The Collected Short Plays of Thornton Wilder, Volume I

  Theatre is always the living proof of multiculturalism. Asking again and again, how do we keep language new? How do we keep the stage uncluttered so we can see and hear what must be seen and heard. No one lives long enough to finish his or her work. These later plays of Thornton Wilder will only reveal the darkness in the early plays; the light in the early plays will only shine a light on the rueful later work. Read these plays to celebrate that purity of intention that Wilder brought to the American theatre. Read the later plays as workshops for longer plays that he did not live long enough to write. We do not know what to do with Wilder because we have not known the full scope of his theatrical work. These plays, published in celebration of the centennial of Wilder’s birth, will happily redress that fact.

  John Guare

  New York City

  May 1997

  PART I

  The Long Christmas Dinner

  and OTHER PLAYS IN ONE ACT

  THE SIX PLAYS in this section were written by Thornton Wilder in the late 1920s, and were published by Coward-McCann and Yale University Press in 1931 in The Long Christmas Dinner and Other Plays in One Act. By 1946, if not earlier, Wilder had withdrawn Such Things Only Happen in Books from production and subsequent English and foreign language editions. Its appearance here thus restores the content of the original volume. John Gassner’s 1963 introduction to these plays begins on page 311.

  The Long Christmas Dinner

  CHARACTERS

  LUCIA, Roderick’s wife

  RODERICK, Mother Bayard’s son

  MOTHER BAYARD

  COUSIN BRANDON

  CHARLES, Lucia and Roderick’s son

  GENEVIEVE, Lucia and Roderick’s daughter

  LEONORA BANNING, Charles’s wife

  LUCIA, Leonora and Charles’s daughter, Samuel’s twin

  SAMUEL, Leonora and Charles’s son, Lucia’s twin

  RODERICK, Leonora and Charles’s youngest son

  COUSIN ERMENGARDE

  SERVANTS

  NURSES

  SETTING

  The dining room of the Bayard home.

  Close to the footlights a long dining table is handsomely spread for Christmas dinner. The carver’s place with a great turkey before it is at the spectator’s right.

  A door, left back, leads into the hall.

  At the extreme left, by the proscenium pillar, is a strange portal trimmed with garlands of fruits and flowers. Directly opposite is another, edged and hung with black velvet. The portals denote birth and death.

  Ninety years are to be traversed in this play which represents in accelerated motion ninety Christmas dinners in the Bayard household. The actors are dressed in inconspicuous clothes and must indicate their gradual increase in years through their acting. Most of them carry wigs of white hair which they adjust upon their heads at the indicated moment, simply and without comment. The ladies may have shawls concealed beneath the table that they gradually draw up about their shoulders as they grow older.

  Throughout the play the characters continue eating imaginary food with imaginary knives and forks.

  There is no curtain. The audience arriving at the theatre sees the stage set and the table laid, though still in partial darkness. Gradually the lights in the auditorium become dim and the stage brightens until sparkling winter sunlight streams through the dining-room windows.

  Enter Lucia. She inspects the table, touching here a knife and there a fork. She talks to a servant girl who is invisible to us.

  LUCIA: I reckon we’re ready now, Gertrude. We won’t ring the chimes today. I’ll just call them myself. (She goes into the hall and calls) Roderick. Mother Bayard. We’re all ready. Come to dinner.

  (Enter Roderick pushing Mother Bayard in a wheelchair.)

  MOTHER BAYARD: . . . and a new horse too, Roderick. I used to think that only the wicked owned two horses. A new horse and a new house and a new wife!

  LUCIA: Here, Mother Bayard, you sit between us.

  RODERICK: Well, Mother, how do you like it? Our first Christmas dinner in the new house, hey?

  MOTHER BAYARD: Tz—Tz—Tz! I don’t know what your dear father would say!

  (Roderick says grace.)

  My dear Lucia, I can remember when there were still Indians on this very ground, and I wasn’t a young girl either. I can remember when we had to cross the Mississippi on a new-made raft. I can remember when Saint Louis and Kansas City were full of Indians.

  LUCIA (Tying a napkin around Mother Bayard’s neck): Imagine that! There! What a wonderful day for our first Christmas dinner: a beautiful sunny morning, snow, a splendid sermon. Dr. McCarthy preaches a splendid sermon. I cried and cried.

