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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/6587.txt b/6587.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..9c242ef --- /dev/null +++ b/6587.txt @@ -0,0 +1,7234 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of King Arthur's Socks and Other Village Plays +by Floyd Dell + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check the +copyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributing +this or any other Project Gutenberg eBook. + +This header should be the first thing seen when viewing this Project +Gutenberg file. Please do not remove it. Do not change or edit the +header without written permission. + +Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the +eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included is +important information about your specific rights and restrictions in +how the file may be used. You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** + + +Title: King Arthur's Socks and Other Village Plays + +Author: Floyd Dell + +Release Date: September, 2004 [EBook #6587] +[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule] +[This file was first posted on December 29, 2002] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK KING ARTHUR'S SOCKS *** + + + + +Produced by Mary Wampler, David Moynihan, Juliet Sutherland, Charles Franks +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team. + + + + + +KING ARTHUR'S SOCKS AND OTHER VILLAGE PLAYS + +BY FLOYD DELL + + + + + +PREFATORY NOTE + +These plays, with one exception, were written in Greenwich Village, +and, with another exception, first performed there--some at the old +Liberal Club, and others by the Provincetown Players. They are +souvenirs of an intellectual play-time which, being dead, deserves some +not-too-solemn memorial. + +F. D. + + + + + + +CONTENTS + + +HUMAN NATURE: A Very Short Morality Play, + +THE CHASTE ADVENTURES OF JOSEPH: A Comedy, + +THE ANGEL INTRUDES: A Comedy, + +LEGEND: A Romance, + +SWEET-AND-TWENTY: A Comedy, + +A LONG TIME AGO: A Tragic Fantasy, + +ENIGMA: A Domestic Conversation, + +IBSEN REVISITED: A Piece of Foolishness, + +KING ARTHUR'S SOCKS: A Comedy, + +THE RIM OF THE WORLD: A Fantasy, + +POOR HAROLD: A Comedy, + + + + + + +HUMAN NATURE + + + +A VERY SHORT MORALITY PLAY + + + +TO ARTHUR DAVISON FICKE + +This is a much changed version of "A Five Minute Problem Play," +originally given at the Liberal Club, New York City, in 1913. + +_Boundless blue space. Two celestial figures stand in front of it, +talking. One of them carries a pointer, such as is used in class-room +demonstrations at the blackboard. The other has a red-covered guidebook +under his arm_. + +THE FIRST CELESTIAL FIGURE (_the one with the pointer_) Well, I +think that is all. You've seen everything now. + +THE SECOND CELESTIAL FIGURE (_the One With the guidebook_) It has all +been very interesting, and I don't know how to thank you for the +trouble you've taken. + +THE FIRST CELESTIAL FIGURE. Don't mention it. That's my business, you +know--to show young and curious Spirits what there is to see in the +universe. And I must say that you've been an exceptionally patient +pupil. I don't usually take as much time with youngsters as I have with +you. But when I find someone as interested in the universe as you are, +I don't mind spending a few more eons on the job. We've been all +around, this trip. I don't believe we've missed anything of any +importance. But if there is anything else you can think of that you'd +like to see-- + +THE SECOND CELESTIAL FIGURE. (_hesitantly_) Well, there is one +place . . . It's only mentioned in a footnote in the guide-book, but +for that very reason I thought perhaps-- + +THE FIRST CELESTIAL FIGURE. You have the right attitude. There's +nothing too small or insignificant to know about. Do you remember the +name of the place? + +THE SECOND CELESTIAL FIGURE. No, but--(_He turns the leaves of the +guide-book_.) Here it is. (_He holds the book closer so as to read +the fine print at the bottom of the page_.) Earth, it's called. + +THE FIRST CELESTIAL FIGURE. Ah, yes, there is such a place. . . . + +THE SECOND CELESTIAL FIGURE. The guide-book doesn't give any +information about it. Just mentions its name. + +THE FIRST CELESTIAL FIGURE. Well, there isn't very much to say about +it. After what you've seen, you wouldn't be impressed by its art or its +architecture, . . . Still, it has one curious feature that perhaps +you'd be interested in. It's-- + +_He pauses_. + +THE SECOND CELESTIAL FIGURE. Yes? + +THE FIRST CELESTIAL FIGURE. Perhaps I had better just show you, and let +you make what you can of it. + +THE SECOND CELESTIAL FIGURE. (_deferentially_) As you say. + +THE FIRST CELESTIAL FIGURE. Here, then--look for yourself! + +_He raises the pointer, and boundless space rolls up like a curtain, +disclosing a comfortable drawing-room. The two celestial figures stand +aside and look. A man and woman are sitting on a sofa, kissing each +other. From time to time, in intervals between the kisses, they +speak_. + +THE MAN. No! No! I must not! + +_But he does_. + +THE WOMAN. No! No! We must not! + +_But they do_. + +THE MAN. We must not-- + +_The second celestial figure turns to look inquiringly at the first, +and boundless space falls like a blue curtain between them and the +scene_. + +THE SECOND CELESTIAL FIGURE. It is strange. I've seen nothing like that +anywhere in the universe. But why do you suppose-- + +THE FIRST CELESTIAL FIGURE. Oh, as to that, I really cannot say. It's +what is called "Human nature." + +THE SECOND CELESTIAL FIGURE. Oh! + +_They walk off thoughtfully_. + + + + +THE CHASTE ADVENTURES OF JOSEPH + +A COMEDY + + +"The Chaste Adventures of Joseph" was first produced at the Liberal +Club, New York City, in 1914, with the following cast: + +Madam Potiphar ....... Louise Murphy +Asenath .............. Marjorie Jones +Potiphar ............. Berkeley Tobey +Joseph ............... Floyd Dell +Slave ................ Maurice Becker + +_A room in Potiphar's house. It is sparingly furnished with a table, +two stools, and a couch, all in the simpler style of the early +dynasties.... The table, which is set at an angle, is piled with +papyri, and one papyrus is half-unrolled and held open by paper-weights +where somebody has been reading it.... There is a small window in one +wall, opening on the pomegranate garden. At the back, between two heavy +pillars, is a doorway.... Two women are heard to pass, laughing and +talking, through the corridor outside, and pause at the doorway. One of +them looks in curiously_. + +THE LADY. Such a lovely house, Madam Potiphar!--But what is this quiet +room? Your husband's study? + +MADAM POTIPHAR. (_coming in_) Oh, this is nothing--merely the room +of one of the slaves. Come, dear Cousin Asenath, and I will show you +the garden. The pomegranates are just beginning to blossom. + +ASENATH. The room of a slave? Indeed! He seems to be an educated +person! + +MADAM POTIPHAR. Educated? Oh, yes--he is a sort of book-keeper for +Potiphar. At least, that is what he is supposed to be. But he is never +on hand when he is wanted. If he were here, we might get him to show us +through the vineyard. + +ASENATH. Why not send for him? I would love to see the vineyard before +your husband takes me out in the chariot. + +MADAM POTIPHAR. (_ironically_) Send for Joseph? It would be +useless. Joseph has affairs of his own on hand, always. + +ASENATH. (_startled_) Joseph! Is that his name? + +MADAM POTIPHAR. Yes--"Joseph." An ugly, foreign-sounding name, don't +you think? + +ASENATH. It is rather an odd name--but I've heard it before. It was the +name of a youth who used to be one of my father's slaves in Heliopolis. + +MADAM POTIPHAR. Heliopolis? I wonder--what was he like? + +ASENATH. Oh, he was a pretty boy, with nice manners. + +MADAM POTIPHAR. I thought for a moment it might be the same one. But +this Joseph is an ill-favoured creature--and insolent. . . . What +colour was his hair? + +ASENATH. I really don't remember. It's been a year since he was +there.... You have a _lovely_ house, my dear. I'm _so_ glad I +came to see you! + +MADAM POTIPHAR. (_also willing to change the subject_) It's nice +to see you again, dear Asenath. We haven't seen each other since we +were little girls. Do you remember how we played together in the +date-orchard? And the long, long talks we had? + +ASENATH. Don't let's be sentimental about our childhood! +MADAM POTIPHAR. Do you remember how we talked about being married? +(_Asenath goes to the little window_.) We hated all men, as I +remember. + +ASENATH. I was eight years old then. . . . Who is that handsome young +man I see out there? + +MADAM POTIPHAR. In the garden? + +ASENATH. Yes. + +_Madam Potiphar comes to the window_. + +MADAM POTIPHAR. That--that is the slave we were speaking of. . . . + +ASENATH. Joseph? . . . I wonder if it _is_ the same one? . . . + +MADAM POTIPHAR. Well--and what if it were? + +ASENATH. He was really a very interesting young man. . . . + +MADAM POTIPHAR. If you are so anxious to find out, why don't you go and +talk to him? + +ASENATH. (_coolly_) I think I shall. + +_She starts toward the door_. + +MADAM POTIPHAR. (_shocked_) Asenath! You, a daughter of the High +Priest of Heliopolis-- + +ASENATH. As such, I am quite accustomed to doing as I please. + +_She goes out_. + +MADAM POTIPHAR. (_looking amusedly after her_) Silly little thing! +(_She stands there thinking_.) There's no doubt of it! Joseph did +come from Heliopolis last year. But what have I to be afraid of? +(_She sees a pair of sandals on the floor by the table. She picks one +of them up, and kisses it passionately, whispering_)--Joseph! + +_Enter Potiphar. Madam Potiphar puts the sandal behind her back_. + +POTIPHAR. (_a dull, dignified gentleman_) Oh, here's where you +are! I was looking everywhere for you. But where's your cousin? + +MADAM POTIPHAR. She will be back in a moment. I brought her here to +show her the educated slave of whom you are so proud, at work. But he +is away somewhere, as usual. + +POTIPHAR. (_defensively_) He has other duties. + +MADAM POTIPHAR. Oh, yes, no doubt! + +POTIPHAR. What's the matter now? + +MADAM POTIPHAR. Nothing new. You know what I think about this Joseph of +yours. + +POTIPHAR. (_irritated_) Now, if you are going to bring that +subject up again--! Well, I tell you flatly, I won't do it. + +MADAM POTIPHAR. You'd better take my advice! + +POTIPHAR. It's the most unreasonable thing I ever heard of! For the +first time in my life I get an efficient secretary--and you want me to +get rid of him. It's ridiculous. What have you against Joseph, anyway? + +MADAM POTIPHAR. I--I don't think he's honest. + +POTIPHAR. Honest! Who expects the secretary of a government official to +be honest? I don't want an honest man in charge of my affairs--all I +want is a capable one. Besides, how would I know whether he is honest +or not? I can't bother to go over his accounts, and I couldn't +understand them if I did. Mathematics, my dear, is not an art that +high-class Egyptians excel in. It takes slaves and Hebrews for that. + +MADAM POTIPHAR. Well, just because he is able to add up a row of +figures is no reason why he should be so high-handed with everybody. +One would think he was the master here, instead of a slave. + +POTIPHAR. A private secretary, my dear, is different from an ordinary +slave. You mustn't expect him to behave like a doorkeeper. I remember +now, he complained that you kept wanting him to run errands for you. + +MADAM POTIPHAR. Yes, and he refused--in the most insolent manner. He is +a proud and scheming man, I tell you. I am sure he is plotting some +villainy against you. + +POTIPHAR. (_wearily_) Yes, you have said that before. + +MADAM POTIPHAR. I say it again. Joseph is a scoundrel. + +POTIPHAR. You'll have to do more than say it, my dear. What proof have +you of his villainy? + +MADAM POTIPHAR. I think you might trust to my womanly intuition. + +POTIPHAR. Bah! Joseph is going to stay! Do you understand? + +_He pounds on the table for emphasis. Madam Potiphar takes advantage +of the occasion to drop the sandal unnoticed_. + +MADAM POTIPHAR. Well, you needn't create a domestic scene. Asenath may +return at any moment. + +POTIPHAR. (_gloomily_) I believe I'm to take her out in the chariot. + +MADAM POTIPHAR. You don't begrudge my guest that much of your +attention, do you? You know I cannot bear to ride behind those wild +horses of yours. And she said she wanted to see the city. + +POTIPHAR. Oh--I'll go. But I must see to my chariot. (_He claps his +hands. A servant appears, and bows deeply_.) Send Joseph here at once. + +_With another deep bow, the slave disappears. A pause_. + +MADAM POTIPHAR. Now you know what it is to have your slave off +attending to some business of his own when you want him. + +POTIPHAR. (_annoyed_) Where can he be? + +_Enter Joseph_. + +JOSEPH. (_ignoring Madam Potiphar, and making a slight bow to +Potiphar_) Here I am, sir. + +POTIPHAR. (_after a triumphant glance at his wife_) Have my chariot +made ready for me, will you? + +JOSEPH. It will give me great pleasure to do so, sir. + +_He bows slightly, and goes out_. + +MADAM POTIPHAR. Did you notice his insolence? + +POTIPHAR. There you go again! He said he was glad to do it for me. What +more do you want? + +MADAM POTIPHAR. You are the stupidest man in Egypt. + +POTIPHAR. Thank you, my dear. + +_Joseph returns_. + +POTIPHAR. Is the chariot ready so soon, Joseph? + +JOSEPH. The chariot is quite ready. + +POTIPHAR. Very well. (_A pause_) And are those accounts finished yet, +Joseph? + +JOSEPH. The accounts are quite finished. And I would like to suggest, +if I may-- + +_He is interrupted by the re-entrance of Asenath_. + +ASENATH. What a lovely garden you have! + +MADAM POTIPHAR. (_significantly_) Yes! + +ASENATH. The pomegranate blossoms are so beautiful! + +MADAM POTIPHAR. You could hardly tear yourself away, could you? + +POTIPHAR. (_with a patient smile_) And are you ready for your chariot +ride now? + +ASENATH. Oh, yes! I am so eager to see the city! But I fear my hair +needs a touch or two, first. . . . + +MADAM POTIPHAR. It is so hard to keep one's hair in order when one +walks in the garden. I will take you to my room, dear Asenath. (_To +Potiphar_) We shall be ready presently. + +POTIPHAR. The horses are waiting! + +ASENATH. It won't take me but a moment! + +MADAM POTIPHAR. Come, my dear. (_They go toward the door_.) I am so +glad you liked our garden-- + +_They go out_. + +POTIPHAR. (_turning to Joseph_) What were you going to say, Joseph? + +JOSEPH. You asked me about my accounts. I was about to suggest that I +show them to you tonight, when you return from your ride. + +POTIPHAR. (_alarmed_) No! No! I don't want to see them. . . . I +just want to know that everything is getting on well. + +JOSEPH. Everything is getting along quite well. + +POTIPHAR. Very good. I have complete confidence in you. . . . Joseph-- +you have a mathematical mind; how long would you say it would take a +woman to do her hair? + +JOSEPH. Not less than half an hour, sir--especially if she has +something to talk about with another woman while she is doing it. + +POTIPHAR. (_surprised_) What should _they_ have to talk about? + +JOSEPH. Secrets. + +POTIPHAR. Secrets? + +JOSEPH. What things are women especially interested in, sir? + +POTIPHAR. Dress, perhaps? + +JOSEPH. Perhaps. + +POTIPHAR. Housekeeping? + +JOSEPH. I doubt it, sir. + +POTIPHAR. Joseph, you perturb me. Besides food and dress, there is only +one subject, so far as I am aware, of interest to women. I hope you do +not imply-- + +JOSEPH. Far be it from me, sir, to indulge in implications, with +respect to an honoured guest, in the household in which I am a slave. + +POTIPHAR. Still--it is hard to tell, sometimes. Women are mysterious +creatures. What do _you_ think of them, Joseph? + +JOSEPH. I try not to, sir. + +POTIPHAR. You are a wise man. Yes, I suppose you have your +difficulties, too. The morality of the slave-girls is not all it should +be. But if you will believe me, the morality of our women, too-- + +JOSEPH. Ah, sir! + +POTIPHAR. Yes, Joseph, it leaves something to be desired. If you knew +the advances that have been made to me by certain great ladies-- + +JOSEPH. If you will permit me to say so, sir, you have my sympathy. + +POTIPHAR. Joseph--women are the very devil, aren't they? + +JOSEPH. They are a great trial, sir. One must learn the secret of +dealing with them. + +POTIPHAR. Do _you_ know that secret? + +JOSEPH. I do, sir. + +POTIPHAR. I am inclined to believe that you really do. You are a +remarkable man. But then, you have a naturally cold disposition. It +must come easy to you. + +JOSEPH. Not so easy as you may think, sir. Temperamentally, I am very +susceptible to the charms of women. + +POTIPHAR. Then you are more remarkable even than I thought. Come, what +_is_ your secret? + +JOSEPH. It is not the sort of secret that one gives away for nothing, +sir. + +POTIPHAR. I am sorry to see you display such a mercenary disposition, +Joseph. But I see that I must come to terms with you. How much will you +take to teach me your secret? + +JOSEPH. This time, sir, I will not be mercenary. I will make you a +sporting proposition. + +POTIPHAR. (_very much interested_) Good! What is it? + +JOSEPH. I will toss up a coin, and let you call it. If you win, I will +teach you the secret for nothing. And if you lose-- + +POTIPHAR. And if I lose, you keep your secret-- + +JOSEPH. Not merely that. If you lose, you will give me my freedom. + +POTIPHAR. But I cannot get along without you, Joseph! + +JOSEPH. I will continue to work for you on a salary basis. + +POTIPHAR. Done! Where is your coin? + +_Joseph takes a small coin from his wallet, flips it in the air, and +covers it with his hand when it falls on the table. He looks up at +Potiphar_. + +POTIPHAR. Much depends on this. What shall I say? + +JOSEPH. I know what you will say, sir. + +POTIPHAR. Impossible! Tails. + +_Joseph uncovers the coin. Potiphar bends over it_. + +JOSEPH. (_without looking_) It is heads. + +POTIPHAR. So it is! I lose--Joseph, you are a lucky man! + +JOSEPH. Not at all, sir--a clever one. You see, I knew just how the +coin would fall. I tossed it so that it would fall that way. + +POTIPHAR. But--how did you know what I was going to say? + +JOSEPH. I will explain to you. On one side of the coin is a +representation of the present Pharaoh, who has denied you advancement +because of his daughter's interest in you. In consequence, you +dislike any reminder of him--even on a coin. But on the other side is a +representation of the goddess Isis; she is your favourite goddess--and +moreover, you yourself have been heard to remark that her face and +figure resemble remarkably that of a certain great lady, whose name--is +never mentioned when the story is told. Naturally I knew how you would +call the coin. + +POTIPHAR. (_trembling with rage_) How dare you say such things! Do you +forget that I can have you beaten with rods? + +JOSEPH. (_calmly_) Do you forget, sir, that I am no longer a slave? +Free men are not beaten in Egypt. + +POTIPHAR. Free? + +JOSEPH. Unless Potiphar takes back his word. It is true that I have no +witnesses to it. + +POTIPHAR. (_with great dignity_) Witnesses are unnecessary. I had +forgotten for the moment. Let this remind me. (_He gives Joseph a +ring_.) You are a free man. And so--what I thought was an insolence is +merely a pleasantry. But--you take a quick advantage of your freedom. + +JOSEPH. I accept the rebuke. + +POTIPHAR. And--free man or slave--Joseph, you know too much! + +_Potiphar walks out of the room. . . . Joseph seats himself at the +table, and takes up a scroll of papyrus. He reads a moment, then claps +his hands. A slave enters, stands before the table, and bows_. + +JOSEPH. (_consulting the papyrus_) Bear word to the overseer of +the winepress that the grapes in the southeast section will be brought +in for pressing tomorrow morning. . . . Bear word to the chief +carpenter that a table and two couches, of the standard pattern, are +wanted--at once. . . . Bear word to the chief pastry-cook that his +request for another helper is denied. + +_Joseph makes a gesture of dismissal, and the slave, with a bow, goes +out. Joseph rises, and walking around the table, holds up 'his hand to +look at his ring_. + +JOSEPH. Freedom! + +_Madam Potiphar strolls in_. + +MADAM POTIPHAR. (_familiarly_) They have gone. . . . + +_Joseph picks up a scroll from the table_. + +MADAM POTIPHAR. (_sharply_) Joseph! + +JOSEPH. (_respectfully_) Yes, madam. + +MADAM POTIPHAR. I understood you to say a while ago that your work was +quite finished? + +JOSEPH. Yes, madam. + +MADAM POTIPHAR. Then you have plenty of time now.... + +JOSEPH. Yes, plenty of time for more work. + +MADAM POTIPHAR. Well, you need not begin immediately. _I_ want a little +of your time just now. + +JOSEPH. If it is an errand, I will call one of the slaves. + +MADAM POTIPHAR. Do you mean--one of the other slaves? + +JOSEPH. I, madam, am no longer a slave. + +_He holds up his hand, and looks at the ring_. + +MADAM POTIPHAR. (_incredulous_) How did this happen? Did you _buy_ your +freedom, perchance? + +JOSEPH. No. Your husband gave it to me a moment ago. + +MADAM POTIPHAR. Gave it to you? You mean that you swindled him out of +it in some way! + +JOSEPH. As you please, madam. + +MADAM POTIPHAR. Well, it is his own affair if he wishes to give away +such valuable property. Only--it is difficult to adjust oneself to a +change like that. + +JOSEPH. Do not, I pray, let the change disturb you. + +MADAM POTIPHAR. No, I insist. It is both a duty and a pleasure. Since +you are now a free man, Joseph, I propose that we treat each other as +equals and friends. + +JOSEPH. That will be very considerate of us both. + +MADAM POTIPHAR. Sir, you are insolent. No, no--I mean, my friend, you +are very rude. + +JOSEPH. Thank you for making the distinction. And now, since we are to +treat each other as equals and friends, I beg you--(_he takes some +small objects from his wallet and holds them out in his hand_)--to +take these hairpins, which are the mementos of your various visits to +my room. As a slave, no suspicion, of course, could attach to me in +connection with a lady of your rank. But as equals and friends, we both +have our reputations to preserve. + +MADAM POTIPHAR. (_taking them_) Thank you.(_She restores them to her +hair_.) I lose them everywhere I go. They fall out every time I speak. +They mean nothing whatever. + +JOSEPH. It is unnecessary to explain that to me. I am perfectly aware +of the fact. + +MADAM POTIPHAR. You are perfectly aware of everything, aren't you, +Joseph? + +JOSEPH. Everything that it is to my interest to be aware of, madam. + +MADAM POTIPHAR. No--there is one thing you don't know, and I am going +to tell you. + +JOSEPH. Proceed, madam. + +_He takes the coin from the table_. + +MADAM POTIPHAR. (_coming close to him and looking boldly into his +eyes_) Can't you guess? + +_At this moment Joseph drops the coin from his hand, and it rolls +away. Joseph starts, looks after it, and goes across the room to pick +it up_. + +JOSEPH. One must take care of the small coins! + +MADAM POTIPHAR. (_angrily_) Oh! + +_She flings off to the window, Joseph returns and seats himself on +the little stool at the nearer end of the table, with a papyrus in +front of him. He reads it in silence. Madam Potiphar comes and seats +herself on the table, and looks down at him. He continues to study the +papyrus. She leans over to see what he is doing, and then, as he pays +no attention, she turns so that she is reclining prone along its +length, facing him, her chin in her hands, one foot idly waving in the +air_. + +MADAM POTIPHAR. (_gently_) Am I bothering you? + +JOSEPH. Not at all. + +MADAM POTIPHAR. I like to watch you work. + +JOSEPH. I don't mind. + +MADAM POTIPHAR. You are very interesting to look at, do you know? + +JOSEPH. (_absently_) Yes, I know. + +MADAM POTIPHAR. Little egotist! + +JOSEPH. (_unperturbed_) Yes. + +_He rises and seats himself at the side of the table. Propping his +papyrus against the reclining body of Madam Potiphar, he takes a new +sheet of papyrus, and commences to copy a passage_. + +MADAM POTIPHAR. (_wriggling about to look at him_) What are you +copying? + +JOSEPH. Be careful. Don't jiggle my manuscript, please! + +MADAM POTIPHAR. I asked, what are you copying? + +JOSEPH. I am copying some inaccurate information about the climate of +Egypt, with reference to the yearly crop-yield. . . . I wonder if there +is any one in Egypt who has exact information on that subject? . . . + +MADAM POTIPHAR. The yearly crop-yield! What do you care about the +yearly crop-yield? + +JOSEPH. Never mind. You wouldn't understand if I told you. + +MADAM POTIPHAR. You are quite right. Besides, I didn't come here to +talk about crops. + +JOSEPH. (_writing_) No. You came here to talk about me. + +MADAM POTIPHAR. I came here to talk about my cousin Asenath. You knew +she was coming--why didn't you tell me you had been in service in her +father's household in Heliopolis? + +JOSEPH. (_writing_) It wasn't necessary for me to tell you. I knew she +would. + +MADAM POTIPHAR. No doubt you think we sat there all the time she was +combing her hair, and talked about you! + +JOSEPH. (_writing_) Precisely. + +MADAM POTIPHAR. I suppose you know she is crazy about you! + +JOSEPH. (_still writing_) Is she? + +MADAM POTIPHAR. She doesn't put it just that way. She says she takes an +interest in your future. + +JOSEPH. (_continuing to work_) She doesn't take half as much interest +in it as I do. + +MADAM POTIPHAR. She told me your romantic story: how you had been sold +by your brothers into slavery because you wore a coat of many colours. +Joseph, did you wear a coat of many colours? That seems a curious thing +for any one to be angry about. + +JOSEPH. (_not ceasing to copy the manuscript_) I wore it only +figuratively--I am wearing it now. And it _always_ makes _you_ angry. + +MADAM POTIPHAR. You mean the cloak of your insolence? + +JOSEPH. I mean the cloak of my pride. + +MADAM POTIPHAR. I can sympathize with your brothers. . . . Are you in +love with her, Joseph? + +JOSEPH. I am not. + +_He has finished--he rolls up the papyrus_. + +MADAM POTIPHAR. No--so I told her. + +JOSEPH. But she didn't believe you. +MADAM POTIPHAR. You seem to know our conversation pretty well. + +JOSEPH. I can imagine it. + +MADAM POTIPHAR. Well, go ahead and imagine it. What did we say? + +JOSEPH. You both lied to each other. + +MADAM POTIPHAR. About what? + +JOSEPH. About me. +MADAM POTIPHAR. (_sitting up_) Your conceit is insufferable! + +JOSEPH. (_rising politely_) I hope so. + +MADAM POTIPHAR. Is that a dismissal? + +JOSEPH. If you will be so kind. + +MADAM POTIPHAR. You interest me more and more. + +JOSEPH. I feared as much. + +MADAM POTIPHAR. I detest you! + +JOSEPH. It is one of the symptoms. + +MADAM POTIPHAR. Young man, do you really know nothing about love? + +JOSEPH. If I don't, it is not the fault of the women of Egypt. + +MADAM POTIPHAR. You are a strange youth. It cannot be that you love +this work you are doing.... + +JOSEPH. No, madam--I _hate_ it. + +MADAM POTIPHAR. Then where do you find your happiness? Tell me, +Joseph--what is the happiest hour of the day for you? + +JOSEPH. (_with complete sincerity_) It is that hour when I have +finished the day's work, and can lie down upon my couch. It is the hour +before sleep comes, when the room is filled with moonlight, and there +is no sound except the crickets singing in the orchard, and the music +of the toads in the pool. The wind of the night comes in, cool with +dew. Then I am happy--for I can lie and make plans for my future. + +MADAM POTIPHAR. (_softly_) And in that hour of moonlight and dew +and the music of the crickets, and the ancient love-song of the toads +in the pool, when all the earth abandons itself to love,--what +would you say to a woman who stole in to you like a moonbeam, like a +breath of the night-wind, like a strain of music? + +JOSEPH. I would tell her--to go, as her presence would interfere with +my plans. + +MADAM POTIPHAR. I call the gods to witness. A truly virtuous young man! + +JOSEPH. (_jumping down from the table, angrily_) Virtue! Virtue! +Oh, you stupid Egyptians! As though I cared about Virtue! + +MADAM POTIPHAR. Well, what in the name of all the gods is it that you +care about? + +JOSEPH. (_vehemently_) In the name of all the gods, madam, I care about +time. + +MADAM POTIPHAR. Time! But what can you do with time? + +JOSEPH. What can I do _without_ it? + +MADAM POTIPHAR. But I do not understand! + +JOSEPH. (_in a cold rage_) Of course you do not understand. You +are a great lady--and a fool. I am a wise man--and but an hour ago a +slave. I have more intellect than all the population of Egypt put +together. Do you expect me to be content to remain as I am? I want +power and riches--and I intend to achieve them. And I cannot achieve +them if I allow women to waste my time. + +MADAM POTIPHAR. (_deeply angered at last_) Very well, I go--taking +your secret with me! (_She goes_.) + +JOSEPH. (_furiously, to the empty room_) Virtue! My God! + +_He sits down at his desk and writes vexedly_. + + * * * * * + +_Night. The room is filled with moonlight. Joseph is asleep at his +desk.... He suddenly springs up in agitation_. + +JOSEPH. Ah! . . . It was only a dream! But what a dream! I thought I +saw at the door--(_he points_) a strange and terrible animal! +(_There is a sound at the door, and he starts back in terror_.) +_There it is now_! + +_The curtains part, and Asenath enters, candle in hand_. + +ASENATH. Ssh! It is I--Asenath! Don't be afraid! + +_Joseph recovers his self-possession, and confronts her sternly_. + +JOSEPH. You, too! + +ASENATH. My dear? + +JOSEPH. So you have come to afflict me with more romantic folly! + +ASENATH. (_with concern_) What is the matter with you, Joseph? + +JOSEPH. What is the matter with me? Nothing is the matter with me. Why +do you ask? + +ASENATH. I think you are not well. You are behaving queerly. You must +have been working too hard. How are your nerves? + +_She approaches him solicitously_. + +JOSEPH. (_retreating around the table_) Leave me alone, I tell you! +Even in my own room can I have no peace? Must I be dogged even in my +dreams by shameless and unscrupulous females? Oh, unfortunate youth +that I am! + +ASENATH. (_setting her candle down on the table_) Now I know what +is the matter with you, Joseph! You have an obsession. + +JOSEPH. What is an obsession? + +ASENATH. Don't you know what an obsession is? (_She sits down on the +stool at the end of the table_). Haven't you heard of the great +wizard in the land of the barbarians who explains everything by a new +magic? + +JOSEPH. Is he the author of that popular new dream-book? + +ASENATH. Yes. All Egypt is mad on the subject of dreams. Everybody, +from Pharaoh to the fiddler's wife, is telling about his latest dream, +or listening to some one else tell his. + +JOSEPH. (_sitting down on the other stool_) Speaking of dreams, I +had a curious one just before you came in. + +ASENATH. Did you, Joseph? Tell it to me. + +_She leans across the table_. + +JOSEPH. I dreamed--that I saw a dragon with many heads. And each head +had the face of a beautiful woman. I was frightened. But I took up a +sword and struck. And all the heads except one were severed. All except +one. And this one had upon it a crown of iron and a crown of gold. And +then the dragon took the crowns from its head, and offered them to me! +I did not know what to do. . . . And then I awoke. + +ASENATH. Shall I interpret your dream for you, Joseph? The dragon with +the many heads signifies the women of Egypt, who are all in love with +you. The one that remains when you have struck off the rest, is the one +who will succeed where all the others have failed. The crown of iron +signifies power. The crown of gold, riches. She offers them to you. . . + +JOSEPH. (_leaning forward_) Asenath--do you really think it means-- + +ASENATH. (_coldly_) I really think it means that you have a +persecution--mania. You imagine that every woman you meet has designs +on you. . . . I suppose you think that _I_ came here to make love +to you? + +JOSEPH. No, my dear Asenath. I know better than that. When young women +come to my room at midnight, it is only to borrow a book to read--or to +ask my advice about their personal affairs. I know, because they tell +me so. Which did you come for--a book, or advice? + +ASENATH. Neither. I came to give a book to you--and to give you some +advice.... Do you remember telling me, once in Heliopolis, that the man +who knew enough about the climate of Egypt to predict a famine could +make himself the richest man in the kingdom? Well--here is everything +you want to know, in an old book I found in my father's library in +Heliopolis. This is the book I came to give you. + +_She holds out a scroll_. + +JOSEPH. (_taking it_) Dear Asenath-- + +ASENATH. (_interrupting him_) And now the advice. It is this. Ally +yourself to the wisest woman in the land of Egypt--one who can teach +you to interpret the dreams of Pharaoh. Then you shall become the +second in power in the kingdom. + +JOSEPH. The second in power in the kingdom! Asenath--do not mock me. +Can you do this? + +ASENATH. I swear that I can and will! + +JOSEPH. (_overcome_) You do love me.... + +ASENATH. (_jumping up_) Love you! What nonsense! (_Scornfully_) Love! + +JOSEPH. You--you don't love me? + +ASENATH. Not in the least! + +JOSEPH. But--but--then what are you doing it for? + +ASENATH. I am doing it for _myself_. Do you think I wish to stay +in Heliopolis all my life? No--I want power and riches--and I intend to +have them. But I cannot get them, unfortunately, without wasting my +time with some man. + +JOSEPH. And I--? + +ASENATH. You are the man. + +JOSEPH. Admirable! + +ASENATH. Hate me if you will-- + +JOSEPH. On the contrary! (_He goes toward her_.) Wonderful creature! + +ASENATH. (_retreating_) What do you say? + +JOSEPH. I say that you are a woman after my own heart. (_He holds out +his arms. She retreats to the other end of the table_.) I did not +think that there existed in all the world a woman as profoundly +egoistic, as unscrupulously ambitious, as myself. You are my true mate. +Come, we shall rule Egypt together! + +ASENATH. (_in front of the table_) Am I to understand that this is +a strictly business proposition? + +JOSEPH. No. It is a declaration of love. I adore you! I desire you! I +cannot live without you! + +ASENATH. Please don't be silly. + +JOSEPH. (_hurt_) Is it possible that you do not believe in my love? + +ASENATH. It is a little difficult. . . . + +JOSEPH. You think that I am a hard man--and so I am. But when I look at +you, I tremble and grow weak. My knees are become as water, and the +blood roaring in my veins confuses me. + +ASENATH. Can I, a mere woman, so disturb you? + +JOSEPH. You have more than a mere woman's beauty. Your hands are lotus +petals. Your eyes are silver fireflies mirrored in a pool. Your breasts +are white birds nestling behind the leaves of a pomegranate tree. + +ASENATH. You have a smooth tongue, Joseph! One would think you really +were in love at last. . . . + +JOSEPH. I love you more than anything else in the world. You mean more +to me than power, more than riches, more than freedom itself. + +ASENATH. I could almost believe that you are in earnest. . . . + +JOSEPH. Tell me, O lovely creature for whom my soul and body thirst, +how can I prove my sincerity? What proof can I give you? + +ASENATH. You can give me--that ring! + +_She points to the ring which Potiphar has given him_. + +JOSEPH. (_looking at her, then at the ring, takes it off, saying_)-- +Freedom! + +_He puts it on her finger. He draws her toward him. She resists. The +candle is knocked over, and all is darkness_. + +ASENATH. (_in the darkness, faintly_) Joseph! Joseph! + + + + + +THE ANGEL INTRUDES + +A COMEDY + + +To GEORGE CRAM COOK + +"The Angel Intrudes" was first produced by the Provincetown Players, +New York City, in 1917, with the following cast: + +The Policeman...... Abram Gillette +The Angel.......... James Light +Jimmy Pendleton.... Justus Sheffield +Annabelle.......... Edna St. Vincent Millay + + +_Washington Square by moonlight. A stream of Greenwich Villagers +hurrying across to the Brevoort before the doors are locked. In their +wake a sleepy policeman. + +The policeman stops suddenly on seeing an Angel with shining garments +and great white wings, who has just appeared out of nowhere_. + +THE POLICEMAN. Hey, you! + +THE ANGEL. (_haughtily, turning_) Sir! Are you addressing me? + +THE POLICEMAN. (_severely_) Yes, an' I've a good mind to lock you up. + +THE ANGEL. (_surprised and indignant_) How very inhospitable! Is +that the way you treat strangers? + +THE POLICEMAN. Don't you know it's agen the law of New York to parade +the streets in a masquerade costume? + +THE ANGEL. No. I didn't know. You see, I've just arrived this minute +from Heaven. + +THE POLICEMAN. Ye look it. (_Taking his arm kindly_) See here, me lad, +you've been drinkin' too many of them stingers. Ye'd better take a +taxi and go home. + +THE ANGEL. What! So soon? + +THE POLICEMAN. I know how ye feel. I've been that way meself. But I +can't leave ye go traipsin' about in skirts. + +THE ANGEL. (_drawing away_) Sir, I'm not traipsing about. I am +attending to important business, and I must ask you not to detain me. + +THE POLICEMAN. (_suspiciously_) Not so fast, me laddie-buck. What +business have you at this hour of the night? Tell me that. + +THE ANGEL. I don't mind telling you. It concerns a mortal called James +Pendleton. + +THE POLICEMAN. (_genial again_) Aha! So you're a friend of Jimmy +Pendleton's, are you? + +THE ANGEL. Not exactly. I am his Guardian Angel. + +THE POLICEMAN. Well, faith, he needs one! Come, me b'y, I'll see ye +safe to his door. + +THE ANGEL. Thank you. But, if you don't mind, I prefer to go alone. + +_He turns away_. + +THE POLICEMAN. Good night to you, then. + +_He idly watches the angelic figure walk away, and then stares with +amazement as it spreads its wings and soars to the top of Washington +Arch. Pausing there a moment, it soars again in the air, and is seen +wafting its way over the neighbouring housetops to the northeast. The +policeman shakes his head in disapproval. + +Jimmy Pendleton is dozing in an easy chair before the grate-fire in +Ms studio in Washington Mews. A yellow-backed French novel has fallen +from his knee to the floor. It is Anatole France's "La Revolte des +Anges". A suitcase stands beside the chair. Jimmy is evidently about to +go on some journey. + +A clock begins to strike somewhere. Jimmy Pendleton awakes_. + +JIMMY. What a queer dream! (_He looks at his watch_.) Twelve o'clock. +The taxi ought to be here. (_He takes two tickets from his pocket, +looks at them, and puts them back. Then he commences to pace +nervously up and down the room, muttering to himself_)--Fool! Idiot! +Imbecile! (_He is not, so that you could notice it, any of these +things. He is a very handsome man of forty. There is the blast of an +auto-horn outside. He makes an angry gesture_.) Too late! That's the +taxi. (_But he stands uncertainly in the middle of the floor. There +is a loud pounding on the knocker_.) Yes, yes! + +_He makes a movement toward the door, when it suddenly opens, and a +lovely lady enters. He stares at her in surprise_. + +JIMMY. Annabelle! + +_Annabelle is little. Annabelle's petulant upturned lips are rosebud +red. Annabelle's round eyes are baby-blue. Annabelle is--young_. + +ANNABELLE. Yes! It's me! (_There is a tiny lisp in Annabelle's +speech_.) I got tired of waiting, and the door was unlocked, so I +came right in. + +JIMMY. Well! + +ANNABELLE. (_hurt_) Aren't you glad to see me? + +JIMMY. I'm--delighted. But--but--I thought we were to meet at the +station. + +ANNABELLE. So we were. + +JIMMY. You haven't changed your mind? + +ANNABELLE. No. . . . + +JIMMY. Er--good. + +ANNABELLE. But-- + +JIMMY. Yes--? + +ANNABELLE. I got to wondering. . . . (_She drifts to the easy chair +in front of the fire_.) + +JIMMY. Wondering . . . about what? (_He looks at his watch_.) + +ANNABELLE. About love. . . . + +JIMMY. Well . . . (_He lights a cigarette_)--it's a subject that can +stand a good deal of wondering about. I've wondered about it myself. + +ANNABELLE. That's just it--you speak so cynically about it. I don't +believe you're in love with me at all! + +JIMMY. Nonsense! Of course I'm in love with you. + +ANNABELLE. (_sadly_) No you're not. + +JIMMY. (_angrily_) But I tell you I am! + +ANNABELLE. No. . . . + +JIMMY. Foolish child! + +ANNABELLE. Well, let's not quarrel about it. We'll talk about something +else. + +JIMMY. (_vehemently_) What do you suppose this insanity is if it +is not love? What do you imagine leads me to this preposterous +escapade, if not that preposterous passion? + +ANNABELLE. That isn't the way _I_ love you. + +JIMMY. Then why do you come with me? + +ANNABELLE. Perhaps I'm not coming. + +JIMMY. Yes you are. It's foolish--mad--wicked--but you're coming. +(_She begins to cry softly_.) If not--ten minutes away is safety +and peace and comfort. Shall I call a taxi for you? (_She shakes her +head_.) No, I thought not. Oh, it's love all right. . . . Antony and +Cleopatra defying the Mann Act! Romance! Beauty! Adventure! How can +you doubt it? + +ANNABELLE. I hate you! + +JIMMY. (_cheerfully_) I don't mind. (_Smiling_) I rather hate +you myself. And that's the final proof that this is love. + +ANNABELLE. (_sobbing_) I thought love was something quite--different! + +JIMMY. You thought it was beautiful. It isn't. It's just blithering, +blathering folly. We'll both regret it tomorrow. + +ANNABELLE. _I_ Won't! + +JIMMY. Yes you will. It's human nature. Face the facts. + +ANNABELLE. (_tearfully_) Facing the facts is one thing and being +in love is another, + +JIMMY. Quite so. Well, how long do you think your love for me will +last? + +ANNABELLE. For ever! + +JIMMY. H'm! I predict that you will fall in love with the next man you +meet. + +ANNABELLE. I think you're perfectly horrid. + +JIMMY. So do I. I disapprove of myself violently. I'm a doddering +lunatic, incapable of thinking of anything but you. I can't work. I +can't eat, I can't sleep. I'm no use to the world. I'm not a man, I'm a +mess. I'm about to do something silly because I can't do anything else. + +ANNABELLE. (_pouting_) You've no respect for me. + +JIMMY. None whatever. I love you. And I'm going to carry you off. + +ANNABELLE. You're a brute. + +JIMMY. Absolutely. I'd advise you to go straight home. + +ANNABELLE. (_defiantly_) Perhaps I shall! + +JIMMY. Then go quick. (_He takes out his watch_.) In one minute, +if you are still here, I shall pick you up and carry you off to South +America.--Quick! there's the door! + +ANNABELLE. (_faintly_) I--I want to go. . . . + +JIMMY. Well, why don't you? . . . Thirty seconds! + +ANNABELLE. I--I can't! + +JIMMY. (_shutting his watch_) Time's up. The die is cast! (_He lifts +her from the chair. She clings to him helplessly_.) My darling! My +treasure! My beloved!--Idiot that I am! + +_He kisses her fiercely_. + +ANNABELLE. (_struggling in his arms_) No! No! No! Stop! + +JIMMY. Never! + +ANNABELLE. Stop! Please! Please! Oh! . . . + +_The light suddenly goes out, and an instant later blazes out again, +revealing the Angel, who has suddenly arrived in the middle of the +room. The two of them stare at the apparition_. + +THE ANGEL. (_politely_) I hope I am not intruding? + +JIMMY. Why--why--not exactly! + +ANNABELLE. (_in his arms, indignantly_) Jimmy! who is that man? + +JIMMY. (_becoming aware of her and putting her down carefully_) +I--why--the fact is, I don't-- + +THE ANGEL. The fact is, madam, I am his Guardian Angel. + +ANNABELLE. An Angel! Oh! + +THE ANGEL. Tell me, _have_ I intruded? + +ANNABELLE. No, not at all! + +THE ANGEL. Thank you for reassuring me. I feared for a moment that I +had made an inopportune entrance. I was about to suggest that I +withdraw until you had finished the--er--ceremony--which I seem to have +interrupted. + +JIMMY. (_surprised_) But wasn't that what you came for--to interrupt? + +THE ANGEL. I beg your pardon! + +JIMMY. (_bewilderedly_) I mean--if you are my Guardian Angel, and +all that sort of thing, you _must_ have come to--to interfere! + +THE ANGEL. I hope you will not think I would be capable of such +presumption. + +JIMMY. (_puzzled_) You don't want to--so to speak--reform me? + +THE ANGEL. Not at all. Why, I scarcely know you! + +JIMMY. But you're my--my Guardian Angel, you say? + +THE ANGEL. Ah, yes, to be sure. But the relation of angelic +guardianship has for some hundreds of years been a purely nominal one. +We have come to feel that it is best to allow mortals to attend to +their own affairs. + +JIMMY. (_abruptly_) Then what did you come for? + +THE ANGEL. For a change. One becomes tired of familiar scenes. And I +thought that perhaps my relationship to you might serve in lieu of an +introduction. I wanted to be among friends. + +JIMMY. Oh--I see. + +ANNABELLE. Of course. We're delighted to have you with us. Won't you +sit down? (_She leads the way to the fire_.) + +THE ANGEL. (_perching on back of one of the big chairs_) If you don't +mind! My wings, you know. + +JIMMY. (_hesitantly_) Have a cigarette? + +THE ANGEL. Thank you. (_He takes one_.) I am most anxious to learn +the more important of your earthly arts and sciences. Please correct me +if I go wrong. This is my first attempt, remember. He blows out a puff +of smoke. + +ANNABELLE. (_from the settle_) You're doing it very nicely. + +THE ANGEL. It is incense to the mind. + +ANNABELLE. (_laughing, blowing a series of smoke rings_) You must learn +to do it like this! + +THE ANGEL. (_in awe_) That is too wonderful an art. I fear I can never +learn it! + +ANNABELLE. I will teach you. + +THE ANGEL. (_earnestly_) If you were my teacher, I think I could learn +anything. + +ANNABELLE. (_giggles charmingly_). + +JIMMY. (_embarrassed_) Really, Annabelle...! + +ANNABELLE. What's the matter? + +JIMMY. Ordinarily I wouldn't mind your flirting with strangers, but... + +ANNABELLE. (_indignantly_) Jimmy! How can you? + +THE ANGEL. It was my fault, I'm sure--if fault there was. But what is +it--to flirt? You see, I wish to learn everything. + +ANNABELLE. I hope you never learn that. + +THE ANGEL. I put myself in your hands. + +JIMMY. Er--would you like a--drink? + +THE ANGEL. Thank you. I am very thirsty. (_Taking the glass_.) This is +very different from what we have in Heaven. (_He tastes it. A look of +gratified surprise appears on his face_.) And much better! (_He drains +the glass and hands it back_.) May I have some more? + +ANNABELLE. Be careful! + +THE ANGEL. What should I be careful of? + +ANNABELLE. Don't drink too much of that--if it's the first time. + +THE ANGEL. Why not? It is an excellent drink. + +JIMMY. (_laughing_) The maternal instinct! She is afraid you may +make yourself--ridiculous. + +THE ANGEL. Angels do not care for appearances. (_He stands up +magnificently in the chair, towering above them_.) Besides . . . +(_refilling his glass_) I feel that you do an injustice to this +drink. Already it has made a new being of me. (_He looks at +Annabelle_.) I feel an emotion that I have never known before. If I +were in heaven, I should sing. + +ANNABELLE. Oh! Won't you sing? + +THE ANGEL. The fact is, I know nothing but hymns. And I'm tired of +them. That was one reason why I left heaven. And this robe. . . . +(_He descends to the floor, viewing his garment with disapproval_.) +Have you an extra suit of clothes you could lend me? + +JIMMY. (_reflectively_) Yes, I think I have some things that might +fit. (_The Angel waits_.) Do you want them now? I'll look. + +_He goes into the bedroom. . . . The Angel looks at Annabelle until +his gaze becomes insupportable, and she covers her eyes. Then he comes +over to her side_. + +THE ANGEL. (_gravely_) I am very much afraid of you. (_He takes her +hands in his_.) + +ANNABELLE. (_smiling_) One would never guess it! + +THE ANGEL. I am more afraid of you than I was of God. But even though I +fear you, I must come close to you, and touch you. I feel a strange, +new emotion like fire in my veins. This world has become beautiful to +me because you are in it. I want to stay here so that I may be with +you. . . . + +ANNABELLE. (_shaken, but doubting_) For how long? + +THE ANGEL. For ever. . . . + +ANNABELLE. (_in his arms_) Darling! + +THE ANGEL. I am so ignorant! There is something I want to do right now, +only I do not know how to go about it properly. + +_He bends shyly toward her lips_. + +ANNABELLE. I will teach you. + +_She kisses him_. + +THE ANGEL. Heaven was nothing to this. They kiss again. . . . _Enter +Jimmy, with an old suit of clothes over his arm. He pauses in +dumbfounderment. At last he regains his voice_. + +JIMMY. Well! _They look up. Neither of them is perturbed_. + +THE ANGEL. (_blandly_) Has something happened to annoy you? +(_Jimmy shakes the clothes at him in an outraged gesture_.) Oh, my +new costume. Thank you so much! + +_He takes the clothes from Jimmy, and examines them with interest_. + +JIMMY. (_bitterly, to Annabelle_) I suppose I've no right to +complain. You can make love to anybody you like. In fact, now that I +come to think of it, I predicted this very thing. I said you'd fall in +love with the next man you met. So it's off with the old love, and-- + +ANNABELLE. (_calmly_) I have never been in love before. + +JIMMY. The fickleness of women is notorious. It is exceeded only by +their mendacity. But Angels have up to this time stood in good repute. +Your conduct, sir, is scandalous. I am amazed at you. + +THE ANGEL. It may be scandalous, but it should not amaze you. It has +happened too often before. I could quote you many texts from learned +theological works. "And the sons of God looked at the daughters of men +and saw that they were fair." But even if it were as unusual as you +imagine, that would not deter me. + +JIMMY. You are an unscrupulous wretch. If these are the manners of +Heaven, I am glad it is so far away, and means of communication so +difficult. A few more of you would corrupt the morals of five +continents. You are utterly depraved--Here! what are you doing? + +THE ANGEL. I am taking off my robes, so as to put on my new clothes. + +JIMMY. Spare the common decencies at least. Go in the other room. + +THE ANGEL. Certainly, if that is the custom here. With the clothes over +his arm, he goes into the bedroom. + +JIMMY. (_sternly, to Annabelle_) And now tell me, what do you mean +by this? + +ANNABELLE. (_simply_)--We are in love. + +JIMMY. Do you mean to say you would throw me over for that fellow? + +ANNABELLE. Why not? + +JIMMY. What good is he? All he can do is sing hymns. In three months +he'll be a tramp. + +ANNABELLE. I don't care. And he won't be a tramp. I'll look after him. + +JIMMY. (_sneeringly_) The maternal instinct! Well, take care of +him if you like. But of course you know that in six weeks he'll fall in +love with somebody else? + +ANNABELLE. No he won't. I'm sure that I am the only girl in the world +to him. + +JIMMY. Of course you're the only girl in the world to him--now. You're +the only one he's ever seen. But wait till he sees the others! Six +weeks? On second thought I make it three days. Immortal love! (_He +laughs_.) + +ANNABELLE. What difference does it make? You don't understand. Whether +it lasts a day or a year, while it lasts it will be immortal. +_The Angel enters, dressed in Jimmy's old clothes, and carrying his +wings in his hands. He seems exhilarated_. + +THE ANGEL. How do I look? + +JIMMY. It is customary to wear one's tie tucked inside the vest. + +THE ANGEL. (_flinging the ends of the gorgeous necktie over his +shoulder_) No! Though I have become a man, I do not without some +regret put on the dull garb of mortality. I would not have my form lose +all its original brightness. Even so it is the excess of glory +obscured. + +ANNABELLE. (_coming over to him_) You are quite right, darling. + +_She tucks the tie inside his vest_. + +THE ANGEL. Thank you, beloved.--And now these wings! Take them, and +burn them with your own sweet hands, so that I can never leave you, +even if I would. + +ANNABELLE. No! I would rather put them away for you in a closet, so +that you can go and look at them any time you want to, and see that you +have the means to freedom ready to your hand. I shall never hold you +against your will. I do not want to burn your wings. I really don't! +But if you insist--! + +_She takes the wings, and approaches the grate_. + +JIMMY. (_to the Angel_) Don't let her do it! Fool! You don't know +what you are doing. Listen to me! You think that she is wonderful-- +superior--divine. It is only natural. There are moments when I have +thought so myself. But I know why I thought so, and you have yet to +learn. Keep your wings, my friend, against the day of your awakening-- +the day when the glamour of sex has vanished, and you see in her, as +you will see, an inferior being, with a weak body, a stunted mind, +devoid of creative power, almost devoid of imagination, utterly lacking +in critical capacity--a being who does not know how to work, nor how to +talk, nor even how to play! + +_Annabelle, dropping the wings on the hearth, stares at him, in +speechless anger_. + +THE ANGEL. Sir! Do you refer in these vulgar and insulting terms to the +companion of my soul, the desire of my heart, the perfect lover whose +lips have kindled my dull senses to ecstasy? + +JIMMY. I do. Remember that I know her better than you do, young man. +Take my advice and leave her alone. Even now it is not too late! Save +yourself from this folly while there is still time! + +THE ANGEL. Never! + +JIMMY. Then take these tickets--and I hope that I never see either of +you again! _He holds out the tickets. Annabelle, after a pause, steps +forward and takes them_. + +ANNABELLE. That is really sweet of you, Jimmy! The blast of an +auto-horn is heard outside. + +JIMMY. (_bitterly_) And there's my taxi. Take that, too. + +THE ANGEL. Farewell! + +_He opens the door. Annabelle, at his side, turns and blows Jimmy a +kiss. Stonily, Jimmy watches them go out. Then he picks up his suitcase +and goes, with an air of complete finality, into the other room_. + +_There is a moment's silence, and then the door opens softly, and the +Angel looks in, enters surreptitiously, seizes up the wings, and with +them safely clasped to his bosom, vanishes again through the door_. + + + + +LEGEND + +A ROMANCE + + +TO KIRAH MARKHAM + + +"Legend" was first produced, under the title, "My Lady's Mirror," at +the Liberal Club, in 1915, with the following cast: + +He ............... Clement Wood +She............... Kirah Markham + + +_A small room with a little table in the centre, and a chair on +either side of it. At the back is the embrasure of a French window +opening on a balcony. In another wall is the outer door. The room is +lighted by tall candles. There is an image of the Virgin in a niche in +the corner_. + +HE. (_a cloaked figure, standing with hat and stick in one hand and +holding in the other a large square parcel_) First of all, I have a +present for you. + +SHE. (_where she has just risen when he entered_) A present! Oh, +thank you, Luciano! + +HE. It is not me you have to thank for this present! (_He puts it on +the table_.) It is some one else. I am only the bearer. + +SHE. Who can it be? Who would send me a present? + +HE. What a question, Donna Violante! Not a man in Seville, not a man in +Spain, but would send you gifts if he dared. It is not "Who would?" but +"Who could?" + +SHE. No man, as you know, Luciano, has that right. + +HE. Have you so soon forgotten your husband, Violante? He, surely, has +that right! And it is thoughtful of him, too, to pause in the midst of +his antiquarian researches in Rome, to think of his young wife and send +her a gift. He appreciates you more than I imagined. Under his grizzled +and scientific exterior, he is a human being. I respect him for it. + +_He puts down his hat and stick_. + +SHE. My husband! But why, then, do _you_ bring it? + +HE. I was commissioned by him to do so. I received the package, this +morning, with a letter. Shall I read it to you? + +_He takes out the letter_. + +SHE. Yes.... But why should he not send it direct to _me_? + +HE. Your husband is a man of curious and perverse mind, Violante, and, +in spite of his interest in dead things, not without some insight into +the living soul. I think it gave him an obscure pleasure to think of +_me_ the bearer of _his_ gift. But shall we let him speak for +himself? + +_He opens the envelope_. + +SHE. Yes. Read the letter. + +_She sits down to listen_. + +HE. (_reading_) "My dear young friend: I am sending you a package, +which I beg you, as a favour, to deliver to Donna Violante, my wife. It +contains a gift of an unusual sort, which you as well as she will +appreciate. As you know, it is the unusual which interests me--the +unusual and the old. And yet, antiquarian though I am, I flatter myself +that I understand the mind of a beautiful young woman, especially when +that young woman is my wife. I have found her a mirror. Yes, a mirror! +Under this name it seems commonplace enough, but when you have seen it +I do not think you will say so. It is not the kind of mirror that is +ordinarily found in a lady's boudoir. Yet it will give to her a +faithful reflection of her loveliness as it is in truth. I found it-- +this will interest you--in the Catacombs. You would not think the early +Christians had so much vanity! Yet it was a mirror into which the +virgin-martyrs-to-be of the time of Nero looked each day. As they +looked, let Donna Violante look. Say to her from me--'Look long and +well into this mirror, and profit by what you see.'