CHAPTER FOUR
THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH
In the Manner of F. Scott Fitzgerald
This story occurs under the blue skies and bluer laws of Puritan NewEngland, in the days when religion was still taken seriously by a greatmany people, and in the town of Plymouth where the "Mayflower", havingploughed its platitudinous way from Holland, had landed its preciouscargo of pious Right Thinkers, moral Gentlemen of God, and--Priscilla.
Priscilla was--well, Priscilla had yellow hair. In a later generation,in a 1921 June, if she had toddled by at a country club dance you wouldhave noticed first of all that glorious mass of bobbed corn-coloredlocks. You would, then, perhaps, have glanced idly at her face, andsuddenly said "Oh my gosh!" The next moment you would have clutched thenearest stag and hissed, "Quick--yellow hair--silver dress--oh Judas!"You would then have been introduced, and after dancing nine feetyou would have been cut in on by another panting stag. In those ninedelirious feet you would have become completely dazed by one of thesmoothest lines since the building of the Southern Pacific. You wouldthen have borrowed somebody's flask, gone into the locker room andgotten an edge--not a bachelor-dinner edge but just enough to giveyou the proper amount of confidence. You would have returned to theballroom, cut in on this twentieth century Priscilla, and taken her andyour edge out to a convenient limousine, or the first tee.
It was of some such yellow-haired Priscilla that Homer dreamed when hesmote his lyre and chanted, "I sing of arms and the man"; it was at thesight of such as she that rare Ben Johnson's Dr. Faustus cried, "Wasthis the face that launched a thousand ships?" In all ages has suchbeauty enchanted the minds of men, calling forth in one century theFiesolian terza rima of "Paradise Lost", in another the passionate ariasof a dozen Beethoven symphonies. In 1620 the pagan daughter of Helen ofTroy and Cleopatra of the Nile happened, by a characteristic jest of thegreat Ironist, to embark with her aunt on the "Mayflower".
Like all girls of eighteen Priscilla had learned to kiss and be kissedon every possible occasion; in the exotic and not at all uncommonpleasure of "petting" she had acquired infinite wisdom and completedisillusionment. But in all her "petting parties" on the "Mayflower" andin Plymouth she had found no Puritan who held her interest beyond thefirst kiss, and she had lately reverted in sheer boredom to her boardingschool habit of drinking gin in large quantities, a habit which was notentirely approved of by her old-fashioned aunt, although Mrs. Brewsterwas glad to have her niece stay at home in the evenings "instead", asshe told Mrs. Bradford, "of running around with those boys, and really,my dear, Priscilla says some of the FUNNIEST things when she gets alittle er--'boiled', as she calls it--you must come over some evening,and bring the governor."
Mrs. Brewster, Priscilla's aunt, is the ancestor of all New Englandaunts. She may be seen today walking down Tremont Street, Boston, inher Educator shoes on her way to S. S. Pierce's which she pronouncesto rhyme with HEARSE. The twentieth century Mrs. Brewster wears ahighnecked black silk waist with a chatelaine watch pinned over her leftbreast and a spot of Gordon's codfish (no bones) over her right. Whena little girl she was taken to see Longfellow, Lowell, and Ralph WaldoEmerson; she speaks familiarly of the James boys, but this has noreference to the well-known Missouri outlaws. She was brought up onblueberry cake, Postum and "The Atlantic Monthly"; she loves the Boston"Transcript", God, and her relatives in Newton Centre. Her idea of adaring joke is the remark Susan Hale made to Edward Everett Hale aboutsending underwear to the heathen. She once asked Donald Ogden Stewartto dinner with her niece; she didn't think his story about the ladymind reader who read the man's mind and then slapped his face, was veryfunny; she never asked him again.
The action of this story all takes place in MRS. BREWSTER'S Plymouthhome on two successive June evenings. As the figurative curtain risesMRS. BREWSTER is sitting at a desk reading the latest instalment ofFoxe's "Book of Martyrs".
The sound of a clanking sword is heard outside. MRS. BREWSTER looks up,smiles to herself, and goes on reading. A knock--a timid knock.
MRS. BREWSTER: Come in.
(Enter CAPTAIN MIKES STANDISH, whiskered and forty. In a latergeneration, with that imposing mustache and his hatred of Indians,Miles would undoubtedly have been a bank president. At present he seemssomewhat ill at ease, and obviously relieved to find only PRISCILLA'Saunt at home.)
