Джон Голсуорси
Six Short Plays
LARRY. Not?
KEITH. No. You've got your chance. Take it like a man.
LARRY. [With a strange smile—to the girl] Shall we, Wanda?
WANDA. Oh, Larry!
LARRY. [Picking the notes up from the couch] Take them back, Keith.
KEITH. What! I tell you no jury would convict; and if they did, no judge would hang. A ghoul who can rob a dead body, ought to be in prison. He did worse than you.
LARRY. It won't do, Keith. I must see it out.
KEITH. Don't be a fool!
LARRY. I've still got some kind of honour. If I clear out before I know, I shall have none—nor peace. Take them, Keith, or I'll put them in the fire.
KEITH. [Taking back the notes; bitterly] I suppose I may ask you not to be entirely oblivious of our name. Or is that unworthy of your honour?
LARRY. [Hanging his head] I'm awfully sorry, Keith; awfully sorry, old man.
KEITH. [sternly] You owe it to me—to our name—to our dead mother —to do nothing anyway till we see what happens.
LARRY. I know. I'll do nothing without you, Keith.
KEITH. [Taking up his hat] Can I trust you? [He stares hard at his brother.]
LARRY. You can trust me.
KEITH. Swear?
LARRY. I swear.
KEITH. Remember, nothing! Good night!
LARRY. Good night!
KEITH goes. LARRY Sits down on the couch sand stares at the fire. The girl steals up and slips her arms about him.
LARRY. An innocent man!
WANDA. Oh, Larry! But so are you. What did we want—to kill that man? Never! Oh! kiss me!
[LARRY turns his face. She kisses his lips.]
I have suffered so—not seein' you. Don't leave me again—don't! Stay here. Isn't it good to be together?—Oh! Poor Larry! How tired you look!—Stay with me. I am so frightened all alone. So frightened they will take you from me.
LARRY. Poor child!
WANDA. No, no! Don't look like that!
LARRY. You're shivering.
WANDA. I will make up the fire. Love me, Larry! I want to forget.
LARRY. The poorest little wretch on God's earth—locked up—for me! A little wild animal, locked up. There he goes, up and down, up and down—in his cage—don't you see him?—looking for a place to gnaw his way through—little grey rat. [He gets up and roams about.]
WANDA. No, no! I can't bear it! Don't frighten me more!
[He comes back and takes her in his arms.]
LARRY. There, there! [He kisses her closed eyes.]
WANDA. [Without moving] If we could sleep a little—wouldn't it be nice?
LARRY. Sleep?
WANDA. [Raising herself] Promise to stay with me—to stay here for good, Larry. I will cook for you; I will make you so comfortable. They will find him innocent. And then—Oh, Larry! in the sun-right away—far from this horrible country. How lovely! [Trying to get him to look at her] Larry!
LARRY. [With a movement to free 'himself] To the edge of the world-and–over!
WANDA. No, no! No, no! You don't want me to die, Larry, do you? I shall if you leave me. Let us be happy! Love me!
LARRY. [With a laugh] Ah! Let's be happy and shut out the sight of him. Who cares? Millions suffer for no mortal reason. Let's be strong, like Keith. No! I won't leave you, Wanda. Let's forget everything except ourselves. [Suddenly] There he goes-up and down!
WANDA. [Moaning] No, no! See! I will pray to the Virgin. She will pity us!
She falls on her knees and clasps her hands, praying. Her lips move. LARRY stands motionless, with arms crossed, and on his face are yearning and mockery, love and despair.
LARRY. [Whispering] Pray for us! Bravo! Pray away!
[Suddenly the girl stretches out her arms and lifts her face with a look of ecstasy.]
What?
WANDA. She is smiling! We shall be happy soon.
LARRY. [Bending down over her] Poor child! When we die, Wanda, let's go together. We should keep each other warm out in the dark.
WANDA. [Raising her hands to his face] Yes! oh, yes! If you die I could not—I could not go on living!
CURTAIN
SCENE III
TWO MONTHS LATER
WANDA'S room. Daylight is just beginning to fail of a January afternoon. The table is laid for supper, with decanters of wine.
WANDA is standing at the window looking out at the wintry trees of the Square beyond the pavement. A newspaper Boy's voice is heard coming nearer.
