ACT I

_The background represents a vineyard. At the left stands a mausoleum. It consists of a small whitewashed brick building with a door and a pointed window that lacks mullions and panes. The roof is made of red tiles. A cross crowns the gable. Clematis vines with purple-coloured, cross-shaped flowers cover the front wall, at the foot of which appear a number of other flowers_.

_A peach-tree carrying fruit stands near the foreground. Be-neath it sit the_ JUDGE _and the_ OLD LADY.

_The_ JUDGE _wears a green cap with a peak, yellow knee-breeches, and--a blue coat--all dating back to_ 1820. _The_ OLD LADY _wears a kerchief on her head and carries a stick, spectacles, and snuff-box. She has the general appearance of a "witch." At the right is a small expiatory chapel containing an image of the Holy Virgin. The fence in front of it is hung with wreaths and nosegays. A prie-dieu is placed against the fence_.

JUDGE. Life's eve has at last brought the sunshine which its morning promised us. Early rains and late rains have blessed meadow and field. And soon the songs of the vintagers will be heard all over the country.

OLD LADY. Don't talk like that; somebody might hear you.

JUDGE. Who could be listening here, and what harm could it do to thank God for all good gifts?

OLD LADY. It's better not to mention one's good fortune lest misfortune overhear it.

JUDGE. What of it? Was I not born with a caul?

OLD LADY. Take care, take care! There are many who envy us, and evil eyes are watching us.

JUDGE. Well, let them! That's the way it has always been. And yet I have prospered.

OLD LADY. So far, yes. But I don't trust our neighbour. He has been going around the village saying that we have cheated him out of his property--and much more of the same kind which I don't care to repeat. Of course, it doesn't matter when one has a clean conscience and can point to a spotless life. Slander cannot hurt me. I go to confession and mass, and I am prepared to close my eyes whenever my hour may strike in order to open them again when I shall stand face to face with my Judge. And I know also what I am going to answer then.

JUDGE. What are you going to answer?

OLD LADY. Like this: I was not without fault, O Lord, but even if I was but a poor, sinful human creature, I was nevertheless a little better than my neighbour.

JUDGE. I don't know what has brought you to these thoughts just now, and I don't like them. Perhaps it is the fact that the mausoleum is to be consecrated in a few days?

OLD LADY. Perhaps that is it, for, as a rule, I don't give much thought to death. I have still every tooth left in my mouth, and my hair is as plentiful as when I was a bride.

JUDGE. Yes, yes--you have eternal youth, you as well as I, but just the same we shall have to pass away. And as fortune has smiled on us, we have wanted to avail ourselves of the privilege of resting in ground belonging to ourselves And so we have built this little tomb for ourselves here, where every tree knows us, where every flower will whisper of our labours, and our troubles, and our struggles----

OLD LADY. Yes, struggles against envious neighbours and ungrateful children----

JUDGE. There you said it: ungrateful children.--Have you seen anything of Adolph?

OLD LADY. No, I haven't seen him since he started out this morning to raise the money for the rent.

JUDGE. The money which he will never get--and I still less. But he knows now that the time of grace is up, for this is the third quarter rent that he has failed to pay.

OLD LADY. Yes, out with him into the world, and let him learn to work instead of sitting here and playing at son-in-law. I'll keep Amelia and the children----

JUDGE. Do you think Amelia will let herself be separated from Adolph?

OLD LADY. I think so, when it is a question whether her children are to inherit anything from us or not--No, look! There it is again!

_On the wall of the mausoleum appears a spot of sunlight like those which children are fond of producing with a small mirror_.[1] _It is vibrating as if it were reflected by running water_.

JUDGE. What is it? What is it?

OLD LADY. On the mausoleum. Don't you see?

JUDGE. It's the reflection of the sun on the river. It means----

OLD LADY. It means that we'll see the light of the sun for a long time to come----

JUDGE. On the contrary. But that's all one. The best pillow for one's head is a good conscience, and the reward of the righteous never fails.--There's our neighbour now.

NEIGHBOUR. [_Enters_] Good evening, Judge. Good evening, madam.

JUDGE. Good evening, neighbour. How goes it? It wasn't yesterday we had the pleasure. And how are your vines, I should have asked?