MRS. BREWSTER: Good evening, Captain Standish.
MILES: Good evening, Mrs. Brewster. It's--it's cool for June, isn't it?
MRS. BREWSTER: Yes. I suppose we'll pay, for it with a hot July, though.
MILES (nervously): Yes, but it--it is cool for June, isn't it?
MRS. BREWSTER: So you said, Captain.
MILES: Yes. So I said, didn't I? (Silence.)
MILES: Mistress Priscilla isn't home, then?
MRS. BREWSTER: Why, I don't think so, Captain But I never can be surewhere Priscilla is.
MILES (eagerly): She's a--a fine girl, isn't she? A fine girl.
MRS. BREWSTER: Why, yes. Of course, Priscilla has her faults but she'dmake some man a fine wife--some man who knew how to handle her--an olderman, with experience.
MILES: Do you really think so, Mrs. Brewster? (After a minute.) Do youthink Priscilla is thinking about marrying anybody in particular?
MRS. BREWSTER: Well, I can't say, Captain. You know--she's a littlewild. Her mother was wild, too, you know--that is, before the Lord spoketo her. They say she used to be seen at the Mermaid Tavern in Londonwith all those play-acting people. She always used to say that Priscillawould marry a military man.
MILES: A military man? Well, now tell me Mrs. Brewster, do you thinkthat a sweet delicate creature like Priscilla--
A VOICE (in the next room): Oh DAMN!
MRS. BREWSTER: That must be Priscilla now.
THE VOICE: Auntie!
MRS. BREWSTER: Yes, Priscilla dear.
THE VOICE: Where in hell did you put the vermouth?
MRS. BREWSTER: In the cupboard, dear. I do hope you aren't going toget--er--"boiled" again tonight, Priscilla. (Enter PRISCILLA, infinitelyradiant, infinitely beautiful, with a bottle of vermouth in one hand anda jug of gin in the other.) PRISCILLA: Auntie, that was a dirty trick tohide the vermouth. Hello Miles--shoot many Indians today?
MILES: Why--er er--no, Mistress Priscilla.
PRISCILLA: Wish you'd take me with you next time, Miles. I'd love toshoot an Indian, wouldn't you, auntie?
MRS. BREWSTER: Priscilla! What an idea! And please dear, give AuntieBrewster the gin. I--er--promised to take some to the church socialtonight and it's almost all gone now.
MILES: I didn't see you at church last night, Mistress Priscilla.
PRISCILLA: Well I'll tell you, Miles. I started to go to church--reallyfelt awfully religious. But just as I was leaving I thought, "Priscilla,how about a drink--just one little drink?" You know, Miles, churchgoes so much better when you're just a little boiled--the lights andeverything just kind of--oh, its glorious. Well last night, after I'dhad a little liquor, the funniest thing happened. I felt awfully good,not like church at all--so I just thought I'd take a walk in the woods.And I came to a pool--a wonderful honest-to-God pool--with the moonshining right into the middle of it. So I just undressed and dove in andit was the most marvelous thing in the world. And then I danced on thebank in the grass and the moonlight--oh, Lordy, Miles, you ought to haveseen me.
MRS. BREWSTER: Priscilla!
PRISCILLA: 'Scuse me, Auntie Brewster. And then I just lay in the grassand sang and laughed.
MRS. BREWSTER: Dear, you'll catch your death of cold one of thesenights. I hope you'll excuse me, Captain Standish; it's time I was goingto our social. I'll leave Priscilla to entertain you. Now be a goodgirl, Priscilla, and please dear don't drink straight vermouth--rememberwhat happened last time. Good night, Captain--good night, dear.
(Exit MRS. BREWSTER with gin.)
PRISCILLA: Oh damn! What'll we do, Miles--I'm getting awfully sleepy.
MILES: Why--we might--er--pet a bit.
PRISCILLA (yawning): No. I'm too tired--besides, I hate whiskers.
MILES: Yes, that's so, I remember. (Ten minutes' silence, with MILESlooking sentimentally into the fireplace, PRISCILLA curled up in a chairon the other side.)
MILES: I was--your aunt and I--we were talking about you before you camein. It was a talk that meant a lot to me.
PRISCILLA: Miles, would you mind closing that window?
(MILES closes the window and returns to his chair by the fireplace.)
