Chapter VIII: Act V (1)

_The same room as in the second act, but it is now arranged for
the auction. Benches are placed in the middle of the room. On
the table behind which the auctioneer is to preside stand the
silver coffee-set, the clock, vases, candelabra, etc._

_The portraits of the_ JUDGE _and the_ OLD LADY _have been
taken down and are leaning against the table_.

_The_ NEIGHBOUR _and_ AMELIA _are on the stage_.

AMELIA. [_Dressed as a scrub-woman_] Before my mother left, she ordered me to clean the hallway and the stairs. It is winter now, and cold, and I cannot say that it has been any pleasure to carry out her order----

NEIGHBOUR. So you didn't get any pleasure out of it? Well, my child, I must say that you demand rather too much of yourself. But as you have obeyed, and stood the test, your time of trial shall be over, and I will let you know your life's secret.

AMELIA. Speak out, neighbour, for I dare hardly trust my good resolutions much longer.

NEIGHBOUR. Well, then! The woman you have been calling mother is your stepmother. Your father married her when you were only one year old. And the reason you have never seen your mother is that she died when you were born.

AMELIA. So that was it!--How strange to have had a mother and yet never to have seen her! Tell me--did you ever see her?

NEIGHBOUR. I knew her.

AMELIA. How did she look?

NEIGHBOUR. Well, how _did_, she look?--Her eyes were blue as the blossom of the flax--her hair was yellow as the dry stalks of wheat----

AMELIA. And tall and slender--and her hand was small and white as if it had touched nothing but silk in all her days--and her mouth was shaped like a heart, and her lips looked as if none but good words had ever passed them.

NEIGHBOUR. How can you know all that?

AMELIA. Because that is the image which appears in my dreams when I have not been good--And then she raises her hand as if to warn me, and on one of her fingers there is a ring with a green stone that seems to radiate light. It is she!--Tell me, neighbour, is there a picture of her in the place?

NEIGHBOUR. There used to be one, but I don't know whether it's still here.

AMELIA. So this one is my stepmother? Well, God was good when he let me keep my mother's image free from stain--and hereafter I shall find it quite natural that this other woman is cruel to me.

NEIGHBOUR. Cruel stepmothers exist to make children kind. And you were not kind, Amelia, but you have become so, and for that reason I shall now give you a Christmas present in advance.

_He takes the portrait of the_ OLD LADY _out of its frame, when
in its place appears a picture in water-colours corresponding
to the description given above_.

AMELIA. [_Kneeling in front of the picture_] My mother--mother of my dreams! [_Rising_] But how can I keep the picture when it is to be sold at auction?

NEIGHBOUR. You can, because the auction has already taken place.

AMELIA. Where and when was it held?

NEIGHBOUR. It was held elsewhere--in a place not known to you--and to-day the things are merely to be taken away.

AMELIA. What a lot of queer things are happening! And how full of secrets the house is!--But tell me, where is my stepmother? I have not seen her in a long time.

NEIGHBOUR. I suppose it must be told: she is in a place from which nobody returns.

AMELIA. Is she dead?

NEIGHBOUR. She is dead. She was found frozen to death in a swamp into which she had stumbled.

AMELIA. Merciful God have pity on her soul!

NEIGHBOUR. So he will in time, especially if you pray for her.

AMELIA. Of course I will.

NEIGHBOUR. How good you have become, my child--as a result of her becoming so bad!

AMELIA. Don't say so now when she is dead----

NEIGHBOUR. Right you are! Let her rest in peace!

AMELIA. But where is my father?

NEIGHBOUR. That's a secret to all of us. But it is sweet of you to ask for him before you ask for your own Adolph.

AMELIA. Adolph--yes, where is he? The children are crying for him, and Christmas is near.--Oh, what a Christmas this will be to us!

NEIGHBOUR. Leave to each day its own trouble--and now take your Christmas present and go. The affairs connected with the auction are to be settled, and then you'll hear news.

AMELIA. [_Takes the portrait of her mother_] I go, but no longer alone--and I have a feeling that something good is about to happen, but what I cannot tell.

[_She goes out to the right_.

NEIGHBOUR. But I know! Yet you had better go, for what is about to happen here should not be seen by children.

_He opens the door in the rear and rings a bell to summon
the people to the auction. The people enter in the following
order_: THE POOR, _a large number of them; the_ SAILOR; _the_
CHIMNEY-SWEEP; _the_ NEIGHBOUR, who takes his place in front
of the rest; _the_ WIDOW _and the_ FATHERLESS CHILDREN; _the_
SURVEYOR; THE OTHER ONE, _carrying the auctioneer's hammer and
a pile of documents_.

THE OTHER ONE. [_Takes his place at the table and raps with the hammer_] At a compulsory auction held at the court-house for the disposal of property left by the late circuit judge, the items now to be described were bid in by the Court on behalf of absent creditors, and may now be obtained and taken away by their respective owners.

JUDGE. [_Enters, looking very aged and miserable_] In the name of the law--hold!

THE OTHER ONE. [_Pretends to throw something at the_ JUDGE, _who stands aghast and speechless_] Don't speak of the law! Here the Gospel is preached--but not for you, who wanted to buy heaven with stolen money.--First: the widow and her fatherless children. There is the silver set which the judge accepted from you for his false report as executor. In his stained hands the silver has turned black, but I hope that in yours it will once more turn white.--Then we come to the ward, who had to become a chimney-sweep, after being cheated out of his inheritance. Here are the receipted bills and the property due to you from your guardian. And you need not thank him for his accounting.--Here stands the surveyor who, although he was innocent, had to serve two years in prison because he had made an illegal partition--the maps handed to him for the purpose having been falsified in advance. What can you do for him, Judge? Can you undo what has happened, or restore his lost honour?

JUDGE. Oh, that fellow--give him a bill and he'll be satisfied! His honour wasn't worth a penny, anyhow.