NEIGHBOUR. The vines, yes--there's mildew on them, and the starlings are after them, too.

JUDGE. Well, well! There's no mildew on my vines, and I have neither seen nor heard of any starlings.

NEIGHBOUR. Fate does not distribute its gifts evenly: one shall be taken and the other left.

OLD LADY. I suppose there are good reasons for it?

NEIGHBOUR. I see! The reward of the righteous shall not fail, and the wicked shall not have to wait for their punishment.

JUDGE. Oh, no malice meant! But you have to admit, anyhow, that it's queer: two parcels of land lie side by side, and one yields good harvests, the other poor ones----

NEIGHBOUR. One yields starlings and the other not: that's what I find queerer still. But, then, everybody wasn't born with a caul, like you, Judge.

JUDGE. What you say is true, and fortune _has_ favoured me. I am thankful for it, and there are moments when I feel proud of it as if I had deserved it.--But listen, neighbour--you came as if you had been sent for.--That leasehold of mine is vacant, and I wanted to ask you if you care to take it.

[Footnote 1: In Sweden such spots are called "sun-cats."]

_The_ OLD LADY _has in the meantime left her seat and gone to the mausoleum, where she is busying herself with the flowers_.

NEIGHBOUR. Oh, the leasehold is vacant. Hm! Since when?

JUDGE. Since this morning.

NEIGHBOUR. Hm! So!--That means your son-in-law has got to go?

JUDGE. Yes, that good-for-nothing doesn't know how to manage.

NEIGHBOUR. Tell me something else, Judge. Haven't you heard that the state intends to build a military road across this property?

JUDGE. Oh, I have heard some rumours to that effect, but I don't think it's anything but empty talk.

NEIGHBOUR. On the contrary, I have read it in the papers. That would mean condemnation proceedings, and the loser would be the holder of the lease.

JUDGE. I cannot think so, and I would never submit to it. I to leave this spot where I expect to end my days in peace, and where I have prepared a final resting-place to escape lying with all the rest----

NEIGHBOUR. Wait a minute! One never knows what may prove one's final resting-place. My father, who used to own this property, also expected to be laid to rest in his own ground, but it happened otherwise. As far as the leasehold is concerned, I must let it go.

JUDGE. As you please. On my part the proposition was certainly disinterested, as you are a man without luck. For it is no secret that you fail in everything you undertake, and people have their own thoughts about one who remains as solitary and friendless as you. Isn't it a fact that you haven't a single friend?

NEIGHBOUR. Yes, it's true. I have not a single friend, and that doesn't look well. It is something I cannot deny.

JUDGE. But to turn to other matters--is it true, as the legend has it, that this vineyard once was a battle-field, and that this explains why the wine from it is so fiery?

NEIGHBOUR. No, that isn't what I have heard. My father told me that this had been a place of execution, and that the gallows used to stand where the mausoleum is now.

JUDGE. Oh, how dreadful! Why did you tell me?

NEIGHBOUR. Because you asked, of course.--And the last man to be hanged on this spot was an unrighteous judge. And now he lies buried here, together with many others, among them being also an innocent victim of his iniquity.

JUDGE. What kind of stories are those! [_He calls out_] Caroline!

NEIGHBOUR. And that's why his ghost has to come back here. Have you never seen him, Judge?

JUDGE. I have never seen anything at all!

NEIGHBOUR. But I have seen him. As a rule, he appears at the time when the grapes are harvested, and then they hear him around the wine-press down in the cellar.

JUDGE. [_Calling out_] Caroline!

OLD LADY. What is it?

JUDGE. Come here!

NEIGHBOUR. And he will never be at peace until he has suffered all the torments his victim had to pass through.

JUDGE. Get away from here! Go!

NEIGHBOUR. Certainly, Judge! I didn't know you were so sensitive. [_He goes out_.

OLD LADY. What was the matter?

JUDGE. Oh, he told a lot of stories that upset me. But-but--he is plotting something evil, that fellow!

OLD LADY. Didn't I tell you so! But you always let your tongue run whenever you see anybody--What kind of foolish superstition was he giving you?

JUDGE. I don't want to talk of it. The mere thought of it makes me sick. I'll tell you some other time.--There's Adolph now!