--Humbly your +friend, Don Vincenzio." . . . Is not that a pleasant letter? + +_He restores the letter to his pocket_. + +SHE. There is something in it that makes me shiver.... Let us look. + +_She takes the paper from the box and is about to open it when he +stops her_. + +HE. No. Not now. I want to talk to you. + +SHE (_lapsing into a hostile coldness_) Yes. + +HE. You know what I have to say. I have said it so often. I shall say +it once more. + +SHE. (_appealingly_) Luciano! + +HE. No, let me speak. You are not happy. You do not love your husband. +And you are too young and beautiful to live without love. + +SHE. Please! + +HE. I love you. And you love me. Why do you not surrender yourself to +love? + +SHE. Why do you say such things? They hurt me. + +HE. They are reality. Does reality hurt you? Are you living in a +shadow-world, that you should flinch from the hard touch of truth? I +say it again. I love you. + +SHE. Before you started to talk like that, we were so happy together. + +HE. Before I spoke out the truth of my own heart and yours. You didn't +want it spoken out. You didn't want to be told you were in love. It was +a thing too harsh and sweet. It frightened you to think of. You wanted +us to sit for ever, like two lovers painted on a fan, fixed in an +everlasting and innocuous bliss. + +SHE. Well, you have succeeded in spoiling that. You have made me +unhappy, if that gives you any pleasure. + +HE. It was not I who have spoiled your shadow-world. It is love, coming +like the dawn on wings of flame, and shattering the shadows with spears +of gold. It is love that has made you unhappy. You tremble at its +coming, and try to flee. But the day of love has come for you. + +SHE. Ah, if it had only come before--before.... + +HE. Before you married that perverse old man. If it had come while you +were still a maiden, free, with a right to give yourself up to it! Ah, +you would have given yourself gloriously! It is beautiful--but it is a +dream, and the time calls for a deed. We love each other. We can take +our happiness now. Will you do it? Will you come away with me? + +SHE. No. + +HE. Then I if you cannot take your happiness, give me mine. If you +cannot be a woman, be an angel, and lean down from your dream heaven to +slake my earthly thirst. + +SHE. No. + +HE. No angel? Then a goddess! You want to be worshipped. You want to be +adored. I will worship you, but not from afar, I will adore you in my +own fashion. I will praise you without words, and you shall be the +answer to my prayer. Will you? + +SHE. No. + +HE. "No." "No." "No." How did your lips learn to say that word so +easily? They are not made to say such a word. They are too young, too +red, to say "No" to Life. When you say that word, the world grows +black. The stars go out, the leaves wither, the heart stops beating. It +is a word that kills. It is the word of Death. Dare you say it again? +Answer me, do we love each other? . . . Silence. + +SHE. I think . . . I am going . . . to cry. + +HE. And tears. Tears are a slave's answer. Speak. Defend yourself. Why +do you stay here? Why do you deny yourself happiness? Why won't you +come with me? + +SHE. I cannot. + +HE. Always the same phrase that means nothing. Ah, Violante, lady of +few words, you know how to baffle argument. If I could only make you +speak! If I could only see what the thoughts are that darken your will! + +SHE. Don't. + +HE. By God! I wonder that I don't hate you instead of love you. There +is something ignobly feminine about you. You are incapable of action-- +almost incapable of speech. Your lips are shut tight against kisses, +and when they open to speak, all that they say is "Don't." + +SHE. What do you expect to gain by scolding me? + +HE. I gain the satisfaction of telling you the truth--that you have the +most cowardly soul that was ever belied by a glorious body. Who would +think to look at you that you were afraid? + +SHE. It's no use bullying me. + +HE. I know that, Violante. It's the poorest way to woo a woman. But I +have tried every other way. I have pleaded, and been answered with +silence. I have wooed you with caresses, and been answered with tears. + +SHE. I am sorry, Luciano. + +HE. I want you to be glad. + +SHE. I am glad--glad of you--in spite of everything. + +HE. Gladness is something fiercer than that. You are too tame. Oh, if I +could reach and rouse your soul! + +SHE. My soul is yours already.... + +HE. And your body...? + +SHE. It is impossible. + +HE. No. It isn't impossible. But I'll tell you what is impossible. +This--for me to go on loving you and despising you.... I came here +today to make one last appeal to you. I don't mean it as a threat. But +I am going away tonight for ever--with you, or without you. You must +decide. + +SHE. (_rising_) But--I don't want you to go, Luciano! + +HE. You will miss me, I know. But don't think too much of that. You +will find a new friend--if you decide against me. + +SHE. And I must decide now? + +HE. Yes--now. + +SHE. But how can I? Oh, Luciano! + +HE. I know it is hard. But I will not make it harder. Violante: I have +sought to appeal to your emotion when my appeal to your will was in +vain. But tonight I will leave you to make your own decision. You must +come to me freely or not at all. There must be no regrets. + +SHE. I cannot do it. + +HE. If you say that when I return I will accept it as a final answer. I +am going out on the balcony--for a long minute. And while I am gone you +must decide what to do. Will you? + +SHE. Yes. + +HE. (_turning at the window_) And if while I am gone you wish to +recall my arguments to your mind--(_he points to the box on the +table_)--look in your mirror there. Your beauty will plead for me. +As Don Vincenzio said: Look long and well into that mirror, lady, and +profit by what you see. + +_He goes out. . . . She looks after him, and when he is gone holds +out her arms towards the door. She makes a step towards it, and then +stops, her hands falling to her sides. Her head droops for a moment or +two, and then is slowly lifted. Her eyes sweep the room imploringly, +and rest on the image of the Virgin. She goes over to it and kneels_. + +SHE. Mary, Mother of God, give me a sign. I do not know what to do. +Help me. I must decide. Love has entered my heart, and it may be that I +cannot be a good woman any longer. You will be kind to me, and pity me, +and send me a sign. Perhaps you will let me have my lover, for you are +kind. + +_She crosses herself, rises, and looks around. She sees the box on +the table, and puts her hand to her face with a gesture of sudden +thought. She smiles_. + +Perhaps that is the sign! + +_She goes to the box and touches it_. + +He said it would plead for him. . . . + +_She opens it--and starts back with a gesture and a cry_. + +It _is_ the sign! + +_With one hand over her heart she approaches it again. She takes out +of the box and puts on the table a skull. . . . She stares at it a long +while, and then turns with a shiver_. + +How cold it is here! Where are the lights? + +_She is compelled to look again_. + +I had never thought of death. My heart is cold, too. The chill of the +grave is on me. Was I ever in love? It seems strange to remember. What +is his name? I almost have forgotten. And he is waiting for me. I will +show him this. We should have looked at it together. . . . + +_A silence, as her mood changes_. + +So _he_ had planned it! He wanted to cast the chill of the grave +upon our love. He saw it all as though he had been here. He sent us-- +this! How well he knew me--better than I knew myself. An old man's +cunning! To stop my pulses throbbing with love, and put out the fever +in my eyes. A trick! Yes, but it suffices. One look into the eyeless +face of Death turns me to ashes. I am no longer fit for love. . . . + +_She turns to the door_. + +Why does he not come for his answer? + +_She looks for a lingering moment toward the door, and then turns +back again to the table. Her mood changes again_. + +A present from a husband to a wife! + +_She takes it up in her hands_. + +A lady's mirror! What was it that he said? "Look long and well into +this mirror, and profit by what you see," My mirror from the Catacombs! + +_She sinks into a chair, holding it between her hands as it rests on +the table. Her tone is trance-like_. + +I look. I see the end of all things. I see that nothing matters. Is +that your message? Why do you grin at me? You laugh to think that my +face is like your face--or will be soon--in a few years-tomorrow. You +mock at me for thinking I am alive. I am dead, you say. Dead, like you. +Am I? + +_She rises_. + +No. Not yet. For a moment--a little lifetime--I have life, I Have lips +and eyelids made for kisses. I have hands that burn to give caresses, +and breasts that ache to take them. I have a body made to suffer the +deep stings of love. This flesh of mine shall be a golden web woven of +pain and joy. + +_She takes up the skull again_. + +You were alive once, and a virgin-martyr? You denied yourself love? You +sent away your lover? No wonder you speak so plainly to me now. Back, +girl, to your coffin! + +_She puts the skull in the box, and closes the lid softly. She turns +to the door and waits. At last he enters_. + +HE. (_dejected_) You have--decided? + +SHE. Yes. I have decided. + +HE. I knew. It is no use. I will go. + +_He turns to the door_. + +SHE. Wait! (_He turns back incredulously_.) I have decided to go +with you. (_He stands stock-still_.) Don't you understand? Take +me. I am yours. Don't you believe it? + +HE. Violante! + +SHE. It is hard to believe, isn't it. I have been a child. Now I am a +woman. And shall I tell you how I became a woman? (_She points to the +box on the table_.) I looked in my mirror there. I saw that I was +beautiful--and alive. Tell me, am I not beautiful--and alive? + +HE. There is something terrible about you at this moment. I am almost +afraid of you. + +SHE. Kiss me, Luciano! + + + + +SWEET-AND-TWENTY + +A COMEDY + + +To EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY + + +"Sweet-and-Twenty" was first produced by the Provincetown Players, New +York City, in 1918, with the following cast: + +The Young Woman ........ Edna St. Vincent +Millay The Young Man ... Ordway Tead +The Agent .............. Otto Liveright +The Guard .............. Louis Ell + + +The cherry-orchard scene was effectively produced on a small stage by a +blue-green back-drop with a single conventionalized cherry-branch +painted across it, and two three-leaved screens masking the wings, +painted in blue-green with a spray of cherry blossoms. + +_A corner of the cherry orchard on the country place of the late Mr. +Boggley, now on sale and open for inspection to prospective buyers. The +cherry orchard, now in full bloom, is a very pleasant place. There is a +green-painted rustic bench beside the path. . . . + +A young woman, dressed in a light summer frock and carrying a parasol, +drifts in from the back. She sees the bench, comes over to it and sits +down with an air of petulant weariness. + +A handsome young man enters from the right. He stops short in surprise +on seeing the charming stranger who lolls upon the bench. He takes off +his hat_. + +HE. Oh, I beg your pardon! + +SHE. Oh, you needn't! I've no right to be here, either. + +HE. (_coming over to her_) Now what do you mean by that? + +SHE. I thought perhaps you were playing truant, as I am. + +HE. Playing truant? + +SHE. I was looking at the house, you know. And I got tired and ran +away. + +HE. Well, to tell the truth, so did I. It's dull work, isn't it? + +SHE. I've been upstairs and down for two hours. That family portrait +gallery finished me. It was so old and gloomy and dead that I felt as +if I were dead myself. I just had to do something. I wanted to jab my +parasol through the window-pane. I understood just how the suffragettes +felt. But I was afraid of shocking the agent. He is such a meek little +man, and he seemed to think so well of me. If I had broken the window I +would have shattered his ideals of womanhood, too, I'm afraid. So I +just slipped away quietly and came here. + +HE. I've only been there half an hour and we--I've only been in the +basement. That's why our tours of inspection didn't bring us together +sooner. I've been cross-examining the furnace. Do you understand +furnaces? (_He sits down beside her_) I don't. + +SHE. Do you like family portraits? I hate 'em! + +HE. What! Do the family portraits go with the house? + +SHE. No, thank heaven. They've been bequeathed to some museum, I am +told. They're valuable historically--early colonial governors and all +that sort of stuff. But there is some one with me who--who takes a deep +interest in such things. + +HE. (_frowning at a sudden memory_) Hm. Didn't I see you at that real +estate office in New York yesterday? + +SHE. Yes. _He_ was with me then. + +HE. (_compassionately_) I--I thought I remembered seeing you +with--with him. + +SHE. (_cheerfully_) Isn't he _just_ the sort of man who would be +interested in family portraits? + +HE. (_confused_) Well--since you ask me-- + +SHE. Oh, that's all right. Tubby's a dear, in spite of his funny old +ideas. I like him very much. + +HE. (_gulping the pill_) Yes.... + +SHE. He's so anxious to please me in buying this house. I suppose it's +all right to have a house, but I'd like to become acquainted with it +gradually. I'd like to feel that there was always some corner left to +explore--some mystery saved up for a rainy day. Tubby can't understand +that. He drags me everywhere, explaining how we'll keep this and change +that--dormer windows here and perhaps a new wing there.... I suppose +you've been rebuilding the house, too? + +HE. No. Merely decided to turn that sunny south room into a study. It +would make a very pleasant place to work. But if you really want the +place, I'd hate to take it away from you. + +SHE. I was just going to say that if _you_ really wanted it, _I'd_ +withdraw. It was Tubby's idea to buy it, you know--not mine. You _do_ +want it, don't you? + +HE. I can't say that I do. It's so infernally big. But Maria thinks I +ought to have it. (_Explanatorily_)--Maria is-- + +SHE. (_gently_) She's--the one who is interested in furnaces. I +understand. I saw her with you at the real-estate office yesterday. +Well--furnaces are necessary, I suppose. (_There is a pause, which +she breaks suddenly_.) Do you see that bee? + +HE. A bee? + +_He follows her gaze up to a cluster of blossoms_. + +SHE. Yes--there! (_Affectionately_)--The rascal! There he goes. + +_Their eyes follow the flight of the bee across the orchard. There is +a silence. Alone together beneath the blossoms, a spell seems to have +fallen upon them. She tries to think of something to say--and at last +succeeds_. + +SHE. Have you heard the story of the people who used to live here? + +HE. No; why? + +SHE. The agent was telling us. It's quite romantic--and rather sad. You +see, the man that built this house was in love with a girl. He was +building it for her--as a surprise. But he had neglected to mention to +her that he was in love with her. And so, in pique, she married another +man, though she was really in love with him. The news came just when he +had finished the house. He shut it up for a year or two, but eventually +married some one else, and they lived I here for ten years--most +unhappily. Then they went abroad, and the house was sold. It was +bought, curiously enough, by the husband of the girl he had been in +love with. They lived here till they died-hating each other to the end, +the agent says. + +HE. It gives me the shivers. To think of that house, haunted by the +memories of wasted love! Which of us, I wonder, will have to live in +it? I don't want to. + +SHE. (_prosaically_) Oh, don't take it so seriously as all that. +If one can't live in a house where there's been an unhappy marriage, +why, good heavens, where is one going to live? Most marriages, I fancy, +are unhappy. + +HE. A bitter philosophy for one so young and-- + +SHE. Nonsense! But listen to the rest of the story. The most +interesting part is about this very orchard. + +HE. Really! + +SHE. Yes. This orchard, it seems, was here before the house was. It was +part of an old farm where he and she--the unhappy lovers, you know-- +stopped one day, while they were out driving, and asked for something +to eat. The farmer's wife was busy, but she gave them each a glass of +milk, and told them they could eat all the cherries they wanted. +So they picked a hatful of cherries, and ate them, sitting on a bench +like this one. And then he fell in love with her. . . . + +HE. And . . . didn't tell her so. . . . + +_She glances at him in alarm. His self-possession has vanished. He is +pale and frightened, but there is a desperate look in his eyes, as if +some unknown power were forcing him to do something very rash. In +short, he seems like a young man who has just fallen in love_. + +SHE. (_hastily_) So you see this orchard is haunted, too! + +HE. I feel it. I seem to hear the ghost of that old-time lover +whispering to me. . . . + +SHE. (_provocatively_) Indeed! What does he say? + +HE. He says: "I was a coward; you must be bold. I was silent; you must +speak out." + +SHE. (_mischievously_) That's very curious--because that old lover +isn't dead at all. He's a Congressman or Senator or something, the +Agent says. + +HE. (_earnestly_) It's all the same. His youth is dead; and it is +his youth that speaks to me. + +SHE. _quickly_ You mustn't believe all that ghosts tell you. + +HE. Oh, but I must. For they know the folly of silence--the bitterness +of cowardice. + +SHE. The circumstances were--slightly--different, weren't they? + +HE. (_stubbornly_) I don't care! + +SHE. (_soberly_) You know perfectly well it's no use. + +HE. I can't help that! + +SHE. Please! You simply mustn't! It's disgraceful! + +HE. What's disgraceful? + +SHE. (_confused_) What you are going to say. + +HE. (_simply_) Only that I love you. What is there disgraceful about +that? It's beautiful! + +SHE. It's wrong. + +HE. It's inevitable. + +SHE. Why inevitable? Can't you talk with a girl in an orchard for half +an hour without falling in love with her? + +HE. Not if the girl is you. + +SHE. But why especially _me_? + +HE. I don't know. Love--is a mystery. I only know that I was destined +to love you. + +SHE. How can you be so sure? + +HE. Because you have changed the world for me. It's as though I had +been groping about in the dark, and then--sunrise! And there's a queer +feeling here. (_He puts his hand on his heart_.) To tell the honest +truth, there's a still queerer feeling in the pit of my stomach. +It's a gone feeling, if you must know. And my knees are weak. I know +now why men used to fall on their knees when they told a girl they +loved her; it was because they couldn't stand up. And there's a feeling +in my feet as though I were walking on air. And-- + +SHE. (_faintly_) That's enough! + +HE. And I could die for you and be glad of the chance. It's perfectly +absurd, but it's absolutely true. I've never spoken to you before, and +heaven knows I may never get a chance to speak to you again, but I'd +never forgive myself if I didn't say this to you now. I love you! love +you! love you! Now tell me I'm a fool. Tell me to go. Anything--I've +said my say. . . . Why don't you speak? + +SHE. I--I've nothing to say--except--except that I--well--(_almost +inaudibly_) I feel some of those symptoms myself. + +ME. (_triumphantly_) You love me! + +SHE. I--don't know. Yes. Perhaps. + +HE. Then kiss me! + +SHE. (_doubtfully_) No. . . . + +HE. Kiss me! + +SHE. (_tormentedly_) Oh, what's the use? + +HE. I don't know. I don't care. I only know that we love each other. + +SHE. (_after a moment's hesitation, desperately_) I don't care, +either! I do want to kiss you. + +_She does. . . . He is the first to awake from the ecstasy_. + +HE. It is wrong-- + +SHE. (_absently_) Is it? + +HE. But, oh heaven! kiss me again! (_She does_.) + +SHE. Darling! + +HE. Do you suppose any one is likely to come this way? + +SHE. No. + +HE. (_speculatively_) Your husband is probably still in the portrait +gallery.... + +SHE. My husband! (_Drawing away_) What do you mean? (_Thoroughly +awake now_) You didn't think--? (_She jumps up and laughs +convulsively_.) You thought poor old Tubby was my husband? + +HE. (_staring up at her bewildered_) Why, isn't he your husband? + +SHE. (_scornfully_) No!! He's my uncle! + +HE. Your unc-- + +SHE. Yes, of course! (_Indignantly_) Do you suppose I would be +married to a man that's fat and bald and forty years old? + +HE. (_distressed_) I--I beg your pardon. I did think so. + +SHE. Just because you saw me with him? How ridiculous! + +HE. It was a silly mistake. But--the things you said! You spoke so-- +realistically--about marriage. + +SHE. It was your marriage I was speaking about. (_With hasty +compunction_) Oh, I beg your-- + +HE. My marriage! (_He rises_.) Good heavens! And to whom, pray, +did you think I was married? (_A light dawning_) To Maria? Why, +Maria is my aunt! + +SHE. Yes--of course. How stupid of me. + +HE. Let's get this straight. Are you married to _anybody_? + +SHE. Certainly not. As if I would let myself be made love to, if I were +a married woman! + +HE. Now don't put on airs. You did something quite as improper. You +made love to a married man. + +SHE. I didn't. + +HE. It's the same thing. You thought I was married. + +SHE. But you aren't. + +HE. No. I'm not married. And--and--_you're_ not married. (_The +logic of the situation striking him all of a sudden_) In fact--! +_He pauses, rather alarmed_. + +SHE. Yes? + +HE. In fact--well--there's no reason in the world why we _shouldn't_ +make love to each other! + +SHE. (_equally startled_) Why--that's so! + +HE. Then--then--shall we? + +SHE. (_sitting down and looking demurely at her toes_) Oh, not if +you don't want to! + +HE. (_adjusting himself to the situation_) Well--under the +circumstances--I suppose I ought to begin by asking you to marry me. . + +SHE. (_languidly, with a provoking glance_) You don't seem very +anxious to. + +HE. (_feeling at a disadvantage_) It isn't that--but--well-- + +SHE. (_lightly_) Well what? + +HE. Dash it all, I don't know your name! + +SHE. (_looking at him with mild curiosity_) That didn't seem to stop +you a while ago.... + +HE. (_doggedly_) Well, then--will you marry me? + +SHE. (_promptly_) No. + +HE. (_surprised_) No! Why do you say that? + +SHE. (_coolly_) Why should I marry you? I know nothing about you. +I've known you for less than an hour. + +HE. (_sardonically_) That fact didn't seem to keep you from kissing me. + +SHE. Besides--I don't like the way you go about it. If you'd propose +the same way you made love to me, maybe I'd accept you. + +HE. All right. (_Dropping on one knee before her_) Beloved! (_An +awkward pause_) No, I can't do it. (_He gets up and distractedly +dusts off his knees with his handkerchief_.) I'm very sorry. + +SHE. (_with calm inquiry_) Perhaps it's because you don't love me +any more? + +HE. (_fretfully_) Of course I love you! + +SHE. (_coldly_) But you don't want to marry me.... I see. + +HE. Not at all! I do want to marry you. But-- + +SHE. Well? + +HE. Marriage is a serious matter. Now don't take offense! I only meant +that-well--(_He starts again_.) We _are_ in love with each other, and +that's the important thing. But, as you said, we don't know each other. +I've no doubt that when we get acquainted we will like each other +better still. But we've got to get acquainted first. + +SHE. (_rising_) You're just like Tubby buying a house. You want to +know all about it. Well! I warn you that you'll never know all about +me. So you needn't try. + +HE. (_apologetically_) It was _your_ suggestion. + +SHE. (_impatiently_) Oh, all right! Go ahead and cross-examine me +if you like. I'll tell you to begin with that I'm perfectly healthy, +and that there's no T. B., insanity, or Socialism in my family. What +else do you want to know? + +HE.(_hesitantly_) Why did you put in Socialism, along with insanity and +T. B.? + +SHE. Oh, just for fun. You aren't a Socialist, are you? + +HE. Yes. (_Earnestly_) Do you know what Socialism is? + +SHE. (_innocently_) It's the same thing as Anarchy, isn't it? + +HE. (_gently_) No. At least not my kind. I believe in municipal +ownership of street cars, and all that sort of thing. I'll give you +some books to read. + +SHE. Well, I never ride in street cars, so I don't care whether they're +municipally owned or not. By the way, do you dance? + +HE. No. + +SHE. You must learn right away. I can't bother to teach you myself, but +I know where you can get private lessons and become really good in a +month. It is stupid not to be able to dance. + +HE. (_as if he had tasted quinine_) I can see myself doing the tango! +Grr! + +SHE. The tango went out long ago, my dear. + +HE. (_with great decision_) Well--I _won't_ learn to dance. You might +as well know that to begin with. + +SHE. And I won't read your old books on Socialism. You might as well +know that to begin with! + +HE. Come, come! This will never do. You see, my dear, it's simply that +I _can't_ dance, and there's no use for me to try to learn. + +SHE. Anybody can learn. I've made expert dancers out of the awkwardest +men! + +HE. But, you see, I've no inclination toward dancing. It's out of my +world. + +SHE. And I've no inclination toward municipal ownership. _It's_ out of +_my_ world! + +HE. It ought not to be out of the world of any intelligent person. + +SHE. (_turning her back on him_) All right--if you want to call me +stupid! + +HE. (_turning and looking away meditatively_) It appears that we +have very few tastes in common. + +SHE. (_tapping her foot_) So it seems. + +HE. If we married we might be happy for a month-- + +SHE. Perhaps. + +_They remain with their backs to each other_. + +HE. And then--the old story. Quarrels. . . . + +SHE. I never could bear quarrels. . . . + +HE. An unhappy marriage. . . . + +SHE. (_realizing it_) Oh! + +HE. (_hopelessly turning toward her_) I can't marry you. + +SHE. (_recovering quickly and facing him with a smile_) Nobody asked +you, sir! + +HE. (_with a gesture of finality_) Well--there seems to be no more +to say. + +SHE. (_sweetly_) Except good-bye. + +HE. (_firmly_) Good-by, then. + +_He holds out his hand_. + +SHE. (_taking it_) Good-bye! + +HE. (_taking her other hand--after a pause, helplessly_) Good-bye! + +SHE. (_drowning in his eyes_) Good-bye! + +_They cling to each other, and are presently lost in a passionate +embrace. He breaks loose and stamps away, then turns to her_. + +HE. Damn it all, we _do_ love each other! + +SHE. (_wiping her eyes_) What a pity that is the only taste we +have in common! + +HE. Do you suppose that is enough? + +SHE. I wish it were! + +HE. A month of happiness-- + +SHE. Yes! + +HE. And then--wretchedness, + +SHE. No--never! + +HE. We mustn't do it. + +SHE. I suppose not. + +HE. Come, let us control ourselves. + +SHE. Yes, let's (_They take hands again_.) + +HE. (_with an effort_) I wish you happiness. I--I'll go to Europe +for a year. Try to forget me. + +SHE. I shall be married when you get back--perhaps. + +HE. I hope it's somebody that's not bald and fat and forty. +Otherwise--! + +SHE. And you--for goodness sake! marry a girl that's very young and +very, very pretty. That will help. + +HE. We mustn't prolong this. If we stay together another minute-- + +SHE. Then go! + +HE. I can't go! + +SHE. You must, darling! You must! + +HE. Oh, if somebody would only come along! + +_They are leaning toward each other, dizzy upon the brink of another +kiss, when somebody does come--a short, mild-looking man in a derby +hat. There is an odd gleam in his eyes_. + +THE INTRUDER. (_startled_) Excuse me! + +_They turn and stare at him, but their hands cling fast to each other_. + +SHE. (_faintly_) The Agent! + +THE AGENT. (_in despairing accents_) Too late! Too late! + +THE YOUNG MAN. No! Just in time! + +THE AGENT. Too late, I say! I will go. + +_He turns away_. + +THE YOUNG MAN. No! Stay! + +THE AGENT. What's the use? It has already begun. What good can I do +now? + +THE YOUNG MAN. I'll show you what good you can do now. Come here! +(_The Agent approaches_.), Can you unloose my hands from those of +this young woman? + +THE YOUNG WOMAN. (_haughtily, releasing herself and walking away_) +You needn't trouble! I can do it myself. + +THE YOUNG MAN. Thank you. It was utterly beyond my power. (_To the +Agent_)--Will you kindly take hold of me and move me over there? +(_The Agent propels him away from the girl_.) Thank you. At this +distance I can perhaps say farewell in a seemly and innocuous manner. + +THE AGENT. Young man, you will not say farewell to that young lady for +ten days-and perhaps never! + +THE YOUNG WOMAN. What! + +THE AGENT. They have arranged it all. + +THE YOUNG MAN. _Who_ have arranged _what_? + +THE AGENT. Your aunt, Miss Brooke--and (_to the young woman_) your +uncle, Mr. Egerton-- + +_The young people turn and stare at each other in amazement_. + +THE YOUNG MAN. Egerton! Are you Helen Egerton? + +HELEN. And are you George Brooke? + +THE AGENT. Your aunt and uncle have just discovered each other up at +the house, and they have arranged for you all to take dinner together +tonight, and then go to a ten-day house-party at Mr. Egerton's place on +Long Island. (_Grimly_) The reason of all this will be plain to +you. They want you two to get married. + +GEORGE. Then we're done for! We'll have to get married now whether we +want to or not! + +HELEN. What! Just to please _them_? I shan't do it! + +GEORGE. (_gloomily_) You don't know my Aunt Maria. + +HELEN. And Tubby will try to bully me, I suppose. But I won't do it--no +matter what he says! + +THE AGENT. Pardon what may seem an impertinence, Miss; but is it really +true that you don't want to marry this young man? + +HELEN. (_flaming_) I suppose because you saw me in his arms--! Oh, +I want to, all right, but-- + +THE AGENT. (_mildly_) Then what seems to be the trouble? + +HELEN. I--oh, you explain to him, George. + +_She goes to the bench and sits down_. + +GEORGE. Well, it's this way. As you may have deduced from what you saw, +we are madly in love with each other-- + +HELEN. (_from the bench_) But I'm not madly in love with municipal +ownership. That's the chief difficulty. + +GEORGE. No, the chief difficulty is that I refuse to entertain even a +platonic affection for the tango. + +HELEN. (_irritably_) I told you the tango had gone out long ago! + +GEORGE. Well, then, the maxixe. + +HELEN. Stupid! + +GEORGE. And there you have it! No doubt it seems ridiculous to you. + +THE AGENT. (_gravely_) Not at all, my boy. I've known marriage to +go to smash on far less than that. When you come to think of it, a +taste for dancing and a taste for municipal ownership stand at the two +ends of the earth away from each other. They represent two different +ways of taking life. And if two people who live in the same house can't +agree on those two things, they'd disagree on a hundred things that +came up every day. And what's the use for two different kinds of beings +to try to live together? It doesn't work, no matter how much, love +there is between them. + +GEORGE. (_rushing up to him in surprise and gratification, and +shaking his hand warmly_) Then you're on our side! You'll help us +not to get married! + +THE AGENT. Your aunt is very set on it--and your uncle, too, Miss! + +HELEN. We must find some way to get out of it, or they'll have us +cooped up together in that house before we know it. (_Rising and +coming over to the Agent_) Can't you think up some scheme? + +THE AGENT. Perhaps I can, and perhaps I can't. I'm a bachelor myself, +Miss, and that means that I've thought up many a scheme to get out of +marriage myself. + +HELEN. (_outraged_) You old scoundrel! + +THE AGENT. Oh, it's not so bad as you may think, Miss. I've always gone +through the marriage ceremony to please them. But that's not what I +call marriage. + +GEORGE. Then what _do_ you call marriage? + +HELEN. Yes, I'd like to know! + +THE AGENT. Marriage, my young friends, is an iniquitous arrangement +devised by the Devil himself for driving all the love out of the hearts +of lovers. They start out as much in love with each other as you two +are today, and they end by being as sick of the sight of each other as +you two will be five years hence if I don't find a way of saving you +alive out of the Devil's own trap. It's not lack of love that's the +trouble with marriage--it's marriage itself. And when I say marriage, I +don't mean promising to love, honour, and obey, for richer, for poorer, +in sickness and in health till death do you part--that's only human +nature to wish and to attempt. And it might be done if it weren't for +the iniquitous arrangement of marriage. + +GEORGE. (_puzzled_) But what is the iniquitous arrangement? + +THE AGENT. Ah, that's the trouble! If I tell you, you won't believe me. +You'll go ahead and try it out, and find out what all the unhappy ones +have found out before you. Listen to me, my children. Did you ever go +on a picnic? (_He looks from one to the other--they stand astonished +and silent_.) Of course you have. Every one has. There is an +instinct in us which makes us go back to the ways of our savage +ancestors--to gather about a fire in the forest, to cook meat on a +pointed