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The Road to Damascus: A Trilogy, a play by August Strindberg |
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Part 1 - Act 1 - Scene 4. By The Sea |
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_ PART I ACT I SCENE IV. BY THE SEA [A hut on a cliff by the sea. Outside it a table with chairs. The STRANGER and the LADY are dressed in less sombre clothing and look younger than in the previous scene. The LADY is doing crochet work.] STRANGER. Three peaceful happy days at my wife's side, and anxiety returns! LADY. What do you fear? STRANGER. That this will not last long. LADY. Why do you think so? STRANGER. I don't know. I believe it must end suddenly, terribly. There's something deceptive even the sunshine and the stillness. I feel that happiness if not part of my destiny. LADY. But it's all over! My parents are resigned to what we've done. My husband understands and has written a kind letter. STRANGER. What does that matter? Fate spins the web; once more I hear the mallet fall and the chairs being pushed back from the table--judgment has been pronounced. Yet that must have happened before I was born, because even in childhood I began to serve my sentence. There's no moment in my life on which can look back with happiness. LADY. Unfortunate man! Yet you've had everything you wished from life! STRANGER. Everything. Unluckily I forgot to wish for money. LADY. You're thinking of that again. STRANGER. Are you surprised? LADY. Quiet! STRANGER. What is it you're always working at? You sit there like one of the Fates and draw the threads through your fingers. But go on. The most beautiful of sights is a woman bending over her work, or over her child. What are you making? LADY. Nothing. Crochet work. STRANGER. It looks like a network of nerves and knots on which you've fixed your thoughts. The brain must look like that--from within. LADY. If only I thought of half the things you imagine.... But I think of nothing. STRANGER. Perhaps that's why I feel so contented when I'm with you. Why, I find you so perfect that I can no longer imagine life without you! Now the clouds have blown away. Now the sky is clear! The wind soft--feel how it caresses us! This is Life! Yes, now I live. And I feel my spirit growing, spreading, becoming tenuous, infinite. I am everywhere, in the ocean which is my blood, in the rocks that are my bones, in the trees, in the flowers; and my head reaches up to the heavens. I can survey the whole universe. I _am_ the universe. And I feel the power of the Creator within me, for I am He! I wish I could grasp the all in my hand and refashion it into something more perfect, more lasting, more beautiful. I want all creation and created beings to be happy, to be born without pain, live without suffering, and die in quiet content. Eve! Die with me now! This moment, for the next will bring sorrow again. LADY. I'm not ready to die. STRANGER. Why not? LADY. I believe there are things I've not yet done. Perhaps I've not suffered enough. STRANGER. Is that the purpose of life? LADY. It seems to be. (Pause.) Now I want to ask one thing of you. STRANGER. Well? LADY. Don't blaspheme against heaven again, or compare yourself with the Creator, for then you remind me of Caesar at home. STRANGER (excitedly). Caesar! How can you say that...? LADY. I'm sorry if I've said anything I shouldn't. It was foolish of me to say 'at home.' Forgive me. STRANGER. You were thinking that Caesar and I resemble one another in our blasphemies? LADY. Of course not. STRANGER. Strange. I believe you when you say you don't mean to hurt me; yet you _do_ hurt me, as all the others do. Why? LADY. Because you're over-sensitive. STRANGER. You say that again! Do you think I've sensitive hidden places? LADY. No. I didn't mean that. And now the spirits of suspicion and discord are coming between us. Drive them away--at once. STRANGER. You mustn't say I blaspheme if I use the well-known words: See, we are like unto the gods. LADY. But if that's so, why can't you help yourself, or us? STRANGER. Can't I? Wait. As yet we've only seen the beginning. LADY. If the end is like it, heaven help us! STRANGER. I know what you fear; and I meant to hold back a pleasant surprise. But now I won't torment you longer. (He takes out a registered letter, not yet opened.) Look! LADY. The money's come! STRANGER. This morning. Who can destroy me now? LADY. Don't speak like that. You