CHARACTERS
THE ANGEL GABRIEL, secretary and soldier
OUR LORD
MALCHUS, of the Bible
SETTING
The house of the lord.
In his father’s house are many mansions, and it is from the windows of one of them that he stands looking out upon the clockwork of the skies. With the precision that is possible only to things dead in themselves, the stars weave incessantly their interlocking measures. At intervals the blackest pockets of space give birth to a nebula, whirling in new anguish, but for the most part the sky offers only its vast stars, eased in the first gradations of their cooling, and fulfilling happily and with a faint humming sound the long loops of their appointment.
To him comes Gabriel.
GABRIEL: There are some unusually urgent petitions here . . . There’s this colonel on a raft in the Bengal Sea. —Here again is the widow and her two daughters in Moscow. A lady in Rome. (He lays some papers on the table) Besides, there is someone outside who wishes to speak to you. He says he knew you on earth. I think he has something to complain of, even here.
OUR LORD: Let him wait a moment.
(There is loud rapping at the door.)
GABRIEL: There he is again.
OUR LORD: Then let him in.
(Gabriel admits Malchus and goes out.)
MALCHUS: Please, sir, excuse me being so hasty, but I had to speak to you about something.
OUR LORD: You are displeased with Heaven?
MALCHUS: Oh no, sir—except for one thing.
OUR LORD: We will talk about it in a minute. Come by the window and look. Can you tell me which of those stars is mine?
MALCHUS: Lord, all are yours, surely.
OUR LORD: No, only one is mine, for only one bears living things upon it. And where there is no life I have no power. All the stars save one are lifeless; not even a blade of grass pushes through their powder or their flame. But one of them is so crowded with event that Heaven itself is scarcely able to attend to its needs. —But you are not interested?
MALCHUS: Oh, sir, it was so long ago that I was there that I cannot be expected to . . . Even my children’s children have long since left it. I cannot be very interested. Since I am so happy here—except for one thing. But I should like to see it again. Which is it, sir?
OUR LORD: There, see! See where it floats for a moment out of a green mist. If your ears were accustomed to it as mine are, you would hear what I hear: the sigh as it turns. Now, what is it you want of me?
MALCHUS: Well, as you know, I was the High Priest’s servant in the garden when you were taken. Sir, it’s hardly worth mentioning.
OUR LORD: No, no. Speak out.
MALCHUS: And one of your fellows took out his sword and cut off my ear.
OUR LORD: Yes.
MALCHUS: It’s . . . it’s hardly worth mentioning. Most of the time, Lord, we’re very happy up here and nothing disturbs us at our games. But whenever someone on earth thinks about us we are aware of it, pleasantly or unpleasantly. A sort of something crosses our mind. And because I’m in your book someone is always reading about me and thinking about me for a moment, and in the middle of my games I feel it. Especially at this season, when your death is celebrated, no moment goes by without this happening. And what they think is, that I’m ridiculous.
OUR LORD: I see. And you want your name to be erased from the book?
MALCHUS (Eagerly): Yes, sir. I thought you could just make the pages become blank at that place.
OUR LORD: Now that you have come here everything that you wish is granted to you. You know that.
MALCHUS: Yes, sir; thank you, sir.
OUR LORD: But stay a minute. At this season, Malchus, a number of people are thinking of me, too.
MALCHUS: Yes, Lord, but as good, as great . . .
OUR LORD: But, Malchus, I am ridiculous too.
MALCHUS: Oh, no, no!
OUR LORD: Ridiculous because I suffered from the delusion that after my death I could be useful to men.
MALCHUS: They don’t say that!
OUR LORD: And that my mind lay under a malady that many a doctor could cure. And that I have deceived and cheated millions and millions of souls who in their extremity called on me for the aid I had promised. They did not know that I died like any other man and their prayers mounted into vain air, for I no longer exist. My promises were so vast that I am either divine or ridiculous.
(Pause) Malchus, will you stay and be ridiculous with me?