stick, and eat it with our fingers. But how many books would +you write, young man, if you had to go back to the campfire every day +for your lunch? And how many new dances would _you_ invent if you +lived eternally in the picnic stage of civilization? No! the picnic is +incompatible with everyday living. As incompatible as marriage. + +GEORGE. But-- + +HELEN. But-- + +THE AGENT. Marriage is the nest-building instinct, turned by the Devil +himself into an institution to hold the human soul in chains. The whole +story of marriage is told in the old riddle: "Why do birds in their +nests agree? Because if they don't, they'll fall out." That's it. +Marriage is a nest so small that there is no room in it for +disagreement. Now it may be all right for birds to agree, but human +beings are not built that way. They disagree, and home becomes a little +hell. Or else they do agree, at the expense of the soul's freedom +stifled in one or both. + +HELEN. Yes, but tell me-- + +GEORGE. Ssh! + +THE AGENT. Yet there _is_ the nest-building instinct. You feel it, +both of you. If you don't now, you will as soon as you are married. If +you are fools, you will try to live all your lives in a love-nest; and +you will imprison your souls within it, and the Devil will laugh. + +HELEN. (_to George_) I am beginning to be afraid of him. + +GEORGE. So am I. + +THE AGENT. If you are wise, you will build yourselves a little nest +secretly in the woods, away from civilization, and you will run away +together to that nest whenever you are in the mood. A nest so small +that it will hold only two beings and one thought--the thought of love. +And then you will come back refreshed to civilization, where every soul +is different from every other soul--you will let each other alone, +forget each other, and do your own work in peace. Do you understand? + +HELEN. He means we should occupy separate sides of the house, I think. +Or else that we should live apart and only see each other on week-ends. +I'm not sure which. + +THE AGENT. (_passionately_) I mean that you should not stifle love +with civilization, nor encumber civilization with love. What have they +to do with each other? You think you want a fellow student of +economics. You are wrong. _You_ think you want a dancing partner. +You are mistaken. You want a revelation of the glory of the universe. + +HELEN. (_to George, confidentially_) It's blithering nonsense, of +course. But it _was_ something like that--a while ago. + +GEORGE. (_bewilderedly_) Yes; when we knew it was our first kiss +and thought it was to be our last. + +THE AGENT. (_fiercely_) A kiss is always the first kiss and the +last--or it is nothing. + +HELEN. (_conclusively_) He's quite mad. + +GEORGE. Absolutely. + +THE AGENT. Mad? Of course I am mad. But-- + +_He turns suddenly, and subsides as a man in a, guard's uniform +enters_. + +THE GUARD. Ah, here you are! Thought you'd given us the slip, did you? +(_To the others_) Escaped from the Asylum, he did, a week ago, and +got a job here. We've been huntin' him high and low. Come along now! + +GEORGE. (_recovering with difficulty the power of speech_) +What--what's the matter with him? + +THE GUARD. Matter with him? He went crazy, he did, readin' the works of +Bernard Shaw. And if he wasn't in the insane asylum he'd be in jail. +He's a bigamist, he is. He married fourteen women. But none of 'em +would go on the witness stand against him. Said he was an ideal +husband, they did. Fourteen of 'em! But otherwise he's perfectly +harmless. + +THE AGENT. (_pleasantly_) Perfectly harmless! Yes, perfectly +harmless! + +_He is led out_. + +HELEN. That explains it all! + +GEORGE. Yes--and yet I feel there was something in what he was saying. + +HELEN. Well--are we going to get married or not? We've got to decide +that before we face my uncle and your aunt. + +GEORGE. Of course we'll get married. You have your work and I mine, +and-- + +HELEN. Well, if we do, then you can't have that sunny south room for a +study. I want it for the nursery. + +GEORGE. The nursery! + +HELEN. Yes; babies, you know! + +GEORGE. Good heavens! + + + + + +A LONG TIME AGO + +A TRAGIC FANTASY + + + +TO BROR NORDFELDT + + + +"A Long Time Ago" was first produced by the Provincetown Players, New +York City, in 1917, with the following cast: + +The Old Woman .............. Miriam Kiper +The Fool.................... Duncan MacDougal +The Queen................... Ida Rauh +The Sailor.................. George Cram Cook +The Prince.................. Pendleton King + +_The courtyard of a palace. On one side, broad steps, and a door, +leading to the palace. On the other, steps leading downward. At the +back, a rose-arbour, and in front of it a wide seat. + +On the steps before the door a fool is sitting, plucking at a musical +instrument. On the lower steps stands an old woman, richly dressed_. + +THE OLD WOMAN. Why do you sit there, fool, and twang at that harp? +There's no occasion for making music. Nobody has been winning any +battles. How long has it been since a great fight was heard of? + +THE FOOL. If there had been a battle, old woman, they would have had to +get some one besides myself to celebrate the winning of it. I do not +like fighting. + +THE OLD WOMAN. What does a scrawny little weakling like you know of +fighting, and why should you have an opinion? + +THE FOOL. The days of fighting are over, and a good thing it is, too. +Four kingdoms we have about us, that in the bloody old days we would be +for ever marching against, and they against us, killing and burning and +destroying the crops till a quiet man would be sick to think of it. But +that's all past. Twenty years we have been at peace with them, and +that's ever since the young queen was born, and I hope it may last as +long as she lives. + +THE OLD WOMAN. There's no stopping a fool when he starts to talk. But +it is right you are that the good old days are gone. Those were the +days of great heroes, like the father of her that is now Queen. They +were fine men that stood beside him, and one was my own man. I said to +him, "This is the time a brave man is sure to be killed. If you come +back to me, I'll always think you were a coward." He died along with a +thousand of the best men in the kingdom fighting around the King. That +was a great day. Four kingdoms at once we fought, and beat them to +their knees. Glad enough they were to make peace with the child of that +dead king. + +THE FOOL. Spare me, woman. I've heard that old story often enough. What +do you suppose all that fighting was for, if it wasn't to put an end to +quarrelling for all time? If the old King was alive now, he'd sit in +his palace and drink his ale and listen to music, and when he saw the +young men giving kisses to the young women under the trees he'd be glad +enough. But you still go cawing for blood, like an old crow. + +THE OLD WOMAN. I'll not talk to such a one. You can see with your own +eyes that our enemies are strong and prosperous. We let them into the +kingdom with their silks and their satins and their jewels to sell. +They walk about the city here and laugh to themselves, thinking how +they will spoil and destroy everything soon. It may be this year, it +may be next year. If the old King were alive, he'd never have let them +get half so strong. He would have kept them in fear of us, and trained +up a fine band of heroes, too, making raids on them once in a while. +There's the city that shoves itself right up against our borders--I can +see our men coming home from the spoiling of it, all red with spilt +wine and blood. . . . + +THE FOOL. You're a disgusting old woman. If I hear any more of that +talk, I'm likely to slap the face of you, even if you are the Queen's +nurse. Go away before you spoil my afternoon. + +THE OLD WOMAN. I could speak to the Queen and have you beaten, do you +know that? + +THE FOOL. Woman, go away. I do not want to be bothered by the old and +the garrulous. I am composing a love-song. + +THE OLD WOMAN. Has any one ever loved you, I would like to know? Now if +it were that young prince who is staying with us, he would have some +right to make love-songs--if what they say is true, that every woman he +meets on his journey falls in love with him. Even our own Queen, I am +thinking. But only three days does he stay in any place, and then he is +up and gone on his long journey that nobody understands the reason or +the end of, from the east to the west. He is too wise to be held by +such toys as love. + +THE FOOL. Then he is more a fool than I. + +THE OLD WOMAN. Who should know about love, if not a man who has been +loved by many women and by great queens? But you, what do you know +about it? + +THE FOOL. The trouble with the old is that they forget so many things. +I am sorry for you, woman. You think yourself wise, but the fool that +sits at the Queen's doorstep and looks at her as she passes, and she +never seeing him at all, is wiser than you. + +THE OLD WOMAN. I have wasted enough words with you. I will go away and +sit in the sun and think of the days when there were heroes. + +_She goes_. + +THE FOOL. And I will make a song about love. I will make a song about +the love that is too high for pride and too deep for shame. + +_The door has opened, and the young Queen stands looking down at him_. + +THE QUEEN. What is that, fool? What are the words you are saying? + +THE FOOL. (_kneeling_) I was speaking of a love that is too high +for pride and too deep for shame. + +THE QUEEN. And whose love is that, fool? + +THE FOOL. It is the love of all who really love, and it is the only +love worth making a song about. + +THE QUEEN. (_smiling_) And how do you come to be so wise as to know +about such things? + +THE FOOL. I know because I am a fool. + +THE QUEEN. I am well answered. And you are not the only fool in the +world, I am thinking. But tell me, fool, have you seen any of the +Prince's men here? + +THE FOOL. No, but I have heard that the ship is being got ready for +sailing. . . . + +THE QUEEN. (_rebukingly_) I did not ask you that. (_She is about to go, +but turns back, and gives him a piece of money_.) This is for you to +buy wine with and get drunken. You are not amusing when you are sober. +(_She starts to go, but turns again_.) Fool, do you believe in magic? + +THE FOOL. I have heard that the old wizard who lives in a cave down by +the shore is able to rouse storms and keep vessels from sailing..... + +THE QUEEN. (_looking at him, for a moment fixedly_) I have a great +mind to have you poisoned. Here, take this, and remember that I said to +be drunken. + +_She gives him another piece of money, and goes off by way of the +rose-trellised passage-way. A sailor comes up the steps_. + +THE SAILOR. Fool, where is the Prince? + +THE FOOL. I do not know, sailor, but I can tell you what I think. + +THE SAILOR. What difference does it make what you think? I have a +message to deliver to him. + +THE FOOL. I think that the Queen has sung him to sleep, and that he has +not yet awakened. + +THE SAILOR. It is likely enough. But I have been sent by the captain, +and I must see him. + +THE FOOL. You look hot. + +THE SAILOR. I am so hot and thirsty that I could drink a barrelful of +wine. It is well enough for the Prince to lie about and eat and drink +and be sung to by pretty women, but we sailors have work to do. This +business of staying only three days in each port disgusts me. No sooner +do we get ashore than we have to go back on board again. I saw a girl +yesterday, a beauty, and not afraid of a man. There must be many like +that here, but what good does it do me? I spent all my money on her, +and now I can't even get a drink. It's a shame. + +THE FOOL. Would you like a drink? + +THE SAILOR. Fool, don't make a mock of my thirst, or I'll twist your +neck. + +THE FOOL. Look at this. (_Shows him a coin_.) + +THE SAILOR. What a piece of luck! Is it real money? Where did you get +it? + +THE FOOL. Your prince gave it to me, and said I was to treat any of his +sailors that I came across. + +THE SAILOR. Then it's all right. Why didn't you say so before? Come +along. If you were as thirsty as I am--! + +_They go down the steps. The door opens, and the Prince comes out. He +looks up and down_. + +THE PRINCE. And now begins again my long journey from the east to the +west. . . . + +_The old woman appears_. + +THE OLD WOMAN. Well, have you waked at last? + +THE PRINCE. You are a bitter-tongued old woman. But for all that, I +think you are my friend. Perhaps the only friend I have here. + +THE OLD WOMAN. You are right. For all that you sleep your holiday away, +you are a brave man. And I am the only one in this kingdom that thinks +well of bravery. The rest want to smother it with kisses. + +THE PRINCE. True enough. I feel that already I am becoming soft. Never +before have I been unwilling to leave a city-- + +THE OLD WOMAN. Or a Queen. . . . + +THE PRINCE. I must go on board ship. Is it ready, I wonder? The captain +promised to send word to me. . . . + +THE OLD WOMAN. Yes, it is time you went, before they have made a lapdog +of you. + +THE PRINCE. You speak very freely. Are you not afraid of the Queen? + +THE OLD WOMAN. She does not know what she is doing. She has grown up in +a base time of peace, and she does not understand that it is not a +man's business to sleep and drink wine and exchange kisses with pretty +queens. She would turn you from your purpose-- + +THE PRINCE. My purpose? What do you know of my purpose? + +THE OLD WOMAN. I have not guessed your secret. But I know that you are +not merely taking a pleasure journey. I have seen heroes, and you have +the eyes of one. The end of all this journeying from the east to the +west is something great and terrible--and I will not have you turned +aside. + +THE PRINCE. Something great and terrible....Yes.... + +THE OLD WOMAN. You have the look of one who does not care for rest or +peace or the love of a woman for more than a day. But there is a +weakness in you, too. If you would go, go quickly. + +THE PRINCE. I wonder why the sailor does not come. It looks like a +storm. + +_The sky has become ominously dark_. + +THE OLD WOMAN. Would a storm hold you back? + +THE PRINCE. Is that what you think of me, old woman? + +THE OLD WOMAN. Well, we shall see what stuff you are made of.... + +_She shuffles off. The Queen enters_. + +THE QUEEN. (_coming up to him, tenderly_) When did you wake? + +THE PRINCE. Did you think your voice had enough magic in it to make me +sleep till you returned? We have just time to say farewell. + +THE QUEEN. There is a storm coming up. Do you see how black the sky is? + +THE PRINCE. I am not afraid of storms. + +THE QUEEN. Of course you are not afraid of storms. Did you think you +had to prove your bravery? + +THE PRINCE. The three days are over. + +THE QUEEN. And how quickly! + +THE PRINCE. I told you I could stay only three days. + +THE QUEEN. I thought you were a king, and could do whatever you +chose.... + +THE PRINCE. I have chosen to stay only three days. + +THE QUEEN. In what way have I offended you? + +THE PRINCE. I made my choice long ago, before I knew you. + +THE QUEEN. And now you are afraid to change your mind? + +THE PRINCE. Do you think a brave man changes his mind for pleasure's +sake? + +THE QUEEN. Forgive me. If it is your happiness to go on, to what end I +do not know, I will let you. I do not wish to make you unhappy. But I +would give you something to take with you, one more flower of my +garden, an unfading rose that shall be like a bright memory of me in +your heart always. Will you take it? + +_She leads him back into the palace. The sailor enters, supported by +the fool_. + +THE SAILOR. (_drunkenly_) Where--where is my Prince? I have a +message for him. + +THE FOOL. So you said. But you haven't finished telling me about that +girl. Her eyes were blue, you said. + +THE SAILOR. Blue, yes. If I said blue, then blue it was. Or maybe +green, or grey. Maybe I'm. thinking of the hussy back in the last port +we stopped at. It's all the same. Reminds me of a little song. Shall I +sing you a little song? + +THE FOOL. Another song? Sing away then. + +THE SAILOR. First another drink from this flagon. Ah! Now I'm ready. +I've often been complimented on my voice. (_Sings_) + + We'll go no more a-roving- + +No, that's not the one. Let me see. Ah, now I've got it. Listen. +(_Sings_) + + Blue eyes, grey eyes, green-and-gold eyes, + Eyes that question, doubt, deny, + Sudden-flashing, cold, hard, bold eyes, + Here's your answer: I am I! + + Not for you, and not for any, + Came I into this man's town-- + Barkeep, here's my golden penny, + Come who will and drink it down! + + I'm not one to lend and borrow, + I'm not one to overstay-- + I shall go alone tomorrow + Whistling, as I came today. + + Leave my sword alone, you hussy! + There is blood upon the blade-- + Dragon-slaying is a messy + Sort of trade. Put back the blade! + + Take my knee and--O you darling! + A man forgets how sweet you are! + Snarling dragons--flowing flagons-- + Devil take the morning star! + +THE FOOL. Bravo! + +THE SAILOR. And there you are! If I do say it myself, I have as good a +time as the Prince does. One girl's as nice as another--and maybe +nicer, at that. What's a Queen? Can she kiss better than any other +girl? I've wondered a bit about it. And the conclusion I've come to +is... the conclusion I've come to... + +THE FOOL. The conclusion you've come to is--? + +THE SAILOR. Right you are. Give me that flagon. That's the stuff. What +was I saying? The conclusion I've come to is that the Prince can't have +any more fun in three days than any other man. Queen or no Queen. Am I +right? Tell me, am I right? + +THE FOOL. I wouldn't contradict you.... + +THE SAILOR. No. Of course you wouldn't. You're a good fellow. You're my +friend. Where's that flagon? Ah! And now it's your turn to sing. Sing +that little song you sang a while ago. That was a good one. You sing +almost as well as I do. + +THE FOOL. (_chants_) + + In this harsh world and old + Why must we cherish + Fires that grow not cold + In hearts that perish? + + With the strong floods of hate + I cleansed my bosom, + But springeth soon and late + The fiery blossom. + + What though some lying tale + The mind dissembles? + The scarlet lip turns pale, + The strong hand trembles.... + +THE SAILOR. No, no, not that one! That one hasn't any tune to it, and +it isn't about girls. It's no song at all. I meant the one--you know-- +about the young widow. How did it go? (_He swigs from the flagon_.) But +I mustn't forget the Prince. Where's that Prince? + +THE FOOL. Oh, yes, the Prince. Of course. We mustn't forget the Prince. +Come along with me. (_He leads the sailor off through the rose-arbour. +The door of the palace opens, disclosing the Prince and the Queen_.) + +_He clasps her hands and then descends the steps_. + +THE QUEEN. Wait! + +_She runs down, and tenderly embraces him_. + +THE PRINCE. Farewell. + +THE QUEEN. Must you go? + +THE PRINCE. I shall remember you always. + +THE QUEEN. (_bitterly_) I suppose that is enough. . . . + +_They come down the steps together_. + +THE PRINCE. What is that you say? + +THE QUEEN. I say that it is enough that you should think of me +sometimes on your long journey from the east to the west. To be +remembered--that is the portion of women. + +THE PRINCE. You knew what manner of man I was, and that I would not be +detained. Why, if you must have the taste of kisses on your lips +always, did you not turn to some man of your own land, who would not +stray from your side? Why did you give your love to one you had never +seen before, and will never see again? I did not ask that you love me. +What you gave, I took. + +THE QUEEN. I regret nothing that I have given. But I am sorry for you, +because you do not understand. + +THE PRINCE. It may be that I do not understand. But I know that I may +not stay longer in this place. Would you ask me to do otherwise? + +THE QUEEN. I would not ask you, no. If you understood, I would have no +need of asking. If all things in your life have not changed colour and +significance--if I have been to you but as a harlot to one of your +sailors,--then leave me. + +THE PRINCE. (_confusedly_) It is not true that nothing has changed. My +mind is in a turmoil. I am dizzy, I cannot see. I have almost forgotten +why I set my heart on this journey. You have bewitched me, and that is +why I fear you. If I stay here with you any longer, I shall forget +everything. I must go. + +THE QUEEN. (_her arms about him_) You have forgotten the meaning +of your journey. You will not go. + +THE PENCE. I am going. . . . + +_But he allows himself to be led to the arbour seat_. + +THE QUEEN. It is too late. You are mine, now, mine for ever. It was for +this that you came hither--I am the meaning of your journey. It was +ordained that you love me. You must not think of anything else. + +THE PRINCE. Why have you done this to me? Are you a witch? I am afraid +of you! + +_He rises_. + +THE QUEEN. I will teach you strange and terrible secrets. + +THE PRINCE. I fear you and yet I trust you. What will come of this I do +not know. But I care for nothing. Nothing in the world means anything +to me now except you. Why is it that I seem to hate you? + +_He seizes her and holds her fiercely_. + +THE QUEEN. That is because you love me at last. + +THE PRINCE. I could kill you. + +THE QUEEN. You seek in vain to escape love. + +_The sailor staggers in, sees the Prince, and stops_. + +THE SAILOR. I am bidden to tell you-- + +THE PRINCE. Be off!--What is it you say? + +_The Queen stands still, with her hands over her face_. + +THE SAILOR. The ship is ready. + +THE PRINCE. Go! + +_The sailor walks away_. + +THE QUEEN. (_looking after him_) A word, and you have forgotten me +already. A moment ago I thought you loved me. Now I am nothing to you. + +THE PRINCE. The ship-- + +THE QUEEN. It is ready to sail. They are waiting for you. Why do you +not go? + +THE PRINCE. I am sorry. But it is as you say. The ship is ready to +sail. I must go. + +THE QUEEN. Go quickly. + +THE PRINCE. Farewell, then. + +THE QUEEN. No, stay. (_She throws herself at his feet, and clasps his +knees_.) See, I beg you to stay. I have no shame left. I beg you. +Stay even though you despise me. Stay even though you hate me. I do not +care. I will be your slave, your bondwoman. I cannot let you go. + +_She puts her head in her hands, and weeps_. + +THE PRINCE. (_looking down at her_) I am sorry. (_After a pause_) +Farewell. + +_He touches her lightly on the shoulder, and, looking toward the sea, +leaves her. She rises, and watches him with a stony face until he +goes_. + +_The fool enters_. + +THE QUEEN. Are you drunken, fool, as I bade you be? + +THE FOOL. I am drunken, yes, but not with wine. I am drunken with +bitterness. With the bitterness of love. + +THE QUEEN. Of love, fool? + +THE FOOL. With the bitterness of love. It will amuse you, and so I will +tell you what I mean. It is you that I love. + +THE QUEEN. Life grows almost interesting once more. But are you not +afraid that I will have you whipped? + +THE FOOL. You would have had me whipped a week ago if I had told you +this. But now you will not. Now you know what it is to love. . . . + +THE QUEEN. My secrets are on a fool's tongue. But what does it matter? +Go on. + +THE FOOL. Why did I try to keep the man you love from going away? In +the hope that one day I should see you kissing him in the garden, and +thus I would be spared the trouble of killing myself. In a word, I am a +fool. But I have tried to help you. Why did you not keep him? + +THE QUEEN. I have been asking that question of my own heart, fool. I +would that I had not come to him a virgin and a Queen, but a light +woman skilled in all the ways of love. Then perhaps I could have +held him. But now he is gone, and the world is black. + +THE FOOL. It is not the world, it is your heart that is black. And it +is black with hatred. . . . + +THE QUEEN. I think you understand, fool. I would set fire to this +palace which the King my father built, I would burn it down tonight, +save that it would not make light enough to take away the blackness +from my heart. + +_The sailor again, staggering_. + +THE QUEEN. What, has the ship not gone? + +THE SAILOR. Gone, and left me behind. Gone, and left me. . . . + +THE FOOL. Here is still wine in the flagon. + +THE SAILOR. Good. Good. Give it to me. + +THE QUEEN. (_to the fool_) First bring it to me. (_She takes off a +ring, and dips it in the wine. To the fool_)--I have spoken lightly of +poisoning today. Now I think I will try it. I would like to see a man +die. It will ease me a little. Come! + +_The sailor comes and takes it from her hands, while the fool stares +fascinated_. + +THE QUEEN. How does it taste? + +THE SAILOR. (_suddenly straightening up, no longer drunk_) Bitter. +What was in it? + +THE QUEEN. The bitterness of my heart. It will kill you. + +THE SAILOR. I have been poisoned. (_He puts his hand to his side_.) I +am dying. But first--! + +_He draws a short sword, and runs at her. The fool starts up, but the +Queen motions him away, and waits. When the sailor is almost upon her, +he stops, throws up his hands, drops his sword, and falls in a heap_. + +THE QUEEN. (_after a moment, going up, and touching the body with her +foot_) Dead. So that is what it is like? + +THE FOOL. (_trembling_) Do you find it so interesting? + +THE QUEEN. No--my heart is already aching with its emptiness again.... +What shall I do? + +THE FOOL. You might poison me, too. I think I would die in a more +original manner than that silly sailor. Yes, I would seize you in my +arms and kiss you before I died. + +THE QUEEN. That would be amusing. But it is a pity to waste kisses on a +dying man. And besides, you are the only one in my kingdom who +understands me. I must have you alive to talk to. + +THE FOOL. There are strange stories about the kisses of queens. + +THE QUEEN. Tell them to me. + +THE FOOL. There is an old saying that three kisses bestowed by a queen +upon a fool will make a hero of him. + +THE QUEEN. That might be interesting. I think I will try it. Come to +me, do not be afraid. This day I have given my kisses to a man who +thought no more of them than that dead sailor there of the kisses of a +harlot. What, must you kneel? Well, then, upon your forehead. + +_She kisses him upon the forehead as he kneels_. + +_He slowly rises, and as he rises he takes on dignity. His fool's cap +is dropped aside, he picks up the dead sailor's sword and girds it on +him_. + +THE QUEEN. Ah, it is true. There is magic in it. You are handsome, too. +I am not sorry to have kissed you. + +_The old woman comes in_. + +THE QUEEN. Well, what is the news? The ship has sailed, has it not? + +THE OLD WOMAN. Straight into the sunset. (_She sees the dead man, and +looks at the Queen and at the fool_.) Who killed him? + +THE QUEEN. I killed him. He was left behind, and I do not like to have +strangers about. + +THE OLD WOMAN. It is a good omen. I have not seen a dead man for twenty +years, save those that died of sickness and old age. When shall we have +the good old times when men killed each other with swords? I feel that +it is coming. When shall we fall upon the four kingdoms, and tear them +to pieces? + +THE QUEEN. Ah, that is an idea. That would be something to do. + +THE FOOL. Hush your croakings, old woman, and tell us the news that you +have come with. + +THE OLD WOMAN. How do you know that I come with news? Where is your +cap, fool? + +THE FOOL. Speak, or be gone. + +THE QUEEN. Beware of this man, for I have been making a hero out of +him. + +THE OLD WOMAN. Are you mad? + +THE QUEEN. Yes, I am mad, so beware of me, too, and tell your news, + +THE OLD WOMAN. (_tamed_) It is only that a boat has been seen to +put out from the ship, and is coming back to shore. + +THE QUEEN. It is doubtless a present for me. The Prince has bethought +himself to pay me for my kindness to him. Go, and give orders that any +men who are in the boat are to be brought to me, with their hands tied +behind them, that I may decide what punishment to inflict upon them. +Let it be understood that we do not like strangers in this kingdom. + +THE OLD WOMAN. (_grimly_) It shall be as you say. + +_She goes out_. + +THE QUEEN. And now I must finish my quaint task. It pleases me to be +kissing fools. I think it is becoming a habit of mine. Come to this +garden bench, where he and I sat together, and I will kiss you upon the +mouth, as I kissed him. Does it hurt you for me to say that? Good. +(_They sit down_.) You are the only one in the kingdom who understands +me. Lift up your head. (_She kisses him. He lifts his head proudly, and +sits beside her like a king_.) You are silent. Why do you not say +something appropriate? + +THE FOOL. What I have to say will be with my sword, and your enemies +will be the ones to hear it. + +THE QUEEN. Ah, I forgot, it is a hero I am making out of you, and all a +hero can do is fight. That is a stupid thing. I am sorry now that I +kissed you. + +THE FOOL. You will not be sorry when I have destroyed your enemies. + +THE QUEEN. Now you are beginning to talk like my old nurse. It is well +enough to fight, but it should be for amusement, and not with such +seriousness. I have only succeeded in making you dull. You were better +as a fool. + +_The Prince enters, with his hands tied behind him, conducted by some +soldiers_. + +THE PRINCE. (_Indignantly_) Why am I treated in this fashion? + +THE QUEEN. So it is you? + +_She looks at him quietly_. + +THE PRINCE. (_haughtily_) Order that these bonds be taken from my +wrists. + +THE QUEEN. We do not like strangers in this country. You were tied by +my command, and brought here that I might decide what punishment to +mete out to you. Look, this was one of your men. (_Pointing to the +dead body_) Carry it away. + +_The soldiers carry off the body_. + +THE PRINCE. Are you mad? + +THE QUEEN. So it would seem. (_To the fool_) Now cut his bonds. + +THE FOOL. He is a brave man, and does not deserve to be treated in this +manner. + +THE PRINCE. Who are you that you should plead for me? Have I not seen +you with a fool's cap? + +THE FOOL. And now you see me with a sword. + +_He cuts the Prince's bonds_. + +THE PRINCE. Leave us. I wish to speak with the Queen. + +THE QUEEN. (_to the fool_) No, stay. (_To the Prince_) It is not +necessary for you to speak. You wish to tell me that the kisses you +had from me were so sweet that you