  RODERICK (Extending an imaginary carving fork): Come now, what’ll you have, Mother? A little sliver of white?

  LUCIA: Every last twig is wrapped around with ice. You almost never see that. Can I cut it up for you, dear? (Over her shoulder) Gertrude, I forgot the jelly. You know—on the top shelf. Mother Bayard, I found your mother’s gravy boat while we were moving. What was her name, dear? What were all your names? You were . . . a . . . Genevieve Wainright. Now your mother—

  MOTHER BAYARD: Yes, you must write it down somewhere. I was Genevieve Wainright. My mother was Faith Morrison. She was the daughter of a farmer in New Hampshire who was something of a blacksmith too. And she married young John Wainright—

  LUCIA (Memorizing on her fingers): Genevieve Wainright. Faith Morrison.

  RODERICK: It’s all down in a book somewhere upstairs. We have it all. All that kind of thing is very interesting. Come, Lucia, just a little wine. Mother, a little red wine for Christmas day. Full of iron. “Take a little wine for thy stomach’s sake.”

  LUCIA: Really, I can’t get used to wine! What would my father say? But I suppose it’s all right.

  (Enter Cousin Brandon from the hall. He takes his place by Lucia.)

  COUSIN BRANDON (Rubbing his hands): Well, well, I smell turkey. My dear cousins, I can’t tell you how pleasant it is to be having Christmas dinner with you all. I’ve lived out there in Alaska so long without relatives. Let me see, how long have you had this new house, Roderick?

  RODERICK: Why, it must be . . .

  MOTHER BAYARD: Five years. It’s five years, children. You should keep a diary. This is your sixth Christmas dinner here.

  LUCIA: Think of that, Roderick. We feel as though we had lived here twenty years.

  COUSIN BRANDON: At all events it still looks as good as new.

  RODERICK (Over his carving): What’ll you have, Brandon, light or dark? —Frieda, fill up Cousin Brandon’s glass.

  LUCIA: Oh, dear, I can’t get used to these wines. I don’t know what my father’d say, I’m sure. What’ll you have, Mother Bayard?

  (During the following speeches Mother Bayard’s chair, without any visible propulsion, starts to draw away from the table, turns toward the right, and slowly goes toward the dark portal.)

  MOTHER BAYARD: Yes, I can remember when there were Indians on this very land.

  LUCIA (Softly): Mother Bayard hasn’t been very well lately, Roderick.

  MOTHER BAYARD: My mother was a Faith Morrison. And in New Hampshire she married a young John Wainright, who was a congregational minister. He saw her in his congregation one day . . .

  LUCIA: Mother Bayard, hadn’t you better lie down, dear?

  MOTHER BAYARD: . . . and right in the middle of his sermon he said to himself: “I’ll marry that girl.” And he did, and I’m their daughter.

  LUCIA (Half rising, looking after her with anxiety): Just a little nap, dear?

  MOTHER BAYARD: I’m all right. Just go on with your dinner. I was ten, and I said to my brother . . .

  (She goes out. A very slight pause.)

  COUSIN BRANDON: It’s too bad it’s such a cold dark day today. We almost need the lamps. I spoke to Major Lewis for a moment after church. His sciatica troubles him, but he does pretty well.

  LUCIA (Dabbing her eyes): I know Mother Bayard wouldn’t want us to grieve
for her on Christmas Day, but I can’t forget her sitting in her wheelchair right beside us, only a year ago. And she would be so glad to know our good news.

  RODERICK (Patting her hand): Now, now. It’s Christmas. (Formally) Cousin Brandon, a glass of wine with you, sir.

  COUSIN BRANDON (Half rising, lifting his glass gallantly): A glass of wine with you, sir.

  LUCIA: Does the Major’s sciatica cause him much pain?

  COUSIN BRANDON: Some, perhaps. But you know his way. He says it’ll be all the same in a hundred years.

  LUCIA: Yes, he’s a great philosopher.

  RODERICK: His wife sends you a thousand thanks for her Christmas present.

  LUCIA: I forget what I gave her. —Oh, yes, the workbasket!

  (Through the entrance of Birth comes a nurse wheeling a perambulator trimmed with blue ribbons. Lucia rushes toward it, the men following.)

  O my wonderful new baby, my darling baby! Who ever saw such a child! Quick, nurse, a boy or a girl? A boy! Roderick, what shall we call him? Really, nurse, you’ve never seen such a child!

