the play for this program... by august strindberg. now, your host, mr. jose ferrer. i'm jose ferrer, your host for this presentation of the ghost sonata by august strindberg. of course, when i tell you my name, i'm observing a social convention. in the ordinary course of a day, we all have occasion to introduce ourselves. and in many cases, the introduction goes no farther than that polite talk about weather, family and other routine items. but strindberg, the playwright, wasn't satisfied with ordinary social conventions. a name, he knew, tells only part of the story. a name doesn't convey one's personal history, real and imagined, one's dreams, nightmares, personal quirks, the demons that haunt, but also reveal.

it was strindberg's interest in the psychological and in the strange new method of expressing it dramatically that gives him a special place in theater history and has made his influence felt by every major playwright of the 20th century. in the late 19th century, concern for psychological truth in the arts paralleled freud's investigation of the subconscious. painters were finding ways to express strong emotions in pictures, which bore little resemblance to surface truth. composers were experimenting with strange new sounds. and some playwrights were creating scenes that revealed the subtle depths and ambiguities of the mind. were you invited for this evening? the ability to depict surface truth

in the sense that a photograph looks real, had only recently come into the theatre which for most of its history had not had and did not seek the techniques for looking or sounding real. only recently had a stage begun to resemble a real room. looking real meant to close of everyday life. sounding real meant no more poetry, but rather the, "hello, how are you?" "is it raining?" of ordinary conversation. somehow, along with these details of plausibility, the story had to be told or rather revealed through what people might say and do believably. some of the plays were simple indeed, making few demands on their audience. when the villain said, "ahem, a proud beauty, soon you'll be mine,"

he sometimes turned to the audience and announced that oil had been discovered on the property of the proud beauty and that he intended to have both the girl and money. the audience had no reason to doubt what he said. they knew what he wanted, what she wanted and even what the hero wanted. a more realistic theater was confined to what could be talked about. it was a limitation, which did not take into account the hidden thoughts and fears of the characters but strindberg's art did. it freed itself in the ghost sonata from the need to deal with literal truth. my god. why have you opened the door? i said it was to be kept shut.

now, now, now, now. little girlie, you must be-- and then you shall have a sweetie. pretty polly. pretty polly. is jacob there? funny man. they think she's a parrot and perhaps she is. now, then polly whistle for us? i've seen a good deal of time, but never the likes of this. well, you know, when a house gets old, it begins to decay. and when people sit year after year in the same room torturing each other, they begin to go off their nut. now, madam here-- be quiet, polly, quiet. madam's been sitting there for forty years. same husband, same furniture, same relations, same friends. as for what's gone on in the house, well, i wouldn't like to take my oath on it. do you see this statue over here?

this was her, when she was young. my god, this? the mummy? yes, enough to make you cry, isn't it? the old man, ostensibly the student's benefactor, is not what he seems to be at first. this initial encounter is more than a casual introduction. feel how cold i am. when you can't move, the blood stiffens. i'm gonna die soon, i know that. but there are one or two things, i've gotta do before i go. it's horrible. don't-don't leave me. i'm tired. i'm lonely. i haven't always been like this, you know. i've an interminably long life time behind me. oh, interminably long. i have made people unhappy. people have made me unhappy. but before i go i want to see you happy. our destinies are wedded through your father and in other ways too.

let go off my hand. you're draining my strength, you're freezing me. beyond relationships and significance that can be found within the play alone, things that are generally understood on a surface level can also be seen in relationship to the playwright himself. the accusations leveled against the cook, while comprehensible within the framework of the play alone, probably owe a great deal to the playwright's life experiences. his mother was a servant. strindberg's subconscious fears about both servants and women are examples of the way this new drama sprang from the need to express the hidden self, a self that would not otherwise surface. doesn't she give you any food? yes, she cooks us many dishes,

but there is no nourishment in them. she boils the meat till it is nothing, but sinews and water while she herself drinks the juice from it. she roasts the meat till all the goodness is gone. she drinks the gravy and the blood. everything she touches loses its moisture, as though her eyes sucked it dry. drive her out of the house. - we can't. - why not? we don't know. she won't go. she has drained the strength from us. can i send her away? no, it is ordained. she must stay with us. this is a strange house. it is bewitched. yes. ah, she turned away when she saw you. no, that wasn't the reason. get out.

when i feel like it. now, i feel like it. this again is no ordinary conversation. throughout the play, the viewer realizes there is considerably more here than meets the eye or ear. this is the crucial point. each conversation is heavy with significance, much of it revealing meaning under close analysis, much of it obscure. it is not necessary to equate each symbolic object with only one meaning. the connections are associated as in dreams or nightmares. one way to enjoy the ghost sonata

is to remember some of the pleasures of the fantastic such as you find in horror stories. strindberg called the ghost sonata, a chamber play. he had a mind of parallel with chamber music, designed for a few players and small audiences in intimate surroundings. just as much chamber music has three movements, so does this play. and like chamber music, it is designed not for the masses, but for the discerning few. in this presentation, the first scene has been eliminated except for three flashbacks which fill in important events from the beginning. the ghost sonata begins with the arrival of the guests for the ghost supper. [door bell]

right. you will do the serving, i shall take their coats. have you done this sort of thing before? i spend all day pushing his chariot, as you know. but i sometimes serve at parties of an evening. you know, it's always been my dream to enter this house. queer bunch, aren't they? oh, they're a bit out of the ordinary. is it a musical evening, or what? no, just the usual spook supper, that's what we call them. they just sit around drinking tea. nobody utters a word. they nibble at little cakes, all together. sounds like rats in an attic. oh, why do you call it the spook supper?

