August Strindberg

Interior of a palace in Oriental style. To right a throne, before it a table, with royal regalia; to left a divan, pillows arranged on floor in a semi-circle.

At rise of curtain The Ameer discovered lying on floor writing on a paper scroll.

[Enter Chamberlain of the Caliph.]

CHAMBERLAIN. Is that the young Caliph's genealogical chart?

AMEER. Yes, Chamberlain.

CHAMBERLAIN. It certainly looks very imposing. Whom leave you given him as progenitor?

AMEER. Caliph Omar, of course.

CHAMBERLAIN. I think that Haroun-al-Raschid would have been better.

AMEER. He was certainly more popular—but in that case our gracious sovereign would not be related to the ancient house.

CHAMBERLAIN. Very true. Will you be ready soon? We expect him at any moment.

AMEER. Has your Excellency seen the new caliph?

CHAMBERLAIN. Yes; he looks like all the rest—It is only the genealogical tree that separates him from us.

AMEER. Yes, the genealogical tree!

CHAMBERLAIN. [Examines ancestral chart again.] You have got an awful width to it!

AMEER. I had to put in a bastard line; it looks so flourishing on paper, and gives to the race a semblance of strength, which is always flattering.

CHAMBERLAIN. [Laughs.] What will the Caliph Omar say to this?

[Enter Court Mullah.]

MULLAH. Allah akbar barai! How dost?

CHAMBERLAIN. Allah! Eloim! I thank you, excellently.

MULLAH. Is the Renunciation Act made out in duplicate form?

CHAMBERLAIN. In duplicate form. Will you be good enough to compare, then he will only have to add his signature.

MULLAH. If there's time enough, it would be the better way.

[Chamberlain takes two papers from table and hands one to the Mullah.]

CHAMBERLAIN. [Reads aloud.] "We, Omar the twenty-seventh, do hereby solemnly forswear our—the Roman Catholic—faith, and adopt the Mohammedan doctrine as it is determined in the Koran and the sacred writings."

Dated, etc.
OMAR.

Correct?

MULLAH. Correct.

[Enter Pehr—Grand Vizier and Royal Historian having entered just before him. Ameer jumps up from the floor with the genealogical chart; Royal Historian stands quietly and jots down in a book what he hears.]

VIZIER. Will it please Your Highness to scan this ancestral chart, which our—and the Kingdom's Ameer has made of Your Highness' illustrious old family tree.

PEHR. My ancestral chart? I have never known of any relative but my father, the old sexton.

VIZIER. [Pretends not to hear.] It begins with a great and glorious name—Caliph Omar—

PEHR. Caliph Omar! What kind of fish is that?

VIZIER. [Sternly.] That is no fish. He was a great and honorable ruler.

PEHR. Be that as it may, but I was born in wedlock and not between satin sheets, good gentlemen!

VIZIER. It does not become a ruler to be selfish; he must in all particulars sacrifice his personal interests and tastes for the welfare of the people.

PEHR. Very good; but does the welfare of the people demand that I shall be illegitimate?

VIZIER. Yes.

PEHR. Then hand me the paper! [Ameer delivers ancestral chart and a pen.] It begins with a lie, and will probably end with theft. [Signs.]

VIZIER. There remains a slight formality—Will it please Your Highness to sign this paper also. [Mullah presents Renunciation Act.]

PEHR. What now?

VIZIER. Your Highness need not trouble himself to road; it is only a matter of form.

PEHR. Renounce my forefathers' Faith—But that outrageous!

VIZIER. Political considerations—the people's welfare—

PEHR. I must become a Mohammedan and may not drink a glass of wine?

VIZIER. There are substitutes in all politics.

PEHR. What are they?

VIZIER. Compromises, modifications—

PEHR. Circumventions, eh?

VIZIER. Will it please Your Highness to sign?

PEHR. But I shall despise myself if I begin with a low action, and all the more will the people have the right to despise me!

VIZIER. The people demand that the ruler sacrifice all personal considerations for their welfare.

PEHR. Their welfare, then, is to be built upon a lie and a crime?

VIZIER. [Goes toward window.] Your Highness, the people await their chief. They are always ready to offer their sweat and blood for the ruler, therefore they demand, also, that the ruler make his sacrifices.

PEHR. Is what you say true? Well, then, give it me! [Accepts paper—hesitates.] The belfry, the chimes, the singing, the lights, Christmas—all pass before mine eyes! No more Christmas Eve! Life is so pitiless; it only demands, but never gives anything!

