Chapter I: Introduction (1)

The collection of plays contained in this volume is unusually representative, giving what might be called a cross-section of Strindberg's development as a dramatist from his naturalistic revolt in the middle eighties, to his final arrival at resigned mysticism and Swedenborgian symbolism.

"Swanwhite" was written in the spring of 1901, about the time when Strindberg was courting and marrying his third wife, the gifted Swedish actress Harriet Bosse. In the fall of 1902 the play appeared in book form, together with "The Crown Bride" and "The Dream Play," all of them being issued simultaneously, at Berlin, in a German translation made by Emil Schering.

Schering, who at that time was in close correspondence with Strindberg, says that the figure of _Swanwhite_ had been drawn with direct reference to Miss Bosse, who had first attracted the attention of Strindberg by her spirited interpretation of _Biskra_ in "Simoom." And Schering adds that it was Strindberg's bride who had a little previously introduced him to the work of Maeterlinck, thereby furnishing one more of the factors determining the play.

Concerning the influence exerted upon him by the Belgian playwright-philosopher, Strindberg himself wrote in a pamphlet named "Open Letters to the Intimate Theatre" (Stockholm, 1909):

"I had long had in mind skimming the cream of our most beautiful folk-ballads in order to turn them into a picture for the stage. Then Maeterlinck came across my path, and under the influence of his puppet-plays, which are not meant for the regular stage, I wrote my Swedish scenic spectacle, 'Swanwhite.' It is impossible either to steal or to borrow from Maeterlinck. It is even difficult to become his pupil, for there are no free passes that give entrance to his world of beauty. But one may be urged by his example into searching one's own dross-heaps for gold--and it is in that sense I acknowledge my debt to the master.

"Pushed ahead by the _impression_ made on me by Maeterlinck, and borrowing his divining-rod for my purposes, I turned to such sources [_i.e._, of Swedish folk-lore] as the works of Geijer, Afzelius, and Dybeck. There I found a superabundance of princes and princesses. The stepmother theme I had discovered on my own hook as a _constant_--it figures in twenty-six different Swedish folk-tales. In the same place I found the resurrection theme, as, for instance, it appears in the story of _Queen Dagmar_. Then I poured it all into my separator, together with the _Maids_, the _Green Gardener_ and the _Young King_, and in a short while the cream began to flow--and for that reason the story is my own. But it has also been made so by the fact that I have lived through that tale in my own fancy--a Spring in time of Winter!"

Swedish critics have been unanimous in their praise of this play. John Landquist, who has since become Strindberg's literary executor, spoke of it once as "perhaps the most beautiful and most genuine fairy tale for old or young ever written in the Swedish language." Tor Hedberg has marvelled at the charm with which _Swanwhite_ herself has been endowed--"half child, half maid; knowing nothing, yet guessing all; playing with love as a while ago she was playing with her dolls." On the stage, too--in Germany as well as in Sweden--little _Swanwhite_ has celebrated great triumphs. Whether that figure, and the play surrounding it, will also triumph in English-speaking countries, remains still to be seen. But if, contrary to my hopes, it should fail to do so, I want, in advance, to shift the blame from the shoulders of the author to my own. In hardly any other work by Strindberg do form and style count for so much. The play is, in its original shape, as poetical in form as in spirit--even to the extent of being strongly rhythmical in its prose, and containing many of the inversions which are so characteristic of Swedish verse.

It is not impossible to transfer these qualities into English, but my efforts to do so have had to be influenced by certain differences in the very _grain_ of the two languages involved. Like all other languages, each possesses a natural basic rhythm. This rhythm varies frequently and easily in Swedish, so that you may pass from iambic to trochaic metre without giving offence to the ear--or to that subtle rhythmical susceptibility that seems to be inherent in our very pulses. But the rhythm dearest and most natural to the genius of the Swedish language seems to be the falling pulse-beat manifested in the true trochee. The swing and motion of English, on the other hand, is almost exclusively, commandingly iambic. And it was not until I made the iambic _rising_ movement prevail in my translation, that I felt myself approaching the impression made on me by the original. But for that very reason--because the genius of the new medium has forced me into making the movement of my style more monotonous--it is to be feared that the rhythmical quality of that movement may seem overemphasised. Should such a criticism be advanced, I can only answer: I have tried several ways, and this is the only one that will _work_.

"Simoom" seems to have been written in 1888, in close connection with "Creditors" and "Pariah." And, like these, it shows the unmistakable influence of Edgar Allan Poe, with whose works Strindberg had become acquainted a short while before. The play was first printed in one of the three thin volumes of varied contents put out by Strindberg in 1890 and 1891 under the common title of "Pieces Printed and Unprinted." But, strange to say, it was not put on the stage (except in a few private performances) until 1902, although, from a purely theatrical viewpoint, Strindberg--master of stagecraft though he was--had rarely produced a more effective piece of work.

"Debit and Credit" belongs to the same general period as the previous play, but has in it more of Nietzsche than of Poe. Its central figure is also a sort of superman, but as such he is not taken too seriously by his creator. The play has humour, but it is of a grim kind--one seems to be hearing the gritting of teeth through the laughter. Like "Simoom," however, it should be highly effective on the stage. It was first published in 1893, with three other one-act plays, the volume being named "Dramatic Pieces."

"Advent" was published in 1899, together with "There Are Crimes and Crimes," under the common title of "In a Higher Court." Its name refers, of course, to the ecclesiastical designation of the four weeks preceding Christmas. The subtitle, literally rendered, would be "A Mystery." But as this term has a much wider application in Swedish than in English, I have deemed it better to observe the distinction which the latter language makes between mysteries, miracle-plays, and moralities.

The play belongs to what Strindberg called his "Inferno period," during which he struggled in a state of semi-madness to rid himself of the neurasthenic depression which he regarded as a punishment brought about by his previous attitude of materialistic scepticism. It is full of Swedenborgian symbolism, which, perhaps, finds its most characteristic expression in the two scenes laid in "The Waiting Room." The name selected by Strindberg for the region where dwell the "lost" souls of men is not a mere euphemism. It signifies his conception of that place as a station on the road to redemption or annihilation.

