Plays - Susan Glaspell
DICK: Yes, I've noticed that.
HARRY: So, I'd like to get him to tell her to quit this queer business
of making things grow that never grew before.
DICK: But are you sure that's what he would tell her? Isn't he in the
same business himself?
HARRY: Why, he doesn't raise anything.
(TOM _is again at the door_.)
DICK: Anyway, I think he might have some idea that we can't very well
reach each other.
HARRY: Damn nonsense. What have we got intelligence for?
DICK: To let each other alone, I suppose. Only we haven't enough to do
it.
(TOM _is now knocking on the door with a revolver_. HARRY _half turns,
decides to be too intelligent to turn_.)
HARRY: Don't tell me I'm getting nerves. But the way some of you people
talk is enough to make even an aviator jumpy. Can't reach each other!
Then we're fools. If I'm here and you're there, why can't we reach each
other?
DICK: Because I am I and you are you.
HARRY: No wonder your drawing's queer. A man who can't reach another
man--(TOM _here reaches them by pointing the revolver in the air and
firing it_. DICK _digs his hand into the dirt_. HARRY _jumps to one
side, fearfully looks around_. TOM, _with a pleased smile to see he at
last has their attention, moves the handle to indicate he would be glad
to come in_.)
HARRY: Why--it's Tom! What the--? (_going to the door_) He's locked out.
And Claire's got the key. (_goes to the inner door, tries it_) And she's
locked in! (_trying to see her in there_) Claire! Claire! (_returning to
the outer door_) Claire's got the key--and I can't get to Claire.
(_makes a futile attempt at getting the door open without a key, goes
back to inner door--peers, pounds_) Claire! Are you there? Didn't you
hear the revolver? Has she gone down the cellar? (_tries the trap-door_)
Bolted! Well, I love the way she keeps people locked out!
DICK: And in.
HARRY: (_getting angry, shouting at the trap-door_) Didn't you hear the
revolver? (_going to_ TOM) Awfully sorry, old man, but--(_in
astonishment to_ DICK) He can't hear me. (TOM, _knocking with the
revolver to get their attention, makes a gesture of inquiry with it_)
No--no--no! Is he asking if he shall shoot himself? (_shaking his head
violently_) Oh, no--no! Um--_um_!
DICK: Hardly seems a man would shoot himself because he can't get to his
breakfast.
HARRY: I'm coming to believe people would do anything! (TOM _is making
another inquiry with the revolver_) No! not here. Don't shoot yourself.
(_trying hard to get the word through_) _Shoot_ yourself. I mean--don't,
(_petulantly to_ DICK) It's ridiculous that you can't make a man
understand you when he looks right at you like that. (_turning back to_
TOM) Read my lips. Lips. I'm saying--Oh damn. Where is Claire? All
right--I'll explain it with motions. We wanted the salt ... (_going over
it to himself_) and Claire wouldn't let us go out for it on account of
the temperature. Salt. Temperature. (_takes his egg-cup to the door,
violent motion of shaking in salt_) But--no (_shakes his head_) No salt.
(_he then takes the thermometer, a flower pot, holds them up to_ TOM) On
account of the temperature. Tem-per-a--(TOM _is not getting it_)
Oh--well, what can you do when a man don't _get_ a thing? (TOM _seems to
be preparing the revolver for action_. HARRY _pounds on the inner door_)
Claire! Do you want Tom to shoot himself?
(_As he looks in there, the trap-door lifts, and CLAIRE comes half-way
up._)
CLAIRE: Why, what is Tom doing out there, with a revolver?
HARRY: He is about to shoot himself because you've locked him out from
his breakfast.
CLAIRE: He must know more interesting ways of destroying himself.
(_bowing to_ TOM) Good morning. (_from his side of the glass_ TOM _bows
and smiles back_) Isn't it strange--our being in here--and he being out
there?
HARRY: Claire, have you no ideas of hospitality? Let him in!
CLAIRE: In? Perhaps that isn't hospitality.
HARRY: Well, whatever hospitality is, what is out there is snow--and
wind--and our guest--who was asked to come here for his breakfast. To
think a man has to _such_ things.
CLAIRE: I'm going to let him in. Though I like his looks out there.
(_she takes the key from her pocket_)
HARRY: Thank heaven the door's coming open. Somebody can go for salt,
and we can have our eggs.
CLAIRE: And open the door again--to let the salt in? No. If you insist
on salt, tell Tom now to go back and get it. It's a stormy morning and
there'll be just one opening of the door.