VIZIER. Your Highness, the people are clamoring! They would see their chief in the attire of the old caliphs—the crown and sceptre await to be borne anew by a branch of the old ancestral tree.

PEHR. [Catches sight of crown and sceptre.] Ah! Vizier, who can command me to forswear my faith?

VIZIER. The laws.

PEHR. Who made the laws?

VIZIER. Our forefathers.

PEHR. They were weak mortals, like ourselves. Well and good, I'll make over all the laws!

VIZIER. The Caliph does not reconstruct laws, for our form of administration has not given him law-making rights.

PEHR. What is the form of administration in this land?

VIZIER. Constitutional Despotism.

PEHR. Answer! Am I Caliph, or not?

VIZIER. You will be as soon as you have affixed your signature.

PEHR. Then hand me the paper! [Signs. Enter Viziers, Court Attendants, etc. Crowning Ceremony.]

PEOPLE. [Without.] Long live Omar the twenty-seventh! Allah, Allah, Allah!

VIZIER. Will it please Your Royal Highness to ascend the throne and begin the reign?

PEHR. That will be quite diverting. Admit the people!

VIZIER. The people? The people have nothing to do with the Government!

PEHR. But surely I shall have someone to rule over?

VIZIER. That is done in writing. [Takes out a few documents.]

PEHR. Proceed!

VIZIER. In order to spare Your Royal Highness the weighty burdens of government on this, the first day of his reign, we have tabled all petitions but one, which can very easily be disposed of.

PEHR. That was stupid, but it can't be helped now. Let's hear it!

VIZIER. Aschmed Sheik, with face in the dust and with his heart's prayers, begs that he may go over to the Sunnees' faith.

PEHR. What is the Sunnees' faith?

VIZIER. It is a sect, a dangerous sect.

PEHR. In what particular does it differ from the—ahem!—true doctrine?

VIZIER. A true Moslem greets Allah in this manner—[crosses hands on breast] but a sectarian does like this—[Pinches his nose and pokes his fingers into his ears.]

PEHR. [Laughing.] Well, can't the man poke his fingers in his ears?

VIZIER. No; the laws of the land do not permit it.

PEHR. There is no religious liberty, then?

VIZIER. Yes, for the true faith.

PEHR. But for the others?

VIZIER. There must be no others!

PEHR. Then I shall give them religious liberty!

VIZIER. That the Caliph can not do.

PEHR. Who can, then?

VIZIER. The Government alone.

PEHR. Who is the government?

[Vizier and all others present place a finger to mouth.]

PEHR. A secret?

VIZIER. That is the constitutional despotism's secret.

PEHR. But I had the liberty of changing the religion?

VIZIER. Politics is another matter!

PEHR. Then God save all peoples from politics! Must I begin my reign with the refusal of an humble petition?

VIZIER. Your Highness cannot begin better than by strengthening the laws of the realm.

PEHR. But I'll never sign!

VIZIER. It is not necessary; the Administration will attend to that. The Cabinet is adjourned. Will it please Your Highness to lay aside his official attire and return to private life, with its petty diversions. The Chamberlain is at Your Highness' service. [Goes.]

[The Chamberlain removes Caliph's crown and sceptre and conducts him to divan. Enter Dancers, Singers and Poet Laureate. The Dance.]

PEHR. What is this company?

CHAMBERLAIN. This is the Court.

PEHR. Why do they wear such short dresses? I do not like that custom.

CHAMBERLAIN. It is the custom of the country, Your Highness.

PEHR. This at least is not politics.

CHAMBERLAIN. The first Court Singer begs that she may entertain Your Highness with an idealistic song written by the celebrated poet laureate, Hourglass-Link.

PEHR. Be good enough to entertain me!

SINGER. [With lute, sings.]

Then say farewell to Horaire, the march is already broken.
O army, hast thou the strength to say a farewell!

PEHR. Where's the rhyme?

POET LAUREATE. There are no rhymes in this kind of poetry.

PEHR. That's bad! Continue—

AMEER. [Aside to historian.] He's not long for this place.

SINGER. Your Highness must pardon me, but I am indisposed to-day.

PEHR. Chamberlain, is there not something in the constitution called bastinado?

[Panic.]

CHAMBERLAIN. Assuredly—but—

PEHR. [To singer.] Continue, then!

