Fifty Contemporary One-Act Plays
SCENE VII.
_The Music_ _The Pantomime, etc._
String music _Princess_ and _Shepherd_ dance across followed by the _Goat_, who is playing on the Shepherd's pipe _Princess_ and _Shepherd_, behind the drop take their places on the platform
Cymbal crash Lights out [The drop is lifted]
Cymbal crash Lights on [The Wazir's garden with the middle section of the drop lifted to show the "Distance"]
String music _Shepherd_ and _Princess_ discovered in the "Distance" posed in a kiss
Cymbal crash Lights out [The drop is lowered]
Cymbal crash Lights on The Maker of Sounds rises, yawns cavernously, bows very slightly and exits
[_Curtain._]
BOCCACCIO'S UNTOLD TALE
A PLAY
BY HARRY KEMP
Copyright, 1920, by Stewart & Kidd Co. All rights reserved.
PERSONS OF THE DRAMA.
FLORIO [_a poet_]. OLIVIA [_Florio's mistress_]. VIOLANTE [_a Florentine noblewoman_]. LIZZIA [_Florio's serving-woman_]. DIONEO [_a member of Boccaccio's party_]. ONE VOICE. ANOTHER VOICE. VARIOUS PROCESSIONS BEARING THE DEAD.
TIME: _The year of the Great Plague, A. D. 1348_. PLACE: _Florence_.
Published by permission of and special arrangement with Harry Kemp. Applications for the right of performing BOCCACCIO'S UNTOLD TALE must be made to Mr. Harry Kemp, in care of Brentano's, New York.
BOCCACCIO'S UNTOLD TALE
A PLAY BY HARRY KEMP
[SCENE: _A lower room in Florio's house. It is wide and simply furnished._
_In the center, at back, is a large doorway, hung with great black arras. In the right-hand extreme corner is a small altar to the Virgin._
_In wall, at back, high up on left, a small window._
_A smaller doorway, hung with arras of black, is on the left, well toward the front. This doorway gives on the study of the poet._
_At rise of curtain the stage is lit with the uncertain light of tapers._
_Lizzia, the old servant, is discovered kneeling at the altar._
_Soon she rises, crossing herself devoutly._
_Demurringly and with deprecating shakes of the head, she begins hanging wreaths about the walls of the room._
_After the hanging of each wreath she crosses herself, and, with agitated piety verging on superstition, she bends the knee briefly before altar._
_Now the wreaths are all in place.... Through the small window the grayness that comes before dawn begins to glimmer in._
_One by one Lizzia snuffs out the tapers._
_For a moment everything is left in the gray half-darkness._
_But now Lizzia draws aside the large black arras in the back. There is revealed a magnificent panoramic view of medieval Florence, flushing gradually from pearl-gray to soft, delicate rose, then to the full gold of accomplished sunrise._
_Again the old woman kneels at the altar._
_Enter, through the open doorway at back, Violante--rather tall, good-looking, quite dark._
_Violante stands silent for a moment. One can see that it is in her thought to wait till Lizzia finishes her devotions ... then she becomes impatient and breaks in on them._]
VIOLANTE
Lizzia, where bides your master, Florio? I sped a servant hither yesterday, To bid him come to me, and now, this morning, I come myself.
LIZZIA
For three days he has looked upon no one. Even I, who wait upon him, have not seen him.
VIOLANTE
Where keeps he, then?
LIZZIA [_indicating the small doorway_].
Yonder, within that arras.
VIOLANTE
Summon him forth! Say the Lady Violante waits his presence.
LIZZIA
He will grow wroth with me--nor will he greet you.
VIOLANTE
Fears he, then, the Plague so? Is he too such As dare not walk abroad nor breathe the air Lest he should drink infection?
LIZZIA
Not so, Lady, but he--
VIOLANTE
Tell him, then, Our friend Boccaccio, the story-teller, Has shaped a brave device against the Plague.... Before the sun climbs higher into day And the night's Dead are heaped up in the streets For buriers and priests to draw away, A group of goodly ladies and gentlemen Go forth to a sequestered country place Remote from Florence and invisible Death. There, in green gardens full of birds and leaves, The blue, cloud-wandering heaven spread above, We shall beguile the time with merriment, Music and song and telling of many tales, Trusting that Death, glutted with multitudes, Will pass us by.... We need but Florio To bring our perfect pleasure to the brim.
LIZZIA [_obstinately_]
But he will see no one, Lady, not even you. He is--he is--
VIOLANTE
Not smitten by the Plague?
LIZZIA [_hesitating_]
Nay, he has taken a vow of close seclusion.
VIOLANTE [_confidently_]
But he knows not I am here--the Lady Violante! [_A pause_.] [_Impetuously_] Go, tell him it is I,-- Nor take upon yourself such high command!
LIZZIA [_somewhat resentfully_]
I am a servant, I only do as he commanded me.... [_Barring way_.]
VIOLANTE [_distractedly_]
Strange that he should so change in ten days' space. [_With passionate abandonment_] Old woman, go this instant--summon him! I will abide your crabbed ways no longer.
LIZZIA [_stung to retaliation_]
Lady, he would not look upon your face If you made him ruler of the world for it.
VIOLANTE [_flaming_]
What new freak of his is this? He is as full of moods as any woman.... But I had never thought-- [_Determined_] I will go to him!
LIZZIA [_again barring way_]
I could tell you many things, But I would spare you.
VIOLANTE
Spare me!... you insolent, presumptuous old woman, What have I, I, the Lady Violante Ugolini, To do with your good master, Florio, Beyond a fostering friendship for his song! Else he were nothing to me.... You are presuming on your age and service-- He shall rebuke you for this....
LIZZIA
Very well, Lady, if you must know-- He has sworn that he will look upon no one Till he behold--Olivia!
VIOLANTE [_startled_]
Olivia!... who is Olivia?
LIZZIA
She is a girl who came from Padua Hither, to flee the Plague ... and fled in vain. He has loved her just ten days ... since first she came.... She came to him, a stranger, singing songs-- His songs!
VIOLANTE
And flattering him so--he loved her!
LIZZIA
Nay, she was beautiful, my noble lady,-- Surpassing wonderful.... "His shining dream Of ivory and gold," he called her....
VIOLANTE [_coldly_]
What has all this to do with me? [_Relapsing into forgetful eagerness._] Tell me, where, then, is his Olivia now?
LIZZIA
The Plague! He gave her to a doctor's care, Beggaring himself therefor, as one who loves!
VIOLANTE
And now he shuts himself away for grief Because she died!... But, if she be dead, Wherefore these garlands?-- Or does he think she will come back, alive?
LIZZIA
The learned doctor swears if she survives Three days, she shall not die.
VIOLANTE
Not die, in sooth! Who is this man who resurrects the Dead? Why, folk whose nerves and sinews sing with life Sicken, fall down, and seethe with death and worms Within an hour, and they, the few who live, Living, curse God because they did not die.... He would best think of the Living, and forget The Dead.
LIZZIA
Half-crazed with love, he dreams she will return.... This is the morning after the third day-- This is the very hour she would return. Suppose the learned doctor keep his word?-- Hence have I hung these garlands.
[_The sounds of a funeral procession heard approaching.... The procession passes the large doorway, going by, along the street, without. The people bear candles.... They pass slowly by the open door ... bodies being carried in shrouds._]
ONE VOICE
We bore the son ... and now we bear the father....
ANOTHER VOICE
And I or you, mayhap, will be the next.
LIZZIA [_continuing_]
These wreaths, they seem a mockery of Heaven. I pray that God will smite me not--I do What I am bid!...
VIOLANTE [_half to herself_]
She will not come!... [_To Lizzia_] Is there nothing will cure his madness?
LIZZIA
Even if she die they are to bring her hither....
VIOLANTE
Hither? And all corrupt? Then Death will strike you both!
LIZZIA
Lady, I am so old I'd rather sleep Than walk this sinful, weary world; and be-- He will unshroud her, kiss her lips, and die!
VIOLANTE [_with great bitterness_]
Fie, this our Florio--he has loved before, And he will love again, and yet again.... Women's beauty he loves, not any woman!
LIZZIA
What you have said were true ten days ago-- Do I not know him, Lady?... But a change Has come upon him that I marvel at-- So great a change in such a little while.... Ah, looked you on them when they were together, Saw you how he is caught up in her face And all the beauty of her, you would say "Here is a love, at last, that climbs from earth to heaven!"
VIOLANTE [_laughing harshly_]
It is her beauty he loved; not she The thing he loved! A poet, he!... [_A pause._] It were as well you tore these garlands down: If, by a miracle, she should return, The Plague will have marked her with such ugliness That even you will shine like Helen of Troy beside her! Much will he care, then, if she sing his songs! Had she a voice like a garden of nightingales He could not listen to her without loathing....
[_Sounds of approach of another funeral procession._]
VIOLANTE [_continuing_]
Pray draw the arras, Lizzia, and close out The things that they bring by.... They have begun To move the night's innumerable Dead.
[_Lizzia draws the large arras.... From now on, till the very last, just before climax, sound and murmur of processions are continually heard._]
VIOLANTE [_persistently_]
I think she will not come-- But, if she does, she should be spared the cruelty Of his heart's change, And he, her marred, plague-broken face! Stand aside--let me pass....
LIZZIA [_barring way again_]
He took his oath Before that altar, to the most high God! You shall not break his vow....
VIOLANTE
Let me go to him--here are my jewels!
FLORIO [_calling from within_]
Who is it speaks without? Whose voice is this Wrangling and breaking in upon my peace?
LIZZIA
The Lady Violante Ugolini!
FLORIO
To-day, of all days, must I be alone....
[_Florio pushes out arras from small doorway and stands before it, so that he remains unseen to Violante and Lizzia._]
FLORIO [_to Lizzia_]
Go, Lizzia, I will speak with the Lady.... Have you the wreaths hung, Lizzia?
LIZZIA
Aye, master Florio!
FLORIO
Have you the table heaped with delicacies In the green space by the fountain-shaken pool?
LIZZIA
I go to set the viands now, my master.
[_Lizzia goes out._]
FLORIO
Violante, if you would speak with me, Stay where you are--I cannot look upon you.
VIOLANTE
Not look upon me?
FLORIO
Nor must you look on me.... I have vowed a vow!
VIOLANTE
How strange you are!... I had thought to rush into your arms!... Have you forgotten so soon the oaths you took?
[_She starts toward him._]
FLORIO [_hearing the rustle of her garment._]
Move one step further and I draw the arras!
VIOLANTE [_halting and hesitating_]
Have you forgotten the first time you saw my face And sent a sonnet to me?... It seems but a day Since you were awed by my nobility.... And when I let you press your burning lips Against my hand, you swore it made you God! [_Sadly_] From that time it was not far to my mouth.... And, after that, what with the shining moon, And nightingales beginning in the dusk, And songs and music that you made for me-- In a little while I was entirely yours!...
FLORIO
Remember that young nobleman who died For love of you?... I was your pastime, merely that! And so I sipped what honey came my way. But why do you come now? Did you not leave me without a word?
VIOLANTE
My father.... [_Sombrely_] My father whom the Pestilence has smitten--
FLORIO [_quickly_]
You sent me no message.
VIOLANTE
Every door was watched ... he might have had you slain.... He bore me off to Rome....
FLORIO
You loved me, then?
VIOLANTE
And did not you love me?
FLORIO
I could have sworn I did.
VIOLANTE
O Florio!... Where is my pride of rank, my woman's shame. That I should come like this to you!
FLORIO
Speak not so, Violante--I pray you go!
VIOLANTE
You love another, then?
FLORIO [_ecstatically_]
I have loved beauty, beauty all my life!
VIOLANTE
We are not metaphors and pale abstractions, We women ... nor would we be prized alone For smooth perfections.... [_Low and intense_] Say that you loved a woman Smitten with the Plague, say, further, that she lived-- One among ten thousand--that she came back to you, [The one thing sure] hideous and marred--
FLORIO
You try me sorely! Violante, I pray you, go!
VIOLANTE [_persistently_]
I have come hither To bid you come away with me.
FLORIO
It may not be.
VIOLANTE [_slowly_]
The other one--there is another one!-- I pity her!
FLORIO
You need not.
VIOLANTE
Ah, then, there is another?
FLORIO
Have you no pride, my Lady Violante?
VIOLANTE
That I have not, For shameless is the heart that loves.
FLORIO
Then shamelessly I love Another face, another heart and body, Another soul, unto eternity-- She is all beauty to me, and all life-- So shall she be forever!
VIOLANTE
Forever? That is what you swore to me.
FLORIO
I have not sworn a single oath to her, And yet she made earth heaven in a day, And earth continues heaven.... Go, noble Lady!
VIOLANTE
You have no pity on me?... You see How humbly I've become....
FLORIO
To pity you, Lady, would be cruel to her!... In a month you will be glad.
VIOLANTE
You have slain me, Florio!
FLORIO
Farewell, Violante!
[_Violante affects to go. But she stops quickly at large door in back and reenters on tiptoe. Florio withdraws to his study again, after listening for a moment_.]
LIZZIA [_reentering_]
You have not gone, my Lady Violante?
VIOLANTE
I will not go Till I have looked upon this woman's face!
[_As she finishes these words, the great black arras in the back is listed and a hooded and veiled woman enters. She stands regarding the two other women in silence._]
VIOLANTE
Ah!
LIZZIA
The miracle has come to pass!
[_Crosses herself._]
VIOLANTE
Do they call you Olivia? Speak, woman!
OLIVIA
Yea, I am she--but where is Florio?
[_Violante straightens, proud and erect, as if she had been struck an invisible blow._]
LIZZIA
He waits for you within.
OLIVIA
So he had faith I would not die?
LIZZIA
He had these garlands hung for your return. He has lived beneath a holy vow, the days You were not here: shut in his room, Yours must be the first face He sees, on his return to light and life. He must have fallen asleep from weariness Or he had heard your voice. [_To Violante._] Now, Lady Violante, you must go!
VIOLANTE [_indignant_]
How? I must go?
LIZZIA
You would not stay?
VIOLANTE
Yea, I would stay to see this love grow dark And shrink to hate.
OLIVIA [_astonished_]
And shrink to hate?
VIOLANTE
When you remove your veil Behind which ugliness that beggars hell Lies hidden--
OLIVIA [_dazed_]
Ugliness?
VIOLANTE
Cast by your veil!... Well may you shrink from your own hideousness Since the foul plague has withered up your face And seared it till you die.... There shines your mirror, wrought of polished brass-- How many hours you have dallied at it Only the beauty that you once possessed Can tell. You will no longer find a use for it.
OLIVIA [_recovering herself_]
I trust I shall!
LIZZIA [_to Olivia_]
Alas, dear God! And is it true, Olivia?
OLIVIA [_to Lizzia_]
Would he not love me still if it were true?
LIZZIA [_to Olivia_]
I am old and wretched and full of woe. I have known life too long.
VIOLANTE [_to Olivia_]
He whose one cry is beauty! How could _that_ be?
OLIVIA [_almost singing in speech_]
Then, God be praised, I need not try him thus! For God has wrought two miracles with me: I live, and I am beautiful!
VIOLANTE
Unveil your face, then--give yourself to sight.
OLIVIA
His must be the first eyes that look on me.
VIOLANTE
Ah, so you trust that you, with fond deceit, May find some magic way to cozen him?
LIZZIA [_with great emotion_]
Go, Lady--I see darkness in the air, I thrill to some strange horror, yet unguessed.... Go, Lady Violante, I pray you, go!
[_Lizzia lifts arras in back for Violante's exit. Violante does not move from where she stands._]
VIOLANTE [_persistently, to Olivia_]
Woman it is your beauty that he loved, And that alone ... just as he loves a flower Or sunset.... That gone, lo, his love is gone!
OLIVIA
Strange woman, there is evil in your voice! And yet I know he loves me for myself, Taking my beauty, none the less, in gladness Like any transitory gift from God.
VIOLANTE
And yet you dare not put him to the test?
OLIVIA
What test?
VIOLANTE
To make him first believe That you are ugly!
OLIVIA
I would not toy with such a splendid gift As a man's love.
VIOLANTE [_mocking_]
Ah ... in sooth?
OLIVIA
How strange you look ... yet stranger is your speech.
VIOLANTE
Before you came--whom loved he then?
OLIVIA
I do not think he was like other men.
VIOLANTE
Like other men he took and tossed aside, Deceived and lied and went from heart to heart Reaping the richness of each woman's soul.
OLIVIA
Go, lest I strike you!
VIOLANTE
Poor, fond, believing child-- Now I would not have you test his love!
OLIVIA [_stirred_]
By all the saints, I'll put him to the test!... [_As Violante steps closer to her_] Nay, I'll not let you look upon my face.... He must, as I have vowed, look on it first, Nor will I break that vow--[_Her vanity conquering_] But lift yon mirror And you shall look in it and see me there Reflected!...
[_Violante lifts mirror so she and Lizzia can see reflection_.]
OLIVIA [_with simplicity_]
Keep your backs so! [_Unveiling briefly, then drawing veil again_.] There! Have I lied?
VIOLANTE
He always worshiped beauty.... You are fair!
OLIVIA
Soon will you know our love has mighty wings Outsoaring time into eternity!
VIOLANTE
I'll have him forth--are you ready for the trial?
OLIVIA
Do you persuade him of my ugliness.... If he loves me not I shall go forth and die-- Then life will be far too like death to live!
LIZZIA [_agonized_]
My little children, you must not do this thing! Love is too high a gift to play with so. God only has the right to put the heart Of man to trial!
VIOLANTE [_to Lizzia_]
Will you be quiet, old woman!
OLIVIA [_to Lizzia_]
I would not hold him if he only loved My beauty, and not me. The test is just....
VIOLANTE [_to Lizzia_]
Go you, inform him of her return.... But tell him that that flower which was her face Is shriveled up and lean as any hag's.
LIZZIA
Now God forbid I should deceive him so!
VIOLANTE
Not even for gold?
LIZZIA
Have you no fear of God?
[_A stir is heard within._]
VIOLANTE
Hush!... I will do it, then. [_Going up to small arras over study door, she calls._] Florio!... Florio!...
FLORIO [_from within, after a brief space_]
Who is it calls me?
VIOLANTE
It is I, Violante!
FLORIO
Why have you come again?
VIOLANTE
I have returned, Florio, In strange times, bearing strange news.
FLORIO
My soul is full of death--I pray you go!
VIOLANTE
It could not be--aye, it is passing strange!-- She said her name was "Olivia."
FLORIO
Olivia, ah, she lives!
VIOLANTE
Then, it is true? You love this shriveled woman?
FLORIO
Shriveled woman?
VIOLANTE
Ugly and bent and gray--a woman Who says in as few words she is your mistress.
FLORIO
Has she come? Is she here?... Go, Violante-- Go, leave us two alone!
VIOLANTE
She walked as one bewitched in a dream. She seemed to fear.... I bade her wait without.... Florio, could it be true you loved this woman?
FLORIO
Has all the brightness fallen from her eyes, The glory and the wonder from her face?
VIOLANTE
She _lives_! How few have had the plague and _lived_!
FLORIO
Alas, woe, woe is me!
VIOLANTE [_triumphantly, to Olivia_]
You heard? [_To Florio._] Come forth--she's at the threshold.
FLORIO
Bid her wait. Give me space for thought ... a little space.... This is almost as horrible as her death....
[_Long silence. The women wait.... Groaning within. Olivia starts forward to go to Florio._]
VIOLANTE [_to Olivia_]
Do you flinch now? I knew you would not dare!
[_Olivia stops. Proudly she remains still._]
VIOLANTE [_as arras stirs_]
Now bear _your_ part--continue the deceit.
OLIVIA [_in a frightened voice_]
I know he loves me. Yet a little while And I will draw my veil! [_Another groan. Olivia starts forward again._] Oh, I cannot!
VIOLANTE [_mocking_]
I knew you would not dare!
[_Again Olivia stops still. Now, after a long pause, during which death processions are heard to pass, the arras over the smaller doorway is slowly put aside. Florio enters, swaying. He holds his cloak about his brow._]
FLORIO
Where is Olivia?
OLIVIA [_feigning with an effort_]
Florio, God pity you and me-- I had rather died!...
FLORIO
Oh, speak not so!
OLIVIA
My "beauty clean and golden as the sun," As once you sang it, has become so gross And fearful, that I veil it, broken with shame, From eyes of men.... [_A pause._] 'Tis well you cloak your eyes, For should I drop my veil through which I glance--[_Another pause._] Shall I go?
FLORIO [_breathing heavily_]
No ... for I love you ... bide with me.... [_With great effort_] ... Though you be foul, Olivia!
[_As he still stands muffled, Olivia grows more and more frightened at what she is doing, and now, in complete surrender to terror, gives over the deceit and speaks the truth._]
OLIVIA
Florio, my Florio--draw down your arm.... No longer need you fear to look on me-- It was a test, my love, a cruel test!
[_She draws aside her veil, the other women in back of her, Florio obliquely in front. Her face is seen to be one of surpassing loveliness._
_Florio, groaning, keeps his face cloaked and does not speak._]
OLIVIA
Look, my beloved, or I shall go mad!
[_Olivia tugs at his arm. He lowers it. He exposes a sightless face._]
LIZZIA [_breaking in on the awful pause_].
Self-blinded, my poor master!
VIOLANTE
Oh, Florio, what is this that I have done!
[_Olivia has dropped slowly back, stricken dumb with voiceless terror. Her throat works convulsively with a scream which now rushes forth._
_Florio falls to his knees, again covering his face and bowing his head. Olivia comes and kneels, grief-stricken, beside him, putting one arm about him in support._]
OLIVIA [_sobbing_]
There is ... no one ... that's ... uglier ... than I!
