James Brett[a Clerk in the War Office, 33].Gerald O'Mara[a Civil Engineer, 24].Rosamund Fife[a Spinster and a Lecturer on Cookery, 28].
James Brett[a Clerk in the War Office, 33].Gerald O'Mara[a Civil Engineer, 24].Rosamund Fife[a Spinster and a Lecturer on Cookery, 28].
Reprinted from "Polite Farces," published by George H. Doran Company, by special arrangement with Mr. Arnold Bennett.
A Farce
By Arnold Bennett
[Scene:Rosamund's Flat; the drawing-room. The apartment is plainly furnished. There is a screen in the corner of the room furthest from the door. It is 9A. M.Rosamund is seated alone at a table. She wears a neat travelling-dress, with a plain straw hat. Her gloves lie on a chair. A small portable desk full of papers is open before her. She gazes straight in front of her, smiling vaguely. With a start she recovers from her daydreams, and rushing to the looking-glass, inspects her features therein. Then she looks at her watch.]
Rosamund.Three hours yet! I'm a fool [with decision. She sits down again, and idly picks up a paper out of the desk. The door opens, unceremoniously but quietly, and James enters. The two stare at each other, James wearing a conciliatory smile].
Rosamund.You appalling creature!
James.I couldn't help it, I simply couldn't help it.
Rosamund.Do you know this is the very height and summit of indelicacy?
James.I was obliged to come.
Rosamund.If I had any relations—
James.Which you haven't.
Rosamund.I sayifI had any relations—
James.I saywhichyou haven't.
Rosamund.Never mind, it is a safe rule for unattached women always to behave as if they had relations, especially female relations whether they have any or not. My remark is, that if I had any relations they would be absolutely scandalized by this atrocious conduct of yours.
James.What have I done?
Rosamund.Can you ask? Here are you, and here am I. We are to be married to-day at twelve o'clock. The ceremony has not taken place, and yet you are found on my premises. You must surely be aware that on the day of the wedding the parties—yes, the "parties," that is the word—should on no account see each other till they see each other in church.
James.But since we are to be married at a registry office, does the rule apply?
Rosamund.Undoubtedly.
James.Then I must apologize. My excuse is that I am not up in these minute details of circumspection; you see I have been married so seldom.
Rosamund.Evidently. [A pause, during which James at last ventures to approach the middle of the room.] Now you must go back home, and we'll pretend we haven't seen each other.
James.Never, Rosamund! That would be acting a lie. And I couldn't dream of getting married with a lie on my lips. It would be so unusual. No; we have sinned, or rather I have sinned, on this occasion. I will continue to sin—openly, brazenly. Come here, my dove. A bird in the hand is worth two under a bushel. [He assumes an attitude of entreaty, and, leaving her chair, Rosamund goes towards him. They exchange an ardent kiss.]
Rosamund[quietly submissive]. I'm awfully busy, you know, Jim.
James.I will assist you in your little duties, dearest, and then I will accompany you to the sacred ed—to the registry office. Now, what were you doing? [She sits down, and he puts a chair for himself close beside her.]
Rosamund.You are singularly unlike yourself this morning, dearest.
James.Nervous tension, my angel. I should have deemed it impossible that anemployéof the War Office could experience the marvelous and exquisite sensations now agitating my heart. But tell me, what are you doing with these papers?
Rosamund.Well, I was just going to look through them and see if they contained anything of a remarkable or valuable nature. You see, I hadn't anything to occupy myself with.
James.Was 'oo bored, waiting for the timey-pimey to come?
Rosamund[hands caressing]. 'Iss, little pet was bored, she was. Was Mr. Pet lonely this morning? Couldn't he keep away from his little cooky-lecturer? He should see his little cooky-lecturer.
James.And that reminds me, hadn't we better lunch in the train instead of at Willis's? That will give us more time?
Rosamund.Horrid greedy piggywiggy! Perhaps he will be satisfied if Mrs. Pet agrees to lunch both at Willis's and in the train?
James.Yes. Only piggywiggy doesn't want to trespass on Mrs. Pet's good nature. Let piggywiggy look at the papers. [He takes up a paper from the desk.]
Rosamund[a little seriously]. No, Jimmy. I don't think we'll go through them. Perhaps it wouldn't be wise. Just let's destroy them. [Takes papers from his hand and drops them in desk.]
James[sternly]. When you have been the wife of a War Office clerk for a week you will know that papers ought never to be destroyed. Now I come to think, it is not only my right but my duty to examine this secretdossier. Who knows—[Takes up at random another document, which proves to be a postcard. Reads.] "Shall come to-morrow night. Thine, Gerald."
Rosamund[after a startled shriek of consternation]. There! There! You've done it, first time! [She begins to think, with knitted brows.]
James.Does this highly suspicious postcard point to some—some episode in your past of which you have deemed it advisable to keep me in ignorance? If so, I seek not to inquire. I forgive you—I take you, Rosamund, as you are!
Rosamund[reflective, not heeding his remark]. I had absolutely forgotten the whole affair, absolutely. [Smiles a little. Aside.] Suppose he should come! [To James.] Jim, I think I had better tell you all about Gerald. It will interest you. Besides, there is no knowing what may happen.
James.As I have said, I seek not to inquire. [Stiffly.] Nor do I imagine that this matter, probably some childish entanglement, would interest me.
