Part 3
RICHARD. [_Takes his hand._] Who knows? Do you understand what it is to give a thing?
ARCHIE. To give? Yes.
RICHARD. While you have a thing it can be taken from you.
ARCHIE. By robbers? No?
RICHARD. But when you give it, you have given it. No robber can take it from you. [_He bends his head and presses his son’s hand against his cheek._] It is yours then for ever when you have given it. It will be yours always. That is to give.
ARCHIE. But, pappie?
RICHARD. Yes?
ARCHIE. How could a robber rob a cow? Everyone would see him. In the night, perhaps.
RICHARD. In the night, yes.
ARCHIE. Are there robbers here like in Rome?
RICHARD. There are poor people everywhere.
ARCHIE. Have they revolvers?
RICHARD. No.
ARCHIE. Knives? Have they knives?
RICHARD. [_Sternly._] Yes, yes. Knives and revolvers.
ARCHIE. [_Disengages himself._] Ask mamma now. She is coming.
RICHARD. [_Makes a movement to rise._] I will.
ARCHIE. No, sit there, pappie. You wait and ask her when she comes back. I won’t be here. I’ll be in the garden.
RICHARD. [_Sinking back again._] Yes. Go.
ARCHIE. [_Kisses him swiftly._] Thanks.
[_He runs out quickly by the door at the back leading into the garden. Bertha enters by the door on the left. She approaches the table and stands beside it, fingering the petals of the roses, looking at Richard._]
RICHARD. [_Watching her._] Well?
BERTHA. [_Absently._] Well. He says he likes me.
RICHARD. [_Leans his chin in his hand._] You showed him his note?
BERTHA. Yes. I asked him what it meant.
RICHARD. What did he say it meant?
BERTHA. He said I must know. I said I had an idea. Then he told me he liked me very much. That I was beautiful—and all that.
RICHARD. Since when!
BERTHA. [_Again absently._] Since when—what?
RICHARD. Since when did he say he liked you?
BERTHA. Always, he said. But more since we came back. He said I was like the moon in this lavender dress. [_Looking at him._] Had you any words with him—about me?
RICHARD. [_Blandly._] The usual thing. Not about you.
BERTHA. He was very nervous. You saw that?
RICHARD. Yes. I saw it. What else went on?
BERTHA. He asked me to give him my hand.
RICHARD. [_Smiling._] In marriage?
BERTHA. [_Smiling._] No, only to hold.
RICHARD. Did you?
BERTHA. Yes. [_Tearing off a few petals._] Then he caressed my hand and asked would I let him kiss it. I let him.
RICHARD. Well?
BERTHA. Then he asked could he embrace me—even once?... And then...
RICHARD. And then?
BERTHA. He put his arm round me.
RICHARD. [_Stares at the floor for a moment, then looks at her again._] And then?
BERTHA. He said I had beautiful eyes. And asked could he kiss them. [_With a gesture._] I said: _Do so._
RICHARD. And he did?
BERTHA. Yes. First one and then the other. [_She breaks off suddenly._] Tell me, Dick, does all this disturb you? Because I told you I don’t want that. I think you are only pretending you don’t mind. I don’t mind.
RICHARD. [_Quietly._] I know, dear. But I want to find out what he means or feels just as you do.
BERTHA. [_Points at him._] Remember, you allowed me to go on. I told you the whole thing from the beginning.
RICHARD. [_As before._] I know, dear... And then?
BERTHA. He asked for a kiss. I said: _Take it._
RICHARD. And then?
BERTHA. [_Crumpling a handful of petals._] He kissed me.
RICHARD. Your mouth?
BERTHA. Once or twice.
RICHARD. Long kisses?
BERTHA. Fairly long. [_Reflects._] Yes, the last time.
RICHARD. [_Rubs his hands slowly; then._] With his lips? Or... the other way?
BERTHA. Yes, the last time.
RICHARD. Did he ask you to kiss him?
BERTHA. He did.
RICHARD. Did you?
