Etext by Dagny
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By
Frank J. Morlock
C 1986
Characters:
Dr. Glas
Mrs. Gregorius
Reverend Gregorius
Klaus Reche
Servant
Markel
Doctor
Good morning, Mrs. Gregorius. Cold still bothering you?
Mrs. Gregorius
I was fooling you last time, Doctor. I'm not ill; I'm perfectly
well. It was something completely different I wanted to talk to you
about. I just couldn't get it out then.
Doctor
Well, go on.
Mrs. Gregorius
I've conceived such a loathing for my husband.
Doctor
I don't care for him myself.
Mrs. Gregorius
Not as a human being. He's always kind and good to me; he has never
said a hard word to me. But he awakens in me such a horrible distaste.
Doctor
I see. But, how does this concern me?
Mrs. Gregorius
I don't know how to express myself. What I want to ask you is so
unusual. And, perhaps, at variance with what you consider to be right.
I don't know what you think of such matters, but there's something
about you that inspires me with confidence—and I don't know anyone
else I can confide in in this matter. (desperately) No one in the whole
world can help me.
Doctor (laughing with embarrassment)
How can I help you? There are no pills that will make you like him
if you don't. There are limits to medical science and its wonders.
Mrs. Gregorius (using all her charm)
Doctor, couldn't you talk to my husband? Couldn't you tell him I'm
suffering from some disease—some infection of the womb—and that he
must give up his rights—at least for a while?
Doctor
Rights! Every time I hear that word used in that sense, I see red.
God in heaven, what has happened to people's brains, that they should
have made rights and duties out of it? Mrs. Gregorius, forgive me for
asking, but how long have you been married?
Mrs. Gregorius
Six years.
Doctor
And, what you call—your husband's rights—have they always seemed
as difficult to you as they do now?
Mrs. Gregorius
It's always been difficult. But recently it has become unbearable.
I can't stand it any longer. (sobbing) I don't know what will become of
me.
Doctor
But, the Reverend isn't a young man any more. It surprises me, that
at his age, he can bother you so much. How old is he exactly?
Mrs. Gregorius
Fifty-six, I think. No, maybe fifty-seven. But, he looks older, of
course.
Doctor
As it happens, I met your husband last night. He told me his heart
is bad—thumps irregularly. I told him he should come to see me.
Mrs. Gregorius
Oh—
Doctor
It's strange. But, tell me—haven't you ever spoken to him about
this yourself? Told him what suffering it is for you, asked him in a
simple, friendly way to excuse you?
Mrs. Gregorius (after a short silence)
Yes, I did ask him once. He treated me like a child. He said we
could not know whether God meant to give him a child or not—even
though we haven't had one so far. He said it would be a great sin if we
ceased doing what God wished us to do in order to have a child.
Doctor
The old humbug.
Mrs. Gregorius
Perhaps he is right. But it is so hard for me.
(Silence.)
Mrs. Gregorius
No. You have to know the whole story—perhaps you've guessed
it—you see right through me. I'm asking you to play the fool for my
sake. I must be straightforward with you. Judge me as you will. I'm an
unfaithful wife. I belong to another man.
Doctor
That's why it has become so terribly hard for you?
Mrs. Gregorius (sobbing)
That's why.
Doctor (after a minute)
There, there, don't cry, don't cry any more. I'll help you. I
promise.
Mrs. Gregorius (kissing his hand)
Thank you. Thank you.
Doctor
But, you were foolish to tell me this last bit. Not because you
need be in the least afraid I shall abuse your confidence—but, such
matters have to be kept secret, always, without exception, as long as
possible! And naturally, I would have helped you anyway.
Mrs. Gregorius
I wanted to tell you. I wanted someone I respect to know about
it—and not despise me.
Doctor
I don't despise you. I will talk to your husband. Today, if
possible.
Mrs. Gregorius (going)
Thank you. Thank you.
(Exit Mrs. Gregorius.)
