Chapter II: Part 2

You should know that this young man had come to a time when everything he wrote was valuable. He was as sure to write great poems as a good apple tree is to give good apples.

SHELLEY

Perhaps it would have been one of the better ones. At all events, it was never written....

IBSEN

[_Rising excitedly and stamping his feet as though they had snow
on them._]

And I claim that I wrote it. The poem hung for a while above the Mediterranean, and then drifted up toward the Tyrol and I caught it and wrote it down. And it is THE MASTER BUILDER.

HILDA

Now you must sit down, Papa, and keep calm. We must reason this out calmly. In the first place, both are certainly about centaurs. What do you say, Shelley?

SHELLEY

Well, it is not a strange idea, or a new one, that the stuff of which masterpieces are made drifts about the world waiting to be clothed with words. It is a truth that Plato would have understood that the mere language, the words of a masterpiece are the least of its offerings. Nay, in the world we have come into now, the languages of the planet have no value; but the impulse, the idea of “Comus” is a miracle, even in heaven. Let you remember this when you regret the work that has been lost through this war that has been laid upon your treasurable young men. The work they might have done is still with you, and will yet find its way into your lives and into your children’s lives.

IBSEN

Enough, enough! You will be revealing all the mysteries soon. Enough has been said to prove that THE DEATH OF A CENTAUR and THE MASTER BUILDER are the same poem. Get in with you, children. The play is ready to start. Solness sits with his head in his hands and the harps are in the air.

[_He goes behind the curtains. Shelley lingers a moment; a shadow
has fallen across his face._]

HILDA

[_Laying her hand on his arm._]

What is the matter?

SHELLEY

That reminded me ... of another poem ... I did not write down.

_LEVIATHAN_

MID-MEDITERRANEAN. _Sunrise after a night of storm with the sea
swaying prodigiously. A great Venetian argosy has been wrecked
overnight; ships and men have disappeared, leaving only the cargo
spread out upon the waters. Momently new treasures from the ship’s
holds float upward and, reaching the surface, are swept hither and
thither for miles: Persian rugs, great lengths of brocade, boxes
of spice, made from tropical leaves and bound with dried vine; and
an apparently interminable swathe of gray silk unwinding from its
ivory standard._

_In the foreground a mermaid is feeling her way among the stuffs
with considerable distaste. To one used to the shadowed harmonies
of deep-sea color these crimsons and oranges have no attraction._
BRIGOMEÏDÉ _has the green wiry hair of her kind, entangled with
the friendly snail; the iridescent shoulders of all sea-women, and
the gray thin mouth_.

_Suddenly she comes upon_ THE PRINCE. _The royal divan has been
swept from the decks, and while the huge pillows are gradually
soaking up the water and floating away, their Prince lies on them
unconscious. For a moment the mermaid watches him open-mouthed.
She steals nearer and holding on to the tassels of seed-pearls,
leans cautiously over and scans his face long and wonderingly. She
sighs faintly, splashes a little in discontent, and then gazes
upon him again with a frown of concentration._

BRIGOMEÏDÉ

It’s breathing. He has not lost--what they call--the soul. I wonder where he keeps it. It is the great difference between us; we sea-people have no soul. I wonder where he keeps it! I have heard that it can be seen at times, in the eyes. Perhaps if I borrowed it from him while he slept he would never miss it. No,--I will ask him for it.

[_She claps her hands suddenly to awake him, falling back, at
the same time, into the water. The young man does not stir.
She grows angry. She strikes the water sharply with the palms
of her hands. By quick degrees a circling wind rises; great
fantastic waves rear themselves, robed in silk; they break
over the divan and the Prince stirs. Immediately_ BRIGOMEÏDÉ
_strokes the water to a stillness, and fixes her attention on
the young man_.]

THE PRINCE

My father, take not your hand away. My brothers, why have you ceased talking? Where am I?--All is lost! _Ave Maris Stella!_

BRIGOMEÏDÉ

[_Watching him intently._]

How could you sleep so--during the storm?

THE PRINCE

You--you are out of a dream. You are out of my fever. Yes, yes--the storm--you--all this is but the painting of my fever. I shall awake in Venice with the lute-player fallen asleep by the window. I will call to him now and he will wake me up: Amedeo!--Lute-player! Shake me out of this dream!

[_The silence that follows is filled with the crackling noise as
the pith fillings of the heavier cushions become saturated._]

BRIGOMEÏDÉ

[_Harshly._]

Who is it you are calling to? There is no one here, but you and me only.

THE PRINCE

Amedeo!--he does not answer: this is real. But you, you are dream; you are illusion. _Ave Maris Stella!_

BRIGOMEÏDÉ

[_Indignantly._]

I am not dream. I am not illusion. I am royal among all sea-women--I am of the Third Order; on the three great tide days I am permitted to bind my hair with Thetis-Agrandis and wear in my ears the higher Muria.