would like to buy some more, and are +willing to put off your journey for a while. + +THE PRINCE. I have given up my journey for ever. I know that the only +thing that is real in all the world is love. You are scornful. But I +have neither pride nor shame. I kneel at your feet, and beg you to +forgive me for my folly. + +_He kneels_. + +THE QUEEN. It is a pretty speech. But you are too late. I have +forgotten you. While they were tying your hands, I was kissing this man +upon the mouth. + +THE PRINCE. (_springing up_) It is a lie! + +THE FOOL. Did you say that the Queen lies? + +_He draws his sword_. + +THE PRINCE. I do not fight with fools. (_To the Queen_) Send him away, +and have him beaten. + +THE QUEEN. Are you not willing to fight with him for me? + +THE PRINCE. What do you mean? + +THE QUEEN. I mean that I have a new appetite, the appetite for death. I +have held myself too lightly, I have gone too willingly to the arms of +a chance lover. Now there must be blood to sweeten the kisses. + +THE PRINCE. Do you wish this fellow killed? + +THE QUEEN. Or you. It makes no difference--not the least. What are my +kisses, that I should be careful to whom they go? + +THE PRINCE. You speak strangely, and I hardly know you. I have come +back as a lover and not as a butcher. + +THE QUEEN. My whim has changed--I am in the mood for butchers, now. + +THE PRINCE. Say but one word to show that you still love me! + +THE QUEEN. I have no word to say. + +THE PRINCE. Doubt makes my sword heavy. . . . + +THE FOOL. And have you nothing to say to me? + +THE QUEEN. You remind me. Come. I must finish what I have begun. + +_She kisses him on the mouth--the third kiss_. + +THE PRINCE. (_covering his eyes_) It is I that am mad. + +THE FOOL. Come, if you are not afraid. + +_They go out, the Prince giving one long look at the Queen, whose +face remains hard_. + +_It has become a dark twilight_. + +THE QUEEN. They told me that love was like this--but I laughed, and did +not believe. + +_The old woman comes in_. + +THE QUEEN. I have sent him out to die. + +THE OLD WOMAN. The fool? + +THE QUEEN. No, no, no, my lover, my beloved. I tortured him and denied +him, and sent him out to die. + +THE OLD WOMAN. It is well enough. Death is among us again, and the old +times have come back. + +_There are sounds of fighting, and the women wait in silence. Then +the sounds cease, and slowly the soldiers bear in a dead body, which +they lay on the steps. They affix torches to either side of the palace +door, and go out_. + +THE FOOL. (_going up to the Queen, and holding out his sword to her, +hilt-foremost_) I have done your bidding, and slain a brave man. Bid +some one take this sword and slay me. + +THE OLD WOMAN. What a faint heart you are! The fool's cap is on you +still. Put back your sword in your scabbard. You will make a soldier +yet. + +THE QUEEN. You are a brave man. Put back your sword in your scabbard, +and may it destroy all my enemies from this day forth. + +THE FOOL. What shall I do? + +THE QUEEN. I have created you, and now I must give you work to do. You +can only fight. Very well, then. Take my soldiers, and lead them to the +kingdom that thrusts its chief city against our kingdom's walls. There +should be good fighting, and much spoil. When the soldiers have glutted +themselves with wine and women, let the city be set on fire. I shall +look every night for a light in the sky, and when it comes I shall know +it is my bonfire. Perhaps it will light up my heart for a moment. When +that is finished, I shall find you other bloody work. Go. + +THE FOOL. I understand. You shall have your bonfire. Come, old woman, I +want some of your advice. + +THE OLD WOMAN. The good old days have come back. Ah, the smell of +blood! + +_They go out. + +The queen looks over at the dead man lying on the steps between the +torches, and gradually her face softens. She goes over slowly, and +kneels by his side, gazing on him. She kisses his mouth, and then +rises, goes slowly to the arbour, and sits down. She looks away, and +her face becomes hard again. + +A sound of trumpets and shouting, the menacing prelude of war, is heard +outside_. + + + + + +ENIGMA + +A DOMESTIC CONVERSATION + + +To THEODORE DREISER + + +"Enigma" was first presented at the Liberal Club, New York City, in +1915. + +_A man and woman are sitting at a table, talking in bitter tones_. + +SHE. So that is what you think. + +HE. Yes. For us to live together any longer would be an obscene joke. +Let's end it while we still have some sanity and decency left. + +SHE. Is that the best you can do in the way of sanity and decency--to +talk like that? + +HE. You'd like to cover it up with pretty words, wouldn't you? Well, +we've had enough of that. I feel as though my face were covered with +spider webs. I want to brush them off and get clean again. + +SHE. It's not my fault you've got weak nerves. Why don't you try to +behave like a gentleman, instead of a hysterical minor poet? + +HE. A gentleman, Helen, would have strangled you years ago. It takes a +man with crazy notions of freedom and generosity to be the fool that +I've been. + +SHE. I suppose you blame me for your ideas! + +HE. I'm past blaming anybody, even myself. Helen, don't you realize +that this has got to stop? We are cutting each other to pieces with +knives. + +SHE. You want me to go. . . . + +HE. Or I'll go--it makes no difference. Only we've got to separate, +definitely and for ever. + +SHE. You really think there is no possibility--of our finding some +way?... We might be able--to find some way. + +HE. We found some way, Helen--twice before. And this is what it comes +to. . . . There are limits to my capacity for self-delusion. This is +the end. + +SHE. Yes. Only-- + +HE. Only what? + +SHE. It--it seems . . . such a pity. . . . + +HE. Pity! The pity is this--that we should sit here and haggle about +our hatred. That's all there's left between us. + +SHE. (_standing up_) I won't haggle, Paul. If you think we should +part, we shall this very night. But I don't want to part this way, +Paul. I know I've hurt you. I want to be forgiven before I go. + +HE. (_standing up to face her_) Can't we finish without another +sentimental lie? I'm in no mood to act out a pretty scene with you. + +SHE. That was unjust, Paul. You know I don't mean that. What I want is +to make you understand, so you won't hate me. + +HE. More explanations. I thought we had both got tired of them. I used +to think it possible to heal a wound by words. But we ought to know +better. They're like acid in it. + +SHE. Please don't, Paul--This is the last time we shall ever hurt each +other. Won't you listen to me? + +HE. Go on. + +_He sits down wearily_. + +SHE. I know you hate me. You have a right to. Not just because I was +faithless--but because I was cruel. I don't want to excuse myself--but +I didn't know what I was doing. I didn't realize I was hurting you. + +HE. We've gone over that a thousand times. + +SHE. Yes. I've said that before. And you've answered me that that +excuse might hold for the first time, but not for the second and the +third. You've convicted me of deliberate cruelty on that. +And I've never had anything to say. I couldn't say anything, because +the truth was; too preposterous. It wasn't any use telling it before. +But now I want you to know the real reason. + +HE. A new reason, eh? + +SHE. Something I've never confessed to you. Yes. It is true that I was +cruel to you--deliberately. I did want to hurt you. And do you know +why? I wanted to shatter that Olympian serenity of yours. You were too +strong, too self-confident. You had the air of a being that nothing +could hurt. You were like a god. + +HE. That was a long time ago. Was I ever Olympian? I had forgotten it. +You succeeded very well--you shattered it in me. + +SHE. You are still Olympian. And I still hate you for it. I wish I +could make you suffer now. But I have lost my power to do that. + +HE. Aren't you contented with what you have done? It seems to me that I +have suffered enough recently to satisfy even your ambitions. + +SHE. No--or you couldn't talk like that. You sit there--making phrases. +Oh, I have hurt you a little; but you will recover. You always +recovered quickly. You are not human. If you were human, you would +remember that we once were happy, and be a little sorry that all that +is over. But you can't be sorry. You have made up your mind, and +can think of nothing but that. + +HE. That's an interesting--and novel--explanation. + +SHE. I wonder if I can't make you understand. Paul--do you remember +when we fell in love? + +HE. Something of that sort must have happened to us. + +SHE. No--it happened to me. It didn't happen to you. You made up your +mind and walked in, with the air of a god on a holiday. It was I who +fell--headlong, dizzy, blind. I didn't want to love you. It was a force +too strong for me. It swept me into your arms. I prayed against it. I +had to give myself to you, even though I knew you hardly cared. I had +to--for my heart was no longer in my own breast. It was in your hands, +to do what you liked with. You could have thrown it in the dust. + +HE. This is all very romantic and exciting, but tell me--did I throw it +in the dust? + +SHE. It pleased you not to. You put it in your pocket. But don't you +realize what it is to feel that another person has absolute power over +you? No, for you have never felt that way. You have never been utterly +dependent on another person for happiness. I was utterly dependent on +you. It humiliated me, angered me. I rebelled against it, but it was +no use. You see, my dear, I was in love with you. And you were free, +and your heart was your own, and nobody could hurt you. + +HE. Very fine--only it wasn't true, as you soon found out. + +SHE. When I found it out, I could hardly believe it. It wasn't +possible. Why, you had said a thousand times that you would not be +jealous if I were in love with some one else, too. It was you who put +the idea in my head. It seemed a part of your super-humanness. + +HE. I did talk that way. But I wasn't a superman. I was only a damned +fool. + +SHE. And Paul, when I first realized that it might be hurting you--that +you were human after all--I stopped. You know I stopped. + +HE. Yes--that time. + +SHE. Can't you understand? I stopped because I thought you were a +person like myself, suffering like myself. It wasn't easy to stop. It +tore me to pieces. But I suffered rather than let you suffer. But when +I saw you recover your serenity in a day while the love that I had +struck down in my heart for your sake cried out in a death agony for +months, I felt again that you were superior, inhuman--and I hated you +for it. + +HE. Did I deceive you so well as that? + +SHE. And when the next time came, I wanted to see if it was real, this +godlike serenity of yours. I wanted to tear off the mask. I wanted to +see you suffer as I had suffered. And that is why I was cruel to you +the second time. + +HE. And the third time--what about that? + +_She bursts into tears, and sinks to the floor, with her head on the +chair, sheltered by her arms. Then she looks up_. + +SHE. Oh, I can't talk about that--I can't. It's too near. + +HE. I beg your pardon. I don't wish to show an unseemly curiosity about +your private affairs. + +SHE. If you were human, you would know that there is a difference +between one's last love and all that have gone before. I can talk about +the others--but this one still hurts. + +HE. I see. Should we chance to meet next year, you will tell me about +it then. The joys of new love will have healed the pains of the old. + +SHE. There will be no more joy or pain of love for me. You do not +believe that. But that part of me which loves is dead. Do you think I +have come through all this unhurt? No. I cannot hope any more, I cannot +believe. There is nothing left for me. All I have left is regret for +the happiness that you and I have spoiled between us. . . . Oh, Paul, +why did you ever teach me your Olympian philosophy? Why did you make me +think that we were gods and could do whatever we chose? If we had +realized that we were only weak human beings, we might have saved our +happiness! + +HE. (_shaken_) We tried to reckon with facts--I cannot blame myself for +that. The facts of human nature: people do have love affairs within +love affairs. I was not faithful to you. . . . + +SHE. (_rising to her feet_) But you had the decency to be dishonest +about it. You did not tell me the truth, in spite of all your theories. +I might never have found out. You knew better than to shake my belief +in our love. But I trusted your philosophy, and flaunted my lovers +before you. I never realized-- + +HE. Be careful, my dear. You are contradicting yourself! + +SHE. I know I am. I don't care. I no longer know what the truth is. I +only know that I am filled with remorse for what has happened. Why did +it happen? Why did we let it happen? Why didn't you stop me? . . . I +want it back! + +HE. But, Helen! + +SHE. Yes--our old happiness.... Don't you remember, Paul, how beautiful +everything was--? (_She covers her face with her hands, and then looks +up again_.) Give it back to me, Paul! + +HE. (_torn with conflicting wishes_) Do you really believe, Helen...? + +SHE. I know we can be happy again. It was all ours, and we must have it +once more, just as it was. (_She holds out her hands_.) Paul! Paul! + +HE. (_desperately_) Let me think! + +SHE. (scornfully) Oh, your thinking! I know! Think, then--think of all +the times I've been cruel to you. Think of my wantonness--my +wickedness--not of my poor, tormented attempts at happiness. My lovers, +yes! Think hard, and save yourself from any more discomfort. . . . But +no--you're in no danger. . . . + +HE. What do you mean? + +SHE. (_laughing hysterically_) You haven't believed what I've been +saying all this while, have you? + +HE. Almost. + +SHE. Then don't. I've been lying. + +HE. Again? + +SHE. Again, yes. + +HE. I suspected it. + +SHE. (_mockingly_) Wise man! + +HE. You don't love me, then? + +SHE. Why should I? Do you want me to? + +HE. I make no demands upon you. You know that. + +SHE. You can get along without me? + +HE. (_coldly_) Why not? + +SHE. Good. Then I'll tell you the truth! + +HE. That _would_ be interesting! + +SHE. I was afraid you _did_ want me! And--I was sorry for you, +Paul--I thought if you did, I would try to make things up to you, by +starting over again--if you wanted to. + +HE. So that was it. . . . + +SHE. Yes, that was it. And so-- + +HE. (_harshly_) You needn't say any more. Will you go, or shall I? + +SHE. (_lightly_) I'm going, Paul. But I think--since we may not +meet this time next year--that I'd better tell you the secret of that +third time. When you asked me a while ago, I cried, and said I couldn't +talk about it. But I can now. + +HE. You mean-- + +SHE. Yes. My last cruelty. I had a special reason for being cruel to +you. Shan't I tell you? + +HE. Just as you please. + +SHE. My reason was this: I had learned what it is to love--and I knew +that I had never loved you--never. I wanted to hurt you so much that +you would leave me. I wanted to hurt you in such a way as to keep you +from ever coming near me again. I was afraid that if you did forgive me +and take me in your arms, you would feel me shudder, and see the +terror and loathing in my eyes. I wanted--for even then I cared for you +a little--to spare you that. + +HE. (_speaking with difficulty_) Are you going? + +SHE. (_lifting from the table a desk calendar, and tearing a leaf +from it, which she holds in front of him. Her voice is tender with an +inexplicable regret_.) Did you notice the date? It is the eighth of +June. Do you remember what day that is? We used to celebrate it once a +year. It is the day--(_the leaf flutters to the table in front of +him_)--the day of our first kiss. . . . + +_He sits looking at her. For a moment it seems clear to him that they +still love each other, and that a single word from him, a mere gesture, +the holding out of his arms to her, will reunite them. And then he +doubts. . . . She is watching him; she turns at last toward the door, +hesitates, and then walks slowly out. When she has gone he takes up the +torn leaf from the calendar, and holds it in his hands, looking +at it with the air of a man confronted by an unsolvable enigma._ + + + + + +IBSEN REVISITED + +A PIECE OF FOOLISHNESS + + +TO LOUIS UNTERMEYER + + +"Ibsen Revisited" was first produced at the Liberal Club, in 1914, with +the following cast: + + +The Maid .......... Jo Gotsch +The Stranger...... Floyd Dell + +_A middle-class interior. The parlour-maid is dusting the furniture_. + +THE MAID. Oh, how dull it is here! Nobody to talk to, nobody to flirt +with. . . . Flirt! The men that come to this house don't even know the +meaning of the word. I never worked in such a place. Life is just one +long funeral. I wish something would happen. (_A knock at the door_.) +Ah! if it were only in the old days, one might hope that that was a +reporter. But nothing like that now! + +_She opens the door. A stranger enters_. + +THE STRANGER. Is--ah--Miss Gabler in? + +THE MAID. You mean--Mrs. Lovberg? + +THE STRANGER. Yes--but . . . I'm not mistaken, am I? Mrs. Lovberg is-- +or was--Hedda Gabler. Isn't that true? + +THE MAID. Oh, yes, it's Hedda. But she prefers to be called by her +husband's name. Did you wish to see her? She is busy just now. + +THE STRANGER. Busy? + +THE MAID. Yes--she is conducting her class in Modern Adolescence. + +THE STRANGER. How like Hedda! Always experimenting with something or +other! What is she teaching them? + +THE MAID. She's teaching them what she calls "sex-unconsciousness." + +THE STRANGER. Dear me! _What_ is sex-unconsciousness? + +THE MAID. I'm sure _I_ don't know, sir. + +THE STRANGER. Dear, delightful Hedda! Ever in pursuit of the new +sensation! + +THE MAID. You are an old friend of hers, I suppose? + +THE STRANGER. Well, no, not exactly. The fact is-- + +THE MAID. You're not a reporter, are you? Hedda doesn't talk to +reporters--any more. + +THE STRANGER. No. I'm not a reporter. + +THE MAID. What are you, then? + +THE STRANGER. I am the representative of the International Ibsen +Society. You know who Ibsen was, of course? + +THE MAID. Yes--he was that nasty man who wrote plays about everybody's +private affairs. + +THE STRANGER. There _is_ that point of view, of course. I'm sorry +to intrude-- + +THE MAID. I should think you would be! Now that she and Lovberg are +happily married-- + +THE STRANGER. That's precisely it. You see, we've just discovered that +instead of committing suicide, as Ibsen made them do in the play, they +eloped and were eventually married. You can't imagine how delighted we +all are to discover that Hedda is still alive. As soon as we found that +out, I was sent here immediately-- + +THE MAID. What did you think you would see? + +THE STRANGER. See? I shall see a woman whose soul burns with an +unquenchable flame of divine adventurousness. I shall see the most +ardent, impatient, eager, restless, impetuous, and insatiably romantic +woman in the world. + +THE MAID. (_pointing to the door_) You mean--her? + +THE STRANGER. Yes--why, there is the very sofa upon which she and +Lovberg used to sit, in the old days, discussing his past. There he +would sit and tell her of his escapades, his affairs, everything. +Tell me, does she insist on Lovberg's being polygamous, whether he +wants to or not? + +THE MAID. Evidently you don't know the new Hedda. Or the new Lovberg +either. The only thing they talk about is what they call "the +monogamist ideal." + +THE STRANGER. There is some mistake. I will find out when I see her. +Surely she is still interested in adventure--the free life--vine- +leaves--beauty--! I will remind her of her own past-- + +THE MAID. No you won't. She won't let you. She will tell you that too +much attention is paid to such foolishness nowadays. + +THE STRANGER. She! who was interested in nothing else! But then--what +is she interested in, now? + +THE MAID. In "co-operation." + +THE STRANGER, Has she then turned into a mere sociologist? Oh, you are +deceiving me! + +THE MAID. If you don't believe me--I'll just open the door an inch, and +you can hear her talking. + +THE STRANGER. Oh, it cannot be true! + +_The maid quietly opens the door a little way. He listens_. + +A VOICE. (_heard through the aperture_) We must all learn to function +socially. . . . + +_The maid shuts the door again_. + +THE MAID. Do you believe it now? + +THE STRANGER. (_sadly_) It is too true! + +THE MAID. Didn't I tell you? + +THE STRANGER. So Hedda has become--a reformer! + +THE MAID. Yes. + +THE STRANGER. And Lovberg--what does he do? + +THE MAID. He is rewriting his book--you know, the one Hedda burned up-- +for use as a text-book in the public schools. And Hedda is helping him. + +THE STRANGER. No more adventure--no more beauty--the flame . . . gone +out! My God! + +_He staggers toward the wall, where a pistol is hanging, and puts his +hand on it_. + +THE MAID. Look out! That's Hedda's pistol. You never can tell when an +old piece of junk like that is loaded. + +THE STRANGER. Yes--I know. (_He takes it down and aims it at his +heart_.) The old Hedda is gone. I cannot bear the new. It would be +too--(_The maid screams_)--too dull. + +_He fires, and falls_. + +THE MAID. (_going over and looking down at him_) But--people don't do +such things! + + + + + +KING ARTHUR'S SOCKS + +A COMEDY + + + +To MAX EASTMAN + + + +"King Arthur's Socks" was first produced by the Provincetown Players, +New York City, in 1916, with the following cast: + + +Guenevere Robinson...Edna James +Vivien Smith.........Jane Burr +Mary.................Augusta Gary +Lancelot Jones.......Max Eastman + + +_The living room of a summer cottage in Camelot, Maine. A pretty +woman of between twenty-five and thirty-five is sitting in a big chair +in the lamplight darning socks. She is Mrs. Arthur B. Robinson--or, to +give her her own name, Guenevere. She is dressed in a light summer +frock, and with her feet elevated on a settle there is revealed a +glimpse of slender silk-clad ankles. It is a pleasant summer evening, +and, one might wonder why so attractive a woman should be sitting at +home darning her husband's socks, there being so many other interesting +things to do in this world. The girl standing in the doorway, smiling +amusedly, seems to wonder at it too. The girl's name is Vivien +Smith_. + +VIVIEN. Hello, Gwen! + +GUENEVERE. Hello, Vivien! Come in. + +VIVIEN. I'm just passing by. + +GUENEVERE. Come in and console me for a minute or two, anyway. I'm a +widow at present. + +VIVIEN. (_enters and lounges against the mantelpiece_) Arthur gone to +New York again? + +GUENEVERE. Yes, for over Sunday. And I'm lonely. + +VIVIEN. You don't seem to mind. Think of a woman being that happy +darning her husband's socks! + +GUENEVERE. Stay here and talk to me--unless you've something else on. +It's been ages since I've seen you. + +VIVIEN. I'm afraid I have got something else on, Gwen--I'll give you +one guess. + +GUENEVERE. You can't pretend to be art-ing at this hour of the night. + +VIVIEN. I could pretend, but I won't. No, Gwen dear, it's not the +pursuit of art, it's the pursuit of a man. + +GUENEVERE. Don't try to talk like a woman in a Shaw play. I don't like +this rigmarole about "pursuit." Say you're in love, like a civilized +human being. And take a cigarette, and tell me about it. + +VIVIEN. _(lighting a cigarette)_ I don't know whether I'm so civilized, +at that. You know me, Gwen. When I paint, do I paint like a lady?--or +like a savage! (_She does, in fact, appear to be a very headstrong and +reckless young woman_.) + +GUENEVERE. (_mildly_) Oh, be a savage all you want to, Gwen. But don't +tell me you're going in for this modern free-love stuff, because I +won't believe it. You're not that kind of fool, Vivien. (_She darns +placidly away_.) + +VIVIEN. No, I'm not. I'm not a fool at all, Gwen dear. I know exactly +what I want--and it doesn't include being disowned by my family and +having my picture in the morning papers. Free-love? Not at all. I want +to be married. + +GUENEVERE. Well, for heaven's sake, who is it? + +VIVIEN. Is it possible that it's not being gossiped about? You really +haven't heard? + +GUENEVERE. Not a syllable. + +VIVIEN. Then I shan't tell you. + +GUENEVERE. But--why? + +VIVIEN. Because you'll think I've a nerve to want him. + +GUENEVERE. Nonsense. I don't know any male person in these parts who is +good enough for you, Vivien. + +VIVIEN. Thanks, darling. That's just what I think in my calmer moments. +But mostly I'm so crazy about him that I'm almost humble. Can you +imagine it? + +GUENEVERE. Well, what's the matter, then? Doesn't he reciprocate? You +don't look like the victim of a hopeless passion. + +VIVIEN. Oh, he's in love with me all right. But he doesn't want to be. +He says being in love interferes with his work. + +GUENEVERE. What nonsense! + +VIVIEN. Oh, I don't know about that! I think being in love with me +would interfere with a man's work. I should hope so! + +GUENEVERE. (_primly_) I don't interfere with Arthur's work. + +VIVIEN. Arthur's a professor of philosophy. Besides, Arthur had +written a book and settled down before he fell in love with you. I'm +dealing with a man who has his work still to do. He thinks if he +had about three years of peace and quiet and hard work, he'd put +something big across. He put it up to me as a fellow-artist. I know +just how he feels. I suppose I am very distracting! + +GUENEVERE. Well, why don't you give him his three years? + +VIVIEN. Gwen! What do you think I am? An altruist? A benefactor of +humanity? Well, I'm not, I'm a woman. Three years? I've given him three +hours, and threatened to marry a man back at home if he doesn't make up +his mind before then. + +GUENEVERE. Heavens, Vivien, you _are_ a savage! Well, did it work? + +VIVIEN. I don't know. The three hours aren't up yet. I'm going around +to get my answer now. I must say the prospect isn't encouraging. He +started to pack up to go to Boston. He says he won't be bullied. + +GUENEVERE. But Vivien! + +VIVIEN. Oh, don't condole with me yet, Gwen dear. It's twelve hours +before that morning train, and I'm not through with him yet. + +GUENEVERE. (_curiously_) What are you going to do? + +VIVIEN. Nothing crude, Gwen dear. Oh, there's lots of things I can do. +Cry, for instance. He's never seen a woman cry. Maybe you think I can't +cry? + +GUENEVERE. It's hard to imagine _you_ crying. + +VIVIEN. I never wanted anything badly enough to cry for it before. But +I could cry my heart out for him. I've absolutely no pride left. Well-- +I'm going to have him, that's all. (_She throws her cigarette into +the grate, and starts to go_.) + +GUENEVERE. And what about his work? Suppose it's true-- + +VIVIEN. Suppose it is. Then his work will have to get along the best +way it can. (_She turns at the door_.) Do I look like a loser?