Chapter X: Part 10

OLD MAN. Shukra. I, thy father, thy God in life, curse thee. Thou hast deprived thy mother of her child, and her death of its solace. Thou hast incurred the wrath of the Spirits of all thy departed ancestors.

SHUKRA [_cries out_]. Not thus; not thus. [_Thunder and lightning, the whole sky is swept by the clouds._]

OLD MAN. Not thus? Thus alone shall it be. Cursed be thou at night; cursed be thou by day; cursed be thou going; cursed be thou coming. Thou art cursed by the spirit of the race, by the spirit of God. [_Continued thunder and lightning._]

SHUKRA [_falling at his father's feet_]. I beseech thee, my father,--

OLD MAN [_shrinking away_]. Touch me not. [_Going left._] Cursed art thou in Life and Death forever.

SHUKRA. God!--Father, go not thus.

OLD MAN. I am not thy father. [_Deafening and blinding thunder and lightning._]

SHUKRA. Father--

OLD MAN [_going down the steps_]. Pollute not my hearing by calling me thy father. May the judgment of Indra be upon thee! [_He totters down out of sight, left, in anger and horror._]

SHUKRA. Father, hear, oh hear! [_The rain comes down in a deluge; thunder and lightning. The rain blots everything out of sight. It pours in deep, dark sheets, through which the chains and sheets of lightning burn and run. After raining awhile, the sky clears. In the pale moonlight, Shukra is seen crouching near the Sacred plant. He is wet and disheveled. He slowly rises, swaying in exhaustion. Voices are heard below._]

SHUKRA. Can it be that it is over? Has Indra judged me and found me free of error? Yea, were I in error, the lightning would have struck me. I lay there blinded by rain awaiting my death. It did not come. Yea, Indra has judged! [_Noises below; he does not hear._] O, thou shadowy world, I am free of thee at last. Free of love and loving, free of all bondage. I have no earthly ties,--I lean on God alone. At last, I am bound to no earthly being, not even--[_strange pause_]--not even,--Shanta. [_He becomes conscious of the noise of approaching footsteps and the light of the torches from below._] Who is that? [_He goes forward a few steps. Enter Kanada, torch in hand._]

KANADA. Master, Master.

SHUKRA. Kanada, thou,--[_a pause, very brief but poignant_]. Why this agitation? Shanta, where is Shanta?

KANADA. Shanta is--

SHUKRA [_seeing the other torches rising suddenly_]. Speak! Who comes hither?

KANADA. They bring a dead man.

SHUKRA. Who is he? [_As a premonition of the truth comes over him._] Where is Shanta?

KANADA [_blurts out_]. At the foot of the hill the lightning struck him.

SHUKRA [_with a terrible cry_]. Shanta,--my Shanta! [_Two men carrying torches with one hand, and dragging something white with the other, come up the steps. This vision silences Shukra. A pause follows. Another torch is seen rising behind them._]

SHUKRA [_slowly_], Shanta,--gone. [_Pause again, looking into the starry heavens._] This is the Judgment of Indra!

[_Curtain._]

THE WORKHOUSE WARD

A PLAY

BY LADY GREGORY

Copyright, 1909, by Lady Gregory.
All rights reserved.

PERSONS

MICHAEL MISKELL } [_Paupers_].
MIKE MCINERNEY }
MRS. DONOHOE [_a Countrywoman_].

Reprinted from "Seven Short Plays," by Lady Gregory, published by
G. P. Putnam's Sons, by permission of Lady Gregory and Messrs.
G. P. Putnam's Sons.

All acting rights, both professional and amateur, are reserved in
the United States, Great Britain, and all countries of the Copyright
Union, by the author. Performances forbidden and right of presentation
reserved.

Application for the right of performing this play or reading it in
public should be made to Samuel French, 28 West 38th Street, New York
City, or 26 South Hampton Street, Strand, London.

THE WORKHOUSE WARD

A PLAY BY LADY GREGORY

[SCENE: _A ward in Cloon Workhouse. The two old men in their
beds_.]

MICHAEL MISKELL. Isn't it a hard case, Mike McInerney, myself and yourself to be left here in the bed, and it the feast day of Saint Colman, and the rest of the ward attending on the Mass.

MIKE MCINERNEY. Is it sitting up by the hearth you are wishful to be, Michael Miskell, with cold in the shoulders and with speckled shins? Let you rise up so, and you well able to do it, not like myself that has pains the same as tin-tacks within in my inside.

MICHAEL MISKELL. If you have pains within in your inside there is no one can see it or know of it the way they can see my own knees that are swelled up with the rheumatism, and my hands that are twisted in ridges the same as an old cabbage stalk. It is easy to be talking about soreness and about pains, and they maybe not to be in it at all.

MIKE MCINERNEY. To open me and to analyze me you would know what sort of a pain and a soreness I have in my heart and in my chest. But I'm not one like yourself to be cursing and praying and tormenting the time the nuns are at hand, thinking to get a bigger share than myself of the nourishment and of the milk.

MICHAEL MISKELL. That's the way you do be picking at me and faulting me. I had a share and a good share in my early time, and it's well you know that, and the both of us reared in Skehanagh.

MIKE MCINERNEY. You may say that, indeed, we are both of us reared in Skehanagh. Little wonder you to have good nourishment the time we were both rising, and you bringing away my rabbits out of the snare.

MICHAEL MISKELL. And you didn't bring away my own eels, I suppose, I was after spearing in the Turlough? Selling them to the nuns in the convent you did, and letting on they to be your own. For you were always a cheater and a schemer, grabbing every earthly thing for your own profit.

MIKE MCINERNEY. And you were no grabber yourself, I suppose, till your land and all you had grabbed wore away from you!

MICHAEL MISKELL. If I lost it itself, it was through the crosses I met with and I going through the world. I never was a rambler and a card-player like yourself, Mike McInerney, that ran through all and lavished it unknown to your mother!