In its entirety the play forms a Christmas sermon with a quaint blending of law and gospel. A prominent Swedish critic, Johan Mortensen, wrote: "Reading it, one almost gets the feeling that Strindberg, the dread revolutionist, has, of a sudden, changed into a nice village school-teacher, seated at his desk, with his rattan cane laid out in front of him. He has just been delivering a lesson in Christianity, and he has noticed that the attention of the children strayed and that they either failed to understand or did not care to take in the difficult matters he was dealing with. But they must be made to listen and understand. And so--with serious eyes, but with a sly smile playing around the corners of his mouth--he begins all over again, in that fairy-tale style which never grows old: 'Once upon a time!'"

In November, 1907, a young theatrical manager, August Falck, opened the Intimate Theatre at Stockholm. From the start Strindberg was closely connected with the venture, and soon the little theatre, with its tiny stage and its auditorium seating only one hundred and seventy-five persons, was turned wholly into a Strindberg stage, where some of the most interesting and daring theatrical experiments of our own day were made. With particular reference to the needs and limitations of this theatre, Strindberg wrote a series of "chamber plays," four of which were published in 1907--each one of them appearing separately in a paper-covered duodecimo volume.

The first of these plays to appear in book form--though not the first one to be staged--was "The Thunder-Storm," designated on the front cover as "Opus I." Two of the principal ideas underlying its construction were the abolition of intermissions--which, according to Strindberg, were put in chiefly for the benefit of the liquor traffic in the theatre café--and the reduction of the stage-setting to quickly inter-changeable backgrounds and a few stage-properties. Concerning the production of "The Thunder-Storm," at the Intimate Theatre, Strindberg wrote subsequently that, in their decorative effects, the first and last scenes were rather failures. But he held the lack of space wholly responsible for this failure. His conclusion was that the most difficult problem of the small theatre would be to give the illusion of distance required by a scene laid in the open--particularly in an open place surrounded or adjoined by buildings. Of the second act he wrote, on the other hand, that it proved a triumph of artistic simplification. The only furniture appearing on the stage consisted of a buffet, a piano, a dinner-table and a few chairs--that is, the pieces expressly mentioned in the text of the play. And yet the effect of the setting satisfied equally the demands of the eye and the reason.

"The Thunder-Storm" might be called a drama of old age--nay, _the_ drama of man's inevitable descent through a series of resignations to the final dissolution. Its subject-matter is largely autobiographical, embodying the author's experiences in his third and last marriage, as seen in retrospect--the anticipatory conception appearing in "Swanwhite." However, justice to Miss Harriet Bosse, who was Mrs. Strindberg from 1901 to 1904, requires me to point out that echoes of the dramatist's second marriage also appear, especially in the references to the postmarital relationship.

"After the Fire" was published as "Opus II" of the chamber-plays, and staged ahead of "The Thunder-Storm." Its Swedish name is _Brända Tomten_, meaning literally "the burned-over site." This name has previously been rendered in English as "The Burned Lot" and "The Fire Ruins." Both these titles are awkward and ambiguous. The name I have now chosen embodies more closely the fundamental premise of the play.

The subject-matter is even more autobiographical than that of "The Thunder-Storm"--almost as much so as "The Bondwoman's Son." The perished home is Strindberg's own at the North Tollgate Street in Stockholm, where he spent the larger part of his childhood and youth. The old _Mason_, the _Gardener_, the _Stone-Cutter_, and other figures appearing in the play are undoubtedly lifted straight out of real life--and so are probably also the exploded family reputation and the cheap table painted to represent ebony--although one may take for granted that the process has not taken place without a proper disguising of externals.

There is one passage in this little play which I want to point out as containing one of the main keys to Strindberg's character and art. It is the passage where _The Stranger_--who, of course, is none but the author himself--says to his brother: "I have beheld life from every quarter, from every standpoint, from above and from below, but always it has seemed to me like a scene staged for my particular benefit."

SWANWHITE

(SVANEHVIT)

A FAIRY PLAY

1902

CHARACTERS

THE DUKE
THE STEPMOTHER
SWANWHITE
THE PRINCE
SIGNE }
ELSA } _Maids_
TOVA }
THE KITCHEN GARDENER
THE FISHERMAN
THE MOTHER OF SWANWHITE
THE MOTHER OF THE PRINCE
THE GAOLER
THE EQUERRY
THE BUTLER
THE FLOWER GARDENER
TWO KNIGHTS

_An apartment in a mediæval stone castle. The walls and the
cross-vaulted ceiling are whitewashed. In the centre of the
rear wall is a triple-arched doorway leading to a balcony
with a stone balustrade. There are draperies of brocade over
the doorway. Beyond the balcony appear the top branches of a
rose-garden, laden with white and pink roses. In the background
there can be seen a white, sandy beach and the blue sea_.

_To the right of the main doorway is a small door which, when
left open, discloses a vista of three closets, one beyond the
other. The first one is stored with vessels of pewter arranged
on shelves. The walls of the second closet are hung with all
sorts of costly and ornate garments. The third closet contains
piles and rows of apples, pears, melons, pumpkins, and so
forth_.

_The floors of all the rooms are inlaid with alternating
squares of black and red. At the centre of the apartment stands
a gilded dinner-table covered with a cloth; a twig of mistletoe
is suspended above the table. A clock and a vase filled with
roses stand on the table, near which are placed two gilded
tabourets. Two swallows' nests are visible on the rear wall
above the doorway. A lion skin is spread on the floor near the
foreground. At the left, well to the front, stands a white bed
with a rose-coloured canopy supported by two columns at the
head of the bed (and by none at the foot). The bed-clothing is
pure white except for a coverlet of pale-blue silk. Across
the bed is laid a night-dress of finest muslin trimmed with
lace. Behind the bed stands a huge wardrobe containing linen,
bathing utensils, and toilet things. A small gilded table in
Roman style (with round top supported by a single column) is
placed near the bed; also a lamp-stand containing a Roman lamp
of gold. At the right is an ornamental chimney-piece. On the
mantel stands a vase with a white lily in it_.

_In the left arch of the doorway, a peacock is asleep on a
perch, with its back turned toward the audience_.

