Part 2

[_Beatrice and Archie go out together by the door on the left. Bertha goes towards the davenport, takes off her hat and lays it with her sunshade on the desk. Then taking a key from a little flowervase, she opens a drawer of the davenport, takes out a slip of paper and closes the drawer again. Robert stands watching her._]

BERTHA. [_Coming towards him with the paper in her hand._] You put this into my hand last night. What does it mean?

ROBERT. Do you not know?

BERTHA. [_Reads._] _There is one word which I have never dared to say to you._ What is the word?

ROBERT. That I have a deep liking for you.

[_A short pause. The piano is heard faintly from the upper room._]

ROBERT. [_Takes the bunch of roses from the chair._] I brought these for you. Will you take them from me?

BERTHA. [_Taking them._] Thank you. [_She lays them on the table and unfolds the paper again._] Why did you not dare to say it last night?

ROBERT. I could not speak to you or follow you. There were too many people on the lawn. I wanted you to think over it and so I put it into your hand when you were going away.

BERTHA. Now you have dared to say it.

ROBERT. [_Moves his hand slowly past his eyes._] You passed. The avenue was dim with dusky light. I could see the dark green masses of the trees. And you passed beyond them. You were like the moon.

BERTHA. [_Laughs._] Why like the moon?

ROBERT. In that dress, with your slim body, walking with little even steps. I saw the moon passing in the dusk till you passed and left my sight.

BERTHA. Did you think of me last night?

ROBERT. [_Comes nearer._] I think of you always—as something beautiful and distant—the moon or some deep music.

BERTHA. [_Smiling._] And last night which was I?

ROBERT. I was awake half the night. I could hear your voice. I could see your face in the dark. Your eyes... I want to speak to you. Will you listen to me? May I speak?

BERTHA. [_Sitting down._] You may.

ROBERT. [_Sitting beside her._] Are you annoyed with me?

BERTHA. No.

ROBERT. I thought you were. You put away my poor flowers so quickly.

BERTHA. [_Takes them from the table and holds them close to her face._] Is this what you wish me to do with them?

ROBERT. [_Watching her._] Your face is a flower too—but more beautiful. A wild flower blowing in a hedge. [_Moving his chair closer to her._] Why are you smiling? At my words?

BERTHA. [_Laying the flowers in her lap._] I am wondering if that is what you say—to the others.

ROBERT. [_Surprised._] What others?

BERTHA. The other women. I hear you have so many admirers.

ROBERT. [_Involuntarily._] And that is why you too...?

BERTHA. But you have, haven’t you?

ROBERT. Friends, yes.

BERTHA. Do you speak to them in the same way?

ROBERT. [_In an offended tone._] How can you ask me such a question? What kind of person do you think I am? Or why do you listen to me? Did you not like me to speak to you in that way?

BERTHA. What you said was very kind. [_She looks at him for a moment._] Thank you for saying it—and thinking it.

ROBERT. [_Leaning forward._] Bertha!

BERTHA. Yes?

ROBERT. I have the right to call you by your name. From old times—nine years ago. We were Bertha—and Robert—then. Can we not be so now, too?

BERTHA. [_Readily._] O yes. Why should we not?

ROBERT. Bertha, you knew. From the very night you landed on Kingstown pier. It all came back to me then. And you knew it. You saw it.

BERTHA. No. Not that night.

ROBERT. When?

BERTHA. The night we landed I felt very tired and dirty. [_Shaking her head._] I did not see it in you that night.

ROBERT. [_Smiling._] Tell me what did you see that night—your very first impression.

BERTHA. [_Knitting her brows._] You were standing with your back to the gangway, talking to two ladies.

ROBERT. To two plain middleaged ladies, yes.

BERTHA. I recognized you at once. And I saw that you had got fat.

ROBERT. [_Takes her hand._] And this poor fat Robert—do you dislike him then so much? Do you disbelieve all he says?

BERTHA. I think men speak like that to all women whom they like or admire. What do you want me to believe?