Doctor (musing)
I wonder who the lucky man is.
BLACKOUT
Doctor
What's the matter? What has happened? Has something happened?
Mrs. Gregorius
Last night, he raped me!
Doctor (genuinely sympathetic)
Poor child!
Mrs. Gregorius
I'm made to be trampled on. He woke me up in the middle of the
night. He begged, he pleaded, he wept. He said his salvation was at
stake. He said he didn't know what grievous sin he might commit, if I
didn't give in to him. He told me it was my duty to do so—and that my
duty came before my health. He said God would help us—God would give
me back my health.
Doctor
Is he a hypocrite or just a pig?
Mrs. Gregorius
He's not a hypocrite—at least, I don't think so. He's gotten in
the habit of using “God” for everything under the sun—as suits him
best. They always do it—I know so many clergymen—I hate them. But, he
isn't a hypocrite.
Doctor
You must hate him.
Mrs. Gregorius
I do. Afterwards, I wanted to get up, to get dressed—but he held
me and wouldn't let me go. He was strong.
Doctor (to himself, between his teeth)
Beware priest!
Mrs. Gregorius
I could murder that man.
Doctor
My dear Mrs. Gregorius, that's only a manner of speaking, but it's
one that should not be used, even as such.
Mrs. Gregorius (wildly)
I mean it, I mean it!
Doctor
But, tell me. How did it come about that you married Mr. Gregorius?
Pressure from your parents?
Mrs. Gregorius
No, nothing like that. Naturally, I was never in love with him, not
in the least. Nothing at all. I'll try to explain. As a young girl, I
was perfectly happy. But, when I was twenty, I fell in love with a
married man—and he tried to seduce me. Then, I wouldn't let him see me
any more, but he wouldn't let me alone. I was very religiously brought
up, you see. I was crazy about this man, but I wasn't a home breaker or
an adulteress—not in those days. So, when Reverend Gregorius asked for
my hand, I agreed readily enough. I thought it was God's will.
Doctor (stupefied)
God's will!
Mrs. Gregorius
Yes. Saving me from sin, from my infatuation. I'd been praying for
God's help. I thought this was his answer. So, I married him.
Doctor
And, were you happy?
Mrs. Gregorius
No. Little by little, he killed my belief in God. That's the only
thing I have to thank him for, because I certainly don't want it back
again. Everything one longed for, everything delightful to think
about—was sin! To long for a man was sin. But, if you don't want your
husband—if he disgusts you—it's a sin not to desire him. Tell me,
Doctor Glas, isn't that queer?
Doctor
Yes, it is queer.
Mrs. Gregorius
Do you believe my love now is a sin? If it's sin, then everything
in me is sin, since I cannot find anything in myself that is better or
more pure.
Doctor
Haven't you ever considered divorce? You're not tied to your
husband by any economic necessity—your father left you a fortune, and
your mother is still alive in good circumstances—isn't that so?
Mrs. Gregorius
You don't know him. Divorce a minister! He'd never agree to it,
never! Whatever I did, whatever happened, he'd sooner forgive me
seventy times over—rehabilitate me, everything imaginable. He's even
capable of holding prayers for me in Church! No, I'm made to be
trampled on.
Doctor
Well, my dear Mrs. Gregorius, what do you want me to do now? I
can't see any way out any more. If he disregards your health—
Mrs. Gregorius
I don't know, I don't know anything any more. But, I think he's
coming to see you today about his heart. He mentioned it yesterday.
Couldn't you speak to him just once more? Of course, without letting
him suspect I've been here today, and spoken to you about the matter.
Doctor
Perhaps we can convince him his own healthy is at stake.
Mrs. Gregorius
I knew I could count on you.
(Exit Mrs. Gregorius. After she leaves, the Doctor puts his head in his hands.)
Doctor
I believe I'm falling in love with her. (pause) Have a care,
priest!
BLACKOUT
Gregorius
Tell me, Doctor Glas, as a medical man, do you think the Holy
Communion constitutes a danger to health?
