE Swanwhite. Woe to us then ! It is the witching mirror of my stepmother, and she has seen it all. Prince. And in the mirror I can see the fireplace — there's a pumpkin hanging in it! Swanwhite. [Takes from the fireplace a mottled, strangely shaped pumpkin] What can it be? It has the look of an ear. The witch has heard us, too ! — Alas, alas ! [She throws the pumpkin into the fireplace and runs across the floor toward the bed; suddenly she stops on one foot, holding up the other] Oh, she has strewn the floor with needles [She sits down and begins to rub her foot. The Prince kneels in front of Swanwhite in order to help her. Swanwhite. No, you mustn't touch my foot — you mustn't! Prince. Dear heart, you must take off your stocking if I am to help. Swanwhite. [Sobbing] You mustn't — mustn't see my foot! Prince. But why? Why shouldn't I? Swanwhite. I cannot tell; I cannot tell. Go — go away from me! To-morrow I shall tell you, but I can't to-day. Prince. But then your little foot will suffer — let me pull the needle out! Swanwhite. Go, go, go! — No, no, you mustn't try! — Oh, had my mother lived, a thing like this could not have hap- pened! — Mother, mother, mother! Prince. I cannot understand — are you afraid of me ? Swanwhite. Don't ask me, please — just leave me — oh! Prince. What have I done? Swanwhite. Don't leave me, please — I didn't mean to hurt you — but I cannot tell — If I could only reach the shore — the white sand of the beach SWANWHITE 33 Prince. What then? Swanwhite. I cannot tell ! I cannot tell ! [She hides her face in her hands. Once more the peacock makes a rattling sound with his bill; the doves begin to stir; the three maids enter. one after the other; a gust of wind is heard, and the tops of the rose-trees outside swing back and forth; the golden clouds that have been hanging over the sea disappear, and the blue sea itself turns dark. Swanwhite. Does Heaven itself intend to judge us? — Is ill-luck in the house? — Oh, that my sorrow had the power to raise my mother from her grave! Prince. [Putting his hand on his sword] My life for yours! Swanwhite. No, don't — she puts the very swords to sleep ! — Oh, that my sorrow could bring back my mother! [The swallows chirp in their nest] What was that? Prince. [Catching sight of the nest] A swallow's nest! I didn't notice it before. Swanwhite. Nor I! How did it get there? When? — But all the same it augurs good — And yet the cold sweat of fear is on my brow — and I choke — Look, how the rose itself is withering because that evil woman comes this way — for it is she who comes The rose on the table is closing its blossom and drooping its leaves. Prince. But whence came the swallows? Swanwhite. They were not sent by her, I'm sure, for they are kindly birds — Now she is here! Stepmother. [Enters from the rear with the walk of a pan- ther; the rose on the table is completely withered] Signe — take the horn out of the bed ! Signe goes up to the bed and takes the horn. Stepmother. Where are you going, Prince? 34 SWANWHITE Prince. The day is almost done, Your Grace; the sun is setting, and my bark is longing to get home. Stepmother. The day is too far gone — the gates are shut, the dogs let loose — You know my dogs? Prince. Indeed! You know my sword? Stepmother. What is the matter with your sword? Prince. It bleeds at times. Stepmother. Well, well! But not with women's blood, I trust? — But listen, Prince: how would like to sleep in our Blue Room? Prince. By God, it is my will to sleep at home, in my own bed Stepmother. Is that the will of anybody else? Prince. Of many more. Stepmother. How many? — More than these! — One, two, three As she counts, the members of the household begin to pass by in single file across the balcony; all of them look serious; some are armed; no one turns his head to look into the room; among those that pass are the But- ler, the Steward, the Kitchener, the Gaoler, the Constable, the Equerry. Prince. I'll sleep in your Blue Room. Stepmother. That's what I thought. — So you will bid ten thousand good-nights unto your love — and so will Swan- white, too, I think! A swan comes flying by above the rosery; from the ceiling a poppy flower drops down on the Stepmother, who falls asleep at once, as do the maids. Swanwhite. [Going up to the Prince] Good-night, my Prince! Prince. [Takes her hand and says in a low voice] Good- night! — Oh, that it's granted me to sleep beneath one roof SWANWHITE 35 with you, my Princess — your dreams by mine shall be en- folded — and then to-morrow we shall wake for other games and other Swanwhite. [In the same tone] You are my all on earth, you are my parent now — since she has robbed me of my puissant father's help. — Look, how she sleeps! Prince. You saw the swan? Swanwhite. No, but I heard — it was my mother. Prince. Come, fly with me! Swanwhite. No, that we mustn't! — Patience! We'll meet in our dreams! — But this will not be possible unless — you love me more than anybody else on earth! Oh, love me — you, you, you! Prince. My king, my loyalty Swanwhite. Your queen, your heart — or what am I? Prince. I am a knight! Swanwhite. But I am not. And therefore — therefore do I take you — my Prince She puts her hands up to her mouth with a gesture as if she were throwing a whispered name to him. Prince. Oh, woe! What have you done? Swanwhite. I gave myself to you through your own name — and with me, carried on your wings, yourself came back to you! Oh [Again she whispers the name. Prince. [With a movement of his hand as if he were catching the name in the air] Was that a rose you threw me? [He throws a kiss to her. Swanwhite. A violet you gave me — that was you — your soul! And now I drink you in — you're in my bosom, in my heart — you're mine! Prince. And you are mine! Who is the rightful owner, then? Swanwhite. Both! 36 SWANWHITE Prince. Both! You and I! — My rose! Swanwhite. My violet! Prince. My rose! Swanwhite. My violet! Prince. I love you ! Swanwhite. You love me! Prince. You love me! Swanwhite. 1 love you I The stage grows light again. The rose on the table re- covers and opens. The faces of the Stepmother and the three maids are lighted up and appear beautiful, kind, and happy. The Stepmother lifts up her drowsy head and, while her eyes remain closed, she seems to be watching the joy of the two young people with a sunny smile. Swanwhite. Look, look! The cruel one is smiling as at some memory from childhood days. See how Signe the False seems faith and hope embodied, how the ugly Tova has grown beautiful, the little Elsa tall. Prince. Our love has done it. Swanwhite. So that is love? Blessed be it by the Lord! The Lord Omnipotent who made the world! [She falls on her knees, weeping. Prince. You weep? Swanwhite. Because I am so full of joy. Prince. Come to my arms and you will smile. Swanwhite. There I should die, I think. Prince. Well, smile and die! Swanwhite. [Rising] So be it then! [The Prince takes her in his arms. Stepmother. [Wakes up; on seeing the Prince and Swan- white together, she strikes the table with the whip] I must have slept! — Oho! So we have got that far! — The Blue SWANWHITE 37 Room did I say? — I meant the Blue Tower! — There the prince is to sleep with the Duke of Exeter's daughter! — Maids! The maids wake up. Stepmother. Show the prince the shortest way to the Blue Tower. And should he nevertheless lose his way, you may summon the Castellan and the Gaoler, the Equerry and the Constable. Prince. No need of that! Wherever leads my course — through fire or water, up above the clouds or down in the solid earth — there shall I meet my Swanwhite, for she is with me where I go. So now I go to meet her — in the tower ! Can you beat that for witchcraft, witch? — Too hard, I think, for one who knows not love! [He goes out followed by the maids. Stepmother. [To Swanwhite] Not many words are needed — tell your wishes — but be brief! Swanwhite. My foremost, highest wish is for some water with which to lave my feet. Stepmother. Cold or warm? Swanwhite. Warm — if I may. Stepmother. What more? Swanwhite. A comb to ravel out my hair. Stepmother. Silver or gold? Swanwhite. Are you — are you kind? Stepmother. Silver or gold? Swanwhite. Wood or horn will do me well enough. Stepmother. What more? Swanwhite. A shift that's clean. Stepmother. Linen or silk? Swanwhite. Just linen. Stepmother. Good! So I have heard your wishes. Now listen to mine! I wish that you may have no water, be it warm or cold! I wish that you may have no comb, of any 38 SWANWHITE kind, not even of wood or horn — much less of gold or silver. That's how kind I am! I wish that you may wear no linen — but get you at once into the closet there to cover up your body with that dingy sark of homespun! Such is my word! — And if you try to leave these rooms — which you had better not, as there are traps and snares around — then you are doomed — or with my whip I'll mark your pretty face so that no prince or king will ever look at you again ! — Then get your- self to bed! She strikes the table with her whip again, rises and goes out through the middle arch of the doorway; the gates, which have gilded bars, squeak and rattle as she closes and locks them. Curtain. The same scene as before, but the golden gates at the rear are shut. The peacock and the doves are sleeping. The golden clouds in the sky are as dull in colour as the sea itself and the land that appears in the far distance. Swanwhite is lying on the bed; she has on a garment of black homespun. The doors to the three closets are open. In each doorway stands one of the maids, her eyes closed and in one of her hands a small lighted lamp of Roman pattern. A swan is seen flying above the rosery, and trumpet-calls are heard, like those made by flocks of migrating wild swans. The Mother of Swanwhite, all in white, appears outside the gates. Over one arm she carries the plumage of a swan and on the other one a small harp of gold. She hangs the plumage on one of the gates, which opens of its own accord and then closes in the same way behind her. She enters the room and places the harp on the table. Then she looks around and becomes aware of Swanwhite. At once the harp begins to play. The lamps carried by the maids go out one by one, beginning with that farthest away. Then the three doors close one by one, beginning with the innermost. The golden clouds resume their former radiance. The Mother lights one of the lamps on the stand and goes up to the bed, beside which she kneels. The harp continues to play during the ensuing episode. The Mother rises, takes Swanwhite in her arms, and places her, still sleeping, in a huge arm-chair. Then she kneels 39 40 SWANWHITE down and pulls off Swanwhite's stockings. Having thrown these under the bed, she bends over her daughter's feet as if to moisten them with her tears. After a while she wipes them with a white linen cloth and covers them with kisses. Finally she puts a sandal on each foot which then appears shining white. Then the Mother rises to her feet again, takes out a comb of gold, and begins to comb Swanwhite's hair. This finished, she carries Swanwhite back to the bed. Beside her she places a garment of white linen which she takes out of a bag. Having kissed Swanwhite on the forehead, she prepares to leave. At that moment a white swan is seen to pass by outside, and one hears a trumpet-call like the one heard before. Shortly afterward the Mother of the Prince, also in white, enters through the gate, having first hung her swan plumage on it. Swanwhite's Mother. Well met, my sister! How long before the cock will crow? Prince's Mother. Not very long. The dew is rising from the roses, the corn-crake's call is heard among the grass, the morning breeze is coming from the sea. Swanwhite's Mother. Let us make haste with what we have on hand, my sister. Prince's Mother. You called me so that we might talk of our children. Swanwhite's Mother. Once I was walking in a green field in the land that knows no sorrow. There I met you, whom I had always known, yet had not seen before. You were la- menting your poor boy's fate, left to himself here in the vale of sorrow. You opened up your heart to me, and my own thoughts, that dwell unwillingly below, were sent in search SWANWHITE 41 of my deserted daughter — destined to marry the young king, who is a cruel man, and evil. Prince's Mother. Then I spoke, while you listened: "May worth belong to worth; may love, the powerful, pre- vail; and let us join these lonely hearts, in order that they may console each other!" Swanwhite's Mother. Since then heart has kissed heart and soul enfolded soul. May sorrow turn to joy, and may their youthful happiness bring cheer to all the earth! Prince's Mother. If it be granted by the powers on high ! Swanwhite's Mother. That must be tested by the fire of suffering. Prince's Mother. [Taking in her hand the helmet left be- hind by the Prince] May sorrow turn to joy — this very day, when he has mourned his mother one whole year! She exchanges the black feathers on the helmet for white and red ones. Swanwhite's Mother. Your hand, my sister — let the test begin! Prince's Mother. Here is my hand, and with it goes my son's! Now we have pledged them Swanwhite's Mother. In decency and honour! Prince's Mother. I go to open up the tower. And let the young ones fold each other heart to heart. Swanwhite's Mother. In decency and honour! Prince's Mother. And we shall meet again in those green fields where sorrow is not known. Swanwhite's Mother. [Pointing to Swanwhite] Listen! She dreams of him! — Oh foolish, cruel woman who thinks that lovers can be parted! — Now they are walking hand in hand within the land of dreams, 'neath whispering firs and singing lindens — They sport and laugh Prince's Mother. Hush! Day is dawning — I can hear 42 SWANWHITE the robins calling, and see the stars withdrawing from the sky — Farewell, my sister! [She goes out, taking her swan plumage with her. Swanwhite's Mother. Farewell! She passes her hand over Swanwhite as if blessing her, then she takes her plumage