MALCHUS: Yes, sir, I’ll stay. I’m glad to stay. Though in a way I haven’t any right to be there. I wasn’t even the High Priest’s servant; I only held his horse every now and then. And . . . and I used to steal a little—only you’ve forgiven me that. Sure, I’m glad to stay.
OUR LORD: Thank you, Malchus.
MALCHUS (Smiling): It isn’t even true in the book. It was my left ear and not my right.
OUR LORD: Yes, the book isn’t always true about me, either.
MALCHUS: Excuse my troubling you, sir. Good day.
OUR LORD: Good day, Malchus.
(Malchus goes out. Gabriel enters discreetly and lays down some more papers.)
GABRIEL (In a low voice): The raft has capsized, sir, on the Bengal Sea, and the colonel will be here at once. The women in Moscow . . .
END OF PLAY
Mozart and the Gray Steward
CHARACTERS
CONSTANZE, Mozart’s wife
MOZART, the composer
THE GRAY STEWARD, a mysterious visitor
SETTING
Mozart’s quarters in Vienna.
Mozart is seated at a table in a mean room orchestrating The Magic Flute. Leaves of ruled paper are strewn about the floor. His wife enters in great excitement.
CONSTANZE: There’s someone come to see you, someone important. Pray God, it’s a commission from court.
MOZART (Unmoved): Not while Salieri’s alive.
CONSTANZE: Put on your slippers, dear. It’s someone dressed all in gray, with a gray mask over his eyes, and he’s come in a great coach with its coat of arms all covered up with gray cloth. Pray God, it’s a commission from court for a Te Deum or something.
(She tidies up the room in six gestures.)
MOZART: Not while Salieri’s alive.
CONSTANZE: But, now, do be nice, ’Gangl, please. We must have some money, my treasure. Just listen to him and say “yes” and “thank you,” and then you and I’ll talk it over after he’s gone.
(She holds his coat) Come, put this on. Step into your slippers.
MOZART (Sighing): I’m not well. I’m at home. I’m at work. There’s not a single visitor in the whole world that could interest me. Bring him in.
CONSTANZE (Adjusting his stock): Now don’t be proud. Just accept.
(She hurries out and presently reenters preceding the visitor. The visitor is dressed from head to foot in gray silk. His bright eyes look out through the holes in a narrow gray silk mask. He holds to his nose a gray perfumed handkerchief. One would say: an elegant undertaker.)
THE GRAY STEWARD: Kappelmeister Mozart, servus. Gracious lady, servus.
MOZART: Servus.
THE GRAY STEWARD: Revered and noble master, wherever music reigns, wherever genius is valued, the name of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart is . . .
MOZART: Sir, I have always been confused by compliments and beg you to spare me that mortification by proceeding at once to the cause of your visit . . . the . . . the honor of your visit.
THE GRAY STEWARD: Revered master, before I lay my business before you, may I receive your promise that—whether you accept my commission or not—you both will . . .
MOZART: I promise you our secrecy, unless our silence would prove dishonorable to me or injurious to someone else. Pray continue.
THE GRAY STEWARD: Know then, gracious and revered genius, that I come from a prince who combines all the qualities of birth, station, generosity and wisdom.
MOZART: Ha! A European secret.
T
HE GRAY STEWARD: His Excellency moreover has just sustained a bitter misfortune. He has lately lost his wife and consort, a lady who was the admiration of her court and the sole light of her bereaved husband’s life. Therefore, His Excellency, my master, commissions you to compose a Requiem Mass in honor of this lady. He asks you to pour into it the height of your invention and that wealth of melody and harmony that have made you the glory of our era. And for this music he asks leave to pay you the sum of four hundred crowns—two hundred now, and the second two hundred crowns when you deliver the first four numbers.
MOZART: Well, Constanze, I must not be proud.
THE GRAY STEWARD: There is but one proviso.
MOZART: Yes, I heard it. The work must represent the height of my invention.
THE GRAY STEWARD: That was an easy assumption, master. The proviso is this: You shall let His Excellency have this music as an anonymous work, and you shall never by any sign, by so much as the nod of your head, acknowledge that the work is yours.
