Abbess.My child, I have called you to me because you have seemed so pale, and I fear you have burdened yourself beyond your strength.
Benvenuta.No, Reverend Mother. I am not burdened.
Abbess.You are not performing any secret penance?
Benvenuta.None, Mother.
Abbess.Answer me truly, Benvenuta. You have not been contemplating some penance, and so been filled with anxiety.
Benvenuta.I look for no penance in this life, Reverend Mother, beyond such as may be imposed upon me.
Abbess.Nothing beyond your strength will be imposed. If you have need of more sleep, I would be willing to relax for you, for a time.
Benvenuta.I do not need it, Reverend Mother.
[Atalanta enters, sees the Abbess, and stands waiting.]
Abbess.If you should find yourself overburdened, little Sister, come to me. That will do. Atalanta, one moment.
[Atalanta steps forward. Benvenuta starts to go, but lingers.]
I shall need your help with the lute to-night. I know you play it well. The best lute player among the lay sisters is ill. You can play from notes?
Atalanta.If it be not too difficult, Reverend Mother.
Abbess.It is simple. But I will have them give you the music, against the time when you will be needed.
[The Abbess goes out toward the Chapel. Benvenuta comes down to Atalanta.]
Benvenuta.Atalanta, dear!
Atalanta.Yes, Benvenuta.
Benvenuta.There is something I must talk to you about. I have put it off because I have been deep in my own thoughts. You told me not so long ago that you could not find your call, that the world still beckoned you.
Atalanta.Yes, it did. But I have been calmer since we spoke of it. There was a thing in my heart that had to be spoken out—
Benvenuta.Yes.
Atalanta.I spoke it out to you, and since then it has not troubled me.
Benvenuta.It was about the vinedresser's baby in your father's garden?
Atalanta.Yes.
Benvenuta.You told me about it here—in this room, was it not?
Atalanta.Yes. Surely it was here. How strangely you speak, Benvenuta. Have you forgotten? It was after that you asked me to get the gold thread, and the child's coat.
Benvenuta.So I did. I had almost forgotten it.
Atalanta.It was a great comfort to me to tell you, Sister—and to serve you. Why have you asked nothing more of me?
Benvenuta.I have all the help I need, now.
[A pause. Atalanta looks at Benvenuta wonderingly.]
The vinedresser's baby—did you ever hold him in your arms?
Atalanta.No.
Benvenuta.Nor ever felt his lips soft and moist against your cheek, nor his fingers warm on your neck?
Atalanta.No. I only saw the child, as I told you.
Benvenuta.I remember now. You only saw him.
[Another pause. Benvenuta is looking toward the Sacristy closet.]
Atalanta, dear, do you know that we can only be happy by pleasing those we love most—that is what people live for, I think. And dear, remember this: the happiness you saw on the face of the vinedresser's wife was as torment beside the joy that is glowing in me.
[Her eyes meet Atalanta's for a moment.]
Don't, dear—don't think it too strange. Everything is strange, after all.
Atalanta.Your face was like hers, then.
Benvenuta.Please don't say that, dear. It's—it's foolish—isn't it? But I told you once I was waiting for something—all my life waiting. And now—and now!
[She touches Atalanta's head, lightly, and goes off upstairs toward her cell. Atalanta is left looking after her. Grimana comes in.]
Grimana.Well, mistress. Prideful over not sitting with the novices this night, eh? The lute-playing comes in well at last, does it?
Atalanta.Oh, Sister Grimana, I—
[She stops, confused.]
Grimana.What is it, child?
Atalanta.It's Benvenuta. Have you seen her? Have you?—
Grimana.Yes, dear, I've seen. She's young. These times come to all of us, I suppose. But they pass. Calm, child. Count your buttons.
Atalanta.I was frightened, Sister Grimana.
Grimana.Aye, you'll frighten the novices just so in your turn. But just the same, I wish she wouldn't—
[The Abbess reënters, as a bell strikes from the chapel. Rosalba comes on from the left, with two or three sisters.]
Abbess.It is time. Let us all proceed to the chapel.
[The Sister Sacristan carrying the lute and some music, enters from the chapel.]
Are all the sisters assembled?
Sister Sacristan.All save those who are here, and Sister Benvenuta.
Abbess.Please you, Sister Grimana, go for Benvenuta.
[Grimana goes up the stairs.]
Sister Sacristan.Here is the lute, Atalanta Badoer. The notes are clear, and the times you are to play them are written there.
Atalanta.My hands tremble so. I'm afraid I shall fail in it.
Abbess.Courage, child. I know it is the first time, but you will do well—I am sure you will do well. Come, let us take our places.
[Grimana enters on the steps, in great trouble of mind. She carries in her hand the puppet of the Beelzebubb, twisted and shattered and singed with fire.]
Grimana.Reverend Mother, forgive me. I have seen—I have seen—
[She clasps and unclasps her hands, unable to speak.]
Abbess.What was it, Grimana?
Grimana.I scarcely know, Mother. Mary be my shield!
Abbess.Speak, Sister.
Grimana.There was a great light through every crevice of the door of her cell. And music in the air—like harps and viols d'amour. And on the floor outside I found this—shattered and half burnt—this puppet. And from within, sounds—
Abbess.Tell me all, Sister.
Grimana[her fingers on the buttons of her cape]. Sounds as of a mother and her babe, cooing and kissing and caressing each other.
Abbess.Call the Father Confessor.
[The Sister Sacristan goes out toward the chapel.]
We must look to this. If her mind have broken under some penance—
Atalanta.Let me go—
Abbess.No. She was so pale—
[The Sister Sacristan returns with the Abbe Filosi.]