ADOLPH. [_Entering_] Good evening!

JUDGE. [_After a pause_] Well?

ADOLPH. Luck is against me. I have not been able to get any money.

JUDGE. I suppose there are good reasons for it?

ADOLPH. I can see no reason why some people should fare well and others badly.

JUDGE. Oh, you can't?--Well, look into your own heart; search your own thoughts and actions, and you'll find that you have yourself to blame for your misfortunes.

ADOLPH. Perhaps I may not call myself righteous in every respect, but at least I have no serious crimes on my conscience.

OLD LADY. You had better think well----

ADOLPH. I don't think that's needful, for my conscience is pretty wakeful----

JUDGE. It can be put to sleep----

ADOLPH. Can it? Of course I have heard of evil-doers growing old in crime, but as a rule their consciences wake up just before death; and I have even heard of criminals whose consciences have awakened after death.

JUDGE. [_Agitated_] So that they had to come back, you mean? Have you heard that story, too? It's strange that everybody seems to have heard it except me----

OLD LADY. What are you talking about? Stick to business instead.

ADOLPH. Yes, I think that's wiser, too. And, as the subject has been broached, I want to tell you what I propose----

JUDGE. Look here, my boy! I think it a good deal more appropriate that I should tell you what I have decided. It is this: that from this day you cease to be my tenant, and that before the sun sets you must start out to look for work.

ADOLPH. Are you in earnest?

JUDGE. You ought to be ashamed! I am not in the habit of joking. And you have no cause for complaint, as you have been granted respite twice.

ADOLPH. While my crops have failed three times. Can I help that?

JUDGE. Nor have I said so. But I can help it still less. And you are not being judged by me. Here is the contract--here's the broken agreement. Was that agreement broken by me? Oh, no! So I am without responsibility and wash my hands of the matter.

ADOLPH. This may be the law, but I had thought there ought to be some forbearance among relatives--especially as, in the natural course of events, this property should pass on to your offspring.

OLD LADY. Well, well: the natural course of events! He's going around here wishing the life out of us! But you just look at me: I am good for twenty years more. And I am _going_ to live just to spite you!

JUDGE. [_To_ Adolph] What rudeness--what a lack of all human feeling--to ask a couple of old people outright: are you not going to die soon? You ought to be ashamed of yourself, I say! But now you have broken the last tie, and all I can say is: go your way, and don't let yourself be seen here any more!

ADOLPH. That's plain talk! Well, I'll go, but not alone----

OLD LADY. So-o--you imagined that Amelia, our own child, should follow you out on the highways, and that all you would have to do would be to unload one child after another on us! But we have already thought of that and put a stop to it----

ADOLPH. Where is Amelia? Where?

OLD LADY. You may just as well know. She has gone on; a visit to the convent of the Poor Clares--only for a visit. So now you know it's of no use to look for her here.

ADOLPH. Some time you will have to suffer for your cruelty in depriving a man in distress of his only support. And if you break up our marriage, the penalty of that breach will fall on you.

JUDGE. You should be ashamed of putting your own guilt on those that are innocent! Go now! And may you hunger and thirst, with every door closed to you, until you have learned gratitude!

ADOLPH. The same to you in double measure!--But let me only bid my children good-bye, and I will go.

JUDGE. As you don't want to spare your children the pain of leave-taking, I'll do so--have already done it, in fact.

ADOLPH. That, too! Then I believe you capable of all the evil that has been rumoured. And now I know what our neighbour meant when he said that you couldn't--endure the sun!

JUDGE. Not another word! Or you will feel the heavy hand of law and justice----

_He raises his right hand so that the absence of its forefinger becomes visible_.

ADOLPH. [_Takes hold of the hand and examines it_] The hand of justice!--The hand of the perjurer whose finger stuck to the Bible when he took his false oath! Woe unto you! Woe! For the day of retribution is at hand, and your deeds will rise like corpses out of these hillsides to accuse you.

OLD LADY. What is that he is saying? It feels as if he were breathing fire at us!--Go, you lying spirit, and may hell be your reward!

ADOLPH. May Heaven reward you--according to your deserts--and may the Lord protect my children! [_He goes out_.

