Chapter II: Prologue (1)

_The background represents cloud banks that resemble
corroding slate cliffs with ruins of castles and
fortresses_.

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

THE DAUGHTER OF INDRA _stands on the topmost cloud_.

THE VOICE OF INDRA [_from above_].

Where are you, daughter, where?

THE DAUGHTER.

Here, father, here.

THE VOICE.

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

THE DAUGHTER.

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

THE VOICE.

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You have withdrawn yourself to enter soon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

THE DAUGHTER.

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

THE VOICE.

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

THE DAUGHTER.

And is it never brightened by the sun?

THE VOICE.

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

THE DAUGHTER.

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

THE VOICE.

What sees my child?

THE DAUGHTER.

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

THE VOICE.

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

THE DAUGHTER.

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

THE VOICE.

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

THE DAUGHTER.

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

THE VOICE.

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

THE DAUGHTER.

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

THE VOICE.

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

THE DAUGHTER.

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

THE VOICE.

No, there below I cannot breathe----

THE DAUGHTER.

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

THE VOICE.

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

THE DAUGHTER. [_Kneeling as the cloud sinks downward_]

I sink!

_Curtain_.

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

_Enter_ THE GLAZIER _and_ THE DAUGHTER.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

THE GLAZIER. Yes, let us go in.

_They go toward the background, which opens and slowly disappears to either side_.

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

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

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

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

[THE GLAZIER _goes out_.

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

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

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

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

THE DAUGHTER. What do you see in me?

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

THE DAUGHTER. So are you.

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

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

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

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

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

THE DAUGHTER. You feel yourself wronged by life?

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

_Now voices are heard from behind a 'partition, which
a moment later is pulled away_. THE OFFICER _and_
THE DAUGHTER _look in that direction and stop as if
paralysed in the midst of a gesture_.

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

THE FATHER. [_Holds out a silk mantilla toward_ THE MOTHER _and says gently_] You don't want it?

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

THE FATHER. Do you believe what the doctor says?

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

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

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

THE FATHER. Christine, forgive me--everything!

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

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

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

THE FATHER. [_Pointing to_ THE OFFICER] Why, he is standing right there, dear heart.

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

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

THE OFFICER _goes over to_ THE MOTHER.

THE MOTHER. Who is that girl?

THE OFFICER, [_Whispers_] It is Agnes.

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

THE OFFICER. A child of the gods, indeed!

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

THE OFFICER. [_Sadly_] Speak, mother.

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

THE OFFICER. What do you mean, mother?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

THE OFFICER. Don't say any more!

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

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

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

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

THE MOTHER. And why not, my girl?

LENA. I have nothing to put on.

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

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

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

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

THE MOTHER. What small minds----

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

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

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

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

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

THE DAUGHTER. Men are to be pitied.

THE OFFICER. You think so?

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

[_They go toward the background.

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

THE DAUGHTER. [_Going to_ THE PORTRESS] Is the spread not done yet?

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

THE DAUGHTER. And your lover never came back?

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

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

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

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

THE BILLPOSTER. I don't complain very much--not now, since I have a dipnet and a green cauf[2]----

THE DAUGHTER. And that can make you happy?

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

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

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

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

[_She takes the shawl and sits down at the gate._

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

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

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

THE DAUGHTER. Poor human creatures!

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

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

THE DAUGHTER. Men are to be pitied!

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

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

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

THE OFFICER. [_Far down on the stage, looks up and sings_] Victoria!

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

THE OFFICER. Good! The carriage is waiting, the table is set, the wine is on ice--Oh, permit me to embrace you, ladies! [_He embraces_ THE PORTRESS _and_ THE DAUGHTER. _Sings_] Victoria!

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

THE DAUGHTER. Do you know me?

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

THE BILLPOSTER. It is rather expensive.

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

THE PORTRESS. Nobody is allowed on the stage.

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

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

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

THE PORTRESS. No, there is no other way.

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

STAGE PEOPLE _rush out and are closely watched by_
THE OFFICER _as they pass_.

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

THE BILLPOSTER. Home for supper.

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

THE DAUGHTER. What do you want there?

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

THE DAUGHTER. Who is Miss Victoria?

THE PORTRESS. His sweetheart.

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

_It is suddenly turning dark_.

THE PORTRESS. [_Lights a lantern_] It is growing dark early to-day.

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

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

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

THE PORTRESS. No.

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

[_Goes back into the lodge and telephones_.

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

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

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

THE DAUGHTER. No sleep at night?

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

THE DAUGHTER. But that is torture!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

_The light shines unbrokenly once more_.

THE BILLPOSTER _enters with his dipnet and his
implements_.

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

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

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

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

THE BILLPOSTER. Has she not come down yet?

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

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

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

[THE BILLPOSTER _posts a bill and goes toward the
right_.

THE DAUGHTER. What is the matter with the dipnet?

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

THE DAUGHTER. How did you expect it to be?

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

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

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

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

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

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

A BALLET GIRL _comes in from the right_.

THE OFFICER. Is Miss Victoria gone?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

THE BALLET GIRL. [_With confusion_] How stupid of me not to guess that!

A MALE CHORUS SINGER _enters from the right_.

THE OFFICER. Has Miss Victoria gone yet?

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

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

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

THE PROMPTER enters from the right.

THE OFFICER. Is Miss Victoria gone yet?

THE PROMPTER. Not that I know of.

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

THE PROMPTER. Which door?

THE OFFICER. Is there more than one door?

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

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

THE GLAZIER enters through the gate.

THE OFFICER. Are you the locksmith?

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

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

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

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

[_Claps his hands together_.

ALL _gather in a ring around the door_.

