Home > Authors Index > August Strindberg > Road to Damascus: A Trilogy > This page
The Road to Damascus: A Trilogy, a play by August Strindberg |
||
Part 2 - Act 4 - Scene 3. The 'Rose' Room |
||
| < Previous |
Table of content |
Next > |
|
________________________________________________
_ PART II ACT IV SCENE III. THE 'ROSE' ROOM [The LADY, dressed in white, is sitting by the cradle doing crochet work. The green dress is hanging up by the door on the right. The STRANGER comes in, and looks round in astonishment.] LADY (simply, mildly, without a trace of surprise). Tread softly and come here, if you'd see something lovely. STRANGER. Where am I? LADY. Quiet! Look at the little stranger who came when you were away. STRANGER. They told me the river had risen and swept everything off. LADY. Why do you believe everything you're told? The river did rise, but this little creature has someone who protects both her and hers. Wouldn't you like to see your daughter? (The STRANGER goes towards the cradle. The LADY lifts the curtain.) She's lovely! Isn't she? (The STRANGER gazes darkly in front of him.) Won't you look? STRANGER. Everything's poisoned. Everything! LADY. Well, perhaps! STRANGER. Do you know that he has lost his wits and is wandering in the neighbourhood, followed by his sister, who's searching for him? He's penniless, and drinking.... LADY. Oh, my God! STRANGER. Why don't you reproach me? LADY. You'll reproach yourself enough: I'd rather give you good advice. Go to the Convent of St. Saviour's, there you'll find a man who can free you from the evil you fear. STRANGER. What, in the convent, where they curse and bind? LADY. And deliver also! STRANGER. Frankly, I think you're trying to deceive me; I don't trust you any more. LADY. Nor I, you! So look on this as your farewell visit. STRANGER. That was my intention; but first I wanted to find out if we're of the same mind.... LADY. You see, we can build no happiness on the sorrows of others; so we must part. That's the only way to lessen his sufferings. I have my child, who'll fill my life for me; and you have the great goal of your ambition.... STRANGER. Will you still mock me? LADY. No, why? You've solved the great problem. STRANGER. Be quiet! No more of that, even if you believe it. LADY. But if all the rest believe it too.... STRANGER. No one believes it now. LADY. It says in the paper to-day that gold's been made in England. That it's been proved possible. STRANGER. You've been deceived. LADY. No! Oh, heaven, he won't believe his own good fortune. STRANGER. I no longer believe anything. LADY. Get the newspaper from the pocket of my dress over there. STRANGER. The green witch's dress, that laid a spell on me one Sunday afternoon, between the inn and the church door! That'll bring no good. LADY (fetching the paper herself and also a large parcel that is in the pocket of the dress). See for yourself. STRANGER (tearing up the paper). No need for me to look! LADY. He won't believe it. He won't. Yet the chemists want to give a banquet in your honour next Saturday. STRANGER. Is that in the paper too? About the banquet? LADY (handing him the packet). And here's the diploma of honour. Read it! STRANGER (tearing up the packet). Perhaps there's a Government Order too! LADY. Those whom the gods would destroy they first make blind! You made your discovery with no good intentions, and therefore you weren't permitted to be the only one to succeed. STRANGER. Now I shall go. For I won't stay here and lay bare my shame! I've become a laughing-stock, so I'll go and hide myself--bury myself alive, because I don't dare to die. LADY. Then go! We start for the colonies in a few days. STRANGER. That's frank at least! Perhaps we're nearing a solution. LADY. Of the riddle: why we had to meet? STRANGER. Why did we have to? LADY. To torture one another. STRANGER. Is that all? LADY. You thought you could save me from a werewolf, who really was no such thing, and so you become one yourself. And then I was to save you from evil by taking all the evil in you on myself, and I did so; but the result was that you only became more evil. My poor deliverer! Now you're bound hand and foot and no magician can set you free. STRANGER. Farewell, and thank you for all you've done. LADY. Farewell, and thank you... for this! (She points to the cradle.) STRANGER (going towards the back). First perhaps I ought to take my leave in there. LADY. Yes, my dear. Do! (The STRANGER goes out through the door at the back. The LADY crosses to the door on the right and lets in the DOMINICAN--who is also the BEGGAR) CONFESSOR. Is he ready now? LADY. Nothing remains for this unhappy man but to leave the world and bury himself in a monastery. CONFESSOR. So he doesn't believe he's the great inventor he undoubtedly is? LADY. No. He can believe good of no one, not even of himself. CONFESSOR. That is the punishment Heaven sent him: to believe lies, because he wouldn't listen to the truth. LADY. Lighten his guilty burden for him, if you can. CONFESSOR. No. If I did he'd only grow insolent and accuse God of malice and injustice. This man is a demon, who must be kept confined. He belongs to the dangerous race of rebels; he'd misuse his gifts, if he could, to do evil. And men's power for evil is immeasurable. LADY. For the sake of the... attachment you've shown me, can't you ease his burden a little; where it presses on him most and where he's least to blame? CONFESSOR. You must do that, not I; so that he can leave you in the belief that you've a good side, and that you're not what your first husband told him you were. If he believes you, I'll deliver him later, just as I once bound him when he confessed to me, during his illness, in the convent of St. Saviour's. LADY (going to the back and opening the door). As you wish! STRANGER (re-entering). So there's the Terrible One! How did he come here? But isn't he the beggar, after all? CONFESSOR. Yes, I am your terrible friend, and I've come for you. STRANGER. What? Have I...? CONFESSOR. Yes. Once already you promised me your soul, on oath, when you lay ill and felt near madness. It was then you offered to serve the powers of good; but when you got well again you broke your oath, and therefore were plagued with unrest, and wandered abroad unable to find peace--tortured by your own conscience. STRANGER. Who are you really? Who dares lay a hand on my destiny? CONFESSOR. You must ask her that. LADY. This is the man to whom I was first engaged, and who dedicated his life to the service of God, when I left him. STRANGER. Even if he were! LADY. So you needn't think so ill of yourself because it was you who punished my faithlessness and another's lack of conscience. STRANGER. His sin cannot justify mine. Of course it's untrue, like everything else; and you only say it to console me. CONFESSOR. What an unhappy soul he is.... STRANGER. A damned one too! CONFESSOR. No! (To the LADY.) Say something good of him. LADY. He won't believe it, if I do; he only believes evil! CONFESSOR. Then I shall have to say it. A beggar once came and asked him for a drink of water; but he gave me wine instead and let me sit at his table. You remember that? STRANGER. No. I don't load my memory with such trifles. CONFESSOR. Pride! Pride! STRANGER. Call it pride, if you like. It's the last vestige of our god-like origin. Let's go, before it grows dark. CONFESSOR. 'For the whole world shined with clear light and none were hindered in their labour. Over these only was spread a heavy night, an image of darkness which should afterward receive them; but yet were they unto themselves more grievous than the darkness.' LADY. Don't hurt him! STRANGER (with passion). How beautifully she can speak, though she is evil. Look at her eyes; they cannot weep tears, but they can flatter, sting, or lie! And yet she says: Don't hurt him! See, now she fears I'll wake her child, the little monster that robbed me of her! Come, priest, before I change my mind. [Curtain.] _ |
||