Chapter XXIII: Part 23

[_Violante affects to go. But she stops quickly at large door in
back and reenters on tiptoe. Florio withdraws to his study again,
after listening for a moment_.]

LIZZIA [_reentering_]

You have not gone, my Lady Violante?

VIOLANTE

I will not go
Till I have looked upon this woman's face!

[_As she finishes these words, the great black arras in the back
is listed and a hooded and veiled woman enters. She stands
regarding the two other women in silence._]

VIOLANTE

Ah!

LIZZIA

The miracle has come to pass!

[_Crosses herself._]

VIOLANTE

Do they call you Olivia? Speak, woman!

OLIVIA

Yea, I am she--but where is Florio?

[_Violante straightens, proud and erect, as if she had been struck
an invisible blow._]

LIZZIA

He waits for you within.

OLIVIA

So he had faith I would not die?

LIZZIA

He had these garlands hung for your return.
He has lived beneath a holy vow, the days
You were not here: shut in his room,
Yours must be the first face
He sees, on his return to light and life.
He must have fallen asleep from weariness
Or he had heard your voice.
[_To Violante._]
Now, Lady Violante, you must go!

VIOLANTE [_indignant_]

How? I must go?

LIZZIA

You would not stay?

VIOLANTE

Yea, I would stay to see this love grow dark
And shrink to hate.

OLIVIA [_astonished_]

And shrink to hate?

VIOLANTE

When you remove your veil
Behind which ugliness that beggars hell
Lies hidden--

OLIVIA [_dazed_]

Ugliness?

VIOLANTE

Cast by your veil!...
Well may you shrink from your own hideousness
Since the foul plague has withered up your face
And seared it till you die....
There shines your mirror, wrought of polished brass--
How many hours you have dallied at it
Only the beauty that you once possessed
Can tell.
You will no longer find a use for it.

OLIVIA [_recovering herself_]

I trust I shall!

LIZZIA [_to Olivia_]

Alas, dear God! And is it true, Olivia?

OLIVIA [_to Lizzia_]

Would he not love me still if it were true?

LIZZIA [_to Olivia_]

I am old and wretched and full of woe.
I have known life too long.

VIOLANTE [_to Olivia_]

He whose one cry is beauty! How could _that_ be?

OLIVIA [_almost singing in speech_]

Then, God be praised, I need not try him thus!
For God has wrought two miracles with me:
I live, and I am beautiful!

VIOLANTE

Unveil your face, then--give yourself to sight.

OLIVIA

His must be the first eyes that look on me.

VIOLANTE

Ah, so you trust that you, with fond deceit,
May find some magic way to cozen him?

LIZZIA [_with great emotion_]

Go, Lady--I see darkness in the air,
I thrill to some strange horror, yet unguessed....
Go, Lady Violante, I pray you, go!

[_Lizzia lifts arras in back for Violante's exit. Violante does
not move from where she stands._]

VIOLANTE [_persistently, to Olivia_]

Woman it is your beauty that he loved,
And that alone ... just as he loves a flower
Or sunset.... That gone, lo, his love is gone!

OLIVIA

Strange woman, there is evil in your voice!
And yet I know he loves me for myself,
Taking my beauty, none the less, in gladness
Like any transitory gift from God.

VIOLANTE

And yet you dare not put him to the test?

OLIVIA

What test?

VIOLANTE

To make him first believe
That you are ugly!

OLIVIA

I would not toy with such a splendid gift
As a man's love.

VIOLANTE [_mocking_]

Ah ... in sooth?

OLIVIA

How strange you look ... yet stranger is your speech.

VIOLANTE

Before you came--whom loved he then?

OLIVIA

I do not think he was like other men.

VIOLANTE

Like other men he took and tossed aside,
Deceived and lied and went from heart to heart
Reaping the richness of each woman's soul.

OLIVIA

Go, lest I strike you!

VIOLANTE

Poor, fond, believing child--
Now I would not have you test his love!

OLIVIA [_stirred_]

By all the saints, I'll put him to the test!...
[_As Violante steps closer to her_]
Nay, I'll not let you look upon my face....
He must, as I have vowed, look on it first,
Nor will I break that vow--[_Her vanity conquering_]
But lift yon mirror
And you shall look in it and see me there
Reflected!...

[_Violante lifts mirror so she and Lizzia can see reflection_.]

OLIVIA [_with simplicity_]

Keep your backs so!
[_Unveiling briefly, then drawing veil again_.]
There! Have I lied?

VIOLANTE

He always worshiped beauty.... You are fair!

OLIVIA

Soon will you know our love has mighty wings
Outsoaring time into eternity!

VIOLANTE

I'll have him forth--are you ready for the trial?

OLIVIA

Do you persuade him of my ugliness....
If he loves me not I shall go forth and die--
Then life will be far too like death to live!

LIZZIA [_agonized_]

My little children, you must not do this thing!
Love is too high a gift to play with so.
God only has the right to put the heart
Of man to trial!

VIOLANTE [_to Lizzia_]

Will you be quiet, old woman!

OLIVIA [_to Lizzia_]

I would not hold him if he only loved
My beauty, and not me. The test is just....

VIOLANTE [_to Lizzia_]

Go you, inform him of her return....
But tell him that that flower which was her face
Is shriveled up and lean as any hag's.

LIZZIA

Now God forbid I should deceive him so!

VIOLANTE

Not even for gold?

LIZZIA

Have you no fear of God?

[_A stir is heard within._]

VIOLANTE

Hush!... I will do it, then.
[_Going up to small arras over study door, she calls._]
Florio!... Florio!...

FLORIO [_from within, after a brief space_]

Who is it calls me?

VIOLANTE

It is I, Violante!

FLORIO

Why have you come again?

VIOLANTE

I have returned, Florio,
In strange times, bearing strange news.

FLORIO

My soul is full of death--I pray you go!

VIOLANTE

It could not be--aye, it is passing strange!--
She said her name was "Olivia."

FLORIO

Olivia, ah, she lives!

VIOLANTE

Then, it is true? You love this shriveled woman?

FLORIO

Shriveled woman?

VIOLANTE

Ugly and bent and gray--a woman
Who says in as few words she is your mistress.

FLORIO

Has she come? Is she here?... Go, Violante--
Go, leave us two alone!

VIOLANTE

She walked as one bewitched in a dream.
She seemed to fear.... I bade her wait without....
Florio, could it be true you loved this woman?

FLORIO

Has all the brightness fallen from her eyes,
The glory and the wonder from her face?

VIOLANTE

She _lives_! How few have had the plague and _lived_!

FLORIO

Alas, woe, woe is me!