and leaves, closing the gate after her. The clock on the table strikes three. The harp is silent for a moment; then it begins to play a new melody of even greater sweetness than before. Swanwhite wakes up and looks around; listens to the harp; gets up from the bed; draws her hands through her hair; looks with pleasure at her own little feet, now spotlessly clean, and notices finally the white linen garment on the bed. She sits down at the table in the place she occupied during the evening. She acts as if she were looking at somebody sitting opposite her at the table, where the Prince was seated the night before. She looks straight into his eyes, smiles a smile of recogni- tion, and holds out one of her hands. Her lips move at times as if she were speaking, and then again she seems to be listening to an answer. She points meaningly to the white and red feathers on the hel- met, and leans forward as if whispering. Then she puts her head back and breathes deeply as if to fill her nostrils with some fragrance. Having caught something in the air with one of her hands, she kisses the hand and then pre- tends to throw something back across the table. She picks up the quill and caresses it as if it were a bird; then she writes and pushes the parchment across the table. Her glances seem to follow "his" pen while the reply is being written, and at last she takes back the parchment, reads it, and hides it in her bosom. SWANWHITE 43 She strokes her black dress as if commenting on the sad change in her appearance. Whereupon she smiles at an inau- dible answer, and finally bursts into hearty laughter. By gestures she indicates that her hair has been combed. Then she rises, goes a little distance away from the table, and turns around with a bashful expression to hold out one of her feet. In that attitude she stays for a moment while waiting for an answer. On hearing it she becomes em- barrassed and hides her foot quickly under her dress. She goes to the chest and takes out the chess-board and the chess-men, which she places on the lion's skin with a gesture of invitation. Then she lies down beside the board, arranges the men, and begins to play with an invisible partner. The harp is silent for a moment before it starts a new melody. The game of chess ends and Swanwhite seems to be talking with her invisible partner. Suddenly she moves away as if he were coming too close to her. With a deprecating gesture she leaps lightly to her feet. Then she gazes long and reproachfully at him. At last she snatches up the white garment and hides herself behind the bed. At that moment the Prince appears outside the gates, which he vainly tries to open. Then he raises his eyes toward the sky with an expression of sorrow and despair. Swanwhite. [Coming forward] Who comes with the morn- ing wind? Prince. Your heart's beloved, your prince, your all! Swanwhite. Whence do you come, my heart's beloved? Prince. From dreamland; from the rosy hills that hide the dawn; from whispering firs and singing lindens. Swanwhite. What did you do in dreamland, beyond the hills of dawn, my heart's beloved? 44 SWAN WHITE Prince. I sported and laughed; I wrote her name; I sat upon the lion's skin and played at chess. Swanwhite. You sported and you played — with whom? Prince. With Swanwhite. Swanwhite. It is he! — Be welcome to my castle, my table, and my arms! Prince. Who opens up the golden gates? Swanwhite. Give me your hand! — It is as chilly as your heart is warm. Prince. My body has been sleeping in the tower, while my soul was wandering in dreamland — In the tower it was cold and dark. Swanwhite. In my bosom will I warm your hand — I'll warm it by my glances, by my kisses ! Prince. Oh, let the brightness of your eyes be shed upon my darkness! Swanwhite. Are you in darkness? Prince. Within the tower there was no light of sun or moon. Swanwhite. Rise up, O sun ! Blow, southern wind ! And let thy bosom gently heave, O sea! — Ye golden gates, do you believe that you can part two hearts, two hands, two lips — that can by nothing be divided? Prince. Indeed, by nothing! Two solid doors glide together in front of the gates so that Swanwhite and the Prince can no longer see each other. Swanwhite. Alas! What was the word we spoke, who heard it, and who punished us? Prince. I am not parted from you, my beloved, for still the sound of my voice can reach you. It goes through cop- per, steel, and stone to touch your ear in sweet caress. When SWANWHITE 45 in my thoughts you're in my arms. I kiss you in my dreams. For on this earth there is not anything that can part us. Swanwhite. Not anything! Prince. I see you, though my eyes cannot behold you. I taste you, too, because with roses you are filling up my mouth Swanwhite. But in my arms I want you ! Prince. I am there. Swanwhite. No! Against my heart I want to feel the beat of yours — Upon your arm I want to sleep — Oh, let us, let us, dearest God — oh, let us have each other! The swallows chirp. A small white feather falls to the ground. Swanwhite picks it up and discovers it to be a key. With this she opens gates and doors. The Prince comes in. Swanwhite leaps into his arms. He kisses her on the mouth. Swanwhite. You do not kiss me! Prince. Yes, I do! Swanwhite. I do not feel your kisses! Prince. Then you love me not! Swanwhite. Hold me fast! Prince. So fast that life may part! Swanwhite. Oh, no, I breathe! Prince. Give me your soul ! Swanwhite. Here! — Give me yours! Prince. It's here! — So I have yours, and you have mine! Swanwhite. I want mine back! Prince. Mine, too, I want! Swanwhite. Then you must seek it! Prince. Lost, both of us ! For I am you, and you are me ! Swanwhite. We two are one! Prince. God, who is good, has heard your prayer! We have each other! 46 SWANWHITE Swanwhite. We have each other, yet I have you not. I cannot feel the pressure of your hand, your lip's caress — I cannot see your eyes, nor hear your voice — You are not here ! Prince. Yes, I am here! Swanwhite. Yes, here below. But up above, in dream- land, I would meet you. Prince. Then let us fly upon the wings of sleep Swanwhite. Close to your heart ! Prince. In my embrace! Swanwhite. Within your arms! Prince. This is the promised bliss! Swanwhite. Eternal bliss, that has no flaw and knows no end! Prince. No one can part us. Swanwhite. No one! Prince. Are you my bride? Swanwhite. My bridegroom, you? Prince. In dreamland — but not here! Swanwhite. Where are we? Prince. Here below ! Swanwhite. Here, where the sky is clouded, where the ocean roars, and where each night the earth sheds tears upon the grass while waiting for the dawn; where flies are killed by swallows, doves by hawks; where leaves must fall and turn to dust; where eyes must lose their light and hands their strength! Yes, here below! Prince. Then let us fly! Swanwhite. Yes, let us fly! The Green Gardener appears suddenly behind the table. All his clothes are green. He wears a peaked cap, a big apron, and knee-breeches. At his belt hang shears and a knife. He carries a small watering-can in one hand and is scattering seeds everywhere. SWANWHITE 47 Prince. Who are you? Gardener. I sow, I sow! Prince. What do you sow? Gardener. Seeds, seeds, seeds. Prince. What kind of seeds? Gardener. Annuals and biennials. One pulls this way, two pull that. When the bridal suit is on, the harmony is gone. One and one make one, but one and one make also three. One and one make two, but two make three. Then do you understand? Prince. You mole, you earthworm, you who turn your forehead toward the ground and show the sky your back — what is there you can teach me? Gardener. That you are a mole and earthworm, too. And that because you turn your back on the earth, the earth will turn its back on you. [He disappears behind the table. Swanwhite. What was it? Who was he? Prince. That was the green gardener. Swanwhite. Green, you say? Was he not blue? Prince. No, he was green, my love. Swanwhite. How can you say what is not so? Prince. My heart's beloved, I have not said a thing that was not so. Swanwhite. Alas, he does not speak the truth! Prince. Whose voice is this? Not that of Swanwhite! Swanwhite. Who is this my eyes behold? Not my Prince, whose very name attracted me like music of the Neck, or song of mermaids heard among green waves — Who are you? You stranger with the evil eyes — and with grey hair! Prince. You did not see it until now — my hair, that turned to grey within the tower, in a single night, when I was mourning for my Swanwhite, who is no longer here. Swanwhite. Yes, here is Swanwhite. 48 SWANWHITE Prince. No, I see a black-clad maid, whose face is black Swanwhite. Have you not seen before that I was clad in black? You do not love me, then! Prince. You who are standing there, so grim and ugly — no! Swanwhite. Then you have spoken falsely. Prince. No — for then another one was here! Now — you are filling up my mouth with noisome nettles. Swanwhite. Your violets smell of henbane now — faugh! Prince. Thus I am punished for my treason to the king! Swanwhite. I wish that I had waited for your king! Prince. Just wait, and he will come. Swanwhite. I will not wait, but go to meet him. Prince. Then I will stay. Swanwhite. [Going toward the background] And this is love! Prince. [Beside himself] Where is my Swanwhite? Where, where, where? The kindest, loveliest, most beautiful? Swanwhite. Seek her! Prince. 'Twould not avail me here below. Swanwhite. Elsewhere then ! [She goes out. The Prince is alone. He sits down at the table, covers his face with his hands, and weeps. A gust of wind passes through the room and sets draperies and cur- tains fluttering. A sound as of a sigh is heard from the strings of the harp. The Prince rises, goes to the bed, and stands there lost in contemplation of its pillow in which is a depression showing Swanwhite's head in profile. He picks up the pillow and kisses it. A noise is heard outside. He seats himself at the table again. The doors of the closets fly open. The three Maids become visible, all with darkened faces. The Step- mother enters from the rear. Her face is also dark. SWANWHITE 49 Stepmother. [In dulcet tones] Good morning, my dear Prince! How have you slept? Prince. Where is Swan white? Stepmother. She has gone to marry her young king. Is there no thought of things like that in your own mind, my Prince? Prince. I harbour but a single thought Stepmother. Of little Swan white? Prince. She is too young for me, you mean? Stepmother. Grey hairs and common sense belong to- gether as a rule — I have a girl with common sense Prince. And I grey hairs? Stepmother. He knows it not, believes it not! Come, maids! Come, Signe, Elsa, Tova! Let's have a good laugh at the young suitor and his grey hairs ! The Maids begin to laugh. The Stepmother joins in. Prince. Where is Swan white? Stepmother. Follow in her traces — here is one! [She hands him a parchment covered with writing. Prince. [Reading] And she wrote this? Stepmother. You know her hand — what has it written? Prince. That she hates me, and loves another — that she has played with me; that she will throw my kisses to the wind, and to the swine my heart — To die is now my will ! Now I am dead ! Stepmother. A knight dies not because a wench has played with him. He shows himself a man and takes an- other. Prince. Another? When there is only one? Stepmother. No, two, at least! My Magdalene possesses seven barrels full of gold. Prince. Seven? Stepmother. And more. [Pause. 50 SWANWHITE Prince. Where is Swan white? Stepmother. My Magdalene is skilled in many crafts • Prince. Including witchcraft? Stepmother. She knows how to bewitch a princeling. Prince. [Gazing at the parchment] And this was written by my Swan white? Stepmother. My Magdalene would never write like that. Prince. And she is kind? Stepmother. Kindness itself! She does not play with sacred feelings, nor seek revenge for little wrongs, and she is faithful to the one she likes. Prince. Then she must be beautiful. Stepmother. Not beautiful ! Prince. She is not kind then. — Tell me more of her! Stepmother. See for yourself. Prince. Where? Stepmother. Here. Prince. And this has Swanwhite written ? Stepmother. My Magdalene had written with more feel- ing Prince. What would she have written? Stepmother. That Prince. Speak the word! Say "love," if you are able! Stepmother. Lub! Prince. You cannot speak the word! Stepmother. Lud! Prince. Oh, no! Stepmother. My Magdalene can speak it. May she come? Prince. Yes, let her come. Stepmother. [Rising and speaking to the Maids] Blind- SWANWHITE 51 fold the prince. Then in his arms we'll place a princess that is without a paragon in seven kingdoms. Signe steps forward and covers the eyes of the Prince with a bandage. Stepmother. [Clapping her hands] Well — is she not com- ing? The peacock makes a rattling noise with his bill; the doves begin to coo. Stepmother. What is the matter? Does my art desert me? Where is the bride? Four Maids enter from the rear, carrying baskets of white and pink roses. Music is heard from above. The Maids go up to the bed and scatter roses over it. Then come Two Knights with closed visors. They take the Prince between them toward the rear, where they meet the false Magdalene, escorted by two ladies. The bride is deeply veiled. With a gesture of her hand the Stepmother bids all depart except the bridal couple. She herself leaves last of all, after she has closed the curtains and locked the gates. Prince. Is this my bride? False Magdalene. Who is your bride? Prince. I have forgot her name. Who is your bride- groom? False Magdalene. He whose name may not be men- tioned. Prince. Tell, if you can. False Magdalene. I can, but will not. Prince. Tell, if you can ! False Magdalene. Tell my name first! Prince. It's seven barrels full of gold, and crooked back, 52 SWANWHITE and grim, and hare-lipped! What's my name? Tell, if you can! False Magdalene. Prince Greyhead ! Prince, You're right! The False Magdalene throws , off her veil, and Swan- white stands revealed. Swanwhite. [Dressed in a white garment, with