BERTHA. [_Hesitates, then looking straight at him._] I did. I kissed him.
RICHARD. What way?
BERTHA. [_With a shrug._] O simply.
RICHARD. Were you excited?
BERTHA. Well, you can imagine. [_Frowning suddenly._] Not much. He has not nice lips... Still I was excited, of course. But not like with you, Dick.
RICHARD. Was he?
BERTHA. Excited? Yes, I think he was. He sighed. He was dreadfully nervous.
RICHARD. [_Resting his forehead on his hand._] I see.
BERTHA. [_Crosses towards the lounge and stands near him._] Are you jealous?
RICHARD. [_As before._] No.
BERTHA. [_Quietly._] You are, Dick.
RICHARD. I am not. Jealous of what?
BERTHA. Because he kissed me.
RICHARD. [_Looks up._] Is that all?
BERTHA. Yes, that’s all. Except that he asked me would I meet him.
RICHARD. Out somewhere?
BERTHA. No. In his house.
RICHARD. [_Surprised._] Over there with his mother, is it?
BERTHA. No, a house he has. He wrote the address for me.
[_She goes to the desk, takes the key from the flower vase, unlocks the drawer and returns to him with the slip of paper._]
RICHARD. [_Half to himself._] Our cottage.
BERTHA. [_Hands him the slip._] Here.
RICHARD. [_Reads it._] Yes. Our cottage.
BERTHA. Your...?
RICHARD. No, his. I call it ours. [_Looking at her._] The cottage I told you about so often—that we had the two keys for, he and I. It is his now. Where we used to hold our wild nights, talking, drinking, planning—at that time. Wild nights; yes. He and I together. [_He throws the slip on the couch and rises suddenly._] And sometimes I alone. [_Stares at her._] But not quite alone. I told you. You remember?
BERTHA. [_Shocked._] That place?
RICHARD. [_Walks away from her a few paces and stands still, thinking, holding his chin._] Yes.
BERTHA. [_Taking up the slip again._] Where is it?
RICHARD. Do you not know?
BERTHA. He told me to take the tram at Lansdowne Road and to ask the man to let me down there. Is it... is it a bad place?
RICHARD. O no, cottages. [_He returns to the lounge and sits down._] What answer did you give?
BERTHA. No answer. He said he would wait.
RICHARD. Tonight?
BERTHA. Every night, he said. Between eight and nine.
RICHARD. And so I am to go tonight to interview—the professor. About the appointment I am to beg for. [_Looking at her._] The interview is arranged for tonight by him—between eight and nine. Curious, isn’t it? The same hour.
BERTHA. Very.
RICHARD. Did he ask you had I any suspicion?
BERTHA. No.
RICHARD. Did he mention my name?
BERTHA. No.
RICHARD. Not once?
BERTHA. Not that I remember.
RICHARD. [_Bounding to his feet._] O yes! Quite clear!
BERTHA. What?
RICHARD. [_Striding to and fro._] A liar, a thief, and a fool! Quite clear! A common thief! What else? [_With a harsh laugh._] My great friend! A patriot too! A thief—nothing else! [_He halts, thrusting his hands into his pockets._] But a fool also!
BERTHA. [_Looking at him._] What are you going to do?
RICHARD. [_Shortly._] Follow him. Find him. Tell him. [_Calmly._] A few words will do. Thief and fool.
BERTHA. [_Flings the slip on the couch._] I see it all!
RICHARD. [_Turning._] Eh!
BERTHA. [_Hotly._] The work of a devil.
RICHARD. He?
BERTHA. [_Turning on him._] No, you! The work of a devil to turn him against me as you tried to turn my own child against me. Only you did not succeed.
RICHARD. How? In God’s name, how?
BERTHA. [_Excitedly._] Yes, yes. What I say. Everyone saw it. Whenever I tried to correct him for the least thing you went on with your folly, speaking to him as if he were a grownup man. Ruining the poor child, or trying to. Then, of course, I was the cruel mother and only you loved him. [_With growing excitement._] But you did not turn him against me—against his own mother. Because why? Because the child has too much nature in him.
