ACT THREE
SCENE: _The same as in Acts One and Two; it is early afternoon of the next day; the door leading outdoors is a little open; when the curtain is drawn CRAIG is seen outside, just passing the window, as one who is walking back and forth in thinking. In the room are LAURA and the FATHER--the FATHER sitting at the table by the stairs--LAURA, standing, watches CRAIG pass the door; she has in her hand a paper on which are some memoranda. After watching CRAIG she sighs, looks at her notes, sits down._
LAURA
I’m sorry to be troubling you, Mr. Allen. Certainly you should not be asked to discuss these matters about--arrangements. But really, you and I seem the only people who are capable of going on with things. I must say, I don’t know what to make of everyone else. They all seem to be trying to--keep away from one. I think that’s a little unnecessary. Of course I know what grief does, and I’m sure I have every consideration for that, but really--I’m sorry Craig keeps his own sister out. When I’m here to help him. And Abbie--why she seems to have lost her head. Just when it’s so important that she look after things. And as to Margaret Pierce--she certainly is worse than useless. I don’t see what she came for if she didn’t want to be helpful.
FATHER
Margaret and Bernice were very dear friends, Laura.
LAURA
Is that any reason for not being helpful in Bernice’s household at a time like this? Really I do like control. [_After looking at her notes._] Then the minister will come here at three, Mr. Allen. Why that will be little more than an hour! Think of things having been neglected like this! [_As CRAIG, having turned in his walk, is again passing the door._] Craig! [_He steps to the door._] The minister, Mr. Howe, will come here, Craig, at three.
CRAIG
What for?
LAURA
Craig! What _for_?
CRAIG
I don’t see why he comes here. Why Bernice scarcely knew him. [_To her father._] Did Bernice know him?
FATHER
Well, I don’t know whether she knew him, but--
LAURA
It is not a personal matter, Craig.
CRAIG
I think it is. Very personal.
LAURA
You mean to say you are not going to have any _service_?
CRAIG
I haven’t thought anything about it. Oh, Laura! How can I think of such things now?
LAURA
Well, I will think of them for you, dear.
CRAIG
Don’t bring him here. He can go--[_Stops_] there, if he wants to. Where--we have to go. Not here. In her own house. The very last thing.
FATHER
I’m afraid it will seem strange, Craig.
CRAIG
Strange? Do I care if it seems strange? Bernice seemed strange too. But she wasn’t strange. She was wonderful. [_Putting out his hand impatiently._] Oh, _no_, Laura. There’s so much else to think of--now.
[_He steps out of the door and stands there, his back to the room._
FATHER
[_In a low voice._] I wonder--could we go somewhere else? Into my room, perhaps. I’m afraid we are keeping Craig out of here. And I think he wants to be here--near Bernice. We will be undisturbed in my room.
[_He gets up and goes to the door of his room, LAURA turns to follow. Outside CRAIG passes from sight._
LAURA
I think it’s too bad things have to be made so--complicated.
FATHER
[_After opening the door._] Oh, Margaret is in here.
MARGARET
[_From the other room._] I was just going out. I just came in here to--[_Enters._] I just went in there--I didn’t think about it being your room.
FATHER
Why that was quite all right, Margaret. I’m only sorry to disturb you.
MARGARET
No. That doesn’t matter. I--wasn’t doing anything.
LAURA
There is a great deal to do.
[_She follows the FATHER into his room. MARGARET walks across the room, walks back, stands still, head bent, hands pressing her temples. ABBIE comes part way down the stairs, sees MARGARET, stands still as if not to be heard, turns to go back upstairs._
MARGARET
[_Hearing her, looking up._] Abbie! [_ABBIE comes slowly down._] Where is he, Mr. Norris? Where is he?
ABBIE
I don’t know. He was here a little while ago. Perhaps he went out.
[_Indicating the open door._
MARGARET
I have to tell him!
ABBIE
[_After an incredulous moment._] Tell _him_ what you made me tell you?
MARGARET
Of course I have to tell him! You think I can leave that on him? And the things I said to him--they were not just.
ABBIE
And you’d rather be “just” than leave it as she wanted it?
MARGARET
Oh, but Abbie--what she _wanted_--[_Holds up her hand as if to shut something from her eyes._] No. You can’t put that on anyone. I couldn’t _live_--feeling I had left on him what shouldn’t be there.
ABBIE
But you wouldn’t tell him _now_?