MIKE MCINERNEY. Lavished it, is it? And if I did was it you yourself led me to lavish it or some other one? It is on my own floor I would be to-day and in the face of my family, but for the misfortune I had to be put with a bad next door neighbor that was yourself. What way did my means go from me is it? Spending on fencing, spending on walls, making up gates, putting up doors, that would keep your hens and your ducks from coming in through starvation on my floor, and every four footed beast you had from preying and trespassing on my oats and my mangolds and my little lock of hay!

MICHAEL MISKELL. O to listen to you! And I striving to please you and to be kind to you and to close my ears to the abuse you would be calling and letting out of your mouth. To trespass on your crops is it? It's little temptation there was for my poor beasts to ask to cross the mering. My God Almighty! What had you but a little corner of a field!

MIKE MCINERNEY. And what do you say to my garden that your two pigs had destroyed on me the year of the big tree being knocked, and they making gaps in the wall.

MICHAEL MISKELL. Ah, there does be a great deal of gaps knocked in a twelve-month. Why wouldn't they be knocked by the thunder, the same as the tree, or some storm that came up from the west?

MIKE MCINERNEY. It was the west wind, I suppose, that devoured my green cabbage? And that rooted up my Champion potatoes? And that ate the gooseberries themselves from off the bush?

MICHAEL MISKELL. What are you saying? The two quietest pigs ever I had, no way wicked and well ringed. They were not ten minutes in it. It would be hard for them to eat strawberries in that time, let alone gooseberries that's full of thorns.

MIKE MCINERNEY. They were not quiet, but very ravenous pigs you had that time, as active as a fox they were, killing my young ducks. Once they had blood tasted you couldn't stop them.

MICHAEL MISKELL. And what happened myself the fair day of Esserkelly, the time I was passing your door? Two brazened dogs that rushed out and took a piece of me. I never was the better of it or of the start I got, but wasting from then till now!

MIKE MCINERNEY. Thinking you were a wild beast they did, that had made his escape out of the traveling show, with the red eyes of you and the ugly face of you, and the two crooked legs of you that wouldn't hardly stop a pig in a gap. Sure any dog that had any life in it at all would be roused and stirred seeing the like of you going the road!

MICHAEL MISKELL. I did well taking out a summons against you that time. It is a great wonder you not to have been bound over through your lifetime, but the laws of England is queer.

MIKE MCINERNEY. What ailed me that I did not summons yourself after you stealing away the clutch of eggs I had in the barrel, and I away in Ardrahan searching out a clocking hen.

MICHAEL MISKELL. To steal your eggs is it? Is that what you are saying now? [_Holds up his hands._] The Lord is in heaven, and Peter and the saints, and yourself that was in Ardrahan that day put a hand on them as soon as myself! Isn't it a bad story for me to be wearing out my days beside you the same as a spancelled goat. Chained I am and tethered I am to a man that is ram-shacking his mind for lies!

MIKE MCINERNEY. If it is a bad story for you, Michael Miskell, it is a worse story again for myself. A Miskell to be next and near me through the whole of the four quarters of the year. I never heard there to be any great name on the Miskells as there was on my own race and name.

MICHAEL MISKELL. You didn't, is it? Well, you could hear it if you had but ears to hear it. Go across to Lisheen Crannagh and down to the sea and to Newtown Lynch and the mills of Duras and you'll find a Miskell, and as far as Dublin!

MIKE MCINERNEY. What signifies Crannagh and the mills of Duras? Look at all my own generations that are buried at the Seven Churches. And how many generations of the Miskells are buried in it? Answer me that!

MICHAEL MISKELL. I tell you but for the wheat that was to be sowed there would be more side cars and more common cars at my father's funeral (God rest his soul!) than at any funeral ever left your own door. And as to my mother, she was a Cuffe from Claregalway, and it's she had the purer blood!

MIKE MCINERNEY. And what do you say to the banshee? Isn't she apt to have knowledge of the ancient race? Was ever she heard to screech or to cry for the Miskells? Or for the Cuffes from Claregalway? She was not, but for the six families, the Hyneses, the Foxes, the Faheys, the Dooleys, the McInerneys. It is of the nature of the McInerneys she is I am thinking, crying them the same as a king's children.

MICHAEL MISKELL. It is a pity the banshee not to be crying for yourself at this minute, and giving you a warning to quit your lies and your chat and your arguing and your contrary ways; for there is no one under the rising sun could stand you. I tell you you are not behaving as in the presence of the Lord.

MIKE MCINERNEY. Is it wishful for my death you are? Let it come and meet me now and welcome so long as it will part me from yourself! And I say, and I would kiss the book on it, I to have one request only to be granted, and I leaving it in my will, it is what I would request, nine furrows of the field, nine ridges of the hills, nine waves of the ocean to be put between your grave and my own grave the time we will be laid in the ground!

MICHAEL MISKELL. Amen to that! Nine ridges, is it? No, but let the whole ridge of the world separate us till the Day of Judgment! I would not be laid anear you at the Seven Churches, I to get Ireland without a divide!

MIKE MCINERNEY. And after that again! I'd sooner than ten pound in my hand, I to know that my shadow and my ghost will not be knocking about with your shadow and your ghost, and the both of us waiting our time. I'd sooner be delayed in Purgatory! Now, have you anything to say?

MICHAEL MISKELL. I have everything to say, if I had but the time to say it!

MIKE MCINERNEY. [_Sitting up._] Let me up out of this till I'll choke you!

MICHAEL MISKELL. You scolding pauper you!

MIKE MCINERNEY. [_Shaking his fist at him._] Wait a while!

MICHAEL MISKELL. [_Shaking his fist._] Wait a while yourself!

[_Mrs. Donohoe comes in with a parcel. She is a countrywoman with
a frilled cap and a shawl. She stands still a minute. The two old
men lie down and compose themselves._]

MRS. DONOHOE. They bade me come up here by the stair. I never was in this place at all. I don't know am I right. Which now of the two of ye is Mike McInerney?

