A PURELY DISINTERESTED MURDER

A Play Based On A Novel By Hjalmar Soderberg

Etext by Dagny
  • Scene I. Dr. Glas's office. Mrs. Gregorius enters. She looks uneasy.
  • Scene II. The same. A few weeks later. Mrs. Gregorius enters. She is very distraught.
  • Scene III. The same. Reverend Gregorius, an old, prematurely wizened man, is talking with Doctor Glas.
  • Scene IV. The Dream Sequence. A sick room. Gregorius is in bed, Dr. Glas is examining him. Mrs. Gregorius, half naked, is sitting at an organ playing wild music.
  • Scene V. A bare hilltop. Mrs. Gregorius is sitting, crying. Glas enters.
  • Scene VI. A café. Glas is seated. Gregorius enters.
  • Scene VII. Glas is by himself. He has a bouquet of flowers.
  • Scene VIII. The café. Markel, a journalist is talking to Dr. Glas.
  • Scene IX. Glas, alone. (This scene may be played as a continuation of the previous scene with Glas talking to himself while Markel silently acts out a conversation with the Doctor.)
  • This Etext is for private use only. No republication for profit in 
    print or other media may be made without the express consent of the 
    Copyright Holder. The Copyright Holder is especially concerned about 
    performance rights in any media on stage, cinema, or television, or 
    audio or any other media, including readings for which an entrance fee 
    or the like is charge. Permissions should be addressed to: Frank 
    Morlock, 6006 Greenbelt Rd, #312, Greenbelt, MD 20770, USA or 
    frankmorlock@msn.com. Other works by this author may be found at 
    http://www.cadytech.com/dumas/personnage.asp?key=130

    By

    Frank J. Morlock
    C 1986


    Characters:

    Dr. Glas

    Mrs. Gregorius
    Reverend Gregorius
    Klaus Reche
    Servant
    Markel


    Scene I. Dr. Glas's office. Mrs. Gregorius enters. She looks uneasy.

    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


    Scene II. The same. A few weeks later. Mrs. Gregorius enters. She is very distraught.

    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


    Scene III. The same. Reverend Gregorius, an old, prematurely wizened man, is talking with Doctor Glas.

    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


    Scene IV. The Dream Sequence. A sick room. Gregorius is in bed, Dr. Glas is examining him. Mrs. Gregorius, half naked, is sitting at an organ playing wild music.

    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


    Scene V. A bare hilltop. Mrs. Gregorius is sitting, crying. Glas enters.

    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


    Scene VI. A café. Glas is seated. Gregorius enters.

    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


    Scene VII. Glas is by himself. He has a bouquet of flowers.

    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


    Scene VIII. The café. Markel, a journalist is talking to Dr. Glas.

    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


    Scene IX. Glas, alone. (This scene may be played as a continuation of the previous scene with Glas talking to himself while Markel silently acts out a conversation with the Doctor.)

    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