SINGER. [Sings.] Marble brow, flowing hair, sparkling rows of teeth,
She steps as light as the pacer, lest she soil her hoof in the mud.

PEHR. Mud? I don't like dirt in poetry. Go on!

SINGER. Swelling bosom, slender waist, throbbing now anew;
As she gives each fresh embrace, she is like to break in two!

PEHR. Oh—!

SINGER. O happy man with perfume laden
Man of high estate!
Who may in some dreary hour
Hold her in his sweet embrace.

PEHR. That will do! Where's the author? Author!

POET LAUREATE. Your Highness, I have not learned to flatter.

PEHR. Haven't you? That's a poor poet laureate! Then play up your strophe so we may hear if you lie.

POET LAUREATE. Your Highness—surely I can never question—

PEHR. Don't talk—just reel off!

POET LAUREATE.

PEHR. Pardon—what did you say?

POET LAUREATE. [Irritated.]

PEHR. [Springs to his feet.] Do you mean it seriously or are you joking?

POET LAUREATE. I mean it seriously, Your Highness. How should anything else be—

PEHR. Indeed! It is in all seriousness, then, that you praise my low actions?

POET LAUREATE. Your Highness stands as high above low actions as the sun above a mud-puddle!

PEHR. I know you and your gang, counterfeiter! You call me, who foreswore my faith, the Defender of the Faith; you say that I, a bell-ringer's son, am of royal descent; that I am generous, who refused to grant the first humble petition presented since my coming to the throne! I know you, for your kind is to be found the world over. You live for thought and immortality, you say; but you are never seen when a thought is to be born; you are never felt when it comes to a question of immortality. But around heaped up dishes, in the sunlight of affluence and power, there you swarm, like fat meat flies, only to fly away that you may set black specks upon those who can let themselves be slain for both thought and immortality. Out of my sight, liar! I would have your head removed did I not see the shadow of a purpose in your presence. A poor ruler is forced by political considerations to do so many despicable things that he would die of shame did he not have an institution like you to dull his conscience continually. Go! I would be alone.

CHAMBERLAIN. Your Highness, it cannot be.

PEHR. It can be! [All go out except Pehr and Royal Historian.]

PEHR. What are you waiting for? What do you do?

HISTORIAN. I am writing Your Highness' history.

PEHR. So you are Court Historian.

HISTORIAN. Royal—

PEHR. What matter, once you're dead! But what shall you write about? I have never carried on any wars.

HISTORIAN. That is just what I wish to speak about. Your Highness only need turn to the Minister of War—

PEHR. Then he will arrange one; that is his occupation, and for that he is paid 20,000 shekels.

HISTORIAN. It is the people, Your Highness, who—

PEHR. Conduct the wars. The Minister of War makes them, while we sit at home and take the glory—the shame we never take.

[Enter Vizier.]

VIZIER. The bride is waiting.

PEHR. The bride! Who? Where? What does it mean?

VIZIER. Your Highness' consort.

PEHR. Lisa! She loves me still, despite all my faults? Conduct her hither. She shall bring the fresh air of the forest into these musty halls!

VIZIER. Your Highness wished first to sign the marriage contract.

PEHR. I'm forever writing! No, this time I don't have to read. [Signs.] Now, Royal Historian, you can put down at least one action in my life that was not crime! [Vizier and Historian go.]

[Bride, veiled in Oriental fashion, is ushered in; attendants withdraw immediately; from behind is heard soft music.]

PEHR. [Runs toward bride.] Lisa, Lisa! You always come like a sunbeam when the clouds thicken—always like a friend in the dark hour!

BRIDE. [Raises veil.] My name is not Lisa.

PEHR. Not Lisa—What does this mean? Treachery! Who are you then?

BRIDE. Your consort.

PEHR. My consort!

BRIDE. [Indifferently.] The Administration had three candidates for you: The Vizier's choice fell upon me because my father threatened you with a tariff treaty.

PEHR. The administration's candidate—tariff treaties—what does that signify?

BRIDE. Politics require that princes shall sacrifice their personal considerations for the good of the people.

PEHR. Politics require—But does the good of the people require any princes?

BRIDE. I don't know—but it's done once for all, and now you are my husband. Have the goodness to be happy, or you will be miserable.

PEHR. Are you happy?

BRIDE. I am nothing.

PEHR. Do you love me?

BRIDE. No, certainly not! And you me?

PEHR. No!

BRIDE. You love your Lisa?

PEHR. And you your—

BRIDE. Ali.