_In the right arch hangs a huge gilded cage with two white
doves at rest_.

_As the curtain rises, the three maids are seen in the doorways
of the three closets, each one half hidden by the door-post
against which she leans_. SIGNE, _the false maid, is in the
pewter-closet_, ELSA _in the clothes-closet, and_ TOVA _in the
fruit-closet_.

_The_ DUKE _enters from the rear. After him comes the_
STEPMOTHER _carrying in her hand a wire-lashed whip_.

_The stage is darkened when they enter_.

* * * * *

STEPMOTHER. Swanwhite is not here?

DUKE. It seems so!

STEPMOTHER. So it seems, but--is it seemly? Maids!--Signe!--Signe, Elsa, Tova!

_The maids enter, one after the other, and stand in front of
the_ STEPMOTHER.

STEPMOTHER. Where is Lady Swanwhite?

SIGNE _folds her arms across her breast and makes no reply_.

STEPMOTHER. You do not know? What see you in my hand?--Answer, quick! [_Pause_] Quick! Do you hear the whistling of the falcon? It has claws of steel, as well as bill! What is it?

SIGNE. The wire-lashed whip!

STEPMOTHER. The wire-lashed whip, indeed! And now, where is Lady Swan white?

SIGNE. How can I tell what I don't know?

STEPMOTHER. It is a failing to be ignorant, but carelessness is an offence. Were you not placed as guardian of your young mistress?--Take off your neckerchief!--Down on your knees!

_The_ DUKE _turns his back on her in disgust_.

STEPMOTHER. Hold out your neck! And I'll put such a necklace on it that no youth will ever kiss it after this!--Hold out your neck!--Still more!

SIGNE. For Christ's sake, mercy!

STEPMOTHER. 'Tis mercy that you are alive!

DUKE. [_Pulls out his sword and tries the edge of it, first on one of his finger-nails, and then on a hair out of his long beard_] Her head should be cut off--put in a sack--hung on a tree----

STEPMOTHER. So it should!

DUKE. We are agreed! How strange!

STEPMOTHER. It did not happen yesterday.

DUKE. And may not happen once again.

STEPMOTHER. [_To_ Signe, _who, still on her knees, has been moving farther away_] Stop! Whither? [_She raises the whip and strikes_; Signe _turns aside so that the lash merely cuts the air_.]

SWANWHITE. [_Comes forward from behind the bed and falls on her knees_] Stepmother--here I am--the guilty one! She's not at fault.

STEPMOTHER. Say "mother"! You must call me "mother"!

SWANWHITE. I cannot! One mother is as much as any human being ever had.

STEPMOTHER. Your father's wife must be your mother.

SWANWHITE. My father's second wife can only be my stepmother.

STEPMOTHER. You are a stiffnecked daughter, but my whip is pliant and will make you pliant too.

[_She raises the whip to strike_ SWANWHITE.

DUKE. [_Raising his sword_] Take heed of the head!

STEPMOTHER. Whose head?

DUKE. Your own!

_The_ STEPMOTHER _turns pale at first, and then angry; but she
controls herself and remains silent; long pause_.

STEPMOTHER. [_Beaten for the moment, she changes her tone_] Then will Your Grace inform your daughter what is now in store for her?

DUKE. [_Sheathing his sword_] Rise up, my darling child, and come into my arms to calm yourself.

SWANWHITE. [_Throwing herself into the arms of the_ DUKE] Father!--You're like a royal oak-tree which my arms cannot encircle. But beneath your leafage there is refuge from all threatening showers. [_She hides her head beneath his immense beard, which reaches down to his waist_] And like a bird, I will be swinging on your branches--lift me up, so I can reach the top.

_The_ DUKE _holds out his arm_.

SWANWHITE. [_Climbs up on his arm and perches herself on his shoulder_] Now lies the earth beneath me and the air above--now I can overlook the rosery, the snowy beach, the deep-blue sea, and all the seven kingdoms stretched beyond.

DUKE. Then you can also see the youthful king to whom your troth is promised----

SWANWHITE. No--nor have I ever seen him. Is he handsome?

DUKE. Dear heart, it will depend on your own eyes how he appears to you.

SWANWHITE. [_Rubbing her eyes_] My eyes?--They cannot see what is not beautiful.

DUKE. [_Kissing her foot_] Poor little foot, that is so black! Poor little blackamoorish foot!

_The_ STEPMOTHER _gives a sign to the maids, who resume their
previous positions in the closet doors; she herself steals
with panther-like movements out through the middle arch of the
doorway_.

SWANWHITE. [_Leaps to the floor; the_ DUKE _places her on the table and sits down on a chair beside it_; SWANWHITE _looks meaningly after the_ STEPMOTHER] Was it the dawn? Or did the wind turn southerly? Or has the Spring arrived?

DUKE. [_Puts his hand over her mouth_] You little chatter-box! You joy of my old age--my evening star! Now open wide your rosy ear, and close your little mouth's crimson shell. Give heed, obey, and all will then be well with you.

SWANWHITE. [_Putting her fingers in her ears_] With my eyes I hear, and with my ears I see--and now I cannot see at all, but only hear.

DUKE. My child, when still a cradled babe, your troth was plighted to the youthful King of Rigalid. You have not seen him yet, such being courtly usage. But the time to tie the sacred knot is drawing near. To teach you the deportment of a queen and courtly manners, the king has sent a prince with whom you are to study reading out of books, gaming at chess, treading the dance, and playing on the harp.

SWANWHITE. What is the prince's name?

DUKE. That, child, is something you must never ask of him or anybody else. For it is prophesied that whosoever calls him by his name shall have to love him.

SWANWHITE. Is he handsome?

DUKE. He is, because your eye sees beauty everywhere.

SWANWHITE. But is he beautiful?

DUKE. Indeed he is. And now be careful of your little heart, and don't forget that in the cradle you were made a queen.--With this, dear child, I leave you, for I have war to wage abroad.--Submit obediently to your stepmother. She's hard, but once your father loved her--and a sweet temper will find a way to hearts of stone. If, despite of promises and oaths, her malice should exceed what is permissible, then you may blow this horn [_he takes a horn of carved ivory from under his cloak_], and help will come. But do not use it till you are in danger--not until the danger is extreme.--Have you understood?