MARGARET
I must tell him now. Or I won’t tell him. And I must go away. I can’t stay. I can’t stay here.
ABBIE
But what will they think--your leaving? You mean--before we’ve taken _her_ away?
MARGARET
Oh, I don’t know. How can I--plan it out? I’m going as soon as I can tell him. All night--all day--I’ve been trying to tell him--and when I get near him--I run away. _Why did you tell me?_
ABBIE
[_Harshly._] Why did you _know_--what you weren’t to know? But if you have some way of knowing what you aren’t told--you think you have the right to do _your_ thing with that? Undo what she did? What _I_ did? Do you know what it took _out_ of me to do this? There’s nothing left of me.
MARGARET
[_With a laugh. Right on the verge of being not herself._] No. You’re a wreck. Another wreck. It’s your Darwinian theory. Your free speech.
ABBIE
Oh, I was afraid of you. I didn’t want you to come. I knew you’d--get _to_ things.
[_ABBIE goes to the door and looks out._
MARGARET
He is out there?
ABBIE
Yes.
[_MARGARET tries to go; moves just a little._] And you’d go to him and--what _for_?
MARGARET
Because I can’t _live_--leaving that on him--having him think--when I know he didn’t. I can’t leave that on him one more hour.
ABBIE
[_Standing in the door to block her going._] And when you take that from him--_what do you give to him?_
[_They stare at one another; MARGARET falls back._
MARGARET
Don’t ask me to see so many things, Abbie. I can only see this thing. I’ve grown afraid of seeing.
ABBIE
[_After looking at her, seeing something of her suffering._] Miss Margaret, why did you do what you did last night? How did you know?
MARGARET
I don’t know.
ABBIE
But you knew.
MARGARET
No. I didn’t _know_. I didn’t know. It didn’t come from me. It came--from the rightness.
[_A laugh._
ABBIE
If you could get that without being told--why don’t you get more without being told? [_MARGARET gives her a startled look._] For you will never be told.
MARGARET
You know _more_?
ABBIE
No. My knowing stops with what you got from me last night. But I knew her. I thought maybe, as you have some way of knowing what you aren’t told, you could--see into this. _See._
MARGARET
I’ve lost my seeing. It was through her I saw. It was through Bernice I could see. And now it’s dark. [_Slowly turning toward the closed room._] Oh, how still death is.
[_The two women are as if caught into this stillness._
ABBIE
[_Looking from the door._] He turned this way. [_Swiftly turning back to MARGARET._] But you _couldn’t_ tell him.
MARGARET
No, I can’t. Yes, I must! I tell you there’s something in me can’t _stand_ it to see any one go down under a thing he shouldn’t have to bear. Why that feeling has made my life! Do you think I’ve _wanted_ to do the kind of work I do? Don’t you think I’d like to be doing--happier things? But there’s something in my blood _drives_ me to--what’s right.
ABBIE
And something in _my_ blood drives me to what’s right! And I went against it--went against my whole life--so she could rest. I did it because I loved her. But you didn’t love her.
MARGARET
Oh--Abbie!
ABBIE
Not as you love--what’s right. If you loved her, don’t you want to protect her--now that she lies dead in there? [_Her voice breaking._] Oh, Miss Margaret, it was right at the very _end_ of her life. Maybe when we’re going to die things we’ve borne all our lives are things we can’t bear any longer. Just--don’t count that last hour.
MARGARET
[_After a moment of being swayed by this._] Yet you counted it, Abbie. You did what she said--because of the strength of her. You told me last night--her mind was there. Terrible the way it was right _there_. She hadn’t left her life.
ABBIE
Well, and if she hadn’t left her life! If all those years with him there was something she hid, and if she seemed to feel--what she didn’t feel. She did it well, didn’t she?--and almost to the last. Shan’t we hide it now? For her? You and me, who loved her--isn’t she _safe_--with us? [_Going nearer MARGARET._] Perhaps if you would go in there now--
MARGARET
Oh no--no.
ABBIE
[_In a last deeply emotional appeal._] Miss Margaret, didn’t she do a good deal for you?
MARGARET
_Do_ a good deal for me? Yes. Yes!
ABBIE
Yes. She did for me. I--I’m something _more_ on account of her. Aren’t you?
MARGARET
Yes.