FLORIO [_convulsively_]
You were the glory of the world, Olivia!... And now ... your beauty ... that is ... dead ... will always be ... to me ... The glory of ... the world!... forever and forever!...
OLIVIA
Oh, if you could but see my ugliness-- I think there's nothing like it in the world! O God, why did I not die an hour ago!
VIOLANTE [_crazed anew with jealousy_]
Florio, Florio--Olivia lies! Her beauty floods the very room with light-- You are deceived most horribly!
OLIVIA
Command that woman hence; She is the source and cause of all our ill.
FLORIO
What does this mean? My soul is sick to death!
VIOLANTE
I tell you, Florio, that she lies to you.
[_To Lizzia._]
Tell him the truth, old woman, and beware, As you have fear of Hell, belief in God, And hope of Heaven, to perjure not your soul!
LIZZIA [_at first frightened and irresolute, then quietly determined._]
God help me--she is surpassingly--ugly!
[_Returning Violante glare for glare._]
Her ugliness--!
[_Breaking down, she goes to altar and drops on knees before it._]
FLORIO
Go, Violante!
VIOLANTE
I could curse God for this!
[_Violante staggers toward the great black curtain in doorway, where she supports herself by clinging to it._]
FLORIO
Olivia, come back to me from the great Dark-- All life is but a ghost. Where are you, Olivia?
OLIVIA
I am here--close to you, Florio!
FLORIO
What have you women done to me! [_To Olivia._] Your face! An evil dream is in my heart!
[_He gropes, catches her quickly on each side of the head with both hands. He draws her down to him. He runs his fingers flickeringly over the smooth, rosy beauty of her face...._
_Then, with an eyeless, uplifted countenance which reveals complete understanding and an abyss of horror and madness, he slowly pushes Olivia away...._
_He lifts his fingers up grotesquely in the air, each distinct and widespread--painfully, as if fire spurted out of the ends of them. Olivia weeps...._
_Lizzia intones prayers...._
_Violante holds herself erect and triumphant, clinging to the great arras in back, struggling for strength to go out._
_At this moment another death-procession passes.... A Miserere is chanted...._
_A dawn of horror breaks over Violante's face ... she shrinks inward from the passing procession, feeling the huge horror of the Pestilence._
_Olivia gathers Florio's unresisting head to her bosom...._
_The sound of the Miserere dies off...._
_Into this tableau breaks Dioneo. Slowly he parts the arras._]
DIONEO [_grimacing, and seeing, at first, only Lizzia at the altar._]
Bestir yourself, old woman-- Where is your master, Florio, And Lady Violante Ugolini?... This is no time for lovers' dallying.... Tell them that Seignior Boccaccio Sends word through me that we must wait no longer. And, furthermore, he bids me say--that
[_Violante falls in a faint across his feet. Dioneo sees all. Shrinking back._]
Merciful God!...
[_Curtain._]
ANOTHER WAY OUT
A COMEDY
BY LAWRENCE LANGNER
Copyright, 1916, by Lawrence Langner. All rights reserved.
ANOTHER WAY OUT was originally produced by the Washington Square Players at the Comedy Theatre, New York, on November 13th, 1916, with the following cast:
MARGARET MARSHALL _Gwladys Wynne_. MRS. ABBEY _Jean Robb_. POMEROY PENDLETON _Jose Ruben_. BARONESS DE MEAUVILLE _Helen Westley_. CHARLES P. K. FENTON _Robert Strange_.
TIME: _The Present_.
Produced under the direction of MR. PHILLIP MOELLER.
Reprinted from "Plays of the Washington Square Players," published by Frank Shay, by permission of Mr. Lawrence Langner. Applications for permission to perform ANOTHER WAY OUT must be made to Lawrence Langner, 55 Liberty Street, New York.
ANOTHER WAY OUT
A COMEDY BY LAWRENCE LANGNER
[SCENE: _The studio in Pendleton's apartment. A large room, with sky-light in center wall, doors right and left, table set for breakfast; a vase with red flowers decorates the table. Center back stage, in front of sky-light, modeling stand upon which is placed a rough statuette, covered by cloth. To one side of this is a large screen. The furnishings are many hued, the cushions a flare of color, and the pictures fantastically futuristic._
_At Rise: Mrs. Abbey, a benevolent looking, middle-aged woman, in neat clothes and apron, is arranging some dishes on the table. Margaret, a very modern young woman, is exercising vigorously. She is decidedly good-looking. Her eyes are direct, her complexion fresh, and her movements free. Her brown hair is "bobbed," and she wears a picturesque Grecian robe._]
MRS. ABBEY. Breakfast is ready, ma'am.
[_Margaret sits at table and helps herself. Exit Mrs. Abbey, left._]
MARGARET [_calling_]. Pommy dear. Breakfast is on the table.
PENDLETON [_from without_]. I'll be there in a moment.
[_Margaret glances through paper; Pendleton enters, door right. He is tall and thin, and of aesthetic appearance. His long blond hair is brushed loosely over his forehead and he is dressed in a helitrope-colored dressing gown. He lights a cigarette._]
MARGARET. I thought you were going to stop smoking before breakfast.
PENDLETON. My dear, I can't possibly stand the taste of tooth paste in my mouth all day.
[_Pendleton sits at table. Enters Mrs. Abbey with tray. Pendleton helps himself, then drops his knife and fork with a clang. Mrs. Abbey and Margaret are startled._]
MRS. ABBEY. Anything the matter, sir?
PENDLETON. Dear, dear! My breakfast is quite spoiled again.
MRS. ABBEY [_concerned_]. Spoiled, sir?
PENDLETON [_pointing to red flowers on breakfast table_]. Look at those flowers, Mrs. Abbey. Not only are they quite out of harmony with the color scheme in this room, but they're positively red, and you know I have a perfect horror of red.
MRS. ABBEY. But you like them that color sometimes, sir. What am I to do when you're so temperamental about 'em.
MARGARET. Temperamental. I should say bad-tempered.
MRS. ABBEY [_soothingly_]. Oh no, ma'am. It isn't bad temper. I understand Mr. Pendleton. It's just another bad night he's had, that's what it is.
PENDLETON [_sarcastically polite_]. Mrs. Abbey, you appear to have an intimate knowledge of how I pass the nights. It's becoming quite embarrassing.
MRS. ABBEY. You mustn't mind an old woman like me, sir.
[_The sound of a piano hopelessly out of tune, in the apartment upstairs, is heard, the player banging out Mendelssohn's Wedding March with unusual insistence._]
PENDLETON. There! That confounded piano again!
MARGARET. And they always play the Wedding March. There must be an old maid living there.
MRS. ABBEY. They're doing that for a reason.
MARGARET. What reason?
MRS. ABBEY. Their cook tole me yesterday that her missus thinks if she keeps on a-playing of the Wedding March, p'raps it'll give you an' Mr. Pendleton the idea of getting married. She don't believe in couples livin' to-gether, like you an' Mr. Pendleton.
MARGARET. No?
MRS. ABBEY. And I just said you an' Mr. Pendleton had been living together so long, it was my opinion you might just as well be married an' done with it.
MARGARET [_angrily_]. Your opinion is quite uncalled for, Mrs. Abbey.
PENDLETON. Why shouldn't Mrs. Abbey give us her opinion? It may be valuable. Look at her experiences in matrimony.
MRS. ABBEY. In matrimony, and out of it, too.
MARGARET [_sitting_]. But Mrs. Abbey has no right to discuss our affairs with other people's maids.
MRS. ABBEY. I'll be glad to quit if I don't suit the mistress.
MARGARET [_angrily_]. There! Mistress again! How often have I asked you not to refer to me as the mistress?
MRS. ABBEY. No offense, ma'am.
PENDLETON. You'd better see if there's any mail, Mrs. Abbey, and take those flowers away with you.
MRS. ABBEY. Very well, sir.
[_Exit Mrs. Abbey door center._]
MARGARET. What an old-fashioned point of view Mrs. Abbey has.
[_Pendleton takes up paper and commences to read._]
MARGARET. Pommy, why do you stoop so?
PENDLETON. Am I stooping?
MARGARET. I'm tired of telling you. You ought to take more exercise.
[_Pendleton continues to read._]
MARGARET. One reason why the Greeks were the greatest of artists was because they cultivated the body as carefully as the mind.
PENDLETON. Oh! Hang the Greeks!
[_Enter Mrs. Abbey right, with letters._]
MRS. ABBEY. There are your letters, sir. [_Coldly._] And these are yours, ma'am.
[_Exit Mrs. Abbey left._]
MARGARET [_who has opened her letters meanwhile_]. How delightful! Tom Del Valli has asked us to a party at his studio next Friday.
PENDLETON [_opening his letters_]. Both of us?
MARGARET [_giving him letter_]. Yes, and Helen Marsden wants us for Saturday.
PENDLETON. Both of us?
MARGARET [_picking up another letter_]. Yes, and here's one from Bobby Watson for Sunday.
PENDLETON. Both of us?
MARGARET. Yes.
PENDLETON. Really, Margaret, this is becoming exasperating. [_Holds up letters._] Here are four more, I suppose for both of us. People keep on inviting us out together time after time as though we were the most conventional married couple on God's earth.
MARGARET. Do you object to going out with me?
PENDLETON [_doubtfully_]. No, it isn't that. But we're having too much of a good thing. And I've come to the conclusion that it's your fault.
MARGARET [_indignantly_]. Oh! it's my fault? Of course you'd blame me. Why?
PENDLETON. Because you have such an absurd habit of boasting to people of your devotion for me, when we're out.
MARGARET. You surely don't expect me to quarrel with you in public?
PENDLETON. It isn't necessary to go to that extent. But then everybody believes that we're utterly, almost stupidly in love with one another, what can you expect?
MARGARET. You said once you never wanted me to suppress anything.
PENDLETON. That was before we began to live together.
MARGARET. What could I have done?
PENDLETON [_up right_]. Anything just so we could have a little more freedom instead of being tied to one another the way we are. Never a moment when we're not together, never a day when I'm not interviewed by special article writers from almost every paper and magazine in the country, as the only successful exponent of the theory that love can be so perfect that the marriage contract degrades it. I put it to you, Margaret, if this is a free union it is simply intolerable!
MARGARET. But aren't we living together so as to have more freedom? Think of what it might be if we were married. Didn't you once write that "When marriage comes in at the door, freedom flies out at the window"?
PENDLETON. Are we any better off, with everybody treating us as though we were living together to prove a principle?
MARGARET. Well, aren't we incidently? You said so yourself. We can be a beautiful example to other people, and show them how to lead the pure natural lives of the later Greeks?
PENDLETON. Damn the later Greeks! Why do you always throw those confounded later Greeks in my face? We've got to look at it from our standpoint. This situation must come to an end.
MARGARET. What can we do?
PENDLETON. It rests with you.
MARGARET. With me?
PENDLETON. You can compromise yourself with somebody publicly. That'll put an end to everything.
MARGARET. How will that end it?
PENDLETON. It'll break down the morally sanctified atmosphere in which we're living. Then perhaps, people will regard us as immoral and treat us like decent human beings again.
MARGARET. But I don't want to compromise myself.
PENDLETON. If you believe in your own ideas, you must.
MARGARET. But why should I have to do it?
PENDLETON. It will be so easy for you.
MARGARET. Why can't we both be compromised? That would be better still.
PENDLETON. I should find it a bore. You, unless my memory fails me, would enjoy it.
MARGARET. You needn't be cynical. Even if you don't enjoy it, you can work it into a novel.
PENDLETON. It's less exertion to imagine an affair of that sort, and the result would probably be more saleable. Besides I have no interest whatsoever in women, at least, in the women we know.
MARGARET. For that matter, I don't know any eligible men.
PENDLETON. What about Bob Lockwood?
MARGARET. But he's your best friend!
PENDLETON. Exactly--no man ever really trusts his best friend. He'll probably compromise you without compunction.
MARGARET. I'm afraid he'd be too dangerous--he tells you all his secrets. Whom will you choose?
PENDLETON. It's a matter of complete indifference to me.
MARGARET. I've heard a lot of queer stories about Jean Roberts. How would she do?
PENDLETON [_firmly_]. Margaret, I don't mind being party to a flirtation--but I draw the line at being the victim of a seduction.
MARGARET. Why not leave it to chance? Let it be the next interesting woman you meet.
PENDLETON. That might be amusing. But there must be an age limit. And how about you?
MARGARET [_takes cloth off statuette and discloses figure of Apollo in rough modeling clay_]. Me! Why not the new model who is coming to-day to pose for my Apollo?
PENDLETON. Well, if he's anything like that, you ought to be able to create a sensation. Then, perhaps, we shall have some real freedom.
MARGARET. Pommy, do you still love me as much as you did?
PENDLETON. How you sentimentalize! Do you think I'd be willing to enter into a flirtation with a strange woman, if I didn't want to keep on living with you?
MARGARET. And we won't have to break up our little home, will we?
PENDLETON. No, anything to save the home. [_Catches himself._] My God! If any of my readers should hear me say that! To think that I, Pomeroy Pendleton, should be trying to save my own home. And yet, how characteristically paradoxical.
MARGARET [_interrupting_]. You are going to philosophize! Give me a kiss.
[_She goes to him, sits on his lap, and places her arm on his shoulder; he takes out cigarette, she lights it for him._]
PENDLETON [_brought back to reality_]. I have some work to do--I must go.
MARGARET. A kiss!
PENDLETON [_kisses her carelessly_]. There let me go.
MARGARET. I want a real kiss.
PENDLETON. Don't be silly, dear, I can't play this morning. I've simply got to finish my last chapter.
[_A bell rings, Mrs. Abbey enters and goes to door._]
MRS. ABBEY. There's a lady to see Mr. Pendleton.
MARGARET. Tell her to come in!
PENDLETON. But, Margaret!
MARGARET. Remember! [_Significantly._] The first woman you meet!
[_Exit Margaret. Mrs. Abbey enters with Baroness de Meauville. Exit Mrs. Abbey._]
BARONESS DE MEAUVILLE [_speaking with a pronounced English accent_]. Good morning, Mr. Pendleton, I'm the Baroness de Meauville!
PENDLETON [_recalling her name_]. Baroness de Meauville? Ah, the costumiere?
BARONESS. Not a costumiere, Mr. Pendleton, I am an artist, an artist in modern attire. A woman is to me what a canvas is to a painter.
PENDLETON. Excuse me for receiving you in my dressing gown. I was at work.
BARONESS. I like to see men in dressing gowns--yours is charming.
PENDLETON [_flattered and pleased_]. Do you like it? I designed it myself.
BARONESS [_looking seductively into his eyes_]. How few really creative artists there are in America.
PENDLETON [_modestly_]. You flatter me.
BARONESS. Not at all. You must know that I'm a great admirer of yours, Mr. Pendleton. I've read every one of your books. I feel I know you as an old friend.
PENDLETON. That's very nice of you!
[_The Baroness reclines on couch; takes jeweled cigarette case from reticule and offers Pendleton a cigarette._]
BARONESS. Will you smoke?
PENDLETON. Thanks.
[_Pendleton lights her cigarette, then his own. He draws his chair up to the couch. An atmosphere of mutual interest is established._]
BARONESS. Mr. Pendleton, I have a mission in life. It is to make the American woman the best dressed woman in the world. I came here to-day because I want you to help me.
PENDLETON. But I have no ambitions in that direction.
BARONESS. Why should you have ambitions? Only the bourgeoisie have ambitions. We artists have inspirations. I want to breathe into you the spirit of my great undertaking. Already I have opened my place in the smartest part of the Avenue. Already I have drawn my assistants from all parts of the world. Nothing is lacking to complete my plans but you.
PENDLETON. Me? Why me?
BARONESS [_endearingly_]. Are you not considered one of the foremost men of letters in America?
PENDLETON [_modestly_]. Didn't you say you had read all my books?
BARONESS. Are you not the only writer who has successfully portrayed the emotional side of American life?
PENDLETON [_decidedly_]. Yes.
BARONESS. Exactly. That is why I have chosen you to write my advertisements.
PENDLETON [_aghast_]. But, Baroness!
BARONESS. You're not going to say that. It's so ordinary.
PENDLETON. But, but, you want me to write advertisements!
BARONESS. Please don't disappoint me.
PENDLETON. Yes, I suppose that's so. But one has a sense of pride.
BARONESS. Art comes before Pride. Consider my feelings, an aristocrat, coming here to America and engaging in commerce, and advertising, and other dreadful things, and all for the sake of Art!
PENDLETON. But you make money out of it!
BARONESS. Only incidentally. Just as you, in writing my advertisements, would make, say ten thousand or so, as a sort of accident. But don't let us talk of money. It's perfectly revolting, isn't it? Art is Life, and I believe in Life for Art's sake. That's why I'm a success.
PENDLETON. Indeed? How interesting. Please go on.
BARONESS. When a woman comes to me for a gown, I don't measure body, why should I? I measure her mind. I find her color harmony. In a moment I can tell whether she ought to wear scarlet, mauve, taupe, magenta, or any other color, so as to fall into her proper rhythm. Every one has a rhythm, you know. [_Pendleton sits on sofa._] But I don't have to explain all this to you, Mr. Pendleton. You understand it intuitively. This heliotrope you are wearing shows me at once that you are in rhythm.
PENDLETON [_thinks of Margaret_]. I'm not so sure that I am. What you say interests me. May I ask you a question?
BARONESS. Yes, but I may not answer it.
PENDLETON. Why do you wear heliotrope and the same shade as mine?
BARONESS [_with mock mystery_]. You mustn't ask me that.
PENDLETON. I'm all curiosity.
BARONESS. Curiosity is dangerous.
PENDLETON. Supposing I try to find out?
BARONESS. That may be even more dangerous.
PENDLETON. I'm fond of that kind of danger.
BARONESS. Take care! I'm very fragile.
PENDLETON. Isn't heliotrope in rhythm with the faint reflection of passion?
BARONESS. How brutal of you to have said it.
PENDLETON [_coming closer to her_]. I, too, am in rhythm with heliotrope.
BARONESS [_with joy_]. How glad I am. Thank God you've no desire to kiss my lips.
PENDLETON. Only your finger-tips.
[_They exchange kisses on finger-tips._]
PENDLETON. Your fingers are like soft, pale, waxen tapers!
BARONESS. Your kisses are the breathings that light them into quivering flame!
PENDLETON. Exquisite--exquisite!
BARONESS [_withdrawing her hands_]. That was a moment!
PENDLETON. We must have many such.
BARONESS. Many? That's too near too much.
PENDLETON [_feverishly_]. We shall, dear lady.
BARONESS. How I adore your writings! They have made me realize the beauty of an ideal union, the love of one man for one woman at a time. Let us have such a union, you and me.
PENDLETON [_taken back_]. But I live in such a union already.
BARONESS [_rising in amazement_]. And only a moment ago you kissed me!
PENDLETON. Well--what of it?
BARONESS. Don't you see what we've done? You are living in one of those wonderful unions you describe in your books--and I've let you kiss me. I've committed a sacrilege.
PENDLETON. You're mistaken. It isn't a sacrilege. It's an opportunity.
BARONESS [_dramatically_]. How can you say that--you whose words have inspired my deepest intimacies. No, I must go. [_Makes for the door._] I--must--go.
PENDLETON. You don't understand. I exaggerated everything so in my confounded books.
BARONESS. Please ask her to forgive me. Please tell her I thought you were married, otherwise, never, never, would I have permitted you to kiss me.
PENDLETON. What made you think I was married?
BARONESS. One often believes what one hopes.
PENDLETON. You take it too seriously. Let me explain.
BARONESS. What is there to explain? Our experience has been complete. Why spoil it by anti-climax?
PENDLETON. Am I never to see you again?
BARONESS. Who knows? If your present union should end, and some day your soul needs--some one?
[_Exit door center, her manner full of promise._]
PENDLETON [_with feeling_]. Good-by--long, pale fingers.
[_Enter Margaret, door right._]
MARGARET. Did you get a good start with the scandal?
PENDLETON. Not exactly. I may as well admit it was a failure through no fault of mine, of course. And now, I simply must finish that last chapter.
[_He exits. Margaret rings. Mrs. Abby enters._]
MARGARET. You may clear, Mrs. Abbey.
MRS. ABBEY. Very well, ma'am.
[_She attends to clearing the table._]
MARGARET. Mrs. Abbey, have you worked for many people living together, like Mr. Pendleton and myself?
MRS. ABBEY. Lor', Ma'am, yes. I've worked in nearly every house on the south side of Washington Square.
MARGARET. Mr. Pendleton says I'm as domestic as any wife could be. Were the others like me?
MRS. ABBEY. Most of them, ma'am, but some was regular hussies; not only a-livin' with their fellers--but havin' a good time, too. That's what I call real immoral.
[_Bell rings. Mrs. Abbey opens door center and passes out. Conversation with Fenton without is heard. Mrs. Abbey comes back._]
MRS. ABBEY. A young man wants to see you, ma'am.
MARGARET. That's the new model. I'll get my working apron.
[_Exit Margaret, door right. Mrs. Abbey calls through door center._]
MRS. ABBEY. You c'n come in.
[_Enter door left, Charles P. K. Fenton, dictionary salesman. He is a strikingly handsome young man, offensively smartly dressed in a black and white check suit, gaudy tie, and white socks. His hair is brushed back from his forehead like a glossy sheath. He carries a black bag. His manner is distinctly "male."_]
MRS. ABBEY [_points to screen_]. You can undress behind there.