SWANWHITE. How is it to be understood?

DUKE. This way: the prince is here, is in the court already. Is it your wish to see the prince?

SWANWHITE. Is it my wish?

DUKE. Or shall I first bid you farewell?

SWANWHITE. The prince is here already?

DUKE. Already here, and I--already there--far, far away where sleeps the heron of forgetfulness, with head beneath his wing.

SWANWHITE. [_Leaping into the lap of the_ DUKE _and burying her head in his beard_] Mustn't speak like that! Baby is ashamed!

DUKE. Baby should be spanked--who forgets her aged father for a little prince. Fie on her!

_A trumpet is heard in the distance_.

DUKE. [_Rises quickly, takes_ SWANWHITE _in his arms_, _throws her up into the air and catches her again_] Fly, little bird, fly high above the dust, with lots of air beneath your wings!--And then, once more on solid ground!--I am called by war and glory--you, by love and youth! [_Girding on his sword_] And now hide your wonder-horn, that it may not be seen by evil eyes.

SWANWHITE. Where shall I hide it? Where?

DUKE. The bed!

SWANWHITE. [_Hiding the horn in the bed-clothing_] There! Sleep well, my little tooteroot! When it is time, I'll wake you up. And don't forget your prayers!

DUKE. And child! Do not forget what I said last: your stepmother must be obeyed.

SWANWHITE. In all?

DUKE. In all.

SWANWHITE. But not in what is contrary to cleanliness!--Two linen shifts my mother let me have each sennight; this woman gives but one! And mother gave me soap and water, which stepmother denies. Look at my little footies!

DUKE. Keep clean within, my daughter, and clean will be the outside. You know that holy men, who, for the sake of penance, deny themselves the purging waters, grow white as swans, while evil ones turn raven-black.

SWANWHITE. Then I will be as white----!

DUKE. Into my arms! And then, farewell!

SWANWHITE. [_Throwing herself into his arms_] Farewell, my great and valiant hero, my glorious father! May fortune follow you, and make you rich in years and friends and victories!

DUKE. Amen--and let your gentle prayers be my protection!

[_He closes the visor of his golden helmet_.

SWANWHITE. [_Jumps up and plants a kiss on the visor_] The golden gates are shut, but through the bars I still can see your kindly, watchful eyes. [_Knocking at the visor_] Let up, let up, for little Red Riding-hood. No one at home? "Well-away," said the wolf that lay in the bed!

DUKE. [_Putting her down on the floor_] Sweet flower of mine, grow fair and fragrant! If I return--well--I return! If not, then from the starry arch above my eye shall follow you, and never to my sight will you be lost, for there above all-seeing we become, even as the all-creating Lord himself.

_Goes out firmly, with a gesture that bids her not to follow._
SWANWHITE _falls on her knees in prayer for the_ DUKE; _all the
rose-trees sway before a wind that passes with the sound of a
sigh; the peacock shakes its wings and tail_.

SWANWHITE. [_Rises, goes to the peacock and begins to stroke its back and tail_] Pavo, dear Pavo, what do you see and what do you hear? Is any one coming? Who is it? A little prince? Is he pretty and nice? You, with your many blue eyes, should be able to tell. [_She lifts up one of the bird's tail feathers and gazes intently at its "eye"_.] Are you to keep your eyes on us, you nasty Argus? Are you to see that the little hearts of two young people don't beat too loudly?--You stupid thing--all I have to do is to close the curtain! [_She closes the curtain, which hides the bird, but not the landscape outside; then she goes to the doves_] My white doves--oh, so white, white, white--now you'll see what is whitest of all--Be silent, wind, and roses, and doves--my prince is coming!

_She looks out for a moment; then she withdraws to the pewter-closet, leaving the door slightly ajar so that through the opening she can watch the_ PRINCE; _there she remains standing, visible to the spectators but not to the_ PRINCE.

PRINCE. [_Enters through the middle arch of the doorway. He wears armour of steel; what shows of his clothing is black. Having carefully observed everything in the room, he sits down at the table, takes off his helmet and begins to study it. His back is turned toward the door behind which_ SWANWHITE _is hiding_] If anybody be here, let him answer! [_Silence_] There is somebody here, for I can feel the warmth of a young body come billowing toward me like a southern wind. I can hear a breath--it carries the fragrance of roses--and, gentle though it be, it makes the plume on my helmet move. [_He puts the helmet to his ear_] 'Tis murmuring as if it were a huge shell. It's the thoughts within my own head that are crowding each other like a swarm of bees in a hive. "Zum, zum," say the thoughts--just like bees that are buzzing around their queen--the little queen of my thoughts and of my dreams! [_He places the helmet on the table and gazes at it_] Dark and arched as the sky at night, but starless, for the black plume is spreading darkness everywhere since my mother's death--[_He turns the helmet around and gazes at it again_] But there, in the midst of the darkness, deep down--there, on the other side, I see a rift of light!--Has the sky been split open?--And there, in the rift, I see--not a star, for it would look like a diamond--but a blue sapphire, queen of the precious stones--blue as the sky of summer--set in a cloud white as milk and curved as the dove's egg. What is it? My ring? And now another feathery cloud, black as velvet, passes by--and the sapphire is smiling--as if sapphires could smile! And there, the lightning flashed, but blue--heat-lightning mild, that brings no thunder!--What are you? Who? And where? [_He looks at the back of the helmet_] Not here! Not there! And nowhere else! [_He puts his face close to the helmet_] As I come nearer, you withdraw.

SWANWHITE _steals forward on tiptoe_.

PRINCE. And now there are two--two eyes--two little human eyes--I kiss you! [_He kisses the helmet_.

SWANWHITE _goes up to the table and seats herself slowly
opposite the_ PRINCE.

_The_ PRINCE _rises, bows, with his hand to his heart, and
gazes steadily at_ SWANWHITE.

SWANWHITE. Are you the little prince?

PRINCE. The faithful servant of the king, and yours!

SWANWHITE. What message does the young king send his bride?

PRINCE. This is his word to Lady Swanwhite--whom lovingly he greets--that by the thought of coming happiness the long torment of waiting will be shortened.