VOICE. Pyper! Glove Lyne murder! Trial and verdict! [Receding] Verdict! Pyper!
WANDA throws up the window as if to call to him, checks herself, closes it and runs to the door. She opens it, but recoils into the room. KEITH is standing there. He comes in.
KEITH. Where's Larry?
WANDA. He went to the trial. I could not keep him from it. The trial—Oh! what has happened, sir?
KEITH. [Savagely] Guilty! Sentence of death! Fools!—idiots!
WANDA. Of death! [For a moment she seems about to swoon.]
KEITH. Girl! girl! It may all depend on you. Larry's still living here?
WANDA. Yes.
KEITH. I must wait for him.
WANDA. Will you sit down, please?
KEITH. [Shaking his head] Are you ready to go away at any time?
WANDA. Yes, yes; always I am ready.
KEITH. And he?
WANDA. Yes—but now! What will he do? That poor man!
KEITH. A graveyard thief—a ghoul!
WANDA. Perhaps he was hungry. I have been hungry: you do things then that you would not. Larry has thought of him in prison so much all these weeks. Oh! what shall we do now?
KEITH. Listen! Help me. Don't let Larry out of your sight. I must see how things go. They'll never hang this wretch. [He grips her arms] Now, we must stop Larry from giving himself up. He's fool enough. D'you understand?
WANDA. Yes. But why has he not come in? Oh! If he have, already!
KEITH. [Letting go her arms] My God! If the police come—find me here—[He moves to the door] No, he wouldn't without seeing you first. He's sure to come. Watch him like a lynx. Don't let him go without you.
WANDA. [Clasping her hands on her breast] I will try, sir.
KEITH. Listen!
[A key is heard in the lock.]
It's he!
LARRY enters. He is holding a great bunch of pink lilies and white narcissus. His face tells nothing. KEITH looks from him to the girl, who stands motionless.
LARRY. Keith! So you've seen?
KEITH. The thing can't stand. I'll stop it somehow. But you must give me time, Larry.
LARRY. [Calmly] Still looking after your honour, KEITH!
KEITH. [Grimly] Think my reasons what you like.
WANDA. [Softly] Larry!
[LARRY puts his arm round her.]
LARRY. Sorry, old man.
KEITH. This man can and shall get off. I want your solemn promise that you won't give yourself up, nor even go out till I've seen you again.
LARRY. I give it.
KEITH. [Looking from one to the other] By the memory of our mother, swear that.
LARRY. [With a smile] I swear.
KEITH. I have your oath—both of you—both of you. I'm going at once to see what can be done.
LARRY. [Softly] Good luck, brother.
KEITH goes out.
WANDA. [Putting her hands on LARRY's breast] What does it mean?
LARRY. Supper, child—I've had nothing all day. Put these lilies in water.
[She takes the lilies and obediently puts them into a vase. LARRY pours wine into a deep-coloured glass and drinks it off.]
We've had a good time, Wanda. Best time I ever had, these last two months; and nothing but the bill to pay.
WANDA. [Clasping him desperately] Oh, Larry! Larry!
LARRY. [Holding her away to look at her.] Take off those things and put on a bridal garment.
WANDA. Promise me—wherever you go, I go too. Promise! Larry, you think I haven't seen, all these weeks. But I have seen everything; all in your heart, always. You cannot hide from me. I knew—I knew! Oh, if we might go away into the sun! Oh! Larry—couldn't we? [She searches his eyes with hers—then shuddering] Well! If it must be dark—I don't care, if I may go in your arms. In prison we could not be together. I am ready. Only love me first. Don't let me cry before I go. Oh! Larry, will there be much pain?
LARRY. [In a choked voice] No pain, my pretty.
WANDA. [With a little sigh] It is a pity.
LARRY. If you had seen him, as I have, all day, being tortured. Wanda,—we shall be out of it. [The wine mounting to his head] We shall be free in the dark; free of their cursed inhumanities. I hate this world—I loathe it! I hate its God-forsaken savagery; its pride and smugness! Keith's world—all righteous will-power and success. We're no good here, you and I—we were cast out at birth—soft, will-less—better dead. No fear, Keith! I'm staying indoors. [He pours wine into two glasses] Drink it up!