Reverend Father, the little sister of the house of Loredan—
[Then, the upper corridor is filled with a growing light—the same radiant gold that streamed from the Sacristy closet. The sisters bless themselves and most of them fall on their knees. In the light Benvenuta appears walking erect, her lameness gone, and holding before her the Christ Child, in a wondrous robe of carmine silk damask. She laughs softly with the babe as she passes, and when she has passed off toward the chapel, whence the organ is again heard, the light fades.]
Abbe Filosi[in a hushed voice]. A miracle!
Abbess.She is healed! A miracle of the Holy Child. Blessed Mother—thy Holy Child in our house.
[Atalanta goes swiftly up the steps and off after Benvenuta.]
Abbe Filosi.Let there be a special service of thanksgiving.
Abbess.Let all hearts be uplifted!
[Atalanta returns, trailing her lute behind her, and sinks down at the head of the stairway, sobbing.]
[Curtain.]
Copyright, 1916, by Wallace Stevens.All rights reserved.
Reprinted from "Poetry" (Chicago) by permission of Mr. Wallace Stevens and Miss Harriet Monroe. Applications for permission to produce this play should be addressed to Mr. Wallace Stevens, 125 Trumbull Street, Hartford, Conn.
A Play
By Wallace Stevens
[The characters are three Chinese, two negroes and a girl.
The scene represents a forest of heavy trees on a hilltop in eastern Pennsylvania. To the right is a road, obscured by bushes. It is about four o'clock of a morning in August, at the present time.
When the curtain rises, the stage is dark. The limb of a tree creaks. A negro carrying a lantern passes along the road. The sound is repeated. The negro comes through the bushes, raises his lantern and looks through the trees. Discerning a dark object among the branches, he shrinks back, crosses stage, and goes out through the wood to the left.
A second negro comes through the bushes to the right. He carries two large baskets, which he places on the ground just inside of the bushes. Enter three Chinese, one of whom carries a lantern. They pause on the road,]
Second Chinese.All you need,To find poetry,Is to look for it with a lantern. [The Chinese laugh.]
Third Chinese.I could find it without,On an August night,If I saw no moreThen the dew on the barns.
[The Second Negro makes a sound to attract their attention. The three Chinese come through the bushes. The first is short, fat, quizzical, and of middle age. The second is of middle height, thin and turning gray; a man of sense and sympathy. The third is a young man, intent, detached. They wear European clothes.]
Second Chinese[glancing at the baskets].Dew is water to see,Not water to drink:We have forgotten water to drink.Yet I am contentJust to see sunrise again.I have not seen itSince the day we left Pekin.It filled my doorway,Like whispering women.
First Chinese.And I have never seen it.If we have no water,Do find a melon for meIn the baskets.
[The Second Negro, who has been opening the baskets, hands the First Chinese a melon.]
First Chinese.Is there no spring?
[The negro takes a water bottle of red porcelain from one of the baskets and places it near the Third Chinese.]
Second Chinese[to Third Chinese].Your porcelain water bottle.
[One of the baskets contains costumes of silk, red, blue and green. During the following speeches, the Chinese put on these costumes, with the assistance of the negro, and seat themselves on the ground.]
Third Chinese.This fetches its own water.
[Takes the bottle and places it on the ground in the center of the stage.]
I drink from it, dry as it is,As you from maxims, [To Second Chinese.]Or you from melons. [To First Chinese.]
First Chinese.Not as I, from melons.Be sure of that.
Second Chinese.Well, it is true of maxims.
[He finds a book in the pocket of his costume, and reads from it.]
"The court had known poverty and wretchedness; humanity had invaded its seclusion, with its suffering and its pity."
[The limb of the tree creaks.]
Yes: it is true of maxims,Just as it is true of poets,Or wise men, or nobles,Or jade.
First Chinese.Drink from wise men? From jade?Is there no spring?
[Turning to the negro, who has taken a jug from one of the baskets.]
Fill it and return.
[The negro removes a large candle from one of the baskets and hands it to the First Chinese; then takes the jug and the lantern and enters the trees to the left. The First Chinese lights the candle and places it on the ground near the water bottle.]
Third Chinese.There is a seclusion of porcelainThat humanity never invades.
First Chinese[with sarcasm]. Porcelain!
Third Chinese.It is like the seclusion of sunrise,Before it shines on any house.
First Chinese.Pooh!
Second Chinese.This candle is the sun;This bottle is earth:It is an illustrationUsed by generations of hermits.The point of difference from realityIs this:That, in this illustration,The earth remains of one color—It remains red,It remains what it is.But when the sun shines on the earth,In realityIt does not shine on a thing that remainsWhat it was yesterday.The sun risesOn whatever the earth happens to be.
Third Chinese.And there are indeterminate momentsBefore it rises,Like this, [With a backward gesture.]Before one can tellWhat the bottle is going to be—Porcelain, Venetian glass,Egyptian ...Well, there are momentsWhen the candle, sputtering up,Finds itself in seclusion, [He raises the candle in the air.]And shines, perhaps, for the beauty of shining.That is the seclusion of sunriseBefore it shines on any house. [Replacing the candle.]
First Chinese[wagging his head]. As abstract as porcelain.
Second Chinese.Such seclusion knows beautyAs the court knew it.The court wokeIn its windless pavilions,And gazed on chosen mornings,As it gazedOn chosen porcelain.What the court saw was always of the same color,And well shaped,And seen in a clear light. [He points to the candle.]It never woke to see,And never knew,The flawed jars,The weak colors,The contorted glass.It never knewThe poor lights. [He opens his book significantly.]When the court knew beauty only,And in seclusion,It had neither love nor wisdom.These came through povertyAnd wretchedness,Through suffering and pity. [He pauses.]It is the invasion of humanityThat counts.
[The limb of the tree creaks. The First Chinese turns, for a moment, in the direction of the sound.]
First Chinese[thoughtfully]. The light of the most tranquil candleWould shudder on a bloody salver.