Rosamund.Oh, wouldn't it! Jim, don't be absurd. You know perfectly well you are dying to hear.
James.Very well, save my life, then, at the least expense of words. To begin with, who is this Gerald—"thine," thine own Gerald?
Rosamund.Don't you remember Gerald O'Mara? You met him at the Stokes's, I feel sure. You know—the young engineer.
James.Oh!Thatass!
Rosamund.He isn't an ass. He's a very clever boy.
James.For the sake of argument and dispatch, agreed! Went out to Cyprus or somewhere, didn't he, to build a bridge, or make a dock, or dig a well, or something of that kind?
Rosamund[nodding]. Now, listen, I'll tell you all about it. [Settles herself for a long narration.] Four years ago poor, dear Gerald was madly in love with me. He was twenty and I was twenty-four. Keep calm—I felt like his aunt. Don't forget I was awfully pretty in those days. Well, he was so tremendously in love that in order to keep him from destroying himself—of course, I knew he was going out to Cyprus—I sort of pretended to be sympathetic. I simplyhadto; Irishmen are so passionate. And he was very nice. And I barely knew you then. Well, the time approached for him to leave for Cyprus, and two days before the ship sailed he sent me that very postcard that by pure chance you picked up.
James.He should have written a letter.
Rosamund.Oh! I expect he couldn't wait. He was so impulsive. Well, on the night before he left England he came here and proposed to me. I remember I was awfully tired and queer. I had been giving a lecture in the afternoon on "How to Pickle Pork," and the practical demonstration had been rather smelly. However, the proposal braced me up. It was the first I had had—that year. Well, I was so sorry for him that I couldn't say "No" outright. It would have been too brutal. He might have killed himself on the spot, and spoilt this carpet, which, by the way, was new then. So I said, "Look here, Gerald—"
James.You called him "Gerald"?
Rosamund.Rather!"Look here, Gerald," I said; "you are going to Cyprus for four years. If your feeling towards me is what you think it is, come back to me at the end of those four years, and I will then give you an answer." Of course I felt absolutely sure that in the intervening period he would fall in and out of love half a dozen times at least.
James.Of course, half a dozen times at least; probably seven. What did he say in reply?
Rosamund.He agreed with all the seriousness in the world. "On this day four years hence," he said, standing just there [pointing], "I will return for your answer. And in the meantime I will live only for you." That was what he said—his very words.
James.And a most touching speech, too! And then?
Rosamund.We shook hands, and he tore himself away, stifling a sob. Don't forget, he was a boy.
James.Have the four years expired?
Rosamund.What is the date of that postcard? Let me see it. [Snatches it, and smiles at the handwriting pensively.] July 4th—four years ago.
James.Then it's over. He's not coming. To-day is July 5th.
Rosamund.But yesterday was Sunday. He wouldn't come on Sunday. He was always very particular and nice.
James.Do you mean to imply that you think he will come to-day and demand from you an affirmative? A moment ago you gave me to understand that in your opinion he would have—er—other affairs to attend to.
Rosamund.Yes. I did think so at the time. But now—now I have a kind of idea that he may come, that after all he may have remained faithful. You know I was maddeningly pretty then, and he had my photograph.
James.Tell me, have you corresponded?
Rosamund.No, I expressly forbade it.
James.Ah!
Rosamund.But still, I have a premonition he may come.
James[assuming a pugnacious pose]. If he does, I will attend to him.
Rosamund.Gerald was a terrible fighter. [A resounding knock is heard at the door. Both start violently, and look at each other in silence. Rosamund goes to the door and opens it.]
Rosamund[with an unsteady laugh of relief]. Only the postman with a letter. [She returns to her seat.] No, I don't expect he will come, really. [Puts letter idly on table. Another knock still louder. Renewed start.]
Rosamund.Now thatishe, I'm positive. He always knocked like that. Just fancy. After four years! Jim, just take the chair behind that screen for a bit. Imusthide you.
James.No, thanks! The screen dodge is a trifletoofrayed at the edges.
Rosamund.Only for a minute. It would besuchfun.
James.No, thanks. [Another knock.]
Rosamund[with forced sweetness]. Oh, very well, then....
James.Oh, well, of course, if you take it in that way—[He proceeds to a chair behind screen, which does not, however, hide him from the audience.]
Rosamund[smiles his reward]. I'll explain it all right. [Loudly.] Come in! [Enter Gerald O'Mara.]
Gerald.So you are in! [Hastens across room to shake hands.]
Rosamund.Oh, yes, I am in. Gerald, how are you? I must say you look tolerably well. [They sit down.]
Gerald.Oh, I'm pretty fit, thanks. Had the most amazing time in spite of the climate. And you? Rosie, you haven't changed a little bit. How's the cookery trade getting along? Are you still showing people how to concoct French dinners out of old bones and a sardine tin?
Rosamund.Certainly. Only I can do it without the bones now. You see, the science has progressed while you've been stagnating in Cyprus.
Gerald.Stagnating is the word. You wouldn't believe that climate!
Rosamund.What! Not had nice weather? What a shame! I thought it was tremendously sunshiny in Cyprus.
Gerald.Yes, that's just what it is, 97° in the shade when it doesn't happen to be pouring with malarial rain. We started a little golf club at Nicosia, and laid out a nine-hole course. But the balls used to melt. So we had to alter the rules, keep the balls in an ice-box, and take a fresh one at every hole. Think of that!