[Obediently WANDA drinks, and he also.]
Now go and make yourself beautiful.
WANDA. [Seizing him in her arms] Oh, Larry!
LARRY. [Touching her face and hair] Hanged by the neck until he's dead—for what I did.
[WANDA takes a long look at his face, slips her arms from him, and goes out through the curtains below the fireplace.]
[LARRY feels in his pocket, brings out the little box, opens it, fingers the white tabloids.]
LARRY. Two each—after food. [He laughs and puts back the box] Oh! my girl!
[The sound of a piano playing a faint festive tune is heard afar off. He mutters, staring at the fire.]
[Flames-flame, and flicker-ashes.]
"No more, no more, the moon is dead, And all the people in it."
[He sits on the couch with a piece of paper on his knees, adding a few words with a stylo pen to what is already written.]
[The GIRL, in a silk wrapper, coming back through the curtains, watches him.]
LARRY. [Looking up] It's all here—I've confessed. [Reading]
"Please bury us together."
"LAURENCE DARRANT.
"January 28th, about six p.m."
They'll find us in the morning. Come and have supper, my dear love.
[The girl creeps forward. He rises, puts his arm round her, and with her arm twined round him, smiling into each other's faces, they go to the table and sit down.]
The curtain falls for a few seconds to indicate the passage of three hours. When it rises again, the lovers are lying on the couch, in each other's arms, the lilies stream about them. The girl's bare arm is round LARRY'S neck. Her eyes are closed; his are open and sightless. There is no light but fire-light.
A knocking on the door and the sound of a key turned in the lock. KEITH enters. He stands a moment bewildered by the half-light, then calls sharply: "Larry!" and turns up the light. Seeing the forms on the couch, he recoils a moment. Then, glancing at the table and empty decanters, goes up to the couch.
KEITH. [Muttering] Asleep! Drunk! Ugh!
[Suddenly he bends, touches LARRY, and springs back.]
What! [He bends again, shakes him and calls] Larry! Larry!
[Then, motionless, he stares down at his brother's open, sightless eyes. Suddenly he wets his finger and holds it to the girl's lips, then to LARRY'S.]
[He bends and listens at their hearts; catches sight of the little box lying between them and takes it up.]
My God!
[Then, raising himself, he closes his brother's eyes, and as he does so, catches sight of a paper pinned to the couch; detaches it and reads:]
"I, Lawrence Darrant, about to die by my own hand confess that I–"
[He reads on silently, in horror; finishes, letting the paper drop, and recoils from the couch on to a chair at the dishevelled supper table. Aghast, he sits there. Suddenly he mutters:]
If I leave that there—my name—my whole future!
[He springs up, takes up the paper again, and again reads.]
My God! It's ruin!
[He makes as if to tear it across, stops, and looks down at those two; covers his eyes with his hand; drops the paper and rushes to the door. But he stops there and comes back, magnetised, as it were, by that paper. He takes it up once more and thrusts it into his pocket.]
[The footsteps of a Policeman pass, slow and regular, outside. His face crisps and quivers; he stands listening till they die away. Then he snatches the paper from his pocket, and goes past the foot of the couch to the fore.]
All my–No! Let him hang!
[He thrusts the paper into the fire, stamps it down with his foot, watches it writhe and blacken. Then suddenly clutching his head, he turns to the bodies on the couch. Panting and like a man demented, he recoils past the head of the couch, and rushing to the window, draws the curtains and throws the window up for air. Out in the darkness rises the witch-like skeleton tree, where a dark shape seems hanging. KEITH starts back.]
What's that? What–!
[He shuts the window and draws the dark curtains across it again.]
Fool! Nothing!
[Clenching his fists, he draws himself up, steadying himself with all his might. Then slowly he moves to the door, stands a second like a carved figure, his face hard as stone.]
[Deliberately he turns out the light, opens the door, and goes.]
[The still bodies lie there before the fire which is licking at the last blackened wafer.]