THE PRINCE

You are out of an old ballad, taught me as a boy, and you have come back to me in the last hour on the tide of fever. In a moment my dream will have passed on from you.

BRIGOMEÏDÉ

[_Vehemently._]

You think I am only dream because ... you have heard it said ... we sea-folk have no souls.

THE PRINCE

Soul nor body.

BRIGOMEÏDÉ

[_More softly._]

Tell me where it is you keep your soul. Have you it always with you?

THE PRINCE

[_As a great pillow floats away from under his hand._]

_Flos undarum!_ Save me! Deliver me! Hear my prayer!

BRIGOMEÏDÉ

Who are you speaking to? Did I not tell you there was no one here but you and me only?

THE PRINCE

You! Tell me we where is shore. You can swim for days. Draw me to some island. I will give you great riches ... all you desire.

BRIGOMEÏDÉ

Give me your soul. All my days I have longed for two things, black hair and a soul. I have not lacked anything else. I will draw you to your home, if you will give me your soul.

THE PRINCE

[_Violently._]

It cannot be given away. No one has seen it; it cannot be felt with hands; seen or tasted.

BRIGOMEÏDÉ

And yet they say it is the greatest thing in the world; that without it life is a cold procession of hours; that it gives all sight to the eyes, and all hearing to the ears ... you are mocking me! I see in your face that you have it now!

THE PRINCE

Yes, and am about to lose it.

BRIGOMEÏDÉ

Give it to me, and I will bring up from the bottom of the sea your father and your brothers. I will return to you all the pearls that have fallen here, and draw you softly into the narrows of Venice.

THE PRINCE

[_As the water closes over him._]

Amedeo!... Lute-player!

[BRIGOMEÏDÉ _turns away contemptuously_.]

BRIGOMEÏDÉ

It is something you cannot touch or see. What could I do with it so?

[THE PRINCE _rises, dead, entangled in scarves_. BRIGOMEÏDÉ
_stares into his face long and earnestly_.]

It is true! There is something gone ... that lay about his eyes, that troubled his mouth. The soul, perhaps.

[_She claps her hands. From a great distance a sea-serpent swims
hugely towards her. He is caught in the trailing lengths of
gray brocade._]

BRIGOMEÏDÉ

Gog-etar! There is no longer anything precious in this man. You may divide him among your young.

LEVIATHAN

It is terrible here, lady. These spices have made the streams unendurable. By to-morrow morning the waters will be tainted as far as Africa. Already my young are ill, lady. They lie motionless in the mud, dear lady. It is terrible to see them so....

BRIGOMEÏDÉ

I do not want to hear your troubles. Take this man away.

LEVIATHAN

Thanks, gracious lady. Perhaps these hateful essences will have made him endurable....

BRIGOMEÏDÉ

Cease!

[_He drags_ THE PRINCE _away. The frustrated_ BRIGOMEÏDÉ _starts
to comb the shell out of her hair, singing. Suddenly she breaks
her song and adds musingly._]

Perhaps it is better, although your body has passed to Leviathan, still to have another part of you somewhere about the world.

_AND THE SEA SHALL GIVE UP ITS DEAD_

_The clangor of Judgment Day’s last trumpet dies away in the remotest
pockets of space, and time comes to an end like a frayed ribbon.
In the nave of creation the diaphanous amphitheater is already
building for the trial of all flesh. Several miles below the
surface of the North Atlantic, the spirits of the drowned rise
through the water like bubbles in a neglected wineglass._

A WOMAN

[_To the gray weeds of whose soul still cling the vestiges of
color, some stained purples and some wasted reds._]

At last I could struggle no longer. My head and lungs were under intense discomfort by reason of the water with which they were filled. I said to myself: “Only think, Gertruda, you have actually arrived at the moment of death!” Even then I was unwilling to believe it, though my lungs were on the point of bursting. One is never really able to believe that one will die. It is especially difficult for sovereigns who seldom, if ever, confront inevitable situations. Perhaps you know that I am Gertruda XXII, Empress of Newfoundland from 2638 to 2698?

A STOUT LITTLE MAN

Your Imperial Highness’s experience is much like mine. I lived about five hundred years before Your Imperial Highness. I had always dreaded the moment of extinction, yet mine was less painful than a headache.

THE EMPRESS

We know now that the real pain comes to us in the ages that have passed since then. Have you too been swinging in mid-ocean, tangled in a cocoon of seaweed, slowly liberating your mind from the prides and prejudices and trivialities of a life-time? That is what is painful.

THE LITTLE MAN

I was a Jew and very proud of my race. Living under what I took to be the aspersions of my neighbors I had nourished the arrogant delusion that I was notable. It has taken me five hundred years of painful reflection to disembarrass myself of this notion. I was a theatrical producer and thought myself important to my time, wise, witty, and kindly. Each of these ideas I have shed with a hundred times the pain of losing a limb. Now I am reconciled to the fact that I am naked, a fool, a child.