Doctor
I haven't followed the discussion.
Gregorius
There have been several newspaper articles on the subject.
Doctor
I'm far from being well-informed on the subject.
Gregorius
The question is: what's to be done to prevent the spread of
diseases at the Communion table?
Doctor
Hmm—I've never given it much thought.
Gregorius
It's a shame the question was ever raised. But, now that it has
been raised, it must be answered.
Doctor
I suppose so.
Gregorius
Perhaps each church could acquire a number of small disposable
beakers and the verger could clean them after each group of
communicants.
Doctor
Wouldn't that be expensive and time consuming?
Gregorius
It would be. And for a small parish, it may be too expensive.
Doctor
Well, with interest in religion steadily on the increase and masses
of silver cups used in every bicycle race, surely it should not prove
impossible to get enough cups.
Gregorius (who has given it a lot of thought)
Maybe every communicant could bring his own cup.
Doctor
Hmm. That might work.
Gregorius
But, how would it look if the rich brought something expensive and
the poor brought a beer mug?
Doctor
Picturesque. I don't recall a word about silver being part of the
Holy Communion.
Gregorius
Bah, you're a sceptic, a free-thinker. But, this is serious. Some
clergymen have suggested putting our saviour's blood in capsules.
Doctor
In capsules—like castor oil?
Gregorius
Yes, in capsules. Horrifying! Innovations like these fill me with
grave misgivings. Unfortunately, so do germs. So, what's to be done?
Doctor
Why don't you take off your coat? (pause) Well, if you want to
prevent the spread of disease, I suppose the capsules are the best
solution.
Gregorius (removing his coat)
You really think that?
Doctor
Or paper cups.
Gregorius
Paper cups? Our Lord's blood in paper cups?
Doctor
It does seem objectionable at first glance—but the essence of
Communion does not lie in the bread and wine—but in faith. And true
faith cannot let itself be influenced by mere forms such as paper cups
or gelatin capsules.
Gregorius
There's something in what you say.
Doctor (stethoscope in place)
Be quiet. I want to listen to your heart sounds.
(With the stethoscope to the chest of Gregorius, the Doctor moves, taps and listens. As the examination proceeds, Doctor Glas seems alarmed and in turn Reverend Gregorius becomes increasingly nervous.)
Doctor
Hmm.
Gregorius (frightened)
Is it serious?
Doctor
Queer! Forgive me, but I must listen just a little while longer. I
must be quite sure I'm not making a mistake.
(The Doctor listens as Reverend Gregorius's agitation increases.)
Gregorius
Well, Doctor?
Doctor
Let us be honest with ourselves, Reverend Gregorius. You have
certainly not forgotten the conversation we had a few weeks ago. It is
not my intention to put any awkward questions as to how you have kept
the agreement we reached at that time. I will merely say, Vicar, that
had I known then how your heart was, I could have adduced stronger
reasons for the advice I was forced to give you. For your wife, it's a
question of her health over a longer or shorter period. For you, it can
easily be a question of your life.
Gregorius (terrified)
My life!
Doctor
My prescription is clear: it calls for separate bedrooms. I
remember you don't like it, but that cannot be helped. It isn't only
the act itself which involves great risk—it is also the excitement of
desire.
Gregorius
But—
Doctor
Yes, yes, I know what you are going to say. You're a clergyman and
so forth. But, after all, I'm a doctor and you're my patient. The
effect of a woman as pretty as your wife on a clergyman is much the
same as her effect on other men.
Gregorius (putting on his coat and leaving)
Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed by thy name, lead us not
into temptation—but deliver us from evil— Goodbye, Doctor.
Doctor
You had best follow my advice—if you want to live a bit longer.
(Exit Reverent Gregorius.)
Doctor
The old goat has a heart that will last another twenty years.
Beware, priest.
BLACKOUT
Gregorius
Is it serious, Doctor?
