The Black Cat: A Play in Three Acts
Chapter 3
_Scene: The Studio. Mrs. Denham lying on sofa_ R C, _a shawl over her feet, her face buried in her hands, moaning inarticulately. Table as in_ ACT II.
(_Enter Denham excitedly._)
Denham.
Constance!
Mrs. Denham.
(_moving and raising her head_) Well?
Denham.
Where is Undine?
Mrs. Denham.
Undine?
Denham.
Yes. Do you know where she is?
Mrs. Denham.
In her room, I suppose. I told her to stay there.
Denham.
She is not in the room--not in the house.
Mrs. Denham.
But--I locked the door.
Denham.
She must have got out of the window.
Mrs. Denham.
She can't have dropped from the balcony.
Denham.
Stay a moment. (_Exit._)
Mrs. Denham.
(_resuming her position_) No peace! No peace!
(_Re-enter Denham._)
Denham.
Yes. Her skipping rope is tied to the rails. She must have dropped into the garden. She's as active as a cat.
Mrs. Denham.
And as sly. Another act of disobedience.
Denham.
Tell me, Constance, have you had a--I mean, have you punished her?
Mrs. Denham.
(_bitterly_) I beat her, since you are kind enough to inquire--beat her for her utter untrustworthiness and mean prevarication. I said I would, if she disobeyed me again.
Denham.
Poor little wretch! But what did you say to her? A mother's tongue is sometimes worse than her hands.
Mrs. Denham.
Yes, I know you think me a vulgar scold.
Denham.
I think you sometimes say more than you mean--more than you realise at the time. I wonder where the child has gone?
Mrs. Denham.
Oh, she has slunk away to some of her friends. (_Throwing off the shawl, and letting her feet drop on the ground._) Arthur, are you uneasy about her?
Denham.
Yes, rather. Jane heard her sobbing in her room, and saying she would run away.
Mrs. Denham.
Why didn't you tell me that before? (_Rises, and moves to and fro._) Oh, what have I done? What have I done?
Denham.
We must look for her. Some one may have seen her. Wait a moment. (_He opens the door, and meets Fitzgerald, who comes in smiling._) Fitzgerald!
Fitzgerald.
(_coming down to back of sofa_) Well, I've brought you back your little waif, Mrs. Denham.
Mrs. Denham.
Undine?
Fitzgerald.
Ay, Undine!
Mrs. Denham.
Oh, I am so thankful! But where is she?
Fitzgerald.
Well, I left her below, having some milk or something. She seemed quite done up--excitement or something--eh?
Denham.
Where did you meet her, Fitz?
Fitzgerald.
I was going to my studio, and I met--met her running along the road with--with a little white scared face, and no hat on her--and her curls flying behind her--an'--an'--'pon my word, I could hardly stop her But we met a little girl with a goat, an' we stroked the goat--eh, stroked the goat--an' that comforted her a bit.
Mrs. Denham.
But where was she going?
Fitzgerald.
Oh, that's the cream o' the joke! I had a great piece of work to get out of her what ailed her, an'--an'--would you believe it?--that Undine of yours--that Undine of yours was going back to her native element. The--the mite was looking for the Thames, to drown herself!
Mrs. Denham.
To drown herself?
Fitzgerald.
Ay. She told me, "Mother said--said she was too wicked to live--an' she--she didn't want her any more." By Jove! Mrs. Denham, you must be careful what you say to that imp. She'll take you at your word--eh?
Mrs. Denham.
How can we ever thank you, Mr. Fitzgerald?
Denham.
Well, we can laugh at it now; but it was rather a ghastly bit of tragi-comedy. A thousand thanks, Fitz, old fellow!
Fitzgerald.
Well, I hope she's none the worse for it. I carried her home on my back; an' I can tell you her heart was beating like--like the heart of a hunted mouse. I must be off, Arthur; I have a model coming. You'll bring the drawing round, eh? I must have it by five o'clock.
Denham.
I have about ten minutes' work on the background--the figures are all right. I'll bring it round just now.
Fitzgerald.
All right. Good-bye. (_Shakes hands, and exit._)
Denham.
Stay here, Constance. I'll bring the child to you.
(_Exit, following Fitzgerald._)
Mrs. Denham.