THE EMPRESS

In my life I believed fiercely that everything of which I said MY had some peculiar excellence. It was impossible to imagine a citizen proud of any country save Newfoundland, or a woman vain of any hair save the golden. I had a passion for genealogies and antiquities and felt that such things merely looked forward to myself. Now these many years I have been wrapped in barnacles, divorcing my soul from all that it once loved. Even my love for my son and my son’s love for me have vanished through sheer inconsequence. All this is the second death, and the one to be dreaded. I was afraid that when I had shed away my royalty and my beauty and my administrative talent and my pure descent and my astonishing memory for names, I was afraid that there would be nothing left. But fortunately, underneath all this litter I have found a tiny morsel of ... but dare we say the Name?--But what was yours?

THE LITTLE MAN

Horatio Nissem.

THE EMPRESS

Speak to that man who is rising through the water beside you.

HORATIO NISSEM

Who are you, and what particular follies have you laid aside?

A TALL THIN DREAMY MAN

I was a priest of the gospel and a terrible time I have had taking leave of my sins. I tremble to think how but a few moments ago I still retained a longing for stupidities. Yes, sir, for the planets. I felt sure that they had personalities and I looked forward after my death to hearing their songs. Now I know that sun and moon and stars have fallen like dust into the lap of their maker. I told myself, also, that after death I should sit through eternity overhearing the conversation of Coleridge and Augustine and Our Lord; there I should embrace my loved ones and my enemies; there I should hear vindicated before the devils the great doctrines of Infant Baptism and Sacramental Confession. Only now have I been delivered from these follies. As I swayed in the meteoric slime I begged God to punish me for certain sins of my youth, moments I well remembered of rage and pride and shame. But these seemed of no importance to him: he seemed rather to be erasing from my mind the notion that my sins were of any consequence. I see now that even the idea that I was capable of sinning was a self-flattery and an impertinence. My name was Father Cosroe: now my name is Worm.

THE EMPRESS

We still cling obstinately to our identity, as though there were something valuable in it. This very moment I feel relics of pleasure in the fact that I am myself and no one else. Yet in a moment, if there is a moment, we shall all be reduced to our quintessential matter, and you, Mr. Nissem, will be exactly indistinguishable from me. God Himself will not be able to tell the Empress of Newfoundland from the Reverend Doctor Cosroe.

HORATIO NISSEM

[_In mounting terror._]

I am afraid. I refuse to give myself up.

THE EMPRESS

Do not cry out, fool. You have awakened all my rebellious nature. O God, do not take away my identity! I do not ask for my title or my features; do not take away my myself!

HORATIO NISSEM

Do you hear? I refuse to give myself up. O God, let me not be mistaken for a Gentile.

FATHER COSROE

Your screaming has aroused my madness. Let me keep my particular mind, O God, my own curious mind with all I have put into it!

[_The three panic-stricken souls reach the surface of the sea. The
extensive business of Domesday is over in a twinkling and the
souls divested of all identification have tumbled, like falling
stars, into the blaze of unicity. Soon nothing exists in space
but the great unwinking eye, meditating a new creation._]

_NOW THE SERVANT’S NAME WAS MALCHUS_

_In his father’s house are many mansions, and it is from the windows
of one of them that he stands looking out upon the clockwork of
the skies. With the precision that is possible only to things dead
in themselves, the stars weave incessantly their interlocking
measures. At intervals the blackest pockets of space give birth to
a nebula, whirling in new anguish, but for the most part the sky
offers only its vast stars, eased in the first gradations of their
cooling, and fulfilling happily and with a faint humming sound the
long loops of their appointment._

[_To him comes_ GABRIEL, _secretary and soldier_.]

GABRIEL

There are some unusually urgent petitions here.... There’s this Colonel on a raft in the Bengal Sea--Here again is the widow and her two daughters in Moscow. A lady in Rome.

[_He lays some papers on the table._]

Besides, there is someone outside who wishes to speak to you. He says he knew you on earth. I think he has something to complain of, even here.

OUR LORD

Let him wait a moment.

[_There is loud rapping at the door._]

GABRIEL

There he is again.

OUR LORD

Then let him in.

[GABRIEL _admits_ MALCHUS _and goes out_.]

MALCHUS

Please, sir, excuse me being so hasty, but I had to speak to you about something.

OUR LORD

You are displeased with Heaven?

MALCHUS

Oh no, sir--except for one thing.

OUR LORD

We will talk about it in a minute. Come by the window and look. Can you tell me which of those stars is mine?

MALCHUS

Lord, all are yours, surely.

OUR LORD

No, only one is mine, for only one bears living things upon it. And where there is no life I have no power. All the stars save one are lifeless; not even a blade of grass pushes through their powder or their flame. But one of them is so crowded with event that Heaven itself is scarcely able to attend to its needs.--But you are not interested?

MALCHUS

Oh, sir, it was so long ago that I was there that I cannot be expected to.... Even my children’s children have long since left it. I cannot be very interested. Since I am so happy here,--except for one thing. But I should like to see it again. Which is it, sir?