THE OTHER ONE. [_Slaps the_ JUDGE _on the mouth, while the rest spit at him and mutter with clinched fists_] Here is the brother of the sailor who was beheaded in spite of his innocence. Can you restore his brother to life? No! And you cannot pay for his life with yours, as it is not worth as much.--And finally we come to the neighbour whom you cheated out of his property in a perfectly legal way. Not familiar with the tricks of the law, the neighbour has, contrary to prevailing practice, placed the judge's son-in-law in charge of the property as life tenant, wiping out his previous indebtedness and making him also legal heir to the property.

JUDGE. I appeal to a higher court!

THE OTHER ONE. This case has passed through all the instances except the highest, and that far you cannot reach with your stamped papers. For if you tried, all these poor people whom you have robbed of their living would cry out: Guilty!--Thus we are done with all that could be properly disposed of. What remains here still undisposed of goes to the poor: clocks, vases, jewelry and other valuables that have served as bribes, graft, tips, souvenirs--all in a perfectly legal way because evidence and witnesses were wanting. You poor, take back your own! Your tears have washed the guilt from the ill-gotten goods. [_The_ POOR _begin to plunder_] And now remains the last item to be sold by me. This pauper here, formerly a judge, is offered to the lowest bidder for board at the expense of the parish. How much is offered? [_Silence_] No offer? [_Silence_] First, second, third time--no offer? [_To the_ JUDGE] There, you see! Nobody wants you. Well, then, I have to take you myself and send you to your well-earned punishment.

JUDGE. Is there no atonement?

THE OTHER ONE. Yes, punishment atones.--Take him into the woods and stone him in accordance with the law of Moses--for no other law was ever known to him. Away with him! [_The people pounce on the_ JUDGE _and jostle him_.

_The scene changes to the "waiting-room." The same setting as
in the second scene of the fourth act: a kettle-shaped chasm
surrounded by steep black rocks. (The same people are on the
stage.)_

_In the background appear a pair of huge scales for the
weighing of newcomers_.

_The_ JUDGE _and the_ OLD LADY _are seated opposite each other
at a small table_.

JUDGE. [_Staring in front of himself as if lost in a dream_] Hush!--I had a dream! They were throwing stones at me--and yet I felt no pain--and then everything turned black and vacant until this moment--How long it may have lasted, I cannot tell--Now I am beginning to hear again--and to feel. It feels as if I were being carried--oh, how cold it is--they are washing me, I think--I am lying in something that has six sides like a cell in a honeycomb and that smells like a carpenter shop--I am being carried, and a bell is ringing--Wait! Now I am riding, but not in a street-car, although the bell is ringing all the time--Now I am sinking down, down, as if I were drowning--boom, boom, boom: three knocks on the roof--and then the lessons begin--the teacher is leading--and now the boys are singing--What can it be?--And then they are knocking on the roof again, incessantly--boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, boom--silence--it's over! [_He wakes up_] Where am I? I choke! It's so stuffy and close here!--Oh, it's you!--Where are we? Whose bust is that?

OLD LADY. They say it is the new god.

JUDGE. But he looks like a goat.

OLD LADY. Perhaps it is the god of the goats?

JUDGE. "The goats on the left side--" What is that I am recalling?

PRINCE. It is the god Pan.

JUDGE. Pan?

PRINCE. Exactly! Just exactly! And when, in the night, the shepherds--no, not _those_ shepherds--catch sight of a hair of his hide they are seized with panic----

JUDGE. [_Rising_] Woe! I don't want to stay here! Woe! Can't I get out of here? I want to get out!

[_He runs around, looking vainly for a way out._

THE OTHER ONE. [_Enters dressed as a Franciscan friar_] You'll find nothing but entrances--no exits!

JUDGE. Are you Father Colomba?

THE OTHER ONE. No, I am The Other One.

JUDGE. As a monk?

THE OTHER ONE. Don't you know that The Other One turns monk when he grows old; and don't you think it is well that he does so some time? But, seriously speaking--for here everything is serious--this is my holiday attire, which I am permitted to wear only this one day of the year in order that I may remember what I have had and what I have lost.

JUDGE. [_Alarmed_] What day of the year is it to-day?

THE OTHER ONE. [_Bending his head with a sigh_] It is Christmas Eve!

JUDGE. [_Approaching the_ OLD LADY] Think of it, it is Christmas Eve?--And you know I don't dare to ask where we are--I dare not--but let us go home, home to our children, to our own---- [_He cries_.

OLD LADY. Yes, let us go from here, home to ourselves, that we may start a new life in peace and harmony----

THE OTHER ONE. It is too late!

OLD LADY. Oh, dear, sweet fellow--help us, have mercy on us, forgive us!

THE OTHER ONE. It is too late!

JUDGE. [_Taking the_ OLD LADY _by the hand_] I am choking with dread! Don't ask him where we are; I don't want to know! But one thing I do want to know: will there ever be an end to this?

THE OTHER ONE. Never!--That word "end" is not known to us here.

JUDGE. [_Crushed_] No end! [_Looking around_] And does the sun never enter this place of damp and cold?

THE OTHER ONE. Never, for those who dwell here have not loved the sun!

JUDGE. It is true: I have cursed the sun.--May I confess my sins?

THE OTHER ONE. No, you must keep them to yourself until they begin to swell and stop up your throat.

OLD LADY. [_Kneeling_] O--I don't know how to pray!

_She rises and walks restlessly back and forth, wringing her
hands_.

THE OTHER ONE. Because for you there is no one to whom you might pray.

OLD LADY. [_In despair_] Children--send somebody to give me a word of hope and pardon.

THE OTHER ONE. It will not be done. Your children have forgotten you--they are now rejoicing at your absence.