FENTON. Undress? Say, what's this? A Turkish bath?
MRS. ABBEY. Did you expect to have a private room all to yourself?
FENTON [_looking around_]. What am I to undress for?
MRS. ABBEY. The missus will be here in a minute.
FENTON. Good night! I'm goin'.
[_Makes for door._]
MRS. ABBEY. What's the matter? Ain't you the Missus' new model?
FENTON. A model! Ha! Ha! You've sure got the wrong number this time. I'm in the dictionary line, ma'am.
MRS. ABBEY. Well, of all the impudence! You a book agent, and a-walkin' in here.
FENTON. Well, you asked me in, didn't you? Can't I see the missus, jest for a minute?
MRS. ABBEY [_good-naturedly_]. Very well. Here she is. [_Confidentially._] And I advise you to remove that Spearmint from your mouth, if you want to sell any dictionaries in this house.
FENTON [_placing hand to mouth_]. Where shall I put it?
MRS. ABBEY. You'd better swallow it!
[_Fenton tries to do so, chokes, turns red, and places his hand to mouth._]
MARGARET [_to Fenton_]. I'm so glad to see you.
[_Fenton is most embarrassed. Mrs. Abbey, in surprise, attempts to explain situation._]
MRS. ABBEY. But, ma'am--
MARGARET. You may go, Mrs. Abbey.
MRS. ABBEY. But, but, ma'am--
MARGARET [_severely_]. You may go, Mrs. Abbey. [_Exit Mrs. Abbey in a huff._] I'm so glad they sent you up to see me. Won't you sit down?
[_Fenton finds it a difficult matter to handle the situation. He adopts his usual formula for an "opening," but his speech is mechanical and without conviction. Margaret adds to the embarrassment by stepping around him and examining him with professional interest._]
FENTON. Madam, I represent the Globe Advertising Publishing Sales Co., the largest publishers of dictionaries in the world.
MARGARET [_continuing to appraise him_]. Then you're not the new model?
FENTON. No, ma'am.
MARGARET. What a pity! Never mind, go on.
FENTON. As I was saying, ma'am, I represent the Advertising Globe Publishing--I mean the Globe Publishing Sales Publishing Co., the largest publishers of dictionaries in the world. For some time past we have felt there was a demand for a new Encyclopaedic Dictionary, madam, one that would not only fill up a good deal of space in the bookshelf, making an attractive addition to the home, but also containing the most complete collection of words in the English language.
MARGARET [_who has taken a pencil and is measuring Fenton while he speaks; Fenton's discomfort is obvious. He attempts to rearrange his tie and coat, thinking she is examining him._] Please go on talking, it's so interesting.
FENTON. Statistics show that the Woman of Average Education in America, Madam, has command of but fifteen hundred words. This new dictionary, Madam, [_Produces book from bag._] will give you command of over eight hundred and fifty thousand.
MARGARET [_archly_]. So you are a dealer in words--how perfectly romantic.
FENTON [_warming_]. Most of these words, madam, are not used more than a dozen times a year. They are our Heritage from the Past. And all these words, to say nothing of the fact that the dictionary fills five inches in a bookshelf, making an attractive addition to the library, being handsomely bound in half-cloth--all these are yours, ma'am, for the price of one dollar.
[_He places dictionary in her hand. She examines it._]
FENTON. If you have a son, madam, the possession of this dictionary will give him an opportunity of acquiring that knowledge of our language which made Abraham Lincoln the Father of our Country. Madam, opportunity knocks at the door only once and _This_ is _your_ opportunity at one dollar.
MARGARET [_meaningly_]. Yes, this is my opportunity! I'll buy the dictionary and now [_sweetly_] won't you tell me your name?
FENTON [_pocketing dollar_]. My name is Charles P. K. Fenton.
MARGARET. Mr. Fenton, would you mind doing me a favor?
FENTON [_looking dubiously towards the screen_]. Why, I guess not, ma'am.
MARGARET. I want you to take off your coat.
FENTON [_puzzled_]. You're not trying to kid me, ma'am?
MARGARET. I just want to see your development. Do you mind?
FENTON [_removes coat_]. Why, no, ma'am, if that's all you want.
MARGARET. Now, bring your arm up, tighten the muscles. [_Fenton does as she bids; Margaret thumps his arm approvingly._] Splendid! You must take lots of exercise, Mr. Fenton.
FENTON. Not me, ma'am. I never had no time for exercise; I got that workin' in a freight yard.
Margaret. I suppose you think me rather peculiar, Mr. Fenton.
FENTON. You said it, Miss.
MARGARET. You see I'm a sculptress. [_Points to statuette._] This is my work.
FENTON. You made that? Gee! that's great. [_Examines statuette._] Just like them statues at the Metropolitan.
MARGARET. That figure is Apollo, Mr. Fenton.
FENTON. Oh, Apollo.
MARGARET. I was to engage a professional model for it, but I could never hope to get a professional as fine a type as you. Will you pose for it?
FENTON [_aghast_]. Me? That feller there without any clothes. [_Dubiously._] Well, I don't know. It's kind of chilly here.
MARGARET. If I draped you, it would spoil some of your lines. [_Seeing his hesitation._] But I will if you like.
FENTON [_relieved_]. Ah, now you're talking.
MARGARET. So, you'll really come?
FENTON. How about this evening?
MARGARET. Splendid! Sit down. [_Fenton does so._] Mr. Fenton, you've quite aroused my curiosity. I know so few business men. Is your work interesting?
FENTON. Well, I can't say it was, until I started selling around this neighborhood.
MARGARET. Is it difficult?
FENTON. Not if you've got personality, Miss. That's the thing, personality. If a feller hasn't got personality, he can't sell goods, that's sure.
MARGARET. What do you mean by personality, Mr. Fenton.
FENTON. Well, it's what sells the goods. I don't know how else to explain it exactly. I'll look it up in the dictionary. [_Takes dictionary and turns pages._] Here it is, ma'am. Per--per--why, it isn't in here. I guess they don't put in words that everybody knows. We all know what personality means. It's what sells the goods.
MARGARET. I adore a strong, virile, masculine personality.
FENTON. I don't quite get you, madam.
MARGARET. The men I know have so much of the feminine in them.
FENTON. Oh, "Cissies"!
MARGARET [_flirtingly_]. They lack the magnetic forcefulness which I like so much in you.
FENTON. I believe you are kidding me. Does that mean you like me?
MARGARET. That's rather an embarrassing question.
FENTON. You must or you wouldn't let me speak to you this way.
MARGARET [_archly_]. Never mind whether I like you. Tell me whether you like me?
FENTON [_feeling more at home_]. Gee! I didn't get on to you at first. Sure I like you.
MARGARET. Then we're going to be good friends.
FENTON. You just bet we are. Say, got a date for to-morrow evening?
MARGARET. No.
FENTON. How about the movies? There's a fine feature film at the Strand. Theda Bara in "The Lonesome Vampire," five reels. They say it's got "Gloria's Romance" beat a mile.
MARGARET. I don't know that I'd care to go there.
FENTON. How about a run down to Coney?
MARGARET. Coney! I've always wanted to do wild Pagan things.
FENTON. Say, you'll tell me your name, won't you?
MARGARET. Margaret Marshall.
FENTON. Do you mind if I call you Margie?
MARGARET. If you do, I must call you--
FENTON. Charley. Gee, I like the name of Margie. Some class to that.
MARGARET. I'm glad you like it.
FENTON [_moving nearer_]. And some class to you!
MARGARET [_coyly_]. So you really like me?
FENTON. You bet. Say, before I go, you've got to give me a kiss, Margie.
MARGARET. Well, I don't know. Aren't you rather "rushing" me?
FENTON. Say, you are a kidder.
[_He draws her up from her chair, and kisses her warmly on the lips._]
MARGARET [_ecstatically_]. You have the true Greek spirit! [_They kiss again._] If only Pommy would kiss me that way!
FENTON. Pommy? Who's Pommy?
MARGARET. Pommy is the man I live with.
FENTON. Your husband!
MARGARET. No, we just live together. You see, we don't believe in marriage.
FENTON [_pushing her away in horror_]. I thought there was something queer about all this. Does he live here?
MARGARET. Yes. [_Points to door._] He's in there now.
FENTON [_excitedly_]. Good night! I'm goin'.
[_Looks for hat._]
MARGARET [_speaking with real anguish_]. You're surely not going just on that account.
FENTON [_taking hat and bag_]. Isn't that enough?
MARGARET [_emotionally_]. Please don't go. Listen, I can't suppress my feeling for you; I never do with anybody. I liked you the moment I saw you, I want you as a friend, a good friend. You can't go now, just when everything's about to begin.
FENTON [_severely_]. Fair's fair, Miss. If he's keeping you, you can't be taking up with me at the same time. That puts the finish on it.
MARGARET. But he doesn't keep me. I keep myself.
FENTON. Wait a minute. You support yourself, and live with him of your own free will. Then you've got no excuse for being immoral; 'tisn't like you had to make your living at it. [_At door._] Good-by.
MARGARET. But I can explain everything.
FENTON. It's no use, Miss. Even though I am a salesman, I've got a sense of honor. I sized you up as a married woman when I came in just now, or I never would have made love to you at all.
MARGARET. Oh--wait! Supposing I should want to buy some more dictionaries.
FENTON [_returning_]. You've got my card, Miss. The 'phone number is on it. Bryant 4253. [_Sees Margaret hang her head._] Don't feel hurt, Miss. You'll get over these queer ideas some day, and when you do, well, you've got my number. So long, kid.
[_Exit Fenton, door, center._]
MARGARET [_taking his card from table and placing it to her lips soulfully_]. My Apollo, Bryant 4253!
PENDLETON. Did you get a good start with your scandal. [_Margaret hangs her head._] It's no use; I'm convinced we're in a hopeless muddle.
MARGARET. I heartily agree with you.
PENDLETON. You've changed your mind very suddenly.
MARGARET. I have my reasons.
PENDLETON. The fact is, Margaret, that so long as we live together we're public figures, with everybody else as our jury.
MARGARET. But lots of people read your books and respect us.
PENDLETON. The people that respect us are worse than the people that don't.
MARGARET. If they wouldn't always be bothering about our morals!
PENDLETON. If we continue living together, we shall simply be giving up our freedom to prove we are free.
MARGARET [_faltering_]. I suppose we ought to separate.
PENDLETON. I believe we should.
MARGARET. We'll have to give up the studio.
PENDLETON [_regretfully_]. Yes.
MARGARET. It's taken a long time to make the place homelike.
PENDLETON. We've been very comfortable here.
MARGARET. I shall miss you at meals.
PENDLETON. I shall have to start eating at clubs and restaurants again, no more good home cooking.
MARGARET. We're kind of used to one another, aren't we?
PENDLETON. It isn't an easy matter to break, after five years.
MARGARET. And there are mighty few studios with as good a light as this; I don't want to separate if you don't.
PENDLETON. But, Margaret. [_Piano starts playing wedding march._] There, that confounded piano again. [_Seized with an idea._] Margaret, there's another way out!
MARGARET [_with same idea_]. You mean, we ought to marry!
PENDLETON. Yes, marry, and do it at once. That'll end everything.
MARGARET. Let's do it right away and get it over with; I simply must finish my Apollo.
PENDLETON. I'm going to buy you a new gown to get married in, a wedding present from Baroness de Meauville's.
MARGARET. I don't know that I want a De Meauville gown.
PENDLETON. Please let me. I want to give you something to symbolize our new life together.
MARGARET. Very well. And in return, I'll buy you a dictionary, so that I won't have to keep on correcting your spelling.
[_Exit Pendleton. Margaret goes to 'phone, and consults Fenton's card._]
MARGARET. Bryant 4253? Can I speak to Mr. Fenton? [_Enter Mrs. Abbey._] Mrs. Abbey. What do you think? We're going to get married!
MRS. ABBEY. Well, bless my soul! That's right. You can take it from me, ma'am, you'll find that respectability pays.
MARGARET [_at 'phone_]. Bryant 4253? [_Sweetly._] Is that Mr. Fenton? [_Pause._] Hello, Charley!
[_Curtain._]
ARIA DA CAPO
A PLAY
BY EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY
Copyright, 1920, by Edna St. Vincent Millay. All rights reserved.
PERSONS
PIERROT. COLUMBINE. COTHURNUS [_masque of tragedy_]. THYRSIS [_shepherd_]. CORYDON [_shepherd_].
First printed in "Reedy's Mirror," St. Louis. Application to produce this play should be made to Edna St. Vincent Millay, in care of the Provincetown Players, 133 Macdougal Street, New York.
ARIA DA CAPO
A PLAY BY EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY
[SCENE: _A Stage. The curtain rises on a stage set for a Harlequinade, a merry black and white interior. Directly behind the footlights, and running parallel with them, is a long table, covered with a gay black and white cloth, on which is spread a banquet. At the opposite ends of this table, seated on delicate thin-legged chairs with high backs, are Pierrot and Columbine, dressed according to the tradition, excepting that Pierrot is in lilac, and Columbine in pink. They are dining._]
COLU. Pierrot, a macaroon! I cannot _live_ Without a macaroon!
PIER. My only love, You are _so_ intense.... It is Tuesday, Columbine?---- I'll kiss you if it's Tuesday.
COLU. It is Wednesday, If you must know.... Is this my artichoke, Or yours?
PIER. Ah, Columbine,--as if it mattered! Wednesday.... Will it be Tuesday, then, to-morrow, By any chance?
COLU. To-morrow will be--Pierrot, That isn't funny!
PIER. I thought it rather nice. Well, let us drink some wine and lose our heads And love each other.
COLU. Pierrot, don't you love Me now?
PIER. La, what a woman!--How should I know? Pour me some wine: I'll tell you presently.
COLU. Pierrot, do you know, I think you drink too much.
PIER. Yes, I dare say I do.... Or else too little. It's hard to tell. You see, I am always wanting A little more than what I have,--or else A little less. There's something wrong. My dear, How many fingers have you?
COLU. La, indeed, How should I know?--It always takes me one hand To count the other with. It's too confusing. Why?
PIER. Why?--I am a student, Columbine; And search into all matters.
COLU. La, indeed?-- Count them yourself, then!
PIER. No. Or, rather, nay. 'Tis of no consequence.... I am become A painter, suddenly,--and you impress me-- Ah, yes!--six orange bull's-eyes, four green pin-wheels, And one magenta jelly-roll,--the title As follows: _Woman Taking In Cheese From Fire-Escape_.
COLU. Well, I like that! So that is all I've meant To you!
PIER. Hush! All at once I am become A pianist. I will image you in sound,... On a new scale ... without tonality.... _Vivace senza tempo senza tutto_.... Title: _Uptown Express at Six O'Clock_. Pour me a drink.
COLU. Pierrot, you work too hard. You need a rest. Come on out into the garden, And sing me something sad.
PIER. Don't stand so near me! I am become a socialist. I love Humanity; but I hate people. Columbine, Put on your mittens, child; your hands are cold.
COLU. My hands are _not_ cold.
PIER. Oh, I am sure they are. And you must have a shawl to wrap about you, And sit by the fire.
COLU. Why, I'll do no such thing! I'm hot as a spoon in a tea-cup!
PIER. Columbine, I'm a philanthropist. I know I am, Because I feel so restless. Do not scream, Or it will be the worse for you!
COLU. Pierrot, My vinaigrette: I cannot _live_ without My vinaigrette!
PIER. My only love, you are _So_ fundamental!... How would you like to be An actress, Columbine?--I am become Your manager.
COLU. Why, Pierrot, _I_ can't act.
PIER. Can't act! Can't act! La, listen to the woman! What's that to do with the price of furs?--You're blonde, Are you not?--You have no education, have you?-- Can't act! You under-rate yourself, my dear!
COLU. Yes, I suppose I do.
PIER. As for the rest, I'll teach you how to cry, and how to die, And other little tricks; and the house will love you. You'll be a star by five o'clock.... That is, If you will let me pay for your apartment.
COLU. _Let_ you?--well, that's a good one! Ha! Ha! Ha! But why?
PIER. But why?--well, as to that, my dear, I cannot say. It's just a matter of form.
COLU. Pierrot, I'm getting tired of caviar And peacocks' livers. Isn't there something else That people eat?--some humble vegetable, That grows in the ground?
PIER. Well, there are mushrooms.
COLU. Mushrooms! That's so! I had forgotten ... mushrooms ... mushrooms.... I cannot _live_ with.... How do you like this gown?
PIER. Not much. I'm tired of gowns that have the waist-line About the waist, and the hem around the bottom,-- And women with their breasts in front of them!-- _Zut_ and _ehe_! Where does one go from here!
COLU. Here's a persimmon, love. You always liked them.
PIER. I am become a critic; there is nothing I can enjoy.... However, set it aside; I'll eat it between meals.
COLU. Pierrot, do you know, Sometimes I think you're making fun of me.
PIER. My love, by yon black moon, you wrong us both.
COLU. There isn't a sign of a moon, Pierrot.
PIER. Of course not. There never was. "Moon's" just a word to swear by, "Mutton!"--now _there's_ a thing you can lay the hands on, And set the tooth in! Listen, Columbine: I always lied about the moon and you. Food is my only lust.
COLU. Well, eat it, then, For heaven's sake, and stop your silly noise! I haven't heard the clock tick for an hour.
PIER. It's ticking all the same. If you were a fly, You would be dead by now. And if I were a parrot, I could be talking for a thousand years!
[_Enters Cothurnus._]
PIER. Hello, what's this, for God's sake?--What's the matter? Say, whadda you mean?--get off the stage, my friend, And pinch yourself,--you're walking in your sleep!
COTH. I never sleep.
PIER. Well, anyhow, clear out. You don't belong on here. Wait for your own scene! Whadda you think this is,--a dress-rehearsal?
COTH. Sir, I am tired of waiting. I will wait No longer.
PIER. Well, but what are you going to do? The scene is set for me!
COTH. True, sir; yet I Can play the scene.
PIER. Your scene is down for later!
COTH. That, too, is true, sir; but I play it now.
PIER. Oh, very well!--Anyway, I am tired Of black and white. At least, I think I am. [_Exit Columbine._] Yes, I am sure I am. I know what I'll do!-- I'll go and strum the moon, that's what I'll do.... Unless, perhaps, ... you never can tell ... I may be, You know, tired of the moon. Well, anyway, I'll go find Columbine.... And when I find her, I will address her thus: "_Ehe_ Pierrette!"-- There's something in that.
[_Exit Pierrot._]
COTH. You, Thyrsis! Corydon! Where are you?
THYR. Sir, we are in our dressing-room!
COTH. Come out and do the scene.
CORY. You are mocking us!-- The scene is down for later.
COTH. That is true; But we will play it now. I am the scene.
[_Seats himself on high place in back of stage. Enter Corydon and Thyrsis._]
CORY. Sir, we were counting on this little hour. We said, "Here is an hour,--in which to think A mighty thought, and sing a trifling song, And look at nothing."--And, behold! the hour, Even as we spoke, was over, and the act begun, Under our feet!
THYR. Sir, we are not in the fancy To play the play. We had thought to play it later.
CORY. Besides, this is the setting for a farce. Our scene requires a wall; we cannot build A wall of tissue-paper!
THYR. We cannot act A tragedy with comic properties!
COTH. Try it and see. I think you'll find you can. One wall is like another. And regarding The matter of your insufficient wood, The important thing is that you speak the lines, And make the gestures. Wherefore I shall remain Throughout, and hold the prompt-book. Are you ready?
CORY.-THYR. [_sorrowfully_]. Sir, we are always ready.
COTH. Play the play!
[_Corydon and Thyrsis move the table and chairs to one side out of the way, and seat themselves in a half-reclining position on the floor, left of the center of the stage, propped up by crepe paper pillows and bolsters, in place of rocks._]
THYR. How gently in the silence, Corydon, Our sheep go up the bank. They crop a grass That's yellow where the sun is out, and black Where the clouds drag their shadows. Have you noticed How steadily, yet with what a slanting eye They graze?
CORY. As if they thought of other things. What say you, Thyrsis, do they only question Where next to pull?--Or do their far minds draw them Thus vaguely north of west and south of east?
THYR. One cannot say.... The black lamb wears its burdocks As if they were a garland,--have you noticed?-- Purple and white--and drinks the bitten grass As if it were a wine.
CORY. I've noticed that. What say you, Thyrsis, shall we make a song About a lamb that thought himself a shepherd?
THYR. Why, yes!--that is, why,--no. (I have forgotten My line.)
CORY. [_prompting_]. "I know a game worth two of that."
THYR. Oh, yes.... I know a game worth two of that: Let's gather rocks, and build a wall between us; And say that over there belongs to me, And over here to you!
CORY. Why,--very well. And say you may not come upon my side Unless I say you may!
THYR. Nor you on mine! And if you should, 'twould be the worse for you!
[_They weave a wall of colored crepe paper ribbons from the center front to the center back of the stage, fastening the ends to Columbine's chair in front and to Pierrot's chair in the back._]
CORY. Now there's a wall a man may see across, But not attempt to scale.
THYR. An excellent wall.
CORY. Come, let us separate, and sit alone A little while, and lay a plot whereby We may outdo each other.
[_They seat themselves on opposite sides of the wall._]
PIER. [_off stage_]. Ehe Pierrette!
COLU. [_off stage_]. My name is Columbine! Leave me alone!
THYR. [_coming up to the wall_]. Corydon, after all, and in spite of the fact I started it myself, I do not like this So very much. What is the sense of saying I do not want you on my side the wall? It is a silly game. I'd much prefer Making the little song you spoke of making, About the lamb, you know, that thought himself A shepherd!--what do you say?