RICHARD. I never tried to do such a thing, Bertha. You know I cannot be severe with a child.
BERTHA. Because you never loved your own mother. A mother is always a mother, no matter what. I never heard of any human being that did not love the mother that brought him into the world, except you.
RICHARD. [_Approaching her quietly._] Bertha, do not say things you will be sorry for. Are you not glad my son is fond of me?
BERTHA. Who taught him to be? Who taught him to run to meet you? Who told him you would bring him home toys when you were out on your rambles in the rain, forgetting all about him—and me? I did. I taught him to love you.
RICHARD. Yes, dear. I know it was you.
BERTHA. [_Almost crying._] And then you try to turn everyone against me. All is to be for you. I am to appear false and cruel to everyone except to you. Because you take advantage of my simplicity as you did—the first time.
RICHARD. [_Violently._] And you have the courage to say that to me?
BERTHA. [_Facing him._] Yes, I have! Both then and now. Because I am simple you think you can do what you like with me. [_Gesticulating._] Follow him now. Call him names. Make him be humble before you and make him despise me. Follow him!
RICHARD. [_Controlling himself._] You forget that I have allowed you complete liberty—and allow you it still.
BERTHA. [_Scornfully._] Liberty!
RICHARD. Yes, complete. But he must know that I know. [_More calmly._] I will speak to him quietly. [_Appealing._] Bertha, believe me, dear! It is not jealousy. You have complete liberty to do as you wish—you and he. But not in this way. He will not despise you. You don’t wish to deceive me or to pretend to deceive me—with him, do you?
BERTHA. No, I do not. [_Looking full at him._] Which of us two is the deceiver?
RICHARD. Of us? You and me?
BERTHA. [_In a calm decided tone._] I know why you have allowed me what you call complete liberty.
RICHARD. Why?
BERTHA. To have complete liberty with—that girl.
RICHARD. [_Irritated._] But, good God, you knew about that this long time. I never hid it.
BERTHA. You did. I thought it was a kind of friendship between you—till we came back, and then I saw.
RICHARD. So it is, Bertha.
BERTHA. [_Shakes her head._] No, no. It is much more; and that is why you give me complete liberty. All those things you sit up at night to write about [_pointing to the study_] in there—about her. You call that friendship?
RICHARD. Believe me, Bertha dear. Believe me as I believe you.
BERTHA. [_With an impulsive gesture._] My God, I feel it! I know it! What else is between you but love?
RICHARD. [_Calmly._] You are trying to put that idea into my head but I warn you that I don’t take my ideas from other people.
BERTHA. [_Hotly._] It is, it is! And that is why you allow him to go on. Of course! It doesn’t affect you. You love her.
RICHARD. Love! [_Throws out his hands with a sigh and moves away from her._] I cannot argue with you.
BERTHA. You can’t because I am right. [_Following him a few steps._] What would anyone say?
RICHARD. [_Turns to her._] Do you think I care?
BERTHA. But I care. What would he say if he knew? You, who talk so much of the high kind of feeling you have for me, expressing yourself in that way to another woman. If he did it, or other men, I could understand because they are false pretenders. But you, Dick! Why do you not tell him then?
RICHARD. You can if you like.
BERTHA. I will. Certainly I will.
RICHARD. [_Coolly._] He will explain it to you.
BERTHA. He doesn’t say one thing and do another. He is honest in his own way.
RICHARD. [_Plucks one of the roses and throws it at her feet._] He is, indeed! The soul of honour!
BERTHA. You may make fun of him as much as you like. I understand more than you think about that business. And so will he. Writing those long letters to her for years, and she to you. For years. But since I came back I understand it—well.
RICHARD. You do not. Nor would he.
BERTHA. [_Laughs scornfully._] Of course. Neither he nor I can understand it. Only she can. Because it is such a deep thing!