SWANWHITE. [_Who has been looking at the_ PRINCE _as if to study him_] Why not be seated, Prince?

PRINCE. If seated when you sit, then I should have to kneel when you stand up.

SWANWHITE. Speak to me of the king! How does he look?

PRINCE. How does he look? [_Putting one of his hands up to his eyes_] I can no longer see him--how strange!

SWANWHITE. What is his name?

PRINCE. He's gone--invisible----

SWANWHITE. And is he tall?

PRINCE. [_Fixing his glance on_ SWANWHITE] Wait!--I see him now!--Taller than you!

SWANWHITE. And beautiful?

PRINCE. Not in comparison with you!

SWANWHITE. Speak of the king, and not of me!

PRINCE. I do speak of the king!

SWANWHITE. Is his complexion light or dark?

PRINCE. If he were dark, on seeing you he would turn light at once.

SWANWHITE. There's more of flattery than wit in that! His eyes are blue?

PRINCE. [_Glancing at his helmet_] I think I have to look?

SWANWHITE. [_Holding out her hand between them_] Oh, you--you!

PRINCE. You with _t h_ makes youth!

SWANWHITE. Are you to teach me how to spell?

PRINCE. The young king is tall and blond and blue-eyed, with broad shoulders and hair like a new-grown forest----

SWANWHITE. Why do you carry a black plume?

PRINCE. His lips are red as the ripe currant, his cheeks are white, and the lion's cub needn't be ashamed of his teeth.

SWANWHITE. Why is your hair wet?

PRINCE. His mind knows no fear, and no evil deed ever made his heart quake with remorse.

SWANWHITE. Why is your hand trembling?

PRINCE. We were to speak of the young king and not of me!

SWANWHITE. So, you, you are to teach me?

PRINCE. It is my task to teach you how to love the young king whose throne you are to share.

SWANWHITE. How did you cross the sea?

PRINCE. In my bark and with my sail.

SWANWHITE. And the wind so high?

PRINCE. Without wind there is no sailing.

SWANWHITE. Little boy--how wise you are!--Will you play with me?

PRINCE. What I must do, I will.

SWANWHITE. And now I'll show you what I have in my chest. [_She goes to the chest and kneels down beside it; then she takes out several dolls, a rattle, and a hobby-horse_] Here's the doll. It's my child--the child of sorrow that can never keep its face clean. In my own arms I have carried her to the lavendrey, and there I have washed her with white sand--but it only made her worse. I have spanked her--but nothing helped. Now I have figured out what's worst of all!

PRINCE. And what is that?

SWANWHITE. [_After a glance around the room_] I'll give her a stepmother!

PRINCE. But how's that to be? She should have a mother first.

SWANWHITE. I am her mother. And if I marry twice, I shall become a stepmother.

PRINCE. Oh, how you talk! That's not the way!

SWANWHITE. And you shall be her stepfather.

PRINCE. Oh, no!

SWANWHITE. You must be very kind to her, although she cannot wash her face.--Here, take her--let me see if you have learned to carry children right.

_The_ PRINCE _receives the doll unwillingly_.

SWANWHITE. You haven't learned yet, but you will! Now take the rattle, too, and play with her.

_The_ PRINCE _receives the rattle_.

SWANWHITE. That's something you don't understand, I see. [_She takes the doll and the rattle away from him and throws them back into the chest; then she takes out the hobby-horse_] Here is my steed.--It has saddle of gold and shoes of silver.--It can run forty miles in an hour, and on its back I have travelled through Sounding Forest, across Big Heath and King's Bridge, along High Road and Fearful Alley, all the way to the Lake of Tears. And there it dropped a golden shoe that fell into the lake, and then came a fish, and after came a fisherman, and so I got the golden shoe back. That's all there was to that! [_She throws the hobby-horse into the chest; instead she takes out a chess-board with red and white squares, and chess-men made of silver and gold_] If you will play with me, come here and sit upon the lion skin. [_She seats herself on the skin and begins to put up the pieces_] Sit down, won't you--the maids can't see us here!

_The_ PRINCE _sits down on the skin, looking very embarrassed_.

SWANWHITE. It's like sitting in the grass--not the green grass of the meadow, but the desert grass which has been burned by the sun.--Now you must say something about me! Do you like me a little?

PRINCE. Are we to play?

SWANWHITE. To play? What care I for that?--Oh--you were to teach me something!

PRINCE. Poor me, what can I do but saddle a horse and carry arms--with which you are but poorly served.

SWANWHITE. You are so sad!

PRINCE. My mother died quite recently.

SWANWHITE. Poor little prince!--My mother, too, has gone to God in heaven, and she's an angel now. Sometimes in the nights I see her--do you also see yours?

PRINCE. No-o.

SWANWHITE. And have you got a stepmother?

PRINCE. Not yet. So little time has passed since she was laid to rest.

SWANWHITE. Don't be so sad! There's nothing but will wear away in time, you see. Now I'll give you a flag to gladden you again--Oh, no, that's right--this one I sewed for the young king. But now I'll sew another one for you!--This is the king's, with seven flaming fires--you shall have one with seven red roses on it--but first of all you have to hold this skein of yarn for me. [_She takes from the chest a skein of rose-coloured yarn and hands it to the_ PRINCE] One, two, three, and now you'll see!--Your hands are trembling--that won't do!--Perhaps you want a hair of mine among the yarn?--Pull one yourself!

PRINCE. Oh, no, I couldn't----

SWANWHITE. I'll do it, then, myself. [_She pulls a hair from her head and winds it into the ball of yarn_] What is your name?

PRINCE. You shouldn't ask.

SWANWHITE. Why not?

PRINCE. The duke has told you--hasn't he?

SWANWHITE. No, he hasn't! What could happen if you told your name? Might something dreadful happen?

PRINCE. The duke has told you, I am sure.

SWANWHITE. I never heard of such a thing before--of one who couldn't tell his name!

_The curtain behind which the peacock is hidden moves; a faint
sound as of castanets is heard_.

PRINCE. What was that?

SWANWHITE. That's Pavo--do you think he knows what we are saying?

PRINCE. It's hard to tell.