--or +a winner! + +GUENEVERE. I'll bet on you, Vivien. + +VIVIEN. Thanks, darling. And bye-bye. + +GUENEVERE. (_stopping her_) But Vivien--! I've been racking my brain to +think who--? _Do_ tell me! + +VIVIEN. (_in the doorway, defiantly_) Well, if you must know--it's +Lancelot Jones. + +GUENEVERE. (_springing up, amazed, incredulous and horrified_) Oh, +_no_, Vivien! Not Lancelot! + +VIVIEN. Absolutely yes. + +GUENEVERE. But--but he's married already! + +VIVIEN. Oh, is _that_ what's bothering you? + +GUENEVERE. I should rather think it would bother _you_, Vivien! + +VIVIEN. But it so happens that it doesn't. I'm not breaking up a +marriage. There isn't any marriage there to break up. I know all about +it. Lancelot told me. That marriage was ended long ago. It's simply +that he has never got a divorce. + +GUENEVERE. But--but if that's true, why _hasn't_ he got a divorce? + +VIVIEN. On purpose, Gwen--as a protection! Against love-sick females +like me. Against getting married again. I told you he wanted to work. + +GUENEVERE. But Vivien! If he hasn't got a divorce-- + +VIVIEN. He'll have to get one, that's all. It won't take long. And in +the meantime we can be engaged. + +GUENEVERE. A funny sort of engagement, Vivien--to a married man! + +VIVIEN. I think you're very unkind, Gwen. It isn't funny at all. It's a +nuisance. We'll have to wait at least a month! I think you might +sympathize with me. I believe you're in love with him yourself. + +GUENEVERE. (_coldly_) Vivien! + +VIVIEN. (_contritely_) I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. But I do think +he's so terribly nice--I don't see how any woman can help being in love +with him. Well--I'm off to his studio, to learn my fate. Wish me luck, +if you can! + +_She goes_. + +GUENEVERE. (_looks after her, then drifts over to the mantel, leans +against it staring out into space, and then murmurs_)--Lancelot! + +_She goes slowly back to her chair, sits still a moment, and then +quietly resumes the darning of socks. + +Enter, from the side door, Mary, the pretty servant girl, who fusses +about at the back of the room_. + +GUENEVERE. (_absently_) Going, Mary? + +MARY. No, ma'am. I don't feel like going out tonight. + +_Something in her tone makes Guenevere turn_. + +GUENEVERE. (_kindly_) Why, Mary, what is the matter? + +MARY. (_struggling with her sobs_) I'm sorry, ma'am, I can't help +it--I wasn't going to say anything. But when you spoke to me-- + +GUENEVERE. (_quietly_) What is it, Mary? + +MARY. I'm a wicked girl. (_She sobs again_.) + +GUENEVERE. (_after a moment's reflection_.) Yes? Tell me about it. + +MARY. Shall I tell you? + +GUENEVERE. Yes. I think you'd better tell me. + +MARY. I wanted to tell you. (_She comes to Guenevere, and sinks +beside her chair_.) I wanted to tell you before Mr. Robinson came +back. I couldn't tell you if he was here. + +GUENEVERE. (_smiling_) My husband? Are you afraid of him, Mary? + +MARY. Yes, ma'am. + +GUENEVERE. (_to herself_) Poor Arthur! He does frighten people. He +looks so--just. + +MARY. That's what it is, ma'am. He always makes me think of my father. + +GUENEVERE. Is your father a just man, too, Mary? + +MARY. Yes, ma'am. He's that just I'd never dare breathe a word to him +about what I've done. He'd put me out of the house. + +GUENEVERE. (_hesitating_) Is it so bad, Mary, what you have done? + +MARY. Yes, ma'am. + +GUENEVERE. Do you--do you want to tell me who it is? + +MARY. It's Mr. Jones, ma'am. + +GUENEVERE. (_reflectively_) Jones? (_Then, astoundedly_)--Jones! +(_Incredulously_)--You don't mean--! (_Quietly_)--Do you mean Mr. +Lancelot Jones? + +MARY. Yes, ma'am. + +GUENEVERE. This is terrible! When did it happen? + +MARY. It--it sort of happened last night, ma'am. It was this way-- + +GUENEVERE. No details, please! + +MARY. No, ma'am. I just wanted to tell you how it was. You see, ma'am, +I went to his studio-- + +GUENEVERE. (_unable to bear it_) Please, Mary, please! + +MARY. Yes, ma'am. + +GUENEVERE. I don't mean that I blame you. One can't help--falling in +love.... + +MARY. No, you just can't help it, can you? + +GUENEVERE. But Lancelot--Mr. Jones--should have behaved better than +that.... + +MARY. Should he, ma'am? + +GUENEVERE. He certainly should. I wouldn't have believed it of him. So +that is why--Mary! Do you know--? But I'm not sure that I ought to +tell you. Still, I don't see why I should protect _him_. Do you know +that he is going away? + +MARY. No, ma'am. Is he? + +GUENEVERE. Yes. In the mo'rning. You must go to see him tonight. No, +you can't do that....Oh, this is terrible! + +MARY. I'm _glad_ he's going away, Mrs. Robinson. + +GUENEVERE. Are you? + +MARY. Yes, ma'am. + +GUENEVERE. Why? + +MARY. Because I'd be so ashamed every time I saw him. + +GUENEVERE. (_looking at her with interest_) Really? I didn't know +people felt that way. Perhaps it's the right way to feel. But I didn't +suppose anybody did. So you want him to go? + +MARY. Yes, ma'am. + +GUENEVERE. And you don't feel you've any claim on him? + +MARY. No, ma'am. Why should I? + +GUENEVERE. Well! I really don't know. But one is supposed to. Mary, you +_are_ a modern woman! + +MARY. Am I? + +GUENEVERE. One would think, after what happened-- + +MARY. That's just it, ma'am. If it had been anything else--But after +what happened, I just want never to see him again. You see, ma'am, it +was this way-- + +GUENEVERE. (_gently_) Is it necessary to tell me that, Mary? I know +what happened. + +MARY. But you don't, ma'am. That's just it. I've been trying to tell +you what happened, ma'am. + +GUENEVERE. Good heavens, was it so horrible! Well, go on, then. (_She +nerves herself to hear the worst_.) What _did_ happen? + +MARY. Nothing, ma'am.... + +GUENEVERE. Nothing? + +MARY. That's just it.... + +GUENEVERE. But I--I don't understand. + +MARY. You said a while ago, Mrs. Robinson, that you couldn't help +falling in love. It's true. I tried every way to stop, but I couldn't. +So last night I--I went to his studio-- + +GUENEVERE. Yes? + +MARY. I told you I was a wicked girl, Mrs. Robinson. You know I've a +key to let myself in to clean up for him. So last night I just went in. +He--he was asleep-- + +GUENEVERE. Yes? + +MARY. I--shall I tell you, ma'am? + +GUENEVERE. Yes. You _must_ tell me, now. + +MARY. And I--(_She sits kneeling, looking straight ahead, and continues +speaking, in a dead voice_) I couldn't help it. I put my arms around +him. + +GUENEVERE. Yes? + +MARY. And he put his arms around me, Mrs. Robinson, and kissed me. And +I didn't care about anything else, then. I was glad. And then-- + +GUENEVERE. Yes? + +MARY. And then he woke up--and he was angry at me. He swore at me. And +then he laughed, and kissed me again, and put me out of the room. + +GUENEVERE. Yes, yes. And that--that was all? + +MARY. I came home. I thought I would have died. I knew I had been +wicked. Oh, Mrs. Robinson--(_She breaks down and sobs_.) + +GUENEVERE. (_patting her head_) Poor child, it's all right. You aren't +so wicked as you think. Oh, I'm so glad! + +MARY. But it's jest the same, Mrs. Robinson. I wanted to be wicked. + +GUENEVERE. Never mind, Mary. We all want to be wicked at times. But +something always happens. It's all right. You're a good girl, Mary. +There, stop crying!... Of course, of course! I might have known. +Lancelot couldn't--and yet, I wonder.... Mary, stand up and let me look +at you! + +MARY. (_obeying_) Yes, ma'am. + +GUENEVERE. (_in a strange tone_) You're a very good-looking girl, +Mary.... So he laughed, and gave you a kiss, and led you to the +door!... Well! Go to bed and think no more about it. It's all right. + +MARY. Do you really think so, Mrs. Robinson? Isn't it the same thing if +you _want_ to be wicked-- + +GUENEVERE. You're talking like a professor of philosophy now, Mary. And +you're a woman, and you ought to know better. No, it isn't the same +thing, at all. Run along, child. + +MARY. Yes, ma'am. Thank you, ma'am. Good night, ma'am. + +_She goes_. + +GUENEVERE. Good-night, Mary. (_She returns to her darning. She smiles +to herself, then becomes serious, stops work, and looks at the clock. +Then she says_)--Vivien! Vivien's tears! Poor Lancelot! Oh, well! +(_She shrugs her shoulders, and goes on working. Then suddenly she +puts down her work, rises, and walks restlessly about the room.... +There is a knock at the door. She turns and stares at the door. The +knock is repeated. She is silent, motionless for a moment. Then she +says, almost in a whisper_)--Come! + +_A young man enters_. + +GUENEVERE. Lancelot! + +LANCELOT. Guenevere! (_They go up to each other, and he takes both +her hands. They stand that way for a moment. Then he says lightly_) +--Darning King Arthur's socks, I see! + +GUENEVERE. (_releasing herself, and going back to her chair_) Yes. +Sit down. + +LANCELOT. Where's his royal highness? + +GUENEVERE. New York. Why don't you ever come to see us? + +LANCELOT. (_not answering_) Charming domestic picture! + +GUENEVERE. Don't be silly! + +LANCELOT. I am going away. + +GUENEVERE. Are you? I'm sorry. Don't you like our little village? + +LANCELOT. Thought I'd stop in to say good-bye. + +GUENEVERE. That's very sweet of you. + +LANCELOT. (_rising_) I've got to go back and finish packing. + +GUENEVERE. Not really? + +LANCELOT. Going in the morning. + +GUENEVERE. Why the haste? The summer's just begun. I hear you've been +doing some awfully good things. I was going over to see them. + +LANCELOT. Thanks. Sorry to disappoint you. But I've taken it into my +head to leave. + +GUENEVERE. You're not going tonight, anyway. Sit down and talk to me. + +LANCELOT. All right. (_He sits, constrainedly_.) What shall I talk +about? + +GUENEVERE. (_smiling_) Your work. + +LANCELOT. (_impatiently_) You're not interested in my work. + +GUENEVERE. Your love-affairs, then. + +LANCELOT. Don't want to. + +GUENEVERE. Then read to me. There's some books on the table. + +LANCELOT. (_opening a serious-looking magazine_) Here's an article +on "The Concept of Happiness"--by Professor Arthur B. Robinson. Shall +I read that? + +GUENEVERE. I gather that you are not as fond of my husband as I am, +Lancelot. But try to be nice to me, anyway. Read some poetry. + +LANCELOT. (_takes a book from the table, and reads_)-- + + "It needs no maxims drawn from Socrates + To tell me this is madness in my blood--" + +_He pauses. She looks up inquiringly. Presently he goes on reading--_ + + "Nor does what wisdom I have learned from these + Serve to abate my most unreasoned mood. + What would I of you? What gift could you bring, + That to await you in the common street + Sets all my secret ecstasy a-wing + Into wild regions of sublime retreat? + And if you come, you will speak common words--" + +_He stops, and flings the book across the room. She looks up_. + +GUENEVERE. Don't you like it? + +LANCELOT. (_gloomily_) Hell! That's too true. + +GUENEVERE. Try something else. + +LANCELOT. No--I can't read. (_Guenevere bends to her darning_.) +Shall I go? + +GUENEVERE. No. + +LANCELOT. Do you enjoy seeing me suffer? + +GUENEVERE. Does talking to me make you suffer? + +LANCELOT. Yes. + +GUENEVERE. I'm sorry. + +LANCELOT. Then let me go. + +GUENEVERE. No. Sit there and talk to me, like a rational human being. + +LANCELOT. I'm not a rational human being. I'm a fool. A crazy fool. + +GUENEVERE. (_smiling at him_) I like crazy fools. + +LANCELOT. (_desperately, rising as he speaks_) I am going to be +married. + +GUENEVERE. (_in a mocking simulation of surprise_) What, again? + +LANCELOT. Yes--again--and as soon as possible--to Vivien. + +GUENEVERE. I congratulate you. + +LANCELOT. I _love_ her. + +GUENEVERE. Naturally. + +LANCELOT. _She_ loves _me_. + +GUENEVERE. I trust so. + +LANCELOT. Then _why_ should I be at this moment aching to kiss _you_? +Tell me that? + +GUENEVERE. (_looking at him calmly_) It does seem strange. + +LANCELOT. It is absolutely insane! It's preposterous! It's +contradictory! + +GUENEVERE. Are you quite sure it's all true? + +LANCELOT. Yes! I'm sure that I never would commit the rashness of +matrimony again without being in love. Very much in love. And I'm +equally sure that I would not stand here and tell you what a fool I am +about you, if _that_ weren't true. Do you think I _want_ to be this +way? It's too ridiculous--I didn't want to tell you. I wanted to go. +You made me stay. Well, now you know what a blithering lunatic I am. + +GUENEVERE. (_quietly_) It _is_ lunacy, isn't it? + +LANCELOT. Is it? + +GUENEVERE. Sheer lunacy. In love with one woman, and wanting to kiss +another. Disgraceful, in fact. + +LANCELOT. I know what you think! You think I'm paying you an extremely +caddish compliment--or else-- + +GUENEVERE. (_earnestly, as she rises_) No, I don't think that at +all, Lancelot. I believe you when you say that about me. And I don't +imagine for one moment that you're not really in love with Vivien. I +know you are. I could pretend to myself that you weren't--just as +you've tried to pretend to yourself sometimes, that I'm not really in +love with Arthur. But you know I am--don't you? + +LANCELOT. Yes. ... + +GUENEVERE. Well, Lancelot, there are--two lunatics here. (_He stares +at her_.) It's almost funny. I don't know why I'm telling you. But-- + +LANCELOT. You--! + +GUENEVERE. Yes. I want to kiss you, too. + +LANCELOT. But this won't do. As long as there was only one of us-- + +GUENEVERE. There's been two all along, Lancelot. I've more self-control +than you--that's all. But I broke down tonight. I knew I oughtn't to +tell you--now. But I knew I would. + +LANCELOT. You, too! + +_They have unconsciously circled about to the opposite side of the +room_. + +GUENEVERE. Oh, well, Lance, I fancy we aren't the only ones. It's a +common human failing, no doubt. Lots of people must feel this way. + +LANCELOT. What do they do about it? + +GUENEVERE. Well, it all depends on what kind of people they are. Some +of them go ahead and kiss. Others think of the consequences. + +LANCELOT. Well, let's think of the consequences, then. What are they? I +forget. + +GUENEVERE. I don't. I'm keeping them very clearly in mind. In the first +place-- + +LANCELOT. Yes? + +GUENEVERE. What was it? Yes--in the first place, we would be sorry. And +in the second place-- + +LANCELOT. In the second place-- + +GUENEVERE. In the second place--I forget what's in the second place. +But in the third place we mustn't. Isn't that enough? + +LANCELOT. Yes. I know we mustn't. But--I feel that we are going to. + +GUENEVERE. Please don't say that. + +LANCELOT. But isn't it true? Don't you feel that, too? + +GUENEVERE. Yes. + +LANCELOT. Then we're lost. + +GUENEVERE. No. We must think! + +LANCELOT. I can't think. + +GUENEVERE. Try. + +LANCELOT. It's no use. I can't even remember "in the first place," now. + +GUENEVERE. Then--before we do remember--! + +_He takes her in his arms. They kiss each other--a long, long kiss_. + +LANCELOT. Sweetheart! + +GUENEVERE. (_holding him at arm's length_) That was in the second +place, Lancelot. If we kiss each other, we'll begin saying things like +that--and perhaps believing them. + +LANCELOT. What did I say? + +GUENEVERE. Something very foolish. + +LANCELOT. What, darling? + +GUENEVERE. There, you did it again. Stop, or I shall be doing it, too. +I want to, you know. + +LANCELOT. Want what? + +GUENEVERE. To call you darling, and believe I'm in love with you. + +LANCELOT. Aren't you? + +GUENEVERE. I mustn't be. + +LANCELOT. But aren't you? + +GUENEVERE. Oh, I--(_She closes her eyes, and he draws her to him. +Suddenly she frees herself_.) No! Lancelot--no! I'm not in love with +you. And you're not in love with me. We're just two wicked people who +want to kiss each other. + +LANCELOT. Wicked? I don't feel wicked. Do you? + +GUENEVERE. No. I just feel natural. But it's the same thing. (_He +approaches her with outstretched arms. She retreats behind the chair_.) +No, no. Remember that I'm married. + +LANCELOT. I don't care. + +GUENEVERE. Then remember that you're engaged! + +LANCELOT. Engaged? + +GUENEVERE. Yes: to Vivien. + +LANCELOT. (_stopping short_) So I am. + +GUENEVERE. And you're in love with her. + +LANCELOT. That's true. + +GUENEVERE. You see now that you can't kiss me, don't you? + +LANCELOT (_dazedly_) Yes. + +GUENEVERE. Then thank heavens! for I was about to let you. And that's +in the fifth place, Lancelot: if we kiss each other once, we're sure to +do it again and again--and again. Now go over there and sit down, and +we'll talk sanely and sensibly. + +LANCELOT. (_obeying_) Heavens, what a moment! I'm not over it yet. + +GUENEVERE. Neither am I. We're a pair of sillies, aren't we? I never +thought I should ever behave in such a fashion. + +LANCELOT. It was my fault. I shouldn't have started it. + +GUENEVERE. I am as much to blame as you. + +LANCELOT. I'm sorry. + +GUENEVERE. Are you? + +LANCELOT. I ought to be. But I'm not, exactly. + +GUENEVERE. I'm not either, I'm ashamed to say. + +LANCELOT. The truth is, I want to kiss you again. + +GUENEVERE. And I... But do you call this talking sensibly? + +LANCELOT. I suppose it isn't. Well, go ahead with your sixth place, +then. Only, for heaven's sake try and say something that will really do +some good! + +GUENEVERE. Very well, Lancelot. Do you really want to elope with me? + +LANCELOT. Very much. + +GUENEVERE. That's not the right answer. You know perfectly well you +want to do nothing of the sort. What! Scandalize everybody, and ruin my +reputation, and break Vivien's heart? + +LANCELOT. No--I don't suppose I really want to do any of those things. + +GUENEVERE. Then do you want us to conduct a secret and vulgar intrigue? + +LANCELOT. (_hurt_) Guenevere! + +GUENEVERE. You realize, of course, that this madness of ours might last +no longer than a month? + +LANCELOT. (_soberly_) Perhaps. + +GUENEVERE. Well, do you still want to kiss me?--Think what you are +saying, Lancelot, for I may let you. And that kiss may be the beginning +of the catastrophe. (_She moves toward him_.) Do you want a kiss +that brings with it grief and fear and danger and heartbreak? + +LANCELOT. No-- + +GUENEVERE. Then what do you want? + +LANCELOT. I want--a kiss. + +GUENEVERE. Never. If you had believed, for one your chance. + +LANCELOT. Kiss me! + +GUENEVERE. Never. If you had believed, for one moment, that it _was_ +worth the price of grief and heartbreak, I should have believed it too, +and kissed you, and not cared what happened. I should have risked the +love of my husband and the happiness of your sweetheart without a +qualm. And who knows? It might have been worth it. An hour from now I +shall be sure it wasn't; I shall be sure it was all blind, wicked +folly. But now I am a little sorry. I wanted to gamble with fate. I +wanted us to stake our two lives recklessly upon a kiss--and see what +happened. And you couldn't. It wasn't a moment of beauty and terror to +you. You didn't want to challenge fate. You just wanted to kiss me.... +Go! + +LANCELOT. (_turning on her bitterly_) You women! Because you are +afraid, you accuse us of being cowards. + +GUENEVERE. What do you mean? + +LANCELOT. (_brutally_) You! You want a love-affair. Your common +sense tells you it's folly. Your reason won't allow it. So you want +your common sense to be overwhelmed, your reason lost. You want to be +swept off your, feet. You want to be _made_ to do something you +don't approve of. You want to be wicked, and you want it to be some one +else's fault. Tell me--isn't it true? + +GUENEVERE. Yes, it is true--except for one thing, Lancelot. It's true +that I wanted you to sweep me off my feet, to make me forget +everything; it was wrong, it was foolish of me to want it, but I did. +Only if you had done it, you wouldn't have been "to blame." I should +have loved you for ever because you could do it. And now, because you +couldn't I despise you. Now you know. ... Go. + +LANCELOT. No, Guenevere, you don't despise me. You're angry with me and +angry with yourself because you couldn't quite forget King Arthur. You +are blaming me and I am blaming you, isn't it amusing? + +GUENEVERE. You are right, Lancelot. It's my fault. Oh, I envy women who +can dare to make fools of themselves who forget everything and don't +care what they do! I suppose that's love--and I'm not up to it. + +LANCELOT. You are different.... + +GUENEVERE. Different? Yes, I'm a coward. I'm not primitive enough. +Despise me. You've a right to. And--please go. + +LANCELOT. I'm afraid I'm not very primitive either, Gwen. I-- + +GUENEVERE. I'm afraid you're not, Lance. That's the trouble with us. +We're civilized. Hopelessly civilized. We had a spark of the old +barbaric flame--but it went out. We put it out--quenched it with +conversation. No, Lancelot, we've talked our hour away. It's time for +you to pack up. Good-bye. (_He kisses her hand lingeringly_.) You +may kiss my lips if you like. There's not the slightest danger. We were +unnecessarily alarmed about ourselves. We couldn't misbehave! ... +Going? + +LANCELOT. Damn you! Good-bye! + +_He goes_. + +GUENEVERE. Well, _that_ did it. If he had stayed a moment longer--! + +_She flings up her arms in a wild gesture--then recovers herself, and +goes to her chair, where she sits down and quietly resumes the darning +of her husband's socks_. + + + + + +THE RIM OF THE WORLD + +A FANTASY + + +To MARJORIE JONES + + +"The Rim of the World" was first produced by the Liberal Club, New York +City, at Webster Hall, in 1915, with the following cast: + +The Maid ......... Jo Gotsch +The Gypsy ........ Floyd Dell +The King.......... Edward Goodman +The Princess...... Marjorie Jones + +_Morning. A room in a palace, opening on a balcony. Through the +arched broad window at the back is seen the sky, just beginning to be +suffused with the rosy streakings of dawn. A large, wide heavy seat +stands on a dais, with a low square stool beside it. A girl kneels on +the stool, with her head and arms on the chair, dozing. + +The dark figure of a man appears on the balcony. He puts a leg over the +window-ledge and climbs in slowly. + +A little noise wakes the girl. She stirs, looks round, jumps up, and +starts to scream_. + +THE MAN. Oh, not so loud! + +THE GIRL. (_finishes the scream in a subdued voice_.) + +THE MAN. That's better! But you ought to be more careful. You might +wake somebody up. + +THE GIRL. Who are you? + +THE MAN. That's just what I was about to ask you--tell me, are you a +Princess, or a maidservant? + +THE GIRL. A Princess?--did you really think I might be a Princess? + +THE MAN. Well, there are pretty Princesses. But I had rather you were a +maidservant. + +THE GIRL. Would you? Well, so I am! + +THE MAN. Thank you, my dear. And what would you like me to be? + +THE MAID. I'm afraid you're somebody not quite proper! + +THE MAN. Right, my dear. You are a person of marvellous discernment. I +am, in fact-- + +THE MAID. The king of the Gypsies! + +THE GYPSY. How did you know? + +THE GIRL. I guessed it! + +THE GYPSY. H'm. You knew, I suppose, that our band has just encamped +outside the city? + +THE MAID. Yes. + +THE GYPSY. And you have heard of the exploits of the Gypsy king. You +know that there is no wall high enough to keep him out, no force of +soldiers strong enough-- + +THE MAID. I know it by your eyes. They have the gypsy look in them. + +THE GYPSY. Where have you ever seen gypsies before? + +THE MAID. Never mind. But tell me--the wall around the palace is +seventeen feet high-- + +THE GYPSY. True enough! + +THE MAID. A guard of soldiers continually marches around it-- + +THE GYPSY. Very true! + +THE MAID. And there are spikes on the top. How did you get over? + +THE GYPSY. That is my secret. Would I be the gypsy king if everybody +knew what I know? + +THE MAID. Won't you tell _me_? + +THE GYPSY. Women have asked me that many times. But I never tell. But, +though I won't tell you how I entered, I don't mind telling you _why_. + +THE MAID. Oh, I know that already! + +THE GYPSY. You think, perhaps, that I am a thief as well as a +housebreaker--that it is in the hope of royal treasure left unguarded +that I have come here. ... + +THE MAID. You have come here because you took a fancy to see what was +on the other side of the wall. Isn't that it? + +THE GYPSY. At last I have found some one in this stupid city who +understands me. Young woman-- + +THE MAID. Yes? + +THE GYPSY. You do not belong here. There is no one here who does things +because they are foolish and interesting. Would you like to come away +with me? + +THE MAID. Oh, no. You must not think, because I understand you, that I +approve of you. You see-- + +THE GYPSY. You don't approve of me? + +THE MAID. No--but I like you. I can't help it. I always did like +Gypsies. You see, I was brought up among them. + +THE GYPSY. You a Gypsy child! + +THE MAID. I suppose I was. Though I always preferred to imagine that I +was some Princess that had been changed in the cradle and stolen away. +When I was hardly more than a baby, I remember that I disapproved of +their rough ways. I can still faintly remember the jolting of the +wagons that kept me awake, and the smell of the soup in the big kettle +over the fire. + +THE GYPSY. It is a good smell. + +THE MAID. But I did not think so! It smelled of garlic. And when I was +six years old, I ran away. The tribe had encamped just outside the city +here, and I wandered away from the tents, and entered the city-gate, +and hid myself, and at night I came straight to the palace. The +soldiers found me, and took me to the old king. He said that I should +be the child of the palace. So they gave me white bread with butter on +it, and put me to sleep between smooth white sheets. + +THE GYPSY. Gypsy children cannot thrive when they are taken into +cities. They turn away from white bread with butter on it, and +remembering the good smell of the soup in the big kettle over the fire, +they fall sick with hunger. As for you-- + +THE MAID. I thrived on the white bread with butter on it. + +THE GYPSY. You were a little renegade. But I forgive you! And now to my +business, I have come to see the King, and talk with him. We kings +should become better acquainted, don't you think? I will ask him what +he considers the proper price for telling fortunes, and find out what +his ideas are on the subject of horse-trading. And no doubt he will ask +me what I think about his coming marriage with the Princess of Basque. +She is to arrive to-night, I believe, and be married tomorrow, to this +King whom she has never seen! + +THE MAID. Be careful, or you will awaken him. That is his bed-chamber, +there. + +THE GYPSY. Ah! Is he a light sleeper? + +THE MAID. The King sleeps soundly, and awakens punctually every morning +at six. + +THE GYPSY. (_with a glance at the sky_) It is not quite six. Every +morning, you say? And what then? + +THE MAID. He goes for a walk at seven, and breakfasts at eight. Every +morning. + +THE GYPSY. Regularly? + +THE MAID. The King is always on time to the moment. + +THE GYPSY. Ah, one of those clockwork kings! + +THE MAID. You must not make fun of him. He is a good king. + +THE GYPSY. I have no doubt of it. And his regularity will be a great +comfort to his queen. She will always know that she will get her kiss +regularly, punctually, on the stroke of the clock. But--you say the +King rises at six, and goes for a walk at seven. What does he do in the +meantime? + +THE MAID. First he comes here and has his morning drink. Then he is +dressed for his walk. + +THE GYPSY. And what is your part in these solemn proceedings? + +THE MAID. I tie his slippers for him, and pour his drink. + +THE GYPSY. It is a great honour! So great an honour that you come here +before the sun is up to be ready for your duties. Do you entertain the +King with conversation while he takes his morning drink? + +THE MAID. No--the Gazetteer does that. + +THE GYPSY. The Gazetteer--what is the Gazetteer? + +THE MAID. The Gazetteer is a man whose duty it is to find out all that +happens in the city each day, and recite it to the King the next +morning. + +THE GYPSY. Has the King as much curiosity as that? I would never have +thought it. + +THE MAID. It isn't curiosity. It's just a custom that has sprung up. +All the merchants and well-to-do people hire a Gazetteer. It may be +useful to them--but I think the King regards it more as a duty than a +pleasure. + +THE GYPSY. I remember now. They have something like it in the taverns. +I foresee a great future for it.... + +THE MAID. And it seems to go with that new drink. + +THE GYPSY. What new drink? + +THE MAID. Why, the new drink from Arabia. It has a queer name. Ka-Fe. + +THE GYPSY. Ka-Fe--and what is it like? + +THE MAID. It is dark, and served hot with sugar and cream. + +THE GYPSY. It sounds interesting. I would like to taste it. What is it +most like--mead, perhaps, or wine, or that strong liquor distilled from +juniper berries? + +THE MAID. Like none of these. It does not make men talk and sing and +tell their secrets and reveal their love and their hate, and knock +their heads against the stars and tangle their feet one with the +other.... + +THE GYPSY. Then what is the good of it? + +THE MAID. It makes the head clearer, and sobers the judgment. It makes +men think more and talk less. And it gives them strength to rule their +inward feelings. + +THE GYPSY. What a pity! People are too much like that as it is. + +THE MAID. The King says that some time the whole world will learn to +drink it! + +THE GYPSY. A world of Ka-Fe drinkers! A world where people rule their +inward feelings and hide their secret thoughts! I shall be dead before +then, thank heaven! + +THE MAID. But you keep your secrets--even from women--so you say. + +THE GYPSY. It was a vain boast. Sometime, with my head in a woman's +lap, I shall blab away the secrets that give me power. I know it. +Somewhere in the world is a woman whose look will intoxicate me more +than wine. And for her sake I shall invent some new folly. + +THE MAID. What a pity! + +THE GYPSY. No--the thought cheers me. So long as there are women, men +will be fools. Their Ka-Fe will not help them. + +THE MAID. Do you approve of folly, then? + +THE GYPSY. It is the thing that makes life worth living. I have +committed every kind of folly I know, and the world would be dull and +empty if I did not think that some new and greater folly lay ahead. + +THE MAID. You think, then, that one should surrender oneself to folly? + +THE GYPSY. I think so truly. What have you on the tip of your tongue? +What folly have you given yourself to, my child? + +THE MAID. I am afraid you will laugh at me. ... + +THE GYPSY. Not I. Tell me, my dear, are you in love? + +THE MAID. Yes.... + +THE GYPSY. With some one who will never give you love in return? + +THE MAID. Yes. ... + +THE GYPSY. And is it--? + +THE MAID. The King--yes. Oh, I am a fool to tell you! + +_She hides her face in her hands_. + +THE GYPSY. Listen, my child. You are not more a fool than I. The other +day I rode out on a swift horse to be by myself under the sky, and +think my thoughts. And there, a two days' journey from this city, I saw +the slow-moving caravan of the Princess of Basque, on her way to wed +this King whom she has never seen. Curiosity drew me near, for I wanted +to see the face of the Princess. I tied my horse to a tree, and hid +among the bushes by the road-side as they passed. I saw her among the +cushions of the royal wagon. She had a strange, wild beauty. I saw her, +and loved her, and grew sick with loneliness. I rode back to the city, +and tried to wash out the memory of that face with wine. But it was no +use, so I left the tavern and climbed the wall and entered the palace, +that I might look also at the man whom she is to wed. When I have seen +him, then I shall--I don't know what. But--we are two foolish ones, you +and I! + +THE MAID. Thank you for telling me that. But you must go now. It is +almost time for the King to come. + +THE GYPSY. What if he found me here--what would he do? Have me +beheaded, or merely thrown into prison? + +THE MAID. No--he is a kind king. He would only tell you how wrong it is +to break into people's houses and show disrespect for the law. + +THE GYPSY. I had almost rather be put in prison than lectured at. Well, +I must invent something to explain my presence. (_There is a knock_.) +Who is that? + +THE MAID. Hide yourself. I will see. + +THE GYSPY. (_from behind the curtains of the window_) I am hidden. + +_The maid goes to the door, and comes back with a paper in her hand_. + +THE GYPSY. Well? + +THE MAID. (_looking at the paper_) The Gazetteer is ill, and cannot +come. + +THE GYPSY. (_emerging from the curtains_) The Gazetteer is ill.... + +THE MAID. The King will be annoyed. + +THE GYPSY. We will spare his majesty that annoyance. I shall be the +King's Gazetteer this morning! + +THE MAID. But how can you? + +THE GYPSY. Leave that to me. (_He takes his position behind the +curtains_.) Such news as he has never heard, I shall recite to the +King! + +THE MAID. Ssh! Here he comes now! + +_The King enters, in his dressing gown, yawning, with his hand over +his mouth. In the midst of his yawn, he speaks_. + +THE KING. Goo' mo'ing! + +THE MAID. (_bowing_) Good morning, your majesty! + +THE KING. (_glancing out at the morning sky_) Looks like a nice day +today. (_He sits down_.) + +THE GYPSY. (_from slightly behind the King's seat_) Not a cloud in +your majesty's sky! + +THE KING. (_twisting about to look at him_) And who the devil are you? + +THE GYPSY. (_coming around in front and bowing_) I am the Gazetteer. + +THE KING. (_sputtering_) What are you trying to palm off on me? You are +not my Gazetteer! My Gazetteer is decently dressed in black and white. +You come here in red and yellow. What does it mean? + +THE MAID. Your majesty, your own Gazetteer is ill and cannot come, so +he has sent his cousin, who is in the same business. + +THE KING. (_disgustedly_) Bring me my Ka-Fe. (_The maid goes out_.) Now +tell me, sirrah, you don't mean