HARRY: How can we tell him what we can't make him hear? And why does he
think we're holding this conversation instead of letting him in?
CLAIRE: It would be interesting to know. I wonder if he'll tell us?
HARRY: Claire! Is this any time to wonder anything?
CLAIRE: Give up the idea of salt for your egg and I'll let him in.
(_holds up the key to _TOM_ to indicate that for her part she is quite
ready to let him in_)
HARRY: I want my egg!
CLAIRE: Then ask him to bring the salt. It's quite simple.
(HARRY _goes through another pantomime with the egg-cup and the missing
shaker._ CLAIRE, _still standing half-way down cellar, sneezes._ HARRY,
_growing all the while less amiable, explains with thermometer and
flower-pot that there can only be one opening of the door._ TOM _looks
interested, but unenlightened. But suddenly he smiles, nods, vanishes._)
HARRY: Well, thank heaven (_exhausted_) that's over.
CLAIRE: (_sitting on the top step_) It was all so queer. He locked out
on his side of the door. You locked in on yours. Looking right at each
other and--
HARRY: (_in mockery_) And me trying to tell him to kindly fetch the
salt!
CLAIRE: Yes.
HARRY: (_to_ DICK) Well, I didn't do so bad a job, did I? Quite an idea,
explaining our situation with the thermometer and the flower-pot. That
was really an apology for keeping him out there. Heaven knows--some
explanation was in order, (_he is watching, and sees_ TOM _coming_) Now
there he is, Claire. And probably pretty well fed up with the weather.
(CLAIRE _goes to the door, stops before it. She and_ TOM _look at each
other through the glass. Then she lets him in._)
TOM: And now I am in. For a time it seemed I was not to be in. But after
I got the idea that you were keeping me out there to see if I could get
the idea--it would be too humiliating for a wall of glass to keep one
from understanding. (_taking it from his pocket_) So there's the other
thermometer. Where do you want it? (CLAIRE _takes it_)
CLAIRE: And where's the pepper?
TOM: (_putting it on the table_) And here's the pepper.
HARRY: Pepper?
TOM: When Claire sneezed I knew--
CLAIRE: Yes, I knew if I sneezed you would bring the pepper.
TOM: Funny how one always remembers the salt, but the pepper gets
overlooked in preparations. And what is an egg without pepper?
HARRY: (_nastily_) There's your egg, Edgeworth. (_pointing to it on the
floor_) Claire decided it would be a good idea to smash everything, so
she began with your egg.
TOM: (_looking at his egg_) The idea of smashing everything is really
more intriguing than an egg.
HARRY: Nice that you feel that way about it.
CLAIRE: (_giving_ TOM _his coffee_) You want to hear something amusing?
I married Harry because I thought he would smash something.
HARRY: Well, that was an error in judgment.
CLAIRE: I'm such a naive trusting person (HARRY _laughs_--CLAIRE _gives
him a surprised look, continues simply_). Such a guileless soul that I
thought flying would do something to a man. But it didn't take us out.
We just took it in.
TOM: It's only our own spirit can take us out.
HARRY: Whatever you mean by out.
CLAIRE: (_after looking intently at_ TOM, _and considering it_) But our
own spirit is not something on the loose. Mine isn't. It has something
to do with what I do. To fly. To be free in air. To look from above on
the world of all my days. Be where man has never been! Yes--wouldn't you
think the spirit could get the idea? The earth grows smaller. I am
leaving. What are they--running around down there? Why do they run
around down there? Houses? Houses are funny lines and down-going
slants--houses are vanishing slants. I am alone. Can I breathe this
rarer air? Shall I go higher? Shall I go too high? I am loose. I am out.
But no; man flew, and returned to earth the man who left it.
HARRY: And jolly well likely not to have returned at all if he'd had
those flighty notions while operating a machine.
CLAIRE: Oh, Harry! (_not lightly asked_) Can't you see it would be
better not to have returned than to return the man who left it?
HARRY: I have some regard for human life.
CLAIRE: Why, no--I am the one who has the regard for human life, (_more
lightly_) That was why I swiftly divorced my stick-in-the-mud artist and
married--the man of flight. But I merely passed from a stick-in-the-mud
artist to a--
DICK: Stick-in-the-air aviator?
HARRY: Speaking of your stick-in-the-mud artist, as you romantically
call your first blunder, isn't his daughter--and yours--due here to-day?