a wreath of roses on her hair] Who am I now? Prince. You are a rose! Swanwhite. And you a violet! Prince. [Taking off the bandage] You are Swanwhite! Swanwhite. And you — are Prince. Hush! Swanwhite. You're mine! Prince. But you — you left me — left my kisses Swanwhite. I have returned — because I love you! Prince. And you wrote cruel words Swanwhite. But cancelled them — because I love you.' Prince. You told me I was false. Swanwhite. What matters it, when you are true — and when I love you? Prince. You wished that you were going to the king. Swanwhite. But went to you instead, because I love you ! Prince. Now let me hear what you reproach me with. Swanwhite. I have forgotten it — because I love you! Prince. But if you love me, then you are my bride. Swanwhite. I am! Prince. Then may the heavens bestow their blessing on our union! Swanwhite. In dreamland! Prince. With your head upon my arm! The Prince leads Swanwhite to the bed, in which he places his sword. Then she lies down on one side of SWANWHITE 53 the sword, and he on the other. The colour of the clouds changes to a rosy red. The rose-trees murmur. The harp plays softly and sweetly. Prince. Good night, my queen! Swan white. Good morning, O my soul's beloved! — I hear the beating of your heart — I hear it sigh like billowing waters, like swift-flying steeds, like wings of eagles — Give me your hand! Prince. And yours! — Now we take wing Stepmother. [Enters with the Maids, who carry torches; all four have become grey-haired] I have to see that my task is finished ere the duke returns. My daughter, Magdalene, is plighted to the prince — while Swanwhite lingers in the tower — [Goes to the bed] They sleep already in each other's arms — you bear me witness, maids! The Maids approach the bed. Stepmother. What do I see? Each one of you is grey- haired ! Signe. And so are you, Your Grace! Stepmother. Am I? Let me see! Elsa holds a mirror in front of her. Stepmother. This is the work of evil powers! — And then, perhaps, the prince's hair is dark again? — Bring light this way! The Maids hold their torches so that the light from them falls on the sleeping couple. Stepmother. Such is the truth, indeed! — How beautiful they look! — But — the sword! Who placed it there — the sword that puts at naught their plighted troth? She tries to take away the sword, but the Prince clings to it without being wakened. Signe. Your Grace — here's deviltry abroad! Stepmother. What is it? Signe. This is not Lady Magdalene. 54 SWANWHITE Stepmother. Who is it, then? My eyes need help. Signe. 'Tis Lady Swanwhite. Stepmother. Swanwhite? — Can this be some delusion of the devil's making, or have I done what I least wished? The Prince turns his head in his sleep so that his lips meet those of Swanwhite. Stepmother. [Touched by the beautiful sight] No sight more beautiful have I beheld! — Two roses brought together by the wind; two falling stars that join in downward flight — it is too beautiful! — Youth, beauty, innocence, and love! What memories, sweet memories — when I was living in my father's home — when I was loved by him, the youth whom never I called mine — What did I say I was? Signe. That you were loved by him, Your Grace. Stepmother. Then I did speak the mighty word. Be- loved — so he named me once — "beloved" — ere he started for the war — [Lost in thoughts] It was the last of him. — And so I had to take the one I couldn't bear. — My life is drawing to its close, and I must find my joy in happiness denied my- self! I should rejoice — at others' happiness — Some kind of joy, at least — at other people's love — Some kind of love, at least — But there's my Magdalene? What joy for her? O, love omnipotent — eternally creative Lord — how you have rendered soft this lion heart ! Where is my strength ? Where is my hatred — my revenge? [She seats herself and looks long at the sleeping couple] A song runs through my mind, a song of love that he was singing long ago, that final night — [She rises as if waking out of a dream and flies into a rage; her words come with a roar] Come hither, men! Here, Steward, Cas- tellan, and Gaoler — all of you ! [She snatches the sword out of the bed and throws it along the floor toward the rear] Come hither, men! Noise is heard outside; the men enter as before. SWANWHITE 55 Stepmother. Behold! The prince, the young king's vas- sal, has defiled his master's bride! You bear me witness to the shameful deed! Put chains and fetters on the traitor and send him to his rightful lord! But in the spiked cask put the hussy. [The Prince and Swanwhite wake up] Equerry! Gaoler! Seize the prince! The Equerry and the Gaoler lay hands on the Prince. Prince. Where is my sword? I fight not against evil, but for innocence! Stepmother. Whose innocence? Prince. My bride's. Stepmother. The hussy's innocence! Then prove it! Swanwhite. Oh, mother, mother! The white swan flies by outside. Stepmother. Maids, bring shears! I'll cut the harlot's hair! Signe hands her a pair of shears. Stepmother. [Takes hold of Swanwhite by the hair and starts to cut it, but she cannot bring the blades of the shears together] Now I'll cut off your beauty and your love! [Suddenly she is seized with panic, which quickly spreads to the men and the three Maids] Is the enemy upon us? Why are you trem- bling? Signe. Your Grace, the dogs are barking, horses neighing — it means that visitors are near. Stepmother. Quick, to the bridges, all of you! Man the ramparts! Fall to with flame and water, sword and axe! The Prince and Swanwhite are left alone. Gardener. [Appears from behind the table; in one hand he carries a rope, the Duke's horn in the other] Forgiveness for those who sin; for those who sorrow, consolation; and hope for those who are distressed! 56 SWANWHITE Swanwhite. My father's horn! Then help is near! But — the prince? Gardener. The prince will follow me. A secret passage, underground, leads to the shore. There lies his bark. The wind is favourable! Come! [The Gardener and the Prince go out. Swanwhite alone, blows the horn. An answering sig- nal is heard in the distance. The Gaoler enters with the spiked cask. Swanwhite blows the horn again. The answer is heard much nearer. The Duke enters. He and Swanwhite are alone on the stage. Duke. My own beloved heart, what is at stake? Swanwhite. Your own child, father! — Look — the spiked cask over there! Duke. How has my child transgressed? Swanwhite. The prince's name I learned, by love in- structed — spoke it — came to hold him very dear. Duke. That was no capital offence. What more? Swanwhite. At his side I slept, the sword between us Duke. And still there was no capital offence, though I should hardly call it wise — And more? Swanwhite. No more! Duke. [To the Gaoler, pointing to the spiked cask] Away with it! [To Swanwhite] Well, child, where is the prince? Swanwhite. He's sailing homeward in his bark. Duke. Now, when the tide is battering the shore? — Alone? Swanwhite. Alone! What is to happen? Duke. The Lord alone can tell! Swanwhite. He's in danger? Duke. Who greatly dares has sometimes luck. Swanwhite. He ought to have! SWANWHITE 57 Duke. He will, if free from guilt! Swanwhite. He is! More than I am! Stepmother. [Entering] How came you here! Duke. A shortcut brought me — I could wish it had been shorter still. Stepmother. Had it been short enough, your child had never come to harm. Duke. What kind of harm? Stepmother. The one for which there is no cure. Duke. And you have proofs? Stepmother. I've valid witnesses. Duke. Then call my butler. Stepmother. He does not know. Duke. [Shaking his sword at her] Call my butler! The Stepmother trembles. Then she claps her hands four times together. The Butler enters. Duke. Have made a pie of venison, richly stuffed with onions, parsley, fennel, cabbage — and at once! The Butler steals a sidelong glance at the Stepmother. Duke. What are you squinting at? Be quick! The Butler goes out. Duke. [To the Stepmother] Now call the master of my pleasure-garden. Stepmother. He does not know! Duke. And never will! But he must come! Call, quick! The Stepmother clays her hands six times. The Flower Gardener enters. Duke. Three lilies bring: one white, one red, one blue. The Gardener looks sideways at the Stepmother. Duke. Your head's at stake! The Gardener goes out. 58 SWANWHITE Duke. Summon your witnesses! The Stepmother claps her hands once. Signe enters. Duke. Tell what you know — but choose your words! What have you seen? Signe. I have seen Lady Swanwhite and the prince to- gether in one bed. Duke. With sword between? Signe. Without. Duke. I can't believe it! — Other witnesses? The Two Knights enter. Duke. Were these the groomsmen? — Tell your tale. First Knight. The Lady Magdalene I have escorted to her bridal couch. Second Knight. The Lady Magdalene I have escorted to her bridal couch. Duke. What's that? A trick, I trow — that caught the trickster! — Other witnesses? Elsa enters. Duke. Tell what you know. Elsa. I swear by God, our righteous judge, that I have seen the prince and Lady Swanwhite fully dressed and with a sword between them. Duke. One for, and one against — two not germane. — I leave it to the judgment of the Lord! — The flowers will speak for him. Tova. [Enters] My gracious master — noble lord! Duke. What do you know? Tova. I know my gracious mistress innocent. Duke. O, child — so you know that! Then teach us how to know it too. Tova. When I am saying only what is true Duke. No one believes it! But when Signe tells untruth, SWANWHITE 59 we must believe! — And what does Swanwhite say herself? Her forehead's purity, her steady glance, her lips' sweet inno- cence — do they not speak aloud of slander? And "slander" is the verdict of a father's eye. — Well then — Almighty God on high shall give his judgment, so that human beings may believe! The Flower Gardener enters carrying three lilies placed in three tall and narrow vases of glass. The Duke places the flowers in a semicircle on the table. The Butler enters with a huge dish containing a steaming pie. Duke. [Placing the dish within the semicircle formed by the three flowers] The white one stands for whom? All. [Except Swanwhite. and the Stepmother] For Swan- white. Duke. The red one stands for whom? All. [As before] The prince. Duke. For whom the blue one? All. [As before] The youthful king. Duke. Well, Tova — child who still has faith in inno- cence because you too are innocent — interpret now for us the judgment of the Lord — tell us the gentle secrets of these flowers. Tova. The evil part I cannot utter. Duke. I will. What's good I'll leave for you. — As the steam from the blood of the prurient beast rises upward — as upward the smell of the passionate spices is mounting — what see you? Tova. [Gazing at the three lilies] The white one folds its blossom to protect itself against defilement. That is Swan- white's flower. All. Swanwhite is innocent. Tova. The red one, too — the prince's lily — closes its 60 SWANWHITE head — but the blue one, which stands for the king, flings wide its gorge to drink the lust-filled air. Duke. You've told it right! What more is there to see? Tova. I see the red flower bend its head in reverent love before the white one, while the blue one writhes with envious rage. Duke. You've spoken true! — For whom is Swanwhite then? Tova. For the prince, because more pure is his desire, and therefore stronger, too. All. [Except Swanwhite and the Stepmother] Swanwhite for the prince! Swanwhite. [Throwing herself into her father s arms] O, father! Duke. Call back the prince! Let every trump and bugle summon him. Hoist sail on every bark! But first of all — the spiked cask is for whom? All remain silent. Duke. Then I will say it: for the duchess; for the arch- liar and bawd! — Know, evil woman, that though nothing else be safe against your tricks, they cannot conquer love! — Go — quick — begone ! The Stepmother makes a gesture which for a moment seems to stun the Duke. Duke. [Draws his sword and turns the point of it toward the Stepmother, having first seated Swanwhite on his left shoulder] A-yi, you evil one! My pointed steel will outpoint all your tricks! The Stepmother withdraws backward, dragging her legs behind her like a panther. Duke. Now for the prince! The Stepmother stops on the balcony, rigid as a statue. She opens her mouth as if she were pouring out venom. SWANWHITE 61 The peacock and the doves fall down dead. Then the Stepmother begins to swell. Her clothes become inflated to such an extent that they hide her head and bust entirely. They seem to be flaming with a fat- tern of interwoven snakes and branches. The sun is beginning to rise outside. The ceiling sinks slowly into the room, while smoke and fire burst from the fireplace. Duke. [Raising the cross-shaped handle of his sword to- ward the Stepmother] Pray, people, pray to Christ, our Saviour ! All. Christ have mercy! The ceiling resumes its ordinary place. The smoke and fire cease. A noise is heard outside, followed by the hum of many voices. Duke. What new event is this? Swan white. I know! I see! — I hear the water dripping from his hair; I hear the silence of his heart, the breath that comes no more — I see that he is dead ! Duke. Where do you see — and whom? Swanwhite. Where? — But I see it! Duke. I see nothing. Swanwhite. As they must come, let them come quick! Four little girls enter with baskets out of which they scatter white lilies and hemlock twigs over the floor. After them come four pages ringing silver bells of dif- ferent pitch. Then comes a priest carrying a large crucifix. Then, the golden bier, with the body of the Prince, covered by a white sheet, on which rest white and pink roses. His hair is dark again. His face is youthful, rosy, and radiantly beautiful. There is a smile on his lips. 62 SWANWHITE • The harp begins to play. The sun rises completely. The magic bubble around the Stepmother bursts, and she appears once more in her customary shape. The bier is placed in the middle of the floor, so that the rays of the rising sun fall on