Undine, my little Undine! Have I been a bad mother to you? And I have tried to do right. Oh, how I have tried! All in vain--all in vain. (_Paces up and down, then sits listlessly on the sofa._) Utter wreck! Utter wreck! Utter failure in everything!
(_Re-enter Denham, with Undine. Mrs. Denham starts up._)
Denham.
Here's our little truant come back to mother.
(_Undine comes down the stage slowly, looking dazed. Mrs. Denham embraces the child passionately._)
Mrs. Denham.
My little Undine! My little girl! Did she think mother wanted to get rid of her?
Undine.
(_with sorrowful indignation_) You said you wished I was dead, and I thought you didn't want me any more. I thought perhaps you were going to kill me with a knife, like Medea, and I didn't like that. I thought the river would be kinder.
Mrs. Denham.
That was foolish, Undine. Mother would not kill her own little girl.
(_Sits down on sofa with Undine. Denham shrugs his shoulders, and sits down at the table to work at his drawing._)
Undine.
But I thought you meant what you said. You oughtn't to say what you don't mean, mother.
Mrs. Denham.
No, my darling, I ought not. But I was angry with you for being disobedient, and I suppose I said more than I meant. I don't remember, Arthur, I don't remember what I said.
Denham.
I quite understand that, dear.
Mrs. Denham.
Will my little girl forgive mother?
Undine.
Yes, you know I'll _always_ forgive you, mother. But you said I had brought shame upon father. (_Going up to Denham, bursting into indignant tears._) I don't _want_ to bring shame upon father! (_Takes out her handkerchief, and mops her face._)
Denham.
(_comforting her_) Of course not. But you know you should be obedient to mother, Undine, and keep your promises. Then we sha'n't be ashamed of our little girl.
Undine.
(_sobbing_) But there's no _use_ promising. Oh, I _am_ so tired! (_Yawns._)
Denham.
Well, suppose you go to sleep for a while?
Mrs. Denham.
She can lie on her bed, and I'll put mother's cloak over her. Would you like that?
Undine.
(_sleepily_) Yes.
(_Mrs. Denham leads her away, the handkerchief falls on the floor._)
Denham.
(_gets up from the table, takes his pipe, lights it, and sits down again_) Everything seems torn up by the roots here. What is to become of that monkey? She has routed her mother, horse, foot, and dragoons, this time. Well, it's a wise mother that knows her own daughter. (_Works on again._) Going to drown herself! Perhaps it would have been better if her father had hung himself long ago. There's always that question of: To be or not to be?
(_Re-enter Mrs. Denham._)
Mrs. Denham.
She's asleep, Arthur.
Denham.
Poor little ugly duck!
Mrs. Denham.
I suppose you think I have acted very injudiciously?
Denham.
(_sighing_) Oh, what does it matter what I think? You always act on principle. I _must_ try to get this drawing done.
Mrs. Denham.
Don't send me away, Arthur. You will soon be rid of me altogether.
Denham.
Don't say that, dear. I know you are very miserable about Undine--and other things. So am I. I wonder whether we are all going mad.
Mrs. Denham.
I think _I_ have gone mad.
Denham.
Do you say that in earnest?
Mrs. Denham.
You know there was--something in our family.
Denham.
Oh, nonsense, Constance! For Heaven's sake don't brood over that. There is something in every family, if one only inquires. Your nerves are over-strained. I wish you'd go to bed, and let me have some one to see you. You are looking like a ghost.
Mrs. Denham.
I feel like one. But I am not going to haunt the scene of my crimes any longer. I am going away--going away!
Denham.
Well, I'm going with you, then, to take care of you. We'll send Undine somewhere, and go abroad for a while.
Mrs. Denham.
Oh yes. You can be kind enough, if that were all.
Denham.
Will you never make peace?
Mrs. Denham.
The only peace I _can_ make.
Denham.
What do you mean?
Mrs. Denham.
I shall trouble you no longer.
Denham.
My dear girl, don't talk like that. It is ghastly. Constance, I must go to Fitzgerald with this wretched drawing. I have to give some directions about the reproduction. I sha'n't be long. Promise me that you won't do anything foolish--that I shall find you here when I come back.
Mrs. Denham.
Yes--you shall find me here.
Denham.
That's right. (_Goes to settee, and takes up shawl._) And now lie down here, and let me cover you with this shawl.
Mrs. Denham.
Very well. (_She lies down._) Arthur!