[_Pause._]
CORY. [_at wall_]. (I have forgotten The line)
COTH. [_prompting_]. "How do I know this isn't a trick"
CORY. Oh, yes.... How do I know this isn't a trick To get upon my land?
THYR. Oh, Corydon, You _know_ it's not a trick. I do not like The game, that's all. Come over here, or let me Come over there.
CORY. It is a clever trick To get upon my land.
[_Seats himself as before._]
THYR. Oh, very well! [_Seats himself as before_] [_To himself._] I think I never knew a sillier game.
CORY. [_coming to wall_]. Oh, Thyrsis, just a minute!--all the water Is on your side the wall, and the sheep are thirsty. I hadn't thought of that.
THYR. Oh, hadn't you?
CORY. Why, what do you mean?
THYR. What do I mean?--I mean That I can play a game as well as you can. And if the pool is on my side, it's on My side, that's all.
CORY. You mean you'd let the sheep Go thirsty?
THYR. Well, they're not my sheep. My sheep Have water enough.
CORY. _Your_ sheep! You are mad, to call them. Yours--mine--they are all one flock! Thyrsis, you can't mean To keep the water from them, just because They happened to be grazing over here Instead of over there, when we set the wall up?
THYR. Oh, can't I?--wait and see!--and if you try To lead them over here, you'll wish you hadn't!
CORY. I wonder how it happens all the water _Is_ on your side.... I'll say you had an eye out For lots of little things, my innocent friend, When I said, "Let us make a song," and you said, "I know a game worth two of that!"
COLU. [_off stage_].
D'you know, I think you must be getting old, Or fat, or something,--stupid, anyway!-- Can't you put on some other kind of collar?
THYR. You know as well as I do, Corydon, I never thought of anything of the kind. _Don't_ you?
CORY. I _do_ not.
THYR. Don't you?
CORY. Oh, I suppose so. Thyrsis, let's drop this,--what do you say?--it's only A game, you know ... we seem to be forgetting It's only a game ... a pretty serious game It's getting to be, when one of us is willing To let the sheep go thirsty, for the sake of it.
THYR. I know it, Corydon.
[_They reach out their arms to each other across the wall._]
COTH. [_prompting_]. "But how do I know?"
THYR. Oh, yes.... But how do I know this isn't a trick To water your sheep, and get the laugh on me?
CORY. You can't know, that's the difficult thing about it, Of course,--you can't be sure. You have to take My word for it. And I know just how you feel. But one of us has to take a risk, or else, Why don't you see?--the game goes on forever-- It's terrible, when you stop to think of it.... Oh, Thyrsis, now for the first time I feel This wall is actually a wall, a thing Come up between us, shutting me away From you.... I do not know you any more!
THYR. No, don't say that! Oh, Corydon, I'm willing To drop it all, if you will! Come on over And water your sheep! It is an ugly game. I hate it from the first.... How did it start?
CORY. I do not know.... I do not know.... I think I am afraid of you!--you are a stranger! I never set eyes on you before! "Come over And water my sheep," indeed!--They'll be more thirsty Then they are now, before I bring them over Into your land, and have you mixing them up With yours, and calling them yours, and trying to keep them!
[_Enter Columbine._]
COLU. [_to Cothurnus_]. Glummy, I want my hat.
THYR. Take it, and go.
COLU. Take it and go, indeed! Is it my hat, Or isn't it? Is this my scene, or not? Take it and go! Really, you know, you two Are awfully funny!
[_Exit Columbine._]
THYR. Corydon, my friend, I'm going to leave you now, and whittle me A pipe, or sing a song, or go to sleep. When you have come to your senses, let me know.
[_Goes back to where he has been sitting, lies down and sleeps._]
[_Corydon, in going back to where he has been sitting, stumbles over bowl, of colored confetti and colored paper ribbons._]
CORY. Why, what is this?--Red stones--and purple stones-- And stones stuck full of gold!--The ground is full Of gold and colored stones!... I'm glad the wall Was up before I found them!--Otherwise, I should have had to share them. As it is, They all belong to me.... Unless--
[_He goes to wall and digs up and down the length of it, to see if there are jewels on the other side._]
None here-- None here--none here--They all belong to me!
[_Sits._]
THYR. [_awakening_]. How curious! I thought the little black lamb Came up and licked my hair! I saw the wool About its neck as plain as anything! It must have been a dream. The little black lamb Is on the other side of the wall, I'm sure.
[_Goes to wall and looks over. Corydon is seated on the ground, tossing the confetti up into the air and catching it._]
Hello, what's that you've got there, Corydon?
CORY. Jewels.
THYR. Jewels?--And where did you ever get them?
CORY. Oh, over here.
THYR. You mean to say you found them, By digging around in the ground for them?
CORY. [_unpleasantly_]. No, Thyrsis. By digging down for water for my sheep.
THYR. Corydon, come to the wall a minute, will you? I want to talk to you.
CORY. I haven't time. I'm making me a necklace of red stones.
THYR. I'll give you all the water that you want, For one of those red stones,--if it's a good one.
CORY. Water?--what for?--what do I want of water?
THYR. Why, for your sheep.
CORY. My sheep?--I'm not a shepherd!
THYR. Your sheep are dying of thirst.
CORY. Man, haven't I told you I can't be bothered with a few untidy Brown sheep all full of burdocks?--I'm a merchant, That's what I am!--And I set my mind to it, I dare say I could be an emperor! [_To himself_.] Wouldn't I be a fool to spend my time Watching a flock of sheep go up a hill, When I have these to play with--when I have these To think about?--I can't make up my mind Whether to buy a city, and have a thousand Beautiful girls to bathe me, and be happy Until I die, or build a bridge, and name it The Bridge of Corydon,--and be remembered After I'm dead.
THYR. Corydon, come to the wall, Won't you?--I want to tell you something.
CORY. Hush! Be off! Be off! Go finish your nap, I tell you!
THYR. Corydon, listen: If you don't want your sheep, Give them to me.
CORY. Be off. Go finish your nap. A red one--and a blue one--and a red one-- And a purple one--give you my sheep, did you say?-- Come, come! What do you take me for, a fool? I've a lot of thinking to do,--and while I'm thinking, The sheep might just as well be over here As over there.... A blue one--and a red one--
THYR. But they will die!
CORY. And a green one--and a couple Of white ones, for a change.
THYR. Maybe I have Some jewels on my side.
CORY. And another green one-- Maybe, but I don't think so. You see, this rock Isn't so very wide. It stops before It gets to the wall. It seems to go quite deep, However.
THYR. [_with hatred_]. I see.
COLU. [_off stage_]. Look, Pierrot, there's the moon!
PIER. [_off stage_]. Nonsense!
THYR. I see.
COLU. [_off stage_]. Sing me an old song, Pierrot,-- Something I can remember.
PIER. [_off stage_]. Columbine, Your mind is made of crumbs,--like an escallop Of oysters,--first a layer of crumbs, and then An oystery taste, and then a layer of crumbs.
THYR. I find no jewels ... but I wonder what The root of this black weed would do to a man If he should taste it.... I have seen a sheep die, With half the stalk still drooling from its mouth. 'Twould be a speedy remedy, I should think, For a festered pride and a feverish ambition. It has a curious root. I think I'll hack it In little pieces.... First I'll get me a drink; And then I'll hack that root in little pieces As small as dust, and see what the color is Inside. [_Goes to bowl on floor._] The pool is very clear. I see A shepherd standing on the brink, with a red cloak About him, and a black weed in his hand.... 'Tis I. [_Kneels and drinks._]
CORY. [_Coming to wall_]. Hello, what are you doing, Thyrsis?
THYR. Digging for gold.
CORY. I'll give you all the gold You want, if you'll give me a bowl of water. If you don't want too much, that is to say.
THYR. Ho, so you've changed your mind?--It's different, Isn't it, when you want a drink yourself?
CORY. Of course it is.
THYR. Well, let me see ... a bowl Of water,--come back in an hour, Corydon. I'm busy now.
CORY. Oh, Thyrsis, give me a bowl Of water!--and I'll find the bowl with jewels, And bring it back!
THYR. Be off, I'm busy now.
[_He catches sight of the weed, picks it up and looks at it, unseen by Corydon._]
Wait!--Pick me out the finest stones you have.... I'll bring you a drink of water presently.
CORY. [_goes back and sits down, with the jewels before him_].
A bowl of jewels is a lot of jewels.
THYR. [_chopping up the weed_]. I wonder if it has a bitter taste?
CORY. There's sure to be a stone or two among them I have grown fond of, pouring them from one hand Into the other.
THYR. I hope it doesn't taste Too bitter, just at first.
CORY. A bowl of jewels Is far too many jewels to give away.... And not get back again.
THYR. I don't believe He'll notice. He's thirsty. He'll gulp it down And never notice.
CORY. There ought to be some way To get them back again.... I could give him a necklace, And snatch it back, after I'd drunk the water, I suppose ... why, as for that, of course, a _necklace_....
[_He puts two or three of the colored tapes together and tries their strength by pulling them, after which he puts them around his neck and pulls them, gently, nodding to himself. He gets up and goes to the wall, with the colored tapes in his hands._
_Thyrsis in the meantime has poured the powdered root--black confetti--into the pot which contains the flower and filled it up with wine from the punch-bowl on the floor. He comes to the wall at the same time, holding the bowl of poison._]
THYR. Come and get your bowl of water, Corydon.
CORY. Ah, very good!--and for such a gift as that I'll give you more than a bowl of unset stones. I'll give you three long necklaces, my friend. Come closer. Here they are.
[_Puts the ribbons about Thyrsis' neck._]
THYR. [_putting bowl to Corydon's mouth_]. I'll hold the bowl Until you've drunk it all.
CORY. Then hold it steady. For every drop you spill I'll have a stone back Out of this chain.
THYR. I shall not spill a drop.
[_Corydon drinks, meanwhile beginning to strangle Thyrsis._]
THYR. Don't pull the string so tight.
CORY. You're spilling the water.
THYR. You've had enough--you've had enough--stop pulling The string so tight!
CORY. Why, that's not tight at all.... How's this?
THYR. [_drops bowl_]. You're strangling me! Oh, Corydon! It's only a game!--and you are strangling me!
CORY. It's only a game, is it?--Yet I believe You've poisoned me in earnest!
[_Writhes and pulls the strings tighter, winding them about Thyrsis' neck._]
THYR. Corydon! [_Dies._]
CORY. You've poisoned me in earnest.... I feel so cold.... So cold ... this is a very silly game.... Why do we play it?--let's not play this game A minute more ... let's make a little song About a lamb.... I'm coming over the wall, No matter what you say,--I want to be near you....
[_Groping his way, with arms wide before him, he strides through the frail papers of the wall without knowing it, and continues seeking for the wall straight across the stage._]
Where is the wall?
[_Gropes his way back, and stands very near Thyrsis without knowing it; he speaks slowly._]
There isn't any wall, I think.
[_Takes a step forward, his foot touches Thyrsis' body, and he falls down beside him._]
Thyrsis, where is your cloak?--just give me A little bit of your cloak!...
[_Draws corner of Thyrsis' cloak over his shoulders, falls across Thyrsis' body, and dies._
_Cothurnus closes the prompt-book with a bang, arises matter-of-factly, comes down stage, and places the table over the two bodies, drawing down the cover so that they are hidden from any actors on the stage, but visible to the audience, pushing in their feet and hands with his boot. He then turns his back to the audience, and claps his hands twice._]
COTH. Strike the scene!
[_Exit Cothurnus. Enter Pierrot and Columbine._]
PIER. Don't puff so, Columbine!
COLU. Lord, what a mess This set is in! If there's one thing I hate Above everything else,--even more than getting my feet wet-- It's clutter!--He might at least have left the scene The way he found it.... don't you say so, Pierrot?
[_She picks up punch bowl. They arrange chairs as before at ends of table._]
PIER. Well, I don't know. I think it rather diverting The way it is. [_Yawns, picks up confetti bowl._] Shall we begin?
COLU. [_screams_]. My God! What's that there under the table?
PIER. It is the bodies Of the two shepherds from the other play.
COLU. [_slowly_]. How curious to strangle him like that, With colored paper ribbons!
PIER. Yes, and yet I dare say he is just as dead. [_Pause. Calls Cothurnus._] Come drag these bodies out of here! We can't Sit down and eat with two dead bodies lying Under the table!... The audience wouldn't stand for it!
COTH. [_off stage_]. What makes you think so?--Pull down the tablecloth On the other play, and hide them from the house, And play the farce. The audience will forget.
PIER. That's so. Give me a hand there, Columbine.
[_Pierrot and Columbine pull down the table cover in such a way that the two bodies are hidden from the house, then merrily set their bowls back on the table, draw up their chairs, and begin the play exactly as before, speaking even more rapidly and artificially._]
COLU. Pierrot, a macaroon,--I cannot _live_ Without a macaroon!
PIER. My only love, You are _so_ intense!... Is it Tuesday, Columbine?-- I'll kiss you if it's Tuesday.
[_Curtains begin to close slowly._]
COLU. It is Wednesday, If you must know.... Is this my artichoke, Or yours?
PIER. Ah, Columbine, as if it mattered! Wednesday.... Will it be Tuesday, then to-morrow, By any chance?
[_Curtain._]
HELENA'S HUSBAND
AN HISTORICAL COMEDY
BY PHILIP MOELLER
Copyright, 1915, by Philip Moeller. Copyright, 1916, by Doubleday, Page & Co. All rights reserved.
CHARACTERS
HELENA, _the Queen_. TSUMU, _a black woman, slave to Helena_. MENELAUS, _the King_. ANALYTIKOS, _the King's librarian_. PARIS, _a shepherd_.
HELENA'S HUSBAND was first produced by the Washington Square Players, under the direction of Mr. Moeller, at the Bandbox Theatre, New York, on the night of October 4, 1915, with the following cast:
HELENA [_Queen of Sparta_] _Noel Haddon_. TSUMU [_the slave_] _Helen Westley_. MENELAUS [_the King_] _Frank Conroy_. ANALYTIKOS [_his librarian_] _Walter Frankl_. PARIS [_a shepherd_] _Harold Meltzer_.
The scene was designed by Paul T. Frankl and the costumes by Robert Locker.
Reprinted from "Five Somewhat Historical Plays" published by Alfred A. Knopf, by special permission of Mr. Moeller. The professional and amateur stage rights on this play are strictly reserved by the author. Applications for permission to produce the play should be made to Mr. Philip Moeller, care Alfred A. Knopf, 220 West 42nd Street, New York.
HELENA'S HUSBAND
AN HISTORICAL COMEDY BY PHILIP MOELLER
[_SCENE is that archaeological mystery, a Greek interior. A door on the right leads to the King's library, one on the left to the apartment of the Queen. Back right is the main entrance leading to the palace. Next this, running the full length of the wall, is a window with a platform, built out over the main court. Beyond is a view of hills bright with lemon groves, and in the far distance shimmers the sea. On the wall near the Queen's room hangs an old shield rusty with disuse. A bust of Zeus stands on a pedestal against the right wall. There are low coffers about the room from which hang the ends of vivid colored robes. The scene is bathed in intense sunlight. Tsumu is massaging the Queen._]
HELENA. There's no doubt about it.
TSUMU. Analytikos says there is much doubt about all things.
HELENA. Never mind what he says. I envy you your complexion.
TSUMU [_falling prostrate before Helena_]. Whom the Queen envies should beware.
HELENA [_annoyed_]. Get up, Tsumu. You make me nervous tumbling about like that.
TSUMU [_still on floor_]. Why does the great Queen envy Tsumu?
HELENA. Get up, you silly. [_She kicks her._] I envy you because you can run about and never worry about getting sunburnt.
TSUMU [_on her knees_]. The radiant beauty of the Queen is unspoilable.
HELENA. That's just what's worrying me, Tsumu. When beauty is so perfect the slightest jar may mean a jolt. [_She goes over and looks at her reflection in the shield._] I can't see myself as well as I would like to. The King's shield is tarnished. Menelaus has been too long out of battle.
TSUMU [_handing her a hand mirror_]. The Gods will keep Sparta free from strife.
HELENA. I'll have you beaten if you assume that prophetic tone with me. There's one thing I can't stand, and that's a know-all.
[_Flinging the hand mirror to the floor._]
TSUMU [_in alarm_]. Gods grant you haven't bent it.
HELENA. These little mirrors are useless. His shield is the only thing in which I can see myself full-length. If he only went to war, he'd have to have it cleaned.
TSUMU [_putting the mirror on a table near the Queen_]. The King is a lover of peace.
HELENA. The King is a lover of comfort. Have you noticed that he spends more time than he used to in the library?
TSUMU. He is busy with questions of State.
HELENA. You know perfectly well that when anything's the matter with the Government it's always straightened out at the other end of the palace. Finish my shoulder. [_She examines her arm._] I doubt if there is a finer skin than this in Sparta.
[_Tsumu begins to massage the Queen's shoulder._]
HELENA [_taking up a mirror_]. That touch of deep carmine right here in the center of my lips was quite an idea.
TSUMU [_busily pounding the Queen_]. An inspiration of the Gods!
HELENA. The Gods have nothing to do with it. I copied it from a low woman I saw at the circus. I can't understand how these bad women have such good ideas.
[_Helen twists about._]
TSUMU. If your majesty doesn't sit still, I may pinch you.
HELENA [_boxing her ears_]. None of your tricks, you ebony fiend!
TSUMU [_crouching_]. Descendant of paradise, forgive me.
HELENA. If you bruise my perfect flesh, the King will kill you. My beauty is his religion. He can sit for hours, as if at prayer, just examining the arch of my foot. Tsumu, you may kiss my foot.
TSUMU [_prostrate_]. May the Gods make me worthy of your kindness!
HELENA. That's enough. Tsumu, are you married?
TSUMU [_getting up_]. I've been so busy having babies I never had time to get married.
HELENA. It's a great disillusionment.
TSUMU [_agast_]. What!
HELENA. I'm not complaining. Moo Moo is the best of husbands, but sometimes being adored too much is trying. [_She sighs deeply._] I think I'll wear my heliotrope this afternoon.
[_A trumpet sounds below in the courtyard. Tsumu goes to the window._]
TSUMU. They are changing the guards at the gates of the palace. It's almost time for your bath.
[_She begins scraping the massage ointment back into the box._]
HELENA. You're as careful with that ointment as Moo Moo is with me.
TSUMU. Precious things need precious guarding.
HELENA. It's very short-sighted on Moo Moo's part to send everybody to the galleys who dares lift a head when I pass by--and all these nice-looking soldiers! Why--the only men I ever see besides Moo Moo are Analytikos and a lot of useless eunuchs.
TSUMU. Oh, those eunuchs!
HELENA [_as she sits dreaming_]. I wish, I wish--
[_She stops short._]
TSUMU. You have but to speak your desire to the King.
HELENA [_shocked_]. Tsumu! How can you think of such a thing? I'm not a bad woman.
TSUMU. He would die for you.
HELENA [_relieved_]. Ah! Do you think so, Tsumu?
TSUMU. All Sparta knows that His Majesty is a lover of peace, and yet he would rush into battle to save you.
HELENA. I should love to have men fighting for me.
TSUMU [_in high alarm_]. May Zeus turn a deaf ear to your voice.
HELENA. Don't be impertinent, Tsumu. I've got to have some sort of amusement.
TSUMU. You've only to wait till next week, and you can see another of the priestesses sacrificed to Diana.
HELENA. That doesn't interest me any longer. The girls are positively beginning to like it. No! My mind is set on war.
TSUMU [_terrified_]. I have five fathers of my children to lose.
HELENA. War, or--or--
TSUMU [_hopefully_]. Have I been so long your slave that I no longer know your wish?
HELENA [_very simply_]. Well, I should like to have a lover.
TSUMU [_springs up and rushes over in horror to draw the curtains across the door of the library. All of a tremble_]. Gods grant they didn't hear you.
HELENA. Don't be alarmed, Tsumu. Analytikos is over eighty.
[_She bursts into a loud peal of laughter and Menelaus rushes into the room._]
MENELAUS [_in high irritation_]. I wish you wouldn't make so much noise in here. A King might at least expect quiet in his own palace.
HELENA. Tsumu, see if my bath is ready. [_Tsumu exits._] You used not speak like that to me, Moo Moo.
MENELAUS [_in a temper_]. How many times must I tell you that my name is Menelaus and that it isn't "Moo Moo"?
HELENA [_sweetly_]. I'll never do it again, Moo Moo. [_She giggles._]
MENELAUS. Your laugh gets on my nerves. It's louder than it used to be.
HELENA. If you wish it, I'll never, never laugh again.
MENELAUS. You've promised that too often.
HELENA [_sadly_]. Things are not as they used to be.
MENELAUS. Are you going to start that again?
HELENA [_with a tinge of melancholy_]. I suppose you'd like me to be still and sad.
MENELAUS [_bitterly_]. Is it too much to hope that you might be still and happy?
HELENA [_speaking very quickly and tragically_]. Don't treat me cruelly, Moo Moo. You don't understand me. No man ever really understands a woman. There are terrible depths to my nature. I had a long talk with Dr. AEsculapius only last week, and he told me I'm too introspective. It's the curse of us emotional women. I'm really quite worried, but much you care, much you care. [_A note of tears comes into her voice._] I'm sure you don't love me any more, Moo Moo. No! No! Don't answer me! If you did you couldn't speak to me the way you do. I've never wronged you in deed or in thought. No, never--never. I've given up my hopes and aspirations, because I knew you wanted me around you. And now, NOW--[_She can contain the tears no longer._] Because I have neglected my beauty and because I am old and ugly, you regret that Ulysses or Agamemnon didn't marry me when you all wanted me, and I know you curse the day you ever saw me.