it. Swanwhite throws herself on her knees beside the bier and covers the Prince's face with kisses. All present put their hands to their faces and weep. The Fisherman has entered behind the bier. Duke. The brief tale tell us, fisherman Fisherman. Does it not tell itself, my noble lord? — The young prince had already crossed the strait, when, seized by violent longing for his love, he started to swim back, in face of tide and wave and wind — because his bark seemed rudder- less. — I saw his young head breast the billows, I heard him cry her name — and then his corpse was gently dropped upon the white sand at my feet. His hair had turned to grey that night when he slept in the tower; sorrow and wrath had blanched his cheeks; his lips had lost their power of smiling. — Now, when death o'ertook him, beauty and youth came with it. Like wreaths his darkening locks fell round his rosy cheeks; he smiled — and see! — is smiling still. The people gathered on the shore, awed by the gentle spectacle — and man said unto man: lo, this is love! Swanwhite. [Lying down beside the body of the Prince] He's dead; his heart will sing no more; his eyes no longer will light up my life; his breath will shed its dew on me no more. He smiles, but not toward me — toward heaven he smiles. And on his journey I shall bear him company. Duke. Kiss not a dead man's lips — there's poison in themi Swanwhite. Sweet poison if it bring me death — that death in which I seek my life! Duke. They say, my child, the dead cannot gain union SWANWHITE 63 by willing it; and what was loved in life has little worth beyond. Swanwhite. And love? Should then its power not ex- tend to the other side of death? Duke. Our wise men have denied it. Swanwhite. Then he must come to me — back to this earth. O gracious Lord, please let him out of heaven again! Duke. A foolish prayer! Swanwhite. I cannot pray — woe's me! The evil eye still rules this place. Duke. You're thinking of the monster which the sun- beams pricked. The stake for her — let her without delay be burned alive! Swanwhite. Burn her? — Alive? — Oh, no! Let her de- part in peace! Duke. She must be burned alive! You, men, see that the pyre is raised close to the shore, and let the winds play with her ashes! Swanwhite. [On her knees before the Duke] No, no — I pray you, though she was my executioner: have mercy on her! Stepmother. [Enters, changed, freed from the evil powers that have held her in their spell] Mercy! Who spoke the sacred word? Who poured her heart in prayer for me? Swanwhite. I did — your daughter — mother! Stepmother. O, God in heaven, she called me mother! — Who taught you that? Swanwhite. Love did! Stepmother. Then blessed be love which can work mir- acles like that! — But, child, then it must also have the power to make the dead return out of the darkling realms of death! — I cannot do it, having not received the grace of love. But you! 64 SWANWHITE Swan white. Poor me — what can I do? Stepmother. You can forgive, and you can love — Well, then, my little Lady Almighty, you can do anything! — Be taught by me who have no power at all. Go, cry the name of your beloved, and put your hand above his heart! Then, with the help of the Supreme One — calling none but Him for helper — your beloved will hear your voice — if you believe! Swan white. I do believe — I will it — and — I pray for it! She goes up to the Prince, places one of her hands over his heart, and raises the other toward the sky. Then she bends down over him and whispers something into his ear. This she repeats three times in succession. At the third whisper the Prince wakes up. Swan- white throws herself at his breast. All kneel in praise and thanksgiving. Music. Curtain, SIMOOM (SAMUM) 1890 CHARACTERS Biskra, an Arabian girl Yusuf, her lover Guimard, a lieutenant of Zouaves The action takes place in Algeria at the present time. SIMOOM The inside of a marabout, or shrine. In the middle of the floor stands a sarcophagus forming the tomb of the Mohammedan saint (also called " mar about") who in his lifetime occu- pied the place. Prayer-rugs are scattered over the floor. At the right in the rear is an ossuary, or charnel-house. There is a doorway in the middle of the rear wall. It is closed with a gate and covered by a curtain. On both sides of the doorway are loopholes. Here and there on the floor are seen little piles of sand. An aloe plant, a few palm leaves and some alfa grass are thrown together on one spot. FIRST SCENE Biskra enters. The hood of her burnous is pulled over her head so that it almost covers her face. She carries a guitar at her back. Throwing herself down in a kneeling position on one of the rugs, she begins to pray with her arms crossed over her breast. A high wind is blowing outside. Biskra. La ilaha ilia 'llah! Yusuf. [Enters quickly] The Simoom is coming! Where is the Frank? Biskra. He'll be here in a moment. Yusuf. Why didn't you stab him when you had a chance? Biskra. Because he is to do it himself. If I were to do it, our whole tribe would be killed, for I am known to the 67 68 SIMOOM scene i Franks as Ali, the guide, though they don't know me as Biskra, the maiden. Yusuf. He is to do it himself, you say? How is that to happen? Biskra. Don't you know that the Simoom makes the brains of the white people dry as dates, so that they have horrible visions which disgust them with life and cause them to flee into the great unknown? Yusuf. I have heard of such things, and in the last battle there were six Franks who took their own lives before the fighting began. But do not place your trust in the Simoom to-day, for snow has fallen in the mountains, and the storm may be all over in half an hour. — Biskra! Do you still know how to hate? Biskra. If I know how to hate? — My hatred is boundless as the desert, burning as the sun, and stronger than my love. Every hour of joy that has been stolen from me since the murder of Ali has been stored up within me like the venom back of a viper's tooth, and what the Simoom cannot do, that I can do. Yusuf. Well spoken, Biskra, and the task shall be yours. Ever since my eyes first fell upon you, my own hatred has been withering like alfa grass in the autumn. Take strength from me and become the arrow to my bow. Biskra. Embrace me, Yusuf, embrace me! Yusuf. Not here, within the presence of the Sainted one; not now — later, afterward, when you have earned your reward ! Biskra. You proud sheikh! You man of pride! Yusuf. Yes — the maiden who is to carry my offspring un- der her heart must show herself worthy of the honour. Biskra. I — no one but I — shall bear the offspring of Yusuf! I, Biskra — the scorned one, the ugly one, but the strong one, too! scene i SIMOOM 69 Yusuf. All right! I am now going to sleep beside the spring. — Do I need to teach you more of the secret arts which you learned from Sidi-Sheikh, the great marabout, and which you have practised at fairs ever since you were a child? Biskra. Of that there is no need. I know all the secrets needed to scare the life out of a cowardly Frank. — The dastard who sneaks upon the enemy and sends the leaden bullet ahead of himself! I know them all — even the art of letting my voice come out of my belly. And what is beyond my art, that will be done by the sun, for the sun is on the side of Yusuf and Biskra. Yusuf. The sun is a friend of the Moslem, but not to be relied upon. You may get burned, girl! — Take a drink of water first of all, for I see that your hands are shrivelled, and He lifts up one of the rugs and steps down into a sort of cellar, from which he brings back a bowl filled with water; this he hands to Biskra. Biskra. [Raising the bowl to her mouth] And my eyes are already beginning to see red — my lungs are parching — I hear — I hear — do you see how the sand is sifting through the roof — the strings of my guitar are crooning — the Simoom is here ! But the Frank is not! Yusuf. Come down here, Biskra, and let the Frank die by himself. Biskra. First hell, and then death! Do you think I'll weaken? [Pours the water on one of the sand piles] I'll water the sand, so that revenge may grow out of it, and I'll dry up my heart. Grow, O hatred! Burn, O sun! Smother, O wind! Yusuf. Hail to you, mother of Ben Yusuf — for you are to bear the son of Yusuf, the avenger — you ! The wind is increasing. The curtain in front of the 70 SIMOOM SCENE II door begins to flap. A red glimmer lights up the room, but changes into yellow during the ensuing scene. Biskra. The Frank is coming, and — the Simoom is here! — Go! Ytjsuf. In half an hour you shall see me again. [Point- ing toward a sand pile] There is your hour-glass. Heaven itself is measuring out the time for the hell of the infidels ! [Goes down into the cellar. SECOND SCENE Biskra. Guimard enters looking very pale; he stumbles , his mind is confused, and he speaks in a low voice. Guimard. The Simoom is here! — What do you think has become of my men? Biskra. I led them west to east. Guimard. West — to east! — Let me see! — That's straight east — and west! — Oh, put me on a chair and give me some water! Biskra. [Leads Guimard to one of the sand piles and makes him lie down on the floor with his feet on the sand] Are you com- fortable now? Guimard. [Staring at her] I feel all twisted up. Put some- thing under my head. Biskra. [Piling the sand higher under his feet] There's a pillow for your head. Guimard. Head? Why, my feet are down there — Isn't that my feet? Biskra. Of course! Guimard. I thought so. Give me a stool now — under my head. SCENE II SIMOOM 71 Biskra. [Pulls out the aloe plant and pushes it under Gui- mard's legs] There's a stool for you. Guimard. And then water! — Water! Biskra. [Fills the empty bowl with sand and hands it to Guimard] Drink while it's cold. Guimard. [Putting his lips to the bowl] It is cold — and yet it does not still my thirst! I cannot drink it — I abhor water — take it away! Biskra. There's the dog that bit you! Guimard. What dog? I have never been bitten by a dog. Biskra. The Simoom has shrivelled up your memory — be- ware the delusions of the Simoom! Don't you remember the mad greyhound that bit you during the last hunt at Bab- el-Wad? Guimard. The hunt at Bab-el- Wad? That's right!— Was it a beaver-coloured ? Biskra. Bitch? Yes. — There you see. And she bit you in the calf. Can't you feel the sting of the wound? Guimard. [Reaches out a hand to feel his calf and pricks himself on the aloe] Yes, I can feel it. — Water! Water! Biskra. [Handing him the sand-filled bowl] Drink, drink! Guimard. No, I cannot! Holy Mother of God — I have rabies ! Biskra. Don't be afraid! I shall cure you, and drive out the demon by the help of music, which is all-powerful. Listen ! Guimard. [Screaming] Ali! Ali! No music; I can't stand it! And how could it help me? Biskra. If music can tame the treacherous spirit of the snake, don't you think it may conquer that of a mad dog? Listen! [She sings and accompanies herself on the guitar] Biskra-biskra, Biskra-biskra, Biskra-biskra! Simoom! Si- moom! 72 SIMOOM SCENE II Yusuf. [Responding from below] Simoom! Simoom! Guimard. What is that you are singing, Ali? Biskra. Have I been singing? Look here — now I'll put a palm-leaf in my mouth. [She puts a piece of leaf between her teeth; the song seems to be coming from above] Biskra- biskra, Biskra-biskra, Biskra-biskra! Yusuf. [From below] Simoom! Simoom! Guimard. What an infernal jugglery! Biskra. Now I'll sing! Biskra and Yusuf. [Together] Biskra-biskra, Biskra-bis- kra, Biskra-biskra! Simoom! Guimard. [Rising] What are you, you devil who are sing- ing with two voices? Are you man or woman? Or both? Biskra. I am Ali, the guide. You don't recognise me because your senses are confused. But if you want to be saved from the tricks played by sight and thought, you must believe in me — believe what I say and do what I tell you. Guimard. You don't need to ask me, for I find everything to be as you say it is. Biskra. There you see, you worshipper of idols! Guimard. I, a worshipper of idols? Biskra. Yes, take out the idol you carry on your breast. Guimard takes out a locket. Biskra. Trample on it now, and then call on the only God, the Merciful One, the Compassionate One! Guimard. [Hesitating] Saint Edward — my patron saint? Biskra. Can he protect you? Can he? Guimard. No, he cannot! — [Waking up] Yes, he can! Biskra. Let us see! She opens the gate; the curtain flaps and the grass on the floor moves. Guimard. [Covering his mouth] Close the door! Biskra. Throw down the idol! SCENE n SIMOOM 73 Guimard. No, I cannot. Biskra. Do you see? The Simoom does not bend a hair on me, but you, the infidel one, are killed by it! Throw down the idol! Guimard. [Throws the locket on the floor) Water! I die! Biskra. Pray to the Only One, the Merciful and Compas- sionate One! Guimard. How am I to pray? Biskra. Repeat after me. Guimard. Speak on! Biskra. There is only one God: there is no other God but He, the Merciful, the Compassionate One! Guimard. "There is only one God: there is no other God but He, the Merciful, the Compassionate One." Biskra. Lie down on the floor. Guimard lies down unwillingly. Biskra. What do you hear? Guimard. I hear the murmuring of a spring. Biskra. There you see ! God is one, and there is no other God but He, the Merciful and Compassionate One! — What do you see? Guimard. I can hear a spring murmur — I can see the light of a lamp — in a window with green shutters — on a white street Biskra. Who is sitting at the window? Guimard. My wife — Elise! Biskra. Who is standing behind the curtain with his arm around her neck? Guimard. That's my son, George. Biskra. How old is your son? Guimard. Four years on the day of Saint Nicholas. Biskra. And he can already stand behind the curtain with his arm around the neck of another man's wife? 74 SIMOOM scene ii Guimard. No, he cannot — but it is he! Biskra. Four years old, you say, and he has a blond mustache? Guimard. A blond mustache, you say? — Oh, that's — my friend Jules. Biskra. Who is standing behind the curtain with his arm around your