to say that you are used by respectable +people as a source of information? I cannot believe it! + +THE GYPSY. Your majesty, it would ill become me to deprecate the +character of my clientele. They may not be rich, they may not be +influential, but they are the foundation of your kingdom's prosperity. +And I must say for myself that for the one person that your Gazetteer +serves, I serve many. You may sneer at my quality if you like, but I +point to my circulation. I am the official Gazetteer of the Red-Horse +Tavern, and scores of petty tradesmen, as well as clerks, bricklayers +and truck drivers, depend upon me for their knowledge of the world's +events. + +THE KING. Well, well! So you are in your humble way an agency of +civilization! + +THE GYPSY. Your majesty may well say so! + +_The maid has returned with the Ka-Fe. She puts the tray on the floor +beside the seat, and kneels by it. The King's cup she places on the +stool at his hand_. + +THE KING. (_sipping his Ka-Fe_) Very well. Proceed. + +THE GYPSY. (_reciting_) This is the story of a crime! The shop of +the widow Solomon stands in the middle of the great street which takes +its name from our King--may he live long and prosper! In that shop are +displayed for sale diamonds, rubies, emeralds, pearls, and all manner +of precious stones, set in rings and chains curiously wrought of silver +and gold. And there yesterday came a band of robbers--not in the night, +when all men are asleep, and even the watch-dog dozes beside the door-- +but in the glare of day, intent on wickedness. They entered the shop, +and with the threat of death stopped up the mouths of the servitors. +Then they filled a large sack with their precious booty, and escaped. +They have not been apprehended. This is the sixth in the series of +daring daylight robberies that has occurred within the month. The +failure of the police to deal with this situation has provoked +widespread comment on the incompetency of the King's Chief of Police, +and there are some who assert that the police are in league with the +robbers. The magnificent new house which the Chief of Police has been +erecting, ostensibly with the money left him by a rich aunt of whom +nobody ever heard, seems to lend colour to these-- + +THE KING. What! What! What's this? Why, I never heard such impudence! +Fellow, do you mean to tell me-- + +_He becomes speechless, and sets down his Ka-Fe_. + +THE GYPSY. Your majesty, I have especially softened the wording of this +piece of news in order not to offend your majesty's ears. But in +substance that is the story which was told last night at every +tavern in the city. + +THE KING. But, sirrah, I cannot permit--I simply cannot permit--why-- +why--! + +THE GYPSY. Suppose, your majesty, we skip the police news, and go on to +gentler themes. + +THE KING. That would be better--much better. + +THE GYPSY. Shall we take up--politics? + +THE KING. (_wearily_) Oh, yes. + +THE GYPSY. (_reciting_) A debate between the rival factions who +seek to influence the governing of our kingdom through the so-called +Council of Peers was held last night outdoors in the public market. The +rival orators exceeded one another in dullness and hoarseness. The +attendance was very slight. The general public takes little interest in +these proceedings, knowing as it does that they are merely a diversion +for the scions of old families whose energies are unemployed except in +time of war. It is the general feeling, moreover, that the King may be +depended upon to govern the kingdom properly without the interference +of these aristocratic meddlers. + +THE KING. Ah, splendid, splendid! Let us hear that again! + +THE GYPSY. A debate between the rival factions-- + +THE KING. No, no--the last part. That about meddling. + +THE GYPSY. It is the general feeling, moreover, that the King may be +depended upon to govern the kingdom properly-- + +THE KING. Without interference from these aristocratic meddlers. Yes, +yes! Those are my sentiments exactly. How well put that is--without +interference! Ah, it shows that I am appreciated among the lower +classes. They understand me. What did you say they were? Petty +tradesmen and clerks and bricklayers? + +THE GYPSY. And truck drivers, your majesty. + +THE KING. And truck drivers. Splendid fellows, all of them. As you +said--the backbone of my king-dom. I must appoint a royal commission to +investigate the welfare of the truck drivers. The Council of Peers will +object--but I shall ignore them. Broken-down aristocrats! what do they +know about governing a kingdom? They are useful only in war-time. +Fighting is their only talent. In times of peace they are a nuisance. I +shall not let them come between me and my people. ... (_He rises, and +with a dignified oratorical gesture addresses an imaginary +audience_)--Tradesmen! Clerks! Truck drivers! The time has come-- +(_He pauses, frowns, and sits down again_.) Never mind that now. +Go on with the news. + +THE GYSPY. The rest of the political news is uninteresting, your +majesty. + +THE KING. It usually is. This is the first time it has ever been +otherwise. Turn to something else. + +THE GYPSY. I will turn to the society items, your majesty. + +THE KING. Good. + +THE GYPSY. (_reciting_) All tongues are discussing the approaching +nuptials of the King and the Princess of-- + +THE KING. Tut! tut! I fear this is not a proper topic for-- + +THE GYPSY. It is a matter of interest to all your subjects, your +majesty. + +THE KING. Well, well--go on. A public figure like myself must submit to +having his private affairs discussed. It is unfortunate, but--go on. + +THE GYPSY. (_reciting_)--the approaching nuptials of the King and +the Princess of Basque. The details of the royal bride's trousseau are +already well known to the public, down to the last garter. The six +embroidered chemises from Astrakhan-- + +_The maid shows great interest. The King is embarrassed_. + +THE KING. But, my dear fellow--really, you know--! This is--! + +THE GYPSY. Items of this nature, your majesty, are recited in the +bazaar to audiences composed exclusively of women. Under the +circumstances there is surely no impropriety-- + +THE KING. Very well. I accept your explanation. But as your present +audience is not composed exclusively of women, I suggest that you omit +those details. + +THE GYPSY. Your majesty, I omit them. The account continues.... +(_Reciting_) The marriage has excellent reasons of state for being +made, inasmuch as it cements in friendship two kingdoms which have been +at war with each other off and on for a hundred years. But it has its +romantic side as well. It is, in fact, a love-match. The fact that the +royal lovers have never seen each other only emphasizes its romantic +quality. Their joy in beholding in actuality what they have for three +long months cherished so dearly in imagination, is a theme for the poet +laureate--who will, however, we fear, judging from his past +performances, hardly do it justice. It is, as we have said, a love- +match. The royal pair fell in love with what they had heard of each +other--the Princess of Basque with the image she had formed in her mind +from glowing reports of the King's valour, amounting to rashness, his +fluency of poetic speech, his manly bearing, and his irrepressible +wit.... (_The King nods gravely at each item_.) While the King +became madly enamoured of the reputation of the Princess of Basque for +sweetness, industry in good works, and the docility which befits a +wife, even of a King.... (_The King nods gravely at these items +also_.) She is, indeed, a pattern of all the domestic virtues--she +is quiet, obedient, dignified-- + +_There is a cry in a high feminine voice, outside. All look toward +the window. A girl appears, running past, with short loose hair tossing +about her face. She pauses, and flings herself over the window-ledge, +and is standing--panting, red-cheeked, smiling--in the room. The King +rises_. + +THE KING. (_furious, yet coldly polite_) And who, in the name of +the sacred traditions of womanhood, are you? + +THE FIGURE. I--I am the Princess of Basque! + +_They stare at her_. + + * * * * * + +_Mid-day. Yellow curtains have been drawn across the broad window. On +the wide seat, the King, dressed in purple robes, sits with head bowed +in thought.... There is a noise of shouting outside. The King looks +up_. + +THE KING. (_sadly_) There it is again. + +THE GYPSY. (_entering_) Your majesty-- + +THE KING. You? What are you doing here? + +THE GYPSY. Your majesty, the palace is in a turmoil. The attendants are +helping the soldiers keep order among the crowd in the courtyard--the +gentlemen-in-waiting are receiving deputations with wedding presents-- +the women are distributing medals bearing the image of the bride. All +the city is celebrating her unexpected arrival, and rejoicing with you +in your presumed happiness. In this disturbed state of affairs, _I_ +have been drafted into your majesty's service, and come to bring you a +message. + +THE KING. (_bitterly_) I hoped I would never see you again. It all +began with you. If I were a superstitious person I would say you +brought misfortune with you into this house. Before you came this +morning, everything was as it had always been--orderly and regular. +What is your message? That madwoman has not escaped, has she? + +THE GYPSY. The young woman who calls herself the Princess of Basque is +safe under lock and key, according to your majesty's orders. + +THE KING. Is she well guarded? + +THE GYPSY. The soldier who conducted her from the room this morning is +keeping guard at the door, your majesty. I recognized him by the black +eye she gave him. + +THE KING. Good. What is your news? + +THE GYPSY. Your majesty, I am bidden to tell you that the Royal +Archivist, whom you bade to search through the histories of your royal +ancestors for some precedent to guide you in this matter, has locked +himself with his forty assistants in the royal library, and cannot be +roused by knocking. + +THE KING. They have fallen asleep among the archives.... What else? + +THE GYPSY. Your majesty, the Royal Physician has been summoned, +according to your orders, to examine the young woman as to her sanity. +But she refuses to answer all questions, asserting that she is in a +state of abounding health, and is in no need of the services of a +physician. + +THE KING. How can we prove her mad if she will not answer questions! + +THE GYPSY. Further, I am bidden to tell you that the watchman on the +tower has seen two horsemen in the far distance galloping toward the +city. They come by the eastern road, and it is believed that they +are couriers from the King of Basque. + +THE KING. This matter must be settled before they arrive. Is there +anything else? + +THE GYPSY. Yes, your majesty. The Eldest of the Wise Men has come here +in answer to your summons. + +THE KING. Bring him in. And do you remain here in attendance. + +THE GYPSY. Yes, your majesty. + +_He goes to the door_. + +THE KING. This would never have happened to my ancestors. Not to Otho, +nor Magnus, nor Carolus, nor Gavaine. Am I less than these? Perhaps I +am, but the same blood flows in my veins, and while it flows I shall +rule as they ruled. + +_The Gypsy ushers in the Eldest of the Wise Men_. + +THE WISE MAN. Your majesty-- + +THE KING. I have sent for you, O Eldest of the Wise Men, in an hour of +extreme perplexity. Not lightly would I have torn you from your +meditations. I have need of your wisdom. + +THE WISE MAN. Whatever your majesty wishes to know, I shall answer out +of the fulness of knowledge born of long study and deep reflection. +Speak, O King! Is it of Infinity that you would ask? or of Eternity?-- +or of the Absolute? + +THE KING. Nothing so simple. I want to know what to do with a madwoman +who climbed in at my window an hour since, asserting herself to be the +daughter of the King of Basque, and my affianced bride--and with a +misguided populace which insists upon celebrating my alleged happiness. +(_The tumult is heard outside, this time with a harsh note in it. The +King starts, turning to the Gypsy_.) Is _that_ a sound of rejoicing? + +THE GYPSY. No, your majesty. That sound means that the rumour has just +spread among them that the Princess of Basque has been falsely +imprisoned in the palace. They are calling for blood. + +THE KING. What! An uprising against me? + +THE GYPSY. Not at all, your majesty. They hold your majesty blameless. +They believe that you have been deceived by the false counsel of the +Eldest of the Wise Men. It is his blood they are calling for. + +THE KING. (_to the Eldest of the Wise Men_) There you have it! That, as +some one has admirably phrased it, is the situation in a nutshell. What +shall we do? + +THE WISE MAN. (_stupefied_) But your majesty--! + +THE KING. Your advice--what is it? Come, be quick. Out of your wisdom, +born of long study and deep reflection, speak the word that shall set +this jangled chaos in order once more. + +THE WISE MAN. Your majesty, I am afraid I do not understand these +things. If you had asked me about the Absolute-- + +THE KING. There is no Absolute any more! The Absolute has been missing +from this kingdom--and for all I know, from the Universe--since half- +past six o'clock this morning. No one regrets its absence more than I. +There can be no comfort, no peace, no order, without an Absolute. But +we must face the facts. The Absolute is gone, and this kingdom will be +without one until I restore it with my own hands. I shall set about +doing so immediately. And meanwhile, old man, you had better seek some +safe corner where my misguided populace cannot lay hands on you. + +THE WISE MAN. Your majesty-- + +THE KING. Go. We have business to attend to. (_The Eldest of the Wise +Men goes out_.) And now, you sharp-nosed scoundrel, I want some of +_your_ advice! When the roof of the world has fallen in, there are +no precedents, wisdom is worthless, and the opinion of one man is as +good as that of another,--if not better. So what have you to suggest? + +THE GYPSY. Your majesty, before I make my suggestion, let me confess to +you that I had underrated the force of your majesty's personality. Not +until this moment have I understood that you possess the qualities of +kingship as well as the title of king. + +THE KING. Well, what of that? + +THE GYPSY. This, your majesty. There is only one man in your kingdom +who can cope with this girl whom you call mad. Your servants cannot +do it. As I passed by the room where she is imprisoned, I heard the +soldier whose eye she blacked talking to her. He was saying that it was +a great honour to have had a black eye from her hands, and he was +begging her autograph. If she had desired to escape, she could have +done so--he is her devoted slave. And the doctor who went to examine +her as to her sanity has stayed to talk to her about horse-breaking. +That, as you know, is his avocation; and he has found in her a woman +who knows more about it than he does. He sits there like a man +entranced. They are all putty in her hands. + +THE KING. (_impatiently_) Get to the point. + +THE GYPSY. I have said that there is only one man in the kingdom who +can cope with her. And that man is your majesty's self. + +THE KING. I? + +THE GYPSY. Yes--you must go to her yourself. + +THE KING. There's an idea. But what am I to do then? + +THE GYPSY. Talk to her, make her your friend. Coax her secret out of +her, and you will find that she is some madcap actress from a +travelling company of mountebanks, who has done this thing in order to +have the story told by the gazetteers and bring people to look at her. +Get her to confess, and then let her story spread among the crowd--and +the whole uprising that is now taxing the resources of the palace guard +will dissolve in a burst of laughter. + +THE KING. I will do it. If it is not a kingly duty, I shall at least +accomplish it in a kingly manner. Thank you, my friend. But what is +this? + +THE MAID. (_entering_) Your majesty-- + +THE KING. Speak. What is it? + +THE MAID. Two couriers from the King of Basque have arrived on foam- +flecked horses, and ask to see you instantly. + +THE KING. Let them wait. I have other affairs in hand. Send them here +on the stroke of noon. (_To the Gypsy_) Your explanation may be the +correct one. But my own opinion is that she is mad. Whatever it is, +I shall soon have the truth. + +THE GYPSY. May the fortune of kings attend you! + +_The King goes out. The Gypsy and the maid seat themselves idly on +the edge of the dais_. + +THE MAID. Poor woman! No doubt she went mad with love of the King, +until she imagined herself to be his bride. I can understand that! Poor +woman! + +THE GYPSY. I am almost sorry for him. + +THE MAID. Sorry for _him_? You mean, for _her_! + +THE GYPSY. The Princess of Basque needs none to be sorry for her. She +can take care of herself--as she proved on the eye of the soldier who +locked her up. + +THE MAID. Then you believe it? That she _is_ the Princess of Basque? + +THE GYPSY. I know it. Have I not seen her face? + +THE MAID. Then why did you not speak up? + +THE GYPSY. Who am I, to interfere in the prenuptial courtesies of a +royal pair? Besides, it will give her an insight into the character of +her future husband. + +THE MAID. You are very unjust to the King, to say that. He is not +unkind. He only had her locked up because he thought her demented. + +THE GYPSY. Precisely. Oh, she is not one to mind a little rough +handling. She gives as good as she gets. She will not hold that against +him. But that he should think her mad because she came unattended, at +an unexpected hour, with flushed cheeks and laughing lips to meet her +lover--! + +THE MAID. Because she came climbing in at the window like a madwoman! + +THE GYPSY. You think as the King does. For you there are no ways but +the way to which you are accustomed. That is sanity to you, and all +else is madness. You have a map of life which is like your maps of the +world--with all the safe known places marked by their familiar names, +and outside you have drawn childish pictures of fabulous beasts, and +written, "This is a desert." But I tell you I have gone into these +deserts, and found good green grass there, and sweet spring water, and +delightful fruits. And beyond them I have seen great mountains and +stormy seas.... And I shall go back some day, and cross those mountains +and those seas, and find what lies beyond. + +THE MAID. Yes, it must be interesting to travel. + +THE GYPSY. (_brought down to earth_) Forgive me, child. Do you know, +you are very like the King. That is just what he would have said. + +THE MAID (_pleased_) Is it? + +THE GYPSY. Word for word. You are the feminine counterpart of your +ruler. What a pity you cannot help him manage his kingdom! + +THE MAID. Hush! Here he comes now! And she is with him! + +_They rise respectfully. The King enters, followed by the Princess of +Basque_. + +THE KING. We can conduct our conversation better in here. (_To the +others_) Leave us. + +THE GYPSY. Yes, your majesty. + +_They go out_. + +THE KING. Pray be seated, madam. + +THE PRINCESS. In your majesty's presence? + +THE KING. I will sit down too. We will sit here together. It is +unconventional, but--there is no one to see. Please! + +_He takes her by the hand and conducts her up the dais to the wide +seat. He seats himself beside her_. + +THE PRINCESS. It is very kind of your majesty to give so much of your +time to a troublesome girl. + +THE KING. I confess that I find it a pleasure to converse with you. It +is a relief from the burden of my royal responsibilities. + +THE PRINCESS. I did not know that a king had responsibilities. I +thought he stood above such things. + +THE KING. My responsibilities are many and grave. + +THE PRINCESS. Yes. What are they? + +THE KING. It would take too long to enumerate them in detail. Suffice +it to say that the happiness of a whole people depends on me. + +THE PRINCESS. The happiness of a whole people.... That means: +merchants--and clerks--and-- + +THE KING. And bricklayers. Yes, and truck drivers. They look to me for +their happiness. + +THE PRINCESS. In what does the happiness of a truck driver consist, O +King? + +THE KING. I am not sure. But I am going to appoint a royal commission +to find out for me. + +THE PRINCESS. I can tell you now. The happiness of a truck driver +consists in drinking beer with his friends at the tavern in the +evening, and taking his sweetheart out to see the royal menagerie on +Sunday afternoon. And do you know how you can best sub serve that +happiness, O King? By letting him alone, to drink his beer, and make +love to his sweetheart. + +THE KING. You are wrong. You must be wrong. If the happiness of a +people were as simple as that, there would be no need of governments +and kings to promote it. + +THE PRINCESS. Be thankful, O King, that they do not know that--and that +they like to have kings and queens, to whom they give, in their +generosity, palaces and horses and--and silken chemises from Astrakhan! +Why not enjoy the gifts we have, as the truck driver enjoys his beer +and his sweetheart? Let us each have our brief flash of happiness in +the sun, O King! + +THE KING. Your philosophy is the deadly enemy of mine. + +THE PRINCESS. And must we be enemies of each other, too? + +THE KING. Never, madam. Let us be friends in spite of our opinions. + +THE PRINCESS. Your majesty is very gracious. + +THE KING. And now that we are friends, I hope you will not keep up the +jest any longer. The lady who is to be my wife and queen arrives in a +few hours. You can see how necessary it is that the matter be cleared +up before she comes. You will not continue to embarrass me? + +THE PRINCESS. Now that we are friends, I will tell you the truth. I am +_not_ she who is to be your wife and queen. + +THE KING. Thank you. And in return, I forgive you freely for all the +disturbances you have caused to me and my kingdom. + +THE PRINCESS. I am sorry. + +THE KING. Of course, you did not understand what you were doing. You +did not realize how necessary to a kingdom is the tranquillity which +comes only from perfect order and regularity. There has not been such a +day as this before in the history of my kingdom. And there will never +be such a day again. Tomorrow all will be smooth and regular again. + +THE PRINCESS. Smooth and regular! Do you mean that you like things +always to be the same, with never any change? + +THE KING. I happen to like it, yes. But it is not a question of what +one likes. It is a question of what is necessary. Even if I did not +like order, I would have to submit myself to its routine. That is what +it means to be a king. + +THE PRINCESS. And is that what it means to be a queen? + +THE KING. In this kingdom, yes. In other places, there may be some +relaxation of the traditional rule which compels a queen to be in every +way a pattern to her subjects. But the queen of my kingdom will always +be a model of perfect womanhood. + +THE PRINCESS. And what if she did not wish to be? + +THE KING. She would learn that her wishes were unimportant. + +THE PRINCESS. And if she refused to learn that? + +THE KING. (_grimly_) I would teach her. + +THE PRINCESS. (_with flashing eyes_) You mean you would make her obey? + +THE KING. That is a hard saying. But this kingdom has not been built up +with centuries of blood and toil to be torn down at the whim of a +foolish girl. I have a duty to perform, and that is to hand on the +kingdom to my descendants as it was handed on to me from my great +ancestors, Otho and Magnus, Carolus and Gavaine. And by the blood that +once flowed in their veins and now flows in mine, I will so do it--and +rather than fail, I would break into pieces a woman's body and a wife's +heart. + +THE PRINCESS. I understand you fully. And may I go now? + +THE KING. First you must tell me who you are and how you came to play +this mad prank. + +THE PRINCESS. Your majesty, I am only a foolish girl. I will not tell +you my name, but I came from the kingdom of Basque. + +THE KING. Have you ever seen the Princess, by any chance? + +THE PRINCESS. I was in the royal caravan. + +THE KING. Then you know the Princess! + +THE PRINCESS. Not so well as I thought, your majesty. But I had heard +so much talk of her coming marriage and of her great happiness, that +there was nothing else in my mind. I dreamed of it day and night. + +THE KING. Poor child. + +THE PRINCESS. You may well say so. I dreamed of it until I lost all +sense of reality, and imagined that I was that happy girl who was going +to meet her lover. + +THE KING. Madness! + +THE PRINCESS. It was madness--nothing else. I thought I was to become +free--to throw off the restraints that had chafed me for so long at +home. I thought I was going to see everything I wished to see, and do +everything I wished to do--to follow every impulse, no matter where it +led me--to commit every pleasant folly I chose--and be happy. + +THE KING. What queer notions! + +THE PRINCESS. I had queerer notions than that. I thought I loved a man +that I had never seen. I thought he loved me. I pitied myself and him +because we were so long apart, and I burned to go to him. So, while the +slow-moving caravan was yet far from its destination, I rose secretly +in the night, while the others slept, and saddled the fastest horse in +the train. I rode under the stars, with only one thought--his arms +about me at the journey's end, his lips on mine. So I came to the city. +I scaled the walls, and entered the palace at dawn. + +THE KING. But tell me--the wall around the palace is seventeen feet +high-- + +THE PRINCESS. True enough. + +THE KING. A guard of soldiers continually marches around it-- + +THE PRINCESS. Very true. + +THE KING. And there are spikes on the top. How did you get over? + +THE PRINCESS. That is my secret. The rest I have told you. And now let +me go. + +THE KING. Tell me one thing more-- + +THE PRINCESS. Nothing more! I must go! I feel that if I stay any +longer, something dreadful will happen! + +THE KING. (_taking her hand and detaining her_) What do you fear? + +THE PRINCESS. I feel like the maiden in the story who was told that if +she stayed till the clock struck, she would be changed into the shape +of an animal. Something tells me that if I stay here till the clock +strikes, we shall both be transformed into beasts. Oh, let me go! + +THE KING. No, wait! + +_The clock strikes noon_. + +THE PRINCESS. (_staring at the door_) I am lost! + +THE GYPSY. (_at the door, announcing_) The couriers of the King of +Basque! + +_The couriers enter. They stare amazed at the girl seated beside the +King_. + +FIRST COURIER. The Princess! + +SECOND COURIER. Here! + +_The King and the Princess look at each other. Then the King speaks_. + +THE KING. (_challengingly_) Where should the Princess be, but beside +her affianced husband? + +FIRST COURIER. We came to tell you that she was missing from the +caravan. + +SECOND COURIER. We feared for her safety. + +THE KING. Your fears were needless. + +FIRST COURIER. They told us-- + +THE KING. Never mind what they told you. You have seen. And now leave +us. + +THE COURIERS. Yes, your majesty. + +_They go, the Gypsy following_. + +THE KING. And now, with apologies for the misunderstanding and delay, +let me welcome you to my palace and my arms--my princess and my +queen! + +THE PRINCESS. You will not hold me to it! + +THE KING. We cannot escape it. + +THE PRINCESS. But I am no fit queen for you. You know what I am like. +You do not want me for a wife! + +THE KING. It is not the things one wants, but the things that are +necessary.... + +THE PRINCESS. I will never marry you. + +THE KING. You shall marry me tomorrow. + +THE PRINCESS. I cannot. + +THE KING. The preparations are made for the wedding. Two kingdoms hang +on the event. + +THE PRINCESS. Let them hang! + +THE KING. You, the daughter of my father's ancient foe, are to unite +two kingdoms in fraternal amity. Do you understand? War and peace are +in the balance. + +THE PRINCESS. War? + +THE KING. Or peace. It rests with you. + +THE PRINCESS. I begin to understand. How strange to think of myself as +a peace-offering--a gift from one kingdom to another! Is that what it +means to be a Princess? + +THE KING. That is what it means. + +THE PRINCESS. I had rather be a Gypsy, and choose my lover as I +wandered the roads! + +THE KING. But you are a Princess, and your choosing is between peace +and war. Do you choose war? + +THE PRINCESS (_fiercely_) For myself, yes. I would gladly lead an +army against you. I would destroy with the sword everything that your +kingdom stands for. And you--I would kill with pleasure. + +THE KING. You might kill _me_, but the things for which my kingdom +stands you cannot kill. They are indestructible. They are older than +the world, and will last longer. + +THE PRINCESS. (_sadly_) Yes--there was order before the world began its +tumult, and there will be quiet when the final night sets in. I am only +a spark in the great darkness, a cry in the wide silence. + +THE KING. Do you submit? + +THE PRINCESS. I am not stronger than death. I submit. I would not have +those truck drivers leaving their sweethearts to go to war on account +of me. (_She goes up to the curtain, and touches it_.) How thin the +prison-wall is! And yet it shuts me away from the sunlight. + +THE KING (_gently_) I am a good king, and I shall be a good husband. + +THE PRINCESS. It will be easy for you, perhaps. To me it will not come +so easy to be a good wife. + +THE KING. Put yourself in my hands, and I will teach you. + +THE PRINCESS. I will try. (_She kneels at his feet_.) O King, I +will be obedient to you in all things. I will obey your commands, and +be as you wish me to be--a good wife and a good queen. + +THE KING. (_taking her hand and raising her to his side_) For my sake! + +THE PRINCESS. For the sake of the truck driver and his sweetheart. + +THE KING. As you will. + +THE PRINCESS. I ask one small wish--that you leave me now. I must think +over my new condition and all that it means. + +THE KING. I am happy to see you in so profitable a frame of mind. Let +me remind you that the royal luncheon will be served promptly in half +an hour. + +THE PRINCESS. I shall be there--on time. + +THE KING. Meanwhile I leave you to your thoughts. + +_He goes_. + +THE PRINCESS. How weak I am! (_She goes to the wide seat, and sits +down, brooding. The Gypsy steals in, and crouches on the dais beside +the wide seat_.) A good queen, and a good wife--? + +THE GYPSY. (_softly_) Impossible. + +THE PRINCESS (_startled_) Was it I said that? + + * * * * * + +_Night. The curtains are drawn aside. The walls and pillars are +silhouetted against a moonlit sky.... The Gypsy is standing by the +window, looking out_. + +THE GYPSY. Ah, nameless and immortal goddess, whose home is in the +moonbeams! I speak to you and praise you for perhaps the last time. O +august and whimsical goddess, I am about to die for your sake--I, the +last of your worshippers! When I have perished on your altar, the whole +world will be sane. Your butterflies will no longer whirl on crimson +wings within the minds of men; only the maggots of reason will crawl +and fester. You will look, and weep a foolish tear--for all this is not +worth your grief--and take your flight to other constellations. + +THE MAID. (_who has just entered and stands listening_) The +constellations! Oh, do teach me astronomy! + +THE GYPSY. Astronomy! Why do you want to be taught astronomy? + +THE MAID. Because I want to be able to tell fortunes from the stars. + +THE GYPSY. That is astrology, my dear--a much more useful science. +Come, and I will give you a lesson. Do you see that dim planet swinging +low on the horizon? That is my star. Its name is Saturn. It is the star +of mischief and rebellion. I was born under that star, and I shall +always hate order as Saturn hated his great enemy Jupiter. + +THE MAID. One does not need to know the stars to tell that. But let me +counsel you to caution. + +THE GYPSY. Ah, my dear, that was a wifely speech! You will make a +success of marriage. + +THE MAID. I shall never marry. + +THE GYPSY. It would be a pity not to make some good man happy. You are +the ideal of every male being in this kingdom, including its ruler. + +THE MAID. Do you really think I am the sort of girl to make the King +happy? + +THE GYPSY. I am sure of it. You are the very one. You have all the +domestic virtues. You are quiet, dignified, obedient. If you have any +thoughts or impulses which do not fit into the frame of wifely +domesticity, you know how to suppress them. + +THE MAID. You are making fun of me. + +THE GYPSY. I am speaking the truth. You would make the King a perfect +wife. Ah, if only you were the Princess of Basque, and she a child of +the gypsies!