VIOLANTE [_triumphantly, to Olivia_]

You heard?
[_To Florio._]
Come forth--she's at the threshold.

FLORIO

Bid her wait.
Give me space for thought ... a little space....
This is almost as horrible as her death....

[_Long silence. The women wait.... Groaning within. Olivia starts
forward to go to Florio._]

VIOLANTE [_to Olivia_]

Do you flinch now? I knew you would not dare!

[_Olivia stops. Proudly she remains still._]

VIOLANTE [_as arras stirs_]

Now bear _your_ part--continue the deceit.

OLIVIA [_in a frightened voice_]

I know he loves me. Yet a little while
And I will draw my veil!
[_Another groan. Olivia starts forward again._]
Oh, I cannot!

VIOLANTE [_mocking_]

I knew you would not dare!

[_Again Olivia stops still. Now, after a long pause, during which
death processions are heard to pass, the arras over the smaller
doorway is slowly put aside. Florio enters, swaying. He holds his
cloak about his brow._]

FLORIO

Where is Olivia?

OLIVIA [_feigning with an effort_]

Florio, God pity you and me--
I had rather died!...

FLORIO

Oh, speak not so!

OLIVIA

My "beauty clean and golden as the sun,"
As once you sang it, has become so gross
And fearful, that I veil it, broken with shame,
From eyes of men.... [_A pause._] 'Tis well you cloak your eyes,
For should I drop my veil through which I glance--[_Another pause._]
Shall I go?

FLORIO [_breathing heavily_]

No ... for I love you ... bide with me....
[_With great effort_] ... Though you be foul, Olivia!

[_As he still stands muffled, Olivia grows more and more
frightened at what she is doing, and now, in complete surrender to
terror, gives over the deceit and speaks the truth._]

OLIVIA

Florio, my Florio--draw down your arm....
No longer need you fear to look on me--
It was a test, my love, a cruel test!

[_She draws aside her veil, the other women in back of her, Florio
obliquely in front. Her face is seen to be one of surpassing
loveliness._

_Florio, groaning, keeps his face cloaked and does not speak._]

OLIVIA

Look, my beloved, or I shall go mad!

[_Olivia tugs at his arm. He lowers it. He exposes a sightless
face._]

LIZZIA [_breaking in on the awful pause_].

Self-blinded, my poor master!

VIOLANTE

Oh, Florio, what is this that I have done!

[_Olivia has dropped slowly back, stricken dumb with voiceless
terror. Her throat works convulsively with a scream which now
rushes forth._

_Florio falls to his knees, again covering his face and bowing his
head. Olivia comes and kneels, grief-stricken, beside him, putting
one arm about him in support._]

OLIVIA [_sobbing_]

There is ... no one ... that's ... uglier ... than I!

FLORIO [_convulsively_]

You were the glory of the world, Olivia!...
And now ... your beauty ... that is ... dead ... will always be ...
to me ...
The glory of ... the world!... forever and forever!...

OLIVIA

Oh, if you could but see my ugliness--
I think there's nothing like it in the world!
O God, why did I not die an hour ago!

VIOLANTE [_crazed anew with jealousy_]

Florio, Florio--Olivia lies!
Her beauty floods the very room with light--
You are deceived most horribly!

OLIVIA

Command that woman hence;
She is the source and cause of all our ill.

FLORIO

What does this mean? My soul is sick to death!

VIOLANTE

I tell you, Florio, that she lies to you.

[_To Lizzia._]

Tell him the truth, old woman, and beware,
As you have fear of Hell, belief in God,
And hope of Heaven, to perjure not your soul!

LIZZIA [_at first frightened and irresolute, then quietly determined._]

God help me--she is surpassingly--ugly!

[_Returning Violante glare for glare._]

Her ugliness--!

[_Breaking down, she goes to altar and drops on knees before it._]

FLORIO

Go, Violante!

VIOLANTE

I could curse God for this!

[_Violante staggers toward the great black curtain in doorway,
where she supports herself by clinging to it._]

FLORIO

Olivia, come back to me from the great Dark--
All life is but a ghost. Where are you, Olivia?

OLIVIA

I am here--close to you, Florio!

FLORIO

What have you women done to me!
[_To Olivia._] Your face!
An evil dream is in my heart!

[_He gropes, catches her quickly on each side of the head with
both hands. He draws her down to him. He runs his fingers
flickeringly over the smooth, rosy beauty of her face...._

_Then, with an eyeless, uplifted countenance which reveals
complete understanding and an abyss of horror and madness, he
slowly pushes Olivia away...._

_He lifts his fingers up grotesquely in the air, each distinct and
widespread--painfully, as if fire spurted out of the ends of them.
Olivia weeps...._

_Lizzia intones prayers...._

_Violante holds herself erect and triumphant, clinging to the
great arras in back, struggling for strength to go out._

_At this moment another death-procession passes.... A Miserere is
chanted...._

_A dawn of horror breaks over Violante's face ... she shrinks
inward from the passing procession, feeling the huge horror of the
Pestilence._

_Olivia gathers Florio's unresisting head to her bosom...._

_The sound of the Miserere dies off...._

_Into this tableau breaks Dioneo. Slowly he parts the arras._]

DIONEO [_grimacing, and seeing, at first, only Lizzia at the altar._]

Bestir yourself, old woman--
Where is your master, Florio,
And Lady Violante Ugolini?...
This is no time for lovers' dallying....
Tell them that Seignior Boccaccio
Sends word through me that we must wait no longer.
And, furthermore, he bids me say--that

[_Violante falls in a faint across his feet. Dioneo sees all.
Shrinking back._]

Merciful God!...

[_Curtain._]

ANOTHER WAY OUT

A COMEDY

BY LAWRENCE LANGNER

Copyright, 1916, by Lawrence Langner.
All rights reserved.

ANOTHER WAY OUT was originally produced by the Washington Square
Players at the Comedy Theatre, New York, on November 13th, 1916,
with the following cast:

MARGARET MARSHALL _Gwladys Wynne_.
MRS. ABBEY _Jean Robb_.
POMEROY PENDLETON _Jose Ruben_.
BARONESS DE MEAUVILLE _Helen Westley_.
CHARLES P. K. FENTON _Robert Strange_.

TIME: _The Present_.

Produced under the direction of MR. PHILLIP MOELLER.

Reprinted from "Plays of the Washington Square Players," published by
Frank Shay, by permission of Mr. Lawrence Langner. Applications for
permission to perform ANOTHER WAY OUT must be made to Lawrence
Langner, 55 Liberty Street, New York.