ABBIE
Yes, I think you are too. I can see myself as I’d have been if my life hadn’t been lived round her. [_Thinks, shakes her head._] It would be left you--what feels and knows it feels. And you said it was through Bernice you could see. Well, lets forget what we don’t want to know! On account of what we are that we wouldn’t have been--lets put it out of our minds! One ugly thing in a whole beautiful life! Let it go! And let all the rest live! [_They can see CRAIG outside._] Oh--do this for _her_. _Make_ yourself do it. Let _that_ be what’s dead--and let all the rest live! You were _her_ friend not his.
[_CRAIG turns to the house, but when about to come in, turns away, covering his face._
MARGARET
[_Taking hold of ABBIE._] You see? He thinks she loved him and he killed her. He might do what he thinks she did!
ABBIE
[_Falling back._] O-h.
[_CRAIG comes in, stands by the door; MARGARET has drawn ABBIE over near the stairway. He sees them, but gives no heed to them, immersed in what he is living through. While he stands there MARGARET does not move. He turns toward the room where Bernice is; when he moves MARGARET goes a little toward him--his back is to her; ABBIE moves to step between CRAIG and MARGARET; MARGARET puts her aside. But when CRAIG comes to the closed door, and stands there an instant before it, not opening it, MARGARET too stops, as if she cannot come nearer him. It is only after he has opened the door and closed it behind him that she goes to it. She puts out her hands, but she does not even touch the door and when she cannot do this she covers her face and, head bent, stands there before the closed door. LAURA and the FATHER come out from the room where they have been. As they enter ABBIE slowly goes out, toward the kitchen._
LAURA
[_After looking at MARGARET, who has not moved._] We are going in an hour, Margaret.
MARGARET
Going?
LAURA
Taking Bernice to the cemetery.
MARGARET
Oh. Are we?
[_After a look which shows her disapproval LAURA goes out, following ABBIE._
FATHER
[_Sitting._] I can’t believe that, Margaret.
MARGARET
No. [_MARGARET sits in the window seat, by which she has been standing. As if she is just realizing what they have said._] You say--we are taking Bernice away from here--in an hour?
FATHER
Yes. Think of it, Margaret. I just can’t--take it in.
MARGARET
No.
FATHER
There is something I want to tell you, Margaret. [_MARGARET gives him a quick look, then turns away, as if afraid._] I’ve been wanting to tell you--but it’s hard to talk of such things. But before we--take Bernice away, before you--see her the last time--I want you to know. That night--the night Bernice died--at the very last, Abbie was afraid then--and had called to me. Abbie and I were in there and--Abbie went out, about the telephone call we had in for the doctor. I was all alone in there a few minutes--right at the last. Bernice said one last word, Margaret. Your name.
MARGARET
She called to me?
FATHER
No, I wouldn’t say she called to you. Just said your name. The way we say things to ourselves--say them without knowing we were going to say them. She didn’t really say it. She breathed it. It seemed to come from her whole life.
MARGARET
O-h. Then it wasn’t as if she had left me? It wasn’t as if anything was in between--
FATHER
Why no, Margaret. What an idea. Why I don’t think you ever were as close to Bernice as when she said your name and died.
[_MARGARET’S head goes down; she is crying. CRAIG comes out, carefully closing the door behind him. Partly crosses the room, looks uncertainly at the outer door as if to go outside again._
FATHER
Sit down, Craig. [_CRAIG does this._] Let’s not try to keep away from each other now. We’re all going through the same thing--in our--our different ways. [_A pause. MARGARET raises her head; she is turned a little away from the other two._] I was so glad when you came, Margaret. I don’t want Bernice to slip away from us. In an hour we--take her away from here--out of this house she loved. I don’t want her to slip away from us. She loved you so, Margaret. Didn’t she, Craig?
CRAIG
Yes. She did love Margaret.
FATHER
Oh, yes. “Margaret sees things,” she’d say. [_Wistfully._] She had great beauty--didn’t she, Margaret?
MARGARET
I always thought so.
FATHER
Oh, yes. I was thinking last night--malice was not in Bernice. I never knew her to do a--really unfriendly thing to any one. [_Again in that wistful way._] You know, Margaret, I had thought you would say things like this--and better than I can say them, to--to keep my little girl for us all. I suppose I’m a foolish old man but I seem to want them said. [_Pause. MARGARET seems to try to speak, but does not._] I think it was gentle of Bernice to be amused by things she--perhaps couldn’t admire in us she loved. Me. I suppose she might have liked a father who amounted to more--but she always seemed to take pleasure in me. Affectionate amusement. Didn’t you feel that in Bernice, Craig?