Second Chinese[with a gesture of disregard]. It is the invasionThat counts.If it be supposed that we are three figuresPainted on porcelainAs we sit here,That we are painted on this very bottle,The hermit of the place,Holding this candle to us,Would wonder;But if it be supposedThat we are painted as warriors,The candle would tremble in his hands;Or if it be supposed, for example,That we are painted as three dead men,He could not see the steadiest light,For sorrow.It would be trueIf an emperor himselfHeld the candle.He would forget the porcelainFor the figures painted on it.
Third Chinese[shrugging his shoulders]. Let the candle shine for the beauty of shining.I dislike the invasionAnd long for the windless pavilions.And yet it may be trueThat nothing is beautifulExcept with reference to ourselves,Nor ugly,Nor high, [Pointing to the sky.]Nor low. [Pointing to the candle.]No: not even sunrise.Can you play of this [Mockingly to First Chinese.]For us? [He stands up.]
First Chinese[hesitatingly]. I have a songCalledMistress and Maid.It is of no interest to hermitsOr emperors,Yet it has a bearing;For if we affect sunrise,We affect all things.
Third Chinese.It is a pity it is of women.Sing it.
[He takes an instrument from one of the baskets and hands it to the First Chinese, who sings the following song, accompanying himself, somewhat tunelessly, on the instrument. The Third Chinese takes various things out of the basket for tea. He arranges fruit. The First Chinese watches him while he plays. The Second Chinese gazes at the ground. The sky shows the first signs of morning.]
First Chinese. The mistress says, in a harsh voice,"He will be thinking in strange countriesOf the white stones near my door,And I—I am tired of him."She says sharply, to her maid,"Sing to yourself no more."Then the maid says, to herself,"He will be thinking in strange countriesOf the white stones near her door;But it is me he will seeAt the window, as before."He will be thinking in strange countriesOf the green gown I wore.He was saying good-by to her."The maid drops her eyes and says to her mistress,"I shall sing to myself no more."
Third Chinese.That affects the white stones,To be sure. [They laugh.]
First Chinese.And it affects the green gown.
Second Chinese.Here comes our black man.
[The Second Negro returns, somewhat agitated, with water but without his lantern. He hands the jug to the Third Chinese. The First Chinese from time to time strikes the instrument. The Third Chinese, who faces the left, peers in the direction from which the negro has come.]
Third Chinese.You have left your lantern behind you.It shines, among the trees,Like evening Venus in a cloud-top.
[The Second Negro grins but makes no explanation. He seats himself behind the Chinese to the right.]
First Chinese.Or like a ripe strawberryAmong its leaves. [They laugh.]I heard to-nightThat they are searching the hillFor an Italian.He disappeared with his neighbor's daughter.
Second Chinese[confidently]. I am sure you heardThe first eloping footfall,And the drumOf pursuing feet.
First Chinese[amusedly]. It was not an elopement.The young gentleman was seenTo climb the hill,In the manner of a tragedianWho sweats.Such things happen in the evening.He wasUn misérable.
Second Chinese.Reach the lady quickly.
[The First Chinese strikes the instrument twice as a prelude to his narrative.]
First Chinese.There are as many points of viewFrom which to regard herAs there are sides to a round bottle.
[Pointing to the water bottle.]
She was represented to meAs beautiful.
[They laugh. The First Chinese strikes the instrument, and looks at the Third Chinese, who yawns.]
First Chinese[reciting]. She was as beautiful as a porcelain water bottle.
[He strikes the instrument in an insinuating manner.]
First Chinese.She was represented to meAs young.Therefore my song should goOf the color of blood.
[He strikes the instrument. The limb of the tree creaks. The First Chinese notices it and puts his hand on the knee of the Second Chinese, who is seated between him and the Third Chinese, to call attention to the sound. They are all seated so that they do not face the spot from which the sound comes. A dark object, hanging to the limb of the tree, becomes a dim silhouette. The sky grows constantly brighter. No color is to be seen until the end of the play.]
Second Chinese[to First Chinese]. It is only a treeCreaking in the night wind.
Third Chinese[shrugging his shoulders]. There would be no creakingIn the windless pavilions.
First Chinese[resuming]. So far the lady of the present balladWould have been studiedBy the hermit and his candleWith much philosophy;And possibly the emperor would have cried,"More light!"But it is a way with balladsThat the more pleasing they areThe worse end they come to;For here it was also representedThat the lady was poor—The hermit's candle would have thrownAlarming shadows,And the emperor would have heldThe porcelain in one hand ...She was represented as clingingTo that sweaty tragedian,And weeping up the hill.
Second Chinese[with a grimace]. It does not sound like an elopement.
First Chinese.It is a doleful ballad,Fit for keyholes.
Third Chinese.Shall we hear more?
Second Chinese.Why not?
Third Chinese.We came for isolation,To rest in sunrise.
Second Chinese[raising his book slightly]. But this will be a part of sunrise,And can you tell how it will end?—Venetian,Egyptian,Contorted glass ...
[He turns toward the light in the sky to the right, darkening the candle with his hands.]
In the meantime, the candle shines, [Indicating the sunrise.]As you say, [To the Third Chinese.]For the beauty of shining.
First Chinese[sympathetically]. Oh! it will end badly.The lady's fatherCame clapping behind themTo the foot of the hill.He came crying,"Anna, Anna, Anna!" [Imitating.]He was alone without her,Just as the young gentlemanWas alone without her:Three beggars, you see,Begging for one another.
[The First Negro, carrying two lanterns, approaches cautiously through the trees. At the sight of him, the Second Negro, seated near the Chinese, jumps to his feet. The Chinese get up in alarm. The Second Negro goes around the Chinese toward the First Negro. All see the body of a man hanging to the limb of the tree. They gather together, keeping their eyes fixed on it. The First Negro comes out of the trees and places the lanterns on the ground. He looks at the group and then at the body.]
First Chinese[moved]. The young gentleman of the ballad.