ROBERT. All men, Bertha?

BERTHA. [_With sudden sadness._] I think so.

ROBERT. I too?

BERTHA. Yes, Robert. I think you too.

ROBERT. All then—without exception? Or with one exception? [_In a lower tone._] Or is he too—Richard too—like us all—in that at least? Or different?

BERTHA. [_Looks into his eyes._] Different.

ROBERT. Are you quite sure, Bertha?

BERTHA. [_A little confused, tries to withdraw her hand._] I have answered you.

ROBERT. [_Suddenly._] Bertha, may I kiss your hand? Let me. May I?

BERTHA. If you wish.

[_He lifts her hand to his lips slowly. She rises suddenly and listens._]

BERTHA. Did you hear the garden gate?

ROBERT. [_Rising also._] No.

[_A short pause. The piano can be heard faintly from the upper room._]

ROBERT. [_Pleading._] Do not go away. You must never go away now. Your life is here. I came for that too today—to speak to him—to urge him to accept this position. He must. And you must persuade him to. You have a great influence over him.

BERTHA. You want him to remain here.

ROBERT. Yes.

BERTHA. Why?

ROBERT. For your sake because you are unhappy so far away. For his sake too because he should think of his future.

BERTHA. [_Laughing._] Do you remember what he said when you spoke to him last night?

ROBERT. About...? [_Reflecting._] Yes. He quoted the _Our Father_ about our daily bread. He said that to take care for the future is to destroy hope and love in the world.

BERTHA. Do you not think he is strange?

ROBERT. In that, yes.

BERTHA. A little—mad?

ROBERT. [_Comes closer._] No. He is not. Perhaps we are. Why, do you...?

BERTHA. [_Laughs._] I ask you because you are intelligent.

ROBERT. You must not go away. I will not let you.

BERTHA. [_Looks full at him._] You?

ROBERT. Those eyes must not go away. [_He takes her hands._] May I kiss your eyes?

BERTHA. Do so.

[_He kisses her eyes and then passes his hand over her hair._]

ROBERT. Little Bertha!

BERTHA. [_Smiling._] But I am not so little. Why do you call me little?

ROBERT. Little Bertha! One embrace? [_He puts his arm around her._] Look into my eyes again.

BERTHA. [_Looks._] I can see the little gold spots. So many you have.

ROBERT. [_Delighted._] Your voice! Give me a kiss, a kiss with your mouth.

BERTHA. Take it.

ROBERT. I am afraid. [_He kisses her mouth and passes his hand many times over her hair._] At last I hold you in my arms!

BERTHA. And are you satisfied?

ROBERT. Let me feel your lips touch mine.

BERTHA. And then you will be satisfied?

ROBERT. [_Murmurs._] Your lips, Bertha!

BERTHA. [_Closes her eyes and kisses him quickly._] There. [_Puts her hands on his shoulders._] Why don’t you say: thanks?

ROBERT. [_Sighs._] My life is finished—over.

BERTHA. O, don’t speak like that now, Robert.

ROBERT. Over, over. I want to end it and have done with it.

BERTHA. [_Concerned but lightly._] You silly fellow!

ROBERT. [_Presses her to him._] To end it all—death. To fall from a great high cliff, down, right down into the sea.

BERTHA. Please, Robert...

ROBERT. Listening to music and in the arms of the woman I love—the sea, music and death.

BERTHA. [_Looks at him for a moment._] The woman you love?

ROBERT. [_Hurriedly._] I want to speak to you, Bertha—alone—not here. Will you come?

BERTHA. [_With downcast eyes._] I too want to speak to you.

ROBERT. [_Tenderly._] Yes, dear, I know. [_He kisses her again._] I will speak to you; tell you all; then. I will kiss you, then, long long kisses—when you come to me—long long sweet kisses.

BERTHA. Where?

ROBERT. [_In the tone of passion._] Your eyes. Your lips. All your divine body.