Glas
No, it's not serious, but it is dangerous. For safety's sake, we
may as well send to the pharmacist for some Communion pills.
Gregorius
Must I be operated on?
Glas
It looks like it. Your heart is no use at all. We'll have to take
it out. But, don't worry. It's a perfectly safe operation—it can be
done without anesthesia.
Gregorius
That's remarkable. No pain?
Glas
No pain. It can be done with a simple penknife. We'll just lay this
handkerchief over your head.
(Glas smothers Gregorius with a pillow.)
Gregorius
Uhh. (dies)
Glas
Hmm, dead.
Mrs. Gregorius (removing all her clothes)
Is he dead?
Glas (beckoning her to him)
He's been dead for two years.
(Enter Klaus Reche, a young man, fashionably dressed.)
Reche (preventing Mrs. Gregorius from joining Glas)
Dr. Glas, in my capacity as temporary sheriff, I declare you under
arrest for the murder of the husband of my mistress. As her lover, I
congratulate you on an act which was done from purely selfless
friendship to my lady. Nonetheless, duty is duty. You understand?
(Glas points to the window and the lights go up.)
Voice
The world's on fire! The world's on fire!
Glas
What a dream! That's the second time I've had it.
(Reche and the others withdraw into the shadows without actually leaving the stage and remain visible to the audience, but frozen in action.)
Glas
Why do I keep dreaming that I will murder Reverend Gregorius? (goes
to his deck and takes out a box of pills) I made these pills up myself.
Each one contains enough potassium cyanide to kill a horse. When I made
them up, I wasn't thinking of suicide. But a man, especially a doctor,
should always be ready. If one takes a little potassium cyanide in a
glass of water, death follows instantly. The glass slips from your hand
before you have had time to swallow. Everyone knows there's been a
suicide. That's not always desirable. If you take one of my little
pills and then drink a glass of water, you have perhaps a minute or two
before the pill dissolves. You can put your glass back, take a
comfortable seat, and unfold your newspaper before you collapse. A
natural death! If there's an autopsy, the poison will be discovered, of
course. But, why should there be an autopsy? Who would think of suicide
when reading the newspapers? Ridiculous. It was obviously a stoke.
These pills represent freedom. Sleep well in your little box.
(returning them to the drawer) Sleep till I need you.
Reche (coming forward)
For God's sake, keep your happiness! I'll take the pleasure. But
that doesn't mean one seeks happiness. There are some people with no
gift for it at all. Glas is one of them.
(Reche stares accusingly at Glas.)
Glas (after a long silence)
What was it that I was dreaming? Oh, yes. That I killed that silly
clergyman. He had to die. It was difficult, unpleasant. I wanted to
consult with a colleague. I didn't wish to bear sole responsibility in
this matter. However, as it had to be done, I held my nose and did it.
(Mrs. Gregorius comes forward.)
Glas (to Mrs. Gregorius)
Your husband is a strange case. Most people smell after they are
dead. That's why we bury them. To prevent stench. But, if someone
smells while he's still alive, he has to be killed immediately.
(shaking his head) The present state of science knows no other way out.
Besides, if I don't do it, then you will have to do it
yourself—however hard it may be for you.
(Mrs. Gregorius retires to the shadows and freezes again.)
Glas
Or, she may ask me for professional help. And I suppose I shall
have to accede to her—because I can't resist her in anything. Only,
she won't ask me, and so the Reverend must go.
BLACKOUT
Glas (alone)
I can see no other solution: the priest must go. Everything is on
his side: the world, morality, God—his own conscience. That she meets
his desires with frigid distaste can never make him doubt for a moment
his rights. The thing must be done, which I alone can see. It must be
done, and no one except myself can or dares. What will the world think?