OUR LORD

There, see! See where it floats for a moment out of a green mist. If your ears were accustomed to it as mine are, you would hear what I hear: the sigh as it turns. Now what is it you want of me?

MALCHUS

Well, as you know I was the High Priest’s servant in the garden when you were taken. Sir, it’s hardly worth mentioning.

OUR LORD

No, no. Speak out.

MALCHUS

And one of your fellows took out his sword and cut off my ear.

OUR LORD

Yes.

MALCHUS

It’s ... it’s hardly worth mentioning. Most of the time, Lord, we’re very happy up here and nothing disturbs us at our games. But whenever someone on earth thinks about us we are aware of it, pleasantly or unpleasantly. A sort of something crosses our mind. And because I’m in your book someone is always reading about me and thinking about me for a moment, and in the middle of my games I feel it. Especially at this season when your death is celebrated, no moment goes by without this happening. And what they think is, that I’m ridiculous.

OUR LORD

I see. And you want your name to be erased from the book?

MALCHUS

[_Eagerly._]

Yes, sir. I thought you could just make the pages become blank at that place.

OUR LORD

Now that you have come here everything that you wish is granted to you. You know that.

MALCHUS

Yes, sir; thank you, sir.

OUR LORD

But stay a minute. At this season, Malchus, a number of people are thinking of me, too.

MALCHUS

Yes, Lord, but as good, as great....

OUR LORD

But, Malchus, I am ridiculous too.

MALCHUS

Oh, no, no!

OUR LORD

Ridiculous because I suffered from the delusion that after my death I could be useful to men.

MALCHUS

They don’t say that!

OUR LORD

And that my mind lay under a malady that many a doctor could cure. And that I have deceived and cheated millions and millions of souls who in their extremity called on me for the aid I had promised. They did not know that I died like any other man and their prayers mounted into vain air, for I no longer exist. My promises were so vast that I am either divine or ridiculous.

[_Pause._]

Malchus, will you stay and be ridiculous with me?

MALCHUS

Yes, sir, I’ll stay. I’m glad to stay. Though in a way I haven’t any right to be there. I wasn’t even the High Priest’s servant; I only held his horse every now and then. And ... and I used to steal a little,--only you’ve forgiven me that. Sure, I’m glad to stay.

OUR LORD

Thank you, Malchus.

MALCHUS

[_Smiling._]

It isn’t even true in the book. It was my left ear and not my right.

OUR LORD

Yes, the book isn’t always true about me, either.

MALCHUS

Excuse my troubling you, sir. Good day.

OUR LORD

Good day, Malchus.

[MALCHUS _goes out_. GABRIEL _enters discreetly and lays down some
more papers_.]

GABRIEL

[_In a low voice._]

The raft has capsized, sir, on the Bengal Sea, and the Colonel will be here at once. The woman in Moscow....

_MOZART AND THE GRAY STEWARD_

MOZART _is seated at a table in a mean room in Vienna orchestrating
the “Magic Flute.” Leaves of ruled paper are strewn about the
floor. His wife enters in great excitement._

CONSTANZE

There’s someone come to see you, someone important. Pray God, it’s a commission from Court.

MOZART

[_Unmoved._]

Not while Salieri’s alive.

CONSTANZE

Put on your slippers, dear. It’s some one dressed all in gray, with a gray mask over his eyes, and he’s come in a great coach with its coat of arms all covered up with gray cloth. Pray God, it’s a commission from Court for a _Te Deum_ or something.

[_She tidies up the room in six gestures._]

MOZART

Not while Salieri’s alive.

CONSTANZE

But, now, do be nice, ’Gangl, please. We must have some money, my treasure. Just listen to him and say “yes” and “thank you” and then you and I’ll talk it over after he’s gone.

[_She holds his coat._]

Come, put this on. Step into your slippers.

MOZART

[_Sighing._]

I’m not well. I’m at home. I’m at work. There’s not a single visitor in the whole world that could interest me. Bring him in.

CONSTANZE

[_Adjusting his stock._]

Now don’t be proud. Just accept.

[_She hurries out and presently reënters preceding the visitor.
The visitor is dressed from head to foot in gray silk. His
bright eyes look out through the holes in a narrow gray silk
mask. He holds to his nose a gray perfumed handkerchief. One
would say: an elegant undertaker._]

THE GRAY STEWARD

Kappelmeister Mozart, _servus_. Gracious lady, _servus_.

MOZART

_Servus._

THE GRAY STEWARD

Revered and noble master, wherever music reigns, wherever genius is valued, the name of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart is....

MOZART

Sir, I have always been confused by compliments and beg you to spare me that mortification by proceeding at once to the cause of your visit ... the ... the honor of your visit.

THE GRAY STEWARD

Revered master, before I lay my business before you, may I receive your promise that--whether you accept my commission or not--you both will....

MOZART

I promise you our secrecy, unless our silence would prove dishonorable to me or injurious to some one else. Pray continue.