_A picture appears on the rocky wall in the rear: the home,
with_ ADOLPH, AMELIA, ERIC, _and_ THYRA _around the Christmas
tree; in the background, the_ PLAYMATE.

JUDGE. You say they are seated at the Christmas table rejoicing at our misfortune?--No, now you lie, for they are better than we!

THE OTHER ONE. What new tune is that? I have always heard that you were a righteous man----

JUDGE. I? I was a great sinner--the greatest one that ever was!

THE OTHER ONE. Hm! Hm!

JUDGE. And if you say anything of the children you are guilty of a sin. I know that they are praying for us.

OLD LADY. [_On her knees_] I can hear them tell their rosaries: hush--I hear them!

THE OTHER ONE. You are completely mistaken. What you hear is the song of the workmen who are tearing down the mausoleum.

JUDGE. The mausoleum! Where we were to have rested in peace!

PRINCE. Shaded by a dozen wreaths.

JUDGE. Who is that?

PRINCE. [_Pointing to the_ OLD LADY] She is my sister, and so you must be my brother-in-law.

JUDGE. Oh--that lazy scamp!

PRINCE. Look here! In this place we are all lazy scamps.

JUDGE. But we are not all hunchbacks!

PRINCE. [_Strikes him a blow on the mouth_] Don't touch the hunch or there will be hell to pay!

JUDGE. What a way to treat a man of my ability and high social position! What a Christmas!

PRINCE. Perhaps you expected your usual creamed codfish and Christmas cake?

JUDGE. Not exactly, but there ought to be something to feed on----

PRINCE. Here we are keeping a Christmas fast, you see.

JUDGE. How long will it last?

PRINCE. How long? We don't measure time here, because it has ceased to exist, and a minute may last a whole eternity.

OLD LADY. We suffer only what our deeds have deserved--so don't complain----

PRINCE. Just try to complain, and you'll see what happens.--We are not squeamish here, but bang away without regard for legal forms.

JUDGE. Are they beating carpets out there--on a day like this?

PRINCE. No, it is an extra ration of rod all around as a reminder for those who may have forgotten the significance of the day.

JUDGE. Do they actually lay hands on our persons? Is it possible that educated people can do things like that to each other?

PRINCE. This is a place of education for the badly educated; and those who have behaved like scoundrels are treated like such.

JUDGE. But this passes all limits!

PRINCE. Yes, because here we are in the limitless! Now get ready! I have already been out there and had my portion.

JUDGE. [_Appalled_] What humiliation! That's to strip you of all human worth!

PRINCE. Ha ha! Human worth! Ha ha!--Look at the scales over there. That's where the human worth is--and invariably found wanting.

JUDGE. [_Sits down at the table_] I could never have believed----

PRINCE. No, you could only believe in your caul and your own righteousness. And yet you had both Moses and the Prophets and more besides--for the very dead walked for your benefit.

JUDGE. The children! The children! Is it not possible to send them a word of greeting and of warning?

PRINCE. No! Eternally, no!

_The_ WITCH _comes forward with a big basketful of
stereoscopes._

JUDGE. What is it?

WITCH. Christmas gifts for the righteous. Stereoscopes, you know. [_Handing out one_] Help yourself. They don't cost anything.

JUDGE. There's a kind soul at last. And a little attention to a man of my age and rank does honour both to your tact and to your heart----

WITCH. That's very nice of you, Judge, but I hope you don't mind my having given some thought to the others, too.

JUDGE. [_Disappointed_] Are you poking fun at me, you damned old hag?

WITCH. [_Spitting in his face_] Hold your tongue, petti-fogger!

JUDGE. What company I have got into!

WITCH. Is it not good enough for you, you old perjurer, you grafter, you forger, you robber of orphans, you false pleader? Now have a look in the peep-show and take in the great spectacle: "From the Cradle to the Grave." There is your whole biography and all your victims--just have a look now. That's right!

JUDGE _looks in the stereoscope; then he rises with horror stamped on his face_.

WITCH. I hope this slight attention may add to the Christmas joy!

_She hands a stereoscope to the_ OLD LADY, _and proceeds
thereafter to give one to each person present_.

JUDGE. [_Sitting at the table, where now the_ OLD LADY _takes a seat opposite him_] What do you see?

OLD LADY. Everything is there; everything!--And do you notice that everything is black? All life that seemed so bright is now black, and even moments which I thought full of innocent joy have an appearance of something nauseating, foul, almost criminal. It is as if all my memories had decayed, including the fairest among them----

JUDGE. You are right. There is not one memory that can bring light into this darkness. When I look at her who was the first love of my youth, I see nothing but a corpse. When I think of my sweet Amelia, there appears--a harlot. The little ones make faces at me like gutter-snipes. My court has become a pigsty; the vineyard, a rubbish-heap full of thistles; and the mausoleum--Oh, horrors!--an outhouse! When I think of the green woods, the leafage appears snuff-coloured and the trunks look bleached as mast tops. The blue river seems to flow out of a dung-heap and the blue arch above it looks like a smoky roof--Of the sun itself I can recall nothing but the name; and what was called the moon--the lamp that shed its light on bays and groves during the amorous nights of my youth--I can remember only as--no, I cannot remember it at all. But the words are left, although they have only sound without sense.--Love, wine, song! Flowers, children, happiness!--Don't the words sound pretty? And it is all that is left!--Love? What _was_ it, anyhow?

OLD LADY. What was it?--Two cats on a back-yard fence.

JUDGE. [_Sheepishly_] Yes, that's it! That's what it was! Three dogs on a sidewalk. What a sweet recollection!

OLD LADY. [_Pressing his hand_] Yes, it is sweet!

JUDGE. [_Looking at his watch_] My watch has stopped. I am so hungry--and I am thirsty, too, and I long for a smoke. But I am also tired and want to sleep. All my desires are waking. They claw at me and hound me, but not one of them can I satisfy. We are lost! Lost, indeed!

