Chapter IV: Act III

_When the curtain goes up again, it is seen that the stage
hands have shifted the bit of scenery used in the last part,
and have rigged up instead at the back of the stage a drop,
with some trees, and one or two wings. A portion of a
fountain basin is visible. The Mother is sitting on the
Right with the two children by her side. The Son is on the
same side, but away from the others. He seems bored, angry,
and full of shame. The Father and The Step-Daughter are also
seated towards the Right front. On the other side (Left) are
the actors, much in the positions they occupied before the
curtain was lowered. Only the Manager is standing up in the
middle of the stage, with his hand closed over his mouth in
the act of meditating._

THE MANAGER (_shaking his shoulders after a brief pause_).
Ah yes: the second act! Leave it to me, leave it all to me
as we arranged, and you'll see! It'll go fine!

THE STEP-DAUGHTER. Our entry into his house (_indicates
Father_) in spite of him (_indicates the Son_)....

THE MANAGER (_out of patience_). Leave it to me, I tell you!

THE STEP-DAUGHTER. Do let it be clear, at any rate, that it
is in spite of my wishes.

THE MOTHER (_from her corner, shaking her head_). For all
the good that's come of it....

THE STEP-DAUGHTER (_turning towards her quickly_). It
doesn't matter. The more harm done us, the more remorse for
him.

THE MANAGER (_impatiently_). I understand! Good Heavens! I
understand! I'm taking it into account.

THE MOTHER (_supplicatingly_). I beg you, sir, to let it
appear quite plain that for conscience sake I did try in
every way....

THE STEP-DAUGHTER (_interrupting indignantly and continuing
for the Mother_) ... to pacify me, to dissuade me from
spiting him. (_To Manager_). Do as she wants: satisfy her,
because it is true! I enjoy it immensely. Anyhow, as you can
see, the meeker she is, the more she tries to get at his
heart, the more distant and aloof does he become.

THE MANAGER. Are we going to begin this second act or not?

THE STEP-DAUGHTER. I'm not going to talk any more now. But I
must tell you this: you can't have the whole action take
place in the garden, as you suggest. It isn't possible!

THE MANAGER. Why not?

THE STEP-DAUGHTER. Because he (_indicates the Son again_) is
always shut up alone in his room. And then there's all the
part of that poor dazed-looking boy there which takes place
indoors.

THE MANAGER. Maybe! On the other hand, you will
understand--we can't change scenes three or four times in
one act.

THE LEADING MAN. They used to once.

THE MANAGER. Yes, when the public was up to the level of
that child there.

THE LEADING LADY. It makes the illusion easier.

THE FATHER (_irritated_). The illusion! For Heaven's sake,
don't say illusion. Please don't use that word, which is
particularly painful for us.

THE MANAGER (_astounded_). And why, if you please?

THE FATHER. It's painful, cruel, really cruel; and you ought
to understand that.

THE MANAGER. But why? What ought we to say then? The
illusion, I tell you, sir, which we've got to create for the
audience....

THE LEADING MAN. With our acting.

THE MANAGER. The illusion of a reality.

THE FATHER. I understand; but you, perhaps, do not
understand us. Forgive me! You see ... here for you and your
actors, the thing is only--and rightly so ... a kind of
game....

THE LEADING LADY (_interrupting indignantly_). A game! We're
not children here, if you please! We are serious actors.

THE FATHER. I don't deny it. What I mean is the game, or
play, of your art, which has to give, as the gentleman says,
a perfect illusion of reality.

THE MANAGER. Precisely--!

THE FATHER. Now, if you consider the fact that we
(_indicates himself and the other five Characters_), as we
are, have no other reality outside of this illusion....

THE MANAGER (_astonished, looking at his actors, who are
also amazed_). And what does that mean?

THE FATHER (_after watching them for a moment with a wan
smile_). As I say, sir, that which is a game of art for you
is our sole reality. (_Brief pause. He goes a step or two
nearer the Manager and adds_): But not only for us, you
know, by the way. Just you think it over well. (_Looks him
in the eyes_). Can you tell me who you are?