THE GRAY STEWARD

Know then, gracious and revered genius, that I come from a prince who combines all the qualities of birth, station, generosity and wisdom.

MOZART

Ha! a European secret.

THE GRAY STEWARD

His Excellency moreover has just sustained a bitter misfortune. He has lately lost his wife and consort, a lady who was the admiration of her court and the sole light of her bereaved husband’s life. Therefore, his Excellency, my master, commissions you to compose a Requiem Mass in honor of this lady. He asks you to pour into it the height of your invention and that wealth of melody and harmony that have made you the glory of our era. And for this music he asks leave to pay you the sum of four hundred crowns,--two hundred now, and the second two hundred crowns when you deliver the first four numbers.

MOZART

Well, Constanze, I must not be proud.

THE GRAY STEWARD

There is but one proviso.

MOZART

Yes, I heard it. The work must represent the height of my invention.

THE GRAY STEWARD

That was an easy assumption, master. The proviso is this: You shall let his Excellency have this music as an anonymous work, and you shall never by any sign, by so much as the nod of your head, acknowledge that the work is yours.

MOZART

And his Excellency is not aware that the pages I may compose at the height of my invention may be their own sufficient signature?

THE GRAY STEWARD

That may be. Naturally my master will see to it that no other composer will ever be able to claim the work as his.

MOZART

Quick, give me your paper and I will sign it. Leave your two hundred crowns with my wife at the foot of the stairs. Come back in August and you will have the first four numbers. _Servus. Servus._

THE GRAY STEWARD

[_Backing out._]

_Servus_, master. _Servus_, madame.

[CONSTANZE _returns in a moment and looks anxiously towards her
husband_.]

CONSTANZE

A visit from Heaven, ’Gangl. Now you can go into the country. Now you can drink all the Bohemian water in the world.

MOZART

[_Bitterly._]

Good. And just at a time when I was contemplating a Requiem Mass. But for _myself_. However, I must not be proud.

CONSTANZE

[_Trying to divert him._]

Who can these people be? Try and think.

MOZART

Oh, there’s no mystery about that. It’s the Count von Walsegg. He composes himself. But for the most part he buys string quartets from us; he erases the signatures and has them played in his castle. The courtiers flatter him and pretend that they have guessed him to be the composer. He does not deny it. He tries to appear confused. And now he has succeeded in composing a Requiem. But that will reduce my pride.

CONSTANZE

You know he will only be laughed at. The music will speak for itself. Heaven wanted to give us four hundred crowns--

MOZART

And Heaven went about it humorously.

CONSTANZE

What was his wife like?

MOZART

Her impudences smelt to Heaven. She dressed like a page and called herself Cherubin. Her red cheeks and her black teeth and her sixty years are in my mind now.

CONSTANZE

[_After a pause._]

We’ll give back the money. You can write the music, without writing it for them.

MOZART

No, I like this game. I like it for its very falseness. What does it matter who signs such music or to whom it is addressed?

[_He flings himself upon the sofa and turns his face to the wall._]

For whom do we write music?--for musicians? Salieri!--for patrons? Von Walsegg!--for the public? The Countess von Walsegg! I shall write this Requiem, but it shall be for myself, since I am dying.

CONSTANZE

My beloved, don’t talk so! Go to sleep.

[_She spreads a shawl over his body._]

How can you say such things? Imagine even thinking such a thing! You will live many years and write countless beautiful pages. We will return the money and refuse the commission. Then the matter will be closed. Now go to sleep, my treasure.

[_She goes out, quietly closing the door behind her._ MOZART, _at
the mercy of his youth, his illness and his genius, is shaken
by a violent fit of weeping. The sobs gradually subside and he
falls asleep. In his dream_ THE GRAY STEWARD _returns_.]

THE GRAY STEWARD

Mozart! Turn and look at me. You know who I am.

MOZART

[_Not turning._]

You are the steward of the Count von Walsegg. Go tell him to write his own music. I will not stain my pen to celebrate his lady, so let the foul bury the foul.

THE GRAY STEWARD

Lie then against the wall, and learn that it is Death itself that commissions....

MOZART

Death is not so fastidious. Death carries no perfumed handkerchief.

THE GRAY STEWARD

Lie then against the wall. Know first that all the combinations of circumstance can suffer two interpretations, the apparent and the real.

MOZART

Then speak, sycophant, I know the apparent one. What other reading can this humiliation bear?

THE GRAY STEWARD

It is Death itself that commands you this Requiem. You are to give a voice to all those millions sleeping, who have no one but you to speak for them. There lie the captains and the thieves, the queens and the drudges, while the evening of their earthly remembrance shuts in, and from that great field rises an eternal _miserere nobis_. Only through the intercession of great love, and of great art which is love, can that despairing cry be eased. Was that not sufficient cause for this commission to be anonymous?

MOZART

[_Drops trembling on one knee beside the couch._]

Forgive me.