wife's neck? Guimard. Oh, you devil! Biskra. Do you see your son? Guimard. No, I don't see him any longer. Biskra. [Imitates the tolling of bells on the guitar] What do you see now? Guimard. I see bells ringing — I taste dead bodies — their smell in my mouth is like rancid butter — faugh! Biskra. Can't you hear the priest chanting the service for a dead child? Guimard. Wait! — I cannot hear — [Wistfully] But do you want me to? — There! — I can hear it! Biskra. Do you see the wreath on the coffin they are carrying? Guimard. Yes Biskra. There are violet ribbons on it — and there are let- ters printed in silver — "Farewell, my darling George — from your father." Guimard. Yes, that's it! [He begins to cry] My George! O George, my darling boy! — Elise — wife — can't you con- sole me? — Oh, help me! [He is groping around] Elise, where are you? Have you left me? Answer! Call out the name of your love! A Voice. [Coming from the roof] Jules! Jules! Guimard. Jules! But my name is — what is my name? It is Charles! And she is calling Jules! Elise — my beloved SCENE II SIMOOM 75 wife — answer me — for your spirit is here — I can feel it — and you promised never to love anybody else The Voice is heard laughing. Guimard. Who is laughing? Biskra. Elise — your wife. Guimard. Oh, kill me! I don't want to live any longer! Life sickens me like sauerkraut at Saint-Doux — You there — do you know what Saint-Doux is? Lard! [He tries to spit] Not a drop of saliva left ! — Water — water — or I'll bite you ! The wind outside has risen to a full storm. Biskra. [Puts her hand to her mouth and coughs] Now you are dying, Frank! Write down your last wishes while there is still time — Where is your note-book? Guimard. [Takes out a note-book and a pencil] What am I to write? Biskra. When a man is to die, he thinks of his wife — and his child! Guimard. [Writes] "Elise — I curse you! Simoom — I die " Biskra. And then sign it, or it will not be valid as a tes- tament. Guimard. What shall I sign? Biskra. Write: La ilaha ilia 'llah. Guimard. [Writing] It is written. — And can I die now? Biskra. Now you can die — like a craven soldier who has deserted his people! And I am sure you'll get a handsome burial from the jackals that will chant the funeral hymn over your corpse. [She drums the signal for attack on the guitar] Can you hear the drums — the attack has begun — on the Faith- ful, who have the sun and the Simoom on their side — they are now advancing — from their hiding-places — [She makes a rattling noise on the guitar] The Franks are firing along the 76 SIMOOM scene n whole line — they have no chance to load again — the Arabs are firing at their leisure — the Franks are flying! Guimard. [Rising] The Franks never flee! Biskra. The Franks will flee when they hear the call to retreat. She blows the signal for "retreat" on a flute which she has produced from under her burnoose. Guimard. They are retreating — that's the signal — and I am here — [He tears off his epaulets] I am dead ! [He falls to the ground. Biskra. Yes, you are dead! — And you don't know that you have been dead a long time. [She goes to the ossuary and takes from it a human skull. Guimard. Have I been dead? [He feels his face with his hands. Biskra. Long! Long! — Look at yourself in the mirror here! [She holds up the skull before him. Guimard. Ah! That's me! Biskra. Can't you see your own high cheek-bones? Can't you see the eyes that the vultures have picked out? Don't you know that gap on the right side of the jaw where you had a tooth pulled? Can't you see the hollow in the chin where grew the beard that your Elise was fond of stroking? Can't you see where used to be the ear that your George kissed at the breakfast-table? Can't you see the mark of the axe — here in the neck — which the executioner made when he cut off the deserter's head Guimard, who has been watching her movements and listening to her words with evident horror, sinks down dead. Biskra. [Who has been kneeling, feels his pulse; then she rises and sings] Simoom! Simoom! [She opens both gates; scene ni SIMOOM 77 the curtain flutters like a banner in the wind; she puts her hand up to her mouth and falls over backward, crying] Yusuf ! THIRD SCENE Biskra. Guimard (dead). Yusuf comes out of the cellar. Yusuf. [Having examined the body of Guimard, he looks for Biskra] Biskra! [He discovers her and takes her up in his arms] Are you alive? Biskra. Is the Frank dead? Yusuf. If he is not, he will be. Simoom! Simoom! Biskra. Then I live! But give me some water! Yusuf. [Carrying her toward the cellar] Here it is! — And now Yusuf is yours ! Biskra. And Biskra will be your son's mother, O Yusuf, great Yusuf! Yusuf. My strong Biskra! Stronger than the Simoom! Curtain. DEBIT AND CREDIT (DEBET OCH KREDIT) AN ACT 1893 CHARACTERS Axel, Doctor of Philosophy and African explorer Thure, his brother^ a gardener Anna, the wife of Thure Miss Cecilia The Fiance of Cecilia Lindgren, Doctor of Philosophy and former school-teacher Miss Marie The Court Chamberlain The Waiter DEBIT AND CREDIT A well-furnished hotel room. There are doors on both sides. FIRST SCENE Thure and his Wife. Thure. There's some style to this room, isn't there? But then the fellow who lives here is stylish, too. Wife. Yes, so I understand. Of course, I've never seen your brother, but I've heard a whole lot. Thure. Oh, gossip! My brother, the doctor, has gone right across Africa, and that's something everybody can't do. So it doesn't matter how many drinks he took as a young chap Wife. Yes, your brother, the doctor! Who is nothing but a school-teacher, for that matter Thure. No, he's a doctor of philosophy, I tell you Wife. Well, that's nothing but one who teaches. And that's just what my brother is doing in the school at Aby. Thure. Your brother is all right, but he is nothing but a public-school teacher, and that's not the same as a doctor of philosophy — which isn't a boast either. Wife. Well, no matter what he is or what you call him, he has cost us a whole lot. Thure. Of course it has been rather costly, but then he has brought us a lot of pleasure, too. 81 82 DEBIT AND CREDIT scene i Wife. Fine pleasures ! When we've got to lose house and home for his sake! Thure. That's so — but then we don't know yet if his slip-up on the loan had some kind of cause that he couldn't help. I guess it isn't so easy to send registered letters from darkest Africa. Wife. Whether he has any excuses or not doesn't change the matter a bit. But if he wants to do something for us — it's nothing more than he owes us. Thure. Well, we'll see, we'll see! — Anyhow, have you heard they've already given him four decorations? Wife. Well, that doesn't help us any. I guess it'll only make him a little more stuck-up. Oh, no, it'll be some time before I get over that the sheriff had to come down on us with the papers — and bring in other people as witnesses — and then — the auction — and all the neighbours coming in and turning all we had upside down. And do you know what made me sorer than all the rest? Thure. The black Wife. Yes, it was that my sister-in-law should bid in my black silk dress for fifteen crowns. Think of it — fifteen crowns ! Thure. You just wait — just wait a little! We might get you a new silk dress Wife. [Weeping] But it'll never be the same one — the one my sister-in-law bid in. Thure. We'll get another one then! — Now, just look at that gorgeous hat over there ! I guess it must be one of those royal chamberlains who's talking with Axel now. Wife. What do I care about that! Thure. Why, don't you think it's fun that a fellow who has the same name as you and I gets to be so respected that the King's own household people have to visit him? If I scene i DEBIT AND CREDIT 83 remember right, you were happy for a whole fortnight when your brother, the school-teacher, had been asked to dine at the bishop's. Wife. I can't remember anything of the kind. Thure. Of course you can't! Wife. But I do remember the fifteenth of March, when we had to leave our place for his sake, and we hadn't been mar- ried more than two years, and I had to carry away the child on my own arm — Oh! — and then, when the steamer came with all the passengers on board just as we had to get out — all the cocked hats in the world can't make me forget that! And, for that matter, what do you think a royal chamberlain cares about a plain gardener and his wife when they've just been turned out of house and home? Thure. Look here! What do you think this is? Look at all his decorations ! — Look at this one, will you ! He takes an order out of its case, holds it in the palm of his hand, and pats it as if it were a living thing. Wife. Oh, that silly stuff! Thure. Don't you say anything against them, for you never can tell where you'll end. The gardener at Staring was made a director and a knight on the same day. Wife. Well, what does that help us? Thure. No, of course not — it doesn't help us — but these things here [pointing to the orders] may help us a whole lot in getting another place. — However, I think we've waited quite a while now, so we'd better sit down and make ourselves at home. Let me help you off with your coat — come on now! Wife. [After a slight resistance] So you think we're going to be welcome, then? I have a feeling that our stay here won't last very long. Thure. Tut, tut! And I think we're going to have a good dinner, too, if I know Axel right. If he only knew that 84 DEBIT AND CREDIT scene in we're here — But now you'll see! [He presses a button and a Waiter enters] What do you want — a sandwich, perhaps? [To the Waiter] Bring us some sandwiches and beer. — Wait a moment! Get a drink for me — the real stuff, you know! [The Waiter goes out] You've got to take care of yourself, don't you know. SECOND SCENE Thure and his Wife. Axel. The Chamberlain. Axel. [To the Chamberlain] At five, then — in full dress, I suppose? Chamberlain. And your orders ! Axel. Is it necessary? Chamberlain. Absolutely necessary, if you don't want to seem rude, and that's something which you, as a democrat, want least of all. Good-bye, doctor! Axel. Good-bye. In leaving, the Chamberlain bows slightly to Thure and his Wife, neither of whom returns the salute THIRD SCENE Axel. Thure and his Wife. Axel. Oh, is that you, old boy? — It seems an eternity since I saw you last. And this is your wife? — Glad to see you! Thure. Thanks, brother! And I wish you a happy re- turn after your long trip. Axel. Yes, that was something of a trip — I suppose you have read about it in the papers scene ra DEBIT AND CREDIT 85 Thure. Oh, yes, I've read all about it. [Pause] And then father sent you his regards. Axel. Oh, is he still sore at me? Thure. Well, you know the old man and his ways. If only you hadn't been a member of that expedition, you know, he would have thought it one of the seven wonders of the world. But as you were along, of course, it was nothing but humbug. Axel. So he's just the same as ever! Simply because I am his son, nothing I ever do can be of any value. It means he can't think very much of himself either. — Well, so much for that! And how are you getting along nowadays? Thure. Not very well, exactly! There's that old loan from the bank, you know Axel. Yes, that's right! Well, what happened to it? Thure. Oh, what happened was that I had to pay it. Axel. That's too bad! But we'll settle the matter as soon as we have a chance. The Waiter comes in with Thure's order on a tray. Axel. What's that? Thure. Oh, it was only me who took the liberty of order- ing a couple of sandwiches Axel. Right you were! But I think we ought to have some wine, so I could drink the health of my sister-in-law, as I couldn't get to the wedding. Thure. Oh, no — not for us! Not so early in the morn- ing! Thanks very much! Axel. [Signals to the Waiter, who goes out] I should have asked you to stay for dinner, but I have to go out myself. Can you guess where I am going? Thure. You don't mean to say you're going to the Palace? Axel. Exactly — I am asked to meet the Monarch himself. 