Six Characters in Search of an Author

Pardon sir, may I get into my box? There’s a bit of a draught.

The Manager

Yes, yes, of course!

At this point, the Door-Keeper has entered from the stage door and advances towards the manager’s table, taking off his braided cap. During this manoeuvre, the Six Characters enter, and stop by the door at back of stage, so that when the Door-Keeper is about to announce their coming to The Manager, they are already on the stage. A tenuous light surrounds them, almost as if irradiated by them⁠—the faint breath of their fantastic reality.

This light will disappear when they come forward towards the Actors. They preserve, however, something of the dream lightness in which they seem almost suspended; but this does not detract from the essential reality of their forms and expressions.

He who is known as The Father is a man of about 50: hair, reddish in colour, thin at the temples; he is not bald, however; thick moustaches, falling over his still fresh mouth, which often opens in an empty and uncertain smile. He is fattish, pale; with an especially wide forehead. He has blue, oval-shaped eyes, very clear and piercing. Wears light trousers and a dark jacket. He is alternatively mellifluous and violent in his manner.

The Mother seems crushed and terrified as if by an intolerable weight of shame and abasement. She is dressed in modest black and wears a thick widow’s veil of crêpe. When she lifts this, she reveals a wax-like face. She always keeps her eyes downcast.

The Step-Daughter, is dashing, almost impudent, beautiful. She wears mourning too, but with great elegance. She shows contempt for the timid half-frightened manner of the wretched Boy (14 years old, and also dressed in black); on the other hand, she

No, excuse me, I meant it for you, sir, who were crying out that you had no time to lose with madmen, while no one better than yourself knows that nature uses the instrument of human fantasy in order to pursue her high creative purpose.

The Manager

Very well⁠—but where does all this take us?

The Father

Nowhere! It is merely to show you that one is born to life in many forms, in many shapes, as tree, or as stone, as water, as butterfly, or as woman. So one may also be born a character in a play.

The Manager

With feigned comic dismay. So you and these other friends of yours have been born characters?

The Father

Exactly, and alive as you see! The Manager and Actors burst out laughing.

The Father

Yes, that is the word! To The Manager all at once. In the sense, that is, that the author who created us alive no longer wished, or was no longer able, materially to put us into a work of art. And this was a real crime, sir; because he who has had the luck to be born a character can laugh even at death. He cannot die. The man, the writer, the instrument of the creation will die, but his creation does not die. And to live for ever, it does not need to have extraordinary gifts or to be able to work wonders. Who was Sancho Panza? Who was Don Abbondio? Yet they live eternally because⁠—live germs as they were⁠—they had the fortune to find a fecundating matrix, a fantasy which could raise and nourish them: make them live for ever!

The Manager

That is quite all right. But what do you want here, all of you?

The Father

We want to live.

The Manager

Ironically. For Eternity?

The Father

No, sir, only for a moment⁠ ⁠… in you.

To The Manager. Worse? Worse? Listen! Stage this drama for us at once! Then you will see that at a certain moment I⁠ ⁠… when this little darling here⁠ ⁠… Takes The Child by the hand and leads her to The Manager. Isn’t she a dear? Takes her up and kisses her. Darling! Darling! Puts her down again and adds feelingly. Well, when God suddenly takes this dear little child away from that poor mother there; and this imbecile here. Seizing hold of The Boy roughly and pushing him forward. does the stupidest things, like the fool he is, you will see me run away. Yes, gentleman, I shall be off. But the moment hasn’t arrived yet. After what has taken place between him and me, Indicates The Father with a horrible wink. I can’t remain any longer in this society, to have to witness the anguish of this mother here for that fool.⁠ ⁠… Indicates The Son. Look at him! Look at him! See how indifferent, how frigid he is, because he is the legitimate son. He despises me, despises him, Pointing to The Boy. despises this baby here; because⁠ ⁠… we are bastards. Goes to The Mother and embraces her. And he doesn’t want to recognize her as his mother⁠—she who is the common mother of us all. He looks down upon her as if she were only the mother of us three bastards. Wretch! She says all this very rapidly, excitedly. At the word “bastards” she raises her voice, and almost spits out the final “Wretch!”.

The Mother

To The Manager, in anguish. In the name of these two little children, I beg you.⁠ ⁠… She grows faint and is about to fall. Oh God!

After watching them for a moment with a wan smile. As I say, sir, that which is a game of art for you is our sole reality. Brief pause. He goes a step or two nearer The Manager and adds. But not only for us, you know, by the way. Just you think it over well. Looks him in the eyes. Can you tell me who you are?

The Manager

Perplexed, half smiling. What? Who am I? I am myself.

The Father

And if I were to tell you that that isn’t true, because you are I⁠ ⁠… ?

The Manager

I should say you were mad⁠—! The Actors laugh.

The Father

You’re quite right to laugh: because we are all making believe here. To The Manager. And you can therefore object that it’s only for a joke that that gentleman there, Indicates the Leading Man. who naturally is himself, has to be me, who am on the contrary myself⁠—this thing you see here. You see I’ve caught you in a trap! The Actors laugh.

The Manager

Annoyed. But we’ve had all this over once before. Do you want to begin again?

The Father