RICHARD. [_Angrily._] Neither he nor you—nor she either! Not one of you!
BERTHA. [_With great bitterness._] She will! She will understand it! The diseased woman!
[_She turns away and walks over to the little table on the right. Richard restrains a sudden gesture. A short pause._]
RICHARD. [_Gravely._] Bertha, take care of uttering words like that!
BERTHA. [_Turning, excitedly._] I don’t mean any harm! I feel for her more than you can because I am a woman. I do, sincerely. But what I say is true.
RICHARD. Is it generous? Think.
BERTHA. [_Pointing towards the garden._] It is she who is not generous. Remember now what I say.
RICHARD. What?
BERTHA. [_Comes nearer; in a calmer tone._] You have given that woman very much, Dick. And she may be worthy of it. And she may understand it all, too. I know she is that kind.
RICHARD. Do you believe that?
BERTHA. I do. But I believe you will get very little from her in return—or from any of her clan. Remember my words, Dick. Because she is not generous and they are not generous. Is it all wrong what I am saying? Is it?
RICHARD. [_Darkly._] No. Not all.
[_She stoops and, picking up the rose from the floor, places it in the vase again. He watches her. Brigid appears at the folding doors on the right._]
BRIGID. The tea is on the table, ma’am.
BERTHA. Very well.
BRIGID. Is Master Archie in the garden?
BERTHA. Yes. Call him in.
[_Brigid crosses the room and goes out into the garden. Bertha goes towards the doors on the right. At the lounge she stops and takes up the slip._]
BRIGID. [_In the garden._] Master Archie! You are to come in to your tea.
BERTHA. Am I to go to this place?
RICHARD. Do you want to go?
BERTHA. I want to find out what he means. Am I to go?
RICHARD. Why do you ask me? Decide yourself.
BERTHA. Do you tell me to go?
RICHARD. No.
BERTHA. Do you forbid me to go?
RICHARD. No.
BRIGID. [_From the garden._] Come quickly, Master Archie! Your tea is waiting on you.
[_Brigid crosses the room and goes out through the folding doors. Bertha folds the slip into the waist of her dress and goes slowly towards the right. Near the door she turns and halts._]
BERTHA. Tell me not to go and I will not.
RICHARD. [_Without looking at her._] Decide yourself.
BERTHA. Will you blame me then?
RICHARD. [_Excitedly._] No, no! I will not blame you. You are free. I cannot blame you.
[_Archie appears at the garden door._]
BERTHA. I did not deceive you.
[_She goes out through the folding doors. Richard remains standing at the table. Archie, when his mother has gone, runs down to Richard._]
ARCHIE. [_Quickly._] Well, did you ask her?
RICHARD. [_Starting._] What?
ARCHIE. Can I go?
RICHARD. Yes.
ARCHIE. In the morning? She said yes?
RICHARD. Yes. In the morning.
[_He puts his arm round his son’s shoulders and looks down at him fondly._]
Second Act
_A room in Robert Hand’s cottage at Ranelagh. On the right, forward, a small black piano, on the rest of which is an open piece of music. Farther back a door leading to the street door. In the wall, at the back, folding doors, draped with dark curtains, leading to a bedroom. Near the piano a large table, on which is a tall oil lamp with a wide yellow shade. Chairs, upholstered, near this table. A small cardtable more forward. Against the back wall a bookcase. In the left wall, back, a window looking out into the garden, and, forward, a door and porch, also leading to the garden. Easychairs here and there. Plants in the porch and near the draped folding doors. On the walls are many framed black and white designs. In the right corner, back, a sideboard; and in the centre of the room, left of the table, a group consisting of a standing Turkish pipe, a low oil stove, which is not lit, and a rocking-chair. It is the evening of the same day._
[_Robert Hand, in evening dress, is seated at the piano. The candles are not lit but the lamp on the table is lit. He plays softly in the bass the first bars of Wolfram’s song in the last act of ‘Tannhäuser’. Then he breaks off and, resting an elbow on the ledge of the keyboard, meditates. Then he rises and, pulling out a pump from behind the piano, walks here and there in the room ejecting from it into the air sprays of perfume. He inhales the air slowly and then puts the pump back behind the piano. He sits down on a chair near the table and, smoothing his hair carefully, sighs once or twice. Then, thrusting his hands into his trousers pockets, he leans back, stretches out his legs, and waits. A knock is heard at the street door. He rises quickly._]
ROBERT. [_Exclaims._] Bertha!
