Chapter III: Prologue (2)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

THE OFFICER. I am the man.

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

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

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

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

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

THE OFFICER. Is the cholera going again?

MASTER OF Q. Don't you know that?

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

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

THE OFFICER. What have you been up to then?

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

THE OFFICER. That is why you blackened your face?

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

THE OFFICER. Who is coming there?

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lena _enters with a pail in her hand_.

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

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

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

THE DAUGHTER. [_Goes to_ Lena] Tell me your troubles.

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

THE DAUGHTER. Who could be so cruel?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

_The stage grows brighter_.

HE. [_Stands up in the boat and sings_]

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

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

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

THE OFFICER. It is Victoria.

MASTER OF Q. Well, what of it?

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

[The MASTER OF QUARANTINE _waves a yellow flag._ THE OFFICER. [_Pulling a rope that turns the boat toward Foulstrand_] Hold on there!

HE _and_ SHE _become aware of the hideous view and
give vent to their horror_.

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

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

[HE _and_ SHE _step ashore, looking sad and
shamefaced_.

HE. Woe to us! What have we done?

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

SHE. So short-lived are joy and happiness!

HE. How long must we stay here?

MASTER OF Q. Forty days and nights.

SHE. Then rather into the water!

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

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

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

SHE. Oh, my blue dress will fade.

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

HE. Even your cheeks--in forty days!

SHE. [_To_ The OFFICER] That will please you.

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

_An elderly man goes by, with his hands folded behind
his back_.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

ALL. [_As before_] Oh!

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

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

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

THE DAUGHTER _and_ THE OFFICER _enter_.

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

THE MAIDS. We?

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

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

[EDITH _buries her face in her hands_.

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

[_Goes into the yellow house on the left_.

THE DAUGHTER. What a cruel form of amusement!

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

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

_Begins to play on the piano, the Toccata Con Fuga,
Op_. 10, by Sebastian Bach.

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

A NAVAL OFFICER. [_Takes_ ALICE, _one of the dancers, around the waist and drags her toward the pier_] Come quick!

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

_Now the front wall of the yellow house disappears,
revealing three benches full of schoolboys. Among
these_ THE OFFICER _is seen, looking worried and
depressed. In front of the boys stands_ THE TEACHER,
_bespectacled and holding a piece of chalk in one
hand, a rattan cane in the other_.

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

THE OFFICER _remains seated while he racks his mind
without finding an answer_.

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

THE OFFICER. [_Harassed, rises_] Two--twice--let me see. That makes two-two.

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

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

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

[_Pulls his hair_.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

THE OFFICER. Three, of course.

THE TEACHER. Consequently twice three must also make three.

THE OFFICER. [_Pondering_] No, that cannot be right--it cannot--or else--[_Sits down dejectedly_] No, I am not mature yet.

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

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

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

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

THE TEACHER. Of course I can.

ALL THE BOYS. Tell us then!

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

A BOY. [_Rising_] Now you are talking, teacher, and while you are talking, I fly: consequently I am time. [_Runs out_.

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

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

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

THE OFFICER. Then logic itself is silly.

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

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

THE TEACHER. Beware of a swelled head, doctor!

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

THE TEACHER. [_With raised index finger_] We were to mature!

MASTER OF Q. [_Enters_] The quarantine begins.

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

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

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

THE TEACHER. I guess not--just try!

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

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

THE OFFICER. Is the brig leaving?

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

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

_They go out_. THE TEACHER _continues his lesson in
silence_.

THE MAIDS _that were staring through the window of
the dance hall walk sadly down to the pier_. EDITH,
_who has been standing like a statue at the piano,
follows them_.

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

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

THE NEWLY MARRIED COUPLE _enter_.

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

WIFE. Why die?

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

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

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

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

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

THE BLIND MAN _is led in_.

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

THE DAUGHTER. Well--is he complaining also?

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

MASTER OF Q. He is blind.