PEHR. O misery and lamentation!

BRIDE. Calm yourself a moment—One moment, while they come in and congratulate us. The bridal procession is waiting without. Silence! They are nearing; stand at my side!

PEHR. Must I go forth again, and jest?

BRIDE. Obey me, for I'm a wise woman! When they go I shall tell you my plan. Here they come! Look pleasant, husband, else they will say that I made you unhappy.

PEHR. Dear old father, how right you were! Black is black and can never be white. [Pehr and bride seat themselves on divan and assume a sentimental attitude.]

[Enter Singers, Dancers, Chamberlain, Ameer, Royal Historian, Vizier.]

[Pehr and bride hide their agitation.]

VIZIER. Caliph, a happy people, whom you find assembled here, at the foot of the throne, rejoice as they see happiness, like a sun, beam in your eyes to shine on the white rose which long hath sought the tall oak's trunk to lean upon; a happy people, youthful princess, rejoice in your good fortune and hope that your tree may have off-shoots with fresh rose buds, which, at some future day, may spread joy and bliss, like a spring rain, over land and kingdom!

[Pehr leaps up and draws his sword, bride attempts in vain to calm him.]

PEHR. Hell and Damnation! You grand vizier of lies! and you, dressed up adventurers, are you my people! Are these hired maidens, with their venal tricks, my people who pay taxes to us that we may say nay to their humblest request? No! I have never seen my people. Is this young woman, whom you have placed by my side, my mate who loves me? No—She is a heifer that you have let into my stall; she is an imp who is to shoot branches on the genealogical tree; she is an administration's candidate who makes happy her spouse with a tariff treaty. You call us happy because we pretend to be; but we are most unhappy, for we stand near the brink of a crime, which, praise God, we shall never commit. I curse you, palace! dedicated as a temple of lies. Down in the dust with you, false family tree! [Genealogical chart drops from wall and rolls up on floor.] Break into shatters, crown and sceptre, tyranny's symbols! [Crown and sceptre come down with a crash.] Tumble throne, where unrighteousness is seated! [Throne collapses. Thunder, lightning, storm.] Scatter like decoys, fortune hunters and outcasts that have placed yourselves between noble and commoner! [All but bride disappear. To bride.] You lamb of sacrifice, be free like myself! Now I want to go out into Nature and see if honor and decency do not still live! [Bride vanishes; Pehr remains standing, hands to face, until scene is changed.]

Seashore with wreckage of cast up seaweed, etc. To left an up-rooted oak-stump, fishing tackle and hulk of a wrecked vessel. Background: open sea; seamews float on waves. To right cliff-shore with pine woods; lower down is a hut.

PEHR. Where am I? I breathe freer—All evil thoughts flee! I sense a perfume as of old romances; I hear a murmur, like far-away streams; the ground under me is soft as a bed. Ah—it is the seashore!

O Sea! Thou Mother Earth's good mother! Be greeted by an old and withered heart Which comes that it may be by thy moist winds Swept clean and freshened; Which comes to thy salt waves for cleansing baths And healing for the sores the world's lies and madness gave to it. Blow wind, and fill with thy pure air My lungs, that breathed in pois'n-filled vapours; Sing wave, and let mine ear be soothed By the harmonies of thy pure tones, As I stand here 'mongst the wreckage on the strand, A wreck myself, which the breakers cast upon the sand When the vessel crashed 'gainst the sharp cliff-rocks! Be greeted, Sea, that nurses healthy thoughts And recreates the soul in shrunken body When every spring thy billows break And gull and swallow chatter 'bove thy wave, To wak'n anew the joy of life, and strength, and hope!

[Sees hut.]

What's this? A human habitation! Not even here is a moment's peace granted me—Maledictions!

A VOICE. Curse not!

[It darkens and the sea begins to rise, moving toward him during following speech so that he is forced down stage.]

PEHR. Who spoke? [Tries to flee toward left and is met by elk.] Wild beasts stop me! [Tries to flee toward right, but is intercepted by bulls.] Even here—Back! [Animals come on stage and crowd around him.] They surround me! Help! [Runs to but and knocks.] Is no one here? Help, help! [Attempts to cast himself into the sea, but sea-serpents and dragons rise up.] Ah, nature, even you are a savage monster that would devour all you come upon! You, my last friend, tricked me also—What terror's visions! The sea would swallow me. What is my life worth more? Come, Death, and set me free! [Sea gradually subsides.]