MIKE MCINERNEY. Who is it is calling me by my name?

MRS. DONOHOE. Sure amn't I your sister, Honor McInerney that was, that is now Honor Donohoe.

MIKE MCINERNEY. So you are, I believe. I didn't know you till you pushed anear me. It is time indeed for you to come see me, and I in this place five year or more. Thinking me to be no credit to you, I suppose, among that tribe of the Donohoes. I wonder they to give you leave to come ask am I living yet or dead?

MRS. DONOHOE. Ah, sure, I buried the whole string of them. Himself was the last to go. [_Wipes her eyes._] The Lord be praised he got a fine natural death. Sure we must go through our crosses. And he got a lovely funeral; it would delight you to hear the priest reading the Mass. My poor John Donohoe! A nice clean man, you couldn't but be fond of him. Very severe on the tobacco he was, but he wouldn't touch the drink.

MIKE MCINERNEY. And is it in Curranroe you are living yet?

MRS. DONOHOE. It is so. He left all to myself. But it is a lonesome thing the head of a house to have died!

MIKE MCINERNEY. I hope that he has left you a nice way of living?

MRS. DONOHOE. Fair enough, fair enough. A wide lovely house I have; a few acres of grass land ... the grass does be very sweet that grows among the stones. And as to the sea, there is something from it every day of the year, a handful of periwinkles to make kitchen, or cockles maybe. There is many a thing in the sea is not decent, but cockles is fit to put before the Lord!

MIKE MCINERNEY. You have all that! And you without e'er a man in the house?

MRS. DONOHOE. It is what I am thinking, yourself might come and keep me company. It is no credit to me a brother of my own to be in this place at all.

MIKE MCINERNEY. I'll go with you! Let me out of this! It is the name of the McInerneys will be rising on every side!

MRS. DONOHOE. I don't know. I was ignorant of you being kept to the bed.

MIKE MCINERNEY. I am not kept to it, but maybe an odd time when there is a colic rises up within me. My stomach always gets better the time there is a change in the moon. I'd like well to draw anear you. My heavy blessing on you, Honor Donohoe, for the hand you have held out to me this day.

MRS. DONOHOE. Sure you could be keeping the fire in, and stirring the pot with the bit of Indian meal for the hens, and milking the goat and taking the tacklings off the donkey at the door; and maybe putting out the cabbage plants in their time. For when the old man died the garden died.

MIKE MCINERNEY. I could to be sure, and be cutting the potatoes for seed. What luck could there be in a place and a man not to be in it? Is that now a suit of clothes you have brought with you?

MRS. DONOHOE. It is so, the way you will be tasty coming in among the neighbors at Curranroe.

MIKE MCINERNEY. My joy you are! It is well you earned me! Let me up out of this! [_He sits up and spreads out the clothes and tries on coat._] That now is a good frieze coat ... and a hat in the fashion.... [_He puts on hat._]

MICHAEL MISKELL [_alarmed_]. And is it going out of this you are, Mike McInerney?

MIKE MCINERNEY. Don't you hear I am going? To Curranroe I am going. Going I am to a place where I will get every good thing!

MICHAEL MISKELL. And is it to leave me here after you you will?

MIKE MCINERNEY [_in a rising chant_]. Every good thing! The goat and the kid are there, the sheep and the lamb are there, the cow does be running and she coming to be milked! Plowing and seed sowing, blossom at Christmas time, the cuckoo speaking through the dark days of the year! Ah, what are you talking about? Wheat high in hedges, no talk about the rent! Salmon in the rivers as plenty as hurf! Spending and getting and nothing scarce! Sport and pleasure, and music on the strings! Age will go from me and I will be young again. Geese and turkeys for the hundreds and drink for the whole world!

MICHAEL MISKELL. Ah, Mike, is it truth you are saying, you to go from me and to leave me with rude people and with townspeople, and with people of every parish in the union, and they having no respect for me or no wish for me at all!

MIKE MCINERNEY. Whist now and I'll leave you ... my pipe [_hands it over_]; and I'll engage it is Honor Donohoe won't refuse to be sending you a few ounces of tobacco an odd time, and neighbors coming to the fair in November or in the month of May.

MICHAEL MISKELL. Ah, what signifies tobacco? All that I am craving is the talk. There to be no one at all to say out to whatever thought might be rising in my innate mind! To be lying here and no conversible person in it would be the abomination of misery!

MIKE MCINERNEY. Look now, Honor.... It is what I often heard said, two to be better than one.... Sure if you had an old trouser was full of holes ... or a skirt ... wouldn't you put another in under it that might be as tattered as itself, and the two of them together would make some sort of a decent show?

MRS. DONOHOE. Ah, what are you saying? There is no holes in that suit I brought you now, but as sound it is as the day I spun it for himself.

MIKE MCINERNEY. It is what I am thinking, Honor.... I do be weak an odd time.... Any load I would carry, it preys upon my side ... and this man does be weak an odd time with the swelling in his knees ... but the two of us together it's not likely it is at the one time we would fail. Bring the both of us with you, Honor, and the height of the castle of luck on you, and the both of us together will make one good hardy man!

MRS. DONOHOE. I'd like my job! Is it queer in the head you are grown asking me to bring in a stranger off the road?

MICHAEL MISKELL. I am not, ma'am, but an old neighbor I am. If I had forecasted this asking I would have asked it myself. Michael Miskell I am, that was in the next house to you in Skehanagh!

MRS. DONOHOE. For pity's sake! Michael Miskell is it? That's worse again. Yourself and Mike that never left fighting and scolding and attacking one another! Sparring at one another like two young pups you were, and threatening one another after like two grown dogs!

MIKE MCINERNEY. All the quarreling was ever in the place it was myself did it. Sure his anger rises fast and goes away like the wind. Bring him out with myself now, Honor Donohoe, and God bless you.