CLAIRE: I knew something was disturbing me. Elizabeth. A daughter is
being delivered unto me this morning. I have a feeling it will be more
painful than the original delivery. She has been, as they quaintly say,
educated; prepared for her place in life.
HARRY: And fortunately Claire has a sister who is willing to give her
young niece that place.
CLAIRE: The idea of giving anyone a place in life.
HARRY: Yes! The very idea!
CLAIRE: Yes! (_as often, the mocking thing gives true expression to what
lies sombrely in her_) The war. There was another gorgeous chance.
HARRY: Chance for what? I call you, Claire. I ask you to say what you
mean.
CLAIRE: I don't know--precisely. If I did--there'd be no use saying it.
(_at_ HARRY's _impatient exclamation she turns to_ TOM)
TOM: (_nodding_) The only thing left worth saying is the thing we can't
say.
HARRY: Help!
CLAIRE: Yes. But the war didn't help. Oh, it was a stunning chance! But
fast as we could--scuttled right back to the trim little thing we'd been
shocked out of.
HARRY: You bet we did--showing our good sense.
CLAIRE: Showing our incapacity--for madness.
HARRY: Oh, come now, Claire--snap out of it. You're not really trying to
say that capacity for madness is a good thing to have?
CLAIRE: (_in simple surprise_) Why yes, of course.
DICK: But I should say the war did leave enough madness to give you a
gleam of hope.
CLAIRE: Not the madness that--breaks through. And it was--a stunning
chance! Mankind massed to kill. We have failed. We are through. We will
destroy. Break this up--it can't go farther. In the air above--in the
sea below--it is to kill! All we had thought we were--we aren't. We were
shut in with what wasn't so. Is there one ounce of energy has not gone
to this killing? Is there one love not torn in two? Throw it in! Now?
Ready? Break up. Push. Harder. Break up. And then--and then--But we
didn't say--'And then--' The spirit didn't take the tip.
HARRY: Claire! Come now (_looking to the others for help_)--let's talk
of something else.
CLAIRE: Plants do it. The big leap--it's called. Explode their
species--because something in them knows they've gone as far as they can
go. Something in them knows they're shut in to just that. So--go
mad--that life may not be prisoned. Break themselves up into crazy
things--into lesser things, and from the pieces--may come one sliver of
life with vitality to find the future. How beautiful. How brave.
TOM: (_as if he would call her from too far--or would let her know he
has gone with her_) Claire!
CLAIRE: (_her eyes turning to him_) Why should we mind lying under the
earth? We who have no such initiative--no proud madness? Why think it
death to lie under life so flexible--so ruthless and ever-renewing?
ANTHONY: (_from the door of the inner room_) Miss Claire?
CLAIRE: (_after an instant_) Yes? (_she goes with him, as they disappear
his voice heard_,'show me now ... want those violets bedded')
HARRY: Oh, this has got to _stop_. I've got to--put a stop to it some
way. Why, Claire used to be the best sport a man ever played around
with. I can't stand it to see her getting hysterical.
TOM: That was not hysterical.
HARRY: What was it then--I want to know?
TOM: It was--a look.
HARRY: Oh, I might have known I'd get no help from either of you. Even
you, Edgeworthy--much as she thinks of you--and fine sort as I've no
doubt you are, you're doing Claire no good--encouraging her in these
queer ways.
TOM: I couldn't change Claire if I would.
HARRY: And wouldn't if you could.
TOM: No. But you don't have to worry about me. I'm going away in a day
or two. And I shall not be back.
HARRY: Trouble with you is, it makes little difference whether you're
here or away. Just the fact of your existence does encourage Claire in
this--this way she's going.
TOM: (_with a smile_) But you wouldn't ask me to go so far as to stop my
existence? Though I would do that for Claire--if it were the way to help
her.
HARRY: By Jove, you say that as if you meant it.
TOM: Do you think I would say anything about Claire I didn't mean?
HARRY: You think a lot of her, don't you? (TOM _nods_) You don't mean
(_a laugh letting him say it_)--that you're--in love with Claire!
TOM: In love? Oh, that's much too easy. Certainly I do love Claire.
HARRY: Well, you're a cool one!
TOM: Let her be herself. Can't you see she's troubled?
HARRY: Well, what is there to trouble Claire? Now I ask you. It seems to
me she has everything.
TOM: She's left so--open. Too exposed, (_as_ HARRY _moves impatiently_)
Please don't be annoyed with me. I'm doing my best at saying it. You see
Claire isn't hardened into one of those forms she talks about. She's
too--aware. Always pulled toward what could be--tormented by the lost
adventure.