OLD LADY. And I long for a cup of tea more than I can tell!

JUDGE. Hot green tea--that's just what I should like now--with a tiny drop of rum in it.

OLD LADY. No, not rum! I should prefer some cakes----

PRINCE. [_Who has drawn near to listen_] Sugared, of course? I fear you'll have to whistle for them.

OLD LADY. Oh, this dreadful language hurts me more than anything, else.

PRINCE. That's because you don't know yet how something else is going to hurt you.

JUDGE. What is that?

OLD LADY. No, don't! We don't want to know! Please!

PRINCE. Yes, I am going to tell. It begins with----

OLD LADY. [_Puts her fingers in her ears and cries out_] Mercy! Don't, don't, don't!

PRINCE. Yes, I will--and as my brother-in-law is curious, I'll tell it to him. The second letter is----

JUDGE. This uncertainty is worse than torture--Speak out, you devil, or I'll kill you!

PRINCE. Kill, ha ha! Everybody is immortal here, body and soul, what little there is left. However, the third letter is--and that's all you'll know!

MAN IN GREY. [_A small, lean man with grey clothes, grey face, black lips, grey beard, and grey hands; he speaks in a very low voice_] May I speak a word with you, madam?

OLD LADY. [_Rising in evident alarm_] What is it about?

MAN IN GREY. [_Smiling a ghastly, malicious smile_] I'll tell--out there.

OLD LADY. [_Crying_] No, no; I won't!

MAN IN GREY. [_Laughing_]; It isn't dangerous. Come along! All I want is to _speak_ to you. Come now!

[_They go toward the background and disappear_.

PRINCE. [_To the_ JUDGE] A little Christmas entertainment is wholesome.

JUDGE. Do you mean to maltreat a woman?

PRINCE. Here all injustices are abolished, and woman is treated as the equal of man.

JUDGE. You devil!

PRINCE. That's all right, but don't call me hunchback, for that touches my last illusion.

THE OTHER ONE. [_Steps up to the table_] Well, how do you like our animal magnetism? It _can_ work wonders on black-guards!

JUDGE. I understand nothing of all this.

THE OTHER ONE. That's just what is meant, and it is very nice of you to admit that there are things you don't understand.

JUDGE. Granting that I am now in the realm of the dead----

THE OTHER ONE. Say "hell," for that is what it's called.

JUDGE. [_Stammering_] Th-then I should like to remind you that He who once descended here to redeem all lost----

PRINCE. [_At a sign from_ THE OTHER ONE _he strikes the_ JUDGE _in the face_] Don't argue!

JUDGE. They won't even listen to me! It is beyond despair! No mercy, no hope, no end!

THE OTHER ONE. Quite right! Here you find only justice and retribution--especially justice: an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth! Just as you wanted it!

JUDGE. But among men there is pardon--and that you don't have here.

THE OTHER ONE. Monarchs alone possess the right to pardon. And as a man of law you ought to know that a petition for pardon must be submitted before it can be granted.

JUDGE. For me there can be no pardon!

THE OTHER ONE. [_Gives the_ PRINCE _a sign to step aside_] You feel, then, that your guilt is too great?

JUDGE. Yes.

THE OTHER ONE. Then I'll speak kindly to you. There is an end, you see, if there is a beginning. And you have made a beginning. But the sequel will be long and hard.

JUDGE. Oh, God is good!

THE OTHER ONE. You have said it!

JUDGE. But--there is one thing that cannot be undone--there is one!

THE OTHER ONE. You are thinking of the monstrance which should have been of gold but was of silver? Well, don't you think that He who changed water into wine may also change silver into gold?

JUDGE. [_On his knees_] But my misdeed is too great, too great to be forgiven.

THE OTHER ONE. Now you overestimate yourself again. But rise up. We are about to celebrate Christmas in our own fashion.--The light of the sun cannot reach here, as you know--nor that of the moon. But on this night, and on this alone, a star rises so far above the rocks that it is visible from here. It is the star that went before the shepherds through the desert--and _that_ was the morning star.

[_He claps his hands together_.

_The bust of Pan sinks into the ground. The_ OLD LADY _returns,
looking reassured and quietly happy. With a suggestion of firm
hope in mien and gesture, she goes up to the_ JUDGE _and takes
his hand. The stage becomes filled with shadows that are gazing
up at the rocks in the rear_.

CHORUS I. [_Two sopranos and an alto sing behind the stage, accompanied only by string instruments and a harp_.]

Puer natus est nobis;
Et filius datus est nobis,
Cujus imperium super humerum ejus;
Et vocabitur nomen ejus
Magni consilii Angelus.

CHORUS II. [_Soprano, alto, tenor, basso_.]

Cantate Domino canticum novum
Quia mirabilia fecit!

_The star becomes visible above the rocks in the rear. All
kneel down. A part of the rock glides aside, revealing a
tableau: the crib with the child and the mother; the shepherds
adoring at the left, the three Magi at the right_.

CHORUS III. [_Two sopranos and two altos.]_

Gloria in excelsis Deo
Et in terra pax
Hominibus bonæ voluntatis!

_Curtain_.

THE THUNDERSTORM

(OVÄDER)

A CHAMBER PLAY

1907

CHARACTERS

THE MASTER, _a retired government official_
THE CONSUL, _his brother_
STARCK, _a confectioner_
AGNES, _daughter of Starck_
LOUISE, _a relative of the Master_
GERDA, _the Master's divorced wife_
FISCHER, _second husband of Gerda_
THE ICEMAN
THE LETTER-CARRIER
THE LAMPLIGHTER
THE LIQUORDEALER'S MAN
THE MILKMAID

SCENE I--IN FRONT OF THE HOUSE
SCENE II--INSIDE THE HOUSE
SCENE III--IN FRONT OF THE HOUSE

FIRST SCENE

_The front of a modern house with a basement of granite. The
upper parts are of brick covered with yellow plastering. The
window-frames and other ornaments are of sandstone. A low
archway leads through the basement to the court and serves also
as entrance to the confectioner's shop. The corner of the house
appears at the right of the stage, where the avenue opens into
a small square planted with roses and various other flowers. At
the corner is a mail-box. The main floor, above the basement,
has large windows, all of which are open. Four of these windows
belong to an elegantly furnished dining-room. The four middle
windows in the second story have red shades which are drawn;
the shades are illumined by light from within_.