[_He hurries out by the door on the right. There is a noise of confused greeting. After a few moments Robert enters, followed by Richard Rowan, who is in grey tweeds as before but holds in one hand a dark felt hat and in the other an umbrella._]
ROBERT. First of all let me put these outside.
[_He takes the hat and umbrella, leaves them in the hall and returns._]
ROBERT. [_Pulling round a chair._] Here you are. You are lucky to find me in. Why didn’t you tell me today? You were always a devil for surprises. I suppose my evocation of the past was too much for your wild blood. See how artistic I have become. [_He points to the walls._] The piano is an addition since your time. I was just strumming out Wagner when you came. Killing time. You see I am ready for the fray. [_Laughs._] I was just wondering how you and the vicechancellor were getting on together. [_With exaggerated alarm._] But are you going in that suit? O well, it doesn’t make much odds, I suppose. But how goes the time? [_He takes out his watch._] Twenty past eight already, I declare!
RICHARD. Have you an appointment?
ROBERT. [_Laughs nervously._] Suspicious to the last!
RICHARD. Then I may sit down?
ROBERT. Of course, of course. [_They both sit down._] For a few minutes, anyhow. Then we can both go on together. We are not bound for time. Between eight and nine, he said, didn’t he? What time is it, I wonder? [_Is about to look again at his watch; then stops._] Twenty past eight, yes.
RICHARD. [_Wearily, sadly._] Your appointment also was for the same hour. Here.
ROBERT. What appointment?
RICHARD. With Bertha.
ROBERT. [_Stares at him._] Are you mad?
RICHARD. Are you?
ROBERT. [_After a long pause._] Who told you?
RICHARD. She.
[_A short silence._]
ROBERT. [_In a low voice._] Yes. I must have been mad. [_Rapidly._] Listen to me, Richard. It is a great relief to me that you have come—the greatest relief. I assure you that ever since this afternoon I have thought and thought how I could break it off without seeming a fool. A great relief! I even intended to send word... a letter, a few lines. [_Suddenly._] But then it was too late... [_Passes his hand over his forehead._] Let me speak frankly with you; let me tell you everything.
RICHARD. I know everything. I have known for some time.
ROBERT. Since when?
RICHARD. Since it began between you and her.
ROBERT. [_Again rapidly._] Yes, I was mad. But it was merely lightheadedness. I admit that to have asked her here this evening was a mistake. I can explain everything to you. And I will. Truly.
RICHARD. Explain to me what is the word you longed and never dared to say to her. If you can or will.
ROBERT. [_Looks down, then raises his head._] Yes. I will. I admire very much the personality of your... of... your wife. That is the word. I can say it. It is no secret.
RICHARD. Then why did you wish to keep secret your wooing?
ROBERT. Wooing?
RICHARD. Your advances to her, little by little, day after day, looks, whispers. [_With a nervous movement of the hands._] _Insomma_, wooing.
ROBERT. [_Bewildered._] But how do you know all this?
RICHARD. She told me.
ROBERT. This afternoon?
RICHARD. No. Time after time, as it happened.
ROBERT. You knew? From her? [_Richard nods._]. You were watching us all the time?
RICHARD. [_Very coldly._] I was watching you.
ROBERT. [_Quickly._] I mean, watching me. And you never spoke! You had only to speak a word—to save me from myself. You were trying me. [_Passes his hand again over his forehead._] It was a terrible trial: now also. [_Desperately._] Well, it is past. It will be a lesson to me for all my life. You hate me now for what I have done and for...