THE GRAY STEWARD

And it was for this that the pretext and mover was chosen from among the weakest and vainest of humans. Death has her now, and all her folly has passed into the dignity and grandeur of her state. Where is your pride now? Here are her slippers and her trinkets. Press them against your lips. Again! Again! Know henceforth that only he who has kissed the leper can enter the kingdom of art.

MOZART

I have sinned, yet grant me one thing. Grant that I may live to finish the Requiem.

THE GRAY STEWARD

No! No!

[_And it remains unfinished._]

_HAST THOU CONSIDERED MY SERVANT JOB?_

_Now it came to pass on the day when the sons of God came to present
themselves before_ SATAN _that_ CHRIST _also came among them. And_

SATAN

[_Said unto_ CHRIST.]

_Whence comest Thou?_

CHRIST

[_Answered_ SATAN _and said_]

_From going to and fro in the earth, and from walking up and down in it._

[_And_]

SATAN

[_Said unto_ CHRIST]

_Hast Thou considered my servant Judas? For there is none like him in the earth, an evil and a faithless man, one that feareth me and turneth away from God._

[_Then_]

CHRIST

[_Answered_ SATAN _and said_]

_Doth Judas fear thee for naught? Hast thou not made a hedge about him, and about his house, and about all that he hath on every side? But draw back thy hand now and he will renounce thee to thy face._

[_And_]

SATAN

[_Said unto_ CHRIST]

_Behold, all that he hath is in thy power._

[_So_ CHRIST _went forth from the presence of_ SATAN.]

* * * * *

[_He descended to the earth. Thirty-three years are but a moment
before_ SATAN _and before_ GOD, _and at the end of this moment_
CHRIST _ascends again to His own place. He passes on this
journey before the presence of the adversary._]

SATAN

You are alone! Where is my son Judas whom I gave into your hands?

CHRIST

He follows me.

SATAN

I know what you have done. And the earth rejected you? The earth rejected you! All Hell murmurs in astonishment. But where is Judas, my son and my joy?

CHRIST

Even now he is coming.

SATAN

Even Heaven, when I reigned there, was not so tedious as this waiting. Know, Prince, that I am too proud to show all my astonishment at your defeat. But now that you are swallowing your last humiliation, now that your failure has shut the mouths of the angels, I may confess that for a while I feared you. There is a fretfulness in the hearts of men. Many are inconstant, even to me. Alas, every man is not a Judas. I knew even from the beginning that you would be able, for a season, to win their hearts with your mild eloquence. I feared that you would turn to your own uses this fretfulness that visits them. But my fears were useless. Even Judas, even when my power was withdrawn from him, even Judas betrayed you. Am I not right in this?

CHRIST

You are.

SATAN

You admitted him into your chosen company. Is it permitted to me to ask for how much he betrayed you?

CHRIST

For thirty pieces of silver.

SATAN

[_After a pause._]

Am I permitted to ask to what rôle he was assigned in your company?

CHRIST

He held its money-bags.

SATAN

[_Dazed._]

Does Heaven understand human nature as little as that? Surely the greater part of your closest companions stayed beside you to the end?

CHRIST

One stayed beside me.

SATAN

I have overestimated my enemy. Learn again, Prince, that if I were permitted to return to the earth in my own person, not for thirty years, but for thirty hours, I would seal all men to me and all the temptations in Heaven’s gift could not persuade one to betray me. For I build not on intermittent dreams and timid aspirations, but on the unshakable passions of greed and lust and self-love. At last this is made clear: Judas, Judas, all the triumphs of Hell await you. Already above the eternal pavements of black marble the banquet is laid. Listen, how my nations are stirring in new hope and in new joy. Such music has not been lifted above my lakes and my mountains since the day I placed the apple of knowledge between the teeth of Adam.

[_Suddenly the thirty pieces of silver are cast upward from the
revolted hand of_ JUDAS. _They hurtle through the skies,
flinging their enormous shadows across the stars and continue
falling forever through the vast funnel of space._

[_Presently_ JUDAS _rises, the black stains about his throat and
the rope of suicide_.]

SATAN

What have they done to you, my beloved son? What last poor revenge have they attempted upon you? Come to me. Here there is comfort. Here all this violence can be repaired. The futile spite of Heaven cannot reach you here. But why do you not speak to me? My son, my treasure!

[JUDAS _remains with lowered eyes_.]

CHRIST

Speak to him then, my beloved son.

JUDAS

[_Still with lowered eyes, softly, to_ SATAN.]

Accursed be thou, from eternity to eternity.

[_These two mount upward to their due place and_ SATAN _remains to
this day, uncomprehending, upon the pavement of Hell_.]

_THE FLIGHT INTO EGYPT_

_From time to time there are auctions of the fittings that made up the
old Dime Museums, and at such an auction you should be able to
pick up a revolving cyclorama of the Holy Land and Egypt, which is
the scenery for this piece. Turn down the gas-lights, for it is
night in Palestine, and introduce a lady and a child on a donkey.
They are accompanied by an old man on foot. The Donkey’s name is_
HEPZIBAH.