SWANWHITE. Well, what's your name?

_Again the peacock makes the same kind of sound with his bill_.

PRINCE. I am afraid--don't ask again!

SWANWHITE. He snaps his bill, that's all--Keep your hands still!--Did you ever hear the tale of the little princess that mustn't mention the name of the prince, lest something happen? And do you know----?

_The curtain hiding the peacock is pulled aside, and the bird
is seen spreading out his tail so that it looks as if all the
"eyes" were staring at_ SWANWHITE _and the_ PRINCE.

PRINCE. Who pulled away the curtain? Who made the bird behold us with its hundred eyes?--You mustn't ask again!

SWANWHITE. Perhaps I mustn't--Down, Pavo--there!

_The curtain resumes its previous position_.

PRINCE. Is this place haunted?

SWANWHITE. You mean that things will happen--just like that? Oh, well, so much is happening here--but I have grown accustomed to it. And then, besides--they call my stepmother a witch--There, now, I have pricked my finger!

PRINCE. What did you prick it with?

SWANWHITE. There was a splinter in the yarn. The sheep have been locked up all winter--and then such things will happen. Please see if you can get it out.

PRINCE. We must sit at the table then, so I can see.

[_They rise and take seats at the table_.

SWANWHITE. [_Holding out one of her little fingers_] Can you see anything?

PRINCE. What do I see? Your hand is red within, and through it all the world and life itself appear in rosy colouring----

SWANWHITE. Now pull the splinter out--ooh, it hurts!

PRINCE. But I shall have to hurt you, too--and ask your pardon in advance!

SWANWHITE. Oh, help me, please!

PRINCE. [_Squeezing her little finger and pulling out the splinter with his nails_] There is the cruel little thing that dared to do you harm.

SWANWHITE. Now you must suck the blood to keep the wound from festering.

PRINCE. [_Sucking the blood from her finger_] I've drunk your blood--and so I am your foster-brother now.

SWANWHITE. My foster-brother--so you were at once--or how do you think I could have talked to you as I have done?

PRINCE. If you have talked to me like that, how did I talk to you?

SWANWHITE. Just think, he didn't notice it!--And now I have got a brother of my own, and that is you!--My little brother--take my hand!

PRINCE. [_Taking her hand_] My little sister! [_Feels her pulse beating under his thumb_] What have you there, that's ticking--one, and two, and three, and four----? _Continues to count silently after having looked at his watch_.

SWANWHITE. Yes, tell me what it is that ticks--so steady, steady, steady? It cannot be my heart, for that is here, beneath my breast--Put your hand here, and you can feel it too. [_The doves begin to stir and coo_] What is it, little white ones?

PRINCE. And sixty! Now I know what makes that ticking--it is the time! Your little finger is the second-hand that's ticking sixty times for every minute that goes by. And don't you think there is a heart within the watch?

SWANWHITE. [_Handling the watch_] We cannot reach the inside of the watch--no more than of the heart--Just feel my heart!

SIGNE. [_Enters from the pewter-closet carrying a whip, which she puts down on the table_] Her Grace commands that the children be seated at opposite sides of the table.

_The_ PRINCE _sits down at the opposite end of the table. He
and_ SWANWHITE _look at each other in silence for a while_.

SWANWHITE. Now we are far apart, and yet a little nearer than before.

PRINCE. It's when we part that we come nearest to each other.

SWANWHITE. And you know that?

PRINCE. I have just learned it!

SWANWHITE. Now my instruction has begun.

PRINCE. You're teaching me!

SWANWHITE. [_Pointing to a dish of fruit_] Would you like some fruit?

PRINCE. No, eating is so ugly.

SWANWHITE. Yes, so it is.

PRINCE. Three maids are standing there--one in the pewter-closet, one among the clothes, and one among the fruits. Why are they standing there?

SWANWHITE. TO watch us two--lest we do anything that is forbidden.

PRINCE. May we not go into the rosery?

SWANWHITE. The morning is the only time when I can go into the rosery, for there the bloodhounds of my stepmother are kept. They never let me reach the shore--and so I get no chance to bathe.

PRINCE. Have you then never seen the shore? And never heard the ocean wash the sand along the beach?

SWANWHITE. No--never! Here I can only hear the roaring waves in time of storm.

PRINCE. Then you have never heard the murmur made by winds that sweep across the waters?

SWANWHITE. It cannot reach me here.

PRINCE. [_Pushing his helmet across the table to_ SWANWHITE] Put it to your ear and listen.

SWANWHITE. [_With the helmet at her ear_] What is that I hear?

PRINCE. The song of waves, the whispering winds

SWANWHITE. No, I hear human voices--hush! My stepmother is speaking--speaking to the steward--and mentioning my name--and that of the young king, too! She's speaking evil words. She's swearing that I never shall be queen--and vowing that--you--shall take that daughter of her own--that loathsome Lena----

PRINCE. Indeed!--And you can hear it in the helmet?

SWANWHITE. I can.

PRINCE. I didn't know of that. But my godmother gave me the helmet as a christening present.

SWANWHITE. Give me a feather, will you?

PRINCE. It is a pleasure--great as life itself.

SWANWHITE. But you must cut it so that it will write.

PRINCE. You know a thing or two!

SWANWHITE. My father taught me----

_The_ PRINCE _pulls a black feather out of the plume on his
helmet; then he takes a silver-handled knife from his belt and
cuts the quill_.

SWANWHITE _takes out an ink-well and parchment from a drawer in
the table_.

PRINCE. Who is Lady Lena?

SWANWHITE. You mean, what kind of person? You want her, do you?

PRINCE. Some evil things are brewing in this house----

SWANWHITE. Fear not! My father has bestowed a gift on me that will bring help in hours of need.

PRINCE. What is it called?

SWANWHITE. It is the horn Stand-By.

PRINCE. Where is it hid?

SWANWHITE. Read in my eye. I dare not let the maids discover it.

PRINCE. [_Gazing at her eyes_] I see!

SWANWHITE. [_Pushing pen, ink and parchment across the table to the_ PRINCE] Write it.

_The_ PRINCE _writes_.

SWANWHITE. Yes, that's the place. [_She writes again._

PRINCE. What do you write?