MRS. DONOHOE. Well, then, I will not bring him out, and I will not bring yourself out, and you not to learn better sense. Are you making yourself ready to come?

MIKE MCINERNEY. I am thinking, maybe ... it is a mean thing for a man that is shivering into seventy years to go changing from place to place.

MRS. DONOHOE. Well, take your luck or leave it. All I asked was to save you from the hurt and the harm of the year.

MIKE MCINERNEY. Bring the both of us with you or I will not stir out of this.

MRS. DONOHOE. Give me back my fine suit so [_begins gathering up the clothes_], till I go look for a man of my own!

MIKE MCINERNEY. Let you go so, as you are so unnatural and so disobliging, and look for some man of your own, God help him! For I will not go with you at all!

MRS. DONOHOE. It is too much time I lost with you, and dark night waiting to overtake me on the road. Let the two of you stop together, and the back of my hand to you. It is I will leave you there the same as God left the Jews!

[_She goes out. The old men lie down and are silent for a moment._]

MICHAEL MISKELL. Maybe the house is not so wide as what she says.

MIKE MCINERNEY. Why wouldn't it be wide?

MICHAEL MISKELL. Ah, there does be a good deal of middling poor houses down by the sea.

MIKE MCINERNEY. What would you know about wide houses? Whatever sort of a house you had yourself it was too wide for the provision you had into it.

MICHAEL MISKELL. Whatever provision I had in my house it was wholesome provision and natural provision. Herself and her periwinkles! Periwinkles is a hungry sort of food.

MIKE MCINERNEY. Stop your impudence and your chat or it will be the worse for you. I'd bear with my own father and mother as long as any man would, but if they'd vex me I would give them the length of a rope as soon as another!

MICHAEL MISKELL. I would never ask at all to go eating periwinkles.

MIKE MCINERNEY [_sitting up_]. Have you any one to fight me?

MICHAEL MISKELL [_whimpering_]. I have not, only the Lord!

MIKE MCINERNEY. Let you leave putting insults on me so, and death picking at you!

MICHAEL MISKELL. Sure I am saying nothing at all to displease you. It is why I wouldn't go eating periwinkles, I'm in dread I might swallow the pin.

MIKE MCINERNEY. Who in the world wide is asking you to eat them? You're as tricky as a fish in the full tide!

MICHAEL MISKELL. Tricky is it! Oh, my curse and the curse of the four and twenty men upon you!

MIKE MCINERNEY. That the worm may chew you from skin to marrow bone! [_Seizes his pillow._]

MICHAEL MISKELL [_seizing his own pillow_]. I'll leave my death on you, you scheming vagabone!

MIKE MCINERNEY. By cripes! I'll pull out your pin feathers! [_throwing pillow_].

MICHAEL MISKELL [_throwing pillow_]. You tyrant! You big bully you!

MIKE MCINERNEY [_throwing pillow and seizing mug_]. Take this so, you stabbing ruffian you!

[_They throw all within their reach at one another, mugs, prayer
books, pipes, etc._]

[_Curtain._]

LOUISE

A PLAY

BY J. H. SPEENHOFF
TRANSLATED FROM THE DUTCH BY A. V. C. P. HUIZINGA AND PIERRE LOVING.

Acting rights reserved by Pierre Loving.
All rights reserved.

PERSONS

LOUISE.
VAN DER ELST [_Notary_].
VENNEMA [_Louise's Father_].
SOPHIE [_Serving Maid_].

Applications for permissions to produce LOUISE must be addressed to
Pierre Loving, 240 W. 4.

LOUISE

A PLAY BY J. H. SPEENHOFF

[SCENE: _A large fashionably appointed room with few decorations
on the walls. The latter are papered in yellow with large black
lilies. To the right, a tall broad window with heavy brown
curtains. To the left, an old gold harp with a little footstool.
Behind, to the right, a door with brown portieres, affording a
view of a vestibule and banister. To the left, down front, a broad
couch with black head cushions. Next to it the end of a heavy
broad oaken table, with the side turned toward the couch. Behind,
the back wall has an open chimney with carved wood and ornaments
on it. Beside the chimney, on both sides, are two large
comfortable chairs and two others by the table and window
respectively. On the table are the remains of breakfast: fruit
glasses and two empty champagne bottles_.

_As the curtain rises Louise is discovered lying on the couch with
her feet extended toward the audience. She lies quietly and gazes
blankly in the distance. Closer scrutiny reveals that she is in
the last stage of intoxication. On the whole, it is rather a
lady-like inebriety and expresses itself now and again by way of a
heavy sigh, looseness of limb, a languid flutter of the eyelids
and a disposition to be humorous. It is about three in the
afternoon. As for the tone of the room, there are a lot of
yellows, blacks and browns; the light is quite subdued. Soon after
the rise of the curtain, Louise begins slowly and dreamily to hum
a melody. She stops for a while, gazes blankly around and starts
humming again. Then she raises herself, crosses her arms on the
tables and rests her head on them. Her hair is loosely
arranged--or disarranged. Her dressing gown is black and white._

_A bell is rung downstairs. Louise does not seem to hear it.
Another ting-a-ling. You can hear the maid going downstairs. The
door opens and shuts. Two pairs of feet are heard climbing the
stairs. The maid parts the portieres, shows Van der Elst in and
points Louise out to him, meanwhile remaining discreetly behind
the portieres._

_The truth is that Sophie is very much embarrassed. She looks as
if she has been called away from her proper duties. She is a
healthy maid, with tousled blond hair, cotton dress, blue apron,
maid's cap and is in her stocking feet. She goes toward Louise,
then stops confusedly at a little distance from her. She moves a
chair needlessly, in timid embarrassment, and wipes her lips with
her apron._]

SOPHIE. Here's a gentleman to see you--to see--you, madam.

[_Louise doesn't hear._]

SOPHIE [_approaches the end of table_]. A gentleman has come--come to see--you.