That aspect need hardly be considered as it is my intention to keep the
public out of this affair. Do I want to kill him? I want to and I don't
want to. Life is action. When I see something that makes me indignant,
I want to intervene. The law does not give me the right to kill this
man. Or to save my friend. In a word, the law is absurd. But morality,
the unwritten law. Morality, that's someone else's view of what is
right. But the point in question is my view. Morality, like law, is for
our use. To adopt it wholeheartedly without conviction would be naïve
and simple-minded. I don't need to be told that killing the parson is
both unlawful and against morality. Can a man let a woman he loves be
outraged, despoiled, raped, trampled on—before his very eyes? She
loves someone else. That is her business, not mine. I love her.
Therefore, this is my business. Why don't I want to? I'm frightened.
Frightened of being found out. One has to risk something in this world.
A few weeks ago, I thought I was ready to stow position,
respectability, future, all of it, aboard the first ship to sail by.
But it wasn't true. I was bragging. My life was empty, wretched. I see
no sense in it, yet I cling to it. I want peace, but will I ever have
peace? Not if I turn my back on her! Am I made for sailing on the open
sea? I am a born looker-on. To will is to be able to choose. Oh, that
it should be so hard to choose! (pause) If it is to be done, how is it
to be done? My pills, made up for myself, must be brought into service!
One thing is certain: there can be no question of letting him swallow
them at home. It must happen here at my place. It won't be nice, but I
see no alternative. If he takes a pill on my prescription, the police
might see a connection. What's worse—she would certainly be suspected.
For him to die at my office is bad for my reputation as a doctor—but
personal considerations must make no difference! If he refuses to take
his pill—well, I can't help it, the matter must drop. After all, I
can't kill him with an axe. Then, I myself must call for an autopsy.
Hopefully, my colleague who signs the death certificate will see no
need. But, suppose he doesn't? A flaw in the plan. Impossible to
arrange every detail. One must rely on one's powers of improvisation.
Hell—what a fool I am! There isn't only myself to think of. Suppose an
autopsy is necessary and I wind up taking a pill myself. Won't she be
suspected? That she has a lover will soon be sniffed out. She might not
even deny she wants him out of the way. She's too naïve and honest. (to
Mrs. Gregorius) And it would be my fault for bringing you to this. I
have an idea, even so. If an autopsy becomes necessary, I must show
clear symptoms of insanity. I shall create a document that the priest
has been persecuting me—he has committed soul murder, and that I am
going to kill him to protect myself. That's explanation enough.
(A knock is heard. Glas freezes.)
Gregorius (outside)
Dr. Glas, are you in?
Glas
What am I to do? Not now, not now.
BLACKOUT
Glas
It's lovely up here this evening.
Mrs. Gregorius
Yes, it's a lovely evening—and it's been a lovely summer. Now, it
will soon be over. The trees are already turning yellow.
Glas
How is the Vicar?
Mrs. Gregorius (avoiding the question at first)
The heat came so early this year. That usually means an early
autumn. He came home from Porla a few days ago.
Glas
And, is he at all better?
Mrs. Gregorius (quietly)
Not from my point of view.
Glas
Just as I had expected. May I ask you a question?
Mrs. Gregorius
Please do.
Glas
The man you love—you haven't told me his name. What does he say
about all this? What does he want to do? Surely, he can't be satisfied
with things as they are?
Mrs. Gregorius
He wants to take me away.
Glas
And can he? I mean, is he free—with enough money—a man who can do
as he likes?
Mrs. Gregorius
No. Or we would have done it long ago. He has his whole future
here. But he wants to go to America.
Glas
And you yourself, do you want to go?
Mrs. Gregorius
I mostly want to die. I don't want to ruin his life or be a burden
to him. Why should he go away? It would only be for my sake. His whole
life is here—position, future, friends, everything.
Glas
Mrs. Gregorius, you regard me as your friend, don't you? Therefore,
I can be your friend. You don't dislike me talking of these things, do
you?
Mrs. Gregorius
I'm very fond of you. You've done for me something that no one else
could have done. You may talk to me about anything you wish. I like it
so much when you talk.