_Along the front of the house runs a sidewalk with trees
planted at regular intervals. There is a lamp-post in the
extreme foreground and beside it stands a green bench_.

STARCK, _the confectioner, comes out with a chair and sits down
on the sidewalk_.

_The_ MASTER _is visible in the dining-room of the main floor,
seated at the table. Behind him appears an oven built of green
majolica tiles. On its mantelshelf stands a large photograph
between two candelabra and some vases containing flowers. A
young girl in a light dress is just serving the final course_.

_The_ MASTER'S _brother, the_ CONSUL, _appears in front of the
house, coming from the left, and knocks with his walking-stick
on the sill of one of the dining-room windows_.

CONSUL. Will you soon be through?

MASTER. I'll come in a moment.

CONSUL. [_Saluting the confectioner_] Good evening, Mr. Starck. It's still hot----

STARCK. Good evening, Consul. Yes, it's the dog-day heat, and we have been making jam all day.

CONSUL. Is that so? It's a good year for fruit, then?

STARCK. It might be worse. Well, the spring was cold, but the summer turned out unbearably hot. It was hard on us who had to stay in the city.

CONSUL. I got back from the country yesterday--one begins to wish oneself back when the evenings grow dark.

STARCK. Neither I nor my wife have been out of the city. Of course, business is at a standstill, but you have to be on hand to make ready for the winter. First come strawberries, then cherries, then raspberries, and last gooseberries, cantaloupes and all the fall fruits----

CONSUL. Tell me something, Mr. Starck. Is the house here to be sold?

STARCK. Not that I have heard.

CONSUL. There are a lot of people living here?

STARCK. Something like ten families, I think, counting those in the rear also. But nobody knows anybody else. There is unusually little gossiping in the house. It seems rather as if everybody were hiding. I have lived here ten years, and during the first two years we had for neighbours a strange family that kept very quiet in the daytime. But at night they began to stir about, and then carriages would come and fetch things away. Not until the end of the second year did I learn that they had been running a private sanatorium, and that what was being taken away at night were dead bodies.

CONSUL. Horrible!

STARCK. And they call it the Silent House.

CONSUL. Yes, there isn't much talking done here.

STARCK. More than one drama has been played here, nevertheless.

CONSUL. Tell me, Mr. Starck, who lives up there on the second floor, right above my brother?

STARCK. Up there, where the light comes through the red shades--a tenant died there during the summer. Then the place stood empty for a month, and a week ago a new family moved in. I haven't seen them. I don't know their name. I don't think they ever go out. Why did you ask, Consul?

CONSUL. Whew--I don't know! Those four red shades look like stage curtains behind which some sanguinary tragedies are being rehearsed--or I imagine so, at least. There is a palm at one of the windows looking like a rod made of wire--you can see the shadow of it on the shade. If only some people were to be seen----

STARCK. I have seen plenty of them, but not until later--at night.

CONSUL. Was it men or women you saw?

STARCK. Both, I guess--but now I must get back to my pots. [_He disappears into the gateway_.

MASTER. [_Still inside, has risen from the table and lighted a cigar; he is now standing at the open window, talking to his brother outside_] I'll be ready in a moment. Louise is only going to sew a button on one of my gloves.

CONSUL. Then you mean to go down-town?

MASTER. Perhaps we'll take a turn in that direction--Whom were you talking with?

CONSUL. Just the confectioner----

MASTER. Oh, yes--a very decent fellow--and, for that matter, my only companion here during the summer.

CONSUL. Have you really stayed at home every night--never gone out?

MASTER. Never! Those light evenings make me timid. They are pleasant in the country, of course, but here in the city they produce the effect of something unnatural--almost ghastly. But no sooner has the first street lamp been lighted than I feel calm once more and can resume my evening walks. In that way I can get tired and sleep better at night. [LOUISE _hands him the glove_] Thank you, my child. You can just as well leave the windows open, as there are no mosquitoes. [_To the_ CONSUL] Now I'm coming.

_A few moments later he can be seen coming out of the house
on the side facing the square; he stops at the corner to drop
a letter in the mail-box; then he comes around the corner to
the front of the house and sits down on the bench beside his
brother_.

CONSUL. But tell me: why do you stay in the city when you _could_ be in the country?

MASTER. I don't know. I have lost my power of motion. My memory has tied me for ever to these rooms. Only within them can I find peace and protection. In there--yes! It is interesting to look at your own home from the outside. Then I imagine that some other man is pacing back and forth in there--Just think: for ten years I have been pacing back and forth in there!

CONSUL. Is it ten years now?

MASTER. Yes, time goes quickly--once it is gone. But when it is still going it seems slow enough.--That time the house was new. I watched them putting down the hard-wood floor in the dining-room and painting the doors; and _she_ was permitted to pick out the wall-paper, which is still there--Yes, that was then! The confectioner and I are the oldest tenants in the place, and he, too, has had a few experiences of his own--he is one of those people who never succeed but are always in some kind of trouble. In a way, I have been living his life also, and bearing his burdens besides my own.

CONSUL. Does he drink, then?

MASTER. No-o--nothing of that kind, but there is no _go_ to him. Well, he and I know the history of this house: how they have arrived in bridal coaches and left in hearses, while the mail-box at the corner became the recipient of all their confidences.

CONSUL. There was a death here in the middle of the summer, wasn't there?