Rosamund.My poor boy! But I suppose there were compensations? You referred to "an amazing time."
Gerald.Yes, there were compensations. And that reminds me, I want you to come out and lunch with me at the Savoy. I've got something awfully important to ask you. In fact, that's what I've come for.
Rosamund.Sorry I can't, Gerald. The fact is, I've got something awfully important myself just about lunch time.
Gerald.Oh, yours can wait. Look here, I've ordered the lunch. I made sure you'd come. [Rosamund shakes her head.] Why can't you? It's not cooking, is it?
Rosamund.Only a goose.
Gerald.What goose?
Rosamund.Well—my own, and somebody else's. Listen, Gerald. Had you not better ask me this awfully important question now? No time like the present.
Gerald.I can always talk easier, especially on delicate topics, with a pint of something handy. But if you positively won't come, I'll get it off my chest now. The fact is, Rosie, I'm in love.
Rosamund.With whom?
Gerald.Ah! That's just what I want you to tell me.
Rosamund[suddenly starting]. Gerald! what is that dreadful thing sticking out of your pocket, and pointing right at me?
Gerald.That? That's my revolver. Always carry them in Cyprus, you know. Plenty of sport there.
Rosamund[breathing again]. Kindly take it out of your pocket and put it on the table. Then if it does go off it will go off into something less valuable than a cookery-lecturer.
Gerald[laughingly obeying her]. There. If anything happens it will happen to the screen. Now, Rosie, I'm in love, and I desire that you should tell me whom I'm in love with. There's a magnificent girl in Cyprus, daughter of the Superintendent of Police—
Rosamund.Name?
Gerald.Evelyn. Age nineteen. I tell you I was absolutely gone on her.
Rosamund.Symptoms?
Gerald.Well—er—whenever her name was mentioned I blushed terrifically. Of course, that was only one symptom.... Then I met a girl on the home steamer—no father or mother. An orphan, you know, awfully interesting.
Rosamund.Name?
Gerald.Madge. Nice name, isn't it? [Rosamund nods.] I don't mind telling you, I was considerably struck by her—still am, in fact.
Rosamund.Symptoms?
Gerald.Oh!... Let me see, I never think of her without turning absolutely pale. I suppose it's what they call "pale with passion." Notice it?
Rosamund[somewhat coldly]. It seems to me the situation amounts to this. There are two girls. One is named Evelyn, and the thought of her makes you blush. The other is named Madge, and the thought of her makes you turn pale. You fancy yourself in love, and you wish me to decide for you whether it is Madge or Evelyn who agitates your breast the more deeply.
Gerald.That's not exactly the way to put it, Rosie. You take a fellow up too soon. Of course I must tell you lots more yet. You should hear Evelyn play the "Moonlight Sonata." It's the most marvelous thing.... And then Madge's eyes! The way that girl can look at a fellow.... I'm telling you all these things, you know, Rosie, because I've always looked up to you as an elder sister.
Rosamund[after a pause, during which she gazes into his face]. I suppose it was in my character of your elder sister, that you put a certain question to me four years ago last night?
Gerald[staggered; pulls himself together for a great resolve; after a long pause]. Rosie! I never thought afterwards you'd take it seriously. I forgot it all. I was only a boy then. [Speaking quicker and quicker.] But I see clearly now. I nevercouldwithstand you. It's all rot about Evelyn and Madge. It's you I'm in love with; and I never guessed it! Rosie!... [Rushes to her and impetuously flings his arms around her neck.]
James[who, during the foregoing scene, has been full of uneasy gestures; leaping with incredible swiftness from the shelter of the screen]. Sir!
Rosamund[pushing Gerald quickly away]. Gerald!
James.May I inquire, sir, what is the precise significance of this attitudinising? [Gerald has scarcely yet abandoned his amorous pose, but now does so quickly]. Are we in the middle of a scene from "Romeo and Juliet," or is this 9:30A. M.in the nineteenth century? If Miss Fife had played the "Moonlight Sonata" to you, or looked at you as Madge does, there might perhaps have been some shadow of an excuse for your extraordinary and infamous conduct. But since she has performed neither of these feats of skill, I fail to grasp—I say I fail to grasp—er—
Gerald[slowly recovering from an amazement which has rendered him mute]. Rosie, a man concealed in your apartment! But perhaps it is the piano-tuner. I am willing to believe the best.
Rosamund.Let me introduce Mr. James Brett, my future husband. Jim, this is Gerald.
James.I have gathered as much. [The men bow stiffly.]
Rosamund[dreamily]. Poor, poor Gerald! [Her tone is full of feeling. James is evidently deeply affected by it. He walks calmly and steadily to the table and picks up the revolver.]
Gerald.Sir, that tool is mine.
James.Sir, the fact remains that it is an engine of destruction, and that I intend to use it. Rosamund, the tone in which you uttered those three words, "Poor, poor Gerald!" convinces me, a keen observer of symptoms, that I no longer possess your love. Without your love, life to me is meaningless. I object to anything meaningless—even a word. I shall therefore venture to deprive myself of life. Good-by! [To Gerald.] Sir, I may see you later. [Raises the revolver to his temples.]
Rosamund[appealing to Gerald to interfere]. Gerald.