Glas
Your friend, has he wanted it for a long time, for you to go away
together? Has he talked of it before?
Mrs. Gregorius
Never before this evening. We met here shortly before you came.
Glas (cogitating)
There is a special reason he has hit on this idea.
Mrs. Gregorius (agreeing)
Perhaps.
Glas (bluntly)
Are you pregnant?
Mrs. Gregorius
I want to die. I should so terribly like to die. I feel I have had
everything that is mine. I regret nothing, but I want to die. Yet, it's
so difficult. I think suicide is ugly, particularly for a woman.
(pause) Yes, suicide is ugly, but it can be even uglier to go on
living. I'm not afraid of death. Even if I believed there was something
after death, I wouldn't be afraid of it. Nothing I have done, good or
evil, could I have done otherwise. I've done what I had to do in the
big things or small. I don't even regret my marriage. Nothing could
happen otherwise than it has. Recently, I've learned to understand that
my body is me. There is no joy, no life, no sorrow except through my
body. And my body knows very well that it must die. And that is how I
know there is nothing for me on the other side of death.
Glas
Your body knows it will one day have to die, but it doesn't want to
die; it wants to live. Let time go by. Your body doesn't want to die
until it's old. You just think things look so bleak right now.
Mrs. Gregorius (rising)
It's late, I must go home.
Glas
I should like to kiss your cheek. May I?
Mrs. Gregorius
I want to kiss your forehead, it's beautiful.
(They exchange very chaste kisses, and then Mrs. Gregorius walks off with a very heavy heart. Glas stares after her, looking protective.)
BLACKOUT
Gregorius
Well now, if it isn't you, Doctor Glas. How are you, how are you? I
was just going to drink a glass of vichy water before going to dinner.
Surely, that can't be bad for the heart, can it?
Glas
Well, carbon dioxide isn't good—but a little glass now and then
can't do you any harm. Not much at any rate. How do you feel after your
visit to the spa?
Gregorius
Very fit. Just what I needed. I think I paid you a visit a few days
ago, but you must have gone out.
Glas
Some days I have to visit patients. Come again tomorrow.
Gregorius
I'm not sure I'll have time—but I'll try. It's beautiful at Porla.
Glas
Yes, it's quite nice at Porla—though less beautiful than most
other places.
(A waiter brings some glasses of vichy water and leaves.)
Glas (as if to himself)
I may as well do it here.
Gregorius
What?
Glas
I have to take a pill. Sometimes I wait till I get home.
Gregorius
I believe you're taking medicine, Doctor.
Glas
We've bad hearts, both of us. Mine isn't all it ought to be either.
Comes from smoking too much.
Gregorius
I don't smoke.
Glas (taking out his pill box)
If I could only quit, I wouldn't need this stuff. It's quite a new
drug. Experimental. So I try it on myself before trying it on my
patients.
Gregorius
Is it any good?
Glas
Remarkable, really. I've been taking it for more than a month. It
prevents indigestion and regulates the heart. May I offer you one?
Gregorius
I was about to ask. (taking a pill and swallowing it) Thank you
very much.
Glas
If you like, I can write you a prescription tomorrow.
Gregorius
It doesn't taste bad.
Glas
Oh, no.
Gregorius
I think I will come around for a prescription.
Glas
As many as you like.
Gregorius
This is an old café.
Glas
Yes, it's old.
(The Reverend Gregorius collapses. Glas bends over him as the waiter rushes in.)
Gregorius
This man has had a heart attack. He's a patient of mine. Well,
well. He's dead.
Waiter
Poor fellow. The Reverend has been a good customer. Just now, I saw
how violently he drank his water and I thought he wasn't in good
health.
Glas
It will distress his wife terribly. Who is it said: Life is short,
but hours are long?
Waiter
I've no idea, Doctor.
BLACKOUT
Glas (holding the bouquet)
Flowers—why would anyone send me flowers? There's only one person.
Does this mean she has understood? Such a thing simply doesn't happen.
