Anathema A Tragedy in Seven Scenes 2

Anathema A Tragedy in Seven Scenes 2

It is not true that I love you.... It is not true that I wanted to kiss

the hem of your cloak.... I feel sorry for you, if you believed me....

I simply have nothing to do, so I roam about in the world.... I have

nothing to do, so I question the passers-by about this and that,--about

things I know myself.... I know everything!

 

_He rises, shakes himself like a dog that has just

come out of the water, and choosing the highest

rock, stands up there in a haughty, actorlike pose._

 

I know everything. With my wisdom I have penetrated the meaning of all

things, the laws of numbers are known to me, and the book of Fates is

open to me. At one glance I embrace life, I am the axis in the circle

of time, which whirls rapidly. I am great, I am mighty, I am immortal,

and man is in my power. Who will dare struggle with the Devil? The

strong, I kill, and the weak I force to whirl about in an intoxicating

dance, a mad dance, a devilish dance. I have poisoned all the sources

of life, on all its roads I have built ambuscades.... Do you hear the

voice of those who curse? The voice of those who are exhausted under

the burden of evil? Of those who dare in vain? Of those who long

endlessly and terribly?

 

GUARDIAN.

 

I do.

 

ANATHEMA.

 

_Laughing._

 

The name! Call the name! Illumine the way for the Devil and for man.

All in the world want goodness, but know not where to find it; all in

the world want fife, but meet only death. The name! Call the name of

goodness, call the name of eternal life. I am waiting!

 

GUARDIAN.

 

There is no name for that which you ask, Anathema. There is no number

by which to count, no measure by which to measure, no scales by which

to weigh that which you ask, Anathema. Every one who has said the word,

Love, has lied. Every one who has said the word, Wisdom,--has lied. And

even he who has uttered the word, God,--has lied with the greatest and

most terrible lie. For there is no number, no measure, no scale, no

name for that which you ask, Anathema.

 

ANATHEMA.

 

Where shall I go? Tell me.

 

GUARDIAN.

 

Where you are going.

 

ANATHEMA.

 

What shall I do? Tell me.

 

GUARDIAN.

 

What you are doing.

 

ANATHEMA.

 

You speak through silence--can I understand the language of your

silence? Tell me.

 

GUARDIAN.

 

No. Never. My face is open, but you see it not. My speech is loud,

but you hear it not. My commands are clear, but you know them not,

Anathema. And you shall never see, and you shall never hear, and you

shall never know, Anathema, unfortunate spirit, deathless in numbers,

eternally alive in measures and in weights, but as yet unborn to life.

 

ANATHEMA.

 

_Tormented._

 

Never?

 

GUARDIAN.

 

Never.

 

_Anathema leaps down from the rocks, and tosses about madly, devoured

by grief. Clinging to the rocks, he embraces them tenderly and then

pushes them away angrily; he moans bitterly. He turns his face to West

and East, to North and South of the earth, flourishing his arms, as

if calling the earth to wrath and vengeance. But the grey rocks are

silent, West and East are silent, North and South are silent, and in

stern motionlessness, heavily leaning on his sword, stands the Guardian

of the Entrances._

 

ANATHEMA.

 

Rise, O Earth! Rise, O Earth, and gird your sword, O man. There will be

no peace between you and Heaven; the earth is becoming the abode of

darkness and death, and the Prince of Darkness ascends to his throne

upon it--from now on and forever. I am going to you, David. I will hurl

your sad life towards the proud heaven like a stone from a sling--and

the foundations of the high heavens will tremble. My slave, David! With

your lips I will proclaim the truth about the fate of man.

 

_He turns to the Guardian of the Entrances._

 

And you!...

 

_He becomes silent, bashfully, confused by the

Silence. He stretches himself lazily, as from

tediousness, and mutters in a voice loud enough to

be heard by the Guardian of the Entrances._

 

But am I not roaming about, because I have nothing to do? I have been

here, and now I shall go there. Are there not plenty of roads for the

gay Anathema, who is fond of healthy laughter and a carefree jest?

Six.... That means that I bring to David a fortune which he does not

expect.... Eight.... That means that David Leizer is healing the sick

and reviving the dead. Twenty.... Correct! That means ... That means

that David and I come to express our gratitude. David Leizer, the

great, the powerful, the immortal David Leizer and I.... I am going.

 

_Anathema departs._

 

_Silence. The rocks are silent; the mute Gates,

pressing the earth with their enormous weight, are

silent; the Guardian, petrified, is silent._

 

_Silence. But did not Anathema's footsteps awaken

an alarming, resounding echo? One, two--some heavy

steps are heard coming. It is like one footstep,

but many people are coming; they are silent, but

the silence is already quivering. A momentary

confusion of sounds, of helplessness and tremulous

outbursts, and suddenly the silence breaks out in

high yellow flames of fire: somewhere below, in

the invisible distance, on earth, long trumpets,

carried by hands uplifted high, are blaring in

rebellious, brasslike tones,--their defiant cry of

revolt is turned both to earth and to Heaven._

 

_One, two,--now it is clear that a crowd is moving;

its monstrous voice, its blended and separate sobs,

its noisy and stormy speech is heard; and below,

in the labyrinth from broken and dark passages,

the first distinct sound rings out: "Da-a-vid!" It

grows more distinct, rises higher, and now it soars

overhead_-_on the wings of this brass fanfare,

above the heavy stamping of the marching feet._

 

 

_"Da-a-vid! Da-a-a-vid! Da-a-a-vid!"_

 

_The sounds blend harmoniously. They become the

song of millions of people. The trumpets are

blaring, exhausted; they call hoarsely with their

brass voices--_

 

_Does the Guardian of the Entrances hear them? The

grey rocks are covered with moans; passionate sobs

rise to His feet, but the Guardian is motionless,

the Guardian is speechless, and the iron Gates are

mute._

 

_The abyss crashes._

 

_With one blow, as if splitting the earth, a brass

roar and shout breaks forth,--and out of the

fragments, like a spring from a rock that is split

by lightning, a soft, harmonious, bright melody

comes forth._

 

_Then it dies out._

 

_Silence. Immobility. Expectation, expectation,

expectation._

 

CURTAIN

 

 

 

 

ACT ONE

 

 

_The south of Russia. A hot summer midday. A wide road near the end

of a large, thickly populated city. Starting from the left corner of

the stage, the road crosses it diagonally, turning in the rear of the

stage to the right. Two high stone posts, of ancient construction,

dilapidated and slightly bent, indicate the boundary of the city. On

the side of the city line, at the right post, there is a deserted,

once yellow sentry-box, the plaster fallen of in spots and the windows

tightly boarded and nailed up. On the sides of the road there are

several small shops made of cheap wood, separated from one another

by narrow passages--in the desperate and ineffectual struggle for

existence the little shops seem to be clambering stupidly upon one

another. The people are dealing in all sorts of merchandise: candies,

sunflower seeds, cheap sausages, herrings; each shop has a small,

dirty counter, through which a pipe with two faucets stands out

prominently--one of them for soda-water, at a penny a glass,--the other

for seltzer. One of the little shops belongs to David Leizer; the

others--to the Greek Purikes, to the young Jewess Sonka Zitron, and to

the Russian, Ivan Bezkrainy, who, in addition to his business, mends

shoes and rubbers; he is the only one who has "real noblemen's" cider for sale._