ANOTHER WAY OUT

A COMEDY BY LAWRENCE LANGNER

[SCENE: _The studio in Pendleton's apartment. A large room, with
sky-light in center wall, doors right and left, table set for
breakfast; a vase with red flowers decorates the table. Center
back stage, in front of sky-light, modeling stand upon which is
placed a rough statuette, covered by cloth. To one side of this is
a large screen. The furnishings are many hued, the cushions a
flare of color, and the pictures fantastically futuristic._

_At Rise: Mrs. Abbey, a benevolent looking, middle-aged woman, in
neat clothes and apron, is arranging some dishes on the table.
Margaret, a very modern young woman, is exercising vigorously. She
is decidedly good-looking. Her eyes are direct, her complexion
fresh, and her movements free. Her brown hair is "bobbed," and she
wears a picturesque Grecian robe._]

MRS. ABBEY. Breakfast is ready, ma'am.

[_Margaret sits at table and helps herself. Exit Mrs. Abbey, left._]

MARGARET [_calling_]. Pommy dear. Breakfast is on the table.

PENDLETON [_from without_]. I'll be there in a moment.

[_Margaret glances through paper; Pendleton enters, door right. He
is tall and thin, and of aesthetic appearance. His long blond hair
is brushed loosely over his forehead and he is dressed in a
helitrope-colored dressing gown. He lights a cigarette._]

MARGARET. I thought you were going to stop smoking before breakfast.

PENDLETON. My dear, I can't possibly stand the taste of tooth paste in my mouth all day.

[_Pendleton sits at table. Enters Mrs. Abbey with tray. Pendleton
helps himself, then drops his knife and fork with a clang. Mrs.
Abbey and Margaret are startled._]

MRS. ABBEY. Anything the matter, sir?

PENDLETON. Dear, dear! My breakfast is quite spoiled again.

MRS. ABBEY [_concerned_]. Spoiled, sir?

PENDLETON [_pointing to red flowers on breakfast table_]. Look at those flowers, Mrs. Abbey. Not only are they quite out of harmony with the color scheme in this room, but they're positively red, and you know I have a perfect horror of red.

MRS. ABBEY. But you like them that color sometimes, sir. What am I to do when you're so temperamental about 'em.

MARGARET. Temperamental. I should say bad-tempered.

MRS. ABBEY [_soothingly_]. Oh no, ma'am. It isn't bad temper. I understand Mr. Pendleton. It's just another bad night he's had, that's what it is.

PENDLETON [_sarcastically polite_]. Mrs. Abbey, you appear to have an intimate knowledge of how I pass the nights. It's becoming quite embarrassing.

MRS. ABBEY. You mustn't mind an old woman like me, sir.

[_The sound of a piano hopelessly out of tune, in the apartment
upstairs, is heard, the player banging out Mendelssohn's Wedding
March with unusual insistence._]

PENDLETON. There! That confounded piano again!

MARGARET. And they always play the Wedding March. There must be an old maid living there.

MRS. ABBEY. They're doing that for a reason.

MARGARET. What reason?

MRS. ABBEY. Their cook tole me yesterday that her missus thinks if she keeps on a-playing of the Wedding March, p'raps it'll give you an' Mr. Pendleton the idea of getting married. She don't believe in couples livin' to-gether, like you an' Mr. Pendleton.

MARGARET. No?

MRS. ABBEY. And I just said you an' Mr. Pendleton had been living together so long, it was my opinion you might just as well be married an' done with it.

MARGARET [_angrily_]. Your opinion is quite uncalled for, Mrs. Abbey.

PENDLETON. Why shouldn't Mrs. Abbey give us her opinion? It may be valuable. Look at her experiences in matrimony.

MRS. ABBEY. In matrimony, and out of it, too.

MARGARET [_sitting_]. But Mrs. Abbey has no right to discuss our affairs with other people's maids.

MRS. ABBEY. I'll be glad to quit if I don't suit the mistress.

MARGARET [_angrily_]. There! Mistress again! How often have I asked you not to refer to me as the mistress?

MRS. ABBEY. No offense, ma'am.

PENDLETON. You'd better see if there's any mail, Mrs. Abbey, and take those flowers away with you.

MRS. ABBEY. Very well, sir.

[_Exit Mrs. Abbey door center._]

MARGARET. What an old-fashioned point of view Mrs. Abbey has.

[_Pendleton takes up paper and commences to read._]

MARGARET. Pommy, why do you stoop so?

PENDLETON. Am I stooping?

MARGARET. I'm tired of telling you. You ought to take more exercise.

[_Pendleton continues to read._]

MARGARET. One reason why the Greeks were the greatest of artists was because they cultivated the body as carefully as the mind.

PENDLETON. Oh! Hang the Greeks!

[_Enter Mrs. Abbey right, with letters._]

MRS. ABBEY. There are your letters, sir. [_Coldly._] And these are yours, ma'am.

[_Exit Mrs. Abbey left._]

MARGARET [_who has opened her letters meanwhile_]. How delightful! Tom Del Valli has asked us to a party at his studio next Friday.

PENDLETON [_opening his letters_]. Both of us?

MARGARET [_giving him letter_]. Yes, and Helen Marsden wants us for Saturday.

PENDLETON. Both of us?

MARGARET [_picking up another letter_]. Yes, and here's one from Bobby Watson for Sunday.

PENDLETON. Both of us?

MARGARET. Yes.

PENDLETON. Really, Margaret, this is becoming exasperating. [_Holds up letters._] Here are four more, I suppose for both of us. People keep on inviting us out together time after time as though we were the most conventional married couple on God's earth.

MARGARET. Do you object to going out with me?

PENDLETON [_doubtfully_]. No, it isn't that. But we're having too much of a good thing. And I've come to the conclusion that it's your fault.

MARGARET [_indignantly_]. Oh! it's my fault? Of course you'd blame me. Why?

PENDLETON. Because you have such an absurd habit of boasting to people of your devotion for me, when we're out.

MARGARET. You surely don't expect me to quarrel with you in public?

PENDLETON. It isn't necessary to go to that extent. But then everybody believes that we're utterly, almost stupidly in love with one another, what can you expect?

MARGARET. You said once you never wanted me to suppress anything.

PENDLETON. That was before we began to live together.

MARGARET. What could I have done?

PENDLETON [_up right_]. Anything just so we could have a little more freedom instead of being tied to one another the way we are. Never a moment when we're not together, never a day when I'm not interviewed by special article writers from almost every paper and magazine in the country, as the only successful exponent of the theory that love can be so perfect that the marriage contract degrades it. I put it to you, Margaret, if this is a free union it is simply intolerable!

MARGARET. But aren't we living together so as to have more freedom? Think of what it might be if we were married. Didn't you once write that "When marriage comes in at the door, freedom flies out at the window"?

PENDLETON. Are we any better off, with everybody treating us as though we were living together to prove a principle?