because they all look like spooks. they've been doing this for 20 years, all the same bunch of people saying the same things, all keeping their trap shut, because they don't want to be found out. and hasn't he a wife here too? he has, but she is mad. she spends all day sitting in a cupboard, because her eyes won't stand the light. in there. - in there? - yes. i told you they were a bit out of the ordinary. and what does she look like? like a mummy. would you care to see her? look, there she is. my god. why have you opened the door? i said it was to be kept shut. now, now, now, now. little girlie, you must be good. and then you shall have a sweetie. pretty polly. pretty polly. is jacob there? funny man. they think she's a parrot and perhaps she is.

now, then polly, whistle for us. i've seen a good deal in my time, but never the likes of this. well, you know, when a house gets old, it begins to decay. and when people sit year after year in the same room torturing each other, they begin to go off their nut. now, madam here-- be quiet, polly, quiet. madam has been sitting there for forty years. same husband, same furniture, same relations, same friends. as for what's gone on in the house. well, i wouldn't like to take my oath on it. do you see this statue over here? this was her when she was young. my god, this? the mummy? yes, enough to make you cry, isn't it? and that's not all. somehow or another, in all sorts of little way,

she's become just like a parrot. she can't stand cripples, for instance, or invalids. she can't bear the sight of her own daughter, because she is ill. the young lady, is she ill? - didn't you know? - no. and what about the colonel, what sort of a man is he? you'll see. it's horrible. and do you know what that black oriental screen is for, over there? they call it the death screen. they put it out when somebody is going to die, just like a hospital. what a horrible house? huh, that young student was pinning his heart out to get in here, as though it was paradise. what student? oh, the one who's coming here tonight, yes. the colonel and his daughter met him in the opera. they both fell from him. well, now it's my turn to ask you a question. who's behind the young student? is it the old man in the wheelchair? yes. is he coming too? he's not been invited.

oh, he will come uninvited, if need be. a regular old robber, i've heard. one of the worst. and looks like old nick himself. yeah, and he's a magician too. he could pass through closed doors. hark, villain, beware. tell the colonel i've arrived. oh, but sir, he's expecting guests. i know, and he is half expecting me, if not exactly looking forward to it. i see. oh, what name shall i say, sir? who? mr. hummel? yes. clear out. clear out. amalia. it's amalia.

yes, it is. pretty polly. who's that? is there a parrot in the room? i don't see one. is it jacob? it's a ghost. jacob. i'm frightened. this is a sort of thing i've been concealing. funny man. oh, god, almighty. what? who is it? is it jacob? my name is jacob. oh, and my name is amalia. no. no. no, oh, my god. oh, this is the way i look now. that is the way i used to look. oh, one lives and learns. i spend most of my time in that cupboard to avoid seeing people and being seen. what are you looking for here, jacob?

my child, our child. oh, she is sitting in there. where? in there, in the hyacinth room. yes, there she is. does her father know, i mean the colonel, your husband? well, i lost my temper with him once and told him everything. yes? oh, he didn't believe me. he said, that's what all wives say when they want to murder their husbands. oh, it was a beastly thing to do. but his life is a lie too, though. even his pedigree, when i look at the list of nobility, i think to myself, she's got a birth certificate like a little kitchen slut. you can go to prison for that. lots of people lie about their birth. you did once to me.

oh, my mother made me. i wasn't to blame for that. but the crime which you and i committed, you were to blame for that. no, it was your husband's fault. he stole my sweetheart. i can't forgive until i punish. i was born like that. to me that's a command, a duty. i still feel so. what are you looking for in this house? how did you get in? what do you want? is it my daughter? if you touch her, you shall die. i only wish her well. you must spare her father, i mean my husband. no. then you shall die in this room, behind that screen. i don't care. once i've fastened my teeth into someone, i cannot let go. you want her to marry the student, why? he has nothing, no money. i shall make him rich. were you invited for this evening? no. well, i shall invite myself to this ghost supper.

you know who is coming? not for sure. the baron, the one upstairs, the son-in-law of the man who was buried this afternoon. the one who's getting a divorce, so he can marry the caretaker's daughter? he was once your lover. and the woman to whom you were once betrothed to and my husband seduced. it's a pretty bunch. oh, god, if we could die, if we could only die. why do you all keep on meeting? our crimes bind us, our secrets and our guilt. we've tried to break away, but we always come back. uh, i think i hear the colonel. i will go in. mind what you do, jacob. spare him.