BERTHA. [_Repelling his embrace, confused._] I meant where do you wish me to come.

ROBERT. To my house. Not my mother’s over there. I will write the address for you. Will you come?

BERTHA. When?

ROBERT. Tonight. Between eight and nine. Come. I will wait for you tonight. And every night. You will?

[_He kisses her with passion, holding her head between his hands. After a few instants she breaks from him. He sits down._]

BERTHA. [_Listening._] The gate opened.

ROBERT. [_Intensely._] I will wait for you.

[_He takes the slip from the table. Bertha moves away from him slowly. Richard comes in from the garden._]

RICHARD. [_Advancing, takes off his hat._] Good afternoon.

ROBERT. [_Rises, with nervous friendliness._] Good afternoon, Richard.

BERTHA. [_At the table, taking the roses._] Look what lovely roses Mr Hand brought me.

ROBERT. I am afraid they are overblown.

RICHARD. [_Suddenly._] Excuse me for a moment, will you?

[_He turns and goes into his study quickly. Robert takes a pencil from his pocket and writes a few words on the slip; then hands it quickly to Bertha._]

ROBERT. [_Rapidly._] The address. Take the tram at Lansdowne Road and ask to be let down near there.

BERTHA. [_Takes it._] I promise nothing.

ROBERT. I will wait.

[_Richard comes back from the study._]

BERTHA. [_Going._] I must put these roses in water.

RICHARD. [_Handing her his hat._] Yes, do. And please put my hat on the rack.

BERTHA. [_Takes it._] So I will leave you to yourselves for your talk. [_Looking round._] Do you want anything? Cigarettes?

RICHARD. Thanks. We have them here.

BERTHA. Then I can go?

[_She goes out on the left with Richard’s hat, which she leaves in the hall, and returns at once; she stops for a moment at the davenport, replaces the slip in the drawer, locks it, and replaces the key, and, taking the roses, goes towards the right. Robert precedes her to open the door for her. She bows and goes out._]

RICHARD. [_Points to the chair near the little table on the right._] Your place of honour.

ROBERT. [_Sits down._] Thanks. [_Passing his hand over his brow._] Good Lord, how warm it is today! The heat pains me here in the eye. The glare.

RICHARD. The room is rather dark, I think, with the blind down but if you wish...

ROBERT. [_Quickly._] Not at all. I know what it is—the result of night work.

RICHARD. [_Sits on the lounge._] Must you?

ROBERT. [_Sighs._] Eh, yes. I must see part of the paper through every night. And then my leading articles. We are approaching a difficult moment. And not only here.

RICHARD. [_After a slight pause._] Have you any news?

ROBERT. [_In a different voice._] Yes. I want to speak to you seriously. Today may be an important day for you—or rather, tonight. I saw the vicechancellor this morning. He has the highest opinion of you, Richard. He has read your book, he said.

RICHARD. Did he buy it or borrow it?

ROBERT. Bought it, I hope.

RICHARD. I shall smoke a cigarette. Thirtyseven copies have now been sold in Dublin.

[_He takes a cigarette from the box on the table, and lights it._]

ROBERT. [_Suavely, hopelessly._] Well, the matter is closed for the present. You have your iron mask on today.

RICHARD. [_Smoking._] Let me hear the rest.

ROBERT. [_Again seriously._] Richard, you are too suspicious. It is a defect in you. He assured me he has the highest possible opinion of you, as everyone has. You are the man for the post, he says. In fact, he told me that, if your name goes forward, he will work might and main for you with the senate and I... will do my part, of course, in the press and privately. I regard it as a public duty. The chair of romance literature is yours by right, as a scholar, as a literary personality.

RICHARD. The conditions?

ROBERT. Conditions? You mean about the future?

RICHARD. I mean about the past.

ROBERT. [_Easily._] That episode in your past is forgotten. An act of impulse. We are all impulsive.