MARGARET. Well, aren't we incidently? You said so yourself. We can be a beautiful example to other people, and show them how to lead the pure natural lives of the later Greeks?

PENDLETON. Damn the later Greeks! Why do you always throw those confounded later Greeks in my face? We've got to look at it from our standpoint. This situation must come to an end.

MARGARET. What can we do?

PENDLETON. It rests with you.

MARGARET. With me?

PENDLETON. You can compromise yourself with somebody publicly. That'll put an end to everything.

MARGARET. How will that end it?

PENDLETON. It'll break down the morally sanctified atmosphere in which we're living. Then perhaps, people will regard us as immoral and treat us like decent human beings again.

MARGARET. But I don't want to compromise myself.

PENDLETON. If you believe in your own ideas, you must.

MARGARET. But why should I have to do it?

PENDLETON. It will be so easy for you.

MARGARET. Why can't we both be compromised? That would be better still.

PENDLETON. I should find it a bore. You, unless my memory fails me, would enjoy it.

MARGARET. You needn't be cynical. Even if you don't enjoy it, you can work it into a novel.

PENDLETON. It's less exertion to imagine an affair of that sort, and the result would probably be more saleable. Besides I have no interest whatsoever in women, at least, in the women we know.

MARGARET. For that matter, I don't know any eligible men.

PENDLETON. What about Bob Lockwood?

MARGARET. But he's your best friend!

PENDLETON. Exactly--no man ever really trusts his best friend. He'll probably compromise you without compunction.

MARGARET. I'm afraid he'd be too dangerous--he tells you all his secrets. Whom will you choose?

PENDLETON. It's a matter of complete indifference to me.

MARGARET. I've heard a lot of queer stories about Jean Roberts. How would she do?

PENDLETON [_firmly_]. Margaret, I don't mind being party to a flirtation--but I draw the line at being the victim of a seduction.

MARGARET. Why not leave it to chance? Let it be the next interesting woman you meet.

PENDLETON. That might be amusing. But there must be an age limit. And how about you?

MARGARET [_takes cloth off statuette and discloses figure of Apollo in rough modeling clay_]. Me! Why not the new model who is coming to-day to pose for my Apollo?

PENDLETON. Well, if he's anything like that, you ought to be able to create a sensation. Then, perhaps, we shall have some real freedom.

MARGARET. Pommy, do you still love me as much as you did?

PENDLETON. How you sentimentalize! Do you think I'd be willing to enter into a flirtation with a strange woman, if I didn't want to keep on living with you?

MARGARET. And we won't have to break up our little home, will we?

PENDLETON. No, anything to save the home. [_Catches himself._] My God! If any of my readers should hear me say that! To think that I, Pomeroy Pendleton, should be trying to save my own home. And yet, how characteristically paradoxical.

MARGARET [_interrupting_]. You are going to philosophize! Give me a kiss.

[_She goes to him, sits on his lap, and places her arm on his
shoulder; he takes out cigarette, she lights it for him._]

PENDLETON [_brought back to reality_]. I have some work to do--I must go.

MARGARET. A kiss!

PENDLETON [_kisses her carelessly_]. There let me go.

MARGARET. I want a real kiss.

PENDLETON. Don't be silly, dear, I can't play this morning. I've simply got to finish my last chapter.

[_A bell rings, Mrs. Abbey enters and goes to door._]

MRS. ABBEY. There's a lady to see Mr. Pendleton.

MARGARET. Tell her to come in!

PENDLETON. But, Margaret!

MARGARET. Remember! [_Significantly._] The first woman you meet!

[_Exit Margaret. Mrs. Abbey enters with Baroness de Meauville.
Exit Mrs. Abbey._]

BARONESS DE MEAUVILLE [_speaking with a pronounced English accent_]. Good morning, Mr. Pendleton, I'm the Baroness de Meauville!

PENDLETON [_recalling her name_]. Baroness de Meauville? Ah, the costumiere?

BARONESS. Not a costumiere, Mr. Pendleton, I am an artist, an artist in modern attire. A woman is to me what a canvas is to a painter.

PENDLETON. Excuse me for receiving you in my dressing gown. I was at work.

BARONESS. I like to see men in dressing gowns--yours is charming.

PENDLETON [_flattered and pleased_]. Do you like it? I designed it myself.

BARONESS [_looking seductively into his eyes_]. How few really creative artists there are in America.

PENDLETON [_modestly_]. You flatter me.

BARONESS. Not at all. You must know that I'm a great admirer of yours, Mr. Pendleton. I've read every one of your books. I feel I know you as an old friend.

PENDLETON. That's very nice of you!

[_The Baroness reclines on couch; takes jeweled cigarette case
from reticule and offers Pendleton a cigarette._]

BARONESS. Will you smoke?

PENDLETON. Thanks.

[_Pendleton lights her cigarette, then his own. He draws his
chair up to the couch. An atmosphere of mutual interest is
established._]

BARONESS. Mr. Pendleton, I have a mission in life. It is to make the American woman the best dressed woman in the world. I came here to-day because I want you to help me.

PENDLETON. But I have no ambitions in that direction.

BARONESS. Why should you have ambitions? Only the bourgeoisie have ambitions. We artists have inspirations. I want to breathe into you the spirit of my great undertaking. Already I have opened my place in the smartest part of the Avenue. Already I have drawn my assistants from all parts of the world. Nothing is lacking to complete my plans but you.

PENDLETON. Me? Why me?

BARONESS [_endearingly_]. Are you not considered one of the foremost men of letters in America?

PENDLETON [_modestly_]. Didn't you say you had read all my books?

BARONESS. Are you not the only writer who has successfully portrayed the emotional side of American life?

PENDLETON [_decidedly_]. Yes.

BARONESS. Exactly. That is why I have chosen you to write my advertisements.

PENDLETON [_aghast_]. But, Baroness!

BARONESS. You're not going to say that. It's so ordinary.

PENDLETON. But, but, you want me to write advertisements!

BARONESS. Please don't disappoint me.

PENDLETON. Yes, I suppose that's so. But one has a sense of pride.

BARONESS. Art comes before Pride. Consider my feelings, an aristocrat, coming here to America and engaging in commerce, and advertising, and other dreadful things, and all for the sake of Art!

PENDLETON. But you make money out of it!

BARONESS. Only incidentally. Just as you, in writing my advertisements, would make, say ten thousand or so, as a sort of accident. But don't let us talk of money. It's perfectly revolting, isn't it? Art is Life, and I believe in Life for Art's sake. That's why I'm a success.

PENDLETON. Indeed? How interesting. Please go on.