HEPZIBAH

[_For the tenth time._]

I’m tired.

OUR LADY

I know, I know.

HEPZIBAH

I’m willing to carry you as far and as fast as I can, but within reason.

ST. JOSEPH

If you didn’t talk so much you’d have more strength for the journey.

HEPZIBAH

It’s not my lungs that are tired, it’s my legs. When I talk I don’t notice how tired I am.

OUR LADY

Do as you think best, Hepzibah, but do keep moving. I can still hear Herod’s soldiers behind us.

[_Noise of ironmongery in the wings, right._]

HEPZIBAH

Well, I’m doing my best.

[_Silence. The Tigris passes on the cyclorama._]

We must talk or I’ll have to halt. We talked over the Romans and the whole political situation, and I must say again that I and every thinking person can only view such a situation with alarm, with real alarm. We talked over the village, and I don’t think there’s anything more to say about that. Did I remember to tell you that Issachar’s daughter’s engagement had been broken?

OUR LADY

Yes.

HEPZIBAH

Well, there’s always ideas. I hope I can say honestly that I am at home in ideas of all sorts. For instance, back in the yard I’m the leader of a group. Among the girls. Very interesting religious discussions, I can tell you. Very helpful.

ST. JOSEPH

[_As some more iron is heard falling in Judæa; the Euphrates
passes._]

Can’t you hurry a bit?

HEPZIBAH

I always say to the girls: Girls, even in faith we are supposed to use our reason. No one is intended to swallow hook, line and sinker, as the saying is. Now take these children that Herod is killing. Why were they born, since they must die so soon? Can any one answer that? Or put it another way: Why is the little boy in your arms being saved while the others must perish?

ST. JOSEPH

Is it necessary to stop?

HEPZIBAH

I was stopping for emphasis.--Mind you, it’s not that I doubt. Honest discussion does not imply doubt necessarily.--What was that noise?

OUR LADY

I beg of you to make all the haste you can. The noise you hear is that of Herod’s soldiers. My child will be slain while you argue about Faith. I beg of you, Hepzibah, to save him while you can.

HEPZIBAH

I assure you I’m doing the best I can, and I think I’m moving along smartly. I didn’t mean that noise, anyway; it was a noise ahead. Of course, your child is dearer to you than others, but _theologically speaking_, there’s no possible reason why you should escape safely into Egypt while the others should be put to the sword, as the Authorized Version has it. When the Messiah comes these things will be made clear, but until then I intend to exercise my reasoning faculty. My theory is this....

OUR LADY

Hepzibah, we shall really have to beat you if you stop so often. Hepzibah, don’t you remember me? Don’t you remember how you fell on your knees in the stable? Don’t you remember my child?

HEPZIBAH

What? What! Of course!

OUR LADY

Yes, Hepzibah.

HEPZIBAH

Let me stop just a moment and look around. No, I don’t dare to stop. Why didn’t I recognize you before! Really, my lady, you should have spoken more sharply to me. I didn’t know I could run like this; it’s a pleasure. Lord, what a donkey I was to be arguing about reason while my Lord was in danger.

[_A pyramid flies by._]

Do you see the lights of the town yet? That’s the Sphinx at the right, madam, yes, 3655 B.C. Well, well, it’s a queer world where the survival of the Lord is dependent on donkeys, but so it is. Why didn’t you tell me before, my lady?

ST. JOSEPH

We thought you could carry us forward on your own merit.

HEPZIBAH

Oh, forgive me, madam; forgive me, sir. You don’t hear any more soldiers now, I warrant you. Please don’t direct me so far--excuse me--to the right, madam. That’s the Nile, and there are crocodiles. My lady, may I ask one question now that we’re safe?

OUR LADY

Yes, Hepzibah.

HEPZIBAH

It’s this matter of faith and reason, madam. I’d love to carry back to our group of girls whatever you might say about it....

OUR LADY

Dear Hepzibah, perhaps some day. For the present just do as I do and bear your master on.

[_More pyramids fly by; Memnon sings; the Nile moves dreamily
past, and the inn is reached._]

_THE ANGEL THAT TROUBLED THE WATERS_

_The Pool.--A vast gray hall with a hole in the ceiling open to the
sky. Broad stone steps lead up from the water on its four sides.
The water is continuously restless and throws blue reflections
upon the walls. The sick, the blind and the malformed are lying on
the steps. The long stretches of silence and despair are broken
from time to time when one or another groans and turns in his
rags, or raises a fretful wail or a sudden cry of exasperation at
long-continued pain. A door leads out upon the porch where the
attendants of the sick are playing at dice, waiting for the call
to fling their masters into the water when the angel of healing
stirs the pool. Beyond the porch there is a glimpse of the fierce
sunlight and the empty streets of an oriental noonday._

_Suddenly the_ ANGEL _appears upon the top step. His face and robe
shine with a color that is both silver and gold, and the wings of
blue and green, tipped with rose, shimmer in the tremulous light.
He walks slowly down among the shapeless sleepers and stands
gazing into the water that already trembles in anticipation of its
virtue._

[_A new invalid enters._]

THE NEWCOMER

Come, long-expected love. Come, long-expected love. Let the sacred finger and the sacred breath stir up the pool. Here on the lowest step I wait with festering limbs, with my heart in pain. Free me, long-expected love, from this old burden. Since I cannot stay, since I must return into the city, come now, renewal, come, release.