RICHARD. [_Looks fixedly at him._] You called it an act of folly, then—nine years ago. You told me I was hanging a weight about my neck.

ROBERT. I was wrong. [_Suavely._] Here is how the matter stands, Richard. Everyone knows that you ran away years ago with a young girl... How shall I put it?... with a young girl not exactly your equal. [_Kindly._] Excuse me, Richard, that is not my opinion nor my language. I am simply using the language of people whose opinions I don’t share.

RICHARD. Writing one of your leading articles, in fact.

ROBERT. Put it so. Well, it made a great sensation at the time. A mysterious disappearance. My name was involved too, as best man, let us say, on that famous occasion. Of course, they think I acted from a mistaken sense of friendship. Well, all that is known. [_With some hesitation._] But what happened afterwards is not known.

RICHARD. No?

ROBERT. Of course, it is your affair, Richard. However, you are not so young now as you were then. The expression is quite in the style of my leading articles, isn’t it?

RICHARD. Do you, or do you not, want me to give the lie to my past life?

ROBERT. I am thinking of your future life—here. I understand your pride and your sense of liberty. I understand their point of view also. However, there is a way out; it is simply this. Refrain from contradicting any rumours you may hear concerning what happened... or did not happen after you went away. Leave the rest to me.

RICHARD. You will set these rumours afloat?

ROBERT. I will. God help me.

RICHARD. [_Observing him._] For the sake of social conventions?

ROBERT. For the sake of something else too—our friendship, our lifelong friendship.

RICHARD. Thanks.

ROBERT. [_Slightly wounded._] And I will tell you the whole truth.

RICHARD. [_Smiles and bows._] Yes. Do, please.

ROBERT. Not only for your sake. Also for the sake of—your present partner in life.

RICHARD. I see.

[_He crushes his cigarette softly on the ashtray and then leans forward, rubbing his hands slowly._]

RICHARD. Why for her sake?

ROBERT. [_Also leans forward, quietly._] Richard, have you been quite fair to her? It was her own free choice, you will say. But was she really free to choose? She was a mere girl. She accepted all that you proposed.

RICHARD. [_Smiles._] That is your way of saying that she proposed what I would not accept.

ROBERT. [_Nods._] I remember. And she went away with you. But was it of her own free choice? Answer me frankly.

RICHARD. [_Turns to him, calmly._] I played for her against all that you say or can say; and I won.

ROBERT. [_Nodding again._] Yes, you won.

RICHARD. [_Rises._] Excuse me for forgetting. Will you have some whisky?

ROBERT. All things come to those who wait.

[_Richard goes to the sideboard and brings a small tray with the decanter and glasses to the table where he sets it down._]

RICHARD. [_Sits down again, leaning back on the lounge._] Will you please help yourself?

ROBERT. [_Does so._] And you? Steadfast? [_Richard shakes his head._] Lord, when I think of our wild nights long ago—talks by the hour, plans, carouses, revelry...

RICHARD. In our house.

ROBERT. It is mine now. I have kept it ever since though I don’t go there often. Whenever you like to come let me know. You must come some night. It will be old times again. [_He lifts his glass and drinks._] _Prosit!_

RICHARD. It was not only a house of revelry; it was to be the hearth of a new life. [_Musing._] And in that name all our sins were committed.

ROBERT. Sins! Drinking and blasphemy [_he points_] by me. And drinking and heresy, much worse [_he points again_] by you—are those the sins you mean?

RICHARD. And some others.

ROBERT. [_Lightly, uneasily._] You mean the women. I have no remorse of conscience. Maybe you have. We had two keys on those occasions. [_Maliciously._] Have you?

RICHARD. [_Irritated._] For you it was all quite natural?

ROBERT. For me it is quite natural to kiss a woman whom I like. Why not? She is beautiful for me.

RICHARD. [_Toying with the lounge cushion._] Do you kiss everything that is beautiful for you?

