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.
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!
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.
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.
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?
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.
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!
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? 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! 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!
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!
CURTAIN.
ACT FIVE
SCENE: Interior of a little country church, with frescoed ceiling. At back, centre, altar with crucifix; to left, pulpit; on a pillar down left an image of Saint Bartholomew with skin in hand; directly opposite, on a pillar, image of Saint Laurence with the grill. Broom is propped against altar railing. Two rows of praying stools at right and left sides form an aisle from front to altar. At right a confessional; at left an iron door.
ELF. It was not the old man that ate up the porridge, it was the rats.
FAIRY. Then it was not to do Pehr a kindness that you sent him out in the world, but to harm the old man!
ELF. Even we immortals can make mistakes. Let, us make amends for our fault.
FAIRY. If it is not too late?
ELF. How so?
FAIRY. Pehr is a misanthrope and cannot become reconciled to life.
ELF. Lisa will rectify all that, and then the old man will have atoned for his sin. One must patch where one has torn.
FAIRY. I have already made my preparations.
ELF. Here?
FAIRY. Here in this sanctuary whose floor we may not tread.
ELF. And why not? True, it is holy ground, and we were not allowed to become participants in the Great Redemption because—well, because something which we mustn't know about came between. But that does not prevent the humans from believing some good of us; and in that they do right, for the matter has its sides. Meantime, I shall not absent myself—even if I may not be near to witness that this reconciliation comes out all right. Even we lost souls can rejoice in the happiness of others. Farewell, but not for long.
FAIRY. Farewell.
LISA. Here in this peaceful church the good fairy promised me that I should meet him—How shall I behold him now? Has he learned aught of life, or is he still the same selfish, pleasure-loving youth who pursues only fickle fortune? If he had had the courage to do a bad act in a good cause, then he would at least have shown that he could make a sacrifice for something besides himself; for the most that we can give to a cause is our precious regard for ourselves. Higher powers demand that such and such shall take place; they choose the instruments where they will and none may give up the commission, even if it means going under. My friend was not that sort, and therefore, therefore—Hush! I hear footsteps—It is he! No, I would not meet him yet; I must collect my thoughts. If I conceal myself here—in the confessional—
PEHR. She flees from me, as I flee from my bad thoughts! Alone, forsaken—what more is there for me in life? Naught have I learned of life save its nothingness, and no wishes are left to me but evil ones. My soul would be like an empty shell were it not filled with her! My life—Ah, what has it been? What was that?—Ghosts in the sunshine? That would be a funny sight! Again! 'Tis said that one can see ghosts in broad daylight, if one peeps through a door-crack, it is even maintained that one can see oneself.
Oneself
—! If one could really do that, how easy it would be to evade one's worst faults! I'll try it.
SHADOW. My beloved hearers! My beloved hearers and you, Pehr, who stand behind the door, my sermon will not be long since the hour is already late and it is especially to this so-called
Lucky Pehr
that I would address a few remarks. Yes, you, Pehr—you have rushed through life like a fool, in pursuit of fortune; all your wishes have been fulfilled—save one and they have brought you no happiness. Pay attention, you who stand behind the door! You have made no leap through life, for on that track one runs well. All the experiences through which you think you have passed were but dreams; for, believe me, one wins no wishes with luck-rings out here in Reality; here one gains nothing without labor. Do you know what labor is?—No! It is something very heavy; but it must be heavy the sweeter the repose—Labor, Pehr, and be honest, but don't become a saint, for then you would be vain, and it is not our virtues but our faults that make us human. Listen well, you who stand behind the door—Life is not such as you saw it in your youthful dreams. It is a desert, that is true; but a desert which has its flowers; it is a stormy sea, but one that has its ports by verdant isles. Heed, Pehr! If you want to go forth into life now, then do it in earnest. But you will never be a
real
man without a woman—Find her! And now, pay close attention, Pehr, for I shall leave the word to Saint Laurence after dismissing you with the sage's eternally young and eternally old exhortation—Know thyself! Saint Laurence has the word.
SAINT LAURENCE. I am the holy Saint Laurence with the grill, who, at Emperor Dicii's command was beaten with thongs seven days in succession and afterwards was broiled on this grill by a slow fire. There is no one who has suffered so much as I!
SAINT BARTHOLOMEW. What is that to speak of! I am the holy Saint Bartholomew with the skin, who, at Emperor Pamphilii's command was flayed alive clear down to the knees; and what miracles happened after my death! You perhaps have never heard of the mysteries or of the devil in woman shape and the prognostication about the volcano?
SAINT LAURENCE. What is that to speak of as compared with mine? I have six miracles: The beam in the church, the crystal chalice, the Nun's corpse—
PALL. Oh, boast moderately of your sufferings. I am only a pall, but for fifty years I have borne on my back so many corpses, and have seen so much suffering—so many shattered hopes, so much inconsolable grief, so many torn hearts that suffered in silence and were thrust into oblivion without the solace of gilded statues—that you would be silent had you seen one-half of it. Ah, life is so black, so black, so black!
BROOM. What—you chatter about life, old Pall, you who have seen only death? Life is black on one side and white on the other. To-day I'm only a broom, but yesterday I stood in the forest, so stout and trim, and wanted to be something great. They all want to be great, you see, so it happened as it happened! Now I think like this: What comes is best; since you couldn't be great, you may as well be something else; there is so much to choose from—One may of course be useful, and at worst one can content oneself with being good, and