[_She is breathless._]
MENELAUS [_fuming_]. Well! Have you done?
HELENA. No. I could say a great deal more, but I'm not a talkative woman.
[_Analytikos comes in from the library._]
ANALYTIKOS. Your Majesty, are we to read no longer to-day?
HELENA. I have something to say to the King.
[_Analytikos goes toward the library. Menelaus anxiously stops him._]
MENELAUS. No. Stay here. You are a wise man and well understand the wisdom of the Queen.
ANALYTIKOS [_bowing to Helena_]. Helena is wise as she is beautiful.
MENELAUS. She is attempting to prove to me in a thousand words that she's a silent woman.
ANALYTIKOS. Women are seldom silent. [_Helen resents this._] Their beauty is forever speaking for them.
HELENA. The years have, indeed, taught you wisdom.
[_Tsumu enters._]
TSUMU. The almond water awaits your majesty.
HELENA. I hope you haven't forgotten the chiropodist.
TSUMU. He has been commanded but he's always late. He's so busy.
HELENA [_in a purring tone to Menelaus_]. Moo Moo.
[_Menelaus, bored, turns away._]
HELENA [_to Tsumu_]. I think after all I'll wear my Sicily blue.
[_She and Tsumu go into the Queen's apartment._]
ANALYTIKOS. Shall we go back to the library?
MENELAUS. My mind is unhinged again--that woman with her endless protestations.
ANALYTIKOS. I am sorry the poets no longer divert you.
MENELAUS. A little poetry is always too much.
ANALYTIKOS. To-morrow we will try the historians.
MENELAUS. No! Not the historians. I want the truth for a change.
ANALYTIKOS. The truth!
MENELAUS. Where in books can I find escape from the grim reality of being hitched for life to such a wife? Bah!
ANALYTIKOS. Philosophy teaches--
MENELAUS. Why have the Gods made woman necessary to man, and made them fools?
ANALYTIKOS. For seventy years I have been resolving the problem of woman and even at my age--
MENELAUS. Give it up, old man. The answer is--don't.
ANALYTIKOS. Such endless variety, and yet--
MENELAUS [_with the conviction of finality_]. There are only two sorts of women! Those who are failures and those who realize it.
ANALYTIKOS. Is not Penelope, the model wife of your cousin Ulysses, an exception?
MENELAUS. Duty is the refuge of the unbeautiful. She is as commonplace as she is ugly. [_And then with deep bitterness._] Why didn't _he_ marry Helen when we all wanted her? He was too wise for that. He is the only man I've ever known who seems able to direct destiny.
ANALYTIKOS. You should not blame the Gods for a lack of will.
MENELAUS [_shouting_]. Will! Heaven knows I do not lack the will to rid myself of this painted puppet, but where is the instrument ready to my hand?
[_At this moment a Shepherd of Apollonian beauty leaps across the rail of the balcony and bounds into the room. Menelaus and Analytikos start back in amazement._]
ANALYTIKOS. Who are you?
PARIS. An adventurer.
ANALYTIKOS. Then you have reached the end of your story. In a moment you will die.
PARIS. I have no faith in prophets.
ANALYTIKOS. The soldiers of the King will give you faith. Don't you know that it means death for any man to enter the apartments of the Queen?
PARIS [_looking from one to the other_]. Oh! So you're a couple of eunuchs.
[_Though nearly eighty this is too much for Analytikos to bear. He rushes to call the guard, but Menelaus stops him._]
PARIS [_to Analytikos_]. Thanks.
ANALYTIKOS. You thank me for telling you your doom?
PARIS. No--for convincing me that I'm where I want to be. It's taken me a long while, but I knew I'd get here. [_And then very intimately to Menelaus._] Where's the Queen?
MENELAUS. Where do you come from?
PARIS. From the hills. I had come down into the market-place to sell my sheep. I had my hood filled with apples. They were golden-red like a thousand sunsets.
MENELAUS [_annoyed_]. You might skip those bucolic details.
PARIS. At the fair I met three ancient gypsies.
MENELAUS. What have they to do with you coming here?
PARIS. You don't seem very patient. Can't I tell my story in my own way? They asked me for the apple I was eating and I asked them what they'd give for it.
MENELAUS. I'm not interested in market quotations.
PARIS. You take everything so literally. I'm sure you're easily bored.
MENELAUS [_with meaning_]. I am.
PARIS [_going on cheerfully_]. The first was to give me all the money she could beg, and the second was to tell me all the truth she could learn by listening, and the third promised me a pretty girl. So I chose--
[_He hesitates._]
ANALYTIKOS. You cannot escape by spinning out your tale.
PARIS. Death is the end of one story and the beginning of another.
MENELAUS. Well! Well! Come to the point. Which did you choose?
PARIS [_smiling_]. Well, you see I'd been in the hills for a long while, so I picked the girl.
ANALYTIKOS. It would have been better for you if you had chosen wisdom.
PARIS. I knew you'd say that.
ANALYTIKOS. I have spoken truly. In a moment you will die.
PARIS. It is because the old have forgotten life that they preach wisdom.
MENELAUS. So you chose the girl? Well, go on.
PARIS. This made the other cronies angry, and when I tossed her the apple one of the others yelped at me: "You may as well seek the Queen of Sparta: she is the fairest of women." And as I turned away I heard their laughter, but the words had set my heart aflame and though it cost me my life, I'll follow the adventure.
ANALYTIKOS [_scandalized_]. Haven't we heard enough of this?
MENELAUS [_deeply_]. No! I want to hear how the story ends. It may amuse the King.
[_He makes a sign to Analytikos._]
PARIS. And on the ship at night I looked long at the stars and dreamed of possessing Helen.
[_Analytikos makes an involuntary movement toward the balcony, but Menelaus stops him._]
PARIS. Desire has been my guiding Mercury; the Fates are with me, and here I am.
ANALYTIKOS. The wrath of the King will show you no mercy.
PARIS [_nonchalantly_]. I'm not afraid of the King. He's fat, and--a fool.
ANALYTIKOS. Shall I call the guards?
[_Menelaus stops him._]
MENELAUS [_very significantly_]. So you would give your life for a glimpse of the Queen?
PARIS [_swiftly_]. Yes! My immortal soul, and if the fables tell the truth, the sight will be worth the forfeit.
MENELAUS [_suddenly jumping up_]. It shall be as you wish!
PARIS [_buoyantly_]. Venus has smiled on me.
MENELAUS. In there beyond the library you will find a room with a bath. Wait there till I call you.
PARIS. Is this some trick to catch me?
MENELAUS. A Spartan cannot lie.
PARIS. What will happen to you if the King hears of this?
MENELAUS. I will answer for the king. Go.
[_Paris exits into the library._]
ANALYTIKOS [_rubbing his hands_]. Shall I order the boiling oil?
MENELAUS [_surprised_]. Oil?
ANALYTIKOS. Now that he is being cleaned for the sacrifice.
MENELAUS. His torture will be greater than being boiled alive.
ANALYTIKOS [_eagerly_]. You'll have him hurled from the wall of the palace to a forest of waiting spears below?
MENELAUS. None is so blind as he who sees too much.
ANALYTIKOS. Your majesty is subtle in his cruelty.
MENELAUS. Haven't the years taught you the cheapness of revenge?
ANALYTIKOS [_mystified_]. You do not intend to alter destiny.
MENELAUS. Never before has destiny been so clear to me.
ANALYTIKOS. Then the boy must die.
MENELAUS [_with slow determination_]. No! He has been sent by the Gods to save me!
ANALYTIKOS. Your majesty!
[_He is trembling with apprehension._]
MENELAUS [_with unbudgeable conviction_]. Helena must elope with him!
ANALYTIKOS [_falling into a seat_]. Ye Gods!
MENELAUS [_quietly_]. I couldn't divorce the Queen. That would set a bad example.
ANALYTIKOS. Yes, very.
MENELAUS. I couldn't desert her. That would be beneath my honor.
ANALYTIKOS [_deeply_]. Was there no other way?
MENELAUS [_pompously_]. The King can do no wrong, and besides I hate the smell of blood. Are you a prophet as well as a scholar? Will she go?
ANALYTIKOS. To-night I will read the stars.
MENELAUS [_meaningfully_]. By to-night I'll not need you to tell me. [_Analytikos sits deep in thought._] Well?
ANALYTIKOS. Ethics cite no precedent.
MENELAUS. Do you mean to say I'm not justified?
ANALYTIKOS [_cogitating_]. Who can establish the punctilious ratio between necessity and desire?
MENELAUS [_beginning to fume_]. This is no time for language. Just put yourself in my place.
ANALYTIKOS. Being you, how can I judge as I?
MENELAUS [_losing control_]. May you choke on your dialectics! Zeus himself could have stood it no longer.
ANALYTIKOS. Have you given her soul a chance to grow?
MENELAUS. Her soul, indeed! It's shut in her rouge pot. [_He has been strutting about. Suddenly he sits down crushing a roll of papyrus. He takes it up and in utter disgust reads._] "The perfect hip, its development and permanence." Bah! [_He flings it to the floor._] I've done what I had to do, and Gods grant the bait may be sweet enough to catch the Queen.
ANALYTIKOS. If you had diverted yourself with a war or two you might have forgotten your troubles at home.
MENELAUS [_frightened_]. I detest dissension of any kind--my dream was perpetual peace in comfortable domesticity with a womanly woman to warm my sandals.
ANALYTIKOS. Is not the Queen--?
MENELAUS. No! No! The whole world is but her mirror. And I'm expected to face that woman every morning at breakfast for the rest of my life, and by Venus that's more than even a King can bear!
ANALYTIKOS. Even a King cannot alter destiny. I warn you, whom the Gods have joined together--
MENELAUS [_in an outburst_]. Is for man to break asunder!
ANALYTIKOS [_deeply shocked_]. You talk like an atheist.
MENELAUS. I never allow religion to interfere with life. Go call the victim and see that he be left alone with the Queen.
[_Menelaus exits and Analytikos goes over to the door of the library and summons Paris, who enters clad in a gorgeous robe._]
PARIS. I found this in there. It looks rather well, doesn't it? Ah! So you're alone. I suppose that stupid friend of yours has gone to tell the King. When do I see the Queen?
ANALYTIKOS. At once.
[_He goes to the door of the Queen's apartment and claps his hand. Tsumu enters and at the sight of her Paris recoils the full length of the room._]
PARIS. I thought the Queen was a blonde!
ANALYTIKOS. Tell Her Majesty a stranger awaits her here.
[_Tsumu exits, her eyes wide on Paris._]
You should thank the Gods for this moment.
PARIS [_his eyes on the door_]. You do it for me. I can never remember all their names.
[_Helena enters clad in her Sicily blue, crowned with a garland of golden flowers. She and Paris stand riveted, looking at each other. Their attitude might be described as fantastic. Analytikos watches them for a moment and then with hands and head lifted to heaven he goes into the library._]
PARIS [_quivering with emotion_]. I have the most strange sensation of having seen you before. Something I can't explain--
HELENA [_quite practically_]. Please don't bother about all sorts of fine distinctions. Under the influence of Analytikos and my husband, life has become a mess of indecision. I'm a simple, direct woman and I expect you to say just what you think.
PARIS. Do you? Very well, then--[_He comes a step nearer to her._] Fate is impelling me toward you.
HELENA. Yes. That's much better. So you're a fatalist. It's very Greek. I don't see what our dramatists would do without it.
PARIS. In my country there are no dramatists. We are too busy with reality.
HELENA. Your people must be uncivilized barbarians.
PARIS. My people are a genuine people. There is but one thing we worship.
HELENA. Don't tell me it's money.
PARIS. It's--
HELENA. Analytikos says if there weren't any money, there wouldn't be any of those ridiculous socialists.
PARIS. It isn't money. It's sincerity.
HELENA. I, too, believe in sincerity. It's the loveliest thing in the world.
PARIS. And the most dangerous.
HELENA. The truth is never dangerous.
PARIS. Except when told.
HELENA [_making room on the couch for him to sit next to her_]. You mustn't say wicked things to me.
PARIS. Can your theories survive a test?
HELENA [_beautifully_]. Truth is eternal and survives all tests.
PARIS. No. Perhaps, after all, your soul is not ready for the supremest heights.
HELENA. Do you mean to say I'm not religious? Religion teaches the meaning of love.
PARIS. Has it taught you to love your husband?
HELENA [_starting up and immediately sitting down again_]. How dare you speak to me like that?
PARIS. You see. I was right.
[_He goes toward the balcony._]
HELENA [_stopping him_]. Whatever made you think so?
PARIS. I've heard people talk of the King. You could never love a man like that.
HELENA [_beautifully_]. A woman's first duty is to love her husband.
PARIS. There is a higher right than duty.
HELENA [_with conviction_]. Right is right.
PARIS [_with admiration_]. The world has libeled you.
HELENA. Me! The Queen?
PARIS. You are as wise as you are beautiful.
HELENA [_smiling coyly_]. Why, you hardly know me.
PARIS. I know you! I, better than all men.
HELENA. You?
PARIS [_rapturously_]. Human law has given you to Menelaus, but divine law makes you mine.
HELENA [_in amazement_]. What!
PARIS. I alone appreciate your beauty. I alone can reach your soul.
HELENA. Ah!
PARIS. You hate your husband!
HELENA [_drawing back_]. Why do you look at me like that?
PARIS. To see if there's one woman in the world who dares tell the truth.
HELENA. My husband doesn't understand me.
PARIS [_with conviction_]. I knew you detested him.
HELENA. He never listens to my aspirations.
PARIS. Egoist.
HELENA [_assuming an irresistible pose_]. I'm tired of being only lovely. He doesn't realize the meaning of spiritual intercourse, of soul communion.
PARIS. Fool!
HELENA. You dare call Moo Moo a fool?
PARIS. Has he not been too blind to see that your soul outshines your beauty? [_Then, very dramatically._] You're stifling!
HELENA [_clearing her throat_]. I--I--
PARIS. He has made you sit upon your wings. [_Helena, jumping up, shifts her position._] You are groping in the darkness.
HELENA. Don't be silly. It's very light in here.
PARIS [_undisturbed_]. You are stumbling, and I have come to lead you.
[_He steps toward her._]
HELENA. Stop right there! [_Paris stops._] No man but the King can come within ten feet of me. It's a court tradition.
PARIS. Necessity knows no tradition. [_He falls on his knees before her._] I shall come close to you, though the flame of your beauty consume me.
HELENA. You'd better be careful what you say to me. Remember I'm the Queen.
PARIS. No man weighs his words who has but a moment to live.
HELENA. You said that exactly like an actor. [_He leans very close to her._] What are you doing now?
PARIS. I am looking into you. You are the clear glass in which I read the secret of the universe.
HELENA. The secret of the universe. Ah! Perhaps you could understand me.
PARIS. First you must understand yourself.
HELENA [_instinctively taking up a mirror_]. How?
PARIS. You must break with all this prose. [_With an unconscious gesture he sweeps a tray of toilet articles from the table. Helena emits a little shriek._]
HELENA. The ointment!
PARIS [_rushing to the window and pointing to the distance_]. And climb to infinite poesie!
HELENA [_catching his enthusiasm, says very blandly_]. There is nothing in the world like poetry.
PARIS [_lyrically_]. Have you ever heard the poignant breathing of the stars?
HELENA. No. I don't believe in astrology.
PARIS. Have you ever smelt the powdery mists of the sun?
HELENA. I should sneeze myself to death.
PARIS. Have you ever listened to the sapphire soul of the sea?
HELENA. Has the sea a soul? But please don't stop talking. You do it so beautifully.
PARIS. Deeds are sweeter than words. Shall we go hand in hand to meet eternity?
HELENA [_not comprehending him_]. That's very pretty. Say it again.
PARIS [_passionately_]. There's but a moment of life left me. I shall stifle it in ecstasy. Helena, Helena, I adore you!
HELENA [_jumping up in high surprise_]. You're not making love to me, you naughty boy?
PARIS. Helena.
HELENA. You've spoken to me so little, and already you dare to do that.
PARIS [_impetuously_]. I am a lover of life. I skip the inessentials.
HELENA. Remember who I am.
PARIS. I have not forgotten, Daughter of Heaven. [_Suddenly he leaps to his feet._] Listen!
HELENA. Shhh! That's the King and Analytikos in the library.
PARIS. No! No! Don't you hear the flutter of wings?
HELENA. Wings?
PARIS [_ecstatically_]. Venus, mother of Love!
HELENA [_alarmed_]. What is it?
PARIS. She has sent her messenger. I hear the patter of little feet.
HELENA. Those little feet are the soldiers below in the courtyard.
[_A trumpet sounds._]
PARIS [_the truth of the situation breaking through his emotion_]. In a moment I shall be killed.
HELENA. Killed?
PARIS. Save me and save yourself!
HELENA. Myself?
PARIS. I shall rescue you and lead you on to life.
HELENA. No one has even spoken to me like that before.
PARIS. This is the first time your ears have heard the truth.
HELENA. Was it of you I've been dreaming?
PARIS. Your dream was but your unrealized desire.
HELENA. Menelaus has never made me feel like this. [_And then with a sudden shriek._] Oh! I'm a wicked woman!
PARIS. No! No!
HELENA. For years I've been living with a man I didn't love.
PARIS. Yes! Yes!
HELENA. I'm lost!
PARIS [_at a loss_]. No! Yes! Yes! No!
HELENA. It was a profanation of the most holy.
PARIS. The holiest awaits you, Helena! Our love will lighten the Plutonian realms.
HELENA. Menelaus never spoke to me like that.
PARIS. 'Tis but the first whisper of my adoration.
HELENA. I can't face him every morning at breakfast for the rest of my life. That's even more than a Queen can bear.
PARIS. I am waiting to release you.
HELENA. I've stood it for seven years.
PARIS. I've been coming to you since the beginning of time.
HELENA. There is something urging me to go with you, something I do not understand.
PARIS. Quick! There is but a moment left us.
[_He takes her rapturously in his arms. There is a passionate embrace in the midst of which Tsumu enters._]
TSUMU. The chiropodist has come.
HELENA. Bring me my outer garment and my purse.
[_Tsumu exits, her eyes wide on Paris._]
PARIS. Helena! Helena!
[_Helena looks about her and takes up the papyrus that Menelaus has flung to the floor._]
HELENA. A last word to the King. [_She looks at the papyrus._] No, this won't do; I shall have to take this with me.
PARIS. What is it?
HELENA. Maskanda's discourse on the hip.
[_A trumpet sounds below in the courtyard._]
PARIS [_excitedly_]. Leave it--or your hip may cost me my head. We haven't a minute to spare. Hurry! Hurry!
[_Helena takes up an eyebrow pencil and writes on the back of the papyrus. She looks for a place to put it and seeing the shield she smears it with some of the ointment and sticks the papyrus to it._]
PARIS [_watching her in ecstasy_]. You are the fairest of all fair women and your name will blaze as a symbol throughout eternity.
[_Tsumu enters with the purse and the Queen's outer robe._]
HELENA [_tossing the purse to Paris_]. Here, we may need this.
PARIS [_throwing it back to Tsumu_]. This for your silence, daughter of darkness. A prince has no need of purses.
TSUMU [_looking at him_]. A prince!
HELENA [_gloriously_]. My prince of poetry. My deliverer!
PARIS [_divinely_]. My queen of love!
[_They go out, Tsumu looking after them in speechless amazement. Suddenly she sees the papyrus on the shield, runs over and reads it and then rushes to the door of the library._]
TSUMU [_calling_]. Analytikos.
[_She hides the purse in her bosom. Analytikos enters, scroll in hand._]
ANALYTIKOS. Has the Queen summoned me?
TSUMU [_mysteriously_]. A terrible thing has happened.
ANALYTIKOS. What's the matter?
TSUMU. Where's the King?
ANALYTIKOS. In the library.
TSUMU. I have news more precious than the gold of Midas.
ANALYTIKOS [_giving her a purse_]. Well! What is it?
TSUMU [_speaking very dramatically and watching the effect of her words_]. The Queen has deserted Menelaus.
ANALYTIKOS [_receiving the shock philosophically_]. Swift are the ways of Nature. The Gods have smiled upon him.
TSUMU. The Gods have forsaken the King to smile upon a prince.
ANALYTIKOS. What?
TSUMU. He was a prince.
ANALYTIKOS [_apprehensively_]. Why do you say that?
TSUMU [_clutching her bosom_]. I have a good reason to know. [_There is a sound of voices below in the courtyard. Menelaus rushes in expectantly. Tsumu falls prostrate before him._] Oh, King, in thy bottomless agony blame not a blameless negress. The Queen has fled!
MENELAUS [_in his delight forgetting himself and flinging her a purse_]. Is it true?
TSUMU. Woe! Woe is me!
MENELAUS [_storming_]. Out of my sight, you eyeless Argus!
ANALYTIKOS [_to Tsumu_]. Quick, send a messenger. Find out who he was.
[_Tsumu sticks the third purse in her bosom and runs out._]
MENELAUS [_with radiant happiness, kneeling before the bust of Zeus_]. Ye Gods, I thank ye. Peace and a happy life at last.
[_The shouts in the courtyard grow louder._]
ANALYTIKOS. The news has spread through the palace.
MENELAUS [_in trepidation, springing up_]. No one would dare stop the progress of the Queen.
TSUMU [_rushes in and prostrates herself before the King_]. Woe is me! They have gone by the road to the harbor.