THE DAUGHTER. The most envied of all!

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

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

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

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

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

THE DAUGHTER. And how does "no" look?

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

THE DAUGHTER. And how Edith cries.

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

THE DAUGHTER. But he will come back.

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

THE LAWYER _enters and goes up to whisper something
into_ THE BLIND MAN's _ear_.

THE BLIND MAN. Is that so?

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

THE DAUGHTER. What can that be?

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

THE DAUGHTER. Where?

THE LAWYER. To your duties.

THE DAUGHTER. What does that mean?

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

THE DAUGHTER. Are there no pleasant duties?

THE LAWYER. They become pleasant when they are done.

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

THE LAWYER. What is pleasant is sin.

THE DAUGHTER. Sin?

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

THE DAUGHTER. How strange!

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

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

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

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

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

THE DAUGHTER. I shall rather die!

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

THE DAUGHTER. It is not easy to be human!

ALL. Hear!

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

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

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

_Cries of anguish are heard from a distance_. Woe!
Woe! Woe!

THE DAUGHTER. What is that?

THE LAWYER. The lost souls at Foulstrand.

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

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

THE DAUGHTER. We must set them free.

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

THE DAUGHTER. By whom?

THE LAWYER. By all the right-minded.

THE DAUGHTER. Who are they?

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

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

THE LAWYER. Yes.

THE DAUGHTER. Then I know them!

_Curtain_.

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

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

THE DAUGHTER _and_ THE LAWYER _in the background_.

THE DAUGHTER. This is paradise!

FIRST COALHEAVER. This is hell!

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

FIRST HEAVER. Let's have a bath.

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

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

SECOND HEAVER. Then the police would get after us.

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

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

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

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

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

THE DAUGHTER. Punished?

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

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

THE LAWYER. On the whole, yes.

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

THE LAWYER. Yes.

THE DAUGHTER. You, too?

THE LAWYER. Yes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

THE DAUGHTER. This is not paradise.

THE LAWYER. I should say not!

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

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

THE DAUGHTER. Who puts them in prison?

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

THE DAUGHTER. Who sends them to the madhouse?

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

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

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

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

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

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

A GENTLEMAN _and_ A LADY _pass across the stage_.

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

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

FIRST HEAVER. So that he _can_ eat something?

SECOND HEAVER. So that he _can_----?

_Children enter and cry with horror when they catch
sight of the grimy workers_.

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

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

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

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

THE DAUGHTER. But----

THE LAWYER. But the government----

THE DAUGHTER. [_Goes out, hiding her face in her hands_] This is not paradise.

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

_Curtain_.

[Footnote 3: Means literally "wordspout."]

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

THE DAUGHTER _and_ THE POET.

THE POET. Where are you leading me?

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

THE POET. What? In this place?

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

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

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

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

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

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

THE DAUGHTER. Hush! The winds are still singing.

[_Recites to subdued music_:

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

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

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

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

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

THE DAUGHTER. Hush! Now the waves are singing.

[_Recites to subdued music_:

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

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

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

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

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

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

THE POET. It was in one of my poems.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

THE DAUGHTER. What kind of prayer?

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

THE DAUGHTER. To be presented by whom?

THE POET. By Indra's daughter.

THE DAUGHTER. Can you repeat what you have written?

THE POET. I can.

THE DAUGHTER. Speak it then.

THE POET. Better that you do it.

THE DAUGHTER. Where can I read it?

THE POET. In my mind--or here.

[_Hands her a roll of paper._

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

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

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

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

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

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

THE POET.

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

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

THE DAUGHTER. I will.

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

THE DAUGHTER. Yes.

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

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

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

THE DAUGHTER. Not unlikely.

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

THE DAUGHTER. What ship can that be?

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

THE DAUGHTER. What ship is that?

THE POET. The _Flying Dutchman_.

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

THE POET. Because he had seven faithless wives.