Denham.
Yes, dear.
Mrs. Denham.
Kiss me once before you go.
Denham.
Oh, if I may! (_Kisses her._) My poor Constance! I would give my heart's blood to comfort you. And meanwhile I'll send you a better thing--tea.
Mrs. Denham.
Thank you, dear. You have always tried to be good to me. You could not help being cruel, I suppose.
Denham.
I want to be good to you always. Well, good-bye, and God bless you! (_Kisses her._)
Mrs. Denham.
God bless you! (_Exit Denham._)
Mrs. Denham.
(_listens for a while, then starts up_) He had tears in his eyes when he kissed me. Poor Arthur! he thinks we are going to patch it up, I suppose. I am to live on pity--a man's pity, more akin to contempt than to love. Why _should_ he love me? I was not born to be loved, not made to be loved. And yet I wanted love so much. I wanted all or nothing, and I have got pity--pity that puts you in a madhouse, and comfortably leaves you to rot! Oh, my God! is this madness--this horror of darkness that seems pressing on my brain? (_A knock at the door._) What's that? Come in! (_Enter Jane with tea._) No, not there, Jane--the small table; and bring another cup, will you?
Jane.
Yes, m'm.
(_Jane places tea-things, and exit._)
Mrs. Denham.
What have I to do? Ah, yes. (_Sits at the table and writes hurriedly. Re-enter Jane with a cup._) Jane, take this note to Mrs. Tremaine's at once. You know the house?
Jane.
Yes, m'm.
Mrs. Denham.
(_giving note_) Take it at once.
Jane.
Yes, m'm. Was I to wait for an answer, please?
Mrs. Denham.
No, Jane; no answer. (_Exit Jane._) She will be here directly. She _must_ come--and I? Yes--yes. There is no other way of quitting the wreck for _me_. The key? (_Searches her pockets._) Yes! (_She goes to the cupboard, opens it, and takes out a small bottle, places it on the tea-table, and looks at it; then takes out the stopper, and smells the poison._) It smells like some terrible flower. (_Re-stops and replaces the bottle._) And now to arrange--to arrange it all decently. (_Pushes the couch behind the screen, returns to the table, and pours out a cup of tea._) My throat is parched. (_Drinks eagerly._) Poor Arthur! He will be sorry--perhaps he will understand a little now. (_She pours the contents of the bottle into the cup._) The Black Cat had a friend; I am not so fortunate. It is a survival of the fittest, I suppose. The world was made for the sleek and treacherous. (_She replaces the bottle in the cupboard, then returns, and lays the keys on the table._) Yes, my little Undine, mother is tired too--so tired! Oh, sleep, sleep! If it were but eternal sleep--if I could be _sure_ I should never wake again! No more life. And yet I want to live. Oh, my God, I want to live! (_Paces to and fro, mechanically putting things in order; sees Undine's handkerchief on the ground, and picks it up._) Undine's little handkerchief, still wet with her tears--the last human thing on the brink of the abyss. Poor little rag; it will give me courage to face the darkness. (_Kisses it, and thrusts it into her bosom, then goes back to the table._) Perhaps I _do_ think too much of things--even of death. And now! (_Takes up the cup and shudders._) Who said "Poor Constance"? (_Puts it down again, and presses her hands to her ears._) There are voices in my brain--voices that burn like the flames of hell. Sleep, sleep--we must cheat the madness. (_Takes the cup, and passes_ R, _as if to go behind screen._) How awfully things look at you when you're going to die! I did not know this. There's Demeter with Undine's wreath of daisies withered on her head. My life has withered with them, since that day she made the libation. She forgot the speedwell for me. Mother! Mother! Mother! This is my libation! (_Drinks the poison, and lets the cup fall._) It is done! (_She stands a moment perfectly still._) My God! not sleep, but horror! Quick! Quick! (_Staggers behind the screen, and throws herself on the couch, where she is hidden from the audience._) Arthur! Arthur! Oh! save me! Arthur--oh! (_Moans and dies._)
(_A pause, then enter Denham and Mrs. Tremaine._)
Denham.
Constance! I left her here on the sofa, and now--Constance! She must have gone to her room--she sometimes does. Have some tea, won't you?
(_They approach the tea-table._)
Mrs. Tremaine.