CURTAIN
THE LITTLE MAN
A FARCICAL MORALITY IN THREE SCENES
CHARACTERS
THE LITTLE MAN. THE AMERICAN. THE ENGLISHMAN. THE ENGLISHWOMAN. THE GERMAN. THE DUTCH BOY. THE MOTHER. THE BABY. THE WAITER. THE STATION OFFICIAL. THE POLICEMAN. THE PORTER.
SCENE I
Afternoon, on the departure platform of an Austrian railway station. At several little tables outside the buffet persons are taking refreshment, served by a pale young waiter. On a seat against the wall of the buffet a woman of lowly station is sitting beside two large bundles, on one of which she has placed her baby, swathed in a black shawl.
WAITER. [Approaching a table whereat sit an English traveller and his wife] Two coffee?
ENGLISHMAN. [Paying] Thanks. [To his wife, in an Oxford voice] Sugar?
ENGLISHWOMAN. [In a Cambridge voice] One.
AMERICAN TRAVELLER. [With field-glasses and a pocket camera from another table] Waiter, I'd like to have you get my eggs. I've been sitting here quite a while.
WAITER. Yes, sare.
GERMAN TRAVELLER. 'Kellner, bezahlen'! [His voice is, like his moustache, stiff and brushed up at the ends. His figure also is stiff and his hair a little grey; clearly once, if not now, a colonel.]
WAITER. 'Komm' gleich'!
[The baby on the bundle wails. The mother takes it up to soothe it. A young, red-cheeked Dutchman at the fourth table stops eating and laughs.]
AMERICAN. My eggs! Get a wiggle on you!
WAITER. Yes, sare. [He rapidly recedes.]
[A LITTLE MAN in a soft hat is seen to the right of tables. He stands a moment looking after the hurrying waiter, then seats himself at the fifth table.]
ENGLISHMAN. [Looking at his watch] Ten minutes more.
ENGLISHWOMAN. Bother!
AMERICAN. [Addressing them] 'Pears as if they'd a prejudice against eggs here, anyway.
[The ENGLISH look at him, but do not speak. ]
GERMAN. [In creditable English] In these places man can get nothing.
[The WAITER comes flying back with a compote for the DUTCH YOUTH, who pays.]
GERMAN. 'Kellner, bezahlen'!
WAITER. 'Eine Krone sechzig'.
[The GERMAN pays.]
AMERICAN. [Rising, and taking out his watch—blandly] See here. If I don't get my eggs before this watch ticks twenty, there'll be another waiter in heaven.
WAITER. [Flying] 'Komm' gleich'!
AMERICAN. [Seeking sympathy] I'm gettin' kind of mad!
[The ENGLISHMAN halves his newspaper and hands the advertisement half to his wife. The BABY wails. The MOTHER rocks it.]
[The DUTCH YOUTH stops eating and laughs. The GERMAN lights a cigarette. The LITTLE MAN sits motionless, nursing his hat. The WAITER comes flying back with the eggs and places them before the AMERICAN.]
AMERICAN. [Putting away his watch] Good! I don't like trouble. How much?
[He pays and eats. The WAITER stands a moment at the edge of the platform and passes his hand across his brow. The LITTLE MAN eyes him and speaks gently.]
LITTLE MAN. Herr Ober!
[The WAITER turns.]
Might I have a glass of beer?
WAITER. Yes, sare.
LITTLE MAN. Thank you very much.
[The WAITER goes.]
AMERICAN. [Pausing in the deglutition of his eggs—affably] Pardon me, sir; I'd like to have you tell me why you called that little bit of a feller "Herr Ober." Reckon you would know what that means? Mr. Head Waiter.
LITTLE MAN. Yes, yes.
AMERICAN. I smile.
LITTLE MAN. Oughtn't I to call him that?
GERMAN. [Abruptly] 'Nein—Kellner'.
AMERICAN. Why, yes! Just "waiter."
[The ENGLISHWOMAN looks round her paper for a second. The DUTCH YOUTH stops eating and laughs. The LITTLE MAN gazes from face to face and nurses his hat.]
LITTLE MAN. I didn't want to hurt his feelings.
GERMAN. Gott!
AMERICAN. In my country we're very democratic—but that's quite a proposition.
ENGLISHMAN. [Handling coffee-pot, to his wife] More?
ENGLISHWOMAN. No, thanks.