Gerald.Mr. Brett, I repeat that that revolver is mine. It would be a serious breach of good manners if you used it without my consent, a social solecism of which I believe you, as a friend of Miss Fife's, to be absolutely incapable. Still, as the instrument happens to be in your hand, you may use it—but not on yourself. Have the goodness, sir, to aim at me. I could not permit myself to stand in the way of another's happiness, as I should do if I continued to exist. At the same time I have conscientious objections to suicide. You will therefore do me a service by aiming straight. Above all things, don't hit Miss Fife. I merely mention it because I perceive that you are unaccustomed to the use of firearms. [Folds his arms.]
James.Rosamund,doyou love me?
Rosamund.My Jim!
James[deeply moved]. The possessive pronoun convinces me that you do. [Smiling blandly.] Sir, I will grant your most reasonable demand. [Aims at Gerald.]
Rosamund[half shrieking]. I don't love you if you shoot Gerald.
James.But, my dear, this is irrational. He has asked me to shoot him, and I have as good as promised to do so.
Rosamund[entreating]. James, in two hours we are to be married.... Think of the complications.
Gerald.Married! To-day! Then I withdraw my request.
James.Yes; perhaps it will be as well. [Lowers revolver.]
Gerald.I have never yet knowingly asked a friend, even an acquaintance, to shoot me on his wedding-day, and I will not begin now. Moreover, now I come to think of it, the revolver wasn't loaded. Mr. Brett, I inadvertently put you in a ridiculous position. I apologize.
James.I accept the apology. [The general tension slackens. Both the men begin to whistle gently, in the effort after unconcern.]
Rosamund.Jim, will you oblige me by putting that revolver down somewhere. I know it isn't loaded; but so many people have been killed by guns that weren't loaded that I should feel safer.... [He puts it down on the table.] Thank you!
James[picking up letter]. By the way, here's that letter that came just now. Aren't you going to open it? The writing seems to me to be something like Lottie Dickinson's.
Rosamund[taking the letter]. It isn't Lottie's; it's her sister's. [Stares at envelope.] I know what it is. Iknowwhat it is. Lottie is ill, or dead, or something, and can't come and be a witness at the wedding. I'm sure it's that. Now, if she's dead we can'tbemarried to-day; it wouldn't be decent. And it's frightfully unlucky to have a wedding postponed. Oh, but there isn't a black border on the envelope, so she can't bedead. And yet perhaps it was so sudden they hadn't time to buy mourning stationery! This is the result of your coming here this morning. I felt sure something would happen. Didn't I tell you so?
James.No, you didn't, my dear. But why don't you open the letter?
Rosamund.I am opening it as fast as I can. [Reads it hurriedly.] There! I said so! Lottie fell off her bicycle last night, and broke her ankle—won't be able to stir for a fortnight—in great pain—hopes it won'tinconvenienceus!
James.Inconvenience! I must say I regard it as very thoughtless of Lottie to go bicycling the very night before our wedding. Where did she fall off?
Rosamund.Sloane Street.
James.That makes it positively criminal. She always falls off in Sloane Street. She makes a regular practice of it. I have noticed it before.
Rosamund.Perhaps she did it on purpose.
James.Not a doubt of it!
Rosamund.She doesn't want us to get married!
James.I have sometimes suspected that she had a certain tenderness for me. [Endeavoring to look meek.]
Rosamund.The cat!
James.By no means. Cats are never sympathetic. She is. Let us be just before we are jealous.
Rosamund.Jealous! My dear James! Have you noticed how her skirts hang?
James.Hang her skirts!
Rosamund.You wish to defend her?
James.On the contrary; it was I who first accused her. [Gerald, to avoid the approaching storm, seeks the shelter of the screen, sits down, and taking some paper from his pocket begins thoughtfully to write.]
Rosamund.My dear James, let me advise you to keep quite, quite calm. You are a little bit upset.
James.I am a perfect cucumber. But I can hear you breathing.
Rosamund.If you are a cucumber, you are a very indelicate cucumber. I'm not breathing more than is necessary to sustain life.
James.Yes, you are; and what's more you'll cry in a minute if you don't take care. You're getting worked up.
Rosamund.No, I shan't. [Sits down and cries.]
James.What did I tell you? Now perhaps you will inform me what we are quarreling about, because I haven't the least idea.
Rosamund[through her sobs]. I do think it'shorridof Lottie. We can't be married with one witness. And I didn't want to be married at a registry office at all.
James.My pet, we can easily get another witness. As for the registry office, it was yourself who proposed it, as a way out of a difficulty. I'm High and you're Low—
Rosamund.I'm not Low; I'm Broad, or else Evangelical.
James[beginning calmly again]. I'm High and you're Broad, and there was a serious question about candles and a genuflexion, and so we decided on the registry office, which, after all, is much cheaper.
Rosamund[drying her tears, and putting on a saintly expression]. Well, anyhow, James, we will consider our engagement at an end.
James.This extraordinary tiff has lasted long enough, Rosie. Come and be kissed.
Rosamund[with increased saintliness]. You mistake me, James. I am not quarreling. I am not angry.
James.Then you have ceased to love me?
Rosamund.I adore you passionately. But we can never marry. Do you not perceive the warnings against such a course? First of all you come here—drawn by some mysterious, sinister impulse—in breach of all etiquette. That was a Sign.
James.A sign of what?
Rosamund.Evil. Then you find that postcard, to remind me of a forgotten episode.
James.Damn the postcard! I wish I'd never picked it up.
Rosamund.Hush! Then comes this letter about Lottie.
James.Damn that, too!