JUDGE. What was that? Who was it that spoke? It seemed to me as if the voice were coming out of some huge underground hall.

OLD LADY. Did you hear it, too?

JUDGE. God help us, then!--Do you remember what he said about the sun? That struck me as more peculiar than all the rest. How could he know--that it is so? Ever since my birth the sun has always burned me, and they have told me this is so because my mother suffered from sunstroke before I was born--but that you also----

OLD LADY. [_Frightened_] Hush! Talk of the devil, and--Isn't the sun down?

JUDGE. Of course it is down!

OLD LADY. How can that spot of sunlight remain on the mausoleum, then?

[_The spot moves around_.

JUDGE. Jesus Maria! That's an omen!

OLD LADY. An omen, you say! And on the grave! That doesn't happen every day--and only a few chosen people who are full of living faith in the highest things----

[_The spot of light disappears_.

JUDGE. There is something weird about the place to-night, something ghastly.--But what hurt me most keenly was to hear that good-for-nothing wishing the life out of us in order to get at the property. Do you know what I--well, I wonder if I dare to speak of it----

OLD LADY. Go on!

JUDGE. Have you heard the story that this spot here used to be a place of execution?

OLD LADY. So you have found that out, too?

JUDGE. Yes--and you knew it?--Well, suppose we gave this property to the convent? That would make the ground sacred, and it would be possible to rest in peace in it. The income might go to the children while they are growing up, and it would mean an additional gain, as Adolph would be fooled in his hope of inheriting from us. I think this a remarkably happy solution of a difficult problem: how to give away without losing anything by it.

OLD LADY. Your superior intelligence has again asserted itself, and I am quite of your opinion. But suppose condemnation proceedings should be started--what would happen then?

JUDGE. There is plenty of time to consider that when it happens. In the meantime, let us first of all, and as quietly as possible, get the mausoleum consecrated----

FRANCISCAN. [_Enters_] The peace of the Lord be with you, Judge, and with you, madam!

JUDGE. You come most conveniently, Father, to hear something that concerns the convent----

FRANCISCAN. I am glad of it.

_The spot of light appears again on the mausoleum_.

OLD LADY. And then we wanted to ask when the consecration of the mausoleum might take place.

FRANCISCAN. [_Staring at her_] Oh, is that so?

JUDGE. Look, Father--look at that omen----

OLD LADY. Yes, the spot must be sacred, indeed----

FRANCISCAN. That's a will-o'-the-wisp.

OLD LADY. Is it not a good sign? Does it not carry some kind of message? Does it not prompt a pious mind to stop and consider? Would it not be possible to turn this place into a refuge for desert wanderers who are seeking----

FRANCISCAN. Madam, let me speak a word to you in private. [_He moves over to the right._

OLD LADY. [_Following him_] Father?

FRANCISCAN. [_Speaking in a subdued voice_] You, madam, enjoy a reputation in this vicinity which you don't deserve, for you are the worst sinner that I know of. You want to buy your pardon, and you want to steal heaven itself, you who have already stolen from the Lord.

OLD LADY. What is it I hear?

FRANCISCAN. When you were sick and near death you made a vow to the Lord that in case of recovery you would give a monstrance of pure gold to the convent church. Your health was restored and you gave the holy vessel, but it was of silver--gilded. Not for the sake of the gold, but because of your broken vow and your deception, you are already damned.

OLD LADY. I didn't know it. The goldsmith has cheated me.

FRANCISCAN. You are lying, for I have the goldsmith's bill.

OLD LADY. Is there no pardon for it?

FRANCISCAN. No! For it is a mortal sin to cheat God.

OLD LADY. Woe is me!

FRANCISCAN. The settlement of your other crimes will have to take place within yourself. But if you as much as touch a hair on the heads of the children, then you shall learn who is their protector, and you shall feel the iron rod.

OLD LADY. The idea--that this infernal monk should dare to say such things to me! If I am damned--then I want to be damned! Ha, ha!

FRANCISCAN. Well, you may be sure that there will be no blessing for your house and no peace for yourself until you have suffered every suffering that you have brought on others.--May I speak a word with you, Judge?

_The_ JUDGE _approaches_.