know who could. STRANGER. Who? LADY. He who punishes the arrogance of men. STRANGER. And their courage. That especially. This was my Achilles' heel; I bore with everything, except this fearful lack of money. LADY. May I ask how much they've sent? STRANGER. I don't know. I've not opened the letter. But I do know about how much to expect. I'd better look and see. (He opens the letter.) What? Only an account showing I'm owed nothing! There's something uncanny in this. LADY. I begin to think so, too. STRANGER. I know I'm damned. But I'm ready to hurl the curse back at him who so nobly cursed me.... (He throws up the letter.) With a curse of my own. LADY. Don't. You frighten me. STRANGER. Fear me, so long as you don't despise me! The challenge has been thrown down; now you shall see a conflict between two great opponents. (He opens his coat and waistcoat and looks threateningly aloft.) Strike me with your lightning if you dare! Frighten me with your thunder if you can! LADY. Don't speak like that. STRANGER. I will. Who dares break in on my dream of love? Who tears the cup from my lips; and the woman from my arms? Those who envy me, be they gods or devils! Little bourgeois gods who parry sword thrusts with pin-pricks from behind, who won't stand up to their man, but strike at him with unpaid bills. A backstairs way of discrediting a master before his servants. They never attack, never draw, merely soil and decry! Powers, lords and masters! All are the same! LADY. May heaven not punish you. STRANGER. Heaven's blue and silent. The ocean's silent and stupid. Listen, I can hear a poem--that's what I call it when an idea begins to germinate in my mind. First the rhythm; this time like the thunder of hooves and the jingle of spurs and accoutrements. But there's a fluttering too, like a sail flapping.... Banners! LADY. No. It's the wind. Can't you hear it in the trees? STRANGER. Quiet! They're riding over a bridge, a wooden bridge. There's no water in the brook, only pebbles. Wait! Now I can hear them, men and women, saying a rosary. The angels' greeting. Now I can see--on what you're working--a large kitchen, with white-washed walls, it has three small latticed windows, with flowers in them. In the left-hand corner a hearth, on the right a table with wooden seats. And above the table, in the corner, hangs a crucifix, with a lamp burning below. The ceiling's of blackened beams, and dried mistletoe hangs on the wall. LADY (frightened). Where can you see all that? STRANGER. On your work. LADY. Can you see people there? STRANGER. A very old man's sitting at the table, bent over a game bag, his hands clasped in prayer. A woman, so longer young, kneels on the floor. Now once more I hear the angels' greeting, as if far away. But those two in the kitchen are as motionless as figures of wax. A veil shrouds everything.... No, that was no poem! (Waking.) It was something else. LADY. It was reality! The kitchen at home, where you've never set foot. That old man was my grandfather, the forester, and the woman my mother! They were praying for us! It was six o'clock and the servants were saying a rosary outside, as they always do. STRANGER. You make me uneasy. Is this the beginning of second sight? Still, it was beautiful. A snow-white room, with flowers and mistletoe. But why should they pray for us? LADY. Why indeed! Have we done wrong? STRANGER. What is wrong? LADY. I've read there's no such thing. And yet... I long to see my mother; not my father, for he turned me out as he did her. STRANGER. Why should he have turned your mother out? LADY. Who can say? The children least of all. Let us go to my home. I long to. STRANGER. To the lion's den, the snake pit? One more or less makes no matter. I'll do it for you, but not like the Prodigal Son. No, you shall see that I can go through fire and water for your sake. LADY. How do you know...? STRANGER. I can guess. LADY. And can you guess that the path to where my parents live in the mountains is too steep for carts to use? STRANGER. It sounds extraordinary, but I read or dreamed something of the kind. LADY. You may have. But you'll see nothing that's not natural, though perhaps unusual, for men and women are a strange race. Are you ready to follow me? STRANGER. I'm ready--for anything! (The LADY kisses him on the forehead and makes the sign of the cross simply, timidly and without gestures.) LADY. Then come! _ |
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