BARONESS. When a woman comes to me for a gown, I don't measure body, why should I? I measure her mind. I find her color harmony. In a moment I can tell whether she ought to wear scarlet, mauve, taupe, magenta, or any other color, so as to fall into her proper rhythm. Every one has a rhythm, you know. [_Pendleton sits on sofa._] But I don't have to explain all this to you, Mr. Pendleton. You understand it intuitively. This heliotrope you are wearing shows me at once that you are in rhythm.

PENDLETON [_thinks of Margaret_]. I'm not so sure that I am. What you say interests me. May I ask you a question?

BARONESS. Yes, but I may not answer it.

PENDLETON. Why do you wear heliotrope and the same shade as mine?

BARONESS [_with mock mystery_]. You mustn't ask me that.

PENDLETON. I'm all curiosity.

BARONESS. Curiosity is dangerous.

PENDLETON. Supposing I try to find out?

BARONESS. That may be even more dangerous.

PENDLETON. I'm fond of that kind of danger.

BARONESS. Take care! I'm very fragile.

PENDLETON. Isn't heliotrope in rhythm with the faint reflection of passion?

BARONESS. How brutal of you to have said it.

PENDLETON [_coming closer to her_]. I, too, am in rhythm with heliotrope.

BARONESS [_with joy_]. How glad I am. Thank God you've no desire to kiss my lips.

PENDLETON. Only your finger-tips.

[_They exchange kisses on finger-tips._]

PENDLETON. Your fingers are like soft, pale, waxen tapers!

BARONESS. Your kisses are the breathings that light them into quivering flame!

PENDLETON. Exquisite--exquisite!

BARONESS [_withdrawing her hands_]. That was a moment!

PENDLETON. We must have many such.

BARONESS. Many? That's too near too much.

PENDLETON [_feverishly_]. We shall, dear lady.

BARONESS. How I adore your writings! They have made me realize the beauty of an ideal union, the love of one man for one woman at a time. Let us have such a union, you and me.

PENDLETON [_taken back_]. But I live in such a union already.

BARONESS [_rising in amazement_]. And only a moment ago you kissed me!

PENDLETON. Well--what of it?

BARONESS. Don't you see what we've done? You are living in one of those wonderful unions you describe in your books--and I've let you kiss me. I've committed a sacrilege.

PENDLETON. You're mistaken. It isn't a sacrilege. It's an opportunity.

BARONESS [_dramatically_]. How can you say that--you whose words have inspired my deepest intimacies. No, I must go. [_Makes for the door._] I--must--go.

PENDLETON. You don't understand. I exaggerated everything so in my confounded books.

BARONESS. Please ask her to forgive me. Please tell her I thought you were married, otherwise, never, never, would I have permitted you to kiss me.

PENDLETON. What made you think I was married?

BARONESS. One often believes what one hopes.

PENDLETON. You take it too seriously. Let me explain.

BARONESS. What is there to explain? Our experience has been complete. Why spoil it by anti-climax?

PENDLETON. Am I never to see you again?

BARONESS. Who knows? If your present union should end, and some day your soul needs--some one?

[_Exit door center, her manner full of promise._]

PENDLETON [_with feeling_]. Good-by--long, pale fingers.

[_Enter Margaret, door right._]

MARGARET. Did you get a good start with the scandal?

PENDLETON. Not exactly. I may as well admit it was a failure through no fault of mine, of course. And now, I simply must finish that last chapter.

[_He exits. Margaret rings. Mrs. Abby enters._]

MARGARET. You may clear, Mrs. Abbey.

MRS. ABBEY. Very well, ma'am.

[_She attends to clearing the table._]

MARGARET. Mrs. Abbey, have you worked for many people living together, like Mr. Pendleton and myself?

MRS. ABBEY. Lor', Ma'am, yes. I've worked in nearly every house on the south side of Washington Square.

MARGARET. Mr. Pendleton says I'm as domestic as any wife could be. Were the others like me?

MRS. ABBEY. Most of them, ma'am, but some was regular hussies; not only a-livin' with their fellers--but havin' a good time, too. That's what I call real immoral.

[_Bell rings. Mrs. Abbey opens door center and passes out.
Conversation with Fenton without is heard. Mrs. Abbey comes
back._]

MRS. ABBEY. A young man wants to see you, ma'am.

MARGARET. That's the new model. I'll get my working apron.

[_Exit Margaret, door right. Mrs. Abbey calls through door center._]

MRS. ABBEY. You c'n come in.

[_Enter door left, Charles P. K. Fenton, dictionary salesman. He
is a strikingly handsome young man, offensively smartly dressed in
a black and white check suit, gaudy tie, and white socks. His hair
is brushed back from his forehead like a glossy sheath. He carries
a black bag. His manner is distinctly "male."_]

MRS. ABBEY [_points to screen_]. You can undress behind there.

FENTON. Undress? Say, what's this? A Turkish bath?

MRS. ABBEY. Did you expect to have a private room all to yourself?

FENTON [_looking around_]. What am I to undress for?

MRS. ABBEY. The missus will be here in a minute.

FENTON. Good night! I'm goin'.

[_Makes for door._]

MRS. ABBEY. What's the matter? Ain't you the Missus' new model?

FENTON. A model! Ha! Ha! You've sure got the wrong number this time. I'm in the dictionary line, ma'am.

MRS. ABBEY. Well, of all the impudence! You a book agent, and a-walkin' in here.

FENTON. Well, you asked me in, didn't you? Can't I see the missus, jest for a minute?

MRS. ABBEY [_good-naturedly_]. Very well. Here she is. [_Confidentially._] And I advise you to remove that Spearmint from your mouth, if you want to sell any dictionaries in this house.

FENTON [_placing hand to mouth_]. Where shall I put it?

MRS. ABBEY. You'd better swallow it!

[_Fenton tries to do so, chokes, turns red, and places his hand to
mouth._]

MARGARET [_to Fenton_]. I'm so glad to see you.

[_Fenton is most embarrassed. Mrs. Abbey, in surprise, attempts to
explain situation._]

MRS. ABBEY. But, ma'am--

MARGARET. You may go, Mrs. Abbey.

MRS. ABBEY. But, but, ma'am--

MARGARET [_severely_]. You may go, Mrs. Abbey. [_Exit Mrs. Abbey in a huff._] I'm so glad they sent you up to see me. Won't you sit down?

[_Fenton finds it a difficult matter to handle the situation. He
adopts his usual formula for an "opening," but his speech is
mechanical and without conviction. Margaret adds to the
embarrassment by stepping around him and examining him with
professional interest._]

FENTON. Madam, I represent the Globe Advertising Publishing Sales Co., the largest publishers of dictionaries in the world.