MENELAUS [_anxiously_]. Yes! Yes!
TSUMU. By the King's orders no man has dared gaze upon Her Majesty. They all fell prostrate before her.
MENELAUS. Good! Good! [_Attempting to cover his delight._] Go! Go! You garrulous dog.
[_Tsumu gets up and points to shield. Analytikos and the King look toward it. Analytikos tears off the papyrus and brings it to Menelaus. Tsumu, watching them, exits._]
MENELAUS [_reading_]. "I am not a bad woman. I did what I had to do." How Greek to blame fate for what one wants to do.
[_Tsumu again comes tumbling in._]
TSUMU [_again prostrate before the King_]. A rumor flies through the city. He--he--
ANALYTIKOS [_anxiously_]. Well? Well?
TSUMU. He--he--
MENELAUS [_furiously to Analytikos_]. Rid me of this croaking raven.
TSUMU. Evil has fallen on Sparta. He--
ANALYTIKOS. Yes--yes--
MENELAUS [_in a rage_]. Out of my sight, perfidious Nubian.
[_Sounds of confusion in the courtyard. Suddenly she springs to her feet and yells at the top of her voice._]
TSUMU. He was Paris, Prince of Troy!
[_They all start back. Analytikos stumbles into a seat. Menelaus turns pale. Tsumu leers like a black Nemesis._]
ANALYTIKOS [_very ominously_]. Who can read the secret of the Fates?
MENELAUS [_frightened_]. What do you mean?
ANALYTIKOS. He is the son of Priam, King of Troy.
TSUMU [_adding fuel_]. And of Hecuba, Queen of the Trojans.
[_She rushes out to spread the news._]
ANALYTIKOS. That makes the matter international.
MENELAUS [_quickly_]. But we have treaties with Troy.
ANALYTIKOS. Circumstances alter treaties. They will mean nothing.
MENELAUS. Nothing?
ANALYTIKOS. No more than a scrap of papyrus. Sparta will fight to regain her Queen.
MENELAUS. But I don't want her back.
ANALYTIKOS. Can you tell that to Sparta? Remember, the King can do no wrong. Last night I dreamed of war.
MENELAUS. No! No! Don't say that. After the scandal I can't be expected to fight to get her back.
ANALYTIKOS. Sparta will see with the eyes of chivalry.
MENELAUS [_fuming_]. But I don't believe in war.
ANALYTIKOS [_still obdurate_]. Have you forgotten the oath pledged of old, with Ulysses and Agamemnon? They have sworn, if ever the time came, to fight and defend the Queen.
MENELAUS [_bitterly_]. I didn't think of the triple alliance.
ANALYTIKOS. Can Sparta ask less of her King?
MENELAUS. Let's hear the other side. We can perhaps arbitrate. Peace at any price.
ANALYTIKOS. Some bargains are too cheap.
MENELAUS [_hopelessly_]. But I am a pacifist.
ANALYTIKOS. You are Menelaus of Sparta, and Sparta's a nation of soldiers.
MENELAUS [_desperately_]. I am too proud to fight!
ANALYTIKOS. Here, put on your shield. [_A great clamor comes up from the courtyard, Analytikos steps out on the balcony and is greeted with shouts of "The King! The King!" Addressing the crowd._] People of Sparta, this calamity has been forced upon us. [_Menelaus winces._] We are a peaceful people. But thanks to our unparalleled efficiency, the military system of Sparta is the most powerful in all Greece and we can mobilize in half an hour.
[_Loud acclaims from the people. Menelaus, the papyrus still in hand, crawls over and attempts to stop Analytikos._]
ANALYTIKOS [_not noticing him_]. In the midst of connubial and communal peace the thunderbolt has fallen on the King. [_Menelaus tugs at Analytikos' robe._] Broken in spirit as he is, he is already pawing the ground like a battle steed. Never will we lay down our arms! We and Jupiter! [_Cheers._] Never until the Queen is restored to Menelaus. Never, even if it takes ten years. [_Menelaus squirms. A loud cheer._] Even now the King is buckling on his shield. [_More cheers. Analytikos steps farther forward and then with bursting eloquence._] One hate we have and one alone! [_Yells from below._]
Hate by water and hate by land, Hate of the head and hate of the hand, Hate of Paris and hate of Troy That has broken the Queen for a moment's toy.
[_The yells grow fiercer._]
Zeus' thunder will shatter the Trojan throne. We have one hate and one alone!
[_Menelaus sits on the floor dejectedly looking at the papyrus. A thunder of voices from the people._]
We have one hate and one alone. Troy! Troy!
[_Helmets and swords are thrown into the air. The cheers grow tumultuous, trumpets are blown, and the_
_Curtain falls._]
THE SHADOWED STAR
BY MARY MACMILLAN
Copyright, 1913, by Stewart & Kidd Company. All rights reserved.
CAST
A WOMAN, _the mother_. AN OLD WOMAN, _the grandmother_. TWO GIRLS, _the daughters_. A MESSENGER BOY. A NEIGHBOR. ANOTHER NEIGHBOR.
THE SHADOWED STAR is reprinted from "Short Plays" by Mary MacMillan by permission of Messrs. Stewart & Kidd Company, Cincinnati, Ohio. The acting rights of this play are reserved by the author. Address all correspondence to the author in regard to production.
THE SHADOWED STAR
BY MARY MACMILLAN
[_A very bare room in a tenement house, uncarpeted, the boards being much worn, and from the walls the bluish whitewash has scaled away; in the front on one side is a cooking-stove, and farther back on the same side a window; on the opposite side is a door opening into a hallway; in the middle of the room there is a round, worn dining-room table, on which stands a stunted, scraggly bit of an evergreen-tree; at the back of the room, near the window, stands an old-fashioned safe with perforated tin front; next it a door opening into an inner room, and next it in the corner a bed, on which lies a pallid woman; another woman, very old, sits in a rocking-chair in front of the stove and rocks. There is silence for a long space, the old woman rocking and the woman on the bed giving an occasional low sigh or groan. At last the old woman speaks._]
THE OLD WOMAN. David an' Michael might be kapin' the Christmas wid us to-morrow night if we hadn't left the ould counthry. They'd never be crossin' the sea--all the many weary miles o' wetness an' fog an' cold to be kapin' it wid us here in this great house o' brick walls in a place full o' strange souls. They would never be for crossin' all that weary, cold, green wather, groanin' an' tossin' like it was the grave o' sivin thousan' divils. Ah, but it would be a black night at sea! [_She remains silent for a few minutes, staring at the stove and rocking slowly._] If they hadn't to cross that wet, cold sea they'd maybe come. But wouldn't they be afeard o' this great city, an' would they iver find us here? Six floors up, an' they niver off the ground in their lives. What would ye be thinkin'? [_The other woman does not answer her. She then speaks petulantly._] What would ye be thinkin'? Mary, have ye gone clane to slape? [_Turns her chair and peers around the back of it at the pallid woman on the bed, who sighs and answers._]
THE WOMAN. No, I on'y wisht I could. Maybe they'll come--I don't know, but father an' Michael wasn't much for thravel. [_After a pause and very wearily._] Maybe they'll not come, yet [_slowly_], maybe I'll be kapin' the Christmas wid them there. [_The Old Woman seems not to notice this, wandering from her question back to her memories._]
THE OLD WOMAN. No, they'll niver be lavin' the ould land, the green land, the home land. I'm wishing I was there wid thim. [_Another pause, while she stares at the stove._] Maybe we'd have a duck an' potatoes, an' maybe something to drink to kape us warm against the cold. An' the boys would all be dancin' an' the girls have rosy cheeks. [_There is another pause, and then a knock at the door. "Come in," the two women call, in reedy, weak voices, and a thin, slatternly Irish woman enters._]
THE NEIGHBOR. God avnin' to ye; I came in to ask if I might borrow the loan o' a bit o' tay, not havin' a leaf of it left.
THE WOMAN. We have a little left, just enough we was savin' for ourselves to-night, but you're welcome to it--maybe the girls will bring some. Will ye get it for her, mother? Or she can help herself--it's in the safe. It's on the lower shelf among the cups an' saucers an' plates. [_The Old Woman and Neighbor go to the safe and hunt for the tea, and do not find it readily. The safe has little in it but a few cracked and broken dishes._]
THE NEIGHBOR [_holding up a tiny paper bag with an ounce perhaps of tea in it._] It's just a scrap!
THE OLD WOMAN. To be sure! We use so much tay! We're that exthravagant!
THE NEIGHBOR. It hurts me to take it from ye--maybe I'd better not.
THE OLD WOMAN. The girls will bring more. We always have a cupboard full o' things. We're always able to lend to our neighbors.
THE NEIGHBOR. It's in great luck, ye are. For some of us be so poor we don't know where the next bite's comin' from. An' this winter whin iverything's so high an' wages not raised, a woman can't find enough to cook for her man's dinner. It isn't that ye don't see things--oh, they're in the markets an' the shops, an' it makes yer mouth wather as ye walk along the sthrates this day before the Christmas to see the turkeys an' the ducks ye'll niver ate, an' the little pigs an' the or'nges an' bananies an' cranberries an' the cakes an' nuts an'--it's worse, I'm thinkin', to see thim whin there's no money to buy than it was in the ould counthry, where there was nothing to buy wid the money ye didn't have.
THE WOMAN. It's all one to us poor folk whether there be things to buy or not. [_She speaks gaspingly, as one who is short of breath._] I'm on'y thinkin' o' the clane air at home--if I could have a mornin' o' fresh sunshine--these fogs an' smoke choke me so. The girls would take me out to the counthry if they had time an' I'd get well. But they haven't time. [_She falls into a fit of coughing._]
THE OLD WOMAN. But it's like to be bright on Christmas Day. It wouldn't iver be cloudy on Christmas Day, an' maybe even now the stars would be crapin' out an' the air all clear an' cold an' the moon a-shinin' an' iverything so sthill an' quiet an' bleamin' an' breathless [_her voice falls almost to a whisper_], awaitin' on the Blessed Virgin. [_She goes to the window, lifts the blind, and peers out, then throws up the sash and leans far out. After a moment she pulls the sash down again and the blind and turns to those in the room with the look of pathetic disappointment in little things, of the aged._] No, there's not a sthar, not one little twinklin' sthar, an' how'll the shepherds find their way? Iverything's dull an' black an' the clouds are hangin' down heavy an' sthill. How'll the shepherds find their way without the sthar to guide thim? [_Then almost whimpering._] An' David an' Michael will niver be crossin' that wet, black sea! An' the girls--how'll they find their way home? They'll be lost somewhere along by the hedges. Ohone, ohone!
THE NEIGHBOR. Now, grannie, what would ye be sayin'? There's niver a hedge anywhere but granite blocks an' electric light poles an' plenty o' light in the city for thim to see all their way home. [_Then to the woman._] Ain't they late?
THE WOMAN. They're always late, an' they kape gettin' lather an' lather.
THE NEIGHBOR. Yis, av coorse, the sthores is all open in the avnin's before Christmas.
THE WOMAN. They go so early in the mornin' an' get home so late at night, an' they're so tired.
THE NEIGHBOR [_whiningly_]. They're lucky to be young enough to work an' not be married. I've got to go home to the childer an' give thim their tay. Pat's gone to the saloon again, an' to-morrow bein' Christmas I misdoubt he'll be terrible dhrunk again, an' me on'y jist well from the blow in the shoulder the last time. [_She wipes her eyes and moves towards the door._]
THE OLD WOMAN. Sthay an' kape Christmas wid us. We're goin' to have our celebratin' to-night on Christmas Eve, the way folks do here. I like it best on Christmas Day, the way 'tis in the ould counthry, but here 'tis Christmas Eve they kape. We're waitin' for the girls to come home to start things--they knowin' how--Mary an' me on'y know how to kape Christmas Day as 'tis at home. But the girls'll soon be here, an' they'll have the three an' do the cookin' an' all, an' we'll kape up the jollity way into the night.
THE NEIGHBOR [_looks questioningly and surprised at the Woman, whose eyes are on the mother._] Nay, if Pat came home dhrunk an' didn't find me, he'd kill me. We have all to be movin' on to our own throubles. [_She goes out, and the old woman leaves the Christmas-tree which she has been fingering and admiring, and sits down in the rocking-chair again. After a while she croons to herself in a high, broken voice. This lasts some time, when there is the noise of a slamming door and then of footsteps approaching._]
THE WOMAN. If I could on'y be in the counthry!
THE OLD WOMAN. Maybe that would be the girls! [_She starts tremblingly to her feet, but the steps come up to the door and go by._] If David and Michael was to come now an' go by--there bein' no sthar to guide thim!
THE WOMAN. Nay, mother, 'twas the shepherds that was guided by the sthar an' to the bed o' the Blessed Babe.
THE OLD WOMAN. Aye, so 'twas. What be I thinkin' of? The little Blessed Babe! [_She smiles and sits staring at the stove again for a little._] But they could not find Him to-night. 'Tis so dark an' no sthars shinin.' [_After another pause._] An' what would shepherds do in a ghreat city? 'Twould be lost they'd be, quicker than in any bog. Think ye, Mary, that the boys would be hootin' thim an' the p'lice, maybe, would want to be aristin' thim for loitherin'. They'd niver find the Blessed Babe, an' they'd have to be movin' on. [_Another pause, and then there is the sound of approaching footsteps again. The Old Woman grasps the arms of her chair and leans forward, intently listening._]--That would sure be the girls this time! [_But again the footsteps go by. The Old Woman sighs._] Ah, but 'tis weary waitin'! [_There is another long pause._] 'Twas on that day that David an' me was plighted--a brave Christmas Day wid a shinin' sun an' a sky o' blue wid fair, white clouds. An' David an' me met at the early mass in the dark o' the frosty mornin' afore the sun rose--an' there was all day good times an' a duck for dinner and puddin's an' a party at the O'Brady's in the evenin', whin David an' me danced. Ah, but he was a beautiful dancer, an' me, too--I was as light on my feet as a fairy. [_She begins to croon an old dance tune and hobbles to her feet, and, keeping time with her head, tries a grotesque and feeble sort of dancing. Her eyes brighten and she smiles proudly._] Aye, but I danced like a fairy, an' there was not another couple so sprightly an' handsome in all the country. [_She tires, and, looking pitiful and disappointed, hobbles back to her chair, and drops into it again._] Ah, but I be old now, and the strength fails me. [_She falls into silence for a few minutes._] 'Twas the day before the little man, the little white dove, my next Christmas that Michael was born--little son! [_There is a moment's pause, and then the pallid woman on the bed has a violent fit of coughing._]
THE WOMAN. Mother, could ye get me a cup o' wather? If the girls was here to get me a bite to ate, maybe it would kape the breath in me the night.
THE OLD WOMAN [_starts and stares at her daughter, as if she hardly comprehended the present reality. She gets up and goes over to the window under which there is a pail full of water. She dips some out in a tin cup and carries it to her bed._] Ye should thry to get up an' move about some, so ye can enjoy the Christmas threat. 'Tis bad bein' sick on Christmas. Thry, now, Mary, to sit up a bit. The girls'll be wantin' ye to be merry wid the rest av us.
THE WOMAN [_looking at her mother with a sad wistfulness_]. I wouldn't spoil things for the girls if I could help. Maybe, mother, if ye'd lift me a little I could sit up. [_The Old Woman tugs at her, and she herself tries hard to get into a sitting posture, but after some effort and panting for breath, she falls back again. After a pause for rest, she speaks gaspingly._] Maybe I'll feel sthronger lather whin the girls come home--they could help me--[_with the plaint of longing in her voice_] they be so late! [_After another pause._] Maybe I'll be sthrong again in the mornin'--if I'd had a cup of coffee.--Maybe I could get up--an' walk about--an' do the cookin'. [_There is a knock at the door, and again they call, "Come in," in reedy, weak voices. There enters a little messenger boy in a ragged overcoat that reaches almost to his heels. His eyes are large and bright, his face pale and dirty, and he is fearfully tired and worn._]
THE WOMAN. Why, Tim, boy, come in. Sit ye down an' rest, ye're lookin' weary.
THE OLD WOMAN. Come to the stove, Timmie, man, an' warm yourself. We always kape a warm room an' a bright fire for visitors.
THE BOY. I was awful cold an' hungry an' I come home to get somethin' to eat before. I started out on another trip, but my sisters ain't home from the store yit, an' the fire's gone out in the stove, an' the room's cold as outside. I thought maybe ye'd let me come in here an' git warm.
THE OLD WOMAN. Poor orphan! Poor lamb! To be shure ye shall get warm by our sthove.
THE BOY. The cars are so beastly col' an' so crowded a feller mostly has to stand on the back platform. [_The Old Woman takes him by the shoulder and pushes him toward the stove, but he resists._]
THE BOY. No, thank ye--I don't want to go so near yet; my feet's all numb an' they allays hurt so when they warms up fast.
THE OLD WOMAN. Thin sit ye down off from the sthove. [_Moves the rocking-chair farther away from the stove for him._]
THE BOY. If ye don't mind I'd rather stand on 'em 'til they gets a little used to it. They been numb off an' on mos' all day.
THE WOMAN. Soon as yer sisters come, Timmie, ye'd betther go to bed--'tis the best place to get warm.
THE BOY. I can't--I got most a three-hour trip yet. I won't get home any 'fore midnight if I don't get lost, and maybe I'll get lost--I did once out there. I've got to take a box o' 'Merican Beauty roses to a place eight mile out, an' the house ain't on the car track, but nearly a mile off, the boss said. I wisht they could wait till mornin', but the orders was they just got to get the roses to-night. You see, out there they don' have no gas goin' nights when there's a moon, an' there'd ought to be a moon to-night, on'y the clouds is so thick there ain't no light gets through.
THE OLD WOMAN. There's no sthar shinin' to-night, Tim. [_She shakes her head ominously. She goes to the window for the second time, opens it as before, and looks out. Shutting the window, she comes back and speaks slowly and sadly._] Niver a sthar. An' the shepherds will be havin' a hard time, Tim, like you, findin' their way.
THE BOY. Shepherds? In town? What shepherds?
THE WOMAN. She means the shepherds on Christmas Eve that wint to find the Blessed Babe, Jesus.
THE OLD WOMAN. 'Tis Christmas Eve, Timmie; ye haven't forgot that, have ye?
THE BOY. You bet I ain't. I know pretty well when Christmas is comin', by the way I got to hustle, an' the size of the boxes I got to carry. Seems as if my legs an' me would like to break up pardnership. I got to work till midnight every night, an' I'm so sleepy I drop off in the cars whenever I get a seat. An' the girls is at the store so early an' late they don't get time to cook me nothin' to eat.
THE WOMAN. Be ye hungry, Timmie?
THE BOY [_diffidently and looking at the floor_]. No, I ain't hungry now.
THE WOMAN. Be ye shure, Timmie?
THE BOY. Oh, I kin go till I git home.
THE WOMAN. Mother, can't you find something for him to eat?
THE OLD WOMAN. To be shure, to be shure. [_Bustling about._] We always kapes a full cupboard to thrate our neighbors wid whin they comes in. [_She goes to the empty safe and fusses in it to find something. She pretends to be very busy, and then glances around at the boy with a sly look and a smile._] Ah, Timmie, lad, what would ye like to be havin', now? If you had the wish o' yer heart for yer Christmas dinner an' a good fairy to set it all afore ye? Ye'd be wishin' maybe, for a fine roast duck, to begin wid, in its own gravies an' some apple sauce to go wid it; an' ye'd be thinkin' o' a little bit o' pig nicely browned an' a plate of potaties; an' the little fairy woman would be bringin' yer puddin's an' nuts an' apples an' a dish o' the swatest tay. [_The Boy smiles rather ruefully._]
THE WOMAN. But, mother, you're not gettin' Tim something to ate.
THE BOY. She's makin' me mouth water all right. [_The Old Woman goes back to her search, but again turns about with a cunning look, and says to the boy:_]
THE OLD WOMAN. Maybe ye'll meet that little fairy woman out there in the counthry road where ye're takin' the roses! [_Nods her head knowingly, turning to the safe again._] Here's salt an' here's pepper an' here's mustard an' a crock full o' sugar, an', oh! Tim, here's some fine cold bacon--fine, fat, cold bacon--an' here's half a loaf o' white wheat bread! Why, Timmie, lad, that's just the food to make boys fat! Ye'll grow famously on it. 'Tis a supper, whin ye add to it a dhrop o' iligant milk, that's fit for a king. [_She bustles about with great show of being busy and having much to prepare. Puts the plate of cold bacon upon the table where stands the stunted bit of an evergreen-tree, then brings the half-loaf of bread and cuts it into slices, laying pieces of bacon on the slices of bread. Then she pours out a glass of milk from a dilapidated and broken pitcher in the safe and brings it to the table, the Boy all the while watching her hungrily. At last he says rather apologetically to the woman._]
THE BOY. I ain't had nothin' since a wienerwurst at eleven o'clock.
THE OLD WOMAN. Now, dhraw up, Timmie, boy, an' ate yer fill; ye're more thin welcome. [_The boy does not sit down, but stands by the table and eats a slice of bread and bacon, drinking from the glass of milk occasionally._]
THE WOMAN. Don't they niver give ye nothin' to ate at the gran' houses when ye'd be takin' the roses?
THE BOY. Not them. They'd as soon think o' feedin' a telephone or an automobile as me.
THE WOMAN. But don't they ask ye in to get warm whin ye've maybe come so far?
THE BOY. No, they don't seem to look at me 'zacly like a caller. They generally steps out long enough to sign the receipt-book an' shut the front door behin' 'em so as not to let the house get col' the length o' time I'm standin' there. Well, I'm awful much obleeged to ye. Now, I got to be movin' on.