SWANWHITE. Names--all pretty names that may be worn by princes!

PRINCE. Except my own!

SWANWHITE. Yours, too!

PRINCE. Leave that alone!

SWANWHITE. Here I have written twenty names--all that I know--and so your name must be there, too. [_Pushing the parchment across the table_] Read!

_The_ PRINCE _reads_.

SWANWHITE. Oh, I have read it in your eye!

PRINCE. Don't utter it! I beg you in the name of God the merciful, don't utter it!

SWANWHITE. I read it in his eye!

PRINCE. But do not utter it, I beg of you!

SWANWHITE. And if I do? What then?--Can Lena tell, you think? Your bride! Your love!

PRINCE. Oh, hush, hush, hush!

SWANWHITE. [_Jumps up and begins to dance_] I know his name--the prettiest name in all the land!

_The_ PRINCE _runs up to her, catches hold of her and covers
her mouth with his hand_.

SWANWHITE. I'll bite your hand; I'll suck your blood; and so I'll be your sister twice--do you know what that can mean?

PRINCE. I'll have two sisters then.

SWANWHITE. [_Throwing back her head_] O-ho! O-ho! Behold, the ceiling has a hole, and I can see the sky--a tiny piece of sky, a window-pane--and there's a face behind it. Is it an angel's?--See--but see, I tell you!--It's your face!

PRINCE. The angels are not boys, but girls.

SWANWHITE. But it is you.

PRINCE. [_Looking up_] 'Tis a mirror.

SWANWHITE. Woe to us then! It is the witching mirror of my stepmother, and she has seen it all.

PRINCE. And in the mirror I can see the fireplace--there's a pumpkin hanging in it!

SWANWHITE. [_Takes from the fireplace a mottled, strangely shaped pumpkin_] What can it be? It has the look of an ear. The witch has heard us, too!--Alas, alas! [_She throws the pumpkin into the fireplace and runs across the floor toward the bed; suddenly she stops on one foot, holding up the other_]

Oh, she has strewn the floor with needles----

[_She sits down and begins to rub her foot_.

_The_ PRINCE _kneels in front of_ SWANWHITE _in order to help
her_.

SWANWHITE. No, you mustn't touch my foot--you mustn't!

PRINCE. Dear heart, you must take off your stocking if I am to help.

SWANWHITE. [_Sobbing_] You mustn't--mustn't see my foot!

PRINCE. But why? Why shouldn't I?

SWANWHITE. I cannot tell; I cannot tell. Go--go away from me! To-morrow I shall tell you, but I can't to-day.

PRINCE. But then your little foot will suffer--let me pull the needle out!

SWANWHITE. Go, go, go!--No, no, you mustn't try!--Oh, had my mother lived, a thing like this could not have happened!--Mother, mother, mother!

PRINCE. I cannot understand--are you afraid of me----?

SWANWHITE. Don't ask me, please--just leave me--oh!

PRINCE. What have I done?

SWANWHITE. Don't leave me, please--I didn't mean to hurt you--but I cannot tell--If I could only reach the shore--the white sand of the beach----

PRINCE. What then?

SWANWHITE. I cannot tell! I cannot tell!

[_She hides her face in her hands. Once more the peacock makes
a rattling sound with his bill; the doves begin to stir; the
three maids enter, one after the other; a gust of wind is
heard, and the tops of the rose-trees outside swing back and
forth; the golden clouds that have been hanging over the sea
disappear, and the blue sea itself turns dark_.

SWANWHITE. Does Heaven itself intend to judge us?--Is ill-luck in the house?--Oh, that my sorrow had the power to raise my mother from her grave!

PRINCE. [_.Putting his hand on his sword_] My life for yours!

SWANWHITE. No, don't--she puts the very swords to sleep!--Oh, that my sorrow could bring back my mother! [_The swallows chirp in their nest_] What was that?

PRINCE. [_Catching sight of the nest_] A swallow's nest! I didn't notice it before.

SWANWHITE. Nor I! How did it get there? When?--But all the same it augurs good--And yet the cold sweat of fear is on my brow--and I choke--Look, how the rose itself is withering because that evil woman comes this way--for it is she who comes----

_The rose on the table is closing its blossom and drooping its
leaves_.

PRINCE. But whence came the swallows?

SWANWHITE. They were not sent by her, I'm sure, for they are kindly birds--Now she is here!

STEPMOTHER. [_Enters from the rear with the walk of a panther; the rose on the table is completely withered_] Signe--take the horn out of the bed!

SIGNE _goes up to the bed and takes the horn_.

STEPMOTHER. Where are you going, Prince?

PRINCE. The day is almost done, Your Grace; the sun is setting, and my bark is longing to get home.

STEPMOTHER. The day is too far gone--the gates are shut, the dogs let loose--You know my dogs?

PRINCE. Indeed! You know my sword?

STEPMOTHER. What is the matter with your sword?

PRINCE. It bleeds at times.

STEPMOTHER. Well, well! But not with women's blood, I trust?--But listen, Prince: how would like to sleep in our Blue Room?

PRINCE. By God, it is my will to sleep at home, in my own bed----

STEPMOTHER. Is that the will of anybody else?

PRINCE. Of many more.

STEPMOTHER. How many?--More than these!--One, two, three----

_As she counts, the members of the household begin to pass by
in single file across the balcony; all of them look serious;
some are armed; no one turns his head to look into the room;
among those that pass are the_ BUTLER, _the_ STEWARD, _the_
KITCHENER, _the_ GAOLER, _the_ CONSTABLE, _the_ EQUERRY.

PRINCE. I'll sleep in your Blue Room.

STEPMOTHER. That's what I thought.--So you will bid ten thousand good-nights unto your love--and so will Swanwhite, too, I think!

_A swan comes flying by above the rosery; from the ceiling a
poppy flower drops down on the_ STEPMOTHER, _who falls asleep
at once, as do the maids_.

SWANWHITE. [_Going up to the_ PRINCE] Good-night, my Prince!