OLD LADY. Yes, give him what he deserves, so that one may be as good as the other.

FRANCISCAN. [_To the_ Judge] Where did you get the idea of building your tomb where the gallows used to stand?

JUDGE. I suppose I got it from the devil!

FRANCISCAN. Like the idea of casting off your children and robbing them of their inheritance? But you have also been an unrighteous judge--you have violated oaths and accepted bribes.

JUDGE. I?

FRANCISCAN. And now you want to erect a monument to yourself! You want to build yourself an imperishable house in heaven! But listen to me: this spot will never be consecrated, and you may consider it a blessing if you are permitted to rest in common ground among ordinary little sinners. There is a curse laid on this soil, because blood-guilt attaches to it and because it is ill-gotten.

JUDGE. What am I to do?

FRANCISCAN. Repent, and restore the stolen property.

JUDGE. I have never stolen. Everything has been legally acquired.

FRANCISCAN. That, you see, is the worst part of all--that you regard your crimes as lawful. Yes, I know that you even consider yourself particularly favoured by Heaven because of your righteousness. But now you will soon see what harvest is in store for you. Thorns and thistles will grow in your vineyard. Helpless and abandoned you shall be, and the peace of your old age will turn into struggle and strife.

JUDGE. The devil you say!

FRANCISCAN. Don't call him--he'll come anyhow!

JUDGE. Let him come! Because we believe, we have no fear!

FRANCISCAN. The devils believe also, and tremble!--Farewell! [_He goes out_.

JUDGE. [_To his wife_] What did he say to you?

OLD LADY. You think I'll tell? What did he have to say to you?

JUDGE. And you think I'll tell?

OLD LADY. Are you going to keep any secrets from me?

JUDGE. And how about you? It's what you have always done, but I'll get to the bottom of your tricks some time.

OLD LADY. Just wait a little, and I'll figure out where you keep the money that is missing.

JUDGE. So you are hiding money, too! Now there is no longer any use in playing the hypocrite--just let yourself be seen in all your abomination, you witch!

OLD LADY. I think you have lost your reason--not that it was much to keep! But you might at least preserve an appearance of decency, if you can----

JUDGE. And you might preserve your beauty--if you can! And your perennial youth--ha, ha, ha! And your righteousness! You must have known how to bewitch people, and hoodwink them, for now I see how horribly ugly and old you are.

OLD LADY. [_On whom the spot of light now appears_] Woe! It is burning me!

JUDGE. There I see you as you really are! [_The spot jumps to the_ JUDGE] Woe! It is burning me now!

OLD LADY. And how you look! [_Both withdraw to the right_.

[_The_ NEIGHBOUR _and_ AMELIA _enter from the left_.

NEIGHBOUR. Yes, child, there is justice, both human and divine, but we must have patience.

AMELIA. I am willing to believe that justice is done, in spite of all appearances to the contrary. But I cannot love my mother, and I have never been able to do so. There is something within me that keeps telling me that she is not only indifferent to me but actually hostile.

NEIGHBOUR. So you have found it out?

AMELIA. Why--she hates me, and a mother couldn't do that!

NEIGHBOUR. Well, well!

AMELIA. And I suffer from not being able to do my duty as a child and love her.

NEIGHBOUR. Well, as _that_ has made you suffer, then you will soon--in the hour of retribution--learn the great secret of your life.

AMELIA. And I could stand everything, if she were only kind to my children.

NEIGHBOUR. Don't fear on that account, for her power is now ended. The measure of her wickedness has been heaped full and is now overflowing.

AMELIA. Do you think so? But this very day she tore my Adolph away from me, and now she has humiliated me still further by dressing me as a servant girl and making me do the work in the kitchen.

NEIGHBOUR. Patience!

AMELIA. Yes, so you say! Oh, I can understand deserved suffering, but to suffer without cause----

NEIGHBOUR. My dear child, the prisoners in the penitentiary are suffering justly, so there is no honour in that; but to be permitted to suffer unjustly, that's a grace and a trial of which steadfast souls bring home golden fruits.

AMELIA. You speak so beautifully that everything you say seems true to me.--Hush! There are the children--and I don't want them to see me dressed like this.

_She and the_ NEIGHBOUR _take up a position where they are hidden by a tall shrub_.