Third Chinese[slowly, approaching the body]. And the end of the ballad.Take away the bushes.
[The negroes commence to pull away the bushes.]
Second Chinese.Death, the hermit,Needs no candleIn his hermitage.
[The Second Chinese snuffs out the candle. The First Chinese puts out the lanterns. As the bushes are pulled away, the figure of a girl, sitting half stupefied under the tree, suddenly becomes apparent to the Second Chinese and then to the Third Chinese. They step back. The negroes move to the left. When the First Chinese sees the girl, the instrument slips from his hands and falls noisily to the ground. The girl stirs.]
Second Chinese[to the girl]. Is that you, Anna?
[The girl starts. She raises her head, looks around slowly, leaps to her feet and screams.]
Second Chinese[gently]. Is that you, Anna?
[She turns quickly toward the body, looks at it fixedly and totters up the stage.]
Anna[bitterly]. Go.Tell my father:He is dead.
[The Second and Third Chinese support her. The First Negro whispers to the First Chinese, then takes the lanterns and goes through the opening to the road, where he disappears in the direction of the valley.]
First Chinese[to Second Chinese]. Bring up fresh waterFrom the spring.
[The Second Negro takes the jug and enters the trees to the left. The girl comes gradually to herself. She looks at the Chinese and at the sky. She turns her back toward the body, shuddering, and does not look at it again.]
Anna.It will soon be sunrise.
Second Chinese. One candle replacesAnother.
[The First Chinese walks toward the bushes to the right. He stands by the roadside, as if to attract the attention of any one passing.]
Anna[simply]. When he was in his fields,I worked in ours—Wore purple to see;And when I was in his gardenI wore gold ear-rings.Last evening I met him on the road.He asked me to walk with himTo the top of the hill.I felt the evil,But he wanted nothing.He hanged himself in front of me.
[She looks for support. The Second and Third Chinese help her toward the road.—At the roadside, the First Chinese takes the place of the Third Chinese. The girl and the two Chinese go through the bushes and disappear down the road. The stage is empty except for the Third Chinese. He walks slowly across the stage, pushing the instrument out of his way with his foot. It reverberates. He looks at the water bottle.]
Third Chinese.Of the color of blood ...Seclusion of porcelain ...Seclusion of sunrise ...
[He picks up the water bottle.]
The candle of the sunWill shine soonOn this hermit earth. [Indicating the bottle.]It will shine soonUpon the trees,And find a new thing [Indicating the body.]Painted on this porcelain, [Indicating the trees.]But not on this. [Indicating the bottle.]
[He places the bottle on the ground. A narrow cloud over the valley becomes red. He turns toward it, then walks to the right. He finds the book of the Second Chinese lying on the ground, picks it up and turns over the leaves.]
Red is not onlyThe color of blood,Or [Indicating the body.]Of a man's eyes,Or [Pointedly.]Of a girl's.And as the red of the sunIs one thing to meAnd one thing to another,So it is the green of one tree [Indicating.]And the green of another,Which without it would all be black.Sunrise is multiplied,Like the earth on which it shines,By the eyes that open on it,Even dead eyes,As red is multiplied by the leaves of trees.
[Toward the end of this speech, the Second Negro comes from the trees to the left, without being seen. The Third Chinese, whose back is turned toward the negro, walks through the bushes to the right and disappears on the road. The negro looks around at the object on the stage. He sees the instrument, seats himself before it and strikes it several times, listening to the sound. One or two birds twitter. A voice, urging a horse, is heard at a distance. There is the crack of a whip. The negro stands up, walks to the right and remains at the side of the road.]
[The Curtain Falls Slowly.]
Copyright, 1920, by Stewart & Kidd Co.All rights reserved.
THREE PEOPLECharles,the Householder.Clara,his Wife.The Thief.
Originally produced by Sam Hume as the dedicatory piece of the new Arts & CraftsTheater, Detroit, and by Maurice Browne of the Chicago Art Theater.
Reprinted from "The Stewart-Kidd Modern Plays," edited by Frank Shay. The professional and amateur stage rights on this play are strictly reserved by the author. Applications for permission to produce this play should be made to Mr. Frank Shay, care Stewart & Kidd Co., Cincinnati, U. S. A.
A Social Satire
By Frank G. Tompkins
[Scene:A darkened room. After a moment the door opens, admitting a streak of light. A man peers in cautiously. As soon as he is sure that the room is unoccupied, he steps inside and feels along the wall until he finds the switch which floods the room with light. He is dressed in impeccable taste—evidently a man of culture. From time to time he bites appreciatively on a ham sandwich as he looks about him, apparently viewing the room for the first time. Nothing pleases him until a vase over the mantel catches his eye. He picks it up, looks at the bottom, puts it down hard, and mutters, "Imitation." Other articles receive the same disdainful verdict. The whole room is beneath his notice. He starts to sit down before the fire and enjoy his sandwich. Suddenly he pauses to listen, looks about him hurriedly for some place to hide, thinks better of it, and takes his stand opposite the door, smiling pleasantly and expectantly. The door opens and a young woman enters with a man at her heels. As she sees the thief she stifles a scream and retreats, backing the man out behind her. The thief smiles and waits. Soon the door opens again, and the man enters with the woman clinging to him. They stand opposite the thief and stare at him, not sure what they ought to say or do.]
Thief[pleasantly]. Good evening! [Pause.] Good evening, good evening. You surprised me. Can't say I expected you home so soon. Was the play an awful bore? [Pause.] We-e-ell, can't one of you speak. I CAN carry on a conversation alone, but the question-and-answer method is usually preferred. If one of you will ask me how I do, we might get a step farther.
Clara[breathlessly]. You—you—[With growing conviction.] You're a thief!
Thief.Exactly. And you, madame? The mistress of the house, I presume. Or are you another thief? The traditional one that it takes to catch the first?