[_Another invalid wakes suddenly out of a nightmare, calling: “The
Angel! The Angel has come. I am cured.” He flings himself into
the pool, splashing his companions. They come to life and gaze
eagerly at the water. They hang over the brink and several
slide in. Then a great cry of derision rises: “The Fool! Fool!
His nightmare again. Beat him! Drive him out into the Porch.”
The mistaken invalid and his dupes drag themselves out of the
water and lie dripping disconsolately upon the steps._]

THE MISTAKEN INVALID

I dreamt that an angel stood by me and that at last I should be free of this hateful place and its company. Better a mistake and this jeering than an opportunity lost.

[_He sees the NEWCOMER beside him and turns on him plaintively._]

Aïe! You have no right to be here, at all events. You are able to walk about. You pass your days in the city. You come here only at great intervals, and it may be that by some unlucky chance you might be the first one to see the sign. You would rush into the water and a cure would be wasted. You are yourself a physician. You have restored my own children. Go back to your work and leave these miracles to us who need them.

THE NEWCOMER

[_Ignoring him; under his breath._]

My work grows faint. Heal me, long-expected Love; heal me that I may continue. Renewal, release; let me begin again without this fault that bears me down.

THE MISTAKEN INVALID

I shall sit here without ever lifting my eyes from the surface of the pool. I shall be the next. Many times, even since I have been here, many times the Angel has passed and has stirred the water, and hundreds have left the hall leaping and crying out with joy. I shall be the next.

THE ANGEL

[_Kneels down on the lowest step and meditatively holds his finger
poised above the shuddering water._]

Joy and fulfilment, completion, content, rest and release have been promised.

THE NEWCOMER

Come, long-expected Love.

THE ANGEL

[_Without turning makes himself apparent to the_ NEWCOMER _and
addresses him_.]

Draw back, physician, this moment is not for you.

THE NEWCOMER

Angelic visitor, I pray thee, listen to my prayer.

THE ANGEL

Healing is not for you.

THE NEWCOMER

Surely, surely, the angels are wise. Surely, O, Prince, you are not deceived by my apparent wholeness. Your eyes can see the nets in which my wings are caught; the sin into which all my endeavors sink half-performed cannot be concealed from you.

THE ANGEL

I know.

THE NEWCOMER

It is no shame to boast to an Angel of what I might yet do in Love’s service were I but freed from this bondage.

THE MISTAKEN INVALID

Surely the water is stirring strangely to-day! Surely I shall be whole!

THE ANGEL

I must make haste. Already the sky is afire with the gathering host, for it is the hour of the new song among us. The earth itself feels the preparation in the skies and attempts its hymn. Children born in this hour spend all their lives in a sharper longing for the perfection that awaits them.

THE NEWCOMER

Oh, in such an hour was I born, and doubly fearful to me is the flaw in my heart. Must I drag my shame, Prince and singer, all my days more bowed than my neighbor?

THE ANGEL

[_Stands a moment in silence._]

Without your wound where would your power be? It is your very remorse that makes your low voice tremble into the hearts of men. The very angels themselves cannot persuade the wretched and blundering children on earth as can one human being broken on the wheels of living. In Love’s service only the wounded soldiers can serve. Draw back.

[_He swiftly kneels and draws his finger through the water. The
pool is presently astir with running ripples. They increase and
a divine wind strikes the gay surface. The waves are flung upon
the steps. The_ MISTAKEN MAN _casts himself into the Pool, and
the whole company lurches, rolls, or hobbles in. The servants
rush in from the porch. Turmoil. Finally the no longer_
MISTAKEN INVALID _emerges and leaps joyfully up the steps. The
rest, coughing and sighing, follow him. The_ ANGEL _smiles for
a moment and disappears_.]

THE HEALED MAN

Look, my hand is new as a child’s. Glory be to God! I have begun again.

[_To the_ NEWCOMER.]

May you be the next, my brother. But come with me first, an hour only, to my home. My son is lost in dark thoughts. I--I do not understand him, and only you have ever lifted his mood. Only an hour ... my daughter since her child has died, sits in the shadow. She will not listen to us....

Transcriber’s Notes

❧ Italics represented with surrounding _underscores_.

❧ Small caps converted to ALL CAPS.

❧ Duplicate chapter titles removed in the text version.

❧ Obvious typographic errors silently corrected.

❧ Variations in hyphenation kept as in the original.