It can't be allowed to happen. No, it's mad, it's impossible. Such a
thing must simply not be allowed. There are limits to what a woman is
permitted to understand. If she understands, if she knows, then I don't
understand anything myself anymore. I don't want any further part in
this game. Yet, they are lovely flowers. But, I don't want to touch
them. They can stay where they are. They are evil. Evil flowers. I'm
afraid. I'm afraid of them.
BLACKOUT
Markel
I see the Reverend Dr. Gregorius was buried today. You were at the
church, perhaps?
Glas
Yes, I've just come from there.
Markel
I was on duty when the news of his death came in. Nothing to fuss
about, but of course, a few kind words have to be said. So I described
him as agreeable and open-hearted—in memoriam of his fatty heart.
Glas
My dear friend, yours is a beautiful calling. I didn't know his
mother was still alive. She must be very old.
Markel
Yes. Strange, isn't it? I know her. The old girl's strong as an ox
and well into her nineties.
Glas
Is that Klaus Reche over there?
Markel
Yes. That's him. He's with his future in-laws.
Glas (astounded)
Is he going to marry?
Markel
Yes, a rich girl. Her father's a banker or stockbroker. Miss
Lewison.
Glas
Is that so? I somehow thought he had intentions in a different
quarter.
Markel
It won't be the first heart our Klaus has broken.
Glas
You know her?
Markel
More than I care to. She has impeccable taste. She trims her sails
between Schopenhauer and Nietzsche. “There and there Schopenhauer is
right and there Nietzsche is right.” Disgusting bitch. Are you all
right?
Glas
Never better.
Markel
No, Glas, we can't go on like this. How long do you imagine we're
going to sit here without a drop of whiskey? WAITER!
BLACKOUT
Glas
What astonishing news! Has it all been a mistake? Better not go to
the bottom of things or you yourself may go to the bottom. After all, I
acted as best I knew how. (to Mrs. Gregorius, who, of course, is not
there) Dearest, this is your affair. No one can help you here, and even
if I could, I wouldn't want to. Here you must be strong—lonely one,
beloved, Do you know already? Do you suffer? Do you stare? Do you weep?
Or, perhaps he is fooling you up to the very end. After all, our Klaus
is nothing if not considerate. Life, I do not understand you. I have
begun to dream of the priest. This, of course, was to be expected, and
does not surprise me. I thought I should escape it, precisely because I
had foreseen it. I understand King Herod's distaste for prophets who
went about waking up the dead. In other respects he held them in high
regard. But this branch of their activities met with his disapproval.
Life, I do not understand you. But I am not accusing you. The suspicion
has begun to dawn on me— perhaps, we are not intended to understand
life. All this rage to explain, all this chasing after truth—perhaps
it's a mistake. We bless the sun because we are living at the exact
healthy distance from it. A little closer and we burn, a little further
and we freeze. What if it's the same with truth as with the sun? He who
sees God's face must die! Oedipus solved the riddle of the Sphinx and
became the unhappiest of men. Not to guess at riddles! Not think!
Thought is an acid eating us away. We think it eats up only what is
rotten and sick. But thought thinks otherwise. It eats blindly. The
sciences are useful, because they prevent men from thinking. A
scientist said that! (pause) I never see her. Often I go to the hill
where I met her. I recall how she asked for my help. I remember I said
such things must be kept secret. Supposing I go to her in my need as
she once came to me? I must reveal myself to one other person. One
other person must know who I am. No. We should both go out of our
minds! I wandered near her house. Oh, if I were there, if I could be
with her. I saw her go out hurriedly to post a letter. Her face was
pale as wax. Never will she be mine. I never brought a flush to her
cheek, and it is not I who passed her by. Life has passed me by.
(Markel) Well, what do you say, Glas, shall we live it up a little? You're not paying attention. What's on your mind anyway?
Glas
I'm not feeling well. Will you excuse me, I must take my pill.
CURTAIN