Clara.This—this is OUR house. Charles, why don't you do something? Don't stand there like a—Make him go away! Tell him he mustn't take anything. [Advancing toward the thief and speaking all in one sentence.] What have you taken? Give it to me instantly. How dare you! Charles, take it away from him.
Charles[apparently not afraid, a little amused, but uncertain what to do, finally adopting the bullying tone.] I say, old man, you'd better clear out. We've come home. You know you can't—come now, give it up. Be sensible. I don't want to use force—
Thief.I don't want you to.
Charles.If you've got anything of ours—We aren't helpless, you know. [He starts to draw something black and shiny from his overcoat pocket. It might be a pistol, but he does not reveal its shape.]
Thief.Let's see those glasses. Give them here. [Takes them from the uncertain Charles.] Perhaps they're better than mine. Fine cases. [Tries them.] Humph! Window glass! Take them back. You're not armed, you know. I threw your revolver down the cold-air shaft. Never carry one myself—in business hours. Yours was in the bottom of your bureau drawer. Bad shape, those bureau drawers were in. Nice and neat on top; rat's nest below. Shows up your character in great shape, old man. Always tell your man by his bureau drawers. Didn't it ever occur to you that a thief might drop in on you some night? What would he think of you?
Charles.I don't think—
Thief.You should. I said to myself when I opened that drawer: "They put up a great surface, but they're shams. Probably streak that runs through everything they do." You ought to begin with real neatness. This other sort of thing is just a form of dishonesty.
Clara.You! Talking to US about honesty—in our house!
Thief.Just the place for honesty. Begin at home. Let's—
Clara.Charles, I won't stand this? Grab hold of him. Search him. You hold him. I'll telephone.
Thief.You can't.
Clara.You've cut the wires.
Thief.Didn't have to. Your telephone service has been cut off by the company. I found that out before I came. I suspect you neglected the bill. You ought not to, makes no end of trouble. Inconvenienced me this evening. Better get it put in right away.
Clara.Charles, do I have to stand here and be insulted?
Thief.Sit down. Won't you, please! This is your last ham-sandwich, so I can't offer you any, but there's plenty of beer in the cellar, if you care for it. I don't recommend it, but perhaps you're used to it.
Clara[almost crying]. Charles, are you going to let him preach to us all night! I won't have it. Being lectured by a thief!
Charles.You can't stop a man's talking, my dear, especially this sort of man. Can't you see he's a born preacher? Old man, while advice is going round, let me tell you that you've missed your calling. Why don't you go in for reform? Ought to go big.
Clara.Oh, Charles! Don't talk to him. You're a good deal bigger than he is.
Thief.Maybe I'll jiu-jitsu him.
Clara.He's insulting you now, Charles. Please try. I'll hold his feet.
Thief.No doubt you would. But that wouldn't stop my talking. You'd be taking an unfair advantage, too; I couldn't kick a lady, could I? Besides, there are two of you. You leave it to Charles and me. Let's have fair play, at least.
Clara.Fair play? I'd like to know—
Thief.Ple-e-ase, don't screech! My head aches and your voice pierces so. Let's sit down quietly and discuss the situation like well-bred people, and when we've come to some understanding, I'll go.
Clara.Yes, after you've taken everything in the house and criticized everything else you can't take, our manners and our morals.
Charles.But he isn't taking anything now, is he? Let the poor chap criticize, can't you? I don't suppose he often meets his—er—customers socially. He's just dying for a good old visit. Lonesome profession, isn't it, old man?
Clara.If you WON'T do anything, I'll call the neighbors.
Thief.No neighbors to call. Nearest one a block away, and he isn't at home. That comes of living in a fashionable suburb. Don't believe you can afford it, either. WON'T you sit down, madame? I can't till you do. Well, then I shall have to stand, and I've been on my feet all day. It's hardly considerate [plaintively]. I don't talk so well on my feet, either. It will take me much longer this way. [Clara bounces into a chair, meaningfully.] Thank you, that's better [sighs with relief as he sinks into the easy chair]. I knew I could appeal to your better nature. Have a cigarette? [Charles accepts one from his beautiful case.] And you, madame?
Clara[puts out her hand, but withdraws it quickly]. Thank you, I don't care to smoke—with a thief.
Thief.Right. Better not smoke, anyway. I'm so old-fashioned, I hate to see women smoke. None of the women in my family do it. Perhaps we're too conventional—
Clara.I don't know that I care to be like the women of your family. Iwillhave one, if you please. No doubt you get them from a man of taste.
Thief.Your next-door neighbor. This is—was—his case. Exquisite taste. Seen this case often, I suppose? [He eyes them closely.] Great friends? Or perhaps you don't move in the same circles. [Clara glares at him.] Pardon me. Tactless of me, but how could I guess? Well, here's your chance to get acquainted with his cigarettes. Will you have one now?
Clara.I don't receive stolen goods.
Thief.That's a little hard on Charles, isn't it? He seems to be enjoying his.
Charles.Bully cigarette. Hempsted's a connoisseur. Truth is—we don't know the Hempsteds. They've never called.
Thief.That's right, Charles. Tell the truth and shame [with a jerk of his head toward Clara]—you know who.
Clara.Charles, there isn't any reason, I'm sure—
Thief.Quietly, please. Remember my head. I'm sorry, but I must decline to discuss your social prospects with you, and also your neighbors' shortcomings, much as we should all enjoy it. There isn't time for that. Let's get down to business. The question we've got to decide and decide very quickly is, What would you like to have me take?
Clara[aghast]. What would we—what would we like to have you take? Why—why—you can't take anything now; we're here. Of all the nerve! What would we like—
Thief.It gains by repetition, doesn't it?
Charles.You've got me, old man. You'll have to come again. I may be slow, but I don't for the moment see the necessity for your taking anything.
Thief.I was afraid of this. I'll have to begin farther back. Look here now, just suppose I go away and don't take anything [with an air of triumph]. How would you like that?