[Enter Death; beasts vanish.]

DEATH. Here am I, at your service! What would you me?

PEHR. [Cowers, but recovers himself.] Oh, really!—It was nothing especially pressing—

DEATH. You called me!

PEHR. Did I actually do that? Well, it is only a form of speech which we use; I really want nothing of you.

DEATH. But I want something of you! Stand straight on your legs and I'll cut; it will be over in no time. [Raises scythe.]

PEHR. Mercy, mercy! I don't want to die!

DEATH. Bosh! What has life to offer you who have no wishes left?

PEHR. That one does not know; if one might stop to consider, then perhaps—

DEATH. Oh, you have had ample time; now it is too late. Straighten your back so that you may fall like a real world-hater! [Lifts scythe.]

PEHR. No, no, for God's sake, wait a little—

DEATH. You're a timid beggar! Live on then if you think it anything; but don't regret it later. I shall not come again for a long time. [Starts to go.]

PEHR. No, no, no! don't leave me alone—

DEATH. Alone? Why, you have lovely Nature!

PEHR. Yes, it's all very well when the weather is fine and the sun shines, but thus late—

DEATH. You see now that you cannot live without your fellow men. Knock three times on the door over yonder, and you will find company. [Death vanishes. Pehr knocks three times on door of hut; the Wise Man comes out.]

WISE MAN. Whom seek you?

PEHR. A human being! In short—I'm unhappy.

WISE MAN. Then you should not seek human beings, for they cannot help you.

PEHR. I know it, yet I would neither live nor die; I have suffered all, and my heart will not break!

WISE MAN. You are young, and do not know the human heart. In here I have lately been pondering the causes of mankind's misery. Would you like to see how the little object called the human heart looks? [Steps into hut and returns presently with a casket and a lantern, which he hangs on a tree.]

You see the little three-cornered muscle, which now has ceased to beat—Once it throbbed with rage, thumped with joy, cramped with sorrow, swelled with hope. You see that it is divided into two large chambers: In one lives the good, in the other the evil—or, with a word, there sits an angel on one side of the wall and a devil on the other. When they chance to be at odds with each other—which happens quite often—there is unrest in the person and he fancies the heart will burst—but it doesn't, for the walls are thick. Oh, yes, look at this one! Do you see thousands of little scars from needle thrusts? They did not go through, but the pricks remain nevertheless.

PEHR. Who has borne this heart, Wise Man?

WISE MAN. The unhappiest of humans.

PEHR. And who was that?

WISE MAN. It was a man. Do you see the marks of a heel; do you see the nail-prints? It was a woman that trampled on this heart for twenty-six years.

PEHR. And he did not tire?

WISE MAN. Yes, he grew weary one Christmas Eve and freed himself from her. As a punishment, he came under the ban of the Powers; he cannot die, although his heart has been taken from him.

PEHR. Can he never be released from the spell?

WISE MAN. When his son shall have found a faithful woman and brought her home a bride, then the spell will be broken. But that can never be because his son is gone forever.

PEHR. What has become of him?

WISE MAN. He went out in the world.

PEHR. Then why can he never get any bride, poor boy!

WISE MAN. Because one who loves only himself can never love anyone else.

PEHR. He means the old man, my father. [Wise Man sinks through floor; but vanishes. It begins to dawn.]

PEHR. "He who loves only himself "—So said Lisa also—But I hate myself, I loathe myself after the cowardly things I have done, and I love Lisa! Yes, I love her, I love her! [Sun shines on waves and lights up pine woods to right; clouds disperse. A boat is seen out at sea, it comes nearer and nearer and Lisa is seen at the rudder. She beckons to Pehr as the boat recedes.]

Sea-gulls in the air, tell her! Sunbeams, carry my words on your pillars of fire, and bear them to her. But where must I seek thee—where? [Boat is seen on horizon a moment.] It is she! Now, ring, fulfill my last wish and take me to her! The ring is gone! Woe, what does this augur? Is my story ended, or shall it now begin perhaps? Lisa, my soul's belovÉd! [He runs up on cliff and waves.] If you hear me, answer; if you see me, give me a sign! Ah—she turns out toward the fjord—Well, then, storm and sea, that separate me from all that my heart loves, I challenge you to battle for the highest prize! [Pushes out boat drawn up on shore.]

Blow, wind, and rock, wave! My weak keel shall cleave you like a sword. On, my boat, even though we miss the goal, let us struggle on till we sink!