I don't know why I have come here, I am sure. I never meant to see this place again; and yet, here I am, like the good-natured fool I always was.
(_He places a chair for her by the table._)
Denham.
It was awfully good of you to come. That's such a strange letter for Constance to have written. She asked you to come here at once, for my sake and your own?
Mrs. Tremaine.
Yes. It's a mad kind of letter. (_She sits down._)
Denham.
I am very uneasy about her.
Mrs. Tremaine.
Well, what's that to me?
Denham.
Nothing, of course. Blanche, we have been living in hell since yesterday.
Mrs. Tremaine.
I daresay. I have not been in Paradise, I assure you. What are you going to do? (_Pours out some tea._)
Denham.
I don't know.
Mrs. Tremaine.
(_puts in sugar_) Will she--stay with you?
Denham.
What else can she do?
Mrs. Tremaine.
(_stirring her tea_) Then I wish you joy of the _ménage_. You don't seem to have gained much by making a fool of me.
Denham.
You have renewed the world for me. The mere thought of you is sunshine. Here we have always been at loggerheads with life.
Mrs. Tremaine.
Then why--? (_Sips her tea._) Bah! Upon my word, Arthur Denham, that woman has drained you of your manhood like a vampire, made you the limp coward that you are.
Denham.
Not a word against Constance, or I shall hate you, Blanche. No--I am haunted by a ghost.
Mrs. Tremaine.
A metaphorical one?
Denham.
The ghost that came to Hamlet in the shape of his father--duty. It is a trick of my British bourgeois blood, I suppose.
Mrs. Tremaine.
What duty? To that internal Mrs. Grundy we call conscience? To the thing called Society? To the sacred bond of marriage? Her own principles are against you there. No--she holds you in some deeper way than this.
Denham.
It is true--she does.
Mrs. Tremaine.
(_rising_) Is it because you love _her_ that you abandon _me_? If so, say so; and I shall understand that I am a toy goddess, nothing more.
Denham.
She loves me.
Mrs. Tremaine.
Ah! a woman's love can blight as terribly as a man's--almost. Well, I like you none the worse for this curious spice of loyalty. It is so rare in a man.
Denham.
No--not so rare. Don't let us talk any more about it now. I think you begin to understand. But where can she be? I seem to feel her presence here. (_He looks behind the screen, then thrusts it aside, showing Mrs. Denham lying dead on the couch._) Blanche! Blanche! Look here! Is she--?
Mrs. Tremaine.
She has fainted--let me--!
Denham.
(_throws himself down beside the couch and puts his finger on her wrist_) Oh my God! Dead! Dead!
Mrs. Tremaine.
No, no, no! It is too terrible! Let us try if----(_Attempts to open dress, then recoils in horror._) And I had begun to hate her--yes, to _hate_ her. My poor good Constance!
Denham.
But how--? (_Rising._) _Is_ she dead, Blanche?
Mrs. Tremaine.
(_mastering her agitation_) Yes, dear, dead! She has taken poison. See here! (_Picks up the cup._) What a horrible death! Her face is awful!
Denham.
Oh, Constance, why did I leave you? I had a vague fear of something--but not this! (_Throws himself down again, and stoops to kiss her._) Ha! Prussic acid! No help! No hope! Yet she is warm. (_He starts up._) Could we--? But death is a matter of seconds with that infernal stuff. Blanche, Blanche, I have killed her!
Mrs. Tremaine.
I claim my share in the guilt.
Denham.
No, no. Leave me! Let the dead bury their dead!
Mrs. Tremaine.
If you wish me to leave you, dear, I will go.
Denham.
Yes--for God's sake, go! (_She moves towards the door._) But, Blanche, don't leave the house. I can't bear this alone.
Mrs. Tremaine.
(_returns to him_) You know, dear, I am yours always. Oh, don't hate me! I dare to say it in this presence. (_She kisses his hand. He shrinks from her._) Now I can go. (_She goes to the door and looks back as Denham kneels and clasps the body in his arms._) Will he hate me now? (_Exit Mrs. Tremaine._)
Denham.
Constance! I meant to have kept you from all the thorns of life! It was fate! It was fate!
CURTAIN.
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"There is a great charm about these stories and interludes."--_Vanity Fair._
"Full of charm, fantasy, and pathos."--_Ladies' Pictorial._
"The book as a whole is decidedly clever."--_Guardian._