HARRY: Well, there's danger in all that. Of course there's danger.
TOM: But you can't help that.
HARRY: Claire was the best fun a woman could be. Is yet--at times.
TOM: Let her be--at times. As much as she can and will. She does need
that. Don't keep her from it by making her feel you're holding her in
it. Above all, don't try to stop what she's doing here. If she can do it
with plants, perhaps she won't have to do it with herself.
HARRY: Do what?
TOM: (_low, after a pause_) Break up what exists. Open the door to
destruction in the hope of--a door on the far side of destruction.
HARRY: Well, you give me the willies, (_moves around in irritation,
troubled. To_ ANTHONY, _who is passing through with a sprayer_) Anthony,
have any arrangements been made about Miss Claire's daughter?
ANTHONY: I haven't heard of any arrangements.
HARRY: Well, she'll have to have some heat in her room. We can't all
live out here.
ANTHONY: Indeed you cannot. It is not good for the plants.
HARRY: I'm going where I can _smoke_, (_goes out_)
DICK: (_lightly, but fascinated by the idea_) You think there is a door
on the--hinter side of destruction?
TOM: How can one tell--where a door may be? One thing I want to say to
you--for it is about you. (_regards_ DICK _and not with his usual
impersonal contemplation_) I don't think Claire should have--any door
closed to her. (_pause_) You know, I think, what I mean. And perhaps you
can guess how it hurts to say it. Whether it's--mere escape
within,--rather shameful escape within, or the wild hope of that door
through, it's--(_suddenly all human_) Be good to her! (_after a
difficult moment, smiles_) Going away for ever is like dying, so one can
say things.
DICK: Why do you do it--go away for ever?
TOM: I haven't succeeded here.
DICK: But you've tried the going away before.
TOM: Never knowing I would not come back. So that wasn't going away. My
hope is that this will be like looking at life from outside life.
DICK: But then you'll not be in it.
TOM: I haven't been able to look at it while in it.
DICK: Isn't it more important to be in it than to look at it?
TOM: Not what I mean by look.
DICK: It's hard for me to conceive of--loving Claire and going away from
her for ever.
TOM: Perhaps it's harder to do than to conceive of.
DICK: Then why do it?
TOM: It's my only way of keeping her.
DICK: I'm afraid I'm like Harry now. I don't get you.
TOM: I suppose not. Your way is different, (_with calm, with
sadness--not with malice_) But I shall have her longer. And from deeper.
DICK: I know that.
TOM: Though I miss much. Much, (_the buzzer_. TOM _looks around to see
if anyone is coming to answer it, then goes to the phone_) Yes?... I'll
see if I can get her. (_to_ DICK) Claire's daughter has arrived,
(_looking in the inner room--returns to phone_) I don't see her.
(_catching a glimpse of ANTHONY off right_) Oh, Anthony, where's Miss
Claire? Her daughter has arrived.
ANTHONY: She's working at something very important in her experiments.
DICK: But isn't her daughter one of her experiments?
ANTHONY: (_after a baffled moment_) Her daughter is finished.
TOM: (_at the phone_) Sorry--but I can't get to Claire. She appears to
have gone below. (ANTHONY _closes the trap-door_) I did speak to
Anthony, but he says that Claire is working at one of her experiments
and that her daughter is finished. I don't know how to make her hear--I
took the revolver back to the house. Anyway you will remember Claire
doesn't answer the revolver. I hate to reach Claire when she doesn't
want to be reached. Why, of course--a daughter is very important, but
oh, that's too bad. (_putting down the receiver_) He says the girl's
feelings are hurt. Isn't that annoying? (_gingerly pounds on the
trap-door. Then with the other hand. Waits_. ANTHONY _has a gentle smile
for the gentle tapping--nods approval as,_ TOM _returns to the phone_)
She doesn't come up. Indeed I did--with both fists--Sorry.
ANTHONY: Please, you won't try again to disturb Miss Claire, will you?
DICK: Her daughter is here, Anthony. She hasn't seen her daughter for a
year.
ANTHONY: Well, if she got along without a mother for a year--(_goes back
to his work_)
DICK: (_smiling after_ ANTHONY) Plants are queer. Perhaps it's _safer_
to do it with pencil (_regards_ TOM)--or with pure thought. Things that
grow in the earth--
TOM: (_nodding_) I suppose because we grew in the earth.