RICHARD. [_Quietly, looking at him._] Have I said that I hate you?
ROBERT. Do you not? You must.
RICHARD. Even if Bertha had not told me I should have known. Did you not see that when I came in this afternoon I went into my study suddenly for a moment?
ROBERT. You did. I remember.
RICHARD. To give you time to recover yourself. It made me sad to see your eyes. And the roses too. I cannot say why. A great mass of overblown roses.
ROBERT. I thought I had to give them. Was that strange? [_Looks at Richard with a tortured expression._] Too many, perhaps? Or too old or common?
RICHARD. That was why I did not hate you. The whole thing made me sad all at once.
ROBERT. [_To himself._] And this is real. It is happening—to us.
[_He stares before him for some moments in silence, as if dazed; then, without turning his head, continues._]
ROBERT. And she, too, was trying me; making an experiment with me for your sake!
RICHARD. You know women better than I do. She says she felt pity for you.
ROBERT. [_Brooding._] Pitied me, because I am no longer... an ideal lover. Like my roses. Common, old.
RICHARD. Like all men you have a foolish wandering heart.
ROBERT. [_Slowly._] Well, you spoke at last. You chose the right moment.
RICHARD. [_Leans forward._] Robert, not like this. For us two, no. Years, a whole life, of friendship. Think a moment. Since childhood, boyhood... No, no. Not in such a way—like thieves—at night. [_Glancing about him._] And in such a place. No, Robert, that is not for people like us.
ROBERT. What a lesson! Richard, I cannot tell you what a relief it is to me that you have spoken—that the danger is passed. Yes, yes. [_Somewhat diffidently._] Because... there was some danger for you, too, if you think. Was there not?
RICHARD. What danger?
ROBERT. [_In the same tone._] I don’t know. I mean if you had not spoken. If you had watched and waited on until...
RICHARD. Until?
ROBERT. [_Bravely._] Until I had come to like her more and more (because I can assure you it is only a lightheaded idea of mine), to like her deeply, to love her. Would you have spoken to me then as you have just now? [_Richard is silent. Robert goes on more boldly._] It would have been different, would it not? For then it might have been too late while it is not too late now. What could I have said then? I could have said only: You are my friend, my dear good friend. I am very sorry but I love her. [_With a sudden fervent gesture._] I love her and I will take her from you, however I can, because I love her.
[_They look at each other for some moments in silence._]
RICHARD. [_Calmly._] That is the language I have heard often and never believed in. Do you mean by stealth or by violence? Steal you could not in my house because the doors were open; nor take by violence if there were no resistance.
ROBERT. You forget that the kingdom of heaven suffers violence: and the kingdom of heaven is like a woman.
RICHARD. [_Smiling._] Go on.
ROBERT. [_Diffidently, but bravely._] Do you think you have rights over her—over her heart?
RICHARD. None.
ROBERT. For what you have done for her? So much! You claim nothing?
RICHARD. Nothing.
ROBERT. [_After a pause strikes his forehead with his hand._] What am I saying? Or what am I thinking? I wish you would upbraid me, curse me, hate me as I deserve. You love this woman. I remember all you told me long ago. She is yours, your work. [_Suddenly._] And that is why I, too, was drawn to her. You are so strong that you attract me even through her.
RICHARD. I am weak.
ROBERT. [_With enthusiasm._] You, Richard! You are the incarnation of strength.
RICHARD. [_Holds out his hands._] Feel those hands.
ROBERT. [_Taking his hands._] Yes. Mine are stronger. But I meant strength of another kind.
RICHARD. [_Gloomily._] I think you would try to take her by violence.
[_He withdraws his hands slowly._]
ROBERT. [_Rapidly._] Those are moments of sheer madness when we feel an intense passion for a woman. We see nothing. We think of nothing. Only to possess her. Call it brutal, bestial, what you will.
RICHARD. [_A little timidly._] I am afraid that that longing to possess a woman is not love.