THE MANAGER (_perplexed, half smiling_). What? Who am I? I
am myself.

THE FATHER. And if I were to tell you that that isn't true,
because you are I...?

THE MANAGER. I should say you were mad--! (_The actors
laugh_).

THE FATHER. You're quite right to laugh: because we are all
making believe here (_to Manager_). And you can therefore
object that it's only for a joke that that gentleman there
(_indicates the Leading Man_), who naturally is himself, has
to be me, who am on the contrary myself--this thing you see
here. You see I've caught you in a trap! (_The actors
laugh_).

THE MANAGER (_annoyed_). But we've had all this over once
before. Do you want to begin again?

THE FATHER. No, no! That wasn't my meaning! In fact, I
should like to request you to abandon this game of art
(_looking at the Leading Lady as if anticipating her_) which
you are accustomed to play here with your actors, and to ask
you seriously once again: who are you?

THE MANAGER (_astonished and irritated, turning to his
actors_). If this fellow here hasn't got a nerve! A man who
calls himself a character comes and asks me who I am!

THE FATHER (_with dignity, but not offended_). A character,
sir, may always asks a man who he is. Because a character
has really a life of his own, marked with his especial
characteristics; for which reason he is always "somebody."
But a man--I'm not speaking of you now--may very well be
"nobody."

THE MANAGER. Yes, but you are asking these questions of me,
the boss, the manager! Do you understand?

THE FATHER. But only in order to know if you, as you really
are now, see yourself as you once were with all the
illusions that were yours then, with all the things both
inside and outside of you as they seemed to you--as they
were then indeed for you. Well, sir, if you think of all
those illusions that mean nothing to you now, of all those
things which don't even _seem_ to you to exist any more,
while once they _were_ for you, don't you feel that--I won't
say these boards--but the very earth under your feet is
sinking away from you when you reflect that in the same way
this _you_ as you feel it today--all this present reality of
yours--is fated to seem a mere illusion to you tomorrow?

THE MANAGER (_without having understood much, but astonished
by the specious argument_). Well, well! And where does all
this take us anyway?

THE FATHER. Oh, nowhere! It's only to show you that if we
(_indicating the Characters_) have no other reality beyond
the illusion, you too must not count overmuch on your
reality as you feel it today, since, like that of yesterday,
it may prove an illusion for you tomorrow.

THE MANAGER (_determining to make fun of him_). Ah,
excellent! Then you'll be saying next that you, with this
comedy of yours that you brought here to act, are truer and
more real than I am.

THE FATHER (_with the greatest seriousness_). But of course;
without doubt!

THE MANAGER. Ah, really?

THE FATHER. Why, I thought you'd understand that from the
beginning.

THE MANAGER. More real than I?

THE FATHER. If your reality can change from one day to
another....

THE MANAGER. But everyone knows it can change. It is always
changing, the same as anyone else's.

THE FATHER (_with a cry_). No, sir, not ours! Look here!
That is the very difference! Our reality doesn't change: it
can't change! It can't be other than what it is, because it
is already fixed for ever. It's terrible. Ours is an
immutable reality which should make you shudder when you
approach us if you are really conscious of the fact that
your reality is a mere transitory and fleeting illusion,
taking this form today and that tomorrow, according to the
conditions, according to your will, your sentiments, which
in turn are controlled by an intellect that shows them to
you today in one manner and tomorrow ... who knows how?...
Illusions of reality represented in this fatuous comedy of
life that never ends, nor can ever end! Because if tomorrow
it were to end ... then why, all would be finished.

THE MANAGER. Oh for God's sake, will you _at least_ finish
with this philosophizing and let us try and shape this
comedy which you yourself have brought me here? You argue
and philosophize a bit too much, my dear sir. You know you
seem to me almost, almost.... (_Stops and looks him over
from head to foot_). Ah, by the way, I think you introduced
yourself to me as a--what shall ... we say--a "character,"
created by an author who did not afterward care to make a
drama of his own creations.

THE FATHER. It is the simple truth, sir.