please be seated. - you wrote this letter? - yes. - your name is hummel? - yes. i know that you have purchased all my notes of hand and i am therefore in your power. what do you want? payment in some form. in what form? something quite simple. let's not talk about money. i merely ask that you tolerate me in this house, as your guest. if so trifling a service can be of use to you. thank you. - what else? - dismiss bengtsson. why should i do that? my trusted servant, who has been with me all his life, who wears his country's medal for loyal and faithful service, why should i dismiss him? he possesses these virtues only in your imagination. he is not the man he appears to be. hmm, who is? true, but bengtsson must go. are you going to decide what happens in my own house? yes, everything you see belongs to me. furniture, curtains, china, linen, other things too.

what other things? everything, everything you see is all mine. very well. all these things are yours, but my patent to nobility, my good name, these things at least are still mine. no, not even those. you are not a nobleman. how dare you? if you are to read this letter from the college of heralds, you'll find the family whose name you bear has been extinct for 100 years. i know there have been rumors to that effect. that's true, but i inherited my title from my father. yeah, you're right. it's true i'm not a nobleman. even that is taken from me. i can no longer wear this ring. take it. it belongs to you. good.

now let's continue. you're not a colonel either. not a colonel? no, because of your name you were commissioned colonel in the american volunteers, but since the cuban war and the reorganization of the american army, all such commissions have been canceled. is that true? - you'd like to read about it? - no, there is no need. who are you that you claim the right to sit there and strip me like this? you'll, find out. and talking of stripping, i suppose you know who you really are? you have the-- take off your wig and look at yourself in the glass. take out your teeth. shave off your mustaches. get bengtsson to unlace your corset. then perhaps a certain footman might recognize himself, who used to sponge food from a certain cook in a certain kitchen. don't call bengtsson. if you do, i'll have him arrested. the guests are arriving. be calm, now.

let's go on playing our parts for a little while longer. who are you? i seem to recognize an expression in your eyes. your voice? ask no more. be silent and obey. mr. arkenholz. huh, welcome, young man. sir. your noble comeback in this great tragedy has made your name a household word. i count it an honor to receive you in my home. my humble origins. your famous name, your noble heritage. uh-no, no, i present mr. arkenholz, mr. hummel.

feel how cold i am. when you can't move, the blood stiffens. i'm gonna die soon, i know that. but there are one or two things i've got to do, before i go. it's horrible. don't--don't leave me. i'm tired. i'm lonely. i haven't always been like this, you know. i've an interminably long life behind me. oh, interminably long. i've made people unhappy. people have made me unhappy. but before i go i want to see you happy. our destinies are wedded through your father and in other ways too. let go off my hand. you're draining my strength, you're freezing me. perhaps you would be so good as to go in and introduce yourself to my daughter? i have a little business to finish with mr. hummel.

a superb young man. musician, singer, poet. if only he would have noble stock. my peer, genealogically, i wouldn't set my face against having him for a... for a what? my daughter. your daughter? you're talking of her? why does she always sit in that room? she feels a compulsion to sit in the hyacinth room when she is not out of doors. it is a quirk she has. mademoiselle beata von holstein krona. charming, old lady, tremendously wealthy and a great benefactress. oh, mademoiselle.

my true love. baron skanskorg. baron? i think he's the fellow who stole those jewels. let out the mummy and the party will be complete. polly. jacob, there? funny man.

shall we have the young people in too? no, not the young. let them be spared. - shall we take tea? - why? none of us likes tea. why pretend we do? yeah, then, shall we talk? about the weather, which we know? ask about each others health? we know that too. i prefer silence. then you can hear thoughts, see the past. silence hides nothing, words conceal. i read the other day that differences of language arose through the eds of primitive people to keep their tribal secrets private.

languages are ciphers. nevertheless, the time does come when that which is most secret must be revealed, when the mk must be stripped from the deceiver's face, when the identity of the criminal must be expos. what a silence. here, for example, in this respectable home, this exquisite house where beauty and culture and wealth are united, we who sit here, we know who we are, hmm? i don't need to underline that.

and you know who i am, althgh you pretend you don't. in that room, sits my daughter. yes, mine. you know thatoo. she has lost the desire to live. she doesn't know why. for this air, foul with crime and treachery and faehood has withered her. i have tried to find her a friend, through whom she can discover light and warmth, the light and warmth that a noble action engenders. praise to the noble youth, who at the peril of his own life, saved the lives of many in yesterday's disaster. although i'm not a sunday child, i have the gift of prophecy and the gift of healing. i once summoned a drowning girl back to life. it was in hamburg on a sunday morning,

as it might be now. johansson, take me away, quickly. that is why i have come here today, to burn out the weeds, expose the crimes, balance the ledger so that these two young people may start life afresh. in this house, which i will gift them. now i give you all leave to depart, each one in his turn. anyone who stays, i shall have arrted. [clock ticking] listen to that clock ticking.

the clock count death on the wall. in a little while she will strike and your time will be up. do you hear her? the clock hand strike. i too can strike! do you hear? i can halt time, wipe out t past, undo what has been done, not with bribes, not with threats, but with suffering and contrition. we are weakened, pitiable people.