MOZART: And His Excellency is not aware that the pages I may compose at the height of my invention may be their own sufficient signature?
THE GRAY STEWARD: That may be. Naturally my master will see to it that no other composer will ever be able to claim the work as his.
MOZART: Quick, give me your paper and I will sign it. Leave your two hundred crowns with my wife at the foot of the stairs. Come back in August and you will have the first four numbers. Servus. Servus.
THE GRAY STEWARD (Backing out): Servus, master. Servus, madame.
(Constanze returns in a moment and looks anxiously toward her husband.)
CONSTANZE: A visit from Heaven, ’Gangl. Now you can go into the country. Now you can drink all the Bohemian water in the world.
MOZART (Bitterly): Good. And just at a time when I was contemplating a Requiem Mass. But for myself. However, I must not be proud.
CONSTANZE (Trying to divert him): Who can these people be? Try and think.
MOZART: Oh, there’s no mystery about that. It’s the Count Von Walsegg. He composes himself. But for the most part he buys string quartets from us; he erases the signatures and has them played in his castle. The courtiers flatter him and pretend that they have guessed him to be the composer. He does not deny it. He tries to appear confused. And now he has succeeded in composing a Requiem. But that will reduce my pride.
CONSTANZE: You know he will only be laughed at. The music will speak for itself. Heaven wanted to give us four hundred crowns—
MOZART: —And Heaven went about it humorously.
CONSTANZE: What was his wife like?
MOZART: Her impudences smelt to Heaven. She dressed like a page and called herself Cherubin. Her red cheeks and her black teeth and her sixty years are in my mind now.
CONSTANZE (After a pause): We’ll give back the money. You can write the music, without writing it for them.
MOZART: No, I like this game. I like it for its very falseness. What does it matter who signs such music or to whom it is addressed?
(He flings himself upon the sofa and turns his face to the wall.)
For whom do we write music?—for musicians? Salieri! for patrons? Von Walsegg! for the public? The Countess Von Walsegg! —I shall write this Requiem, but it shall be for myself, since I am dying.
CONSTANZE: My beloved, don’t talk so! Go to sleep. (She spreads a shawl over his body) How can you say such things? Imagine even thinking such a thing! You will live many years and write countless beautiful pages. We will return the money and refuse the commission. Then the matter will be closed. Now go to sleep, my treasure.
(She goes out, quietly closing the door behind her. Mozart, at the mercy of his youth, his illness and his genius, is shaken by a violent fit of weeping. The sobs gradually subside and he falls asleep. In his dream the Gray Steward returns.)
THE GRAY STEWARD: Mozart! Turn and look at me. You know who I am.
MOZART (Not turning): You are the steward of the Count Von Walsegg. Go tell him to write his own music. I will not stain my pen to celebrate his lady, so let the foul bury the foul.
THE GRAY STEWARD: Lie then against the wall, and learn that it is Death itself that commissions . . .
MOZART: Death is not so fastidious. Death carries no perfumed handkerchief.
THE GRAY STEWARD: Lie then against the wall. Know first that all the combinations of circumstance can suffer two interpretations, the apparent and the real.
MOZART: Then speak, sycophant, I know the apparent one. What other reading can this humiliation bear?
THE GRAY STEWARD: It is Death itself that commands you this Requiem. You are to give a voice to all those millions sleeping, who have no one but you to speak for them. There lie the captains and the thieves, the queens and the drudges, while the evening of their earthly remembrance shuts in, and from that great field rises an eternal miserere nobis. Only through the intercession of great love, and of great art, which is love, can that despairing cry be eased. Was that not sufficient cause for this commission to be anonymous?
MOZART (Drops trembling on one knee beside the couch): Forgive me.
THE GRAY STEWARD: And it was for this that the pretext and mover was chosen from among the weakest and vainest of humans. Death has her now, and all her folly has passed into the dignity and grandeur of her state. Where is your pride now? Here are her slippers and her trinkets. Press them against your lips. Again! Again! Know henceforth that only he who has kissed the leper can enter the kingdom of art.
MOZART: I have sinned, yet grant me one thing. Grant that I may live to finish the Requiem.