THE MANAGER. Nonsense! Cut that out, please! None of us
believes it, because it isn't a thing, as you must recognize
yourself, which one can believe seriously. If you want to
know, it seems to me you are trying to imitate the manner of
a certain author whom I heartily detest--I warn
you--although I have unfortunately bound myself to put on
one of his works. As a matter of fact, I was just starting
to rehearse it, when you arrived. (_Turning to the actors_):
And this is what we've gained--out of the frying-pan into
the fire!

THE FATHER. I don't know to what author you may be alluding,
but believe me I feel what I think; and I seem to be
philosophizing only for those who do not think what they
feel, because they blind themselves with their own
sentiment. I know that for many people this self-blinding
seems much more "human"; but the contrary is really true.
For man never reasons so much and becomes so introspective
as when he suffers; since he is anxious to get at the cause
of his sufferings, to learn who has produced them, and
whether it is just or unjust that he should have to bear
them. On the other hand, when he is happy, he takes his
happiness as it comes and doesn't analyse it, just as if
happiness were his right. The animals suffer without
reasoning about their sufferings. But take the case of a man
who suffers and begins to reason about it. Oh no! it can't
be allowed! Let him suffer like an animal, and then--ah yes,
he is "human!"

THE MANAGER. Look here! Look here! You're off again,
philosophizing worse than ever.

THE FATHER. Because I suffer, sir! I'm not philosophizing:
I'm crying aloud the reason of my sufferings.

THE MANAGER (_makes brusque movement as he is taken with a
new idea_). I should like to know if anyone has ever heard
of a character who gets right out of his part and perorates
and speechifies as you do. Have you ever heard of a case? I
haven't.

THE FATHER. You have never met such a case, sir, because
authors, as a rule, hide the labour of their creations. When
the characters are really alive before their author, the
latter does nothing but follow them in their action, in
their words, in the situations which they suggest to him;
and he has to will them the way they will themselves--for
there's trouble if he doesn't. When a character is born, he
acquires at once such an independence, even of his own
author, that he can be imagined by everybody even in many
other situations where the author never dreamed of placing
him; and so he acquires for himself a meaning which the
author never thought of giving him.

THE MANAGER. Yes, yes, I know this.

THE FATHER. What is there then to marvel at in us? Imagine
such a misfortune for characters as I have described to you:
to be born of an author's fantasy, and be denied life by
him; and then answer me if these characters left alive, and
yet without life, weren't right in doing what they did do
and are doing now, after they have attempted everything in
their power to persuade him to give them their stage life.
We've all tried him in turn, I, she (_indicating the
Step-Daughter_) and she (_indicating the Mother_).

THE STEP-DAUGHTER. It's true. I too have sought to tempt
him, many, many times, when he has been sitting at his
writing table, feeling a bit melancholy, at the twilight
hour. He would sit in his armchair too lazy to switch on the
light, and all the shadows that crept into his room were
full of our presence coming to tempt him. (_As if she saw
herself still there by the writing table, and was annoyed by
the presence of the actors_): Oh, if you would only go away,
go away and leave us alone--mother here with that son of
hers--I with that Child--that Boy there always alone--and
then I with him (_just hints at the Father_)--and then I
alone, alone ... in those shadows! (_Makes a sudden movement
as if in the vision she has of herself illuminating those
shadows she wanted to seize hold of herself_). Ah! my life!
my life! Oh, what scenes we proposed to him--and I tempted
him more than any of the others!

THE FATHER. Maybe. But perhaps it was your fault that he
refused to give us life: because you were too insistent, too
troublesome.

THE STEP-DAUGHTER. Nonsense! Didn't he make me so himself?
(_Goes close to the Manager to tell him as if in
confidence_). In my opinion he abandoned us in a fit of
depression, of disgust for the ordinary theatre as the
public knows it and likes it.

THE SON. Exactly what it was, sir; exactly that!

THE FATHER. Not at all! Don't believe it for a minute.
Listen to me! You'll be doing quite right to modify, as you
suggest, the excesses both of this girl here, who wants to
do too much, and of this young man, who won't do anything at
all.

THE SON. No, nothing!

THE MANAGER. You too get over the mark occasionally, my dear
sir, if I may say so.