CRAIG
Yes--that was one thing. A surface for other things. [_He speaks out of pain, but out of pain which wants, if it can, to speak._] But only a surface. [_With passion._] _All_ of Bernice went into her love for me. Those big impersonal things--they were not apart. _All_ of Bernice--loved me. [_His voice breaks, he goes to the door, starts out. Suddenly steps back--with a quick rough turn to her._] Isn’t that so, Margaret?
MARGARET
I can see--what you mean, Craig.
FATHER
Why of course Bernice loved you. I know that.
[_Craig goes outside._
[_Looking after him._] I hope I didn’t send Craig away. You and he would rather not talk. Perhaps that is better. I seem to want to--gather up things that will keep Bernice. It’s so easy for the dead to slip from us. But I mustn’t bother you.
MARGARET
Oh, you aren’t! I--I’m sorry I’m not--doing more. I’m pulled down.
FATHER
I know, Margaret. I can see that. Another time you and I will talk of Bernice. I didn’t mean she didn’t love Craig. Of course not. Only [_Hesitatingly_] I did feel that much as went into her loving--there was more than went into her loving.
MARGARET
Yes.
FATHER
I think it wasn’t that she--wanted it that way. You know, Margaret, I felt something--very wistful in Bernice. [_MARGARET looks at him, nods._] In this calm now--I feel the wistfulness there was in her other calm.
MARGARET
Yes.
FATHER
As if she wanted to give us more. Oh--she gave more than any one else could have given. But not _all_ she was. And she would like to have given us--all she was. She wanted to give--what couldn’t be given. [_Pause._] You know what I mean, Margaret?
MARGARET
Yes, I do know.
FATHER
And so--wistfulness. I see it now. [_After thinking._] I think Bernice feared she was not a very good wife for Craig. [_MARGARET gives him a startled look._] Little things she’d say. I don’t know--perhaps I’m wrong. [_After a move of MARGARET’S._] You were going to say something, Margaret.
MARGARET
No. I was just thinking of what you said.
FATHER
Craig didn’t dominate Bernice. I don’t know whose fault it was. I don’t know that it was anyone’s fault. Just the way things were. He--I say it in all kindness, he just didn’t--have it in him. [_Slowly._] As I haven’t had certain things in me.
[_ABBIE comes in._
ABBIE
People are coming. The Aldrichs--other neighbors.
FATHER
Oh--they are coming? [_With pain._] Already? Oh. They are to wait in the south room--till a little later. I’ll speak to them.
[_They go out; MARGARET has a moment alone. Then CRAIG comes in from outside._
CRAIG
People are beginning to come. I suppose they’ll come in here soon. I--I don’t want them to.
[_LAURA enters with boxes of flowers._
Oh--Laura, _please_. Bernice _loved_ flowers.
LAURA
Well--_Craig_.
CRAIG
Would you take them around the other way? Or keep them till later--or something. I don’t _want_ them here!
[_LAURA goes out._
CRAIG
I don’t want things to be different. Not now--in the last hour. It’s still Bernice’s house. [_After watching her a moment._] Margaret, I’m afraid I shouldn’t have told you. It’s doing too much to you. Surely--no matter what you feel about me--this--what I told you--isn’t going to keep you away from Bernice?
MARGARET
No, Craig. What you told me--isn’t going to do that.
CRAIG
I shouldn’t have told you. But there are things--too much to be alone with. And yet--we are alone with them. [_He is seated, looking out toward the woods. Very slowly--with deep feeling._] It is a different world. Life will never be--that old thing again.
MARGARET
[_Rising._] Craig! [_He looks at her._] Craig, I must tell you--
[_She does not go on._
CRAIG
[_After waiting an instant, looks away._] I know. We can’t say things. When we get right _to_ life--we can’t say things.
MARGARET
But I must say them. I have to tell you--life need not be a different thing.
CRAIG
_Need_ not? You think I want that old thing back? Pretending. Fumbling. Always trying to seem something--to feel myself something. No. That’s a strange thing for you to say, Margaret--that I can go back to my make-believe, now that I’ve got _to_ life. This--[_As if he cannot speak of it_] _this_--even more than it makes me want to die it makes me want to--Oh, Margaret, if I could have Bernice now--_knowing_. And yet--I never had her until now. This--has given Bernice to me.
