Plays: Comrades; Facing Death; Pariah; Easter Part 28

MR. X. [Looking into mirror]. Now everything is clear to me! Ah!

MR. Y. [Worried]. What do you see now that's so remarkable?

MR. X. I see in the mirror that you are a thief, a simple, common thief.

Just now, when you sat there in your s.h.i.+rt-sleeves, I noticed that something was wrong about my book-shelf, but I couldn't make out what it was, as I wanted to listen to you and observe you. Now, since you have become my antagonist, my sight is keener, and since you have put on that black coat, that acts as a color contrast against the red backs of the books, which were not noticeable before against your red suspenders, I see that you have been there and read your forgery story in Bernheim's essay on hypnotic suggestion, and returned the book upside down. So you stole that story too! In consequence of all this I consider that I have the right to conclude that you committed your crime through need, or because you were addicted to pleasures.

MR. Y. Through need. If you knew--

MR. X. If _you_ knew in what need I have lived, and lived, and still live! But this is no time for that. To continue, that you have served time is almost certain, but that was in America, for it was American prison life that you described; another thing is almost as certain--that you have not served out your sentence here.

MR. Y. How can you say that?

MR. X. Wait until the sheriff comes and you will know. [Mr. Y. rises.]

Do you see? The first time I mentioned the sheriff in connection with the thunderbolt, you wanted to run then, too; and when a man has been in that prison he never wants to go to the windmill hill every day to look at it, or put himself behind a window-pane to--to conclude, you have served one sentence, but not another. That's why you were so difficult to get at. [Pause.]

MR. Y. [Completely defeated]. May I go now?

MR. X. Yes, you may go now.

MR. Y. [Getting his things together]. Are you angry with me?

MR. X. Yes. Would you like it better if I pitied you?

MR. Y. [Wrathfully]. Pity! Do you consider yourself better than I am?

MR. X. Of course I do, as I _am_ better. I am more intelligent than you are, and of more worth to the common weal.

MR. Y. You are pretty crafty, but not so crafty as I am. I stand in check myself, but, nevertheless, the next move you can be checkmated.

MR. X. [Fixing Mr. Y. with his eye]. Shall we have another bout? What evil do you intend to do now?

MR. Y. That is my secret.

MR. X. May I look at you?--You think of writing an anonymous letter to my wife, disclosing my secret.

MR. Y. Yes, and you cannot prevent it. You dare not have me imprisoned, so you must let me go; and when I have gone I can do what I please.

MR. X. Ah, you devil! You've struck my Achilles heel--will you force me to become a murderer?

MR. Y. You couldn't become one! You timid creature!

MR. X. You see, then, there is a difference in people after all, and you feel within you that I cannot commit such deeds as you, and that is your advantage. But think if you forced me to deal with you as I did with the coachman!

[Lifts his hand as if to strike. Mr. Y. looks hard at Mr. X.]

MR. Y. You can't do it. He who dared not take his salvation out of the case couldn't do that.

MR. X. Then you don't believe that I ever took from the case?

MR. Y. You were too cowardly, just as you were too cowardly to tell your wife that she is married to a murderer.

MR. X. You are a different kind of being from me--whether stronger or weaker I do not know--more criminal or not--that doesn't concern me. But you are the stupider, that's proven. Because you were stupid when you forged a man's name instead of begging as I have had to do; you were stupid when you stole out of my book--didn't you realize that I read my books? You were stupid when you thought that you were more intelligent than I am and that you could fool me into becoming a thief; you were stupid when you thought, that the restoration of balance would be accomplished by the world's having two thieves instead of one, and you were most stupid when you believed that I have built my life's happiness without having laid the cornerstone securely. Go and write your anonymous letter to my wife about her husband being a homicide--that she knew as my fiancee. Do you give up now?

MR. Y. Can I go?

MR. X. Now you _shall_ go--immediately. Your things will follow you.

CURTAIN.

EASTER

CHARACTERS

MRS. HEYST ELIS, her son. Instructor in a preparatory school ELEONORA, her daughter CHRISTINE, Elis' fiancee BENJAMIN, a freshman LINDKVIST

[Scene for the entire play.--The interior of a gla.s.s-enclosed piazza, furnished like a living-room. A large door at the middle back leading out into the garden with fence and garden gate visible. Beyond one sees the tops of trees (indicating that the house is situated on a height), and in the distance the cathedral and another high building loom against the sky. The gla.s.s windows which extend across the entire back of scene are hung with flowered yellow cretonne, which can be drawn open. A mirror hangs on the panel between door and window on the left. Below the mirror is a calendar. To the right of door a writing table covered with books and writing materials. A telephone is also on it. To L. of door is a dining table, stove and bureau. At R. in foreground it small sewing table with lamp on it. Near it are two arm-chairs. A hanging lamp at center. Outside in the street an electric light. At L. there is a door leading from piazza to the house, at R. a door leading to the kitchen.

Time, the present.]

ACT I.

[Thursday before Easter. The music before curtain is: Haydn: Sieben Worte des Erlosers. Introduction: Maestoso Adagio.]

[A ray of sunlight falls across the room and strikes one of the chairs near the sewing table. In the other chair, untouched by the suns.h.i.+ne, sits Christine, running strings thro' muslin sash-curtains. Elis enters wearing a winter overcoat, unb.u.t.toned. He carries a bundle of legal doc.u.ments which he puts on the writing table. After that he takes off his overcoat and hangs it at L.]

ELIS. h.e.l.lo, sweetheart.

CHRISTINE. h.e.l.lo, Elis.

ELIS [Looks around]. The double windows are off, the floor scoured, fresh curtains at the windows--yes, it is spring again! The ice has gone out of the river, and the willows are beginning to bud on the banks--yes, spring has come and I can put away my winter overcoat.

[Weighs his overcoat in his hand and hangs it up.] You know, it's so heavy--just as tho' it had absorbed the weight of the whole winter's worries, the sweat and dust of the school-room.

CHRISTINE. But you have a vacation now.

ELIS. Yes, Easter. Five days to enjoy, to breathe, to forget. [Takes Christine's hand a minute, and then seats himself in arm-chair.] Yes, the sun has come again. It left us in November. How well I remember the day it disappeared behind the brewery across the street. Oh, this winter, this long winter.

CHRISTINE [With a gesture toward kitchen]. s.h.!.+ s.h.!.+

ELIS. I'll be quiet--But I'm so happy that it's over with. Oh, the warm sun! [Rubs his hands as tho' bathing them in the suns.h.i.+ne.] I want to bathe in the suns.h.i.+ne and light after all the winter gloom--