MASTER. Yes, a case of typhoid--the man was manager of a bank--and then the flat stood vacant for a month. The coffin came out first, then the widow and the children, and last of all the furniture.

CONSUL. That was on the second floor?

MASTER. Yes, up there, where you see the light--where those new people are, about whom I know nothing at all.

CONSUL. Haven't you seen anything of them either?

MASTER. I never ask any questions about the other tenants. What comes to me unasked, I accept--but I never make any wrong use of it, and I never interfere, for I am anxious for the peace of my old age.

CONSUL. Old age--yes! I think it's nice to grow old, for then there isn't so much left to be recorded.

MASTER. Indeed, it is nice. I am settling my accounts, both with life and with people, and I have already begun to pack for the journey. Of course, the solitude has its draw-backs, but when there is nobody who can make any demands on you, then you have won your freedom--the freedom to come and go, to think and act, to eat and sleep, in accordance with your own choice.

_At this moment the shade in one of the windows on the second
floor is raised a little way, so that part of a woman's dress
becomes visible. Then it is quickly drawn again_.

CONSUL. They are astir up there--did you see?

MASTER. Yes, there is such a lot of mystery about it--and at night it is worse than ever. Sometimes there is music, but it's always bad; and sometimes I think they are playing cards; and long after midnight carriages drive up and take away people.--I never make a complaint against other tenants, for then they want to get even, and nobody wants to change his ways. The best thing is to remain oblivious of everything.

_A gentleman, dressed in a dinner coat but bareheaded, comes
out of the house and drops a big pile of letters into the
mail-box; then he disappears into the house again_.

CONSUL. That fellow must have a lot of correspondence.

MASTER. It looked to me like circulars.

CONSUL. But who is he?

MASTER. Why, that's the new tenant up there on the second floor.

CONSUL. Oh, is that so! What do you think he looked like?

MASTER. I don't know. Musician, conductor, a touch of musical comedy, with a leaning to vaudeville--gambler--Adonis--a little of everything----

CONSUL. Black hair should have gone with that pale complexion of his, but his hair was brown--which means that it had been dyed, or that he wears a wig. A tuxedo at home indicates an empty wardrobe, and the movements of his hands as he dropped the letters into the box suggested shuffling and cutting and dealing--[_At this moment waltz music becomes faintly audible from the second floor_] Always waltzes--perhaps they have a dancing-school--but it's always the same waltz--what's the name of it now?

MASTER. Why, I think--that's "Pluie d'or"--I know it by heart.

CONSUL. Have you heard it in your own house?

MASTER. Yes, that one and the "Alcazar Waltz."

LOUISE _becomes visible in the dining-room, where she is
putting things in order and wiping the glassware on the buffet_.

CONSUL. Are you still pleased with Louise?

MASTER. Very.

CONSUL. Isn't she going to marry?

MASTER. Not that I know of.

CONSUL. Is there no fiancé in sight?

MASTER. Why do you ask?

CONSUL. Have you had any thoughts of that kind?

MASTER. I? No, thank you! When I married the last time I was not too old, as we had a child in due time, but I have grown too old since then, and now I want to spend my evening in peace--Do you think I want another master in my own house, who would rob me of life and honour and goods?

CONSUL. Oh, nobody took your life or your goods----

MASTER. Do you mean to say that my honour suffered any harm?

CONSUL. Don't you know?

MASTER. What _do_ you mean?

CONSUL. In leaving you, she killed your honour.

MASTER. Then I have been a dead man for five years without knowing it.

CONSUL. You haven't known it?

MASTER. No, but now I'll tell you in a few words what really happened. When, at fifty, I married a girl much younger than myself--one whose heart I had won and who gave me her hand fearlessly and willingly--then I promised her that if ever my age should become a burden to her youth I would go my own way and give her back her freedom. Since the child had come in due time, and neither one of us wanted another, and since our little girl had begun to grow apart from me, so that I had come to feel superfluous, I did go my way--that is, I took a boat, as we were living on an island--and that was the end of the whole story. I had redeemed my promise and saved my honour--what more besides?

CONSUL. All right--but she thought it an attack on her own honour, because she had meant to go away herself. And so she killed you by tacit accusations which never reached your ears.

MASTER. Did she accuse herself also?

CONSUL. No, she had no reason to do so.

MASTER. Then no harm has been done.

CONSUL. Do you know what has become of her and the child since then?

MASTER. I don't want to know! Having at last outlived the horrors of longing, I came to regard the whole business as buried; and as none but beautiful memories were left behind in our rooms, I remained where I was. However, I thank you for that piece of valuable information!

CONSUL. Which one?

MASTER. That she had no reason for self-accusation, for if she had it would constitute an accusation against me----

CONSUL. I think you are living under a serious misconception----

MASTER. If I am, leave me alone! A clear conscience--comparatively clear, at least--has always been the diving-suit that has enabled me to descend into the vast deeps without being suffocated. [_Rising_] To think of it--that I got out of it with my life! And now it's all over!--Suppose we take a turn down the avenue?

CONSUL. All right, then we can see them light the first street lamp of the season.

MASTER. But won't the moon be up to-night--the harvest-moon?

CONSUL. Why, I think the moon is full just now----

MASTER. [_Going to one of the windows and talking into the dining-room_] Please hand me my stick, Louise. The light one--I just want to hold it in my hand.

LOUISE. [_Handing out a cane of bamboo_] Here it is, sir.

MASTER. Thank you, my girl. Now turn out the light in the dining-room if you have nothing to do there. We'll be gone a little while--I cannot tell just how long.

_The_ MASTER _and the_ CONSUL _go out to the left_. LOUISE
_remains standing by the open window_. STARCK _comes out of the
gateway_.

STARCK. Good evening, Miss Louise. It's awfully hot!--So your gentlemen have disappeared?

LOUISE. They have gone for a stroll down the avenue--the first time my master has gone out this summer.