THE FATHER. I? When? Where?

THE MANAGER. Always! Continuously! Then there's this
insistence of yours in trying to make us believe you are a
character. And then too, you must really argue and
philosophize less, you know, much less.

THE FATHER. Well, if you want to take away from me the
possibility of representing the torment of my spirit which
never gives me peace, you will be suppressing me: that's
all. Every true man, sir, who is a little above the level of
the beasts and plants does not live for the sake of living,
without knowing how to live; but he lives so as to give a
meaning and a value of his own to life. For me this is
_everything_. I cannot give up this, just to represent a
mere fact as she (_indicating the Step-Daughter_) wants.
It's all very well for her, since her "vendetta" lies in the
"fact." I'm not going to do it. It destroys my _raison
d'être_.

THE MANAGER. Your _raison d'être!_ Oh, we're going ahead
fine! First she starts off, and then you jump in. At this
rate, we'll never finish.

THE FATHER. Now, don't be offended! Have it your own
way--provided, however, that within the limits of the parts
you assign us each one's sacrifice isn't too great.

THE MANAGER. You've got to understand that you can't go on
arguing at your own pleasure. Drama is action, sir, action
and not confounded philosophy.

THE FATHER. All right. I'll do just as much arguing and
philosophizing as everybody does when he is considering his
own torments.

THE MANAGER. If the drama permits! But for Heaven's sake,
man, let's get along and come to the scene.

THE STEP-DAUGHTER. It seems to me we've got too much action
with our coming into his house (_indicating Father_). You
said, before, you couldn't change the scene every five
minutes.

THE MANAGER. Of course not. What we've got to do is to
combine and group up all the facts in one simultaneous,
close-knit, action. We can't have it as you want, with your
little brother wandering like a ghost from room to room,
hiding behind doors and meditating a project which--what did
you say it did to him?

THE STEP-DAUGHTER. Consumes him, sir, wastes him away!

THE MANAGER. Well, it may be, And then at the same time, you
want the little girl there to be playing in the garden ...
one in the house, and the other in the garden: isn't that
it?

THE STEP-DAUGHTER. Yes, in the sun, in the sun! That is my
only pleasure: to see her happy and careless in the garden
after the misery and squalor of the horrible room where we
all four slept together. And I had to sleep with her--I, do
you understand?--with my vile contaminated body next to
hers; with her folding me fast in her loving little arms. In
the garden, whenever she spied me, she would run to take me
by the hand. She didn't care for the big flowers, only the
little ones; and she loved to show me them and pet me.

THE MANAGER. Well then, we'll have it in the garden.
Everything shall happen in the garden; and we'll group the
other scenes there. (_Calls a stage hand_). Here, a
back-cloth with trees and something to do as a fountain
basin. (_Turning round to look at the back of the stage_).
Ah, you've fixed it up. Good! (_To Step-Daughter_). This is
just to give an idea, of course. The Boy, instead of hiding
behind the doors, will wander about here in the garden,
hiding behind the trees. But it's going to be rather
difficult to find a child to do that scene with you where
she shows you the flowers. (_Turning to the Youth_). Come
forward a little, will you please? Let's try it now! Come
along! come along! (_Then seeing him come shyly forward,
full of fear and looking lost_). It's a nice business, this
lad here. What's the matter with him? We'll have to give him
a word or two to say. (_Goes close to him, puts a hand on
his shoulders, and leads him behind one of the trees_). Come
on! come on! Let me see you a little! Hide here ... yes,
like that. Try and show your head just a little as if you
were looking for someone.... (_Goes back to observe the
effect, when the Boy at once goes through the action_).
Excellent! fine! (_Turning to Step-Daughter_). Suppose the
little girl there were to surprise him as he looks round,
and run over to him, so we could give him a word or two to
say?

THE STEP-DAUGHTER. It's useless to hope he will speak, as
long as that fellow there is here.... (_Indicates the Son_).
You must send him away first.

THE SON (_jumping up_.) Delighted! delighted! I don't ask
for anything better. (_Begins to move away_).