LOUISE [_raising herself on her elbows; with her head on her hands_]. What are you doing?

SOPHIE [_confusedly_]. I--madam? Why, nothing. But there's a gentleman ... you see....

LOUISE. A gentleman? Very well, you may go. [_She closes her eyes._]

SOPHIE. But ... but ... he wishes to speak to you. A gray-haired gentleman. He is standing by the portieres ... over there. [_Indicates Van Elst._]

[_Louise does not pay any attention to Sophie or Van Elst, but
composes herself for another nap on the couch._]

SOPHIE. May he come in? [_A long pause._] May he...? [_Louise does not answer. Sophie waits a bit, then she beckons Van Elst into the room._] She won't answer, sir. Maybe you'd better come back in an hour or so....

VAN ELST. Hm! No. That's impossible. [_Looks at Louise._] What's the matter with madam? Is she asleep?

SOPHIE. No ... you see ... she is, you know....

VAN ELST [_approaching_]. What?

SOPHIE. She isn't well....

VAN ELST. Ah, not well?

SOPHIE. Yes, from.... [_Hesitates._]

VAN ELST [_spying the bottles on the table_]. Has madam consumed those?

SOPHIE. Yes, yes. It's awful. [_Pause._]

VAN ELST. Does this happen very often?

SOPHIE. Yes. Oh, yes, quite often.

VAN ELST. Indeed!

SOPHIE. Hadn't you better go until ... for a while?

VAN ELST. No, no. I shall....

SOPHIE. Very well, sir, you know best. [_Sophie goes out of the room on tiptoe._]

[_Now that Sophie is out of the room, one has an opportunity to
scrutinize Van Elst more closely. He is a prosperous-looking
country gentleman about fifty years old. He wears a shining
tophat, white vest with a gold chain across his stomach,
tight-fitting blue trousers, low shoes, white socks and a short
blue coat. He is clean-shaven and when he removes his hat, one
observes that his hair is close-cropped. His walking-stick,
contrary to expectations, is light and slim. He takes a chair near
the window, directly behind the harp, puts his hat, cane and
gloves beside him on the floor and looks around. He glances at
Louise, shakes his head solemnly, coughs, wipes his forehead, puts
his handkerchief carefully away, coughs again, moves his chair and
after some signs of nervousness, says_]:

VAN ELST. Miss ... may I have a word with you? [_Louise doesn't hear._]

VAN ELST [_with growing embarrassment_]. I ... I should like to speak to you.

LOUISE [_a little wildly_]. Are you there?

VAN ELST [_taken aback_]. Yes ... no ... yes.... I.... Whom do you mean?

LOUISE. Come here beside me.

VAN ELST [_astonished_]. Certainly, but....

LOUISE [_sighing_]. Come ... come.

VAN ELST. Aren't you making a mistake? I'm not....

LOUISE [_raising herself halfway, left elbow on table, head on hand, the other arm outstretched on the table. She looks unseeingly at him_]. Don't you want to?

VAN ELST. But I'm not ... how shall I put it? I've come to speak with you very seriously.

LOUISE [_has seated herself in the middle of the couch. She extends her arms with a smiling invitation_]. Don't you dare?

VAN ELST [_very considerably embarrassed by this time. He coughs and mops his face_]. It isn't quite necessary. We can talk this way.

LOUISE [_smiling_]. I will come to you, you know. Ah, you don't realize....

VAN ELST [_rising, disturbed_]. No. Please stay where you are. Don't trouble yourself. I can hear you from where you are, and you can hear me.

LOUISE [_ignores his words completely, gets up dizzily and gropes with the aid of the table toward the chair. She leans on the arm of the chair and looks at Van Elst. She points out the small chair_]. Come here.

VAN ELST [_after some deliberation, sits at her side_]. We had better.... [_His voice dies in a mutter._]

LOUISE [_insistent_]. No. Here at my side. Sit close to me, then I'll be able to hear you better.

VAN ELST [_pulling his chair closer_]. I don't see why....

LOUISE. Don't you think I'm very beautiful and wise?

VAN ELST. I have very serious things to discuss with you. Will you listen to me? [_He assumes an important pose._]

LOUISE. Why do you take on such a severe tone? You must be more gentle--very gentle.

VAN ELST. Hm! Very well. First let me tell you who I am. My name is Van der Elst. I'm the new attorney back home, and I am a friend of your father's.

LOUISE. Well?

VAN ELST. I think a lot of your father. As you know, Mr. Degudo was your father's lawyer; but he's gone away and I've taken his place.

LOUISE. Why am I honored with these confidences?

VAN ELST. You ought to know who I am.

LOUISE. Well, what's your name?

VAN ELST [_angrily_]. I told you that my name is Van der Elst, attorney-at-law.

LOUISE [_smiling vapidly_]. Have you any bonbons with you?

VAN ELST. What sort of a question is that, madam? You're not listening to me. [_He gets up angrily, about to collect his effects prior to leaving._]

LOUISE. Are you leaving me so soon? If I were you, I wouldn't leave.

[_Van Elst walks back and forth in annoyance, muttering all the
while._]

LOUISE. What are you muttering about? Come here and sit by my side. Last week I received flowers from an old gentleman, an old gentleman. At least that is what the girl said. He sent them for my shoulders, mind you. You see, he had seen my shoulders. Please sit down. That's why he sent me flowers--[_extending her hand_] and this ring came with them. Look! [_Van der Elst has taken a seat. She thrusts her hand before his face._] It's the thin one.

VAN ELST. Madam, I didn't come for this frivolity.

LOUISE. What would you give if you could kiss me?

[_Van Elst coughs and fumbles with his handkerchief._]

LOUISE. Do you know what I suspect? I suspect that you are the old gentleman in question.

VAN ELST [_getting up in high dudgeon_]. Madam, I consider that accusation entirely improper, in view of the fact that I am a respectable married man. I want you to know that I keep out of these things. My reputation is above reproach. Do you intend to listen to me or not?