MILES: And your aunt told me that your mother said you would some daymarry a military man.
PRISCILLA: Miles, would you mind passing me that pillow over there?
(MILES gets up, takes the pillow to PRISCILLA and again sits down.)
MILES: And I thought that if you wanted a military man why--well, I'vealways thought a great deal of you, Mistress Priscilla--and since myRose died I've been pretty lonely, and while I'm nothing but a roughold soldier yet--well, what I'm driving at is--you see, maybe you and Icould sort of--well, I'm not much of a hand at fancy love speeches andall that--but--
(He is interrupted by a snore. He glances up and sees that PRISCILLA hasfallen fast asleep. He sits looking hopelessly into the fireplace for along time, then gets up, puts on his hat and tiptoes out of the door.)
THE NEXT EVENING
PRISCILLA is sitting alone, lost in revery, before the fireplace. It isalmost as if she had not moved since the evening before.
A knock, and the door opens to admit JOHN ALDEN, nonchalant,disillusioned, and twenty-one.
JOHN: Good evening. Hope I don't bother you.
PRISCILLA: The only people who bother me are women who tell me I'mbeautiful and men who don't.
JOHN: Not a very brilliant epigram--but still--yes, you ARE beautiful.
PRISCILLA: Of course, if it's an effort for you to say--
JOHN: Nothing is worthwhile without effort.
PRISCILLA: Sounds like Miles Standish; many things I do without effortare worthwhile; I am beautiful without the slightest effort.
JOHN: Yes, you're right. I could kiss you without any effort--and thatwould be worthwhile--perhaps.
PRISCILLA: Kissing me would prove nothing. I kiss as casually as Ibreathe.
JOHN: And if you didn't breathe--or kiss--you would die.
PRISCILLA: Any woman would.
JOHN: Then you are like other women. How unfortunate.
PRISCILLA: I am like no woman you ever knew.
JOHN: You arouse my curiosity.
PRISCILLA: Curiosity killed a cat.
JOHN: A cat may look at a--Queen.
PRISCILLA: And a Queen keeps cats for her amusement. They purr sodelightfully when she pets them.
JOHN: I never learned to purr; it must be amusing--for the Queen.
PRISCILLA: Let me teach you. I'm starting a new class tonight.
JOHN: I'm afraid I couldn't afford to pay the tuition.
PRISCILLA: For a few exceptionally meritorious pupils, variousscholarships and fellowships have been provided.
JOHN: By whom? Old graduates?
PRISCILLA: NO--the institution has been endowed by God--
JOHN: With exceptional beauty--I'm afraid I'm going to kiss you. NOW.
(They kiss.)
(Ten minutes pass.)
PRISCILLA: Stop smiling in that inane way.
JOHN: I just happened to think of something awfully funny. You know thereason why I came over here tonight?
PRISCILLA: To see me. I wondered why you hadn't come months ago.
JOHN: No. It's really awfully funny--but I came here tonight becauseMiles Standish made me promise this morning to ask you to marry him.Miles is an awfully good egg, really Priscilla.
PRISCILLA: Speak for yourself, John. (They kiss.)
PRISCILLA: Again.
JOHN: Again--and again. Oh Lord, I'm gone.
(An hour later JOHN leaves. As the door closes behind him PRISCILLAsinks back into her chair before the fireplace; an hour passes, andshe does not move; her aunt returns from the Bradfords' and after afew ineffectual attempts at conversation goes to bed alone; the candlesgutter, flicker, and die out; the room is filled of sacred silence. Oncemore the clock chimes forth the hour--the hour of fluted peace, of deaddesire and epic love. Oh not for aye, Endymion, mayst thou unfold thepurple panoply of priceless years. She sleeps--PRISCILLA sleeps--anddown the palimpsest of age-old passion the lyres of night breathe forththeir poignant praise. She sleeps--eternal Helen--in the moonlight ofa thousand years; immortal symbol of immortal aeons, flower of the godstransplanted on a foreign shore, infinitely rare, infinitely erotic.[1])
[1] For the further adventures of Priscilla, see F. Scott Fitzgerald'sstories in the "Girl With the Yellow Hair" series, notably "This Sideof Paradise," "The Offshore Pirate," "The Ice Palace," "Head andShoulders," "Bernice Bobs Her Hair," "Benediction" and "The Beautifuland Damned."