--Shall I read your fortune from the stars? + +THE MAID. Yes! + +THE GYPSY. What is your birthday? + +THE MAID. I do not know. + +THE GYPSY. It is strange for a child of the gypsies not to know that. +But I can guess. You were born under the sign of Libra. + +THE MAID. How can you tell that? + +THE GYPSY. You counselled me to caution. Only one born under the sign +of the scales could have made that speech. You have the balanced +temperament. + +THE MAID. Which is my star? + +THE GYPSY. You are sixteen years old. When you were born, the planet +housed in the sign of Libra was Venus. And so you will love not too +much, nor too little, but well. A fortunate planet! There it is, high +in the heavens. And see, it is in conjunction with Jupiter. Do you know +what that means? + +THE MAID. No! Tell me! + +THE GYPSY. It means that love and authority will presently come +together in your life.... Oh, happy, happy child! + +THE MAID. But I do not understand. + +THE GYPSY. There are some things past understanding. Even I do not +quite understand it yet. I must think it out. + +THE MAID. Then think quickly--and advise me. For I read my fortune +otherwise. I see myself growing hollow-eyed with looking in eternal +silence at the man I love--and worse than that, at the woman I hate-- +for I do hate her. I shall go mad with wanting to speak out my love and +hate. Tell me what to do! + +THE GYPSY. I cannot advise to rashness. I can only say--speak out your +love and hate. + +THE MAID. Do you mean--tell him? + +THE GYPSY. Yes. Tell him. And do not be afraid. There is no man so +proud but he is moved to tenderness when a woman says she loves him. +You go to an easy task, my dear, as I go to a hard one. For there is no +woman so kind but her heart is stirred with a base triumph and an easy +scorn when a man speaks out his love.... + +_They go out. From the other side the King and the Princess come in_. + +THE KING. I have shown you your apartment. If there is anything wanting +to your comfort, name it and it shall be provided. + +THE PRINCESS. Nothing is wanting, not even a lock on the door. I shall +be happy in my dreams at least. + +THE KING. Your delicacy of mind does you credit. I am glad to find that +you are not lacking in that supreme attribute of young womanhood-- +modesty. + +THE PRINCESS. You mistake me. There shall be no lock on the door of my +dreams. And I shall meet again in dreams the lover whom I know so well. + +THE KING. (_scandalized_) Princess! + +THE PRINCESS. Do you put a ban on my dreams, too? + +THE KING. I forbid you to discuss such subjects. + +THE PRINCESS. Very well. I shall keep my thoughts to myself. + +THE KING. Princess, I understand that it is your avocation to be a +horse-breaker. + +THE PRINCESS. It is one of them. + +THE KING. It shall be one of mine to be a woman-breaker. + +THE PRINCESS. It is well to know where we stand. + +THE KING. You promised this morning to submit yourself to me, and learn +to be a good wife. + +THE PRINCESS. So I did. And perhaps so will I. I do not know. + +THE KING. In what way do I displease you? If it is anything which I can +change without hurt to the well-being of my kingdom and the traditions +of my ancestors, I will gladly change it. + +THE PRINCESS. There are many things--too many to enumerate in detail. + +THE KING. Name one of them. + +THE PRINCESS. For one thing, you seem a trifle less handsome than the +portrait of you they gave me.--But I suppose you have been thinking the +same thing about me. Indeed, my portrait must have flattered me +greatly, since you did not recognize me this morning.... + +THE KING. For a moment--it must have been intuition--I did think it was +you. Unfortunately, I allowed my judgment to lead me astray. + +THE PRINCESS. It always will, if you pay any attention to it. So you +did believe it was I for a moment? That is interesting! And how did you +feel? + +THE KING. I--shall I tell you? + +THE PRINCESS. Yes--tell me! + +THE KING. I felt embarrassed that I should have been receiving you in +my dressing gown. + +THE PRINCESS. (_scornfully_) Oh! + +_She walks away_. + +THE KING. (_sadly_) I should not have told you about it. + +THE PRINCESS. (_coming back to him_) Yes. It was quite right to +tell me. And I can see now why you would feel that way. You wanted to +look your best for me, didn't you? I quite understand that. I spent +weeks trying on my new gowns, and deciding in which one I would seem +most beautiful to you. Only, of course, I forgot at the last moment, +and rode off to you in this! + +THE KING. I--I can understand how you felt. I am--sorry I disappointed +you. Forgive me. + +THE PRINCESS. Yes. (_After a silence_) I suppose we can be happy +together--after a fashion. + +THE KING. I am sure of it. And now--shall we go down to the throne-room +to rehearse the ceremony for tomorrow? + +THE PRINCESS. Please leave me here a while. I want to think. + +THE KING. Very well. I shall come for you presently. + +_He goes_. + +THE PRINCESS. (_after a pause_) If I make up my mind to it--! + +THE GYPSY. (_appearing over the window-ledge_) Never! + +THE PRINCESS. Who are you? + +THE GYPSY. Say that I am the wind, coming in at your window as I have +come so many times before when you lay awake in your chamber, bringing +you strange thoughts. + +THE PRINCESS. If you are the wind bringing me strange thoughts, you +come to me for the last time. + +THE GYPSY. Or say that I am a dream that has come to you often in your +chamber when you lay asleep. + +THE PRINCESS. I am forbidden to dream, now. + +THE GYPSY. Or say that I am a Gypsy, come to tell a Queen that he loves +her. + +THE PRINCESS. Those words are like an echo. I seem to have heard them +many times. Come nearer. + +_He enters, and kneels to her_. + +THE GYPSY. This is my last folly. I come to you, O princess, and offer +all I have--my love, and a bed on the heath under the stars. + +THE PRINCESS. That is not enough, my friend. There are other things. + +THE GYPSY. What other things? + +THE PRINCESS. Dimly, as from another life, I seem to remember the +jolting of the wagons that rocked me to sleep, and the good smell of +the soup in the big kettle over the fire. + +THE GYPSY. (_rising_) This is beyond reason! + +THE PRINCESS. All beautiful things are beyond reason, my friend. + +THE GYPSY. You are a Gypsy? + +THE PRINCESS. I am a Gypsy's sweetheart. Take me away with you. + +THE GYPSY. How can we leave this palace? + +THE PRINCESS. The way we came. + +THE GYPSY. The wall-- + +THE PRINCESS. Is seventeen feet high. A guard of soldiers continually +marches around it. And there are spikes on the top. How did we get +over? That is our secret! + +THE GYPSY. You have no regrets? + +THE PRINCESS. None. + +THE GYPSY. Your promise to the King? + +THE PRINCESS. I am as mutable as wind. + +THE GYPSY. Let us go. + +THE PRINCESS. One moment! There is a girl here I am sorry for. Can we +not think of some way to help her before we go? She loves the King. +Think! + +THE GYPSY. I have thought. She is the rightful Princess of Basque-- +stolen from her cradle by Gypsies. Tomorrow an old woman from the tribe +will come with the proofs. The King will marry her, and they will be +happy. + +THE PRINCESS. And I am the Gypsy child left in her place! But is it +really true? + +THE GYPSY. What matters reality to us? _We_ are not real. + +THE PRINCESS. Good-bye, then, to this place of solid fact that has +imprisoned us too long. In another moment we shall melt into the +moonlight. + +THE GYPSY. Kiss me! + +THE PRINCESS. Not here. + +THE GYPSY. No. There is a fire in our kisses that would shatter and +destroy these comfortable walls. Under the stars, among the winds, we +shall quench the hunger and thirst of our love. And there let our dream +come true.... + +THE PRINCESS. Ah, there is a fire in our hearts that will shatter and +destroy all comfort, even our own. Not even there, under the stars, +among the winds, shall the hunger and thirst of love be quenched. Never +shall our dream come true.... + +THE GYPSY. It is enough that we go to be companions of the winds and +stars, wanderers with them.... + +_He leads her to the window_. + +THE PRINCESS. Over the rim of the world! + +_They ascend and vanish outside_. + + + + +POOR HAROLD! + +A COMEDY + + +To DUDLEY FIELD MALONE + + +This play was first produced in Croton-on-Hudson, N. Y., by the Mt. +Airy Players, in 1920, with the following cast: + + +Harold ...................... Eugene Boissevain +Isabel ...................... Doris Stevens +Mrs. Murphy .................. B. Marie Gage +Mrs. Falcington .............. Crystal Eastman + +_A room in Washington Square South. By the light of a candle, a young +man in tousled hair and dressing gown is writing furiously at a little +table. A clock within strikes seven. + +A door at the back opens, and a young woman looks in, sleepily. She +frowns. The young man looks up guiltily_. + +SHE. What are you doing? + +HE. (_innocently_) Writing. + +SHE. So I see. (_She comes in, and sits down. It may be remarked that +a woman's morning appearance, in dishabille, is a severe test of both +looks and character; she passes that test triumphantly. She looks at +the young man, and asks_)--Poetry? + +HE. (_hesitatingly_) No.... + +SHE. (_continues to look inquiry_). + +HE. (_finally_) A letter.... + +SHE. (_inflexibly_)--To whom? + +HE. (_defiantly_) To my wife! + +SHE. Oh! That's all right. I thought perhaps you were writing to your +father. + +HE. (_bitterly_) My father! Why should I write to my father? Isn't +it enough that I have broken his heart and brought disgrace upon him in +his old age-- + +SHE. Disgrace? Nonsense! Anybody might be named as a co-respondent in a +divorce case. + +HE. Not in Evanston, Illinois. Not when you are the local feature of a +notorious Chicago scandal. Not when your letters to the lady are +published in the newspapers.--Oh, those letters! + +SHE. Were they such incriminating letters, Harold? + +HAROLD. Incriminating? How can you ask that, Isabel? They were +perfectly innocent letters, such as any gentleman poet might write to +any lady poetess. How was I to know that a rather plain-featured woman +I sat next to at a Poetry Dinner in Chicago was conducting a dozen +love-affairs? How was I to know that my expressions of literary regard +would look like love-letters to her long-suffering husband? That's the +irony of it: I'm perfectly blameless. God knows I couldn't have been +anything else, with her. But I've always _been_ blameless--in all +the seven years of my marriage, I never even kissed another woman. And +then to have this happen! Scandal, disgrace, the talk of all Evanston! +Disowned by my father, repudiated by my wife, ostracized by my friends, +cast forth into outer darkness, and dropped naked and penniless into +Greenwich Village! + +ISABEL. (_laughing_) Oh, not exactly naked, Harold! + +HAROLD. One suit! And that--(_he throws off his dressing gown_) +evening clothes! I might as well be naked--I can't go anywhere in the +daytime. I tell you I'm not used to this. One week ago I had a house, a +motor car, a wife, a position in my father's law-office, a place in +society-- + +ISABEL. That's just it--that's why I was afraid you were writing to +your father. He'd send you money, of course. But if you ask him for it, +I'll never speak to you again. And as for clothes, you know there's a +suit of clothes in there,--a perfectly good suit, too, and I think +you're an idiot not to put it on. + +HAROLD. Yes. One of Jim's old suits. + +ISABEL. Well, what if it is? It would fit you perfectly. + +HAROLD. Oh, Isabel! Can't you _see_? + +ISABEL. No, I can't see. If Jim is generous enough to give you a suit +of clothes-- + +HAROLD. Yes. That's just it. Jim's girl--Jim's clothes--! Well-- +(_sullenly_)--I think Jim's generosity has gone far enough. I'll +be damned if I'll take his clothes. + +ISABEL. You're perfectly disgusting. If you weren't a silly poet and +didn't know any better--Yes, Harold Falcington, for a nice boy as you +are in most ways, you have the most antiquated and offensive ideas +about women! _Jim_ knows better than to have ever considered me +his property.... + +HAROLD. (_taken aback by her fierceness_) Good heavens, Isabel, I +didn't mean _that_! + +ISABEL. Yes, you did, Harold; but I'm glad you're sorry. It's a good +thing you were thrown out of Evanston, Illinois. It's a good thing you +came to Greenwich Village. And it's a good thing that I've a strong +maternal instinct. If you'll just get the idea out of your head that +you're a ruined man and a lost soul because you've been talked about +and have lost your job in your father's office, and if you'll just stop +thinking that poor dear innocent Greenwich Village is a sink of +iniquity and that I'm a wicked woman-- + +HAROLD. Isabel! I never said you were a wicked woman! I never thought +such a thing! + +ISABEL. But you think you're a wicked man; and so it comes to the same +thing. Look! it's broad daylight. (_She goes to the window, and opens +the curtains_.) Put out that candle, and read me the letter you've +written to your wife. + +_She comes back, blows out the candle herself, and sits down +comfortably opposite him_. + +HAROLD. No, I can't. + +ISABEL. Why not? You've read me all the others. Is this just like them? +(_Teasingly_)--"Dear Gertrude: I know you will not believe me when +I say that I have been the victim of a monstrous injustice, but +nevertheless it is true. It has all been a hideous mistake." That's the +preamble. Then a regular lawyer's brief, arguing the case--ten pages. +Then a wild, passionate appeal for her to forget and forgive. I know +how it goes. You've written one every night. This is the seventh. + +HAROLD. This one is different. + +ISABEL. Good. What does it say? + +HAROLD. It says that I am in love with you. + +ISABEL. Don't prevaricate, Harold! It says you are now hopelessly in +the clutches of a vampire--doesn't it? + +HAROLD. (_desperately_) No! + +ISABEL. (_warningly_) Harold! The truth! + +HAROLD. (_weakening_) Well-- + +ISABEL. I knew it! That's what you would say. You've told her it's no +use to forgive you now. + +HAROLD. Yes--I did say that--I don't want her to forgive me, now. I am +reconciled to my fate. + +ISABEL. Ah--but I'm afraid it's too late, now! + +HAROLD. What do you mean? + +ISABEL. I mean that your other letters will have done their work. Your +wife by this time has been convinced of your innocence--she realizes +that she has acted rashly--she is ready to forgive you. And she is +probably at this moment on her way to New York to tell you so, and take +you back home! + +HAROLD. (_frightened_) No! + +ISABEL. Yes! If she is not already here and looking for you.... + +HAROLD. Impossible! + +ISABEL. Those letters were very convincing, Harold! + +HAROLD. (_shaking his head_) Not in the face of the universal belief of +all Evanston in my guilt. + +ISABEL. Then she has forgiven you anyway. + +HAROLD. (_sadly_) You do not know her. + +ISABEL. Don't I? No, Harold, this is to be our last breakfast together. +You wouldn't have her walk in on us, would you?--And that reminds me. +We're out of coffee. You must go and get some while I dress. And go to +the little French bakery for some brioches. + +HAROLD. In these clothes? + +ISABEL. Or Jim's. Just as you like. + +HAROLD. Very well. I shall go as I am. (_Gloomily_) After all, I don't +know why I should mind one more farcical touch to my situation. A +grown man that doesn't know how to earn his living-- + +ISABEL. I've suggested several ways. + +HAROLD. Yes, acting! No. I'd rather starve. + +ISABEL. There are other alternatives. + +HAROLD. Yes. Looking over the scientific magazines and finding out +about new inventions, and writing little pieces about them and selling +that to other magazines! + +ISABEL. Why not? + +HAROLD. A pretty job for a poet! What do _I_ know about machinery? + +ISABEL. All the poets I know pay their rent that way. And they none of +them know anything about machinery. + +HAROLD. All right. I'm in a crazy world. Everything's topsy-turvy. Even +the streets have gone insane. They wind and twist until they cross +their own tracks. I _know_ I'll get lost looking for that French +bakery. (_He goes to the door_.) Greenwich Village! My God! + +_He goes out. She, after a moment, goes into the back room. The +charwoman enters, and commences to clean up the place. Isabel comes +back, partly clothed and with the rest of her things on her arm, and +finishes her toilet in front of the mirror. A sort of conversation +ensues_. + +THE CHARWOMAN. A grand day it's going to be. + +ISABEL. (_after a pause_)--Do you think I'm a bad woman, Mrs. Murphy? + +MRS. MURPHY. Come, now, it's not a fair question, and me workin' for +you. I've no call to be criticizin' the way you do behave. It's my +business to be cleanin' up the place, and if 'tis a nest of paganism, +sure 'tis not for my own soul to answer for it at the Judgment Day. And +a blessed thought it is, too, that they that follow after the lusts of +the flesh must go to hell, or else who knows what a poor soul like me +would do sometimes, what with seein' the carryin's-on that one does +see. But I'd not be breathin' a word against a nice young lady like +yourself. + +ISABEL. What do you think of Mr. Falcington? + +MRS. MURPHY. Well, as my sister that's dead in Ireland used to say, and +we two girls together, "Sure," she said, "there's no accountin' for +tastes," she said. And you with a fine grand man the like of Mr. Jim, +to be takin' up with a lost sheep like this one. But I'd not be sayin' +a word against him, for it's a pretty boy he is, to be sure. Well, +there's a Last Day comin' for us all, and the sooner the better, the +way the young do be shiftin' and changin' as the fancy takes them. I +say nothin' at all, nothin' at all--but if you've a quarrel had with +Mr. Jim, why don't you make it up with him? + +ISABEL. But Jim and I aren't married either, you know. + +MRS. MURPHY. It's too soft you are, that's why. You take no for an +answer, as a girl shouldn't. Let you keep at him long enough, and he'll +give in. Sure the youth of this generation have no regard for their +proper rights. Never was a man yet that couldn't be come around, if he +was taken in his weakness. A silk dress or a wedding ring or shoes for +the baby, it's all the same--they have to be coaxed twice for every one +thing they do. It's the nature of the beast, so it is, God help us. +Well I remember how my sister that's dead in Ireland used to say, and +we girls together, "Sure," says she, "it's woman's place to ask," says +she, "and man's to refuse," says she, "and woman's to ask again," says +she. Widow that I am this ten year, I could tell you some things now-- +but I'll not be sayin' a word. + +ISABEL. Do I look all right? + +MRS. MURPHY. It's pretty as a flower you look, Miss. And I'd not be +askin' questions, for it's none of my business at all, but who are you +fixin' yourself up for to-day, if you know yourself? + +ISABEL. What difference does it make? I go into rehearsal next week, +and there's a manager that will want to make love to me, and he's fat, +and I'll get to hate and loathe the sight of male mankind--and this is +my last week to enjoy myself! (_She goes to the door at the back_.) +Besides, Jim may have another girl by this time, or Mr. Falcington's +wife may come. + +_She goes into the inner room_. + +MRS. MURPHY. His wife--God help us! + +_She shakes her head, and starts to go out. + +There is a knock. She opens the door, and admits a woman in a +travelling suit_. + +THE WOMAN. Is Mr. Falcington here? + +MRS. MURPHY. (_disingenuously_) There's a party of that name on +the east side of the Square if I'm not mistaken, ma'am, in the +Benedick, bachelor apartments like--'tis there you might inquire. + +THE WOMAN. There's no Mr. Falcington here? + +MRS. MURPHY. On another floor, maybe. 'Tis a lady lives here. + +_The woman turns to go_. + +ISABEL. (_within_) Who is asking for Mr. Falcington? + +THE WOMAN. I am Mrs. Falcington,--his wife. + +ISABEL. (_at the inner door_) Oh! + +MRS. FALCINGTON. And you are Isabel Summers? + +ISABEL. Yes. + +MRS. MURPHY. The Lord have mercy! + +_She escapes_. + +ISABEL. Sit down. + +MRS. FALCINGTON. Thank you. I will. (_She does so_.) Harold is out? + +ISABEL. Yes. (_A pause_) Getting brioches for breakfast. (_A pause_) +You look tired. Won't you have some coffee? It's ready. + +MRS. FALCINGTON. Thank you. Yes. + +_Both the women give an impression of timid courage_. + +ISABEL. (_pouring the coffee_) He ought to be back soon. He talked +of getting lost in the crooked streets of the Village, and I'm afraid +that's what has happened to him. + +MRS. FALCINGTON. Yes. Harold is all at sea in a strange place. + +_She takes the coffee and sips it_. + +ISABEL. Tell me--how did you know? + +MRS. FALCINGTON. (_smiling_) Private detectives. + +ISABEL. (_a little shocked_) Oh! + +MRS. FALCINGTON. Please don't misunderstand me. I'm not going to make +any trouble.... But I did want to know what became of him. + +ISABEL. Yes ... naturally. + +MRS. FALCINGTON. And then--you see, I wanted to know what you were +like; and--and whether he was happy with you. I don't think detectives +are very intelligent. They couldn't get it into their heads that I +wanted the truth. They gave me a--a very lurid account of--of you. And +of course Harold's letters gave me no help. So I came down to see for +myself. + +ISABEL. (_rising_) Mrs. Falcington: here is a letter that Harold +was writing this morning. It tells about me--and I fancy you won't find +it so essentially different from the detectives' account. Read it and +see. + +MRS. FALCINGTON. (_reading the letter_) He says he loves you. + +ISABEL. In those words? + +MRS. FALCINGTON. No--he says he is involved in a strange and sudden +infatuation. But it means the same thing. + +ISABEL. No it doesn't. He isn't in love with me. I'll tell you +straight--he's in love with _you_. + +MRS. FALCINGTON. How do you know? + +ISABEL. From the letters he wrote you. + +MRS. FALCINGTON. Oh! he showed them to you, did he? How like him! + +ISABEL. But he _is_ in love with you. And he _isn't_ happy with me. + +MRS. FALCINGTON. Why not? + +ISABEL. He hates this kind of life. He wants order, regularity, +stability, comfort, ease, the respect of the community---- + +MRS. FALCINGTON. He used to tell me all those things bored him to +death. + +ISABEL. (_pleading_) You _must_ take him back! + +MRS. FALCINGTON. Don't you want him? + +ISABEL. Well--(_she laughs in embarrassment_)--Not that bad! + +MRS. FALCINGTON. His father will make him an allowance to live on. + +ISABEL. I've told him I would never speak to him again if he took it. + +MRS. FALCINGTON. You don't expect him to _work_, do you? + +ISABEL. Yes--if he has anything to do with me. + +MRS. FALCINGTON. Then if you can make him do that, by all means take +charge of his destinies! + +ISABEL. But--but--that's not the point. He loves you. He wants to go +back. He didn't do any of those things he was accused of, you know. + +MRS. FALCINGTON. Did he tell you that? + +ISABEL. Yes. + +MRS. FALCINGTON. Well--he told a story. (_Isabel is shocked_.) Oh, +there's no doubt about it. (_Her tone leaves none_.) + +ISABEL. But she was ugly! + +MRS. FALCINGTON. Did he tell you that? + +ISABEL. Yes! Wasn't she? + +MRS. FALCINGTON. There _are_ handsome poetesses--a few--and this was +one of them. She is one of the most beautiful women in Chicago. + +ISABEL. Then he lied.... + +MRS. FALCINGTON. Oh, yes--of course. He just can't help it. Any more +than he can help making love---- + +ISABEL. You mean this is not the first---- + +MRS. FALCINGTON. In the seven years of our marriage, he has made love +to every pretty woman he came across. + +ISABEL. (_sharply_) Why did you stand for it? + +MRS. FALCINGTON. Because I was a fool. And because he is a child. + +ISABEL. (_almost pleadingly_) He _can_ write poetry, can't he? + +MRS. FALCINGTON. Yes. Yes! Oh, yes! + +ISABEL. Then--I suppose--it's all right. But I'm angry at myself, just +the same, for being taken in. + +MRS. FALCINGTON. It's strange.... You feel humiliated at having been +made a fool of for seven days. I've been made a fool of for seven +years, and I've never realized that I had a right to feel ashamed. + +ISABEL. That's the difference between Greenwich Village and Evanston, +Illinois. + +MRS. FALCINGTON. Yes. But when I go back I shall lose the sense of it. +I'll think I'm an injured woman because he was unfaithful to me, or +because he brought scandal upon the family, or something like that. Now +I realize that it's none of those things. It's--it's just an offence +against--my human dignity. I've been treated like--like an inferior. +But why shouldn't I be treated like an inferior? I _am_ an inferior. +When I go back to Evanston, and take up grass-widowhood and the burden +of living down the family scandal, and sit and twiddle my thumbs in a +big house, and have my maiden aunt come to live with me---- + +ISABEL. But why should you do that? If that's what it means to go back +to Evanston, don't go! Stay here! + +MRS. FALCINGTON. But--what could I do? + +ISABEL. Do? Why--why--go on the stage! + +MRS. FALCINGTON. (_rising_) Are you in earnest? + +ISABEL. Look here. You've a good voice, and you're intelligent. That's +enough to start with. I don't know whether you can act or not--but +you'll find out. And if you can't act, you'll do something else. Your +people will stake you?--give you an allowance, I mean? + +MRS. FALCINGTON. To go on the stage with? Never. But I've a small +income of my own. Only about a hundred a month. Would that do? + +ISABEL. Do? Yes, that will do very well! And now it's my turn to ask +you--are _you_ in earnest? Because I am. + +MRS. FALCINGTON. You are the first human being who even suggested to me +that I could do anything. I've wanted to do something, but I couldn't +even think of it as possible. It _wasn't_ possible in Evanston. And as +for _acting_, I kept that dream fast locked at the very bottom of my +heart, for fear if I brought it out it would be shattered by polite +laughter-- + +ISABEL. You'll have to expose that dream to worse things than polite +laughter, my dear. + +MRS. FALCINGTON. I can, now. It won't get hurt. I'm free now to take +care of my dream--to fight for it--to mike it come true. You have set +me free.--I'm going to go and get a room--_now_! + +ISABEL. Let me go with you and help you find one! + +MRS. FALCINGTON. And to-morrow-- + +ISABEL. To-morrow-- + +_Harold enters. He stops short in the doorway, and drops the brioches. +He looks at one woman, then at the other. Suddenly he goes between them +with arms outspread as though to keep the peace_. + +HAROLD. No! no! I am not worthy of either of you! (_They stare at him, +bewildered. He goes on_)--Why should you struggle over me? Do not hate +each other! For my sake, be friends! Ah, God, that this tragic meeting +should have happened! And now I must decide between you.... (_He goes +to Mrs. Falcington and throws himself on his knees before her_.) +Forgive and forget! Come back with me to Evanston! + +MRS. FALCINGTON (_over his head to Isabel_) The perfect egotist! + +_The curtain falls, and then rises again for a moment. Harold is now +on his knees to Isabel_. + +HAROLD. Marry me! + +ISABEL. Harold! You have not been all this time getting brioches. I +smell--heliotrope! + +_The curtain rises and falls several times, showing Harold on his +knees alternately to the two women, who look at each other above his +head, paying no attention to him_. + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of King Arthur's Socks and Other Village +Plays, by Floyd Dell + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK KING ARTHUR'S SOCKS *** + +This file should be named 6587.txt or 6587.zip + +Produced by Mary Wampler, David Moynihan, Juliet Sutherland, Charles Franks +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team. + +Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US +unless a copyright notice is included. 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