Charles.Suits me to a "T." How about you, my dear? Think you can be firm and bear up under it?
Thief.Don't be sarcastic. You're too big. Only women and little men should be sarcastic. Besides, it isn't fair to me, when I'm trying to help you. Here am I, trying to get you out of a mighty ticklish situation, and you go and get funny. It isn't right.
Charles.Beg pardon, old man. Try us in words of one syllable. You see this is a new situation for us. But we're anxious to learn.
Thief.Listen, then. See if you can follow this. Now there's nothing in your house that I want; nothing that I could for a moment contemplate keeping without a good deal of pain to myself.
Clara.We're trying to spare you. But if you care to know, we had the advice of Elsie de Wolfe.
Thief[wonderingly]. Elsie de Wolfe? Elsie, how could you! Now, if you had asked me to guess, I should have said—the Pullman Company. I shudder to think of owning any of this bric-a-brac myself. But it must be done. Here am I offering to burden myself with something I don't want, wouldn't keep for worlds, and couldn't sell. [Growing a little oratorical.] Why do I do this?
Charles.Yes, why do you?
Clara.Hush, Charles; it's a rhetorical question; he wants to answer it himself.
Thief.I do it to accommodate you. Must I be even plainer? Imagine that I go away, refusing to take anything in spite of your protests. Imagine it's to-morrow. The police and the reporters have caught wind of the story. Something has been taken from every house in Sargent Road—except one. The nature of the articles shows that the thief is a man of rare discrimination. To be quite frank—a connoisseur.
Clara.A connoisseur of what? Humph!
Thief.And a connoisseur of such judgment that to have him pass your Rubens by is to cast doubt upon its authenticity. I do not exaggerate. Let me tell you that from the Hempsteds—[Clara leans forward, all interest.]—but that would take too long. [She leans back.] The public immediately asks, Why did the thief take nothing from 2819 Sargent Road? The answer is too obvious: There is nothing worth taking at 2819 Sargent Road.
Charles[comprehendingly]. Um-hu-m!
Thief.The public laughs. Worse still, the neighbors laugh. What becomes of social pretensions after that? It's a serious thing, laughter is. It puts anybody's case out of court. And it's a serious thing to have a thief pass you by. People have been socially marooned for less than that. Have I made myself clear? Are you ready for the question? What would you like to have me take?
Charles.Now, old man, I say that's neat. Sure you aren't a lawyer?
Thief.I have studied the law—but not from that side.
Clara.It's all bosh. Why couldn't we claim we'd lost something very valuable, something we'd never had?
Thief[solemnly]. That's the most shameless proposal I've ever heard. Yes, you couldlieabout it. I can't conceal from you what I think of your moral standards.
Charles.I can't imagine you concealing anything unpleasant.
Clara.It's no worse than—
Thief.Your moral sense is blunted. But I can't attend to that now. Think of this: Suppose, as I said, I should take nothing and you should publish that bare-faced lie, and then I should get caught. Would I shield you? Never. Or suppose I shouldn't get caught. Has no one entered your house since you have been here? Doesn't your maid know what you have? Can you trust her not to talk? No, no, it isn't worth the risk. It isn't even common sense, to say nothing of the moral aspects of the case. Why do people never stop to think of the practical advantages of having things stolen! Endless possibilities! Why, a woman loses a $5 brooch and it's immediately worth $15. The longer it stays lost, the more diamonds it had in it, until she prays God every night that it won't be found. Look at the advertising she gets out of it. And does she learn anything from it? Never. Let a harmless thief appear in her room and she yells like a hyena instead of saying to him, like a sensible woman: "Hands up; I've got you right where I want you; you take those imitation pearls off my dresser and get to hell out of here. If I ever see you or those pearls around here again, I'll hand you over to the police." That's what she ought to say. It's the chance of her life. But unless she's an actress, she misses it absolutely. A thief doesn't expect gratitude, but it seems to me he might at least expect understanding and intelligent coöperation. Here are you facing disgrace, and here am I willing to save you. And what do I get? Sarcasm, cheap sarcasm!
Charles.I beg your pardon, old man. I'm truly sorry. You're just too advanced for us. Clara, there's an idea in it. What do you think?
Clara.It has its possibilities. Now if he'll let me choose—Isn't there a joker in it somewhere? Let me think. We might let you have something. What do you want?
Thief[indignantly]. What do I want? I—don't want—anything. Can't you see that? The question is, What do you want me to have? And please be a little considerate. Don't ask me to take the pianola or the ice-box. Can't you make up your minds? Let me help you. Haven't you got some old wedding gifts? Everybody has. Regular white elephants, yet you don't dare get rid of them for fear the donors will come to see you and miss them. A discriminating thief is a godsend. All you have to do is write: "Dear Maude and Fred: Last night our house was broken into, and of course the first thing that was taken was that lovely Roycroft chair you gave us." Or choose what you like. Here's opportunity knocking at your door. Make it something ugly as you please, but something genuine. I hate sham.
Clara.Charles, it's our chance. There's that lovely, hand-carved—
Thief.Stop! I saw it [shuddering]. It has the marks of the machine all over it. Not that. I can't take that.
Clara.Beggars shouldn't be—
Thief.Where's my coat? That settles it.
Clara.Oh, don't go! I didn't mean it. Honestly I didn't. It just slipped out. You mustn't leave us like this—
Thief.I don't have to put up with such—
Clara.Oh, please stay, and take something! Haven't we anything you want? Charles, hold him; don't let him go. No, that won't do any good. Talk to him—
Charles.Don't be so sensitive, old man. She didn't mean it. You know how those old sayings slip out—just say themselves. She only called you a little beggar anyway. You ought to hear what she calls me sometimes.
Thief.I don't want to. I'm not her husband. And I don't believe she does it in the same way, either. But I'm not going to be mean about this. I'll give you another chance. Trot out your curios.