THE MANAGER (_at once stopping him_). No! No! Where are you
going? Wait a bit!

(_The Mother gets up alarmed and terrified at the thought
that he is really about to go away. Instinctively she lifts
her arms to prevent him, without, however, leaving her
seat_).

THE SON (_to Manager who stops him_). I've got nothing to do
with this affair. Let me go please! Let me go!

THE MANAGER. What do you mean by saying you've got nothing
to do with this?

THE STEP-DAUGHTER (_calmly, with irony_). Don't bother to
stop him: he won't go away.

THE FATHER. He has to act the terrible scene in the garden
with his mother.

THE SON (_suddenly resolute and with dignity_). I shall act
nothing at all. I've said so from the very beginning (_to
the Manager_). Let me go!

THE STEP-DAUGHTER (_going over to the Manager_). Allow me?
(_Puts down the Manager's arm which is restraining the
Son_). Well, go away then, if you want to! (_The Son looks
at her with contempt and hatred. She laughs and says_). You
see, he can't, he can't go away! He is obliged to stay here,
indissolubly bound to the chain. If I, who fly off when that
happens which has to happen, because I can't bear him--if I
am still here and support that face and expression of his,
you can well imagine that he is unable to move. He has to
remain here, has to stop with that nice father of his, and
that mother whose only son he is. (_Turning to the Mother_).
Come on, mother, come along! (_Turning to Manager to
indicate her_). You see, she was getting up to keep him
back. (_To the Mother, beckoning her with her hand_). Come
on! come on! (_Then to Manager_). You can imagine how little
she wants to show these actors of yours what she really
feels; but so eager is she to get near him that.... There,
you see? She is willing to act her part. (_And in fact, the
Mother approaches him; and as soon as the Step-Daughter has
finished speaking, opens her arms to signify that she
consents_).

THE SON (_suddenly_). No! no! If I can't go away, then I'll
stop here; but I repeat: I act nothing!

THE FATHER (_to Manager excitedly_). You can force him, sir.

THE SON. Nobody can force me.

THE FATHER. I can.

THE STEP-DAUGHTER. Wait a minute, wait.... First of all, the
baby has to go to the fountain.... (_Runs to take the Child
and leads her to the fountain_).

THE MANAGER. Yes, yes of course; that's it. Both at the same
time.

(_The second Lady Lead and the Juvenile Lead at this point
separate themselves from the group of actors. One watches
the Mother attentively; the other moves about studying the
movements and manner of the Son whom he will have to act_).

THE SON (_to Manager_). What do you mean by both at the same
time? It isn't right. There was no scene between me and her.
(_Indicates the Mother_). Ask her how it was!

THE MOTHER. Yes, it's true. I had come into his room....

THE SON. Into my room, do you understand? Nothing to do with
the garden.

THE MANAGER. It doesn't matter. Haven't I told you we've got
to group the action?

THE SON (_observing the Juvenile Lead studying him_). What
do you want?

THE JUVENILE LEAD. Nothing! I was just looking at you.

THE SON (_turning towards the second Lady Lead_). Ah! she's
at it too: to re-act her part (_indicating the Mother_)!

THE MANAGER. Exactly! And it seems to me that you ought to
be grateful to them for their interest.

THE SON. Yes, but haven't you yet perceived that it isn't
possible to live in front of a mirror which not only freezes
us with the image of ourselves, but throws our likeness back
at us with a horrible grimace?

THE FATHER. That is true, absolutely true. You must see
that.

THE MANAGER (_to second Lady Lead and Juvenile Lead_). He's
right! Move away from them!

THE SON. Do as you like. I'm out of this!

THE MANAGER. Be quiet, you, will you? And let me hear your
mother! (_To Mother_). You were saying you had entered....

THE MOTHER. Yes, into his room, because I couldn't stand it
any longer. I went to empty my heart to him of all the
anguish that tortures me.... But as soon as he saw me come
in....

THE SON. Nothing happened! There was no scene. I went away,
that's all! I don't care for scenes!

THE MOTHER. It's true, true. That's how it was.