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

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

THE GLAZIER _goes up to the door with the diamond in
his hand_.

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

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

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

_Without lowering of the curtain, the stage changes
to a lawyer's office, and in this manner. The gate
remains, but as a wicket in the railing running clear
across the stage. The gatekeeper's lodge turns into
the private enclosure of the Lawyer, and it is now
entirely open to the front. The linden, leafless,
becomes a hat tree. The billboard is covered with
legal notices and court decisions. The door with the
four-leaved clover hole forms part of a document
chest_.

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

_Of his two clerks, one has lost an arm, the other an
eye_.

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

THE DAUGHTER, _still wearing the shawl, and_ THE
OFFICER _are near the footlights_.

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

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

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

THE DAUGHTER. Men are to be pitied!

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

THE DAUGHTER. Perhaps He who feeds the birds.

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

THE DAUGHTER. Men are to be pitied!

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

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

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

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

THE LAWYER. Not at all! Not at all!

_All the church bells begin to ring_.

THE OFFICER. Is there going to be a funeral?

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

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

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

[THE OFFICER _goes out_.

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

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

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

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

_At first the stage is empty for a few moments_.

HERALDS _enter from the right_.

BALLET GIRLS _follow with laurel wreaths carried high
before them_.

THREE GRADUATES _appear one after another from the
left, receive their wreaths from the_ BALLET GIRLS,
_and go out to the right_.

THE LAWYER _steps forward to get his wreath_.

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

THE LAWYER, _shocked, leans against a column. All
the others withdraw gradually until only_ THE LAWYER
_remains on the stage_.

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

THE LAWYER. No, I was not held worthy.

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

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

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

THE LAWYER. They know no better.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

VOICES OF CHILDREN. O Lord everlasting!

[_Last note sustained_.

VOICES OF WOMEN. Have mercy upon us!

[_Last note sustained_.

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

[_Last note sustained_.

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

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

_The stage turns dark_. THE DAUGHTER _rises and draws
close to_ THE LAWYER. _By a change of light, the
organ becomes Fingal's Cave. The ground-swell of the
ocean, which can be seen rising and falling between
the columns of basalt, produces a deep harmony that
blends the music of winds and waves_.

THE LAWYER. Where are we, sister?

THE DAUGHTER. What do you hear?

THE LAWYER. I hear drops falling----

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

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

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

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

THE DAUGHTER. May I try it?

THE LAWYER. With me?

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

THE LAWYER. I am so poor.

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

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

THE DAUGHTER. They can be adjusted.

THE LAWYER. And if we tire of it?

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

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

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

THE LAWYER. So be it then!

_Curtain_.

[Footnote 1: Though the author says nothing about it here, subsequent stage directions indicate a door and a window behind the place occupied by THE PORTRESS. Both lead into her room or lodge, which contains a telephone.]

[Footnote 2: A floating wooden box with holes in it used to hold fish.]

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

CHRISTINE. I paste, I paste.

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

CHRISTINE. Now there is only one little crack left.

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

CHRISTINE. I paste, I paste.

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

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

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

THE DAUGHTER. Yes, at last.

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

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

THE LAWYER. Nothing.

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

THE LAWYER. We have no money for it.

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

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

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

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

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

THE LAWYER. Poverty is always dirty, relatively speaking.

THE DAUGHTER. This is worse than I dreamed!

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

THE DAUGHTER. But what sort of food?

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

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

THE LAWYER. Why didn't you say so?

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

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

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

THE LAWYER. And it is expensive.

THE DAUGHTER. This is worse than I thought it!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

THE DAUGHTER. What is it?

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

THE DAUGHTER. We have agreed not to get angry.

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

THE DAUGHTER. They will never be heard between us.

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

THE DAUGHTER. Tell me now.

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

THE DAUGHTER. _With bent head_] Beware of the short accents, Axel!

THE LAWYER. They were not short.

THE DAUGHTER. Yes, they were.

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

THE DAUGHTER. What kind of language is that?

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

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

THE LAWYER. I think so, too.

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

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

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

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

THE DAUGHTER. Men are to be pitied!

THE LAWYER. You see that?

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

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

THE DAUGHTER. Why not smile at mere trifles?

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

THE DAUGHTER. [_Embarrassed_] Which newspaper?

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

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

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

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

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

THE DAUGHTER. Of course it is!

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

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

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

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

[_She drops her head forward in dumb despair_.

CHRISTINE. I paste, I paste.

THE LAWYER _stands at the door, twisting the
door-knob nervously_.

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

THE LAWYER. I twist, I twist!

THE DAUGHTER. Don't!

THE LAWYER. I twist!

THE DAUGHTER. No!

THE LAWYER. I----

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

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

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

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

THE OFFICER. Live on?

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

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

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

[_Goes out backward, nodding_.

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

THE OFFICER. Will you come with me now?

THE DAUGHTER. At once! But where?

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

THE DAUGHTER. Then I will go there.

THE OFFICER. Come!

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

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

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

[_Breaks the pin and throws the pieces away_.

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

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

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

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

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

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

[_Withdraws and closes the door behind him_.

THE DAUGHTER. Well then?

_The stage changes. The bed with its curtains becomes
a tent_.

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

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

_In the middle distance, a narrow strait_.

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

THE MASTER OF QUARANTINE, _made up like a blackamoor,
is walking along the shore_.

THE OFFICER. [_Meets him and they shake hands_] Why, Ordström![3] Have you landed here?

MASTER OF Q. Yes, here I am.

THE OFFICER. Is this Fairhaven?

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

THE OFFICER. Then we have lost our way.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

THE OFFICER. Knotted?

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

THE OFFICER. There is always something amiss!