ROBERT. Everything—if it can be kissed. [_He takes up a flat stone which lies on the table._] This stone, for instance. It is so cool, so polished, so delicate, like a woman’s temple. It is silent, it suffers our passion; and it is beautiful. [_He places it against his lips._] And so I kiss it because it is beautiful. And what is a woman? A work of nature, too, like a stone or a flower or a bird. A kiss is an act of homage.

RICHARD. It is an act of union between man and woman. Even if we are often led to desire through the sense of beauty can you say that the beautiful is what we desire?

ROBERT. [_Pressing the stone to his forehead._] You will give me a headache if you make me think today. I cannot think today. I feel too natural, too common. After all, what is most attractive in even the most beautiful woman?

RICHARD. What?

ROBERT. Not those qualities which she has and other women have not but the qualities which she has in common with them. I mean... the commonest. [_Turning over the stone, he presses the other side to his forehead._] I mean how her body develops heat when it is pressed, the movement of her blood, how quickly she changes by digestion what she eats into—what shall be nameless. [_Laughing._] I am very common today. Perhaps that idea never struck you?

RICHARD. [_Drily._] Many ideas strike a man who has lived nine years with a woman.

ROBERT. Yes. I suppose they do.... This beautiful cool stone does me good. Is it a paperweight or a cure for headache?

RICHARD. Bertha brought it home one day from the strand. She, too, says that it is beautiful.

ROBERT. [_Lays down the stone quietly._] She is right.

[_He raises his glass and drinks. A pause._]

RICHARD. Is that all you wanted to say to me?

ROBERT. [_Quickly._] There is something else. The vicechancellor sends you, through me, an invitation for tonight—to dinner at his house. You know where he lives? [_Richard nods._] I thought you might have forgotten. Strictly private, of course. He wants to meet you again and sends you a very warm invitation.

RICHARD. For what hour?

ROBERT. Eight. But, like yourself, he is free and easy about time. Now, Richard, you must go there. That is all. I feel tonight will be the turningpoint in your life. You will live here and work here and think here and be honoured here—among our people.

RICHARD. [_Smiling._] I can almost see two envoys starting for the United States to collect funds for my statue a hundred years hence.

ROBERT. [_Agreeably._] Once I made a little epigram about statues. All statues are of two kinds. [_He folds his arms across his chest._] The statue which says: _How shall I get down?_ and the other kind [_he unfolds his arms and extends his right arm, averting his head_] the statue which says: _In my time the dunghill was so high._

RICHARD. The second one for me, please.

ROBERT. [_Lazily._] Will you give me one of those long cigars of yours?

[_Richard selects a Virginia cigar from the box on the table and hands it to him with the straw drawn out._]

ROBERT. [_Lighting it._] These cigars Europeanize me. If Ireland is to become a new Ireland she must first become European. And that is what you are here for, Richard. Some day we shall have to choose between England and Europe. I am a descendant of the dark foreigners: that is why I like to be here. I may be childish. But where else in Dublin can I get a bandit cigar like this or a cup of black coffee? The man who drinks black coffee is going to conquer Ireland. And now I will take just a half measure of that whisky, Richard, to show you there is no ill feeling.

RICHARD. [_Points._] Help yourself.

ROBERT. [_Does so._] Thanks. [_He drinks and goes on as before._] Then you yourself, the way you loll on that lounge: then your boy’s voice and also—Bertha herself. Do you allow me to call her that, Richard? I mean as an old friend of both of you.

RICHARD. O why not?

ROBERT. [_With animation._] You have that fierce indignation which lacerated the heart of Swift. You have fallen from a higher world, Richard, and you are filled with fierce indignation, when you find that life is cowardly and ignoble. While I... shall I tell you?

RICHARD. By all means.

ROBERT. [_Archly._] I have come up from a lower world and I am filled with astonishment when I find that people have any redeeming virtue at all.

RICHARD. [_Sits up suddenly and leans his elbows on the table._] You are my friend, then?

