The Road to Damascus by August Strindberg


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Page 49

[On the right a terrace, on which the house stands. Below it a road
runs towards the back, where there is a thick pine wood with
heights beyond, whose outlines intersect. On the left there is a
suggestion of a river bank, but the river itself cannot be seen.
The house is white and has small, mullioned windows with iron bars.
On the wall vines and climbing roses. In front of the house, on the
terrace, a well; at the end of the terrace pumpkin plants, whose
large yellow flowers hang dozen over the edge. Fruit trees are
planted along the road, and a memorial cross can be seen erected at
a spot where an accident occurred. Steps lead down from the terrace
to the road, and there are flower-pots on the balustrade. In front
of the steps there is a seat. The road reaches the foreground from
the right, curving past the terrace, which projects like a
promontory, and then loses itself in the background. Strong
sunlight from the left. The MOTHER is sitting on the seat below the
steps. The DOMINICAN is standing in front of her.]

DOMINICAN [Note: The same character as the CONFESSOR and BEGGAR.].
You called me to discuss a family matter of importance to you. Tell
me what it is.

MOTHER. Father, life has treated me hardly. I don't know what I've
done to be so frowned upon by Providence.

DOMINICAN. It's a mark of favour to be tried by the Eternal One,
and triumph awaits the steadfast.

MOTHER. That's what I've often said to myself; but there are limits
to the suffering one can bear. ...

DOMINICAN. There are no limits. Suff'ering's as boundless as grace.

MOTHER. First my husband leaves me for another woman.

DOMINICAN. Then let him go. He'll come crawling back again on his
bare knees!

MOTHER. And as you know, Father, my only daughter was married to a
doctor. But she left him and came home with a stranger, whom she
presented to me as her new husband.

DOMINICAN. That's not easy to understand. Divorce isn't recognised
by our religion.

MOTHER. No. But they'd crossed the frontier, to a land where there
are other laws. He's an Old Catholic, and he found a priest to
marry them.

DOMINICAN. That's no real marriage, and can't be dissolved because
it never existed. But it can be nullified. Who is your present
son-in-law?

MOTHER. Truly, I wish I knew! One thing I do know, and that's
enough to fill my cup of sorrow. He's been divorced and his wife
and children live in wretched circumstances.

DOMINICAN. A difficult case. But we'll find a way to put it right.
What does he do?

MOTHER. He's a writer; said to be famous at home.

DOMINICAN. Godless, too, I suppose?

MOTHER. Yes. At least he used to be; but since his second marriage
he's not known a happy hour. Fate, as he calls it, seized him with
an iron hand and drove him here in the shape of a ragged beggar.
Ill-fortune struck him blow after blow, so that I pitied him at the
very moment he fled from here. Then he wandered in the woods and,
later, lay out in the fields where he fell, till he was found by
merciful folk and taken to a convent. There he lay ill for three
months, without our knowing where he was.

DOMINICAN. Wait! Last year a man was brought to the Convent of St.
Saviour, where I'm Confessor, under the circumstances you describe.
Whilst he was feverish he opened his heart to me, and there was
scarcely a sin of which he didn't confess his guilt. But when he
came to himself again, he said he remembered nothing. So to prove
him in heart and reins I used the secret apostolic powers that are
given us; and, as a trial, employed the lesser curse. For when a
crime's been done in secret, the curse of Deuteronomy is read over
the suspected man. If he's innocent, he goes his way unscathed. But
if he's struck by it, then, as Paul relates, 'he is delivered unto
Satan for the destruction of the flesh, that his spirit may be
saved.'

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Books | Photos | Paul Mutton | Sat 17th Jan 2026, 22:52