86 DEBIT AND CREDIT scene hi Thure. Lord preserve us! — What do you think of that, Anna? His Wife turns and twists on her chair as if in torment, quite unable to answer. Axel. I suppose the old man will turn republican after this, when he hears that His Majesty cares to associate with me. Thure. See here, Axel — you'll have to pardon me for get- ting back to something that's not very pleasant — but it has to be settled. Axel. Is it that blessed old loan? Thure. Yes, but it isn't only that. To put it plain — we've had to stand an execution for your sake, and now we're absolutely cleaned out. Axel. That's a fine state of affairs! But why in the world didn't you get the loan renewed? Thure. Well, that's it! How was I to get any new sure- ties when you were away? Axel. Couldn't you go to my friends? Thure. I did. And the result was — what it was. Can you help us out now? Axel. How am I going to help you now? Now when all my creditors are getting after me? And it won't do for me to start borrowing when they are just about to make a position for me. There's nothing that hurts you more than to bor- row money. Just wait a little while, and we'll get it all straightened out. Thure. If we're to wait, then everything's up with us. This is just the time to get hold of a garden — this is the time to start digging and sowing, if you are to get anything up in time. Can't you get a place for us? Axel. Where am I to get hold of a garden? scene in DEBIT AND CREDIT 87 Thure. Among your friends. Axel. My friends keep no gardens. Now, don't you hamper me when I try to get up on firm ground! When I am there I'll pull you up, too. Thure. [To his Wife] He doesn't want to help us, Anna! Axel. I cannot — not this moment! Do you think it rea- sonable that I, who am seeking a job myself, should have to seek one for you, too? What would people be saying, do you think? "There, now," they would say, "we've got not only him but his relatives to look after!" And then they would drop me entirely. Thure. [Looks at his watch; then to his wife] We've got to go. Axel. Why must you go so soon? Thure. We have to take the child to a doctor. Axel. For the Lord's sake, have you a child, too? Wife. Yes, we have. And a sick child, which lost its health when we had to move out into the kitchen so that the auction could be held. Axel. And all this for my sake! It's enough to drive me crazy! For my sake! So that I might become a famous man! — And what is there I can do for you? — Do you think it would have been better if I had stayed at home? — No, worse — for then I should have been nothing but a poor teacher, who certainly could not have been of any use to you whatever. — Listen, now! You go to the doctor, but come back here after a while. In the meantime I'll think out something. Thure. [To his Wife] Do you see now, that he wants to help us? Wife. Yes, but can he do it? That's the question. Thure. He can do anything he wants. Axel. Don't rely too much on it — or the last state may 88 DEBIT AND CREDIT scene iv prove worse than the first. — Oh, merciful heavens, to think that you have a sick child, too ! And for my sake ! Thure. Oh, I guess it isn't quite as bad as it sounds. Wife. Yes, so you say, who don't know anything about it Thure. Well, Axel, we'll see you later then. Lindgren appears in the doorway. Wife. [To Thure] Did you notice he didn't introduce us — to the chamberlain? Thure. Oh, shucks, what good would that have been? [They go out. FOURTH SCENE Axel. Lindgren, who is shabbily dressed, unshaved, ap- parently fond of drinking, and looking as if he had just got out of bed. Axel is startled for a moment at the sight of Lindgren. Lindgren. You don't recognise me? Axel. Yes, now I do. But you have changed a great deal. Lindgren. Oh, you think so? Axel. Yes, I do, and I am surprised to find that these years can have had such an effect Lindgren. Three years may be pretty long. — And you don't ask me to sit down? Axel. Please — but I am rather in a hurry. Lindgren. You have always been in a hurry. [He sits down; pause. Axel. Why don't you say something unpleasant? Lindgren. It's coming, it's coming! [He wipes his spectacles; pause. Axel. How much do you need? scene iv DEBIT AND CREDIT 89 Lindgren. Three hundred and fifty. Axel. I haven't got it, and I can't get it. Lindgren. Oh, sure! — You don't mind if I help myself to a few drops? He pours out a drink from the bottle brought by the Waiter for Thure. Axel. Won't you have a glass of wine with me instead? Lindgren. No — why? Axel. Because it looks bad to be swilling whisky like that. Lindgren. How very proper you have become! Axel. Not at all, but it hurts my reputation and my credit. Lindgren. Oh, you have credit? Then you can also give me a lift, after having brought me down. Axel. That is to say: you are making demands? Lindgren. I am only reminding you that I am one of your victims. Axel. Then, because of the gratitude I owe you, I shall bring these facts back to your mind: that you helped me through the university at a time when you had plenty of money; that you helped to get my thesis printed Lindgren. That I taught you the methods which deter- mined your scientific career; that I, who then was as straight as anybody, exercised a favourable influence on your slov- enly tendencies; that, in a word, I made you what you are; and that, finally, when I applied for an appropriation to un- dertake this expedition, you stepped in and took it. Axel. No, I got it. Because I, and not you, was held to be the man for the task. Lindgren. And that settled me! Thus, one shall be taken, and the other left! — Do you think that was treating me fairly? 90 DEBIT AND CREDIT scene iv Axel. It was what the world calls "ungrateful," but the task was achieved, and by it science was enriched, the honour of our country upheld, and new regions opened for the use of coming generations. Lindgren. Here's to you! — You have had a lot of ora- torical practice — But have you any idea how unpleasant it feels to play the part of one used up and cast off? Axel. I imagine it must feel very much like being con- scious of ingratitude, and I can only congratulate you at not finding yourself in a position as unpleasant as my own. — But let us return to reality. What can I do for you? Lindgren. What do you think? Axel. For the moment — nothing. Lindgren. And in the next moment you are gone again. Which means that this would be the last I saw of you. [He pours out another drink. Axel. Will you do me the favour of not finishing the bot- tle? I don't want the servants to suspect me of it. Lindgren. Oh, go to hell ! Axel. You don't think it's pleasant for me to have to call you down like this, do you? Lindgren. Say — do you want to get me a ticket for the banquet to-night? Axel. I am sorry to say that I don't think you would be admitted. Lindgren. Because Axel. You are drunk! Lindgren. Thanks, old man! — Well, will you let me have a look at your botanical specimens, then? Axel. No, I am going to describe them myself for the Academy. Lindgren. How about your ethnographical stuff? Axel. No, that's not my own. SCENE iv DEBIT ANDCREDIT 91 Lindgren. Will you — let me have twenty-five crowns? Axel. As I haven't more than twenty myself, I can only give you ten. Lindgren. Rotten! Axel. Thus stand the affairs of the man everybody envies. Do you think there is anybody in whose company I might feel happy? Not one! Those that are still down hate me for climbing up, and those already up fear one coming from below. Lindgren. Yes, you are very unfortunate! Axel. I am ! And I can tell you that after my experience during the last half-hour, I wouldn't mind changing place with you. What a peaceful, unassailable position he holds who has nothing to lose! What a lot of interest and sym- pathy those that are obscure and misunderstood and over- looked always arouse! You have only to hold out your hand and you get a coin. You have only to open your arms, and there are friends ready to fall into them. And then what a powerful party behind you — formed of the millions who are just like you! You enviable man who don't realise your own good fortune! Lindgren. So you think me that far down, and yourself as high up as all that? — Tell me, you don't happen to have read to-day's paper? [He takes a newspaper from his pocket. Axel. No, and I don't care to read it either. Lindgren. But you ought to do it for your own sake. Axel. No, I am not going to do it — not even for your sake. It is as if you said: "Come here and let me spit at you." And then you are silly enough to demand that I shall come, too. — Do you know, during these last minutes I have become more and more convinced that if I had ever come across you in the jungle, I should beyond all doubt have picked you off with my breech-loader? 92 DEBIT AND CREDIT scene iv Lindgren. I believe it — beast of prey that you are! Axel. It isn't safe to settle accounts with one's friends, or with persons with whom one has been intimate, for it is hard to tell in advance who has most on the debit side. But as you are bringing in a bill, I am forced to look it over. — You don't think it took me long to discover that back of all your generosity lay an unconscious desire to turn me into the strong arm which you lacked — to make me do for you what you couldn't do for yourself? I had imagination and initiative — you had nothing but money and — "pull." So I am to be congratulated that you didn't eat me, and I may be excused for eating you — my only choice being to eat or be eaten ! Lindgren. You beast of prey! Axel. You rodent, who couldn't become a beast of prey — although that was just what you wished! And what you want at this moment is not so much to rise up to me as to pull me down to where you are. — If you have anything of importance to add, you had better hurry up, for I am ex- pecting a visit. Lindgren. From your fiancee? Axel. So you have snooped that out, too? Lindgren. Sure enough! And I know what Marie, the deserted one, thinks and says — I know what has happened to your brother and his wife Axel. Oh, you know my fiancee? For, you see, it so hap- pens that I am not yet engaged! Lindgren. No, but I know her fiance. Axel. What does that mean? Lindgren. Why, she has been running around with an- other fellow all the time — So you didn't know that? Axel. [As he listens for something going on outside] Oh, yes, I knew of it, but I thought she was done with him — See SCENE vi DEBIT AND CREDIT 93 here, if you'll come back in a quarter of an hour, I'll try to get things arranged for you in some way or another. Lindgren. Is that a polite way of showing me the door? Axel. No, it's an attempt to meet an old obligation. Seriously ! Lindgren. Well, then I'll go — and come back — Good-bye for a while. FIFTH SCENE Axel. Lindgren. The Waiter. Then the Fiance, dressed in black, with a blue ribbon in the lapel of his coat. W t aiter. There's a gentleman here who wants to see you. Axel. Let him come in. The Waiter goes out, leaving the door open behind him. The Fiance enters. Lindgren. [Observing the newcomer closely] Well, good-bye, Axel — and good luck! [He goes out. Axel. Good-bye. SIXTH SCENE Axel. • The Fiance [much embarrassed] Axel. With whom have I the honour ? Fiance. My name is not a name in the same way as yours, Doctor, and my errand concerns a matter of the heart Axel. Oh, do you happen to be — You know Miss Cecilia? Fiance. I am the man. Axel. [Hesitating for a moment; then with decision] Please be seated. [He opens the door and beckons the Waiter. The Waiter enters. Axel. [7*0 the Waiter] Have my bill made out, see that my trunk is packed, and bring me a carriage in half an hour. 94 DEBIT AND CREDIT scene vi Waiter. [Bowing and leaving] Yes, Doctor. Axel. [Goes up to the Fiance and sits down on a chair beside him] Now let's hear what you have to say? Fiance. [After a pause, with unction] There were two men living in the same city, one rich and the other poor. The rich man had sheep and cattle in plenty. The poor man owned nothing but one ewe lamb Axel. What does that concern me? Fiance. [As before] One ewe lamb, which he had bought and was trying to raise. Axel. Oh, life's too short. What do you want? Are you and Miss Cecilia still engaged? Fiance. [Changing his tone] I haven't said a word about Miss Cecilia, have I? Axel. Well, sir, you had better get down to business, or I'll show you the door. But be quick about it, and get straight to the point, without any frills Fiance. [Holding out his snuff-box] May I? Axel. No, thanks. Fiance. A great man like you has no such little weak- nesses, I suppose? Axel. As you don't seem willing to speak, I shall. Of course, it is none of your business, but it may do you good to learn of it, as you don't seem to know it: I am regularly engaged to Miss Cecilia, who formerly was your fiancee. Fiance. [Startled] Who was? Axel. Because she has broken with you. Fiance. I know nothing about it. Axel. [Talcing a ring from the pocket of his waistcoat] That's strange, but now you do know. And here you can see the ring she has given me. Fiance. So she has broken with me? Axel. Yes, as she couldn't be engaged to two men at the scene vi DEBIT AND CREDIT 95 same time, and as she had ceased to care for you, she had to break with you. I might have told you all this in a more decent fashion, if you hadn't stepped on my corns the mo- ment you came in. Fiance. I didn't do anything of the kind. Axel. Cowardly and disingenuous — cringing and arro- gant at the same time! Fiance. [Gently] You are a hard man, Doctor. Axel. No, but I may become one. You showed no con- sideration for my feelings a moment ago. You sneered, which I didn't. And that's the end of our conversation. Fiance. [With genuine emotion] I feared that you might take away from me my only lamb — but you wouldn't do that, you who have so many Axel. Suppose I wouldn't — are you sure she would stay with you anyhow? Fiance. Put yourself in my place, Doctor Axel. Yes, if you'll put yourself in mine. Fiance. I am a poor man Axel. So am I! But judging by what I see and hear, you have certain bliss waiting for you in the beyond. That's more than I have. — And, furthermore, I have taken nothing away from you: I have only received what was offered me. Just as you did! Fiance. And I who had been dreaming of a future for this young woman — a future full of brightness Axel. Pardon me a piece of rudeness, but you began it: are you so sure that the future of this young woman will not turn out a great deal brighter by my side? Fiance. You are now reminding me of my humble po- sition as a worker Axel. No, I am reminding you of that young woman's future, which you have so much at heart. And as I am told 96 DEBIT AND CREDIT scene vn that she has ceased to care for you, but does care for me, I am only taking the liberty to dream of a brighter future for her with the man she loves than with the man she doesn't love. Fiance. You are a strong man, you are, and we little ones were born to be your victims! Axel. See here, my man, I have been told that you got the better of another rival for Cecilia's heart, and that you were not very scrupulous about the means used for the pur- pose. How do you think that victim liked you? Fiance. He was a worthless fellow. Axel. From whom you saved the girl! And now I save her from you! Good-bye! SEVENTH SCENE Axel. The Fiance. Cecilia. Fiance. Cecilia! Cecilia draws back from him. Fiance. You seem to know your way into this place? Axel. [To the Fiance] You had better disappear! Cecilia. I want some water! Fiance. [Picking up the whisky bottle from the table] The bottle seems to be finished! — Beware of that man, Cecilia! Axel. [Pushing the Fiance out through the door] Oh, your presence is wholly superfluous — get out! Fiance. Beware of that man, Cecilia! [He goes out scene vin DEBIT AND CREDIT 9'/ EIGHTH SCENE Axel. Cecilia. Axel. That was a most unpleasant incident, which you might have spared me — both by breaking openly with him and by not coming to my room. Cecilia. [Weeping] So I am to be