Charles.How about this? Old luster set of Clara's grandmother's. I'm no judge of such things myself, but if you could use it, take it. Granddad gave it to her when they were sweethearts, didn't he, Clara?
Thief.That! Old luster? That jug won't be four years old its next birthday. Don't lay such things to your grandmother. Have some respect for the dead. If you gave more than $3.98 for it, they saw you coming.
Clara.You don't know anything about it. You're just trying to humiliate us because you know you have the upper hand.
Thief.All right. Go ahead. Take your own risks.
Clara.There's this Sheffield tray?
Thief.No.
Charles.Do you like Wedgewood?
Thief.Yes, where is it? [Looks at it.] No.
Clara.This darling hawthorne vase—
Thief.Please take it away. It isn't hawthorne.
Charles.I suppose Cloisonné—
Thief. If they were any of them what you call them. But they aren't.
Charles.Well, if you'd consider burnt wood. That's a genuine burn.
Thief.Nothing short of cremation would do it justice. Of course I've got to take one of them, if they're all you've got. But honestly, there isn't one genuine thing in this house, except Charles—and—and the ham sandwich.
Clara[takes miniature from cabinet]. I wonder if you would treasure this as I do. It's very dear to me. It's grandmother—
Thief[suspiciously]. Grandmother again?
Clara.As a little girl. Painted on ivory. See that quaint old coral necklace. And those adorable yellow curls. And the pink circle comb. Would you like it?
Thief.Trying to appeal to my sympathy. I've a good notion to take it to punish you. I wonder if it IS your grandmother. There isn't the slightest family resemblance. Look here!—it is!—it's a copy of the Selby miniature! Woman, do you know who that IS? It's Harriet Beecher Stowe at twelve. What have you done with my overcoat?
Charles.I give up. Here it is. Clara, that was too bad.
Clara.I wanted to see if he'd know.
Charles.There's no use trying to save us after this. We'll just have to bear the disgrace.
Thief.Charles, you're a trump! I'll even take that old daub for YOU. Give it to me.
Charles.Wait a minute. You won't have to. Say, Clara, where is that old picture of Cousin Paul? It's just as bad as it pretends to be, if genuineness is all you want.
Thief[suspiciously]. Who is Cousin Paul? Don't try to ring in Daniel Webster on me.
Charles.Cousin of mine. Lives on a farm near Madison, Wisconsin.
Thief.You don't claim the picture is by Sargent or Whistler?
Clara.It couldn't be—
Thief[ignoring her pointedly]. Do you, Charles?
Charles.Certainly not. It's a water color of the purest water, and almost a speaking likeness.
Thief.I'll take Cousin Paul. Probably he has human interest.
Charles.That's the last thing I should have thought of in connection with Cousin Paul.
Thief.Bring him, but wrapped, please. My courage might fail me if I saw him face to face.
Charles[leaving room for picture]. Mine always does.
Thief.While Charles is wrapping up the picture, I want to know how you got back so early. Your maid said you were going to the Garrick.
Clara.We told her so. But we went to the moving pictures.
Thief.You ought not to go to the movies. It will destroy your literary taste and weaken your minds.
Clara.I don't care for them myself, but Charles won't see anything else.
Thief.You ought to make him. Men only go to the theater anyway because their wives take them. They'd rather stay at home or play billiards. You have a chance right there. Charles will go where you take him. By and by he will begin to like it. Now to-night there was a Granville Barker show at the Garrick, and you went to the movies to see a woman whose idea of cuteness is to act as if she had a case of arrested mental development.
Charles[entering, doing up picture]. Silly old films, anyway. But Clara will go. Goes afternoons when I'm not here, and then drags me off again in the evening. Here's your picture, as soon as I get it tied up. Can't tell you how grateful we are. Shall we make it unanimous, Clara?
Clara.I haven't the vote, you know. Clumsy! give me the picture.
Thief.Don't try to thank me. If you'll give up this shamming I'll feel repaid for my time and trouble [looking at watch]. By Jove! it's far too much time. I must make tracks this minute. I'll feel repaid if you'll take my advice about the theater for one thing, and—why don't you bundle all this imitation junk together and sell it and get one genuine good thing?
[Clara leaves, apparently for more string.]
Charles.Who'd buy them?
Thief.There must be other people in the world with taste as infallibly bad as yours.
Charles.Call that honest?
Thief.Certainly. I'm not telling you to sell them as relics. You couldn't in the first place, except to a home for the aged and indigent blind. But I know a man who needs them. They'd rejoice his heart. They'd be things of beauty to him. I wish I could help you pick out something with your money. But I don't dare risk seeing you again.
Clara[reëntering, with the picture tied]. Why not? There's honor among thieves.
Thief.Thereis. If you were thieves, I'd know just how far to trust you. Now, I'd be willing to trust Charles as man to man. Gentleman's agreement. But [looking at Clara] I don't know—
Charles.Clara is just as honest as we are—with her own class. But your profession puts you outside the pale with her; you're her natural enemy. You haven't any rights. But you've been a liberal education for us both.
Thief.I've been liberal. You meet me—listen!—there are footsteps on the porch. I—I've waited too long. Here I've stood talking—
Charles.Well, stop it now, can't you? I don't see how you've ever got anywhere. Hide!
Thief.No, it can't be done. If you'll play fair, I'm safe enough here in this room, safer than anywhere else. Pretend I'm a friend of yours. You will? Gentleman's agreement? [He shakes hands with Charles.]
Charles.Gentleman's agreement. My word of honor.
Clara[offers her hand as Charles starts for the door]. Gentleman's agreement, but only in this. I haven't forgiven you for what you've said. If I ever get you in a tight place—look out.
Thief[taking her hand]. Don't tell more than one necessary lie. It's so easy to get started in that sort of thing. Stick to it that I'm a friend of the family and that I've been spending the evening. God knows I have!