MARGARET [_continuing to appraise him_]. Then you're not the new model?

FENTON. No, ma'am.

MARGARET. What a pity! Never mind, go on.

FENTON. As I was saying, ma'am, I represent the Advertising Globe Publishing--I mean the Globe Publishing Sales Publishing Co., the largest publishers of dictionaries in the world. For some time past we have felt there was a demand for a new Encyclopaedic Dictionary, madam, one that would not only fill up a good deal of space in the bookshelf, making an attractive addition to the home, but also containing the most complete collection of words in the English language.

MARGARET [_who has taken a pencil and is measuring Fenton while he speaks; Fenton's discomfort is obvious. He attempts to rearrange his tie and coat, thinking she is examining him._] Please go on talking, it's so interesting.

FENTON. Statistics show that the Woman of Average Education in America, Madam, has command of but fifteen hundred words. This new dictionary, Madam, [_Produces book from bag._] will give you command of over eight hundred and fifty thousand.

MARGARET [_archly_]. So you are a dealer in words--how perfectly romantic.

FENTON [_warming_]. Most of these words, madam, are not used more than a dozen times a year. They are our Heritage from the Past. And all these words, to say nothing of the fact that the dictionary fills five inches in a bookshelf, making an attractive addition to the library, being handsomely bound in half-cloth--all these are yours, ma'am, for the price of one dollar.

[_He places dictionary in her hand. She examines it._]

FENTON. If you have a son, madam, the possession of this dictionary will give him an opportunity of acquiring that knowledge of our language which made Abraham Lincoln the Father of our Country. Madam, opportunity knocks at the door only once and _This_ is _your_ opportunity at one dollar.

MARGARET [_meaningly_]. Yes, this is my opportunity! I'll buy the dictionary and now [_sweetly_] won't you tell me your name?

FENTON [_pocketing dollar_]. My name is Charles P. K. Fenton.

MARGARET. Mr. Fenton, would you mind doing me a favor?

FENTON [_looking dubiously towards the screen_]. Why, I guess not, ma'am.

MARGARET. I want you to take off your coat.

FENTON [_puzzled_]. You're not trying to kid me, ma'am?

MARGARET. I just want to see your development. Do you mind?

FENTON [_removes coat_]. Why, no, ma'am, if that's all you want.

MARGARET. Now, bring your arm up, tighten the muscles. [_Fenton does as she bids; Margaret thumps his arm approvingly._] Splendid! You must take lots of exercise, Mr. Fenton.

FENTON. Not me, ma'am. I never had no time for exercise; I got that workin' in a freight yard.

Margaret. I suppose you think me rather peculiar, Mr. Fenton.

FENTON. You said it, Miss.

MARGARET. You see I'm a sculptress. [_Points to statuette._] This is my work.

FENTON. You made that? Gee! that's great. [_Examines statuette._] Just like them statues at the Metropolitan.

MARGARET. That figure is Apollo, Mr. Fenton.

FENTON. Oh, Apollo.

MARGARET. I was to engage a professional model for it, but I could never hope to get a professional as fine a type as you. Will you pose for it?

FENTON [_aghast_]. Me? That feller there without any clothes. [_Dubiously._] Well, I don't know. It's kind of chilly here.

MARGARET. If I draped you, it would spoil some of your lines. [_Seeing his hesitation._] But I will if you like.

FENTON [_relieved_]. Ah, now you're talking.

MARGARET. So, you'll really come?

FENTON. How about this evening?

MARGARET. Splendid! Sit down. [_Fenton does so._] Mr. Fenton, you've quite aroused my curiosity. I know so few business men. Is your work interesting?

FENTON. Well, I can't say it was, until I started selling around this neighborhood.

MARGARET. Is it difficult?

FENTON. Not if you've got personality, Miss. That's the thing, personality. If a feller hasn't got personality, he can't sell goods, that's sure.

MARGARET. What do you mean by personality, Mr. Fenton.

FENTON. Well, it's what sells the goods. I don't know how else to explain it exactly. I'll look it up in the dictionary. [_Takes dictionary and turns pages._] Here it is, ma'am. Per--per--why, it isn't in here. I guess they don't put in words that everybody knows. We all know what personality means. It's what sells the goods.

MARGARET. I adore a strong, virile, masculine personality.

FENTON. I don't quite get you, madam.

MARGARET. The men I know have so much of the feminine in them.

FENTON. Oh, "Cissies"!

MARGARET [_flirtingly_]. They lack the magnetic forcefulness which I like so much in you.

FENTON. I believe you are kidding me. Does that mean you like me?

MARGARET. That's rather an embarrassing question.

FENTON. You must or you wouldn't let me speak to you this way.

MARGARET [_archly_]. Never mind whether I like you. Tell me whether you like me?

FENTON [_feeling more at home_]. Gee! I didn't get on to you at first. Sure I like you.

MARGARET. Then we're going to be good friends.

FENTON. You just bet we are. Say, got a date for to-morrow evening?

MARGARET. No.

FENTON. How about the movies? There's a fine feature film at the Strand. Theda Bara in "The Lonesome Vampire," five reels. They say it's got "Gloria's Romance" beat a mile.

MARGARET. I don't know that I'd care to go there.

FENTON. How about a run down to Coney?

MARGARET. Coney! I've always wanted to do wild Pagan things.

FENTON. Say, you'll tell me your name, won't you?

MARGARET. Margaret Marshall.

FENTON. Do you mind if I call you Margie?

MARGARET. If you do, I must call you--

FENTON. Charley. Gee, I like the name of Margie. Some class to that.

MARGARET. I'm glad you like it.

FENTON [_moving nearer_]. And some class to you!

MARGARET [_coyly_]. So you really like me?

FENTON. You bet. Say, before I go, you've got to give me a kiss, Margie.

MARGARET. Well, I don't know. Aren't you rather "rushing" me?

FENTON. Say, you are a kidder.

[_He draws her up from her chair, and kisses her warmly on the
lips._]

MARGARET [_ecstatically_]. You have the true Greek spirit! [_They kiss again._] If only Pommy would kiss me that way!

FENTON. Pommy? Who's Pommy?

MARGARET. Pommy is the man I live with.

FENTON. Your husband!

MARGARET. No, we just live together. You see, we don't believe in marriage.

FENTON [_pushing her away in horror_]. I thought there was something queer about all this. Does he live here?

MARGARET. Yes. [_Points to door._] He's in there now.

FENTON [_excitedly_]. Good night! I'm goin'.

[_Looks for hat._]

MARGARET [_speaking with real anguish_]. You're surely not going just on that account.

FENTON [_taking hat and bag_]. Isn't that enough?