scolded, too? Axel. Well, the responsibility had to be fixed, and now, when that's done — we can talk of something else. — How are you, to begin with? Cecilia. So, so! Axel. Not well, that means? Cecilia. How are you? Axel. Fine — only a little tired. Cecilia. Are you going with me to see my aunt this after- noon? Axel. No, I cannot, for I have to drive out. Cecilia. And that's more fun, of course. You go out such a lot, and I — never! Axel. Hm! Cecilia. Why do you say "hm"? Axel. Because your remark made an unpleasant impres- sion on me. Cecilia. One gets so many unpleasant impressions these days Axel. For instance? Cecilia. By reading the papers. Axel. So you have been reading those scandalous stories about me! And you believe them? Cecilia. One doesn't know what to believe. Axel. So you really suspect me of being the unscrupulous 98 DEBIT AND CREDIT scene vm fellow pictured in those stories? And as you are neverthe- less willing to marry me, I must assume that you are moved by purely practical considerations and not by any personal attraction. Cecilia. You speak so harshly, as if you didn't care for me at all! Axel. Cecilia — are you willing to leave this place with me in fifteen minutes? Cecilia. In fifteen minutes! For where! Axel. London. Cecilia. I am not going with you until we are married. Axel. Why? Cecilia. Why should we leave like that, all of a sudden? Axel. Because — it's suffocating here! And if I stay, they'll drag me down so deep that I'll never get up again. Cecilia. How strange! Are you as badly off as that? Axel. Do you come with me, or do you not? Cecilia. Not until we are married — for afterward you would never marry me. Axel. So that's your faith in me! — Will you sit down for a moment, then, while I go in and write a couple of letters? Cecilia. Am I to sit here alone, with all the doors open? Axel. Well, don't lock the door, for then we are utterly lost. [He goes out to the left. Cecilia. Don't be long! She goes up to the door leading to the hallway and turns the key in the lock. scene x DEBIT AND CREDIT 99 NINTH SCENE Cecilia alone for a moment. Then Marie enters. Cecilia. Wasn't the door locked? Marie. Not as far as I could see! — So it was meant to be locked? Cecilia. I haven't the honour? Marie. Nor have I. Cecilia. Why should you? Marie. How refined! Oh, I see! So it's you! And I am the victim — for a while! Cecilia. I don't know you. Marie. But I know you pretty well. Cecilia. [Rises and goes to the door at the left] Oh, you do? [Opening the door and speaking to Axel] Come out here a moment! TENTH SCENE Cecilia. Marie. Axel. Axel. [Entering; to Marie] What do you want here? Marie. Oh, one never can tell. Axel. Then you had better clear out. Marie. Why? Axel. Because what there was between us came to an end three years ago. Marie. And now there is another one to be thrown on the scrap heap? Axel. Did I ever give you any promises that were not kept? Have I ever owed you anything? Have I ever said 100 DEBIT AND CREDIT scene x a word about marriage? Have we had any children together? Have I been the only one to receive your favours? Marie. But now you mean to be the only one? With that one over there! Cecilia. [Goes up to Marie] What do you mean? — I don't know you ! Marie. No, but there was a time when you did know me. And I remember that when we met in the streets we called each other by our first names. [To Axel] And now you are going to marry her? No, you know, you are really too good for that! Axel. [To Cecilia] Have you known that woman before? Cecilia. No. Marie. You ought to be ashamed of yourself? I simply didn't recognise you at first because of your swell clothes Axel gazes intently at Cecilia. Cecilia. [To Axel] Come — I'll go with you! Axel. [Preoccupied] In a moment ! Just wait a while ! I am only going in to write another letter — But now we'll close the door first of all. Marie. No, thank you, I don't want to be locked in as she was a while ago. Axel. [Interested] Was the door locked? Cecilia. [To Marie] You don't dare say that the door was locked ! Marie. As you expected it to be locked, I suppose you had tried to lock it and had not succeeded Axel. [Observes Cecilia; then to Marie] It always seemed to me that you were a nice girl, Marie. Will you let me have my letters back now? Marie. No. Axel. What are you going to do with them? SCENE xi DEBIT AND CREDIT 101 Marie. I hear that I can sell them, now when you have become famous. Axel. And get your revenge at the same time? Marie. Exactly. Axel. Is it Lindgren ? Marie. Yes! — And here he is now himself. ELEVENTH SCENE Cecilia. Marie. Axel. Lindgren. Lindgren. [Enters in high spirits] Well, what a lot of skirts! And Marie, too — like the cuckoo that's in every nest! Now listen, Axel! Axel. I hear you even when I don't see you. You're in a fine humour — what new misfortune has befallen me? Lindgren. I was only a little sour this morning because I hadn't had a chance to get wound up. But now I've had a bite to eat — Well, you see — at bottom you don't owe me anything at all. For what I did, I did out of my heart's goodness, and it has brought me both honour and pleasure — and what you got was a gift and no loan! Axel. Now you are altogether too modest and generous. Lindgren. Not at all! However, one favour calls for another. Would you mind becoming my surety on this note? Axel hesitates. Lindgren. Well, you needn't be afraid that I'm going to put you in the same kind of fix as your brother did Axel. What do you mean? It was I who put him Lindgren. Yes, to the tune of two hundred crowns — but he got your name as surety for five years' rent Axel. [In a low voice] Jesus Christ! 102 DEBIT AND CREDIT scene xn Lindgren. What's that? — Hm — hm! Axel. [Looking at his watch] Just wait a few minutes — I have only to write a couple of letters. Cecilia starts to go with him. Axel. [Holds her back] Just a few minutes, my dear — [He kisses her on the forehead] Just a few minutes! [He goes toward the left. Lindgren. Here's the note — you might sign it while you are at it. Axel. Give it to me! [He goes out with an air of determination. TWELFTH SCENE Cecilia. Marie. Lindgren. Lindgren. Well, girls, are you on good terms again? Marie. Oh, yes, and before we get away, we'll be on still better terms. Cecilia makes a face. Marie. I should like to have some fun to-day. Lindgren. Come along with me! I'll have money! Marie. No! Cecilia sits down with evident anxiety near the door through which Axel disappeared — as if seeking sup- port in that direction. Lindgren. Let's take in the fireworks to-night — then we can see how a great man looks in red light — what do you say to that, Cissie dear? Cecilia. Oh, I'll be sick if I have to stay here longer! Marie. Well, it wouldn't be the first time. Lindgren. Scrap, girls, and I'll watch you! Fight till the fur flies — won't you? scene xin DEBIT AND CREDIT 103 THIRTEENTH SCENE Cecilia. Marie. Lindgren. Thure and his Wife enter. Lindgren. Well, well! Old friends! How are you? Thure. All right. Lindgren. And the child? Thure. The child? Lindgren. Oh, you have forgotten it? — Are you equally forgetful about names? Thure. Names? Lindgren. Signatures! — He must be writing an awful lot in there! Thure. Is my brother, the doctor, in there? Lindgren. I don't know if the doctor is there, but your brother went in there a while ago. — And, for that matter, we might find out. [He knocks at the door] Silent as the grave! [Knocks again] Then I'll walk right in. [He goes out; everybody appears restless and anxious. Cecilia. What can it mean? Marie. Well, we'll see now. Thure. What has happened here? Wife. Something is up! — You'll see he doesn't help us! Lindgren. [Returns, carrying in his hand a small bottle and some letters] What does it say? [He reads the label on the bottle] Cyanide of potassium! — How stupid! What a senti- mental idiot — to kill himself for so little — [Everybody cries out] So you were no beast of prey, my dear Axel! — But — [He stares through the open door into the adjoining room] — he's not there — and his things are gone, too. So he has skipped out ! And the bottle has never been opened ! That means — he meant to kill himself, but changed his mind! — And these 104 DEBIT AND CREDIT scene xm are his posthumous writings. "To Miss Cecilia" — seems to contain some round object — probably an engagement ring — there you are! — "To my brother Thure" [He holds up the letter to the light] — with a piece of blue paper inside — must be a note — for the amount involved! You're welcome! The Fiance appears in the doorway at the right. Thure. [Who has opened his letter] Do you see that he helped us after all Wife. Oh, in that way! Lindgren. And here's my note — without his name — He's a strong one, all right! Diable! Marie. Then the fireworks will be called off, I suppose? Fiance. Was there nothing for me? Lindgren. Yes, I think there was a fiancee — somewhere over there! — I tell you, that fellow is a wonder at clearing up tangled affairs ! — Of course, it makes me mad to think that I let myself be fooled — but I'll be darned if I don't think I would have done just as he did! — And so would you, perhaps? — Or what do you think? Curtain. ADVENT (ADVENT) A MIRACLE PLAY 1899 CHARACTERS The Judge The Old Lady, wife of the Judge Amelia Adolph The Neighbour Eric Thyra The Other One The Franciscan The Playmate The Witch The Prince Subordinate characters, shadows, etc. > bei being the same person Act I. The Vineyard with the Mausoleum Act II. The Drawing-room Act III. The Wine-Cellar The Garden Act IV. The Cross- Roads The "Waiting-room" The Cross-Roads The Court-room Act V. The Drawing-room The "Waiting-room" 106 ADVENT ACT I The background represents a vineyard. At the left stands a mausoleum. It consists of a small whitewashed brick build- ing with a door and a pointed window that lacks mullions and panes. The roof is made of red tiles. A cross crowns the gable. Clematis vines with purple-coloured, cross- shaped flowers cover the front wall, at the foot of which ap- pear a number of other flowers. A peach-tree carrying fruit stands near the foreground. Be- neath it sit the Judge and the Old Lady. The Judge wears a green cap with a peak, yellow knee-breeches, and- a blue coat — all dating back to 1820. The Old Lady wears a kerchief on her head and carries a stick, spectacles, and snuff-box. She has the general appearance of a " witch." At the right is a small expiatory chapel containing an image of the Holy Virgin. The fence in front of it is hung with wreaths and nosegays. A prie-dieu is placed against the fence. Judge. Life's eve has at last brought the sunshine which its morning promised us. Early rains and late rains have blessed meadow and field. And soon the songs of the vint- agers will be heard all over the country. Old Lady. Don't talk like that; somebody might hear you. 107 108 ADVENT ACT I Judge. Who could be listening here, and what harm could it do to thank God for all good gifts? Old Lady. It's better not to mention one's good fortune lest misfortune overhear it. Judge. What of it? Was I not born with a caul? Old Lady. Take care, take care! There are many who envy us, and evil eyes are watching us. Judge. Well, let them! That's the way it has always been. And yet I have prospered. Old Lady. So far, yes. But I don't trust our neighbour. He has been going around the village saying that we have cheated him out of his property — and much more of the same kind which I don't care to repeat. Of course, it doesn't matter when one has a clean conscience and can point to a spotless life. Slander cannot hurt me. I go to confession and mass, and I am prepared to close my eyes whenever my hour may strike in order to open them again when I shall stand face to face with my Judge. And I know also what I am going to answer then. Judge. What are you going to answer? Old Lady. Like this: I was not without fault, O Lord, but even if I was but a poor, sinful human creature, I was nevertheless a little better than my neighbour. Judge. I don't know what has brought you to these thoughts just now, and I don't like them. Perhaps it is the fact that the mausoleum is to be consecrated in a few days? Old Lady. Perhaps that is it, for, as a rule, I don't give much thought to death. I have still every tooth left in my mouth, and my hair is as plentiful as when I was a bride. Judge. Yes, yes — you have eternal youth, you as well as I, but just the same we shall have to pass away. And as for- tune has smiled on us, we have wanted to avail ourselves of the privilege of resting in ground belonging to ourselves act i ADVENT 109 And so we have built this little tomb for ourselves here, where every tree knows us, where every flower will whisper of our labours, and our troubles, and our struggles Old Lady. Yes, struggles against envious neighbours and ungrateful children Judge. There you said it: ungrateful children. — Have you seen anything of Adolph? Old Lady. No, I haven't seen him since he started out this morning to raise the money for the rent. Judge. The money which he will never get — and I still less. But he knows now that the time of grace is up, for this is the third quarter rent that he has failed to pay. Old Lady. Yes, out with him into the world, and let him learn to work instead of sitting here and playing at son-in- law. I'll keep Amelia and the children Judge. Do you think Amelia will let herself be separated from Adolph? Old Lady. I think so, when it is a question whether her children are to inherit anything from us or not — No, look! There it is again ! On the wall of the mausoleum appears a spot of sunlight like those which children are fond of producing with a small mirror. 