THE GRAY STEWARD: No! No!
(And it remains unfinished.)
END OF PLAY
Hast Thou Considered My Servant Job?
CHARACTERS
SATAN
CHRIST
JUDAS
SETTING
Another place.
Now it came to pass on the day when the sons of God came to present themselves before Satan that Christ also came among them. And
SATAN (Said unto Christ): Whence comest thou?
CHRIST (Answered Satan and said): From going to and fro in the earth, and from walking up and down in it.
(And)
SATAN (Said unto Christ): Hast thou considered my servant Judas? For there is none like him in the earth, an evil and a faithless man, one that feareth me and turneth away from God.
(Then)
CHRIST (Answered Satan and said): Doth Judas fear thee for naught? Hast thou not made a hedge about him, and about his house, and about all that he hath on every side? But draw back thy hand now and he will renounce thee to thy face.
(And)
SATAN (Said unto Christ): Behold, all that he hath is in thy power.
(So Christ went forth from the presence of Satan.
He descended to the earth. Thirty-three years are but a moment before Satan and before God, and at the end of this moment Christ ascends again to his own place. He passes on this journey before the presence of the adversary.)
SATAN: You are alone! Where is my son Judas whom I gave into your hands?
CHRIST: He follows me.
SATAN: I know what you have done. And the earth rejected you? The earth rejected you! All hell murmurs in astonishment. But where is Judas, my son and my joy?
CHRIST: Even now he is coming.
SATAN: Even Heaven, when I reigned there, was not so tedious as this waiting. Know, Prince, that I am too proud to show all my astonishment at your defeat. But now that you are swallowing your last humiliation, now that your failure has shut the mouths of the angels, I may confess that for a while I feared you. There is a fretfulness in the hearts of men. Many are inconstant, even to me. Alas, every man is not a Judas. I knew even from the beginning that you would be able, for a season, to win their hearts with your mild eloquence. I feared that you would turn to your own uses this fretfulness that visits them. But my fears were useless. Even Judas, even when my power was withdrawn from him, even Judas betrayed y
ou. Am I not right in this?
CHRIST: You are.
SATAN: You admitted him into your chosen company. Is it permitted to me to ask for how much he betrayed you?
CHRIST: For thirty pieces of silver.
SATAN (After a pause): Am I permitted to ask to what role he was assigned in your company?
CHRIST: He held its money bags.
SATAN (Dazed): Does Heaven understand human nature as little as that? Surely the greater part of your closest companions stayed beside you to the end?
CHRIST: One stayed beside me.
SATAN: I have overestimated my enemy. Learn again, Prince, that if I were permitted to return to the earth in my own person, not for thirty years, but for thirty hours, I would seal all men to me and all the temptations in Heaven’s gift could not persuade one to betray me. For I build not on intermittent dreams and timid aspirations, but on the unshakable passions of greed and lust and self-love. At last this is made clear: Judas, Judas, all the triumphs of Hell await you. Already above the eternal pavements of black marble the banquet is laid. Listen, how my nations are stirring in new hope and in new joy. Such music has not been lifted above my lakes and my mountains since the day I placed the apple of knowledge between the teeth of Adam.
(Suddenly the thirty pieces of silver are cast upward from the revolted hand of Judas. They hurtle through the skies, flinging their enormous shadows across the stars and continue falling forever through the vast funnel of space.
Presently Judas rises, the black stains about his throat and the rope of suicide.)
What have they done to you, my beloved son? What last poor revenge have they attempted upon you? Come to me. Here there is comfort. Here all this violence can be repaired. The futile spite of Heaven cannot reach you here. But why do you not speak to me? My son, my treasure!
(Judas remains with lowered eyes.)
CHRIST: Speak to him then, my beloved son.
JUDAS (Still with lowered eyes, softly, to Satan): Accursed be thou, from eternity to eternity.
(These two mount upward to their due place and Satan remains to this day, uncomprehending, upon the pavement of hell.)
END OF PLAY
The Collected Short Plays of Thornton Wilder, Volume II Page 6