THE MANAGER. Well now, we've got to do this bit between you
and him. It's indispensable.

THE MOTHER. I'm ready ... when you are ready. If you could
only find a chance for me to tell him what I feel here in my
heart.

THE FATHER (_going to Son in a great rage_). You'll do this
for your mother, for your mother, do you understand?

THE SON (_quite determined_). I do nothing!

THE FATHER (_taking hold of him and shaking him_). For God's
sake, do as I tell you! Don't you hear your mother asking
you for a favour? Haven't you even got the guts to be a son?

THE SON (_taking hold of the Father_). No! No! And for God's
sake stop it, or else ... (_General agitation. The Mother,
frightened, tries to separate them_).

THE MOTHER (_pleading_). Please! please!

THE FATHER (_not leaving hold of the Son_). You've got to
obey, do you hear?

THE SON (_almost crying from rage_). What does it mean, this
madness you've got? (_They separate_). Have you no decency,
that you insist on showing everyone our shame? I won't do
it! I won't! And I stand for the will of our author in this.
He didn't want to put us on the stage, after all!

THE MANAGER. Man alive! You came here....

THE SON (_indicating Father_). _He_ did! I didn't!

THE MANAGER. Aren't you here now?

THE SON. It was his wish, and he dragged us along with him.
He's told you not only the things that did happen, but also
things that have never happened at all.

THE MANAGER. Well, tell me then what did happen. You went
out of your room without saying a word?

THE SON. Without a word, so as to avoid a scene!

THE MANAGER. And then what did you do?

THE SON. Nothing ... walking in the garden.... (_hesitates
for a moment with expression of gloom_).

THE MANAGER (_coming closer to him, interested by his
extraordinary reserve_). Well, well ... walking in the
garden....

THE SON (_exasperated_). Why on earth do you insist? It's
horrible! (_The Mother trembles, sobs, and looks towards the
fountain_).

THE MANAGER (_slowly observing the glance and turning
towards the Son with increasing apprehension_). The baby?

THE SON. There in the fountain....

THE FATHER (_pointing with tender pity to the Mother_). She
was following him at the moment....

THE MANAGER (_to the Son anxiously_). And then you....

THE SON. I ran over to her; I was jumping in to drag her out
when I saw something that froze my blood ... the boy there
standing stock still, with eyes like a madman's, watching
his little drowned sister, in the fountain! (_The
Step-Daughter bends over the fountain to hide the Child. She
sobs_). Then.... (_A revolver shot rings out behind the
trees where the Boy is hidden_).

THE MOTHER. (_With a cry of terror runs over in that
direction together with several of the actors amid general
confusion_).

My son! My son! (_Then amid the cries and exclamations one
hears her voice_). Help! Help!

THE MANAGER (_pushing the actors aside while they lift up
the Boy and carry him off_). Is he really wounded?

SOME ACTORS. He's dead! dead!

OTHER ACTORS. No, no, it's only make believe, it's only
pretence!

THE FATHER (_with a terrible cry_). Pretence? Reality, sir,
reality!

THE MANAGER. Pretence? Reality? To hell with it all! Never
in my life has such a thing happened to me. I've lost a
whole day over these people, a whole day!

_Curtain._

"HENRY IV."

(_Enrico Quarto_)

A TRAGEDY IN THREE ACTS

BY

LUIGI PIRANDELLO

TRANSLATED BY

EDWARD STORER

CHARACTERS.

"HENRY IV." THE MARCHIONESS MATILDA
SPINA, HER DAUGHTER FRIDA. THE YOUNG
MARQUIS CHARLES DI NOLLI. BARON TITO
BELCREDI. DOCTOR DIONYSIUS GENONI. THE
FOUR PRIVATE COUNSELLORS: HAROLD
(FRANK), LANDOLPH (LOLO), ORDULPH
(MOMO), BERTHOLD (FINO). (_The names in
brackets are nick-names_). JOHN, THE
OLD WAITER. THE TWO VALETS IN COSTUME.

A SOLITARY VILLA IN ITALY IN OUR OWN
TIME.

"HENRY IV."

A TRAGEDY IN THREE ACTS