MARGARET
[_As if his words are a light she is almost afraid to use._] This--has given Bernice to you?
CRAIG
I was thinking--walking out there I was thinking, if I knew only--what I knew when I came here--that Bernice was dead--I wonder if I could have got past that failure.
MARGARET
Failure, Craig?
CRAIG
Of never having had her. That she had lived, and loved me--loved me, you see--lived and loved me and died without my ever having had her. What would there have been to go on living for? Why should such a person go on living? Now--of course it is another world. This comes crashing through my make-believe--and Bernice’s world get to me. Don’t you _see_, Margaret?
MARGARET
Perhaps--I do. [_She looks at the closed door; looks back to him. Waits._] O-h. [_Waits again, and it grows in her._] Perhaps I do.
[_Turns and very slowly goes to the closed door, opens it, goes in. At the other side of the room ABBIE comes in with a floral piece._
CRAIG
_No_, Abbie. I just told my sister--I don’t want this room to be different. [_Looking around._] It is different. What have you done to it?
[_He sees the pillow crowded in at the side of the fireplace. Restores it to its place in the window._
ABBIE
And this was here.
[_She returns the vase to its place._
CRAIG
Of course it was. But it isn’t right yet. [_After considering._] Why--the tea table! [_ABBIE turns toward the kitchen._] What did you put it out there for? I remember now--I stumbled against it last night. [_They bring it in._] Why, yes, Abbie, the tea-table was always here--before the fire.
ABBIE
And--
[_She hesitates, but CRAIG follows her eyes to the chair._
CRAIG
Yes. [_He too hesitates; then gives the chair its old place before the table, as if awaiting the one who will come and pour tea. A moment they stand looking at it. Then CRAIG looks around the room._] And what if it is still wrong, Abbie?
ABBIE
In the fall there were always branches in that vase. [_Indicating the one she has returned to its place._] The red and yellow branches from outside.
CRAIG
Yes.
[_He goes out. With feeling which she cannot quite control ABBIE does a few little things at the tea-table, relating one thing to another until it is as it used to be. MARGARET comes out from the room where she has been with Bernice, leaving the door wide open behind her. With the quiet of profound wonder; in a feeling that creates the great stillness, she goes to ABBIE._
MARGARET
Oh--Abbie. Yes--I know now. I want you to know. Only--there are things not for words. Feeling--not for words. As a throbbing thing that flies and sings--not for the hand. [_She starts to close her hand, uncloses it._] But, Abbie--there is nothing to hide. There is no shameful thing. What you saw in her eyes as she brooded over life in leaving it--what made you afraid--was _her_ seeing--her seeing into the shadowed places of the life she was leaving. And then--a gift to the spirit. A gift sent back through the dark. Preposterous. Profound. Oh--love her Abbie! She’s worth more love than we have power to give! [_CRAIG has come back with some branches from the trees; he stands outside the door a moment, taking out a few he does not want. MARGARET hears him and turns. Then turns back._] Power. Oh, how _strange_.
[_CRAIG comes in, and MARGARET and ABBIE watch him as he puts the bright leaves in the vase. The FATHER comes in._
FATHER
The man who is in charge says we will have to be ready now to--[_Seeing what has been done to the room._] Oh, you have given the room back to Bernice!
MARGARET
Given everything back to Bernice. Bernice. Insight. The tenderness of insight. And the courage. [_To the FATHER, and suddenly with tears in her voice._] She _was_ wistful. And held out her hands [_Doing this_] with gifts she was not afraid to send back. [_Very simply._] She loved you, Craig.
CRAIG
I know that, Margaret. I know now how much.
MARGARET
[_Low._] And more than that. [_Her voice electric._] Oh, in all the world--since first life _moved_--has there been any beauty like the beauty of perceiving love?... No. Not for words.
[_She closes her hand, uncloses it in a slight gesture of freeing what she would not harm._
(CURTAIN)
* * * * *
SUPPRESSED DESIRES
A COMEDY IN TWO SCENES
(In Collaboration with George Cram Cook)
First Performed by the Provincetown Players, at the Wharf Theatre, Provincetown, Mass., August, 1914
* * * * *
ORIGINAL CAST
HENRIETTA BREWSTER SUSAN GLASPELL STEPHEN BREWSTER GEORGE CRAM COOK MABEL MARY PYNE
SUPPRESSED DESIRES