1 It is vibrating as if it were reflected by running water. Judge. What is it? What is it? Old Lady. On the mausoleum. Don't you see? Judge. It's the reflection of the sun on the river. It means Old Lady. It means that we'll see the light of the sun for a long time to come Judge. On the contrary. But that's all one. The best 1 Id Sweden such spots are called "sun-eats." 110 ADVENT ACT I pillow for one's head is a good conscience, and the reward of the righteous never fails. — There's our neighbour now. Neighbour. [Enters] Good evening, Judge. Good eve- ning, madam. Judge. Good evening, neighbour. How goes it? It wasn't yesterday we had the pleasure. And how are your vines, I should have asked? Neighbour. The vines, yes — there's mildew on them, and the starlings are after them, too. Judge. Well, well! There's no mildew on my vines, and I have neither seen nor heard of any starlings. Neighbour. Fate does not distribute its gifts evenly: one shall be taken and the other left. Old Lady. I suppose there are good reasons for it? Neighbour. I see! The reward of the righteous shall not fail, and the wicked shall not have to wait for their punish- ment. Judge. Oh, no malice meant! But you have to admit, anyhow, that it's queer: two parcels of land lie side by side, and one yields good harvests, the other poor ones Neighbour. One yields starlings and the other not: that's what I find queerer still. But, then, everybody wasn't born with a caul, like you, Judge. Judge. What you say is true, and fortune has favoured me. I am thankful for it, and there are moments when I feel proud of it as if I had deserved it. — But listen, neighbour — you came as if you had been sent for. — That leasehold of mine is vacant, and I wanted to ask you if you care to take it. The Old Lady has in the meantime left her seat and gone to the mausoleum, where she is busying herself with the flowers. ACT I ■ I ADVENT Neighbour. Oh, the leasehold is vacant. Hm! Since when? Judge. Since this morning. Neighbour. Hm! So! — That means your son-in-law has got to go? Judge. Yes, that good-for-nothing doesn't know how to manage. Neighbour. Tell me something else, Judge. Haven't you heard that the state intends to build a military road across this property? Judge. Oh, I have heard some rumours to that effect, but I don't think it's anything but empty talk. Neighbour. On the contrary, I have read it in the papers. That would mean condemnation proceedings, and the loser would be the holder of the lease. Judge. I cannot think so, and I would never submit to it. I to leave this spot where I expect to end my days in peace, and where I have prepared a final resting-place to escape lying with all the rest Neighbour. Wait a minute! One never knows what may prove one's final resting-place. My father, who used to own this property, also expected to be laid to rest in his own ground, but it happened otherwise. As far as the leasehold is concerned, I must let it go. Judge. As you please. On my part the proposition was certainly disinterested, as you are a man without luck. For it is no secret that you fail in everything you undertake, and people have their own thoughts about one who remains as solitary and friendless as you. Isn't it a fact that you haven't a single friend? Neighbour. Yes, it's true. I have not a single friend, and that doesn't look well. It is something I cannot deny. Judge. But to turn to other matters — is it true, as the 112 ADVENT act i legend has it, that this vineyard once was a battle-field, and that this explains why the wine from it is so fiery? Neighbour. No, that isn't what I have heard. My fa- ther told me that this had been a place of execution, and that the gallows used to stand where the mausoleum is now. Judge. Oh, how dreadful! Why did you tell me? Neighbour. Because you asked, of course. — And the last man to be hanged on this spot was an unrighteous judge. And now he lies buried here, together with many others, among them being also an innocent victim of his iniquity. Judge. What kind of stories are those! [He calls out] Caroline! Neighbour. And that's why his ghost has to come back here. Have you never seen him, Judge? Judge. I have never seen anything at all! Neighbour. But I have seen him. As a rule, he appears at the time when the grapes are harvested, and then they hear him around the wine-press down in the cellar. Judge. [Calling out] Caroline! Old Lady. What is it? Judge. Come here! Neighbour. And he will never be at peace until he has suffered all the torments his victim had to pass through. Judge. Get away from here! Go! Neighbour. Certainly, Judge! I didn't know you were so sensitive. [He goes out. Old Lady. What was the matter? Judge. Oh, he told a lot of stories that upset me. But — but — he is plotting something evil, that fellow! Old Lady. Didn't I tell you so! But you always let your tongue run whenever you see anybody — What kind of fool- ish superstition was he giving you? Judge. I don't want to talk of it. The mere thought of ACT I ADVENT 113 it makes me sick. I'll tell you some other time. — There's Adolph now! Adolph. [Entering] Good evening! Judge. [After a pause] Well? Adolph. Luck is against me. I have not been able to get any money. Judge. I suppose there are good reasons for it? Adolph. I can see no reason why some people should fare well and others badly. Judge. Oh, you can't? — Well, look into your own heart; search your own thoughts and actions, and you'll find that you have yourself to blame for your misfortunes. Adolph. Perhaps I may not call myself righteous in every respect, but at least I have no serious crimes on my con- science. Old Lady. You had better think well Adolph. I don't think that's needful, for my conscience is pretty wakeful Judge. It can be put to sleep Adolph. Can it? Of course I have heard of evil-doers growing old in crime, but as a rule their consciences wake up just before death; and I have even heard of criminals whose consciences have awakened after death. Judge. [Agitated] So that they had to come back, you mean? Have you heard that story, too? It's strange that everybody seems to have heard it except me Old Lady. What are you talking about? Stick to busi- ness instead. Adolph. Yes, I think that's wiser, too. And, as the sub- ject has been broached, I want to tell you what I propose Judge. Look here, my boy! I think it a good deal more appropriate that I should tell you what I have decided. It is this: that from this day you cease to be my tenant, and 114 ADVENT ACT I that before the sun sets you must start out to look for work. Adolph. Are you in earnest? Judge. You ought to be ashamed! I am not in the habit of joking. And you have no cause for complaint, as you have been granted respite twice. Adolph. While my crops have failed three times. Can I help that? Judge. Nor have I said so. But I can help it still less. And you are not being judged by me. Here is the contract — here's the broken agreement. Was that agreement broken by me? Oh, no! So I am without responsibility and wash my hands of the matter. Adolph. This may be the law, but I had thought there ought to be some forbearance among relatives — especially as, in the natural course of events, this property should pass on to your offspring. Old Lady. Well, well : the natural course of events ! He's going around here wishing the life out of us! But you just look at me: I am good for twenty years more. And I am going to live just to spite you! Judge. [To Adolph] What rudeness — what a lack of all human feeling — to ask a couple of old people outright: are you not going to die soon? You ought to be ashamed of your- self, I say! But now you have broken the last tie, and all I can say is: go your way, and don't let yourself be seen here any more! Adolph. That's plain talk ! Well, I'll go, but not alone Old Lady. So-o — you imagined that Amelia, our own child, should follow you out on the highways, and that all you would have to do would be to unload one child after another on us! But we have already thought of that and put a stop to it act i ADVENT 115 Adolph. Where is Amelia? Where? Old Lady. You may just as well know. She has gone on a visit to the convent of the Poor Clares — only for a visit. So now you know it's of no use to look for her here. Adolph. Some time you will have to suffer for your cruelty in depriving a man in distress of his only support. And if you break up our marriage, the penalty of that breach will fall on you. Judge. You should be ashamed of putting your own guilt on those that are innocent! Go now! And may you hun- ger and thirst, with every door closed to you, until you have learned gratitude! Adolph. The same to you in double measure! — But let me only bid my children good-bye, and I will go. Judge. As you don't want to spare your children the pain of leave-taking, I'll do so — have already done it, in fact. Adolph. That, too! Then I believe you capable of all the evil that has been rumoured. And now I know what our neighbour meant when he said that you couldn't — en- dure the sun! Judge. Not another word! Or you will feel the heavy hand of law and justice He raises his rigid hand so that the absence of its fore- finger becomes visible. Adolph. [Takes hold of the hand and examines it] The hand of justice! — The hand of the perjurer whose finger stuck to the Bible when he took his false oath! Woe unto you ! Woe ! For the day of retribution is at hand, and your deeds will rise like corpses out of these hillsides to accuse you. Old Lady. What is that he is saying? It feels as if he were breathing fire at us! — Go, you lying spirit, and may hell be your reward! Ysk ■ .- c 116 ADVENT act i Adolph. May Heaven reward you — according to your de- serts — and may the Lord protect my children ! [He goes out. Judge. What was that? Who was it that spoke? It seemed to me as if the voice were coming out of some huge underground hall. Old Lady. Did you hear it, too? Judge. God help us, then! — Do you remember what he said about the sun? That struck me as more peculiar than all the rest. How could he know — that it is so? Ever since my birth the sun has always burned me, and they have told me this is so because my mother suffered from sunstroke before I was born — but that you also . r t Old Lady. [Frightened] Hush! Talk of the devil, and-r- X^ Isn't the sun down? - Vv «— Judge. Of course it is down ! Old Lady. How can that spot of sunlight remain on the mausoleum, then? [The spot moves around. Judge. Jesus Maria! That's an omen! Old Lady. An omen, you say! And on the grave! That doesn't happen every day — and only a few chosen people who are full of living faith in the highest things [The spot of light disappears. Judge. There is something weird about the place to-night, something ghastly. — But what hurt me most keenly was to hear that good-for-nothing wishing the life out of us in order to get at the property. Do you know what I — well, I won- der if I dare to speak of it Old Lady. Go on! Judge. Have you heard the story that this spot here used to be a place of execution? Old Lady. So you have found that out, too? Judge. Yes — and you knew it? — Well, suppose we gave this property to the convent? That would make the ground ACT I ADVENT 117 sacred, and it would be possible to rest in peace in it. The income might go to the children while they are growing up, and it would mean an additional gain, as Adolph would be fooled in his hope of inheriting from us. I think this a re- markably happy solution of a difficult problem: how to give away without losing anything by it. Old Lady. Your superior intelligence has again asserted itself, and I am quite of your opinion. But suppose con- demnation proceedings should be started — what would hap- pen then? Judge. There is plenty of time to consider that when it happens. In the meantime, let us first of all, and as quietly as possible, get the mausoleum consecrated Y> Franciscan. [Enters] The peace of the Lord be with you, yY Judge, and with you, madam! Judge. You come most conveniently, Father, to hear some- thing that concerns the convent — — J Franciscan. I am glad of it. The spot of light appears again on the mausoleum. Old Lady. And then we wanted to ask when the conse- cration of the mausoleum might take place. Franciscan. [Staring at her] Oh, is that so? Judge. Look, Father — look at that omen Old Lady. Yes, the spot must be sacred, indeed Franciscan. That's a will-o'-the-wisp. Old Lady. Is it not a good sign? Does it not carry some kind of message? Does it not prompt a pious mind to stop and consider? Would it not be possible to turn this place into a refuge for desert wanderers who are seeking Franciscan. Madam, let me speak a word to you in pri- vate. [He moves over to the right. Old Lady. [Following him] Father? Franciscan. [Speaking in a subdued voice] You, madam, 118 ADVENT ACT I enjoy a reputation in this vicinity which you don't deserve, , for you are the worst sinner that I know of. You want to buy your pardon, and you want to steal heaven itself, you who have already stolen from the Lord. Old Lady. What is it I hear? Franciscan. When you were sick and near death you made a vow to the Lord that in case of recovery you would give a monstrance of pure gold to the convent church. Your health was restored and you gave the holy vessel, but it was of silver — gilded. Not for the sake of the gold, but because of your broken vow and your deception, you are already damned. Old Lady. I didn't know it. The goldsmith has cheated me. Franciscan. You are lying, for I have the goldsmith's bill. Old Lady. Is there no pardon for it? V^ Franciscan. No! For it is a mortal sin to cheat God. ^ >c \*30ld Lady. Woe is me! Franciscan. The settlement of your other crimes will have to take place within yourself. But if you as much as touch a hair on the heads of the children, then you shall learn who is their protector, and you shall feel the iron rod. Old Lady. The idea — that this infernal monk should dare to say such things to me! If I am damned — then I want to be damned! Ha, ha! Franciscan. Well, you may be sure that there will be no blessing for your house and no peace for yourself until you have suffered every suffering that you have brought on oth- ers. — May I speak a word with you, Judge? The Judge approaches. Old Lady. Yes, give him what he deserves, so that one may be as good as the other. ACT I ADVENT 119 b