PRINCE. [_Takes her hand and says in a low voice_] Good-night!--Oh, that it's granted me to sleep beneath one roof with you, my Princess--your dreams by mine shall be enfolded--and then to-morrow we shall wake for other games and other----

SWANWHITE. [_In the same tone_] You are my all on earth, you are my parent now--since she has robbed me of my puissant father's help.--Look, how she sleeps!

PRINCE. You saw the swan?

SWANWHITE. No, but I heard--it was my mother.

PRINCE. Come, fly with me!

SWANWHITE. No, that we mustn't!--Patience! We'll meet in our dreams!--But this will not be possible unless--you love me more than anybody else on earth! Oh, love me--you, you, you!

PRINCE. My king, my loyalty----

SWANWHITE. Your queen, your heart--or what am I?

PRINCE. I am a knight!

SWANWHITE. But I am not. And therefore--therefore do I take you--my Prince----

_She puts her hands up to her mouth with a gesture as if she
were throwing a whispered name to him_.

PRINCE. Oh, woe! What have you done?

SWANWHITE. I gave myself to you through your own name--and with me, carried on _your_ wings, yourself came back to you! Oh---- [_Again she whispers the name_.

PRINCE. [_With a movement of his hand as if he were catching the name in the air_] Was that a rose you threw me?

[_He throws a kiss to her_.

SWANWHITE. A violet you gave me--that was you--your soul! And now I drink you in--you're in my bosom, in my heart--you're mine!

PRINCE. And you are mine! Who is the rightful owner, then?

SWANWHITE. Both!

PRINCE. Both! You and I!--My rose!

SWANWHITE. My violet!

PRINCE. My rose!

SWANWHITE. My violet!

PRINCE. I _love_ you!

SWANWHITE. _You_ love _me_!

PRINCE. You _love_ me!

SWANWHITE. _I_ love _you_!

_The stage grows light again. The rose on the table recovers
and opens. The faces of the_ STEPMOTHER _and the three maids
are lighted up and appear beautiful, kind, and happy. The_
STEPMOTHER _lifts up her drowsy head and, while her eyes remain
closed, she seems to be watching the joy of the two young
people with a sunny smile_.

SWANWHITE. Look, look! The cruel one is smiling as at some memory from childhood days. See how Signe the False seems faith and hope embodied, how the ugly Tova has grown beautiful, the little Elsa tall.

PRINCE. Our love has done it.

SWANWHITE. So that is love? Blessed be it by the Lord! The Lord Omnipotent who made the world!

[_She falls on her knees, weeping_.

PRINCE. You weep?

SWANWHITE. Because I am so full of joy.

PRINCE. Come to my arms and you will smile.

SWANWHITE. There I should die, I think.

PRINCE. Well, smile and die!

SWANWHITE. [_Rising_] So be it then!

[_The_ PRINCE _takes her in his arms._

STEPMOTHER. [_Wakes up; on seeing the_ PRINCE _and_ SWANWHITE _together, she strikes the table with the whip_] I must have slept!--Oho! So we have got that far!--The Blue Room did I say?--I meant the Blue Tower!--There the prince is to sleep with the Duke of Exeter's daughter!--Maids!

_The MAIDS wake up_.

STEPMOTHER. Show the prince the shortest way to the Blue Tower. And should he nevertheless lose his way, you may summon the Castellan and the Gaoler, the Equerry and the Constable.

PRINCE. No need of that! Wherever leads my course--through fire or water, up above the clouds or down in the solid earth--there shall I meet my Swanwhite, for she is with me where I go. So now I go to meet her--in the tower! Can you beat that for witchcraft, witch?--Too hard, I think, for one who knows not love!

[_He goes out followed by the MAIDS_.

STEPMOTHER. [_To_ SWANWHITE] Not many words are needed--tell your wishes--but be brief!

SWANWHITE. My foremost, highest wish is for some water with which to lave my feet.

STEPMOTHER. Cold or warm?

SWANWHITE. Warm--if I may.

STEPMOTHER. What more?

SWANWHITE. A comb to ravel out my hair.

STEPMOTHER. Silver or gold?

SWANWHITE. Are you--are you kind?

STEPMOTHER. Silver or gold?

SWANWHITE. Wood or horn will do me well enough.

STEPMOTHER. What more?

SWANWHITE. A shift that's clean.

STEPMOTHER. Linen or silk?

SWANWHITE. Just linen.

STEPMOTHER. Good! So I have heard your wishes. Now listen to mine! I wish that you may have no water, be it warm or cold! I wish that you may have no comb, of any kind, not even of wood or horn--much less of gold or silver. That's how kind I am! I wish that you may wear no linen --but get you at once into the closet there to cover up your body with that dingy sark of homespun! Such is my word!--And if you try to leave these rooms--which you had better not, as there are traps and snares around--then you are doomed--or with my whip I'll mark your pretty face so that no prince or king will ever look at you again!--Then get yourself to bed!

_She strikes the table with her whip again, rises and goes out
through the middle arch of the doorway; the gates, which have
gilded bars, squeak and rattle as she closes and locks them_.

_Curtain_.

_The same scene as before, but the golden gates at the rear are
shut. The peacock and the doves are sleeping. The golden clouds
in the sky are as dull in colour as the sea itself and the land
that appears in the far distance_.

SWANWHITE _is lying on the bed; she has on a garment of black
homespun_.

_The doors to the three closets are open. In each doorway
stands one of the maids, her eyes closed and in one of her
hands a small lighted lamp of Roman pattern_.

_A swan is seen flying above the rosery, and trumpet-calls are
heard, like those made by flocks of migrating wild swans_.

_The_ MOTHER OF SWANWHITE, _all in white, appears outside the
gates. Over one arm she carries the plumage of a swan and on
the other one a small harp of gold. She hangs the plumage on
one of the gates, which opens of its own accord and then closes
in the same way behind her_.

_She enters the room and places the harp on the table. Then she
looks around and becomes aware of_ SWANWHITE. _At once the harp
begins to play. The lamps carried by the maids go out one by
one, beginning with that farthest away. Then the three doors
close one by one, beginning with the innermost_.

_The golden clouds resume their former radiance_.

_The_ MOTHER _lights one of the lamps on the stand and goes up
to the bed, beside which she kneels_.

_The harp continues to play during the ensuing episode_.