Clara.I'll try to stick to that. But can't I improvise a little? It's such fun!
Thief.Not a bit. Not one little white lie.
Charles[entering with a young man behind him]. It's a man from theNews. He says he was out here on another story and he's got a big scoop. There's been some artistic burglary in the neighborhood and he's run onto it. I told him we hadn't lost anything and that we don't want to get into the papers; but he wants us to answer a few questions.
Reporter.Please do. I need some stuff about the neighborhood.
Clara.I don't know, Charles, but that it's our duty. [She smiles wickedly at the thief.] Something we say may help catch the thieves. Perhaps we owe it to law and order.
Reporter.That's right. Would you object if I used your name?
[Charles and the thief motion to Clara to keep still, but throughout the rest of the conversation she disregards their frantic signals, and sails serenely on.]
Clara.I don't know that we should mind if you mention us nicely. Will the Hempsteds be in? I shan't mind it, if they don't.
Reporter.Good for you. Now, have you—
Clara.We have missed something. We haven't had time to look thoroughly, but we do know that one of our pictures is gone.
[The men are motioning to her, but she goes on sweetly.]
Reporter.A-a-ah! Valuable picture. He hasn't taken anything that wasn't best of its class. Remarkable chap. Must be the same one that rifled the Pierpont collection of illuminated manuscripts. Culled the finest pieces without a mistake.
Thief[interested]. He made one big mistake. He—[stops short].
Reporter.Know the Pierponts?
Thief.Er—ye-es. I've been in their house. [Retires from the conversation. Clara smiles.]
Reporter.Well, believe me, if he's taken anything, your reputation as collectors is made. Picture, eh? Old master, I suppose?
Clara.A family portrait. We treasured it for that. Associations, you know.
Reporter.Must have been valuable, all right. Depend on him to know. He doesn't run away with any junk. Who was the artist?
Clara.We don't know—definitely.
Reporter.Never heard it attributed to anybody?
Clara.We don't care to make any point of such things. But there have been people who have thought—it was not—a—a Gilbert Stuart.
Charles.Clara!
Clara.I don't know much about such things myself. But our friend [nods toward the thief], Mr.—Mr. Hibbard—who has some reputation as a collector, has always said that it was—not. In spite of that fact, he had offered to take it off our hands.
Charles.Clara, you're going too far—
Reporter.She's quite right. You're wrong, Mr. Hibbard. You may be good, but this fellow KNOWS. Too bad you didn't take it while the taking was good. This fellow never sells. Of course he can't exhibit. Just loves beautiful things. No, sir, it was real.
Thief[between his teeth]. It wasn't. Of all the—
Clara[smiling]. You take your beating so ungracefully, Mr. Hibbard. The case, you see, is all against you.
Thief.Be careful. The picture may be found at any minute. Don't go too far.
Clara.I hardly think it will be found unless the thief is caught. And I have such perfect confidence in his good sense that I don't expect that.
Reporter.Lots of time for a getaway. When was he here?
Clara.He was gone when we came from the theater. But we must almost have caught him. Some of our finest things were gathered together here on the table ready for his flight. How he must have hated to leave them, all the miniatures and the cloisonné. I almost feel sorry for him.
Charles.I do.
Clara.You see, we went to the Garrick for the Granville Barker show. Mr. Hibbard took us [she smiles sweetly at him]. I'm devoted to the best in drama and I always insist that Charles and Mr. Hibbard shall take me only to the finest things. And now we come home to find our—you're sure it was a Gilbert Stuart?—gone.
Thief.I've got to be getting out of here! Can't stay a minute longer! Charles, I wish you luck in that reform we were speaking of, but I haven't much hope [looking at Clara]. There is such a thing as total depravity. Oh, here! [taking package from under his arm]. What am I thinking of? I was running away with your package [hands it to Clara].
Clara[refusing it]. Oh, but it's yours, Mr. Hibbard. I couldn't think of taking it. Really, you must keep it to remember us by. Put it among your art treasures at home, next to your lovely illuminated manuscripts, and whenever you look at it remember us and this delightful evening, from which we are all taking away so much. You must keep it—that's part of the bargain, isn't it? And now are we even?
Thief.Even? Far from it. I yield you your woman's right to the last word, and I admit it's the best [stoops and kisses her hand]. Good-night, Clara. [To the reporter.] May I give you a lift back to town?
Reporter.Thanks. As far as the Hempsteds' corner. Good-night. Thank you for this much help. [Exeunt.]
Charles.Thank goodness, they've gone. What relief! That pace is too rapid for me. You had me running round in circles. But he's got the picture, and we're safe at last. But don't you think, Clara, you took some awful risks. You goaded him pretty far.
Clara.I had to. Did you hear him call me Clara?
Charles[chuckling]. He doesn't know our name. But he wasn't a bad fellow, was he? I couldn't help liking him in spite of his impudence.
Clara.You showed it. You took sides with him against me all the time the reporter was here. But, you know, he was right about our house. It's all wrong. The Hempsteds would see it in a minute. I believe I'll clear out this cabinet and have this room done over in mahogany.
Charles.Too expensive this winter.
Clara.Birch will do just as well—nobody knows the difference. Listen! is he coming back?
Reporter[in the doorway]. Excuse me—listen. Mr. Hibbard says you've given him the wrong package. He says you need this to go with the picture of your grandmother. And he says, sir, that you need to get wise to your own family. He's waiting for me. Good-night! [Exit.]
Charles[angrily]. Get wise to my own family? He may know all about art [undoing the picture], but I guess I know my own relatives. [Holds up picture so that audience can see it, but he can't.] And if that isn't a picture of my own cousin Paul, I'll eat—[sees Clara laughing]. What the devil! [Looks at picture, which represents George Washington.] Clara! you did that! [laughs uproariously]. You little cheat!
[Curtain.]