Rosamund[sighs]. Then Gerald arrives.
James.Damn him, too! By the way, where is he?
Gerald[coming out from behind the screen]. Sir, if you want to influence my future state by means of a blasphemous expletive, let me beg you to do it when ladies are not present. There are certain prayers which should only be uttered in the smoking-room. [The two men stab each other with their eyes.]
James.I respectfully maintain, Mr. O'Mara, that you had no business to call on my future wife within three hours of her wedding, and throw her into such a condition of alarm and unrest that she doesn't know whether she is going to get married or not.
Gerald.Sir! How in the name of Heaven was I to guess—
Rosamund[rising, with an imperative gesture]. Stop! Sit down, both. James [who hesitates], this is the last request I shall ever make of you. [He sits]. Let me speak. Long ago, from a mistaken motive of kindness, I gave this poor boy [pointing to Gerald] to understand that I loved him; that any rate I should love him in time. Supported by that assurance, he existed for four years through the climatic terrors of a distant isle. I, pampered with all the superfluities of civilization, forgot this noble youth in his exile. I fell selfishly in love. I promised to marry ... while he, with nothing to assuage the rigors—
James.Pardon me, there was Evelyn's "Moonlight Sonata," not to mention Madge's eyes.
Rosamund.You jest, James, but the jest is untimely. Has he not himself said that these doubtless excellent young women were in fact nothing to him, that it wasmyimage which he kept steadfastly in his heart?
Gerald.Ye—es, of course, Rosie.
Rosamund[chiefly to James]. The sight of this poor youth fills me with sorrow and compunction and shame. For it reminds me that four years ago I lied to him.
Gerald.It was awfully good of you, you know.
Rosamund.That is beside the point. At an earlier period of this unhappy morning, James, you asseverated that you could not dream of getting married with a lie on your lips. Neither can I. James, I love you to madness. [Takes his inert hand, shakes it, and drops it again.] Good-by, James! Henceforth we shall be strangers. My duty is towards Gerald.
Gerald.But if you lovehim?
Rosamund.With a good woman, conscience comes first, love second. In time I shall learn to loveyou. I was always quick at lessons. Gerald, take me. It is the only way by which I can purge my lips of the lie uttered four years ago. [Puts her hands on Gerald's shoulders.]
James.In about three-quarters of an hour you will regret this, Rosamund Fife.
Rosamund.One never regrets a good action.
Gerald.Oh! well! I say.... [inarticulate with embarrassment].
Rosamund[after a pause]. James, we are waiting.
James.What for?
Rosamund.For you to go.
James.Don't mind me. You forget that I am in the War Office, and accustomed to surprising situations.
Gerald.Look here, Rosie. It's awfully good of you, and you're doing me a frightfully kind turn; but I can't accept it, you know. It wouldn't do. Kindness spoils my character.
James.Yes, and think of the shock to the noble youth.
Gerald.I couldn't permit such a sacrifice.
Rosamund.To a good woman life should be one long sacrifice.
Gerald.Yes, that's all very well, and I tell you, Rosie, I'm awfully obliged to you. Of course I'm desperately in love with you. That goes without saying. But I also must sacrifice myself. The fact is ... there's Madge....
Rosamund.Well?
Gerald.Well, you know what a place a steamer is, especially in calm, warm weather. I'm afraid I've rather led her to expect.... The fact is, while you and Mr. Brett were having your little discussion just now, I employed the time in scribbling out a bit of a letter to her, and I rather fancy that I've struck one or two deuced good ideas in the proposal line. How's this for a novelty: "My dear Miss Madge, you cannot fail to have noticed from my behavior in your presence that I admire you tremendously?" Rather a neat beginning, eh?
Rosamund.But you said you loved me.
Gerald.Oh, well, so I do. You see I only state that I "admire" her. All the same I feel I'm sort of bound to her, ... you see how I'm fixed. I should much prefer, of course....
James.To a good man life should be one long sacrifice.
Gerald.Exactly, sir.
Rosamund[steadying herself and approaching James]. Jim, my sacrifice is over. It was a terrible ordeal, and nothing but a strict sense of duty could have supported me through such a trying crisis. I am yours. Lead me to the altar. I trust Gerald may be happy with this person named Madge.
James.The flame of your love has not faltered?
Rosamund.Ah, no!
James.Well, if my own particular flame hadn't been fairly robust, the recent draughts might have knocked it about a bit. You have no more sacrifices in immediate view?... [She looks at him in a certain marvelous way, and he suddenly swoops down and kisses her.] To the altar! March! Dash; we shall want another witness.
Gerald.Couldn't I serve?
Rosamund.You're sure it wouldn't be too much for your feelings?
Gerald.I should enjoy it.... I mean I shan't mind very much. Let us therefore start. If we're too soon you can watch the process at work on others, and learn how to comport yourselves. By the way, honeymoon?
James.Paris. Charing Cross 1:30. Dine at Dover.
Gerald.Then you shall eat that lunch I have ordered at the Savoy.
Rosamund.Er—talking of lunch, as I'm hostess here, perhaps I should ask you men if you'd like a drink.
James and Gerald[looking hopefully at each other]. Well, yes.
Rosamund.I have some beautiful lemonade.
JamesANDGerald[still looking at each other, but with a different expression]. Oh, that will be delightful! [Lemonade and glasses produced.]
Gerald.I drink to the happy pair.