ERIC _and_ THYRA _enter; the spot of light rests now on one of them and now on the other_.

ERIC. Look at the sun spot!

THYRA. Oh, you beautiful sun! But didn't he go to bed a while ago?

ERIC. Perhaps he is allowed to stay up longer than usual because he has been very good all day.

THYRA. But how could the sun be good? Now you are stupid, Eric.

ERIC. Of course the sun can be good--doesn't he make the grapes and the peaches?

THYRA. But if he is so good, then he might also give us a peach.

ERIC. So he will, if we only wait a little. Aren't there any on the ground at all?

THYRA. [_Looking_] No, but perhaps we might get one from the tree.

ERIC. No, grandmother won't let us.

THYRA. Grandmother has said that we mustn't shake the tree, but I thought we could play around the tree so that one might fall down anyhow--of itself.

ERIC. Now you are stupid, Thyra. That would be exactly the same thing. [_Looking up at the tree_] Oh, if only a peach would fall down!

THYRA. None will fall unless you shake.

ERIC. You mustn't talk like that, Thyra, for that is a sin.

THYRA. Let's pray God to let one fall.

ERIC. One shouldn't pray God for anything nice--that is, to eat!--Oh, little peach, won't you fall? I want you to fall! [_A peach falls from the tree, and_ ERIC _picks it up_] There, what a nice tree!

THYRA. But now you must give me half, for it was I who said that the tree had to be shaken----

OLD LADY. [_Enters with a big birch rod_] So you have been shaking the tree--now you'll see what you'll get, you nasty children----

ERIC. No, grandmother, we didn't shake the tree!

OLD LADY. So you are lying, too. Didn't I hear Thyra say that the tree had to be shaken? Come along now, and I'll lock you up in the cellar where neither sun nor moon is to be seen----

AMELIA. [_Coming forward_] The children are innocent, mother.

OLD LADY. That's a fine thing--to stand behind the bushes listening, and then to teach one's own children how to lie besides!

NEIGHBOUR. [_Appearing_] Nothing has been spoken here but the truth, madam.

OLD LADY. Two witnesses behind the bushes--exactly as if we were in court. But I know the tricks, I tell you, and what I have heard and seen is sufficient evidence for me.--Come along, you brats!

AMELIA. This is sinful and shameful----

_The_ NEIGHBOUR _signals to_ AMELIA _by putting his finger across his lips_.

AMELIA. [_Goes up to her children_] Don't cry, children! Obey grandmother now--there is nothing to be afraid of. It is better to suffer evil than to do it, and I know that you are innocent. May God preserve you! And don't forget your evening prayer!

_The_ OLD LADY _goes out with the children_.

AMELIA. Belief comes so hard, but it is sweet if you can achieve it.

NEIGHBOUR. Is it so hard to believe that God is good--at the very moment when his kind intentions are most apparent?

AMELIA. Give me a great and good word for the night, so that I may sleep on it as on a soft pillow.

NEIGHBOUR. You shall have it. Let me think a moment.--This is it: Isaac was to be sacrificed----

AMELIA. Oh, no, no!

NEIGHBOUR. Quiet, now!--Isaac was to _be_ sacrificed, but he never was!

AMELIA. Thank you! Thank you! And good night!

_She goes out to the right_.

NEIGHBOUR. Good night, my child!

[_He goes slowly out by a path leading to the rear_.

THE PROCESSION OF SHADOWS _enters from the mausoleum and moves without a sound across the stage toward the right; between every two figures there is a distance of five steps_:

DEATH _with its scythe and hour-glass_.

THE LADY IN WHITE--_blond, tall, and slender; on one of her fingers she wears a ring with a green stone that seems to emit rays of light_.

THE GOLDSMITH, _with the counterfeit monstrance_.

THE BEHEADED SAILOR, _carrying his head in one hand_.

THE AUCTIONEER, _with hammer and note-book_.

THE CHIMNEY-SWEEP, _with rope, scraper, and broom_.

THE FOOL, _carrying his cap with the ass's ears and bells at the top of a pole, across which is placed a signboard with the word "Caul" on it_.

THE SURVEYOR, _with measuring rod and tripod_.