GERMAN. [Abruptly] These fellows—if you treat them in this manner, at once they take liberties. You see, you will not get your beer.
[As he speaks the WAITER returns, bringing the LITTLE MAN'S beer, then retires.]
AMERICAN. That 'pears to be one up to democracy. [To the LITTLE MAN] I judge you go in for brotherhood?
LITTLE MAN. [Startled] Oh, no!
AMERICAN. I take considerable stock in Leo Tolstoi myself. Grand man—grand-souled apparatus. But I guess you've got to pinch those waiters some to make 'em skip. [To the ENGLISH, who have carelessly looked his way for a moment] You'll appreciate that, the way he acted about my eggs.
[The ENGLISH make faint motions with their chins and avert their eyes.]
[To the WAITER, who is standing at the door of the buffet]
Waiter! Flash of beer—jump, now!
WAITER. 'Komm' gleich'!
GERMAN. 'Cigarren'!
WAITER. 'Schon'!
[He disappears.]
AMERICAN. [Affably—to the LITTLE MAN] Now, if I don't get that flash of beer quicker'n you got yours, I shall admire.
GERMAN. [Abruptly] Tolstoi is nothing 'nichts'! No good! Ha?
AMERICAN. [Relishing the approach of argument] Well, that is a matter of temperament. Now, I'm all for equality. See that poor woman there—very humble woman—there she sits among us with her baby. Perhaps you'd like to locate her somewhere else?
GERMAN. [Shrugging]. Tolstoi is 'sentimentalisch'. Nietzsche is the true philosopher, the only one.
AMERICAN. Well, that's quite in the prospectus—very stimulating party—old Nietch—virgin mind. But give me Leo! [He turns to the red-cheeked YOUTH] What do you opine, sir? I guess by your labels you'll be Dutch. Do they read Tolstoi in your country?
[The DUTCH YOUTH laughs.]
AMERICAN. That is a very luminous answer.
GERMAN. Tolstoi is nothing. Man should himself express. He must push—he must be strong.
AMERICAN. That is so. In America we believe in virility; we like a man to expand. But we believe in brotherhood too. We draw the line at niggers; but we aspire. Social barriers and distinctions we've not much use for.
ENGLISHMAN. Do you feel a draught?
ENGLISHWOMAN. [With a shiver of her shoulder toward the AMERICAN] I do—rather.
GERMAN. Wait! You are a young people.
AMERICAN. That is so; there are no flies on us. [To the LITTLE MAN, who has been gazing eagerly from face to face] Say! I'd like to have you give us your sentiments in relation to the duty of man.
[The LITTLE MAN, fidgets, and is about to opens his mouth.]
AMERICAN. For example—is it your opinion that we should kill off the weak and diseased, and all that can't jump around?
GERMAN. [Nodding] 'Ja, ja'! That is coming.
LITTLE MAN. [Looking from face to face] They might be me.
[The DUTCH YOUTH laughs.]
AMERICAN. [Reproving him with a look] That's true humility. 'Tisn't grammar. Now, here's a proposition that brings it nearer the bone: Would you step out of your way to help them when it was liable to bring you trouble?
GERMAN. 'Nein, nein'! That is stupid.
LITTLE MAN. [Eager but wistful] I'm afraid not. Of course one wants to—There was St Francis d'Assisi and St Julien L'Hospitalier, and–
AMERICAN. Very lofty dispositions. Guess they died of them. [He rises] Shake hands, sir—my name is—[He hands a card] I am an ice-machine maker. [He shakes the LITTLE MAN's hand] I like your sentiments—I feel kind of brotherly. [Catching sight of the WAITER appearing in the doorway] Waiter; where to h-ll is that glass of beer?
GERMAN. Cigarren!
WAITER. 'Komm' gleich'!
ENGLISHMAN. [Consulting watch] Train's late.
ENGLISHWOMAN. Really! Nuisance!
[A station POLICEMAN, very square and uniformed, passes and repasses.]
AMERICAN. [Resuming his seat—to the GERMAN] Now, we don't have so much of that in America. Guess we feel more to trust in human nature.
GERMAN. Ah! ha! you will bresently find there is nothing in him but self.