MARGARET [_emotionally_]. Please don't go. Listen, I can't suppress my feeling for you; I never do with anybody. I liked you the moment I saw you, I want you as a friend, a good friend. You can't go now, just when everything's about to begin.

FENTON [_severely_]. Fair's fair, Miss. If he's keeping you, you can't be taking up with me at the same time. That puts the finish on it.

MARGARET. But he doesn't keep me. I keep myself.

FENTON. Wait a minute. You support yourself, and live with him of your own free will. Then you've got no excuse for being immoral; 'tisn't like you had to make your living at it. [_At door._] Good-by.

MARGARET. But I can explain everything.

FENTON. It's no use, Miss. Even though I am a salesman, I've got a sense of honor. I sized you up as a married woman when I came in just now, or I never would have made love to you at all.

MARGARET. Oh--wait! Supposing I should want to buy some more dictionaries.

FENTON [_returning_]. You've got my card, Miss. The 'phone number is on it. Bryant 4253. [_Sees Margaret hang her head._] Don't feel hurt, Miss. You'll get over these queer ideas some day, and when you do, well, you've got my number. So long, kid.

[_Exit Fenton, door, center._]

MARGARET [_taking his card from table and placing it to her lips soulfully_]. My Apollo, Bryant 4253!

PENDLETON. Did you get a good start with your scandal. [_Margaret hangs her head._] It's no use; I'm convinced we're in a hopeless muddle.

MARGARET. I heartily agree with you.

PENDLETON. You've changed your mind very suddenly.

MARGARET. I have my reasons.

PENDLETON. The fact is, Margaret, that so long as we live together we're public figures, with everybody else as our jury.

MARGARET. But lots of people read your books and respect us.

PENDLETON. The people that respect us are worse than the people that don't.

MARGARET. If they wouldn't always be bothering about our morals!

PENDLETON. If we continue living together, we shall simply be giving up our freedom to prove we are free.

MARGARET [_faltering_]. I suppose we ought to separate.

PENDLETON. I believe we should.

MARGARET. We'll have to give up the studio.

PENDLETON [_regretfully_]. Yes.

MARGARET. It's taken a long time to make the place homelike.

PENDLETON. We've been very comfortable here.

MARGARET. I shall miss you at meals.

PENDLETON. I shall have to start eating at clubs and restaurants again, no more good home cooking.

MARGARET. We're kind of used to one another, aren't we?

PENDLETON. It isn't an easy matter to break, after five years.

MARGARET. And there are mighty few studios with as good a light as this; I don't want to separate if you don't.

PENDLETON. But, Margaret. [_Piano starts playing wedding march._] There, that confounded piano again. [_Seized with an idea._] Margaret, there's another way out!

MARGARET [_with same idea_]. You mean, we ought to marry!

PENDLETON. Yes, marry, and do it at once. That'll end everything.

MARGARET. Let's do it right away and get it over with; I simply must finish my Apollo.

PENDLETON. I'm going to buy you a new gown to get married in, a wedding present from Baroness de Meauville's.

MARGARET. I don't know that I want a De Meauville gown.

PENDLETON. Please let me. I want to give you something to symbolize our new life together.

MARGARET. Very well. And in return, I'll buy you a dictionary, so that I won't have to keep on correcting your spelling.

[_Exit Pendleton. Margaret goes to 'phone, and consults Fenton's
card._]

MARGARET. Bryant 4253? Can I speak to Mr. Fenton? [_Enter Mrs. Abbey._] Mrs. Abbey. What do you think? We're going to get married!

MRS. ABBEY. Well, bless my soul! That's right. You can take it from me, ma'am, you'll find that respectability pays.

MARGARET [_at 'phone_]. Bryant 4253? [_Sweetly._] Is that Mr. Fenton? [_Pause._] Hello, Charley!

[_Curtain._]

ARIA DA CAPO

A PLAY

BY EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY

Copyright, 1920, by Edna St. Vincent Millay.
All rights reserved.

PERSONS

PIERROT.
COLUMBINE.
COTHURNUS [_masque of tragedy_].
THYRSIS [_shepherd_].
CORYDON [_shepherd_].

First printed in "Reedy's Mirror," St. Louis. Application to produce
this play should be made to Edna St. Vincent Millay, in care of the
Provincetown Players, 133 Macdougal Street, New York.

ARIA DA CAPO

A PLAY BY EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY

[SCENE: _A Stage. The curtain rises on a stage set for a
Harlequinade, a merry black and white interior. Directly behind
the footlights, and running parallel with them, is a long table,
covered with a gay black and white cloth, on which is spread a
banquet. At the opposite ends of this table, seated on delicate
thin-legged chairs with high backs, are Pierrot and Columbine,
dressed according to the tradition, excepting that Pierrot is in
lilac, and Columbine in pink. They are dining._]

COLU. Pierrot, a macaroon! I cannot _live_
Without a macaroon!

PIER. My only love,
You are _so_ intense.... It is Tuesday, Columbine?----
I'll kiss you if it's Tuesday.

COLU. It is Wednesday,
If you must know.... Is this my artichoke,
Or yours?

PIER. Ah, Columbine,--as if it mattered!
Wednesday.... Will it be Tuesday, then, to-morrow,
By any chance?

COLU. To-morrow will be--Pierrot,
That isn't funny!

PIER. I thought it rather nice.
Well, let us drink some wine and lose our heads
And love each other.

COLU. Pierrot, don't you love
Me now?

PIER. La, what a woman!--How should I know?
Pour me some wine: I'll tell you presently.

COLU. Pierrot, do you know, I think you drink too much.

PIER. Yes, I dare say I do.... Or else too little.
It's hard to tell. You see, I am always wanting
A little more than what I have,--or else
A little less. There's something wrong. My dear,
How many fingers have you?

COLU. La, indeed,
How should I know?--It always takes me one hand
To count the other with. It's too confusing.
Why?

PIER. Why?--I am a student, Columbine;
And search into all matters.

COLU. La, indeed?--
Count them yourself, then!

PIER. No. Or, rather, nay.
'Tis of no consequence.... I am become
A painter, suddenly,--and you impress me--
Ah, yes!--six orange bull's-eyes, four green pin-wheels,
And one magenta jelly-roll,--the title
As follows: _Woman Taking In Cheese From Fire-Escape_.

COLU. Well, I like that! So that is all I've meant
To you!

PIER. Hush! All at once I am become
A pianist. I will image you in sound,...
On a new scale ... without tonality....
_Vivace senza tempo senza tutto_....
Title: _Uptown Express at Six O'Clock_.
Pour me a drink.

COLU. Pierrot, you work too hard.
You need a rest. Come on out into the garden,
And sing me something sad.