THE OLD WOMAN. Sthop an' cilibrate the Christmas wid us. We ain't started to do nothin' yet because the girls haven't come--they know how [_nodding her head_]--an' they're goin' to bring things--all kinds o' good things to ate an' a branch of rowan berries--ah, boy, a great branch o' rowan wid scarlet berries shinin' [_gesticulating and with gleaming eyes_], an' we'll all be merry an' kape it up late into the night.
THE BOY [_in a little fear of her_]. I guess it's pretty late now. I got to make that trip an' I guess when I get home I'll be so sleepy I'll jus' tumble in. Ye've been awful good to me, an' it's the first time I been warm to-day. Good-by. [_He starts toward the door, but the Old Woman follows him and speaks to him coaxingly._]
THE OLD WOMAN. Ah, don't ye go, Michael, lad! Now, bide wid us a bit. [_The Boy, surprised at the name, looks queerly at the Old Woman, who then stretches out her arms to him, and says beseechingly:_] Ah, boy, ah, Mike, bide wid us, now ye've come! We've been that lonesome widout ye!
THE BOY [_frightened and shaking his head_]. I've got to be movin'.
THE OLD WOMAN. No, Michael, little lamb, no!
THE BOY [_almost terrified, watching her with staring eyes, and backing out_]. I got to go! [_The Boy goes out, and the Old Woman breaks into weeping, totters over to her old rocking-chair and drops into it, rocks to and fro, wailing to herself._]
THE OLD WOMAN. Oh, to have him come an' go again, my little Michael, my own little lad!
THE WOMAN. Don't ye, dearie; now, then, don't ye! 'Twas not Michael, but just our little neighbor boy, Tim. Ye know, poor lamb, now if ye'll thry to remember, that father an' Michael is gone to the betther land an' us is left.
THE OLD WOMAN. Nay, nay, 'tis the fairies that took thim an' have thim now, kapin' thim an' will not ever give thim back.
THE WOMAN. Whisht, mother! Spake not of the little folk on the Holy Night! [_Crosses herself._] Have ye forgot the time o' all the year it is? Now, dhry yer eyes, dearie, an' thry to be cheerful like 'fore the girls be comin' home. [_A noise is heard, the banging of a door and footsteps._] Thim be the girls now, shure they be comin' at last. [_But the sound of footsteps dies away._] But they'll be comin' soon. [_Wearily, but with the inveterate hope._]
[_The two women relapse into silence again, which is undisturbed for a few minutes. Then there is a knock at the door, and together in quavering, reedy voices, they call, "Come in," as before. There enters a tall, big, broad-shouldered woman with a cold, discontented, hard look upon the face that might have been handsome some years back; still, in her eyes, as she looks at the pallid woman on the bed, there is something that denotes a softness underneath it all._]
THE OLD WOMAN. Good avnin' to ye! We're that pleased to see our neighbors!
THE NEIGHBOR [_without paying any attention to the Old Woman, but entirely addressing the woman on the bed._] How's yer cough?
THE WOMAN. Oh, it's jist the same--maybe a little betther. If I could on'y get to the counthry! But the girls must be workin'--they haven't time to take me. Sit down, won't ye? [_The Neighbor goes to the bed and sits down on the foot of it._]
THE NEIGHBOR. I'm most dead, I'm so tired. I did two washin's to-day--went out and did one this mornin' and then my own after I come home this afternoon. I jus' got through sprinklin' it an' I'll iron to-morrow.
THE WOMAN. Not on Christmas Day!
THE NEIGHBOR [_with a sneer_]. Christmas Day! Did ye hear 'bout the Beckers? Well, they was all put out on the sidewalk this afternoon. Becker's been sick, ye know, an' ain't paid his rent an' his wife's got a two weeks' old baby. It sort o' stunned Mis' Becker, an' she sat on one of the mattresses out there an' wouldn't move, an' nobody couldn't do nothin' with her. But they ain't the only ones has bad luck--Smith, the painter, fell off a ladder an' got killed. They took him to the hospital, but it wasn't no use--his head was all mashed in. His wife's got them five boys an' Smith never saved a cent, though he warn't a drinkin' man. It's a good thing Smith's children is boys--they can make their livin' easier!
THE WOMAN [_smiling faintly_]. Ain't ye got no cheerful news to tell? It's Christmas Eve, ye know.
THE NEIGHBOR. Christmas Eve don't seem to prevent people from dyin' an' bein' turned out o' house an' home. Did ye hear how bad the dipthery is? They say as how if it gits much worse they'll have to close the school in our ward. Two o' the Homan children's dead with it. The first one wasn't sick but two days, an' they say his face all turned black 'fore he died. But it's a good thing they're gone, for the Homans ain't got enough to feed the other six. Did ye hear 'bout Jim Kelly drinkin' again? Swore off for two months, an' then took to it harder'n ever--perty near killed the baby one night.
THE WOMAN [_with a wan, beseeching smile_]. Won't you please not tell me any more? It just breaks me heart.
THE NEIGHBOR [_grimly_]. I ain't got no other kind o' news to tell. I s'pose I might's well go home.
THE WOMAN. No, don't ye go. I like to have ye here when ye're kinder.
THE NEIGHBOR [_fingering the bed clothes and smoothing them over the woman_]. Well, it's gettin' late, an' I guess ye ought to go to sleep.
THE WOMAN. Oh, no, I won't go to slape till the girls come. They'll bring me somethin' to give me strength. If they'd on'y come soon.
THE NEIGHBOR. Ye ain't goin' to set up 'til they git home?
THE OLD WOMAN. That we are. We're kapin' the cilebratin' till they come.
THE NEIGHBOR. What celebratin'?
THE OLD WOMAN. Why, the Christmas, to be shure. We're goin' to have high jinks to-night. In the ould counthry 'tis always Christmas Day, but here 'tis begun on Christmas Eve, an' we're on'y waitin' for the girls, because they know how to fix things betther nor Mary an' me.
THE NEIGHBOR [_staring_]. But ain't they workin' in the store?
THE OLD WOMAN. Yes, but they're comin' home early to-night.
THE NEIGHBOR [_laughing ironically_]. Don't ye fool yerselves. Why, they've got to work harder to-night than any in the whole year.
THE WOMAN [_wistfully_]. But they did say they'd thry to come home early.
THE NEIGHBOR. The store's all crowded to-night. Folks 'at's got money to spend never remembers it till the last minute. If they didn't have none they'd be thinkin' 'bout it long ahead. Well, I got to be movin'. I wouldn't stay awake, if I was you.
THE OLD WOMAN. Sthay and kape the Christmas wid us! We'll be havin' high jinks by an' by. Sthay, now, an' help us wid our jollity!
THE NEIGHBOR. Nay, I left my children in bed, an' I got to go back to 'em. An' I got to get some rest myself--I got that ironin' ahead o' me in the mornin'. You folks better get yer own rest. [_She rises and walks to the door._]
THE OLD WOMAN [_beamingly_]. David an' Michael's comin'. [_The Neighbor stands with her back against the door and her hand on the knob, staring at the Old Woman._]
THE OLD WOMAN [_smiling rapturously_]. Yis, we're goin' to have a gran' time. [_The Neighbor looks puzzled and fearful and troubled, first at the Woman and then at the Old Woman. Finally, without a word, she opens the door and goes out._]
THE OLD WOMAN [_going about in a tottering sort of dance_]. David an' Michael's comin' an' the shepherds for the fairies will show thim the way.
THE WOMAN. If the girls would on'y come! If they'd give me somethin' so as I wouldn't be so tired!
THE OLD WOMAN. There's niver a sthar an' there's nobody to give thim a kind word an' the counthry roads are dark an' foul, but they've got the little folk to guide thim! An' whin they reach the city--the poor, lonesome shepherds from the hills!--they'll find naught but coldness an' hardness an' hurry. [_Questioningly._] Will the fairies show thim the way? Fairies' eyes be used to darkness, but can they see where it is black night in one corner an' a blaze o' light in another? [_She goes to the window for the third time, opens it and leans far out for a long time, then turns about and goes on in her monotone, closing the window.--She seems by this time quite to have forgotten the presence of the pallid woman on the bed, who has closed her eyes, and lies like one dead._]
THE OLD WOMAN. Nay, there's niver a sthar, an' the clouds are hangin' heavier an' lower an' the flakes o' snow are fallin'. Poor little folk guidin' thim poor lost shepherds, leadin' thim by the hand so gently because there's no others to be kind to thim, an' bringin' thim to the manger o' the Blessed Babe. [_She comes over to her rocking-chair and again sits down in it, rocks slowly to and fro, nodding her head in time to the motion._] Poor little mite of a babe, so cold an' unwelcome an' forgotten save by the silly ould shepherds from the hills! The silly ould shepherds from the strength o' the hills, who are comin' through the darkness in the lead o' the little folk! [_She speaks slower and lower, and finally drops into a quiet crooning--it stops and the Old Woman has fallen asleep._]
[_Curtain._]
[_While the curtain is down the pallid, sick woman upon the bed dies, the Old Woman being asleep does not notice the slight struggle with death. The fire has gone out in the stove, and the light in the lamp, and the stage is in complete darkness when the two girls come stumbling in. They are too tired to speak, too weary to show surprise that the occupants of the room are not awake. They fumble about, trying to find matches in the darkness, and finally discover them and a candle in the safe. They light the candle and place it upon the table by the scraggy little evergreen-tree. They turn about and discern their grandmother asleep in the rocking-chair. Hurriedly they turn to the bed and discover their mother lying there dead. For a full minute they stand gazing at her, the surprise, wonder, awe, misery increasing in their faces; then with screams they run to the bed, throw themselves on their knees and bury their faces, sobbing, in the bedclothes at the Woman's feet._]
[_Curtain._]
ILE
A PLAY
BY EUGENE G. O'NEILL
All rights reserved.
CHARACTERS
BEN [_the cabin boy_]. THE STEWARD. CAPTAIN KEENEY. SLOCUM [_second mate_]. MRS. KEENEY. JOE [_a harpooner_]. _Members of the crew of the Atlantic Queen._
ILE was first produced by the Provincetown Players, New York City, on the night of November 30th, 1917, with the following cast:
BEN [_the cabin boy_] _Harold Conley_. THE STEWARD _Robert Edwards_. CAPTAIN KEENEY _H. Collins_. MR. SLOCUM [_second mate_] _Ira Remsen_. MRS. KEENEY _Clara Savage_. JOE [_the harpooner_] _Lewis B. Ell_.
Produced under the direction of MISS NINA MOISE. Scenery by MR. LEWIS B. ELL.
Reprinted from "The Moon of the Caribbees and Six Other Plays of the Sea" by special permission of Eugene O'Neill. The professional and amateur stage rights on this play are strictly reserved by the author. Applications for permission to produce the play should be made to Mr. Eugene G. O'Neill, Provincetown, Mass.
ILE
A PLAY BY EUGENE G. O'NEILL
[_SCENE: Captain Keeney's cabin on board the steam whaling ship Atlantic Queen--a small, square compartment about eight feet high with a skylight in the center looking out on the poop deck. On the left (the stern of the ship) a long bench with rough cushions is built in against the wall. In front of the bench a table. Over the bench, several curtained port-holes._
_In the rear left, a door leading to the captain's sleeping quarters. To the right of the door a small organ, looking as if it were brand new, is placed against the wall._
_On the right, to the rear, a marble-topped sideboard. On the sideboard, a woman's sewing basket. Farther forward, a doorway leading to the companion-way, and past the officers' quarters to the main deck._
_In the center of the room, a stove. From the middle of the ceiling a hanging lamp is suspended. The walls of the cabin are painted white._
_There is no rolling of the ship, and the light which comes through the sky-light is sickly and faint, indicating one of those gray days of calm when ocean and sky are alike dead. The silence is unbroken except for the measured tread of some one walking up and down on the poop deck overhead._
_It is nearing two bells--one o'clock--in the afternoon of a day in the year 1895._
* * * * *
_At the rise of the curtain there is a moment of intense silence. Then The Steward enters and commences to clear the table of the few dishes which still remain on it after the Captain's dinner. He is an old, grizzled man dressed in dungaree pants, a sweater, and a woolen cap with ear flaps. His manner is sullen and angry. He stops stacking up the plates and casts a quick glance upward at the skylight; then tiptoes over to the closed door in rear and listens with his ear pressed to the crack. What he hears makes his face darken and he mutters a furious curse. There is a noise from the doorway on the right and he darts back to the table._
_Ben enters. He is an over-grown gawky boy with a long, pinched face. He is dressed in sweater, fur cap, etc. His teeth are chattering with the cold and he hurries to the stove where he stands for a moment shivering, blowing on his hands, slapping them against his sides, on the verge of crying._]
THE STEWARD [_in relieved tones--seeing who it is_]. Oh, 'tis you, is it? What're ye shiverin' 'bout? Stay by the stove where ye belong and ye'll find no need of chatterin'.
BEN. It's c-c-cold. [_Trying to control his chattering teeth--derisively._] Who d'ye think it were--the Old Man?
THE STEWARD [_makes a threatening move--Ben shrinks away_]. None o' your lip, young un, or I'll learn ye. [_More kindly._] Where was it ye've been all o' the time--the fo'c's'tle?
BEN. Yes.
THE STEWARD. Let the Old Man see ye up for'ard monkeyshinin' with the hands and ye'll get a hidin' ye'll not forget in a hurry.
BEN. Aw, he don't see nothin'. [_A trace of awe in his tones--he glances upward._] He jest walks up and down like he didn't notice nobody--and stares at the ice to the no'the'ard.
THE STEWARD [_the same tone of awe creeping into his voice_]. He's always starin' at the ice. [_In a sudden rage, shaking his fist at the skylight._] Ice, ice, ice! Damn him and damn the ice! Holdin' us in for nigh on a year--nothin' to see but ice--stuck in it like a fly in molasses!
BEN [_apprehensively_]. Ssshh! He'll hear ye.
THE STEWARD [_raging_]. Aye, damn, and damn the Arctic seas, and damn this rotten whalin' ship of his, and damn me for a fool to ever ship on it! [_Subsiding as if realizing the uselessness of this outburst--shaking his head--slowly, with deep conviction._] He's a hard man--as hard a man as ever sailed the seas.
BEN [_solemnly_]. Aye.
THE STEWARD. The two years we all signed up for are done this day! Two years o' this dog's life, and no luck in the fishin', and the hands half starved with the food runnin' low, rotten as it is; and not a sign of him turnin' back for home! [_Bitterly._] Home! I begin to doubt if ever I'll set foot on land again. [_Excitedly._] What is it he thinks he's goin' to do? Keep us all up here after our time is worked out till the last man of us is starved to death or frozen? We've grub enough hardly to last out the voyage back if we started now. What are the men goin' to do 'bout it? Did ye hear any talk in the fo'c's'tle?
BEN [_going over to him--in a half whisper_]. They said if he don't put back south for home to-day they're goin' to mutiny.
THE STEWARD [_with grim satisfaction_]. Mutiny? Aye, 'tis the only thing they can do; and serve him right after the manner he's treated them--'s if they weren't no better nor dogs.
BEN. The ice is all broke up to s'uth'ard. They's clear water s'far 's you can see. He ain't got no excuse for not turnin' back for home, the men says.
THE STEWARD [_bitterly_]. He won't look nowheres but no'the'ard where they's only the ice to see. He don't want to see no clear water. All he thinks on is gettin' the ile--'s if it was our fault he ain't had good luck with the whales. [_Shaking his head._] I think the man's mighty nigh losin' his senses.
BEN [_awed_]. D'you really think he's crazy?
THE STEWARD. Aye, it's the punishment o' God on him. Did ye ever hear of a man who wasn't crazy do the things he does? [_Pointing to the door in rear._] Who but a man that's mad would take his woman--and as sweet a woman as ever was--on a rotten whalin' ship to the Arctic seas to be locked in by the ice for nigh on a year, and maybe lose her senses forever--for it's sure she'll never be the same again.
BEN [_sadly_]. She useter be awful nice to me before--[_His eyes grow wide and frightened._] she got--like she is.
THE STEWARD. Aye, she was good to all of us. 'Twould have been hell on board without her; for he's a hard man--a hard, hard man--a driver if there ever was one. [_With a grim laugh._] I hope he's satisfied now--drivin' her on till she's near lost her mind. And who could blame her? 'Tis a God's wonder we're not a ship full of crazed people--with the ice all the time, and the quiet so thick you're afraid to hear your own voice.
BEN [_with a frightened glance toward the door on right_]. She don't never speak to me no more--jest looks at me 's if she didn't know me.
THE STEWARD. She don't know no one--but him. She talks to him--when she does talk--right enough.
BEN. She does nothin' all day long now but sit and sew--and then she cries to herself without makin' no noise. I've seen her.
THE STEWARD. Aye, I could hear her through the door a while back.
BEN [_tiptoes over to the door and listens_]. She's cryin' now.
THE STEWARD [_furiously--shaking his fist_]. God send his soul to hell for the devil he is!
[_There is the noise of some one coming slowly down the companion-way stairs. The Steward hurries to his stacked-up dishes. He is so nervous from fright that he knocks off the top one which falls and breaks on the floor. He stands aghast, trembling with dread. Ben is violently rubbing off the organ with a piece of cloth which he has snatched from his pocket. Captain Keeney appears in the doorway on right and comes into the cabin, removing his fur cap as he does so. He is a man of about forty, around five-ten in height but looking much shorter on account of the enormous proportions of his shoulders and chest. His face is massive and deeply lined, with gray-blue eyes of a bleak hardness, and a tightly-clenched, thin-lipped mouth. His thick hair is long and gray. He is dressed in a heavy blue jacket and blue pants stuffed into his sea-boots. He is followed into the cabin by the Second Mate, a rangy six-footer with a lean weather-beaten face. The Mate is dressed about the same as the captain. He is a man of thirty or so._]
KEENEY [_comes toward The Steward with a stern look on his face. The Steward is visibly frightened and the stack of dishes rattles in his trembling hands. Keeney draws back his fist and The Steward shrinks away. The fist is gradually lowered and Keeney speaks slowly_]. 'Twould be like hitting a worm. It is nigh on two bells, Mr. Steward, and this truck not cleared yet.
THE STEWARD [_stammering_]. Y-y-yes, sir.
KEENEY. Instead of doin' your rightful work ye've been below here gossipin' old women's talk with that boy. [_To Ben, fiercely._] Get out o' this you! Clean up the chart room. [_Ben darts past the Mate to the open doorway._] Pick up that dish, Mr. Steward!
THE STEWARD [_doing so with difficulty_]. Yes, sir.
KEENEY. The next dish you break, Mr. Steward, you take a bath in the Behring Sea at the end of a rope.
THE STEWARD [_trembling_]. Yes, sir.
[_He hurries out. The Second Mate walks slowly over to the Captain._]
MATE. I warn't 'specially anxious the man at the wheel should catch what I wanted to say to you, sir. That's why I asked you to come below.
KEENEY [_impatiently_]. Speak your say, Mr. Slocum.
MATE [_unconsciously lowering his voice_]. I'm afeared there'll be trouble with the hands by the look o' things. They'll likely turn ugly, every blessed one o' them, if you don't put back. The two years they signed up for is up to-day.
KEENEY. And d'you think you're tellin' me something new, Mr. Slocum? I've felt it in the air this long time past. D'you think I've not seen their ugly looks and the grudgin' way they worked?
[_The door in rear is opened and Mrs. Keeney stands in the doorway. She is a slight, sweet-faced little woman, primly dressed in black. Her eyes are red from weeping and her face drawn and pale. She takes in the cabin with a frightened glance and stands as if fixed to the spot by some nameless dread, clasping and unclasping her hands nervously. The two men turn and look at her._]
KEENEY [_with rough tenderness_]. Well, Annie?
MRS. KEENEY [_as if awakening from a dream_]. David, I--
[_She is silent. The Mate starts for the doorway._]
KEENEY [_turning to him--sharply_]. Wait!
MATE. Yes, sir.
KEENEY. D'you want anything, Annie?
MRS. KEENEY [_after a pause during which she seems to be endeavoring to collect her thoughts_]. I thought maybe--I'd go up on deck, David, to get a breath of fresh air.
[_She stands humbly awaiting his permission. He and The Mate exchange a significant glance._]
KEENEY. It's too cold, Annie. You'd best stay below. There's nothing to look at on deck--but ice.
MRS. KEENEY [_monotonously_]. I know--ice, ice, ice! But there's nothing to see down here but these walls.
[_She makes a gesture of loathing._]
KEENEY. You can play the organ, Annie.
MRS. KEENEY [_dully_]. I hate the organ. It puts me in mind of home.
KEENEY [_a touch of resentment in his voice_]. I got it jest for you!
MRS. KEENEY [_dully_]. I know. [_She turns away from them and walks slowly to the bench on left. She lifts up one of the curtains and looks through a porthole; then utters an exclamation of joy._] Ah, water! Clear water! As far as I can see! How good it looks after all these months of ice! [_She turns round to them, her face transfigured with joy._] Ah, now I must go up on deck and look at it, David!
KEENEY [_frowning_]. Best not to-day, Annie. Best wait for a day when the sun shines.
MRS. KEENEY [_desperately_]. But the sun never shines in this terrible place.
KEENEY [_a tone of command in his voice_]. Best not to-day, Annie.
MRS. KEENEY [_crumbling before this command--abjectly_]. Very well, David.
[_She stands there, staring straight before her as if in a daze.--The two men look at her uneasily._]
KEENEY [_sharply_]. Annie!