  RODERICK: We’ll call him Charles after your father and grandfather.

  LUCIA: But there are no Charleses in the Bible, Roderick.

  RODERICK: Of course, there are. Surely there are.

  LUCIA: Roderick! —Very well, but he will always be Samuel to me.—What miraculous hands he has! Really, they are the most beautiful hands in the world. All right, nurse. Have a good nap, my darling child.

  RODERICK: Don’t drop him, nurse. Brandon and I need him in our firm.

  (Exit nurse and perambulator into the hall. The others return to their chairs, Lucia taking the place left vacant by Mother Bayard and Cousin Brandon moving up beside her. Cousin Brandon puts on his white hair.)

  Lucia, a little white meat? Some stuffing? Cranberry sauce, anybody?

  LUCIA (Over her shoulder): Margaret, the stuffing is very good today. —Just a little, thank you.

  RODERICK: Now something to wash it down. (Half rising) Cousin Brandon, a glass of wine with you, sir. To the ladies, God bless them.

  LUCIA: Thank you, kind sirs.

  COUSIN BRANDON: Pity it’s such an overcast day today. And no snow.

  LUCIA: But the sermon was lovely. I cried and cried. Dr. Spaulding does preach such a splendid sermon.

  RODERICK: I saw Major Lewis for a moment after church. He says his rheumatism comes and goes. His wife says she has something for Charles and will bring it over this afternoon.

  (Enter nurse again with perambulator. Pink ribbons. Same rush toward the left.)

  LUCIA: O my lovely new baby! Really, it never occurred to me that it might be a girl. Why, nurse, she’s perfect.

  RODERICK: Now call her what you choose. It’s your turn.

  LUCIA: Looloolooloo. Aië. Aië. Yes, this time I shall have my way. She shall be called Genevieve after your mother. Have a good nap, my treasure.

  (She looks after it as the nurse wheels the perambulator into the hall.)

  Imagine! Sometime she’ll be grown up and say “Good morning, Mother. Good morning, Father.”—Really, Cousin Brandon, you don’t find a baby like that every day.

  COUSIN BRANDON: And the new factory.

  LUCIA: A new factory? Really? Roderick, I shall be very uncomfortable if we’re going to turn out to be rich. I’ve been afraid of that for years. —However, we mustn’t talk about such things on Christmas Day. I’ll just take a little piece of white meat, thank you. Roderick, Charles is destined for the ministry. I’m sure of it.

  RODERICK: Woman, he’s only twelve. Let him have a free mind. We want him in the firm, I don’t mind saying. Anyway, no time passes as slowly as this when you’re waiting for your urchins to grow up and settle down to business.

  LUCIA: I don’t want time to go any faster, thank you. I love the children just as they are. —Really, Roderick, you know what the doctor said: one glass a meal. (Putting her hand over his glass) No, Margaret, that will be all.

  (Roderick rises, glass in hand. With a look of dismay on his face he takes a few steps toward the dark portal.)

  RODERICK: Now I wonder what’s the matter with me.

  LUCIA: Roderick, do be reasonable.

  RODERICK (Tottering, but with gallant irony): But, my dear, statistics show that we steady, moderate drinkers . . .

  LUCIA (Rises, gazing at him in anguish): Roderick! My dear! What . . .?

  RODERICK (Returns to his seat with a frightened look of relief): Well, it’s fine to be back at table with you again. How many good Christmas dinners have I had to miss upstairs? And to be back at a fine bright one, too.

  LUCIA: O my dear, you gave us a very alarming time! Here’s your glass of milk. —Josephine, bring Mr. Bayard his medicine from the cupboard in the library.

  RODERICK: At all events, now that I’m better I’m going to start doing something about the house.

  LUCIA: Roderick! You’re not going to change the house?

  RODERICK: Only touch it up here and there. It looks a hundred years old.

  (Charles enters casually from the hall.)

  CHARLES: It’s a great blowy morning, Mother. The wind comes over the hill like a lot of cannon. (He kisses his mother’s hair and sits down)

  LUCIA: Charles, you carve the turkey, dear. Your father’s not well. You always said you hated carving, though you are so clever at it.

  (Father and son exchange places.)