Rosamund[a little sinister]. And I—to Madge.
James.And I—to a good woman—Mrs. Pet [looking at her fixedly]. All men like a good woman, but she shouldn't be too good—it's a strain on the system. [General consumption of lemonade, the men bravely swallowing it down, Rosamund rests her head on James's shoulder.]
Rosamund.It occurs to me, Gerald, you only ordered lunch for two at the Savoy.
Gerald.Well, that's right. By that time you and James, if I may call him so, will be one, and me makes two.
[Curtain.]
Copyright, 1913, by Sidgwick & Jackson, Ltd.All rights reserved.
The Little Stone Houseis founded on a story by the same author, published anonymously some years ago inTemple Bar.
The agents for amateur rights in this play are Messrs. Samuel French, 28 West 38th Street, New York, and Joseph Williams, Ltd., 32 Great Portland Street, London, from whom a license to play it in public must be obtained.
It was first performed for the Stage Society at the Aldwych Theatre, London, January 29, 1911, with the following cast:
Praskóvya,a lodging-house keeperMrs. Saba RaleighVarvára,her servantMiss Eily MalyonAstéryi,a lodgerMr. Franklin DyallFomá,a lodgerMr. Stephen T. EwartSpiridón,a stonemasonMr. Leon M. LionA StrangerMr. O. P. HeggieA CorporalMr. E. Cresfan
Produced byMr. Kenelm Foss.
Scene:Small provincial town in Russia.
Reprinted by permission of, and special arrangement with, Messrs. Sidgwick andJackson, Ltd., publishers of the English edition.
A Play
By George Calderon
[Praskóvya's sitting-room. Street door in porch and a curtainless window at the back. It is night; the light of an oil-lamp in the street dimly shows snow-covered houses and falling snow. The room is plainly furnished: a bed, a curtain on a cord, some books, eikons on a shelf in the corner with a wick in a red glass bowl burning before them, paper flowers, and Easter eggs on strings. A photograph of a man of twenty hangs by the eikons. There are doors to kitchen and to the lodgers' rooms.
Varvára is discovered sitting by a lamp darning stockings.
There is an atmosphere of silence, solitude, and Russian monotony. The clock ticks. A man is seen passing in the street; his feet make no sound on the snowy ground. There is the sound of a concertina and a man who laughs in the distance out of doors. Then silence again.
Enter Astéryi, stout and lazy; gray hair thrown untidily back, a rough beard. He is in slippers and dirty dressing-gown, with a big case full of Russian cigarettes in his pocket.]
Ast.Is Praskóvya Petróvna not at home?
Var.[rising]. She is not at home, Astéryi Ivanovitch. She has gone to Vespers at St. Pantaléimon's in the Marsh. It is the festival of the translation of St. Pantaléimon's relics. [Varvára sits again. Astéryi walks to and fro smoking a cigarette.] Will you not have your game of patience as usual?
Ast.Without Praskóvya Petróvna?
Var.She would be sorry if you missed your game because she was late. You can play again when she returns; she likes to watch you.
Ast.Very well.
[Varvára gets a pack of cards. Astéryi sits at a table at one side and plays.]
Var.Shall I prepare the samovar?
Ast.Not yet; I will wait. How greasy these cards are [laying out a patience].
Var.No wonder, Astéryi Ivanovitch. It is two years since you bought this pack.
A Voice[without]. Varvára! Varvára! There is no water in my jug.
Ast.There is one of the lodgers calling you.
Var.It is the schoolmaster.
Ast.Better not keep him waiting; he is an angry man.
Var.I will go. Excuse me, please.
[Exit Varvára. The clock ticks again. Astéryi pauses and meditates, then murmurs, "Oh, Hóspodi!" as if in surprise at being so terribly bored. The concertina plays a few notes. A knock at the street door.]
Ast.Who's there? Come in, come in!
[Enter Spiridón, a man with a cringing, crafty manner, in a sheepskin coat with snow on it. He stands by the door, facing the eikon, crossing himself with large gestures and bowing very low towards it.]
Spir.[looking round]. Good-day, sir, good-day. [Crossing himself again.] May the holy saints preserve all in this house.
Ast.Ah! it's you, Spiridón?
Spir.Yes, sir. It is Spiridón the stonemason.
Ast.What brings you here, Spiridón?
Spir.Is Praskóvya Petróvna not at home?
Ast.No, she has gone to Vespers at St. Pantaléimon's in the Marsh.
Spir.The service is late to-night.
Ast.Yes.... You are a hard man, Spiridón.
Spir.Me, sir!
Ast.And you lose money by your hardness. Praskóvya Petróvna is a poor woman. For years she has been saving up money to build a stone house over the grave of her son in the Tróitski Cemetery. You say that you will build it for 500 roubles, but you ask too much. By starving herself and pinching in every way she has saved up 400 roubles at last, and if you were a wise man you would accept it. For see, she is old; if she starve herself to save up another 100 roubles she will be dead before she has got it; her money will be sent back to her village or it will go into the pocket of some official, and you will not have the tomb-house to build at all.
Spir.I have thought of all these things, Astéryi Ivanovitch, since you last spoke to me about it. And I said to myself: Astéryi Ivanovitch is perhaps right; it is not only Praskóvya Petróvna who is old; I myself am old also, and may die before she has saved up money enough. But it is very hard to work and be underpaid. Good Valdai stone is expensive and hard to cut, and workmen nowadays ask for unholy wages. Still, I said to myself, a tomb-house for her son—it is a God-fearing work: and I have resolved to make the sacrifice. I have come to tell her I will consent to build it for 400 roubles.