STARCK. We old people love the twilight, which covers up so many defects both in ourselves and others. Do you know, Miss Louise, my old woman is getting blind, but she won't have an operation performed. She says there is nothing to look at, and that sometimes she wishes she were deaf, too.

LOUISE. Well, one does feel that way--at times.

STARCK. Of course, you are leading a very quiet life in there, with plenty of everything, and nothing to worry about. I have never heard a loud voice or the slamming of a door--perhaps, even, it is a little too quiet for a young lady like yourself?

LOUISE. Not at all! I love the quiet, and whatever is dignified, graceful, measured--with nobody blurting out things, and all thinking it a duty to overlook the less pleasant features of daily life.

STARCK. And you have never any company?

LOUISE. No, only the consul comes here--and the like of the love between those two brothers I have never seen.

STARCK. Who is the elder of the two?

LOUISE. That's more than I can tell. Whether there is a year or two between them, or they are twins, I don't know, for they treat each other with mutual respect, as if each one of them was the elder brother.

AGNES _appears, trying to get past_ STARCK _without being seen
by him_.

STARCK. Where are you going, girl?

AGNES. Oh, I am just going out for a little walk.

STARCK. That's right, but get back soon.

AGNES _goes out_.

STARCK. Do you think your master is still mourning the loss of his dear ones?

LOUISE. He doesn't mourn--he doesn't even feel any regrets, for he doesn't want them back--but he is always with them in his memory, where he keeps only their beautiful traits.

STARCK. But doesn't the fate of his daughter trouble him at times?

LOUISE. Yes, he cannot help fearing that the mother may have married again, and then, of course, everything depends on how the child's stepfather turns out.

STARCK. I have been told that the wife refused alimony at first, but that now, when five years have passed, she has sent him a lawyer with a demand for many thousands----

LOUISE. [_With reserve_] I know nothing about it.

STARCK. I believe, however, that she was never more beautiful than in his memory----

THE LIQUORDEALER'S MAN. [_Enters, carrying a crateful of bottles_] Excuse me, but does Mr. Fischer live here?

LOUISE. Mr. Fischer? Not so far as I know.

STARCK. Perhaps Fischer is the name of that fellow on the second floor? Around the corner--one flight up.

THE LIQUORDEALER'S MAN. [_Going toward the square_] One flight up--thanks. [_He disappears around the corner_.

LOUISE. Carrying up bottles again--that means another sleepless night.

STARCK. What kind of people are they? Why don't they ever show themselves?

LOUISE. I suppose they use the back-stairs, for I have never seen them. But I do hear them.

STARCK. Yes, I have also heard doors bang and corks pop--and the popping of other things, too, I guess.

LOUISE. And they never open their windows, in spite of the heat--they must be Southerners.--Why, that's lightning--a lot of it!--I guess it's nothing but heat-lightning, for there has been no thunder.

A VOICE. [_Is heard from the basement_] Starck, dear, won't you come down and help me put in the sugar!

STARCK. All right, old lady, I'm coming! [_To_ LOUISE] We are making jam, you know. [_As he goes_] I'm coming, I'm coming! [_He disappears into the gateway again_.

LOUISE _remains standing at the window_.

CONSUL. [_Enters slowly from the right_] Isn't my brother back yet?

LOUISE. No, sir.

CONSUL. He wanted to telephone, and I was to go ahead. Well, I suppose he'll be here soon.--What's this? [_He stoops to pick up a post-card_] What does it say?--"Boston club at midnight: Fischer."--Do you know who Fischer is, Louise?

LOUISE. There was a man with a lot of wine looking for Fischer a while ago--up on the second floor.

CONSUL. On the second floor--Fischer! Red shades that make the place look like a drug-store window at night! I fear you have got bad company in the house.

LOUISE. What is a Boston club?

CONSUL. Oh, there need be no harm in it at all--in this case I don't know, however.--But how did the post-card--? Oh, it was _he_ who dropped it a while ago. Then I'll put it back in the box.--Fischer? I have heard that name before. In connection with something I cannot recall just now--May I ask a question, Miss Louise: does my brother never speak of--the past?

LOUISE. Not to me.

CONSUL. Miss Louise--one more question----

LOUISE. Excuse me, but here comes the milk, and I have to receive it.

[_She leaves the dining-room_.

_The_ MILKMAID _appears from the right and enters the house
from the square_.

STARCK. [_Comes out again, takes off his white linen cap, and puffs with heat_] In and out, like a badger at its hole--it's perfectly horrid down there by the ovens--and the evening doesn't make it any cooler.

CONSUL. All this lightning shows that we are going to have rain--Well, the city isn't pleasant, exactly, but up here you have quiet at least: never any rattling carriages, and still less any street-cars--it's just like the country.

STARCK. Of course, it's quiet, but it's too quiet for business. I know my trade, but I am a poor salesman--have always been, and can't learn--or it may be something else. Perhaps I haven't got the proper manner. For when customers act as if I were a swindler I get embarrassed at first, and then as mad as it is possible for me to become. But nowadays I haven't the strength to get really mad. It has been worn out of me--everything gets worn out.

CONSUL. Why don't you go to work for somebody else?

STARCK. Who would want me?

CONSUL. Have you ever tried?

STARCK. What would be the use of it?

CONSUL. Oh--well!

_At this moment a long-drawn "O-oh" is heard from the apartment
on the second floor_.

STARCK. What, in the name of Heaven, are they up to in that place? Are they killing each other?

CONSUL. I don't like this new and unknown element that has come into the house. It is pressing on us like a red thunder-cloud. What kind of people are they? Where do they come from? What do they want here?

STARCK. It's so very dangerous to delve in other people's affairs--you get mixed up in them yourself----

CONSUL. Do you know anything about them?

STARCK. No, I don't know anything at all.