LOUISE. Don't shout so.

VAN ELST. Do you talk this way always? You amaze me.

LOUISE [_smiling_]. I suspect you are the gentleman with the pretty touch about my shoulders. Well, sit down. Is he gone? Are you gone?

VAN ELST [_stepping forwardly boldly_]. I am still here. This is positively the last time I'll ask you to listen to me. I assure you, my patience is nearly exhausted. Your father and mother, your family have asked me to bring the following to your notice. Your present conduct has caused a great scandal. You've left your family for a man who is too far above you socially ever to make you his wife. Consequently, you have become his mistress.

LOUISE. Eh?

VAN ELST. I'm not through yet. Your father and mother have requested me to ask you to come back home. They await you with open arms.

LOUISE. Don't be silly. Sit down.

VAN ELST. Oh, it's useless.

LOUISE [_incoherently_]. Will you promise to tell me?

VAN ELST. I suppose I'll have to wait. [_He sits down in utter despair._]

LOUISE [_goes up to him unsteadily, groping for the arm of the chair. With a laugh_]. Tell me, which one was it. This shoulder or this one? Ah, aren't you clever! You're the old gentleman, aren't you, you old duck?

VAN ELST. A useless commission. Poor parents!

LOUISE. What's that? The joke's on me.

VAN ELST. Next she'll ask me to dance with her, I suppose.

LOUISE. Dance? No dancing. Don't get up. You needn't get up. I don't mean it ... really, I don't.

[_Louise sits in front of the harp and runs her fingers idly over
the strings. Then slowly, she plays the same melody she hummed
previously. She hums it again dreamily. The music grows softer and
softer. She sighs, stops playing, her head drops to her hands and
she falls limply to the floor._]

VAN ELST. Good God, what's this? It wasn't my fault. I suppose I was cruel to her. [_Walks excitedly back and forth. Sophie enters._]

SOPHIE. What's the matter?

VAN ELST. Look at your mistress. I can't make out what's wrong with her.

SOPHIE. Oh, that's nothing. It happens every day. Just a fainting fit.

VAN ELST. What a life! What a life! Why don't you do something? She can't be allowed to lie there that way.

SOPHIE. Just a minute. [_She seizes Louise by the waist and lifts her from the floor. Van Elst assists her._]

SOPHIE. Nothing to worry about [_arranging Louise's clothes_]. Now you lie here and you'll be quite all right in a very short while. She gets that way quite frequently.

VAN ELST [_sinks into a chair_]. This is frightful.

SOPHIE [_confidentially_]. Madam drinks heavily in the afternoons and in the evening, too, when the master is here. Yes, and then they sing together and madam plays on that thing there. [_Points to the harp._] It's very nice sometimes.

VAN ELST. Who is the master?

SOPHIE. I don't know, sir. But that's what I've been told to call him.

VAN ELST. Are they happy together? Or do they sometimes quarrel?

SOPHIE. I don't know. I don't think so, for he's very good and likes her very much.

VAN ELST. Madam never weeps or is sad? I ask these questions for madam's sake.

SOPHIE. Oh, yes, she weeps sometimes. But it's mostly when she hasn't had a drink and feels out of sorts. But it's soon cured when I fetch the wine.

VAN ELST. Then she occasionally thinks of her home. That may help us.

SOPHIE. May I suggest something, sir? [_She busies herself clearing off the table._] If I were you, I should go away quietly.

VAN ELST. Go away?

SOPHIE. For madam can't bear men folks around her when she sobers up. If I were you, I'd go away.

VAN ELST. No, I'll stay. If she's sober after a while, perhaps she'll be able to talk to me coherently.

SOPHIE. You must know best. But I warn you, madam can't bear to have anybody else with her.

VAN ELST. What! Do you think I came for that purpose?

SOPHIE. Of course. You're not trying to tell me that you came to read the newspaper with her.

VAN ELST. You keep your mouth shut. I've come to ask madam to return to her parents.

SOPHIE. Oh, that's it, is it? You're from the family. I see. Of course ... but she won't go with you.

LOUISE [_dreaming aloud_]. William, William! He's bolting. Help! Help! Oh, the brown mare! Look! [_Sighs._]

SOPHIE. She's delirious again. She goes on like that a lot. She was in a carriage with the master the other day, when the horse bolted. That's what she always dreams about these days.

LOUISE. Ah, wait. I left my earrings at the doctor's. Mother, mother, I love you so. [_She sighs heavily. A ring is heard below._]

VAN ELST. Ah, that's Mr. Vennema. Open the door for him. It's her father.

SOPHIE. Ought I let him in? He mustn't see her in that condition.

VAN ELST. Please open the door.

SOPHIE. Oh, all right. [_She goes out._]

[_Van der Elst listens._]

LOUISE. Hopla, hopla, hopla....

[_Vennema and Sophie mount the stairs._]

SOPHIE [_to Vennema behind the portieres_]. Come this way, sir. You may come in.

[_Vennema comes in hesitating and stops at the door. He is a
kindly country parson type, wholly gray, with a gray beard and
mustache. He is wearing an ecclesiastical hat, a black coat and
black trousers. He gazes about anxiously and finally his eyes
light on Van der Elst. Van der Elst beckons to Vennema and
indicates Louise on the couch. Sophie goes out._]

VAN ELST. There she is.

VENNEMA. Is she ill?

VAN ELST. No, that isn't it. She's dreaming. She's very nervous. She was quite agitated a moment ago.

VENNEMA. What did she say?

VAN ELST. She wouldn't listen to me. She insisted on speaking of other things. As a matter of fact; she acted very queerly.

LOUISE. First prize ... splendid.

VENNEMA. What's the matter with her?

VAN ELST. I don't know. Nerves perhaps.

VENNEMA. Has she had a fainting spell?

VAN ELST. Don't worry about it. She'll be better in a little while.