Ast.You have done rightly. You are an honest man, and God and St. Nicholas will perhaps save your soul.
[Enter Fomá in cap and great-coat from the door to the lodgers' rooms.]
Fomá.Good-evening, Astéryi Ivanovitch. Is Praskóvya not at home?
Ast.No, she is at Vespers.
Fomá.I come in and find my stove smoking. [Taking of his coat.] I wished to ask her permission to sit here awhile to escape a headache. Who is this? Ah, Spiridón. And by what miracle does Astéryi Ivanovitch hope that God and St. Nicholas will save your soul?
Ast.He has consented to build Praskóvya Petróvna the tomb-house over Sasha's grave for 400 roubles instead of 500.
Fomá.That is good! She will be glad to hear the news, and shake hands on the bargain, and christen the earnest-money with vodka.
Spir.The earnest-money? Ah no, sir, there can be no earnest-money. The whole sum of money must be paid at once. I am a poor man. I must pay the quarryman for the stone; my workmen cannot live on air.
Ast.If she has the money she will pay you.
Fomá.Well, if there is to be no earnest-money, at least we will have the vodka. Vodka is always good.
Ast.[to Spiridón]. Sit down and wait till she returns. She will not be long.
Spir.No, no; I will come again in an hour. I have to go to my brother-in-law two streets away. [Crossing himself before the eikons.] I will come again as I return.
[The tap of drums in the street.]
Ast.Why are they beating drums?
Fomá.It is a patrol passing.
Spir.The soldiers are very watchful to-day.
Fomá.It is because the Empress comes this way to-morrow on her journey to Smolensk.
Spir.They have arrested many suspicious people. All those who have no passports are being sent away to Siberia.
Fomá.Ah! poor creatures! [A patrol of soldiers passes the window quietly].
Spir.Why should you say "poor creatures"? If they were honest men they would not be without passports. Good-evening.
Fomá.Wait till they have gone.
Spir.We honest men have nothing to fear from them. Good-evening. I will return again in an hour. [Exit Spiridón.]
Fomá.How glad Praskóvya will be.
Ast.Say nothing of this to any one. We will keep it as a surprise.
[Enter Varvára.]
Fomá. Varvára, my pretty child, fetch the bottle of vodka from my room.
Var. Vodka in here? Praskóvya Petróvna will be angry.
Fomá. No, she will not be angry; she will be glad. [Exit Varvára.] Do you play patience here every night?
Ast. Every night for more than twenty years.
Fomá.What is it called?
Ast.It is called the Wolf!
Fomá.Does it ever come out?
Ast.It has come out twice. The first time I found a purse in the street which somebody had lost. The second time the man above me at the office died, and I got his place.
Fomá.It brings good luck then?
Ast.To me at least.
Fomá.How glad Praskóvya Petróvna will be!
[Enter Varvára with vodka bottle, which she sets on a table; no one drinks from it yet.]
Var.Do you not want to drink tea?
Fomá.Very much, you rogue.
Var.Then I will set the samovar for both of you in here. [She gets out tumblers, lemon and sugar.]
Ast.I did wrong in moving the seven.
Fomá.Put it back then.
Ast.It is too late. Once it has been moved, it must not be put back.
[Enter Praskóvya from the street hurriedly with a lantern.]
Pras.[crossing herself]. Hóspodi Bózhe moy!
Var.[running to her, frightened]. Have you seen him again?
Pras.[agitated]. I do not know. There seemed to be men standing everywhere in the shadows.... Good-evening, Fomá Ilyitch, good-evening, Astéryi Ivanovitch.
[Varvára goes out, and brings in the samovar.]
Fomá.I have been making myself at home; my stove smoked.
Pras.Sit down, sit down! What ceremony! Why should you not be here? And vodka too? What is the vodka for?
Ast.I will tell you when I have finished my patience. [They all drink tea.]
Pras.So you are playing already.
Ast.If it comes out, the good luck that it brings shall be for you!
Pras.For me? [They all watch Astéryi playing.] The knave goes on the queen. [A pause.]
Fomá.That is unfortunate.
Var.You should not have moved the ten. [A pause.]
Ast.That will be better. [A pause.]
Pras.How brightly the eikon lamp burns before the portrait of my boy.
Var.It does indeed.
Pras.It is the new fire from the Candlemas taper.
Fomá.It is the new oil that makes it burn brightly.
Pras.[crossing herself]. Nonsense! it is the new fire.
Fomá.Did ever one hear such stuff? She put out the lamp at Candlemas, and lighted it anew from the taper which she brought home from the midnight service, from the new fire struck by the priest with flint and steel; and now she thinks that is the reason why it burns so brightly.
Var.Is that not so then, Astéryi Ivanovitch?
Ast.Oh, Fomá Ilyitch is a chemist; he can tell you what fire is made of.
Fomá.So you have been all the way to St. Pantaléimon's in the Marsh? Oh, piety, thy name is Praskóvya Petróvna! Not a person can hold the most miserably little service in the remotest corner of the town but you smell it out and go to it.
Var.It is a Christian deed, Fomá Ilyitch.
Ast.Now I can get at the ace.
Var.[to Praskóvya]. I must get your supper. [She gets a plate of meat from a cupboard.]