PIER. Don't stand so near me!
I am become a socialist. I love
Humanity; but I hate people. Columbine,
Put on your mittens, child; your hands are cold.

COLU. My hands are _not_ cold.

PIER. Oh, I am sure they are.
And you must have a shawl to wrap about you,
And sit by the fire.

COLU. Why, I'll do no such thing!
I'm hot as a spoon in a tea-cup!

PIER. Columbine,
I'm a philanthropist. I know I am,
Because I feel so restless. Do not scream,
Or it will be the worse for you!

COLU. Pierrot,
My vinaigrette: I cannot _live_ without
My vinaigrette!

PIER. My only love, you are
_So_ fundamental!... How would you like to be
An actress, Columbine?--I am become
Your manager.

COLU. Why, Pierrot, _I_ can't act.

PIER. Can't act! Can't act! La, listen to the woman!
What's that to do with the price of furs?--You're blonde,
Are you not?--You have no education, have you?--
Can't act! You under-rate yourself, my dear!

COLU. Yes, I suppose I do.

PIER. As for the rest,
I'll teach you how to cry, and how to die,
And other little tricks; and the house will love you.
You'll be a star by five o'clock.... That is,
If you will let me pay for your apartment.

COLU. _Let_ you?--well, that's a good one! Ha! Ha! Ha!
But why?

PIER. But why?--well, as to that, my dear,
I cannot say. It's just a matter of form.

COLU. Pierrot, I'm getting tired of caviar
And peacocks' livers. Isn't there something else
That people eat?--some humble vegetable,
That grows in the ground?

PIER. Well, there are mushrooms.

COLU. Mushrooms!
That's so! I had forgotten ... mushrooms ... mushrooms....
I cannot _live_ with.... How do you like this gown?

PIER. Not much. I'm tired of gowns that have the waist-line
About the waist, and the hem around the bottom,--
And women with their breasts in front of them!--
_Zut_ and _ehe_! Where does one go from here!

COLU. Here's a persimmon, love. You always liked them.

PIER. I am become a critic; there is nothing I can enjoy....
However, set it aside;
I'll eat it between meals.

COLU. Pierrot, do you know,
Sometimes I think you're making fun of me.

PIER. My love, by yon black moon, you wrong us both.

COLU. There isn't a sign of a moon, Pierrot.

PIER. Of course not.
There never was. "Moon's" just a word to swear by,
"Mutton!"--now _there's_ a thing you can lay the hands on,
And set the tooth in! Listen, Columbine:
I always lied about the moon and you.
Food is my only lust.

COLU. Well, eat it, then,
For heaven's sake, and stop your silly noise!
I haven't heard the clock tick for an hour.

PIER. It's ticking all the same. If you were a fly,
You would be dead by now. And if I were a parrot,
I could be talking for a thousand years!

[_Enters Cothurnus._]

PIER. Hello, what's this, for God's sake?--What's the matter?
Say, whadda you mean?--get off the stage, my friend,
And pinch yourself,--you're walking in your sleep!

COTH. I never sleep.

PIER. Well, anyhow, clear out.
You don't belong on here. Wait for your own scene!
Whadda you think this is,--a dress-rehearsal?

COTH. Sir, I am tired of waiting. I will wait
No longer.

PIER. Well, but what are you going to do?
The scene is set for me!

COTH. True, sir; yet I
Can play the scene.

PIER. Your scene is down for later!

COTH. That, too, is true, sir; but I play it now.

PIER. Oh, very well!--Anyway, I am tired
Of black and white. At least, I think I am.
[_Exit Columbine._]
Yes, I am sure I am. I know what I'll do!--
I'll go and strum the moon, that's what I'll do....
Unless, perhaps, ... you never can tell ... I may be,
You know, tired of the moon. Well, anyway,
I'll go find Columbine.... And when I find her,
I will address her thus: "_Ehe_ Pierrette!"--
There's something in that.

[_Exit Pierrot._]

COTH. You, Thyrsis! Corydon!
Where are you?

THYR. Sir, we are in our dressing-room!

COTH. Come out and do the scene.

CORY. You are mocking us!--
The scene is down for later.

COTH. That is true;
But we will play it now. I am the scene.

[_Seats himself on high place in back of stage. Enter Corydon and
Thyrsis._]

CORY. Sir, we were counting on this little hour.
We said, "Here is an hour,--in which to think
A mighty thought, and sing a trifling song,
And look at nothing."--And, behold! the hour,
Even as we spoke, was over, and the act begun,
Under our feet!

THYR. Sir, we are not in the fancy
To play the play. We had thought to play it later.

CORY. Besides, this is the setting for a farce.
Our scene requires a wall; we cannot build
A wall of tissue-paper!

THYR. We cannot act
A tragedy with comic properties!

COTH. Try it and see. I think you'll find you can.
One wall is like another. And regarding
The matter of your insufficient wood,
The important thing is that you speak the lines,
And make the gestures. Wherefore I shall remain
Throughout, and hold the prompt-book. Are you ready?

CORY.-THYR. [_sorrowfully_]. Sir, we are always ready.

COTH. Play the play!

[_Corydon and Thyrsis move the table and chairs to one side out of
the way, and seat themselves in a half-reclining position on the
floor, left of the center of the stage, propped up by crepe paper
pillows and bolsters, in place of rocks._]

THYR. How gently in the silence, Corydon,
Our sheep go up the bank. They crop a grass
That's yellow where the sun is out, and black
Where the clouds drag their shadows.
Have you noticed
How steadily, yet with what a slanting eye
They graze?

CORY. As if they thought of other things.
What say you, Thyrsis, do they only question
Where next to pull?--Or do their far minds draw them
Thus vaguely north of west and south of east?

THYR. One cannot say.... The black lamb wears its burdocks
As if they were a garland,--have you noticed?--
Purple and white--and drinks the bitten grass
As if it were a wine.

CORY. I've noticed that.
What say you, Thyrsis, shall we make a song
About a lamb that thought himself a shepherd?

THYR. Why, yes!--that is, why,--no. (I have forgotten
My line.)

CORY. [_prompting_]. "I know a game worth two of that."

THYR. Oh, yes.... I know a game worth two of that:
Let's gather rocks, and build a wall between us;
And say that over there belongs to me,
And over here to you!

CORY. Why,--very well.
And say you may not come upon my side
Unless I say you may!

THYR. Nor you on mine!
And if you should, 'twould be the worse for you!

[_They weave a wall of colored crepe paper ribbons from the
center front to the center back of the stage, fastening the
ends to Columbine's chair in front and to Pierrot's chair in
the back._]

CORY. Now there's a wall a man may see across,
But not attempt to scale.

THYR. An excellent wall.