THE DAUGHTER. And for this he should be punished?

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

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

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

THE DAUGHTER. Why?

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

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

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

THE CREW. [_Sings in quartet_] Christ Kyrie!

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

THE CREW. [_As before_] Christ Kyrie!

THE DAUGHTER. Who is coming there?

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

_A white light is seen shining over the water at some
distance_.

THE CREW. Christ Kyrie!

THE DAUGHTER. Can this be He?

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

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

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

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

THE POET. All the right-minded.

THE DAUGHTER. What a strange world!

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

[THE CREW _set up a wild outcry_.

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

[THE CREW _utter another cry_.

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

[_The rising waves threaten to engulf the two in the
cave_.

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

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

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

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

THE DAUGHTER. What are you seeing?

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

_While_ THE POET _is still speaking, the stage is
changed and shows once more the passageway outside
the opera-house_.

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

THE PORTRESS. No.

THE DAUGHTER. And the Deans of the Faculties?

THE PORTRESS. No.

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

THE PORTRESS. Is it so very pressing?

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

[THE PORTRESS _blows in a whistle_.

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

STAGE PEOPLE _enter from the left as in the earlier
scene_.

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

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

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

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

THE OFFICER. [_Begins to walk to and fro_] Good! I am waiting.

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

THE DAUGHTER. So it seems to me also.

THE POET. Perhaps I have dreamt it.

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

THE POET. Or put it in a poem.

THE DAUGHTER. Then you know what poetry is.

THE POET. Then I know what dreaming is.

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

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

THE DAUGHTER. Or dreaming!

THE POET. Or poetry!

_Enter the_ LORD CHANCELLOR _and the_ DEANS _of the_
THEOLOGICAL, PHILOSOPHICAL, MEDICAL, _and_ LEGAL
FACULTIES.

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

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

DEAN OF PHILOSOPHY. I hold----

DEAN OF MEDICINE. I know----

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

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

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

PHILOSOPHY. Truth is never dangerous.

MEDICINE. What is truth?

JURISPRUDENCE. What can be proved by two witnesses.

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

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

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

THEOLOGY. Good!

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

MEDICINE. Good!

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

MEDICINE. Idiot!

THEOLOGY. Ass! [_They fight_.

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

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

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

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

JURISPRUDENCE. What is truth? What is truth?

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

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

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

JURISPRUDENCE. I doubt---- [_They fight_.

THE DAUGHTER. Instructors of the young, take shame!

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

THE DAUGHTER. Poor youth!

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

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

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

ALL RIGHT-MINDED. Yes, it is criminal.

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

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

JURISPRUDENCE. Else you will be stoned.

THE POET. Or crucified.

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

THE POET. Which riddle?

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

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

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

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

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

LORD CHANCELLOR. What was behind the door?

THE GLAZIER. I can see nothing.

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

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

PHILOSOPHY. Out of nothing comes nothing.

MEDICINE. Yes, bosh--which is nothing!

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

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

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

ALL RIGHT-MINDED. We have been deceived.

LORD CHANCELLOR. Who has deceived you?

ALL RIGHT-MINDED. The Daughter!

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

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

MEDICINE. Why, then, there is nothing there.

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

MEDICINE. It is bosh, what she says!

ALL. Bosh!

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

THE POET. Are you in earnest?

THE DAUGHTER. Always in earnest.

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

THE DAUGHTER. They most of all, perhaps.

THE POET. And the four faculties, too?

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

ALL. She has not answered!

LORD CHANCELLOR. Stone her then!

THE DAUGHTER. I have answered.

LORD CHANCELLOR. Hear--she answers.

ALL. Stone her! She answers!

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

THE LAWYER. [_Enters and takes_ THE DAUGHTER _by the arm_] Have you forgotten your duties?

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

THE LAWYER. And your child?

THE DAUGHTER. My child--what of it?

THE LAWYER. Your child is crying for you.