Fomá.And on All Souls' Day she brought home holy water in a bottle and sprinkled the rooms of all the lodgers. The schoolmaster was very angry. You spotted the cover of his Greek Lexicon. He says it is a pagan custom, come down to us from the ancient Scythians.
Pras.I do not like to hear jokes about sacred things. One may provoke Heaven to anger.
Ast.Now I get all this row off.
Fomá.You are always afraid of offending Heaven.
Pras.Of course I am. Think what I have at stake. For you it is only a little thing. You have a life of your own on earth; I have none. I have been as good as dead for twenty years, and the only thing that I desire is to get safely to heaven to join my son who is there.
Fomá.We all wish to get to heaven.
Pras.Not so much as I do. If I were in hell it is not the brimstone that would matter; it would be to know that I should not see my son. [Fomá nods].
Ast.I believe it is coming out.
[They all concentrate their attention eagerly on the patience.]
Var.The six and the seven go. Saints preserve us! and the eight. [She takes up a card to move it.]
Ast.No, not that one; leave that.
Var.Where did it come from?
Ast.From here.
Pras.No, from there.
Var.It was from here.
Ast.It is all the same.
Fomá.It will go.
Pras.And the knave from off this row.
Var.The Wolf is going out!
Pras.It is seven years since it went out.
Fomá.Seven years?
Ast.It is out!
Pras.It is done!
Var.[clapping her hands]. Hooray!
Ast.[elated]. Some great good fortune is going to happen.
Var.What can it be? [A pause.]
Pras.And what is the vodka for?
Ast.The vodka?
Pras.You promised to tell me when the patience was done.
Ast.How much money have you saved up for the house on Sasha's tomb?
Pras.Four hundred and six roubles and a few kopecks.
Ast.And Spiridón asks for 500 roubles?
Pras.Five hundred roubles.
Ast.What if he should lower his price?
Pras.He will not lower his price.
Ast.What if he should say that he would take 450 roubles?
Pras.Why, if I went without food for a year.... [Laughing at herself.] If one could but live without food!
Ast.What if he should say that he would take 420 roubles?
Pras.Astéryi Ivanovitch, you know the proverb—the elbow is near, but you cannot bite it. I am old and feeble. I want it now, now, now. Shall I outlive the bitter winter? A shelter to sit in and talk to my son. A monument worthy of such a saint.
Ast.Spiridón has been here.
Pras.Spiridón has been here? What did he say? Tell me!
Ast.He will build it for 400 roubles.
Var.For 400 roubles!
Ast.He will return soon to strike a bargain.
Pras.Is it true?
Ast.As true as that I wear the cross.
Pras.Oh, all the holy saints be praised! Sláva Tebyé Hóspodi! [Kneeling before the eikons.] Oh, my darling Sasha, we will meet in a fine house, you and I, face to face. [She prostrates herself three times before the eikons.]
Var.Then this is the good luck.
Ast.No, this cannot be what the cards told us; for this had happened already before the Wolf came out.
Var.Then there is something else to follow?
Ast.Evidently.
Var.What can it be?
Ast.To-morrow perhaps we shall know.
Pras.[rising]. And in a month I shall have my tomb-house finished, for which I have been waiting twenty years! A little stone house safe against the rain. [Smiling and eager.] There will be a tile stove which I can light: in the middle a stone table and two chairs—one for me and one for my boy when he comes and sits with me, and....
Var.[at the window, shrieking]. Ah! Heaven defend us!
Pras.What is it?
Var.The face! the face!
Pras.The face again?
Fomá.What face?
Var.The face looked in at the window!
Ast.Whose face?
Var.It is the man that we have seen watching us in the cemetery.
Pras.[crossing herself]. Oh, Heaven preserve me from this man!
Fomá.[opening the street door]. There is nobody there.
Ast.This is a false alarm.
Fomá.People who tire their eyes by staring at window-panes at night often see faces looking in through them.
Pras.Oh, Hóspodi!
Ast.Spiridón will be returning soon. Have you the money ready?
Pras.The money? Yes, yes! I will get it ready. It is not here. Come, Varvára. [They put on coats and shawls.]
Ast.If it is in the bank we must wait till the daytime.
Pras.My money in the bank? I am not so foolish. [She lights the lantern.] Get the spade, Varvára. [Varvára goes out and fetches a spade.] It is buried in the field, in a place that no one knows but myself.
Ast.Are you not afraid to go out?
Pras.Afraid? No, I am not afraid.
Fomá.But your supper—you have not eaten your supper.
Pras.How can I think of supper at such a moment?
Fomá.No supper? Oh, what a wonderful thing is a mother's love!
Pras.[to Astéryi and Fomá]. Stay here till we return.
Var.[drawing back]. I am afraid, Praskóvya Petróvna.
Pras.Nonsense, there is nothing to fear.
Fomá.[throwing his coat over his back]. I will go with you to the corner of the street.
Ast.[shuffling the cards]. I must try one for myself.
Fomá.[mockingly]. What's the use? It will never come out.
Ast.[cheerfully]. Oh, it never does to be discouraged.
[Exeunt Praskóvya, Varvára, and Fomá. Astéryi plays patience. Everything is silent and monotonous again. The clock ticks.]
Fomá.[reënters, dancing and singing roguishly to the tune of the Russian folksong, "Vo sadú li v vogoróde"]: