IF I HAD A FATHER.
A DRAMA.
ACT I.
SCENE.--_A Sculptor's studio_. ARTHUR GERVAISE _working at a clayfigure and humming a tune. A knock_.
_Ger._ Come in. (_Throws a wet cloth over the clay. Enter_ WARREN _bythe door communicating with the house_.) Ah, Warren! How do you do?
_War._ How are you, Gervaise? I'm delighted to see you once more. Ihave but just heard of your return.
_Ger._ I've been home but a fortnight. I was just thinking of you.
_War._ I was certain I should find you at work.
_Ger._ You see my work can go on by any light. It is more independentthan yours.
_War._ I wish it weren't, then.
_Ger._ Why?
_War._ Because there would be a chance of our getting you out of yourden sometimes.
_Ger._ Like any other wild beast when the dark falls--eh?
_War._ Just so.
_Ger._ And where the good?
_War._ Why shouldn't you roar a little now and then like other honestlions?
_Ger._ I doubt if the roaring lions do much beyond roaring.
_War._ And I doubt whether the lion that won't even whisk his tail,will get food enough shoved through his bars to make it worth hiswhile to keep a cage in London.
_Ger._ I certainly shall not make use of myself to recommend my work.
_War._ What is it now?
_Ger._ Oh, nothing!--only a little fancy of my own.
_War._ There again! The moment I set foot in your study, you throw thesheet over your clay, and when I ask you what you are workingat--"Oh--a little fancy of my own!"
_Ger._ I couldn't tell it was you coming.
_War._ Let me see what you've been doing, then.
_Ger._ Oh, she's a mere Lot's-wife as yet!
_War._ (_approaching the figure_). Of course, of course! I understandall that.
_Ger._ (_laying his hand on his arm_). Excuse me: I would rather notshow it.
_War._ I beg your pardon.--I couldn't believe you really meant it.
_Ger._ I'll show you the mould if you like.
_War._ I don't know what you mean by that: you would never throw a wetsheet over a cast! (GER. _lifts a painting from the floor and sets iton an easel_. WAR. _regards it for a few moments in silence_.) Ah! byJove, Gervaise! some one sent you down the wrong turn: you ought tohave been a painter. What a sky! And what a sea! Those blues andgreens--rich as a peacock's feather-eyes! Superb! A tropical night!The dolphin at its last gasp in the west, and all above, an abyss ofblue, at the bottom of which the stars lie like gems in the mineshaftof the darkness!
_Ger._ _You_ seem to have taken the wrong turn, Warren! _You_ ought tohave been a poet.
_War._ Such a thing as that puts the slang out of a fellow's bend.
_Ger._ I'm glad you like it. I do myself, though it falls short of myintent sadly enough.
_War._ But I don't for the life of me see what _this_ has to do with_that_. You said something about a mould.
_Ger._ I will tell you what I meant. Every individual aspect of naturelooks to me as if about to give birth to a human form, embodying thatof which itself only dreams. In this way landscape-painting is, in myeyes, the mother of sculpture. That Apollo is of the summer dawn; thatAphrodite of the moonlit sea; this picture represents the mother of myPsyche.
_War._ Under the sheet there?
_Ger._ Yes. You shall see her some day; but to show your work toosoon, is to uncork your champagne before dinner.
_War._ Well, you've spoiled my picture. I shall go home and scrape mycanvas to the bone.
_Ger._ On second thoughts, I will show you my Psyche. (_Uncovers theclay_. WAR. _stands in admiration. Enter_ WATERFIELD _by same door_.)
_Wat_. Ah, Warren! here you are before me! Mr. Gervaise, I hope I seeyou well.
_War._ Mr. Waterfield--an old friend of yours, Gervaise, I believe.
_Ger._ I cannot appropriate the honour.
_Wat_. I was twice in your studio at Rome, but it's six months ago,Mr. Gervaise. Ha! (_using his eye-glass_) What a charming figure! APsyche! Wings suggested by--Very skilful! Contour lovely! Altogetherantique in pose and expression!--Is she a commission?
_Ger._ No.
_Wat_. Then I beg you will consider her one.
_Ger._ Excuse me; I never work on commission--at least never in thiskind. A bust or two I have done.
_Wat_. By Jove!--I _should_ like to see your model!--This is perfect.Are you going to carve her?
_Ger._ Possibly.
_Wat_. Uncommissioned?
_Ger._ If at all.
_Wat_. Well, I can't call it running any risk. What lines!--You willlet me drop in some day when you've got your model here?
_Ger._ Impossible.
_Wat_. You don't mean--?
_Ger._ I had no model.
_Wat_. No model? Ha! ha!--You must excuse me! (GER. _takes up the wetsheet_.) I understand. Reasons. A little mystery enhances--eh?--isconvenient too--balks intrusion--throws the drapery over themignonette. I understand. (GER. _covers the clay_.) Oh! pray don'tcarry out my figure. That _is_ a damper now!
_Ger._ I am not fond of acting the showman. You must excuse me: I ambusy.
_Wat_. Ah well!--some other time--when you've got on with her a bit.Good morning. Ta, ta, Warren.
_Ger._ Good morning. This way, if you please. (_Shows him out by thedoor to the street_.) How did the fellow find his way here?
_War._ I am the culprit, I'm sorry to say. He asked me for youraddress, and I gave it him.
_Ger._ How long have you known him?
_War._ A month or two.
_Ger._ Don't bring him here again.
_War._ Don't say I _brought_ him. I didn't do that. But I'm afraidyou've not seen the last of him.
_Ger._ Oh yes, I have! Old Martha would let in anybody, but I've got aman now.--William!
_Enter_ COL. GERVAISE _dressed as a servant_.
You didn't see the gentleman just gone, I'm afraid, William?
_Col. G._ No, sir.
_Ger._ Don't let in any one calling himself _Waterfield_.
_Col. G._ No, sir.
_Ger._ I'm going out with Mr. Warren. I shall be back shortly.
_Col. G._ Very well, sir. _Exit into the house_.
_Ger._ (_to_ WAR.) I can't touch clay again till I get that fellow outof my head.
_War._ Come along, then.
_Exeunt_ GER. _and_ WAR.
_Re-enter_ COL. G. _polishing a boot. Regards it with dissatisfaction_.
_Col. G._ Confound the thing! I wish it were a scabbard. When I thinkI'm getting it all right--one rub more and it's gone dull again!
_The house-door opens slowly, and_ THOMAS _peeps cautiously in_.
_Th._ What sort of a plaze be this, maister?
_Col. G._ You ought to have asked that outside. How did you get in?
_Th._ By th' dur-hole. Iv yo leave th' dur oppen, th' dogs'll coom in.
_Col. G._ I must speak to Martha again. She _will_ leave thestreet-door open!--Well, you needn't look so frightened. It ain't arobbers' cave.
_Th._ That be more'n aw knaw--not for sartin sure, maister. Nobory munkeawnt upon nobory up to Lonnon, they tells mo. But iv a gentlemanaxes mo into his heawse, aw'm noan beawn to be afeard. Aw'll coom in,for mayhap yo can help mo. It be a coorous plaze. What dun yo makhere?
_Col. G._ What would you think now?
_Th._ It looks to mo like a mason's shed--a greight one.
_Col. G._ You're not so far wrong.
_Th._ (_advancing_). It do look a queer plaze. Aw be noan so sureabeawt it. But they wonnot coot mo throat beout warnin'. Aw'll bothernoan. (_Sits down on the dais and wipes his face_.) Well, aw be a'mostweary.
_Col. G._ Is there anything I can do for you?
_Th._ Nay, aw donnot know; but beout aw get somebory to help mo, awdunnot think aw'll coom to th' end in haste. Aw're a lookin' forsummut aw've lost, mou.
_Col. G._ Did you come all the way from Lancash
ire to look for it?
_Th._ Eh, lad! aw thowt thae'rt beawn to know wheer aw coom fro!
_Col. G._ Anybody could tell that, the first word you spoke. I mean nooffence.
_Th._ (_looking disappointed_). Well, noan's ta'en. But thae dunnotsay thae's ne'er been to Lancashire thisel'?
_Col. G._ No, I don't say that: I've been to Lancashire several times.
_Th._ Wheer to?
_Col. G._ Why, Manchester.
_Th._ That's noan ov it.
_Col. G._ And Lancaster.
_Th._ Tut! tut! That's noan of it, nayther.
_Col. G._ And Liverpool. I was once there for a whole week.
_Th._ Nay, nay. Noather o' those plazes. Fur away off 'em.
_Col. G._ But what does it matter where I have or haven't been?
_Th._ Mun aw tell tho again? Aw've lost summut, aw tell tho. Didstone'er hear tell ov th' owd woman 'at lost her shillin'? Hoo couldn'tsit her deawn beawt hoo feawnd it! Yon's me. (_Hides his face in hishands_.)
_Col. G._ Ah! now I begin to guess! (_aside_).--You don't mean you'velost your--
_Th._ (_starting up and grasping his stick with both hands_). Aw _do_mane aw've lost mo yung lass; and aw dunnot say thae's feawnd her, butaw do say thae knows wheer hoo is. Aw do. Theighur! Nea then!
_Col. G._ What on earth makes you think that? I don't know what you'reafter.
_Th._ Thae knows well enough. Thae knowed what aw'd lost afoor awtou'd tho yo' be deny in' your own name. Thae knows. Aw'll tay thoafore the police, beout thou gie her oop. Aw wull.
_Col. G._ What story have you to tell the police then? They'll want toknow.
_Th._ Story saysto? The dule's i' th' mon! Didn't aw seigh th' mon 'atstealed her away goo into this heawse not mich over hauve an hourago?--Aw seigh him wi' mo own eighes.
_Col. G._ Why didn't you speak to him?
_Th._ He poppit in at th' same dur, and there aw've been a-watchingever since. Aw've not took my eighes off ov it. He's somewheeres nowin this same heawse.
_Col. G._ He _may_ have been out in the morning (_aside_).--But yousee there are more doors than one to the place. There is a back door;and there is a door out into the street.
_Th._ Eigh! eigh! Th' t'one has to do wi' th' t'other--have it? Threedur-holes to one shed! That looks bad!
_Col. G._ He's not here, whoever it was. There's not a man but myselfin the place.
_Th._ Hea am aw to know yo're not playin' a marlock wi' mo? He'll beoop i' th' heawse theer. Aw mun go look (_going_).
_Col. G._ (_preventing him_). And how am _I_ to know you're not ahousebreaker?
_Th._ Dun yo think an owd mon like mosel' would be of mich use forsich wark as that, mon?
_Col. G._ The more fit for a spy, though, to see what might be made ofit.
_Th._ Eh, mon! Dun they do sich things as you? But aw'm seechin'nothin', man nor meawse, that donnot belung me. Aw tell yo true. Giemo mo Mattie, and aw'll trouble yo no moor. Aw winnot--if yo'll givemo back mo Mattie. (_Comes close up to him and lays his hand on hisarm_.) Be yo a feyther, mon?
_Col. G._ Yes.
_Th._ Ov a pratty yung lass?
_Col. G._ Well, no. I have but a son.
_Th._ Then thae winnot help mo?
_Col. G._ I shall be very glad to help you, if you will tell me how.
_Th._ Tell yor maister 'at Mattie's owd feyther's coom a' the gait froRachda to fot her whoam, and aw'll be much obleeged to him iv he'lllet her goo beout lunger delay, for her mother wants her to whoam:hoo's but poorly. Tell yor maister that.
_Col. G._ But I don't believe my master knows anything about her.
_Th._ Aw're tellin' tho, aw seigh' th' mon goo into this heawse but afeow minutes agoo?
_Col. G._ You've mistaken somebody for him.
_Th._ Well, aw'm beawn to tell tho moore. Twothre days ago, aw seighmo chylt coom eawt ov this same dur--aw mane th' heawsedur, yon.
_Col. G._ Are you sure of that?
_Th._ Sure as death. Aw seigh her back.
_Col. G._ Her back! Who could be sure of a back?
_Th._ By th' maskins! dosto think I dunnot know mo Mattie's back? Iseign her coom eawt o' that dur, aw tell tho!
_Col. G._ Why didn't you speak to her?
_Th._ Aw co'd.
_Col. G._ And she didn't answer?
_Th._ Aw didn't co' leawd. Aw're not willin' to have ony mak ov a din.
_Col. G._ But you followed her surely?
_Th._ Aw did; but aw're noan so good at walkin' as aw wur when awcoom; th' stwons ha' blistered mo fet. An it're the edge o' dark like.Aw connot seigh weel at neet, wi o' th' lamps; an afoor aw geet oopwi' her, hoo's reawnd th' nook, and gwon fro mo seet.
_Col. G._ There are ten thousands girls in London you might take foryour own under such circumstances--not seeing more than the backs ofthem.
_Th._ Ten theawsand girls like mo Mattie, saysto?--wi'her greighteighes and her lung yure?--Puh!
_Col. G._ But you've just said you didn't see her face!
_Th._ Dunnot aw know what th' face ov mo chylt be like, beout seein' ovit? Aw'm noan ov a lump-yed. Nobory as seigh her once wouldn't knowher again.
_Col. G._ (_aside_). He's a lunatic!--I don't see what I can do foryou, old fellow.
_Th._ (_rising_). And aw met ha' known it beout axin'! O'reet! Aw're agreight foo'! But aw're beawn to coom in: aw lung'd to goo through th'same dur wi' mo Mattie. Good day, sir. It be like maister, like mon!God's curse upon o' sich! (_Turns his back. After a moment turnsagain_.) Noa. Aw winnot say that; for mo Mattie's sake aw winnot saythat. God forgie you! (_going by the house_).
_Col. G._ This way, please! (_opening the street-door_).
_Th._ Aw see. Aw'm not to have a chance ov seein' oather Mattie or th'mon. _Exit_.
Col. G. _resumes his boot absently. Re-enter_ THOMAS, _shaking his fist_.
_Th._ But aw tell tho, aw'll stick to th' place day and neet, aw wull.Aw wull. Aw wull.
_Col. G._ Come back to-morrow.
_Th._ Coom back, saysto? Aw'll not goo away (_growing fierce_). Wiltogie mo mo Mattie? Aw'm noan beawn to ston here so mich lunger. Wiltogie mo mo Mattie?
_Col. G._ I cannot give you what I haven't got.
_Th._ Aw'll break thi yed, thou villain! (_threatening him with hisstick_). Eh, Mattie! Mattie! to loe sich a mon's maister more'n me! Iwould dey fur thee, Mattie. _Exit_.
_Col. G._ It's all a mistake, of course. There are plenty of youngmen--but my Arthur's none of such. I cannot believe it of him. Thedaughter! If I could find _her, she_ would settle the question. (_Itbegins to grow dark_.) I must help the old man to find her. He's sureto come back. Arthur does _not_ look the least like it.But--(_polishes vigorously_). I can_not_ get this boot to look like agentleman's. I wish I had taken a lesson or two first. I'll get holdof a shoeblack, and make him come for a morning or two. No, he does_not_ look like it. There he comes. (_Goes on polishing_.)
_Enter_ GER.
_Ger._ William!
_Col. G._ (_turning_). Yes, sir.
_Ger._ Light the gas. Any one called?
_Col. G._ Yes, sir.
_Ger._ Who?
_Col. G._ I don't know, sir. (_Lighting the gas_.)
_Ger._ You should have asked his name. (_Stands before the clay,contemplating it_.)
_Col. G._ I'm sorry I forgot, sir. It was only an old man from thecountry--after his daughter, he said.
_Ger._ Came to offer his daughter, or himself perhaps. (_Begins towork at the figure_.)
_Col. G._ (_watching him stealthily_). He looked a respectable oldparty--from Lancashire, he said.
_Ger._ I dare say. You will have many such callers. Take the address.Models, you know.
_Col. G._ If he calls again, sir?
_Ger._ Ask him to leave his address, I say.
_Col. G._ But he told me you knew her.
_Ger._ Possibly. I had a good many models before I left. But it's ofno consequence; I don't want any at present.
_Col. G._ He seemed in a great
way, sir--and swore. I couldn't makehim out.
_Ger._ Ah! hm!
_Col. G._ He says he saw her come out of the house.
_Ger. Has_ there been any girl here? Have you seen any about?
_Col. G._ No, sir.
_Ger._ My aunt had a dressmaker to meet her here the other evening. Ihave had no model since I came back.
_Col. G._ The man was in a sad taking about her, sir. I didn't knowwhat to make of it. There seemed some truth--something suspicious.
_Ger._ Perhaps my aunt can throw some light upon it. (COL. G._lingers_.) That will do. (_Exit_ COL. G.) How oddly the man behaves!A sun-stroke in India, perhaps. Or he may have had a knock on thehead. I must keep my eye on him. (_Stops working, steps backward, andgazes at the Psyche_.) She is growing very like some one! Who can itbe? She knows she is puzzling me, the beauty! See how she is keepingback a smile! She knows if she lets one smile out, her whole face willfollow it through the clay. How strange the half-lights of memory are!You know and you don't know--both at once. Like a bat in the twilightyou are sure of it, and the same moment it is nowhere. Who _is_ myPsyche like?--The forehead above the eyebrow, and round by the temple?The half-playful, half-sorrowful curve of the lip? The hope in thelifted eyelid? There is more there than ever I put there. Some powerhas been shaping my ends. By heaven, I have it!--No--yes--it is--it isConstance--momently dawning out of the clay! What _does_ this mean?_She_ never gave me a sitting--at least, she has not done so for thelast ten years--yet here she is--she, and no other! I never thoughtshe was beautiful. When she came with my aunt the other day though, Idid fancy I saw a new soul dawning through the lovely face. Here itis--the same soul breaking through the clay of my Psyche!--I will givejust one touch to the corner of the mouth.
_Gives a few touches, then steps back again and contemplates the figure. Turns away and walks up and down. The light darkens to slow plaintive music, which lasts for a minute. Then the morning begins to dawn, gleaming blue upon the statues and casts, and revealing_ GER. _seated before his Psyche, gazing at her. He rises, and exit. Enter_ COL. G. _and looks about_.
_Col. G._ I don't know what to make of it! Or rather I'm afraid I doknow what to make of it! It looks bad. He's not been in bed all night.But it shows he has some conscience left--and that's a comfort.
_Enter_ Mrs. CLIFFORD, _peeping round cautiously_.
_Col. G._ What, Clara! you here so early!
_Mrs. C._ Well, you know, brother, you're so fond of mystery!
_Col. G._ It's very kind of you to come! But we must be very careful;I can't tell when my master may be home.
_Mrs. C._ Has he been out all night, then?
_Col. G._ Oh no; he's just gone.
_Mrs. C._ I never knew him such an early bird. I made sure he was safein bed for a couple of hours yet. But I do trust, Walter, you have hadenough of this fooling, and are prepared to act like a rational manand a gentleman.
_Col. G._ On the contrary, Clara, with my usual obstinacy, I am moredetermined than ever that my boy shall not know me, until, as I toldyou, I have rendered him such service as may prove me not altogetherunworthy to be his father. Twenty years of neglect will be hard tosurmount.
_Mrs. C._ But mere menial service cannot discharge the least portionof your obligations. As his father alone can you really serve him.
_Col. G._ You persist in misunderstanding me. This is not the serviceI mean. I scorn the fancy. This is only the means, as I told youplainly before, of finding out _how_ I may serve him--of learning whathe really needs--or most desires. If I fail in discovering how torecommend myself to him, I shall go back to India, and content myselfwith leaving him a tolerable fortune.
_Mrs. C._ How ever a hair-brained fellow like you, Walter, could havemade such a soldier!--Why don't you tell your boy you love him, andhave done with it?
_Col. G._ I will, as soon as I have proof to back the assertion.
_Mrs. C._ I tell you it is rank pride.
_Col. G._ It may be pride, sister; but it is the pride of a repentantthief who puts off his confession until he has the money in his handto prove the genuineness of his sorrow.
_Mrs. C._ It never _was_ of any use to argue with _you_, Walter; youknow that, or at least I know it. So I give up.--I trust you have gotover your prejudice against his profession. It is not my fault.
_Col. G._ In truth, I had forgotten the profession--as you call it--inwatching the professor.
_Mrs. C._ And has it not once occurred to you to ask how he may takesuch watching?
_Col. G._ By the time he is aware of it, he will be ready tounderstand it.
_Mrs. C._ But suppose he should discover you before you have thusestablished your position?
_Col. G._ I must run the risk.
_Mrs. C._ Suppose then you should thus find out something he would nothave you know?
_Col. G._ (_hurriedly_). Do you imagine his servant might know a thinghe would hide from his father?
_Mrs. C._ I do not, Walter. I can trust him. But he might well resentthe espionage of even his father. You cannot get rid of the vile lookof the thing.
_Col. G._ Again I say, my boy shall be my judge, and my love shall bemy plea. In any case I shall have to ask his forgiveness. But there ishis key in the lock! Run into the house.
_Exit_ MRS. C. _Enter_ GER., _and goes straight to the Psyche_.
_Col. G._ Breakfast is waiting, sir.
_Ger._ By and by, William.
_Col. G._ You haven't been in bed, sir!
_Ger._ Well? What of that?
_Col. G._ I hope you're not ill, sir.
_Ger._ Not in the least: I work all night sometimes.--You can go.(COL. G. _lingers, with a searching gaze at the Psyche_.)--I don'twant anything.
_Col. G._ Pardon me, sir, but I am sure you are ill. You've done nowork since last night.
_Ger._ (_with displeasure_). I am quite well, and wish to be alone.
_Col. G._ Mayn't I go and fetch a doctor, sir? It is better to takethings in time.
_Ger._ You are troublesome. (_Exit_ COL. G.)--What can the fellowmean? He looked at me so strangely too! He's officious--that's all, Idare say. A good sort of man, I do think! William!--What is it in theman's face?--(_Enter_ Col G.) Is the breakfast ready?
_Col. G._ Quite ready, sir.
_Ger._ I'm sorry I spoke to you so hastily. The fact is--
_Col. G._ Don't mention it, sir. Speak as you will to me; I shan'tmind it. When there's anything on a man's conscience--I--I--I mean ona man's mind--
_Ger._ What _do_ you mean?
_Col. G._ I mean, when there is anything there, he can't well help histemper, sir.
_Ger._ I don't understand you; but, anyhow, you--go too far, William.
_Col. G._ I beg your pardon, sir: I forgot myself. I do humbly begyour pardon. Shall I make some fresh coffee, sir? It's not cold--onlyit's stood too long.
_Ger._ The coffee will do well enough. (_Exit_ COL. G.)--Is she sobeautiful? (_turning to the Psyche_)--Is there a likeness?--I seeit.--Nonsense! A mere chance confluence of the ideal and theactual.--Even then the chance must mean something. Such a _mere_chance would indeed be a strange one!
_Enter_ CONSTANCE.
Oh, my heart! here she comes! my Psyche herself!--Well, Constance!
_Con._ Oh, Arthur, I am _so_ glad I've found you! I want to talk toyou about something. I know you don't care much about me now, but I_must_ tell you, for it would be wrong not.
_Ger._ (_aside_). How beautiful she is! What _can_ she have to tell meabout? It cannot be--it _shall_ not be--. Sit down, won't you?(_offering her a chair_.)
_Con._ No. _You_ sit there (_pointing to the dais_), and I will sithere (_placing herself on the lower step_). It was here I used to sitso often when I was a little girl. Why can't one keep little? I wasalways with you then! (_Sighs_.)
_Ger._ It is not my fault, Constance.
_Con._ Oh no! I suppose it can't be. Only I don't see why. Oh, Arthur,where should I be but for you! I saw the old place ye
sterday. Howdreadful and yet how dear it was!
_Ger._ Who took you there?
_Con._ Nobody. I went alone.
_Ger._ It was hardly safe.--I don't like your going out alone, Constance.
_Con._ Why, Arthur! I used to know every court and alley about Shoreditchbetter than I know Berkeley Square now!
_Ger._ But what made you go there?
_Con._ I went to find a dressmaker who has been working for my aunt,and lost my way. And--would you believe it?--I was actuallyfrightened!
_Ger._ No wonder! There are rough people about there.
_Con._ I never used to think them rough when I lived among them withmy father and mother. There must be just as good people there asanywhere else. Yet I could not help shuddering at the thought ofliving there again!--How strange it made me feel! You have been myangel, Arthur. What would have become of me if you hadn't taken me, Idare not think.
_Ger._ I have had my reward, Constance: you are happy.
_Con._ Not quite. There's something I want to tell you.
_Ger._ Tell on, child.
_Con._ Oh, thank you!--that is how you used to talk to me.(_Hesitates_.)
_Ger._ (_with foreboding_) Well, what is it?
_Con._ (_pulling the fingers of her gloves_) A gentleman--you knowhim--has been--calling upon aunt--and me. We have seen a good deal ofhim.
_Ger._ Who is he?
_Con._ Mr. Waterfield. (_Keeps her eyes on the floor_.)
_Ger._ Well?
_Con._ He says--he--he--he wants me to marry him.--Aunt likes him.
_Ger._ And you?
_Con._ I like him too. I don't think I like him enough--I dare say Ishall. It is _so_ good of him to take poor me! He is _very_ rich, theysay.
_Ger._ Have you accepted him?
_Con._ I am afraid he thinks so.--Ye--e--s.--I hardly know.
_Ger._ Haven't you--been rather--in a hurry--Constance?
_Con._ No, indeed! I haven't been in a hurry at all. He has been a longtime trying to make me like him. I have been too long a burden to Mrs.Clifford.
_Ger._ So! it is her doing, then!
_Con._ You were away, you know.
_Ger._ (_bitterly_) Yes; too far--chipping stones and making mud-pies!
_Con._ I don't know what you mean by that, Arthur.
_Ger._ Oh--nothing. I mean that--that--Of course if you are engaged tohim, then--
_Con._ I'm afraid I've done very wrong, Arthur. If I had thought youwould care!--I knew aunt would be pleased!--she wanted me to have him,I knew.--I ought to do what I can to please her,--ought I not? I haveno right to--
_Ger._ Surely, surely. Yes, yes; I understand. It was not your fault.Only you mustn't marry him, if you--. Thank you for telling me.
_Con._ I ought to have told you before--before I let him speak to meagain. But I didn't think you would care--not much.
_Ger._ Yes, yes.
_Con._ (_looking up with anxiety_) Ah! you _are_ vexed with me,Arthur! I see how wrong it was now. I never saw you look like that. Iam very, very sorry. (_Bursts into tears_.)
_Ger._ No, no, child! Only it is rather sudden, and I want to thinkabout it. Shall I send William home with you?
_Con._ No, thank you. I have a cab waiting. You're not angry with yourlittle beggar, Arthur?
_Ger._ What is there to be angry about, child?
_Con._ That I--did anything without asking you first.
_Ger._ Nonsense! You couldn't help it. _You_'re not to blame one bit.
_Con._ Oh, yes, I am! I ought to have asked you first. But indeed Idid not know you would care. Good-bye.--Shall I go at once?
_Ger._ Good-bye. (_Exit_ CON., _looking back troubled_.) Come at last!Oh fool! fool! fool! In love with her at last!--and too late! Forthree years I haven't seen her--have not once written to her! Since Icame back I've seen her just twice,--and now in the very hell of love!The ragged little darling that used to lie coiled up there in thatcorner! If it were my sister, it would be hard to lose her so! And tosuch a fellow as that!--not even a gentleman! How _could_ she take himfor one! That does perplex me! Ah, well! I suppose men _have_ bornesuch things before, and men will bear them again! I must work! Nothingbut work will save me. (_Approaches the Psyche, but turns from it witha look of despair and disgust_.) What a fool I have been!--Constance!Constance!--A brute like that to touch one of her fingers! God inheaven! It will drive me mad. (_Rushes out, leaving the door open_.)
_Enter_ COL. GERVAISE.
_Col. G._ Gone again! and without his breakfast! My poor boy! There'ssomething very wrong with you! It's that girl! It must be! But there'sconscience in him yet!--It is all my fault. If I had been a father tohim, this would never have happened.--If he were to marry the girlnow?--Only, who can tell but _she_ led _him_ astray? I have known sucha thing. (_Sits down and buries his face in his hands_.)
_Enter_ WATERFIELD.
_Wat_. Is Mr. Gervaise in?
_Col. G._ (_rising_) No, sir.
_Wat_. Tell him I called, will you? [_Exit_.]
_Col. G._ Yes, sir.--Forgot again. Young man;--gentleman or cad?--don'tknow; think the latter.
_Enter_ THOMAS.
_Th._ Han yo heard speyk ov mo chylt yet, sir?
_Col. G._ (_starting up_). In the name of God, I know nothing of yourchild; but bring her here, and I will give you a hundred pounds--ingolden sovereigns.
_Th._ Hea am aw to fot her yere, when I dunnot know wheer hoo be, sir?
_Col. G._ That's your business. Bring her, and there will be yourmoney.
_Th._ Dun yo think, sir, o' the gouden suverings i' th' Bank ovEngland would put a sharper edge on mo oud eighes when they look formo lass? Eh, mon! Yo dunnot know the heart ov a feyther--ov thefeyther ov a lass-barn, sir. Han yo kilt and buried her, and nea be yosorry for't? I' hoo be dead and gwoan, tell mo, sir, and aw'll goowhoam again, for mo oud lass be main lonesome beout mo, and we'll waittill we goo to her, for hoo winnot coom no moor to us.
_Col. G._ For anything I know, your daughter is alive and well. Bringher here, I say, and I will make you happy.
_Th._ Aw shannot want thes or thi silverings either to mak mo happythen, maister. Iv aw hed a houd o' mo lass, it's noan o' yere aw'd bea coomin' wi' her. It's reet streight whoam to her mother we'd begooin', aw'll be beawn. Nay, nay, mon!--aw'm noan sich a greight fooas yo tak mo for.
_Exit._ COL. G. _follows him. Enter._ GER. _Sits down before the Psyche, but without looking at her_.
_Ger._ Oh those fingers! They are striking terrible chords on myheart! I _will_ conquer it. But I _will_ love her. The spear shallfill its own wound. To draw it out and die, would be no victory. "I'llbut lie down and bleed awhile, and then I'll rise and fight again."Brave old Sir Andrew!
_Enter_ COL. G.
_Col. G._ I beg your pardon, sir--a young man called while you wereout.
_Ger._ (_listlessly_). Very well, William.
_Col. G._ Is there any message, if he calls again, sir? He said hewould.
_Ger._ No. (COL. G. _lingers_.) You can go.
_Col. G._ I hope you feel better, sir?
_Ger._ Quite well.
_Col. G._ Can I get you anything, sir?
_Ger._ No, thank you; I want nothing.--Why do you stay?
_Col. G._ Can't you think of something I can do for you, sir?
_Ger._ Fetch that red cloth.
_Col. G._ Yes, sir.
_Ger._ Throw it over that--
_Col. G._ This, sir?
_Ger._ No, no--the clay there. Thank you. (_A knock at the door_.) Seewho that is.
_Col. G._ Are you at home, sir?
_Ger._ That depends. Not to Mr. Waterfield. Oh, my head! my head![_Exit_ COL. G.
_Enter_ CONSTANCE. GER. _starts, but keeps his head leaning on his hand_.
_Con._ I forgot to say to you, Arthur,--. But you are ill! What is thematter, dear Arthur?
_Ger._ (_without looking up_) Nothing--only a headache.
_Con._ Do come home with me, and let aunt and
me nurse you. Don't bevexed with me any more. I will do whatever you like. I couldn't gohome without seeing you again. And now I find you ill!
_Ger._ Not a bit. I am only dreadfully busy. I must go out of town. Iam so busy! I can't stay in it a moment longer. I have so many thingsto do.
_Con._ Mayn't I come and see you while you work? I never used tointerrupt you. I want so to sit once more in my old place. (_Draws astool towards him_.)
_Ger._ No, no--not--not there! Constance used to sit there. William!
_Con._ You frighten me, Arthur!
_Enter_ COL. G.
_Ger._ Bring a chair, William.
_Constance sits down like a chidden child. Exit_ COL. G.
_Con._ I must have offended you more than I thought, Arthur! What_can_ I say? It is so stupid to be always saying _I am sorry_.
_Ger._ No, no. But some one may call.
_Con._ You mean more than that. Will you not let me understand?
_Ger._ Your friend Mr. Waterfield called a few minutes ago. He will behere again presently, I dare say.
_Con._ (_indifferently_). Indeed!
_Ger._ I suppose you appointed--expected--to meet him here.
_Con._ Arthur! Do you think I would come to you to meet _him_? I sawhim this morning; I don't want to see him again. I wish you knew him.
_Ger._ Why should you want me to know him?
_Con._ Because you would do him good.
_Ger._ What good does he want done him?
_Con._ He has got beautiful things in him--talks well--in bits--armsand feet and faces--never anything like--(_turning to the Psyche_) Whyhave you--? Has _she_ been naughty too?
_Ger._ Is it _only_ naughty things that must be put out of sight,Constance?
_Con._ Dear Arthur! you spoke like your own self then.
_Ger._ (_rising hurriedly_). Excuse me. I must go. It is very rude,but--William!
_Enter_ COL. G.
_Col. G._ Yes, sir.
_Ger._ Fetch a hansom directly.
_Col. G._ Yes, sir. _Exit_.
_Con._ You do frighten me, Arthur! I am sure you are ill.
_Ger._ Not at all. I have an engagement.
_Con._ I must go then--must I?
_Ger._ Do not think me unkind?
_Con._ I will not think anything you would not have me think.
_Re-enter_ COL. G.
_Col. G._ The cab is at the door, sir.
_Ger._ Thank you. Then show Miss Lacordere out. Stay. I will open thedoor for her myself. _Exeunt_ GER. _and_ CON.
_Col. G._ He speaks like one in despair, forcing every word! If heshould die! Oh, my God!
_Re-enter_ GER. _Walks up and down the room_.
_Col. G._ Ain't you going, sir?
_Ger._ No. I have sent the lady in the cab.
_Col. G._ Then hadn't you better lie down, sir?
_Ger._ Lie down! What do you mean? I'm not in the way of lying downexcept to sleep.
_Col. G._ And let me go for the doctor, sir?
_Ger._ The doctor! Ha! ha ha!--You are a soldier, you say?
_Col. G._ Yes, sir.
_Ger._ Right. We're all soldiers--or ought to be. I will put you toyour catechism. What is a soldier's first duty?
_Col. G._ Obedience, sir.
[GER. _sits down and leans his head on his hands_. COL. G. _watches him_.]
_Ger._ Ah! obedience, is it? Then turn those women out. They will hurtyou--may kill you; but you must not mind that. They burn, theyblister, and they blast, for as white as they look! The hottest is thewhite fire. But duty, old soldier!--obedience, you know!--Ha! ha! Oh,my head! my head! I believe I am losing my senses, William. I was in abad part of the town this morning. I went to see a place I knew longago. It had gone to hell--but the black edges of it were left. Therewas a smell--and I can't get it out of me. Oh, William! William! takehold of me. Don't let them come near me. Psyche is laughing at me. Itold you to throw the red cloth over her.
_Col. G._ My poor boy!
_Ger._ Don't fancy you're my father, though! I wish you were. But Icannot allow that.--Why the devil didn't you throw the red cloth overthat butterfly? She's sucking the blood from my heart.
_Col. G._ You said the Psyche, sir! The red cloth _is_ over thePsyche, sir. Look.
_Ger._ Yes. Yes. I beg your pardon. Take it off. It is too red. Itwill scorch her wings. It burns my brain. Take it off, I say! (COL. G._uncovers the Psyche_.) There! I told you! She's laughing at me!Ungrateful child! _I_'m not her Cupid. Cover her up. Not the red clothagain. It's too hot, I say. I won't torture _her_. I am a man and Ican bear it. She's a woman and she shan't bear it.
_Sinks back in his chair_. COL. G. _lays him on the dais, and sitsdown beside him_.
_Col. G._ His heart's all right! And when a fellow's miserable overhis faults, there must be some way out of them.--But theconsequences?--Ah! there's the rub.
_Ger._ What's the matter? Where am I?
_Col. G._ I must fetch a doctor, sir. You've been in a faint.
_Ger._ Why couldn't I keep in it? It was very nice: you know nothing--andthat's the nicest thing of all. Why is it we can't stop, William?
_Col. G._ I don't understand you, sir.
_Ger._ Stop living, I mean. It's no use killing yourself, for youdon't stop then. At least they say you go on living all the same. IfI thought it did mean stopping, William--
_Col. C._ Do come to your room, sir.
_Ger._ I won't. I'll stop here. How hot it is! Don't let anybody in.
_Stretches out his hand_. COL. G. _holds it. He falls asleep_.
_Col. G._ What _shall_ I do? If he married her, he'd be miserable, andmake her miserable too. I'll take her away somewhere. I'll be a fatherto her; I'll tend her as if she were his widow. But what confusionswould follow! Alas! alas! one crime is the mother of a thousandmiseries! And now he's in for a fever--typhus, perhaps!--I _must_ findthis girl!--What a sweet creature that Miss Lacordere is! If only hemight have _her_! I don't care what she was.
_Ger._ Don't let them near me, William! They will drive me mad. Theythink I shall love them. I _will_ not. If she comes one step nearer, Ishall strike her. You Diana! Hecate! Hell-cat!--Fire-hearted Chaos isburning me to ashes! My brain is a cinder! Some water, William!
_Col. G._ Here it is, sir.
_Ger._ But just look to Psyche there. Ah, she's off! There she goes!melting away in the blue, like a dissolving vapour. Bring me myfield-glass, William. I may catch a glimpse of her yet. Make haste.
_Col. G._ Pray don't talk so, sir. Do be quiet, or you will makeyourself very ill. Think what will become of me if--
_Ger._ What worse would _you_ be, William? You are a soldier. I musttalk. You are all wrong about it: it keeps me quiet (_holding his headwith both hands_). I should go raving mad else (_wildly_). Give mesome water. (_He drinks eagerly, then looks slowly round the room_.)Now they _are_ gone, and I do believe they won't come again! I seeeverything--and your face, William. You are very good to me--verypatient! I should die if it weren't for you.
_Col. G._ I would die for you, sir.
_Ger._ Would you? But perhaps you don't care much for your life.Anybody might have _my_ life for the asking. I dare say it's just asgood to be dead.--Ah! there is a toad--a toad with a tail! No; it's atoad with a slow-worm after him. Take them away, William!--Thankyou.--I used to think life pleasant, but now--somehow there's nothingin it. She told me the truth about it--Constance did. Don't let thosewomen come back. What if I _should_ love them, William!--love and hatethem both at once! William! William! (_A knock at the door_.) See whothat is. Mind you don't let _them_ in.
_Col. G._ Martha is there, sir.
_Ger._ She's but an old woman; she can't keep them out. They wouldwalk over her. All the goddesses have such long legs! You go and look.You'll easily know them: if they've got no irises to their eyes, don'tlet them in, for the love of God, William! Real women have irises totheir eyes: those have none--those frightful snowy beauties.--And yetsnow is very nice! And I'm s
o hot! _There_ they come again! _Exit_COL. G.
_Enter_ MRS. CLIFFORD.
_Ger._ Aunt! aunt! help me! There they come!
_Mrs. C._ What is it, my Arthur? They shan't hurt you. I am here. Iwill take care of you.
_Ger._ Yes, yes, you will! I am not a bit afraid of them now. Do youknow them, aunt? I'll tell you a secret: they are Juno and Diana andVenus.--They hate sculptors. But I never wronged them. Three whitewomen--only, between their fingers and behind their knees they arepurple--and inside their lips, when they smile--and in the hollows oftheir eyes--ugh! They want me to love them; and they say you areall--all of you women--no better than they are. I _know_ that is alie; for they have no eyelids and no irises to their eyes.
_Mrs. C._ Dear boy, they shan't come near you. Shall I sing to you,and drive them away?
_Ger._ No, don't. I can't bear birds in my brain.
_Mrs. C._ How long have you had this headache? (_laying her hand onhis forehead_.)
_Ger._ Only a year or two--since the white woman came--that woman(_pointing to the Psyche_). She's been buried for ages, and won't growbrown.
_Mrs. C._ There's no woman there, Arthur.
_Ger._ Of course not. It was an old story that bothered me. Oh, myhead! my head!--There's my father standing behind the door and won'tcome in!--_He_ could help me now, if he would. William! show my fatherin. But he isn't in the story--so he can't.
_Mrs. C._ Do try to keep yourself quiet, Arthur. The doctor will behere in a few minutes.
_Ger._ He shan't come here! He would put the white woman out. She doessmell earthy, but I won't part with her. (_A knock_.) What a devil ofa noise! Why don't they use the knocker? What's the use of taking asledge-hammer?
_Mrs. C._ It's that stupid James!
_Enter_ CONSTANCE. MRS. C. _goes to meet her_.
_Mrs. C._ Constance, you go and hurry the doctor. I will stay withArthur.
_Con._ Is he _very_ ill, aunt?
_Mrs. C._ I'm afraid he is.
_Ger._ (_sitting up_). Constance! Constance!
_Con._ Here I am! (_running to him_).
_Ger._ Oh, my head! I wish I could find somewhere to lay it!--Sit byme, Constance, and let me lay my head on your shoulder--for oneminute--only one minute. It aches so! (_She sits down by him. His headsinks on her shoulder_. MRS. C. _looks annoyed, and exit_.)
_Con._ Thank you, thank you, dear Arthur! (_sobbing_). You used tolike me! I could not believe you hated me now. You _have_ forgiven me?Dear head!
_He closes his eyes. Slow plaintive music_.
_Ger._ (_half waking_). I can't read. When I get to the bottom of thepage, I wonder what it was all about. I shall never get to Garibaldi!and if I don't, I shall never get farther. If I could but keep thatone line away! It drives me mad, mad. "He took her by the lily-whitehand."--I could strangle myself for thinking of such things, but they_will_ come!--I _won't_ go mad. I should never get to Garibaldi, andnever be rid of this red-hot ploughshare ploughing up my heart. I will_not_ go mad! I will die like a man.
_Con._ Arthur! Arthur!
_Ger._ God in heaven! she is there! And the others are behindher!--Psyche! Psyche! Don't speak to those women! Come alone, and Iwill tear my heart out and give it you.--It is Psyche herself now, andthe rest are gone! Psyche--listen.
_Con._ It's only me, Arthur! your own little Constance! If aunt wouldbut let me stay and nurse you! But I don't know what's come to her:she's not like herself at all.
_Ger._ Who's that behind you?
_Con._ Behind me? (_looking round_). There's nobody behind me.
_Ger._ I thought there was somebody behind you. William!--What canhave become of William?
_Con._ I dare say aunt has sent him somewhere.
_Ger._ Then he's gone! he's gone!
_Con._ You're not afraid of being left alone with me, Arthur?
_Ger._ Oh no! of course not?--What can have become of William? Don'tyou know they sent him--not those women, but the dead people--to lookafter me? He's a good fellow. He said he would die for me. Ha! ha! ha!Not much in that--is there?
_Con._ Don't laugh so, dear Arthur.
_Ger._ Well, I won't. I have something to tell you, Constance. I willtry to keep my senses till I've told you.
_Con._ Do tell me. I hope I haven't done anything more to vex you.Indeed I am sorry. I won't speak to that man again, if you like. Iwould rather not--if you wish it.
_Ger._ What right have I to dictate to you, my child?
_Con._ Every right. I am yours. I belong to you. Nobody owned me whenyou took me.
_Ger._ Don't talk like that; you will drive me mad.
_Con._ Arthur! Arthur!
_Ger._ Listen to me, Constance. I am going to Garibaldi. He wantssoldiers. I must not live an idle life any longer.--We must part,Constance.--Good-bye, my darling!
_Con._ No, no; not yet; we'll talk about it by-and-by. You see I shallhave ever so many things to make for you before you can go!(_smiling_).
_Ger._ Garibaldi can't wait, Constance--and _I_ can't wait. I shalldie if I stop here.
_Con._ Oh, Arthur, you are in some trouble, and you won't tell me whatit is, so I can't help you!
_Ger._ I shall be killed, I know. I mean to be. Will you think of mesometimes? Give me one kiss. I may have a last kiss.
_Con._ (_weeping_.) My heart will break if you talk like that, Arthur.I will do anything you please. There's something wrong, dreadfullywrong! And it must be my fault!--Oh! there's that man! (_startingup_.) He shall _not_ come here.
[_Runs to the house-door, and stands listening, with her hand on the key_.]
END OF ACT I.