THE MAGISTRATE, _dressed and made up like the_ JUDGE; _he carries a rope around his neck; and his right hand is raised to show that the forefinger is missing_.

_The stage is darkened at the beginning of the procession and remains empty while it lasts_.

_When it is over, the_ JUDGE _enters from the left, followed by the_ OLD LADY.

JUDGE. Why are you playing the ghost at this late hour?

OLD LADY. And how about yourself?

JUDGE. I couldn't sleep.

OLD LADY. Why not?

JUDGE. Don't know. Thought I heard children crying in the cellar.

OLD LADY. That's impossible. Oh, no, I suppose you didn't dare to sleep for fear I might be prying in your hiding-places.

JUDGE. And you feared I might be after yours! A pleasant old age this will be for Philemon and Baucis!

OLD LADY. At least no gods will come to visit us.

JUDGE. No, I shouldn't call them gods.

_At this moment the_ PROCESSION _begins all over again, starting from the mausoleum as before and moving in silence toward the right_.

OLD LADY. O Mary, Mother of God, what is this?

JUDGE. Merciful heavens! [_Pause_]

OLD LADY. Pray! Pray for us!

JUDGE. I have tried, but I cannot.

OLD LADY. Neither can I! The words won't come--and no thoughts! [_Pause_]

JUDGE. How does the Lord's Prayer begin?

OLD LADY. I can't remember, but I knew it this morning. [_Pause_] Who is the woman in white?

JUDGE. It is she--Amelia's mother--whose very memory we wanted to kill.

OLD LADY. Are these shadows or ghosts, or nothing but our own sickly dreams?

JUDGE. [_Takes up his pocket-knife_] They are delusions sent by the devil. I'll throw cold steel after them.--Open the knife for me, Caroline! I can't, don't you see?

OLD LADY. Yes, I see--it isn't easy without a forefinger.--But I can't either! [_She drops the knife_]

JUDGE. Woe to us! Steel won't help here! Woe! There's the beheaded sailor! Let us get away from here!

OLD LADY. That's easy to say, but I can't move from the spot.

JUDGE. And I seem to be rooted to the ground.--No, I am not going to look at it any longer!

[_He covers his eyes with one hand_.

OLD LADY. But what is it? Mists out of the earth, or shadows cast by the trees?

JUDGE. No, it's our own vision that plays us false. There I go now, and yet I am standing here. Just let me get a good night's sleep, and I'll laugh at the whole thing!--The devil! Is this masquerade never going to end?

OLD LADY. But why do you look at it then?

JUDGE. I see it right through my hand--I see it in the dark, with my eyelids closed!

OLD LADY. But now it's over.

_The_ PROCESSION _has passed out_.

JUDGE. Praised be--why, I can't get the word out!--I wonder if it will be possible to sleep to-night? Perhaps we had better send for the doctor?

OLD LADY. Or Father Colomba, perhaps?

JUDGE. He can't help, and he who could won't!--Well, let the Other One do it then!

THE OTHER ONE _enters from behind the Lady Chapel. He is extremely thin and moth-eaten. His thin, snuff-coloured hair is parted in the middle. His straggly beard looks as if it were made out of tow. His clothes are shabby and outgrown, and he seems to wear no linen. A red woollen muffler is wound around his neck. He wears spectacles and carries a piece of rattan under his arm_.

JUDGE. Who is that?

THE OTHER ONE. [_In a low voice_] I am the Other One!

JUDGE. [_To his wife_] Make the sign of the cross! I can't!

THE OTHER ONE. The sign of the cross does not frighten me, for I am undergoing my ordeal merely that I may wear it.

JUDGE. Who are you?

THE OTHER ONE. I became the Other One because I wanted to be the First One. I was a man of evil, and my punishment is to serve the good.

JUDGE. Then you are not the Evil One?

THE OTHER ONE. I am. And it is my task to torment you into finding the cross, before which we are to meet some time.

OLD LADY. [_To_ JUDGE] Don't listen to him! Tell him to go!

THE OTHER ONE. It won't help. You have called me, and you'll have to bear with me.

_The_ JUDGE _and the_ OLD LADY _go out to the left_.

THE OTHER ONE _goes after them_.

_Curtain_.