CONSUL. Now they're screaming again, this time in the stairway----

STARCK. [_Withdrawing into the gateway and speaking in a low voice_] I don't want to have anything to do with this.

GERDA, _the divorced wife of the_ MASTER, _comes running from
the house into the square. She is bareheaded, with her hair
down, and very excited. The_ CONSUL _approaches her, and they
recognise each other. She draws back from him_.

CONSUL. So it's you--my former sister-in-law?

GERDA. Yes, it is I.

CONSUL. How did you get into this house, and why can't you let my brother enjoy his peace?

GERDA. [_Bewildered_] They didn't give us the right name of the tenant below--I thought he had moved--I couldn't help it----

CONSUL. Don't be afraid--you don't have to be afraid of me, Gerda! Can I be of any help to you? What's happening up there?

GERDA. He was beating me!

CONSUL. Is your little girl with you?

GERDA. Yes.

CONSUL. So she has got a stepfather?

GERDA. Yes.

CONSUL. Put up your hair and calm yourself. Then I'll try to straighten this matter out. But spare my brother----

GERDA. I suppose he hates me?

CONSUL. No, don't you see that he has been taking care of your flowers in the bed over there? He brought the soil himself, in a basket, don't you remember? Don't you recognise your blue gentians and the mignonette, your _Malmaison_ and _Merveille de Lyons_ roses, which he budded himself? Don't you understand that he has cherished the memory of yourself and of the child?

GERDA. Where is he now?

CONSUL. Taking a walk along the avenue, but he will be here in a few minutes with the evening papers. When he comes from that side he uses the back door, and he goes straight into the dining-room to read the papers. Stand still and he won't notice you.--But you must go back to your own rooms----

GERDA. I can't! I can't go back to that man.

CONSUL. Who is he, and what?

GERDA. He--has been a singer.

CONSUL. Has been--and what is he now? An adventurer?

GERDA. Yes!

CONSUL. Keeps a gambling-house?

GERDA. Yes!

Consul. And the child? Bait?

GERDA. Oh, don't say that!

CONSUL. It's horrible!

GERDA. You are too harsh about the whole thing.

CONSUL. Of course, filth must be handled gently--so very gently! But a just cause should be dragged in the dirt. Why did you defile his honour, and why did you lure me into becoming your accomplice? I was childish enough to trust your word, and I defended your unjust cause against his.

GERDA. You forget that he was too old.

CONSUL. No, he wasn't _then_, as you had a child at once. When he proposed, he asked if you wanted to have a child with him, and he vowed in the bargain to give you back your freedom when his promise had been kept and old age began to weigh him down.

GERDA. He deserted me, and that was an insult.

CONSUL. Not to you! Your youth prevented it from being a reflection on you.

GERDA. He should have let me leave him.

CONSUL. Why? Why did you want to heap dishonour on him?

GERDA. One of us had to bear it.

CONSUL. What strange paths your thoughts pursue! However, you have killed him, and fooled me into helping you. How can we rehabilitate him?

GERDA. If he is to be rehabilitated, it can only be at my expense.

CONSUL. I cannot follow your thoughts, which always turn to hatred. But suppose we leave the rehabilitation alone and think only of how his daughter is to be saved: what can we do then?

GERDA. She is my child. She's mine by law, and my husband is her father----

CONSUL. Now _you_ are too harsh about it! And you have grown cruel and vulgar--Hush! Here he comes now.

_The_ MASTER _enters from the left with a newspaper in his
hand; he goes into the house pensively by the back door, while
the_ CONSUL _and_ GERDA _remain motionless, hidden behind the
corner of the house_.

_Then the_ CONSUL _and_ GERDA _come down the stage. A moment
later the_ MASTER _becomes visible in the dining-room, where he
sits down to read the paper_.

GERDA. It was he!

CONSUL. Come over here and look at your home. See how he has kept everything as it was--arranged to suit your taste.--Don't be afraid. It's so dark out here that he can't see us. The light in the room blinds him, you know.

GERDA. How he has been lying to me!

CONSUL. In what respect?

GERDA. He hasn't grown old! He had grown tired of me--that was the whole thing! Look at his collar--and his tie--the very latest fashion! I am sure he has a mistress!

CONSUL. Yes, you can see her photograph on the mantelshelf, between the candelabra.

GERDA. It is myself and the child! Does he still love me?

CONSUL. Your memory only!

GERDA. That's strange!

_The_ MASTER _ceases to read and stares out through the window_.

GERDA. He is looking at us!

CONSUL. Don't move!

GERDA. He is looking straight into my eyes.

CONSUL. Be still! He doesn't see you.

GERDA. He looks as if he were dead----

CONSUL. Well, he has been killed.

GERDA. Why do you talk like that?

_An unusually strong flash of heat-lightning illumines the
figures of the_ CONSUL _and_ GERDA.

_The_ MASTER _rises with an expression of horror on his face_.
GERDA _takes refuge behind the corner of the house_.

MASTER. Carl Frederick! [_Coming to the window_] Are you alone? I thought--Are you really alone?

CONSUL. As you see.

MASTER. The air is so sultry, and the flowers give me a headache--I am just going to finish the newspaper.

[_He resumes his former position._

CONSUL. Now let us get at your affairs. Do you want me to go with you?

GERDA. Perhaps! But it will be a hard struggle.

CONSUL. But the child must be saved. And I am a lawyer.

GERDA. Well, for the child's sake, then! Come with me!

[_They go out together._

MASTER. [_Calling from within_] Carl Frederick, come in and have a game of chess!--Carl Frederick!

_Curtain_.

SECOND SCENE

_Inside the dining-room. The brick stove appears at the centre
of the rear wall. To the left of it there is a door leading
into the pantry. Another door to the right of it leads to the
hallway. At the left stands a buffet with a telephone on it. A
piano and a tall clock stand at the right. There are doors in
both side walls_.