VENNEMA [_noticing the bottles_]. Is she...?

VAN ELST. I don't know.

VENNEMA. Couldn't you tell? You may tell me.

VAN ELST. Yes; I think a little.

VENNEMA. That hurts. I never thought she would allow herself to get into such a state. Has she been this way for a long time?

VAN ELST. About ten minutes, I should say. But she'll be quite all right in a little while.

VENNEMA. I can't help being distressed over it. That she should have descended to this!

VAN ELST. Do you know what the maid told me? She said that they are happy together, and that he is truly in love with her.

VENNEMA. Yes. But why did he allow her to go this far?

VAN ELST. She won't see anybody.

VENNEMA. Not even me? Her father?

VAN ELST. Perhaps you.

VENNEMA. What do you think? Will she come home with us? Have you found out?

VAN ELST. She didn't pay any attention to me. She didn't quite understand my mission. I don't know. Perhaps you had better speak to her.

LOUISE [_calling_]. I.... Oh.... Help! [_She sits up in the middle of the couch, with her hands to her face. She droops and seems to fall asleep in a sitting posture._]

VENNEMA. Is she...?

VAN ELST. Yes, she's coming to.

LOUISE [_wakes with a start_]. Bah! [_She looks around, does not recognize Van der Elst and Vennema. Then, peering closer, she registers surprise, sudden fright and finally anger. Van der Elst is about to speak, but she interrupts him._]

LOUISE. Who are you? [_Coughs._] Who are you and what is your business here? Go away.... Go away.

VAN ELST. Madam.... I....

VENNEMA. Let me speak. [_He goes toward Louise._] Louise ... it is I. Don't you recognize me? [_After a pause._] Louise!

LOUISE [_after a pause_]. Father!

VENNEMA. Aren't you glad to see your father?

LOUISE [_in a low tone of voice_]. Oh, father.

VENNEMA. You are not ill, my child?

LOUISE. No. Why have you come?

VENNEMA. I wanted to speak to you.

LOUISE. Why did you come? Why?

VENNEMA [_seating himself beside Louise on the couch_]. Listen to me, my dear.

LOUISE. Yes.

VENNEMA. I came to find out whether you are happy or not.

LOUISE. I don't know. Happy ... that's a strange word.

VENNEMA. Why strange? Are you happier here than--with us.

LOUISE [_leaning forward on her hands_]. Than with you? [_Looking up._] I prefer to be here.

VENNEMA. Don't you miss us all, just the least little bit?

LOUISE. Sometimes, when I'm alone. All the same, I'd rather be here.

VENNEMA. Aren't you deluding yourself? Wasn't your life with us at home better?

LOUISE. Better? What do you mean, better?

VENNEMA. You know what I mean. Don't you regret running off with ... him ... and spreading sorrow in our hearts?

LOUISE. I loved him. And then I yearned for freedom, for the pleasures of life and travel. At home everything was so dull and monotonous. I couldn't stand the smug people at home. Their life is one round of lying and gossiping, of scolding and backbiting.

VENNEMA. But what of this sort of existence? You don't quite appreciate the damage you have done. How you have stained the fair reputation of your parents. I wonder whether that has ever occurred to you? You say that you do not like the people who are our neighbors back home, but it is these very people who make and unmake reputations. We must live with them. Can't you realize that?

LOUISE. Father, I'm sorry, but I couldn't go back to them. The commonplace tattlers with their humdrum, uneventful lives scarcely exist for me.

VENNEMA. They don't exist for you, you say. But, remember, that they despise you. They and their contempt do not reach you, but they reach us.

LOUISE [_almost inaudibly_]. Yes.

VENNEMA. But your future? Have you thought of that? What will it be? Wretchedness and contempt. When I came in and saw you stretched out in that condition, I....

LOUISE. Father, I want to forget. I don't want to think of the past.

VENNEMA. In order not to think of the past, you resort to drink?

LOUISE. Sometimes it is hard to forget.

VENNEMA. Tell me, Louise: does he love you, and do you love him? And even if this be true, will he continue to love you always? Won't the time come when he will grow indifferent to you?

LOUISE [_getting up_]. Never ... never. Not he. You don't believe that such a thing is impossible? He cannot forget me. I have given him everything ... my love, myself ... all that is truly myself.

VENNEMA. Aren't you a little too optimistic?

LOUISE. Not when it concerns him. He knows what I have sacrificed. He knows what I have given him. There is no room for doubt, father.

VENNEMA. Very well, we will not speak of it again. But how about us, Louise? Don't you ever think of us? Don't you ever long to come back to us, to the old home where you were born? Wouldn't you like to see it again?

LOUISE [_sadly_]. Yes.

VENNEMA [_anxious and excited_]. Then come back with me. Come back to us. You know my motive for coming. Won't you come back home with me? Everything is in perfect readiness for you: your little room, the flowers, the trees ... everything. Louise....

LOUISE. Father, that can never be. Never.

VENNEMA. Why not? We have arranged everything. Nothing will be lacking for your welcome, your comfort.

LOUISE. Why should I bring misfortune to you? It would simply add to your unhappiness. Isn't it better now that I am away from home? Later on, perhaps.

VENNEMA. Later on? Did it ever occur to you that there may be no later on? You may not find us then. We are getting old, your mother and I.

LOUISE. Don't, please!

VENNEMA. Come, Louise. Come. Think of the happiness.

LOUISE. How about the townfolks? Would they accept me again, do you think?

VENNEMA. Don't think of them. Those who are sincerely friendly to us, will continue to be so. The rest don't count. Ah, if we only could have you back, my child!

LOUISE [_after a pause_]. Father, I cannot go back. Don't you see that it is utterly impossible? I am changed now. And then I am not strong enough. Life is so long and I cannot bear to face it alone.