ROBERT. [_Gravely._] I fought for you all the time you were away. I fought to bring you back. I fought to keep your place for you here. I will fight for you still because I have faith in you, the faith of a disciple in his master. I cannot say more than that. It may seem strange to you... Give me a match.

RICHARD. [_Lights and offers him a match._] There is a faith still stranger than the faith of the disciple in his master.

ROBERT. And that is?

RICHARD. The faith of a master in the disciple who will betray him.

ROBERT. The church lost a theologian in you, Richard. But I think you look too deeply into life. [_He rises, pressing Richard’s arm slightly._] Be gay. Life is not worth it.

RICHARD. [_Without rising._] Are you going?

ROBERT. Must. [_He turns and says in a friendly tone._] Then it is all arranged. We meet tonight at the vicechancellor’s. I shall look in at about ten. So you can have an hour or so to yourselves first. You will wait till I come?

RICHARD. Good.

ROBERT. One more match and I am happy.

[_Richard strikes another match, hands it to him and rises also. Archie comes in by the door on the left, followed by Beatrice._]

ROBERT. Congratulate me, Beatty. I have won over Richard.

ARCHIE. [_Crossing to the door on the right, calls._] Mamma, Miss Justice is going.

BEATRICE. On what are you to be congratulated?

ROBERT. On a victory, of course. [_Laying his hand lightly on Richard’s shoulder._] The descendant of Archibald Hamilton Rowan has come home.

RICHARD. I am not a descendant of Hamilton Rowan.

ROBERT. What matter?

[_Bertha comes in from the right with a bowl of roses._]

BEATRICE. Has Mr Rowan...?

ROBERT. [_Turning towards Bertha._] Richard is coming tonight to the vicechancellor’s dinner. The fatted calf will be eaten: roast, I hope. And next session will see the descendant of a namesake of etcetera, etcetera in a chair of the university. [_He offers his hand._] Good afternoon, Richard. We shall meet tonight.

RICHARD. [_Touches his hand._] At Philippi.

BEATRICE. [_Shakes hands also._] Accept my best wishes, Mr Rowan.

RICHARD. Thanks. But do not believe him.

ROBERT. [_Vivaciously._] Believe me, believe me. [_To Bertha._] Good afternoon, Mrs Rowan.

BERTHA. [_Shaking hands, candidly._] I thank you, too. [_To Beatrice._] You won’t stay to tea, Miss Justice?

BEATRICE. No, thank you. [_Takes leave of her._] I must go. Good afternoon. Goodbye, Archie [_going_].

ROBERT. _Addio_, Archibald.

ARCHIE. _Addio_.

ROBERT. Wait, Beatty. I shall accompany you.

BEATRICE. [_Going out on the right with Bertha._] O, don’t trouble.

ROBERT. [_Following her._] But I insist—as a cousin.

[_Bertha, Beatrice and Robert go out by the door on the left. Richard stands irresolutely near the table. Archie closes the door leading to the hall and, coming over to him, plucks him by the sleeve._]

ARCHIE. I say, pappie!

RICHARD. [_Absently._] What is it?

ARCHIE. I want to ask you a thing.

RICHARD. [_Sitting on the end of the lounge, stares in front of him._] What is it?

ARCHIE. Will you ask mamma to let me go out in the morning with the milkman?

RICHARD. With the milkman?

ARCHIE. Yes. In the milkcar. He says he will let me drive when we get on to the roads where there are no people. The horse is a very good beast. Can I go?

RICHARD. Yes.

ARCHIE. Ask mamma now can I go. Will you?

RICHARD. [_Glances towards the door._] I will.

ARCHIE. He said he will show me the cows he has in the field. Do you know how many cows he has?

RICHARD. How many?

ARCHIE. Eleven. Eight red and three white. But one is sick now. No, not sick. But it fell.

RICHARD. Cows?

ARCHIE. [_With a gesture._] Eh! Not bulls. Because bulls give no milk. Eleven cows. They must give a lot of milk. What makes a cow give milk?