MRS. KEENEY [_dully_]. Yes, David.
KEENEY. Me and Mr. Slocum has business to talk about--ship's business.
MRS. KEENEY. Very well, David.
[_She goes slowly out, rear, and leaves the door three-quarters shut behind her._]
KEENEY. Best not have her on deck if they's goin' to be any trouble.
MATE. Yes, sir.
KEENEY. And trouble they's going to be. I feel it in my bones. [_Takes a revolver from the pocket of his coat and examines it._] Got your'n?
MATE. Yes, sir.
KEENEY. Not that we'll have to use 'em--not if I know their breed of dog--jest to frighten 'em up a bit. [_Grimly._] I ain't never been forced to use one yit; and trouble I've had by land and by sea s'long as I kin remember, and will have till my dyin' day, I reckon.
MATE [_hesitatingly_]. Then you ain't goin'--to turn back?
KEENEY. Turn back! Mr. Slocum, did you ever hear o' me pointin' s'uth for home with only a measly four hundred barrel of ile in the hold?
MATE [_hastily_]. But the grub's gittin' low.
KEENEY. They's enough to last a long time yit, if they're careful with it; and they's plenty of water.
MATE. They say it's not fit to eat--what's left; and the two years they signed on fur is up to-day. They might make trouble for you in the courts when we git home.
KEENEY. Let them make what law trouble they kin! I don't give a damn 'bout the money. I've got to git the ile! [_Glancing sharply at the Mate._] You ain't turnin' no sea lawyer, be you, Mr. Slocum?
MATE [_flushing_]. Not by a hell of a sight, sir.
KEENEY. What do the fools want to go home fur now? Their share o' the four hundred barrel wouldn't keep them in chewin' terbacco.
MATE [_slowly_]. They wants to git back to their old folks an' things, I s'pose.
KEENEY [_looking at him searchingly_]. 'N you want to turn back too. [_The Mate looks down confusedly before his sharp gaze._] Don't lie, Mr. Slocum. It's writ down plain in your eyes. [_With grim sarcasm._] I hope, Mr. Slocum, you ain't agoin' to jine the men agin me.
MATE [_indignantly_]. That ain't fair, sir, to say sich things.
KEENEY [_with satisfaction_]. I warn't much afeard o' that, Tom. You been with me nigh on ten year and I've learned ye whalin'. No man kin say I ain't a good master, if I be a hard one.
MATE. I warn't thinkin' of myself, sir--'bout turnin' home, I mean. [_Desperately._] But Mrs. Keeney, sir--seems like she ain't jest satisfied up here, ailin' like--what with the cold an' bad luck an' the ice an' all.
KEENEY [_his face clouding--rebukingly, but not severely_]. That's my business, Mr. Slocum. I'll thank you to steer a clear course o' that. [_A pause._] The ice'll break up soon to no'the'ard. I could see it startin' to-day. And when it goes and we git some sun Annie'll pick up. [_Another pause--then he bursts forth._] It ain't the damned money what's keepin' me up in the Northern seas, Tom. But I can't go back to Homeport with a measly four hundred barrel of ile. I'd die fust. I ain't never come back home in all my days without a full ship. Ain't that true?
MATE. Yes, sir; but this voyage you been ice-bound, an'--
KEENEY [_scornfully_]. And d'you s'pose any of 'em would believe that--any o' them skippers I've beaten voyage after voyage? Can't you hear 'em laughin' and sneerin'--Tibbots n' Harris n' Simms and the rest--and all o' Homeport makin' fun o' me? "Dave Keeney, what boasts he's the best whalin' skipper out o' Homeport, comin' back with a measly four hundred barrel of ile!" [_The thought of this drives him into a frenzy and he smashes his fist down on the marble top of the sideboard._] I got to git the ile, I tell you! How could I figger on this ice? It's never been so bad before in the thirty year I been acomin' here. And now it's breakin' up. In a couple o' days it'll be all gone. And they's whale here, plenty of 'em. I know they is and I ain't never gone wrong yit. I got to git the ile! I got to git it in spite of all hell, and by God, I ain't agoin' home till I do git it!
[_There is the sound of subdued sobbing from the door in rear. The two men stand silent for a moment, listening. Then Keeney goes over to the door and looks in. He hesitates for a moment as if he were going to enter--then closes the door softly. Joe, the harpooner, an enormous six-footer with a battered, ugly face, enters from right and stands waiting for the Captain to notice him._]
KEENEY [_turning and seeing him_]. Don't be standin' there like a hawk, Harpooner. Speak up!
JOE [_confusedly_]. We want--the men, sir--they wants to send a depitation aft to have a word with you.
KEENEY [_furiously_]. Tell 'em to go to--[_Checks himself and continues grimly._] Tell 'em to come. I'll see 'em.
JOE. Aye, aye, sir.
[_He goes out._]
KEENEY [_with a grim smile_]. Here it comes, the trouble you spoke of, Mr. Slocum, and we'll make short shift of it. It's better to crush such things at the start than let them make headway.
MATE [_worriedly_]. Shall I wake up the First and Fourth, sir? We might need their help.
KEENEY. No, let them sleep. I'm well able to handle this alone, Mr. Slocum.
[_There is the shuffling of footsteps from outside and five of the crew crowd into the cabin, led by Joe. All are dressed alike--sweaters, sea boots, etc. They glance uneasily at the Captain, twirling their fur caps in their hands._]
KEENEY [_after a pause_]. Well? Who's to speak fur ye?
JOE [_stepping forward with an air of bravado_]. I be.
KEENEY [_eyeing him up and down coldly_]. So you be. Then speak your say and be quick about it.
JOE [_trying not to wilt before the Captain's glance and avoiding his eyes_]. The time we signed up for is done to-day.
KEENEY [_icily_]. You're tellin' me nothin' I don't know.
JOE. You ain't p'intin' fur home yit, far s'we kin see.
KEENEY. No, and I ain't agoin' to till this ship is full of ile.
JOE. You can't go no further no'the with the ice before ye.
KEENEY. The ice is breaking up.
JOE [_after a slight pause, during which the others mumble angrily to one another_]. The grub we're gittin' now is rotten.
KEENEY. It's good enough fur ye. Better men than ye are have eaten worse.
[_There is a chorus of angry exclamations from the crowd._]
JOE [_encouraged by this support_]. We ain't agoin' to work no more less you puts back for home.
KEENEY [_fiercely_]. You ain't, ain't you?
JOE. No; and the law courts'll say we was right.
KEENEY. To hell with your law courts! We're at sea now and I'm the law on this ship! [_Edging up toward the harpooner._] And every mother's son of you what don't obey orders goes in irons.
[_There are more angry exclamations from the crew. Mrs. Keeney appears in the doorway in rear and looks on with startled eyes. None of the men notice her._]
JOE [_with bravado_]. Then we're agoin' to mutiny and take the old hooker home ourselves. Ain't we, boys?
[_As he turns his head to look at the others, Keeney's fist shoots out to the side of his jaw. Joe goes down in a heap and lies there. Mrs. Keeney gives a shriek and hides her face in her hands. The men pull out their sheath knives and start a rush, but stop when they find themselves confronted by the revolvers of Keeney and the Mate._]
KEENEY [_his eyes and voice snapping_]. Hold still! [_The men stand huddled together in a sullen silence. Keeney's voice is full of mockery._] You's found out it ain't safe to mutiny on this ship, ain't you? And now git for'ard where ye belong, and--[_He gives Joe's body a contemptuous kick._] drag him with you. And remember, the first man of ye I see shirkin' I'll shoot dead as sure as there's a sea under us, and you can tell the rest the same. Git for'ard now! Quick! [_The men leave in cowed silence, carrying Joe with them. Keeney turns to the Mate with a short laugh and puts his revolver back in his pocket._] Best get up on deck, Mr. Slocum, and see to it they don't try none of their skulkin' tricks. We'll have to keep an eye peeled from now on. I know 'em.
MATE. Yes, sir.
[_He goes out, right. Keeney hears his wife's hysterical weeping and turns around in surprise--then walks slowly to her side._]
KEENEY [_putting an arm around her shoulder--with gruff tenderness_]. There, there, Annie. Don't be feared. It's all past and gone.
MRS. KEENEY [_shrinking away from him_]. Oh, I can't bear it! I can't bear it any longer!
KEENEY [_gently_]. Can't bear what, Annie?
MRS. KEENEY [_hysterically_]. All this horrible brutality, and these brutes of men, and this terrible ship, and this prison cell of a room, and the ice all around, and the silence.
[_After this outburst she calms down and wipes her eyes with her handkerchief._]
KEENEY [_after a pause during which he looks down at her with a puzzled frown_]. Remember, I warn't hankerin' to have you come on this voyage, Annie.
MRS. KEENEY. I wanted to be with you, David, don't you see? I didn't want to wait back there in the house all alone as I've been doing these last six years since we were married--waiting, and watching, and fearing--with nothing to keep my mind occupied--not able to go back teaching school on account of being Dave Keeney's wife. I used to dream of sailing on the great, wide, glorious ocean. I wanted to be by your side in the danger and vigorous life of it all. I wanted to see you the hero they make you out to be in Homeport. And instead [_Her voice grows tremulous_] all I find is ice and cold--and brutality! [_Her voice breaks._]
KEENEY. I warned you what it'd be, Annie. "Whalin' ain't no ladies' tea party," I says to you, "and you better stay to home where you've got all your woman's comforts." [_Shaking his head._] But you was so set on it.
MRS. KEENEY [_wearily_]. Oh, I know it isn't your fault, David. You see, I didn't believe you. I guess I was dreaming about the old Vikings in the story books and I thought you were one of them.
KEENEY [_protestingly_]. I done my best to make it as cozy and comfortable as could be. [_Mrs. Keeney looks around her in wild scorn._] I even sent to the city for that organ for ye, thinkin' it might be soothin' to ye to be playin' it times when they was calms and things was dull like.
MRS. KEENEY [_wearily_]. Yes, you were very kind, David. I know that. [_She goes to left and lifts the curtains from the porthole and looks out--then suddenly bursts forth_]: I won't stand it--I can't stand it--pent up by these walls like a prisoner. [_She runs over to him and throws her arms around him, weeping. He puts his arm protectingly over her shoulders._] Take me away from here, David! If I don't get away from here, out of this terrible ship, I'll go mad! Take me home, David! I can't think any more. I feel as if the cold and the silence were crushing down on my brain. I'm afraid. Take me home!
KEENEY [_holds her at arm's length and looks at her face anxiously_]. Best go to bed, Annie. You ain't yourself. You got fever. Your eyes look so strange like. I ain't never seen you look this way before.
MRS. KEENEY [_laughing hysterically_]. It's the ice and the cold and the silence--they'd make any one look strange.
KEENEY [_soothingly_]. In a month or two, with good luck, three at the most, I'll have her filled with ile and then we'll give her everything she'll stand and p'int for home.
MRS. KEENEY. But we can't wait for that--I can't wait. I want to get home. And the men won't wait. They want to get home. It's cruel, it's brutal for you to keep them. You must sail back. You've got no excuse. There's clear water to the south now. If you've a heart at all you've got to turn back.
KEENEY [_harshly_]. I can't, Annie.
MRS. KEENEY. Why can't you?
KEENEY. A woman couldn't rightly understand my reason.
MRS. KEENEY [_wildly_]. Because it's a stubborn reason. Oh, I heard you talking with the second mate. You're afraid the other captains will sneer at you because you didn't come back with a full ship. You want to live up to your silly reputation even if you do have to beat and starve men and drive me mad to do it.
KEENEY [_his jaw set stubbornly_]. It ain't that, Annie. Them skippers would never dare sneer to my face. It ain't so much what any one'd say--but--[_He hesitates, struggling to express his meaning_] you see--I've always done it--since my first voyage as skipper. I always come back--with a full ship--and--it don't seem right not to--somehow. I been always first whalin' skipper out o' Homeport, and--don't you see my meanin', Annie? [_He glances at her. She is not looking at him, but staring dully in front of her, not hearing a word he is saying._] Annie! [_She comes to herself with a start._] Best turn in, Annie, there's a good woman. You ain't well.
MRS. KEENEY [_resisting his attempts to guide her to the door in rear_]. David! Won't you please turn back?
KEENEY [_gently_]. I can't, Annie--not yet awhile. You don't see my meanin'. I got to git the ile.
MRS. KEENEY. It'd be different if you needed the money, but you don't. You've got more than plenty.
KEENEY [_impatiently_]. It ain't the money I'm thinkin' of. D'you think I'm as mean as that?
MRS. KEENEY [_dully_]. No--I don't know--I can't understand. [_Intensely._] Oh, I want to be home in the old house once more, and see my own kitchen again, and hear a woman's voice talking to me and be able to talk to her. Two years! It seems so long ago--as if I'd been dead and could never go back.
KEENEY [_worried by her strange tone and the far-away look in her eyes_.] Best go to bed, Annie. You ain't well.
MRS. KEENEY [_not appearing to hear him_]. I used to be lonely when you were away. I used to think Homeport was a stupid, monotonous place. Then I used to go down on the beach, especially when it was windy and the breakers were rolling in, and I'd dream of the fine, free life you must be leading. [_She gives a laugh which is half a sob._] I used to love the sea then. [_She pauses; then continues with slow intensity._] But now--I don't ever want to see the sea again.
KEENEY [_thinking to humor her_]. 'Tis no fit place for a woman, that's sure. I was a fool to bring ye.
MRS. KEENEY [_after a pause--passing her hand over her eyes with a gesture of pathetic weariness_]. How long would it take us to reach home--if we started now?
KEENEY [_frowning_]. 'Bout two months, I reckon, Annie, with fair luck.
MRS. KEENEY [_counts on her fingers--then murmurs with a rapt smile_]. That would be August, the latter part of August, wouldn't it? It was on the twenty-fifth of August we were married, David, wasn't it?
KEENEY [_trying to conceal the fact that her memories have moved him--gruffly_]. Don't you remember?
MRS. KEENEY [_vaguely--again passes her hand over her eyes_]. My memory is leaving me--up here in the ice. It was so long ago. [_A pause--then she smiles dreamily._] It's June now. The lilacs will be all in bloom in the front yard--and the climbing roses on the trellis to the side of the house--they're budding--
[_She suddenly covers her face with her hands and commences to sob._]
KEENEY [_disturbed_]. Go in and rest, Annie. You're all worn out cryin' over what can't be helped.
MRS. KEENEY [_suddenly throwing her arms around his neck and clinging to him_]. You love me, don't you, David?
KEENEY [_in amazed embarrassment at this outburst_]. Love you? Why d'you ask me such a question, Annie?
MRS. KEENEY [_shaking him fiercely_]. But you do, don't you, David? Tell me!
KEENEY. I'm your husband, Annie, and you're my wife. Could there be aught but love between us after all these years?
MRS. KEENEY [_shaking him again--still more fiercely_]. Then you do love me. Say it!
KEENEY [_simply_]. I do, Annie.
MRS. KEENEY [_gives a sigh of relief--her hands drop to her sides. Keeney regards her anxiously. She passes her hand across her eyes and murmurs half to herself_]: I sometimes think if we could only have had a child--[_Keeney turns away from her, deeply moved. She grabs his arm and turns him around to face her--intensely._] And I've always been a good wife to you, haven't I, David?
KEENEY [_his voice betraying his emotion_]. No man has ever had a better, Annie.
MRS. KEENEY. And I've never asked for much from you, have I, David? Have I?
KEENEY. You know you could have all I got the power to give ye, Annie.
MRS. KEENEY [_wildly_]. Then do this, this once, for my sake, for God's sake--take me home! It's killing me, this life--the brutality and cold and horror of it. I'm going mad. I can feel the threat in the air. I can't bear the silence threatening me--day after gray day and every day the same. I can't bear it. [_Sobbing._] I'll go mad, I know I will. Take me home, David, if you love me as you say. I'm afraid. For the love of God, take me home!
[_She throws her arms around him, weeping against his shoulder. His face betrays the tremendous struggle going on within him. He holds her out at arm's length, his expression softening. For a moment his shoulders sag, he becomes old, his iron spirit weakens as he looks at her tear-stained face._]
KEENEY [_dragging out the words with an effort_]. I'll do it, Annie--for your sake--if you say it's needful for ye.
MRS. KEENEY [_with wild joy--kissing him_]. God bless you for that, David!
[_He turns away from her silently and walks toward the companion-way. Just at that moment there is a clatter of footsteps on the stairs and the Second Mate enters the cabin._]
MATE [_excitedly_]. The ice is breakin' up to no'the'ard, sir. There's a clear passage through the floe, and clear water beyond, the lookout says.
[_Keeney straightens himself like a man coming out of a trance. Mrs. Keeney looks at the Mate with terrified eyes._]
KEENEY [_dazedly--trying to collect his thoughts_]. A clear passage? To no'the'ard?
MATE. Yes, sir.
KEENEY [_his voice suddenly grim with determination_]. Then get her ready and we'll drive her through.
MATE. Aye, aye, sir.
MRS. KEENEY [_appealingly_]. David! David!
KEENEY [_not heeding her_]. Will the men turn to willin' or must we drag 'em out?
MATE. They'll turn to willin' enough. You put the fear o' God into 'em, sir. They're meek as lambs.
KEENEY. Then drive 'em--both watches. [_With grim determination._] They's whale t'other side o' this floe and we're agoin' to git 'em.
MATE. Aye, aye, sir.
[_He goes out hurriedly. A moment later there is the sound of scuffling feet from the deck outside and the Mate's voice shouting orders._]
KEENEY [_speaking aloud to himself--derisively_]. And I was agoin' home like a yaller dog!
MRS. KEENEY [_imploringly_]. David!
KEENEY [_sternly_]. Woman, you ain't adoin' right when you meddle in men's business and weaken 'em. You can't know my feelin's. I got to prove a man to be a good husband for ye to take pride in. I got to git the ile, I tell ye.
MRS. KEENEY [_supplicatingly_]. David! Aren't you going home?
KEENEY [_ignoring this question--commandingly_]. You ain't well. Go and lay down a mite. [_He starts for the door._] I got to git on deck.
[_He goes out. She cries after him in anguish, "David!" A pause. She passes her hand across her eyes--then commences to laugh hysterically and goes to the organ. She sits down and starts to play wildly an old hymn, "There is rest for the weary." Keeney reenters from the doorway to the deck and stands looking at her angrily. He comes over and grabs her roughly by the shoulder._]
KEENEY. Woman, what foolish mockin' is this? [_She laughs wildly and he starts back from her in alarm._] Annie! What is it? [_She doesn't answer him. Keeney's voice trembles._] Don't you know me, Annie?
[_He puts both hands on her shoulders and turns her around so that he can look into her eyes. She stares up at him with a stupid expression, a vague smile on her lips. He stumbles away from her, and she commences softly to play the organ again._]
KEENEY [_swallowing hard--in a hoarse whisper, as if he had difficulty in speaking_]. You said--you was agoin' mad--God!
[_A long wail is heard from the deck above, "Ah, bl-o-o-o-ow!" A moment later the Mate's face appears through the skylight. He cannot see Mrs. Keeney._]
MATE [_in great excitement_]. Whales, sir--a whole school of 'em--off the star-b'd quarter 'bout five miles away--big ones!
KEENEY [_galvanized into action_]. Are you lowerin' the boats?
MATE. Yes, sir.
KEENEY [_with grim decision_]. I'm acomin' with ye.
MATE. Aye, aye, sir. [_Jubilantly._] You'll git the ile now right enough, sir.
[_His head is withdrawn and he can be heard shouting orders._]
KEENEY [_turning to his wife_]. Annie! Did you hear him? I'll git the ile. [_She doesn't answer or seem to know he is there. He gives a hard laugh which is almost a groan._] I know you're foolin' me, Annie. You ain't out of your mind--[_Anxiously._] be you? I'll git the ile now right enough--jest a little while longer, Annie--then we'll turn home'ard. I can't turn back now, you see that, don't you? I've got to git the ile. [_In sudden terror._] Answer me! You ain't mad, be you?
[_She keeps on playing the organ, but makes no reply. The Mate's face appears again through the skylight._]
MATE. All ready, sir.
[_Keeney turns his back on his wife and strides to the doorway, where he stands for a moment and looks back at her in anguish, fighting to control his feelings._]
MATE. Comin', sir?
KEENEY [_his face suddenly grows hard with determination_]. Aye.
[_He turns abruptly and goes out. Mrs. Keeney does not appear to notice his departure. Her whole attention seems centered in the organ. She sits with half-closed eyes, her body swaying a little from side to side to the rhythm of the hymn. Her fingers move faster and faster and she is playing wildly and discordantly as the_
_Curtain falls._]
THE NURSERY MAID OF HEAVEN
A MIRACLE PLAY
BY THOMAS WOOD STEVENS
Based on a story by Vernon Lee. Copyright, 1920, by Thomas Wood Stevens. All rights reserved.
THE NURSERY MAID OF HEAVEN was first produced by the School of the Drama, Carnegie Institute of Technology, Pittsburgh, Pa., on the night of November 14, 1919, with the following cast:
SISTER BENVENUTA _Hazel Beck_. SISTER GRIMANA _Alicia S. Guthrie_. SISTER ROSALBA _Grey McAuley_. THE ABBESS _Dorothy Rubinstein_. THE SISTER SACRISTAN _Inez D. R. Hazel_. ATALANTA BADOER [_a novice_] _Carolyn McCampbell_. ABBE FILOSI _Wm. R. Dean_. THE PUPPET MAN _Lawrence Paquin_. BEELZEBUBB SATANASSO _James S. Church_.