LITTLE MAN. [Wistfully] Don't you believe in human nature?
AMERICAN. Very stimulating question.
[He looks round for opinions. The DUTCH YOUTH laughs.]
ENGLISHMAN. [Holding out his half of the paper to his wife] Swap!
[His wife swaps.]
GERMAN. In human nature I believe so far as I can see him—no more.
AMERICAN. Now that 'pears to me kind o' blasphemy. I believe in heroism. I opine there's not one of us settin' around here that's not a hero—give him the occasion.
LITTLE MAN. Oh! Do you believe that?
AMERICAN. Well! I judge a hero is just a person that'll help another at the expense of himself. Take that poor woman there. Well, now, she's a heroine, I guess. She would die for her baby any old time.
GERMAN. Animals will die for their babies. That is nothing.
AMERICAN. I carry it further. I postulate we would all die for that baby if a locomotive was to trundle up right here and try to handle it. [To the GERMAN] I guess you don't know how good you are. [As the GERMAN is twisting up the ends of his moustache—to the ENGLISHWOMAN] I should like to have you express an opinion, ma'am.
ENGLISHWOMAN. I beg your pardon.
AMERICAN. The English are very humanitarian; they have a very high sense of duty. So have the Germans, so have the Americans. [To the DUTCH YOUTH] I judge even in your little country they have that. This is an epoch of equality and high-toned ideals. [To the LITTLE MAN] What is your nationality, sir?
LITTLE MAN. I'm afraid I'm nothing particular. My father was half-English and half-American, and my mother half-German and half-Dutch.
AMERICAN. My! That's a bit streaky, any old way. [The POLICEMAN passes again] Now, I don't believe we've much use any more for those gentlemen in buttons. We've grown kind of mild—we don't think of self as we used to do.
[The WAITER has appeared in the doorway.]
GERMAN. [In a voice of thunder] 'Cigarren! Donnerwetter'!
AMERICAN. [Shaking his fist at the vanishing WAITER] That flash of beer!
WAITER. 'Komm' gleich'!
AMERICAN. A little more, and he will join George Washington! I was about to remark when he intruded: In this year of grace 1913 the kingdom of Christ is quite a going concern. We are mighty near universal brotherhood. The colonel here [He indicates the GERMAN] is a man of blood and iron, but give him an opportunity to be magnanimous, and he'll be right there. Oh, sir! yep!
[The GERMAN, with a profound mixture of pleasure and cynicism, brushes up the ends of his moustache.]
LITTLE MAN. I wonder. One wants to, but somehow—[He shakes his head.]
AMERICAN. You seem kind of skeery about that. You've had experience, maybe. I'm an optimist—I think we're bound to make the devil hum in the near future. I opine we shall occasion a good deal of trouble to that old party. There's about to be a holocaust of selfish interests. The colonel there with old-man Nietch he won't know himself. There's going to be a very sacred opportunity.
[As he speaks, the voice of a RAILWAY OFFICIAL is heard an the distance calling out in German. It approaches, and the words become audible.]
GERMAN. [Startled] 'Der Teufel'! [He gets up, and seizes the bag beside him.]
[The STATION OFFICIAL has appeared; he stands for a moment casting his commands at the seated group. The DUTCH YOUTH also rises, and takes his coat and hat. The OFFICIAL turns on his heel and retires still issuing directions.]
ENGLISHMAN. What does he say?
GERMAN. Our drain has come in, de oder platform; only one minute we haf.
[All, have risen in a fluster.]
AMERICAN. Now, that's very provoking. I won't get that flash of beer.
[There is a general scurry to gather coats and hats and wraps, during which the lowly WOMAN is seen making desperate attempts to deal with her baby and the two large bundles. Quite defeated, she suddenly puts all down, wrings her hands, and cries out: "Herr Jesu! Hilfe!" The flying procession turn their heads at that strange cry.]
AMERICAN. What's that? Help?
[He continues to run. The LITTLE MAN spins round, rushes back, picks up baby and bundle on which it was seated.]
LITTLE MAN. Come along, good woman, come along!
[The WOMAN picks up the other bundle and they run.]
[The WAITER, appearing in the doorway with the bottle of beer, watches with his tired smile.]