VENNEMA. But you will have us. You belong to us, and your place, if you have a place in the world, is with your mother and father. Your old home is waiting for you with welcoming arms. Summer is coming and you know how splendid the garden and the orchard are when the lilac trees are in bloom. Do you remember the little tree you planted once? Doesn't your heart yearn to see the little flowers that have sprouted on its branches? Everything is just waiting for you to come home.

LOUISE [_dreamily_]. Everything....

VENNEMA. You will come, won't you?

LOUISE. I cannot. I simply cannot. It is your happiness that I am thinking of. The intrusion of my life would spoil everything. Everybody will blame you.

VENNEMA. My child, I have long ago put behind me what the world says.

LOUISE [_suddenly_]. And William? What about William? What about him when I go back? No, I can't do it. I cannot leave him.

VENNEMA. What about your mother, Louise? She is waiting for you. She will be at the window to-night, waiting and peering out. Your chair is ready for you and she herself will open the door to greet you, to take you to her heart again. Do you know, Louise, she has been getting very gray of late. Come.

LOUISE. Mother isn't ill?

VENNEMA. Your mother wants to see you before she....

LOUISE [_rising to her feet_]. I ... I will do it.

VENNEMA. Thank you, my child. [_He embraces her_]. We shall go at once.

LOUISE. Ring for Sophie, please. Yes, we will go at once. [_Close to him._] Mother is not seriously ill?

VENNEMA. I am sure, your return will be her cure.

VAN ELST [_who has listened attentively throughout the whole conversation_]. Madam, permit me also to thank you for this resolve to return home. You are going to make many hearts joyful because of your decision.

LOUISE. I hope so.

SOPHIE [_enters_]. Is there anything you wish, madam?

LOUISE. Pack my traveling bag. Get my black hat and gray coat. I am leaving at once.

SOPHIE. Very well, madam, but....

LOUISE. Lose no time about it. I'm in a hurry.

SOPHIE. A lady called to see, madam, and I told her you were engaged.

LOUISE. What did she want? Did she say?

SOPHIE. She said she would come back. She insisted on speaking with you.

LOUISE. Do you know the lady?

SOPHIE. Yes ... no. That is, I don't know. I believe I've seen her before.

LOUISE. Didn't she say what her errand was?

SOPHIE. No, madam, but she said she would come back soon.

LOUISE. When she comes, show her into the drawing room.

SOPHIE. Yes, madam.

LOUISE. Have everything ready at once.

SOPHIE. Yes, madam. [_She goes out._]

LOUISE. You will excuse me. I must change my clothes. I shall put my old ones on. You see, I kept them. Then I must write to him. I must tell him why I am going away. [_She goes out by the side door._]

VENNEMA. I feel as if I have never been as happy as this before.

VAN ELST. It will help your wife to get well. She hasn't been very well these last few weeks.

VENNEMA. Yes, I know it will do her heaps of good. I am quite happy.

VAN ELST. Don't excite your wife unnecessarily to-night. Any shock may be too much for her.

VENNEMA. Yes, we will postpone our rejoicing until to-morrow. You must come to-morrow, but alone. Bring your wife Sunday evening. The process of acclamation will be slow, of course. There is a train about six, I believe.

VAN ELST. Yes, at five forty-five. We have an hour yet.

VENNEMA. The sooner the better. She must have a change at first. I thought it mightn't be a bad idea if we paid my brother a visit at Frezier. It might do her a lot of good. Yes, I think what she needs is a change of scene.

VAN ELST. If I were you I would stay home the first week.

VENNEMA. We'll attend to that later. It is terrible when you think of the condition she was in when we arrived.

VAN ELST. The maid said that it happened quite often, too.

VENNEMA. What do you think he will do when he learns that she is gone?

VAN ELST. If he is anything of a man, if he is a man of honor, then he will stay away. If not, there is the law. But I believe it can be arranged although she loves him very much.

VENNEMA. Let's not speak of it any more. She will change slowly, and so the past will be forgotten.

SOPHIE [_enters with a traveling bag_]. Oh, isn't Madam here?

VENNEMA. She will be back very shortly.

SOPHIE. Here's the bag. Everything is ready. [_Puts Louise's things on the table._]

LOUISE [_enters very simply dressed with a letter in her hand_]. Here I am. [_To Sophie._] Have you packed everything?

SOPHIE. Yes, everything is ready.

LOUISE. Help me then.

[_Sophie helps Louise with her coat._]

LOUISE. Mail this letter for me. [_The bell rings downstairs._] Go and see who it is. I am not at home to anybody now.

SOPHIE. It may be the lady who was here before.

LOUISE. Heavens, I had almost forgotten her. If it's the lady--

SOPHIE. Yes?

LOUISE. See who it is.

SOPHIE [_going_]. Yes, madam.

VENNEMA. What is it, Louise? What does the lady wish?

LOUISE. Nothing, father [_with a forced laugh_]. Nothing at all.

VENNEMA. Must you see her? Can't you say that you are about to go away on a trip and that you cannot see her? Say that, and let us go.

LOUISE. Oh, it's nothing. I will just speak to her, and then we will go at once. [_She laughs again in a forced manner._]

VENNEMA. But why are you so excited?

SOPHIE [_entering_]. Madam, the lady has gone away. She left this. [_She extends a visiting card._] But--

LOUISE. What is it, Sophie?

SOPHIE. She told me to tell you that you must think of the bay mare. Here is her card.

LOUISE [_excitedly_]. Oh, a card [_tries to restrain herself_]. Give it to me.

SOPHIE. Then she said nothing about Elsa and the race.

[_Louise takes the card and goes a little to the side._]

VENNEMA. What's the matter, Louise? What ails you?

LOUISE [_deeply affected_]. Father, father! [_She looks from the card to her father with tears in her eyes; then she goes mutely toward the couch, sits down, and stares blankly in front of her._]

LOUISE [_sobbing_]. I can't do it!

VENNEMA [_takes the visiting card from her hands_]. Must you pay all that? Have you lost all that money?