  And such a good sermon. I cried and cried. Mother Bayard loved a good sermon so. And she used to sing the Christmas hymns all around the year. Oh, dear, oh, dear, I’ve been thinking of her all morning!

  CHARLES: Shh, Mother. It’s Christmas Day. You mustn’t think of such things. You mustn’t be depressed.

  LUCIA: But sad things aren’t the same as depressing things. I must be getting old: I like them.

  CHARLES: Uncle Brandon, you haven’t anything to eat. Pass his plate, Hilda . . . and some cranberry sauce . . .

  (Enter Genevieve. She kisses her father’s temple and sits down.)

  GENEVIEVE: It’s glorious. Every last twig is wrapped around with ice. You almost never see that.

  LUCIA: Did you have time to deliver those presents after church, Genevieve?

  GENEVIEVE: Yes, Mama. Old Mrs. Lewis sends you a thousand thanks for hers. It was just what she wanted, she said. Give me lots, Charles, lots.

  RODERICK (Rising and starting toward the dark portal): Statistics, ladies and gentlemen, show that we steady, moderate . . .

  CHARLES: How about a little skating this afternoon, Father?

  RODERICK: I’ll live till I’m ninety.

  LUCIA: I really don’t think he ought to go skating.

  RODERICK (At the very portal, suddenly astonished): Yes, but . . . but . . . not yet!

  (He goes out.)

  LUCIA (Dabbing her eyes): He was so young and so clever, Cousin Brandon. (Raising her voice for Cousin Brandon’s deafness) I say he was so young and so clever. —Never forget your father, children. He was a good man. Well, he wouldn’t want us to grieve for him today.

  CHARLES: White or dark, Genevieve? Just another sliver, Mother?

  LUCIA (Putting on her white hair): I can remember our first Christmas dinner in this house, Genevieve. Twenty-five years ago today. Mother Bayard was sitting here in her wheelchair. She could remember when Indians lived on this very spot and when she had to cross the river on a new-made raft.

  CHARLES: She couldn’t have, Mother.

  GENEVIEVE: That can’t be true.

  LUCIA: It certainly was true—even I can remember when there was only one paved street. We were very happy to walk on boards. (Louder, to Cousin Brandon) We can remember when there were no sidewalks, can’t we, Cousin Brandon?

  COUSIN BRANDON (Delighted): Oh, yes! And those were the days.

  CHARLES AND GENEVIEVE (Sotto voce, this is a family refrain): Those were the days.

  LUCIA: And the ball last night, Genevieve? Did you have a nice time? I hope you didn’t waltz, dear. I think
a girl in our position ought to set an example. Did Charles keep an eye on you?

  GENEVIEVE: He had none left. They were all on Leonora Banning. He can’t conceal it any longer, Mother. I think he’s engaged to marry Leonora Banning.

  CHARLES: I’m not engaged to marry anyone.

  LUCIA: Well, she’s very pretty.

  GENEVIEVE: I shall never marry, Mother. —I shall sit in this house beside you forever, as though life were one long, happy Christmas dinner.

  LUCIA: O my child, you mustn’t say such things!

  GENEVIEVE (Playfully): You don’t want me? You don’t want me?

  (Lucia bursts into tears.)

  Why, Mother, how silly you are! There’s nothing sad about that—what could possibly be sad about that?

  LUCIA (Drying her eyes): Forgive me. I’m just unpredictable, that’s all.

  (Charles goes to the door and leads in Leonora Banning.)

  LEONORA (Kissing Lucia’s temple): Good morning, Mother Bayard. Good morning, everybody. Mother Bayard, you sit here by Charles. It’s really a splendid Christmas Day today.

  CHARLES: Little white meat? Genevieve, Mother, Leonora?

  LEONORA: Every last twig is encircled with ice. —You never see that.

  CHARLES (Shouting): Uncle Brandon, another? —Rogers, fill my uncle’s glass.

  LUCIA (To Charles): Do what your father used to do. It would please Cousin Brandon so. You know (Pretending to raise a glass) “Uncle Brandon, a glass of wine . . .”

  CHARLES (Rising): Uncle Brandon, a glass of wine with you, sir.

  BRANDON: A glass of wine with you, sir. To the ladies, God bless them every one.

  THE LADIES: Thank you, kind sirs.

  GENEVIEVE: And if I go to Germany for my music I promise to be back for Christmas. I wouldn’t miss that.