DICK: I'm always shocked to find myself in agreement with Harry, but I
too am worried about Claire--and this, (_looking at the plants_)
TOM: It's her best chance.
DICK: Don't you hate to go away to India--for ever--leaving Claire's
future uncertain?
TOM: You're cruel now. And you knew that you were being cruel.
DICK: Yes, I like the lines of your face when you suffer.
TOM: The lines of yours when you're causing suffering--I don't like
them.
DICK: Perhaps that's your limitation.
TOM: I grant you it may be. (_They are silent_) I had an odd feeling
that you and I sat here once before, long ago, and that we were plants.
And you were a beautiful plant, and I--I was a very ugly plant. I
confess it surprised me--finding myself so ugly a plant.
(_A young girl is seen outside_. HARRY _gets the door open for her and
brings_ ELIZABETH _in_.)
HARRY: There's heat here. And two of your mother's friends. Mr
Demming--Richard Demming--the artist--and I think you and Mr Edgeworthy
are old friends.
(ELIZABETH _comes forward. She is the creditable young American--well
built, poised, 'cultivated', so sound an expression of the usual as to
be able to meet the world with assurance--assurance which training has
made rather graceful. She is about seventeen--and mature. You feel solid
things behind her_.)
TOM: I knew you when you were a baby. You used to kick a great deal
then.
ELIZABETH: (_laughing, with ease_) And scream, I haven't a doubt. But
I've stopped that. One does, doesn't one? And it was you who gave me the
idol.
TOM: Proselytizing, I'm afraid.
ELIZABETH: I beg--? Oh--_yes (laughing cordially_) I _see. (she
doesn't_) I dressed the idol up in my doll's clothes. They fitted
perfectly--the idol was just the size of my doll Ailine. But mother
didn't like the idol that way, and tore the clothes getting them off.
(_to_ HARRY, _after looking around_) Is mother here?
HARRY: (_crossly_) Yes, she's here. Of course she's here. And she must
know you're here, (_after looking in the inner room he goes to the
trap-door and makes a great noise_)
ELIZABETH: Oh--_please_. Really--it doesn't make the least difference.
HARRY: Well, all I can say is, your manners are better than your
mother's.
ELIZABETH: But you see I don't do anything interesting, so I have to
have good manners. (_lightly, but leaving the impression there is a
certain superiority in not doing anything interesting. Turning cordially
to_ DICK) My father was an artist.
DICK: Yes, I know.
ELIZABETH: He was a portrait painter. Do you do portraits?
DICK: Well, not the kind people buy.
ELIZABETH: They bought father's.
DICK: Yes, I know he did that kind.
HARRY: (_still irritated_) Why, you don't do portraits.
DICK: I did one of you the other day. You thought it was a milk-can.
ELIZABETH: (_laughing delightedly_) No? Not really? Did you think--How
could you think--(_as_ HARRY _does not join the laugh_) Oh, I beg your
pardon. I--Does mother grow beautiful roses now?
HARRY: No, she does not.
(_The trap-door begins to move_. CLAIRE's _head appears_.)
ELIZABETH: Mother! It's been so long--(_she tries to overcome the
difficulties and embrace her mother_)
CLAIRE: (_protecting a box she has_) Careful, Elizabeth. We mustn't
upset the lice.
ELIZABETH: (_retreating_) Lice? (_but quickly equal even to lice_)
Oh--yes. You take it--them--off plants, don't you?
CLAIRE: I'm putting them on certain plants.
ELIZABETH: (_weakly_) Oh, I thought you took them off.
CLAIRE: (_calling_) Anthony! (_he comes_) The lice. (_he takes them from
her_) (CLAIRE, _who has not fully ascended, looks at_ ELIZABETH,
_hesitates, then suddenly starts back down the stairs_.)
HARRY: (_outraged_) Claire! (_slowly she re-ascends--sits on the top
step. After a long pause in which he has waited for_ CLAIRE _to open a
conversation with her daughter_.) Well, and what have you been doing at
school all this time?
ELIZABETH: Oh--studying.
CLAIRE: Studying what?
ELIZABETH: Why--the things one studies, mother.
CLAIRE: Oh! The things one studies. (_looks down cellar again_)
DICK: (_after another wait_) And what have you been doing besides
studying?
ELIZABETH: Oh--the things one does. Tennis and skating and dancing and--
CLAIRE: The things one does.
ELIZABETH: Yes. All the things. The--the things one does. Though I
haven't been in school these last few months, you know. Miss Lane took
us to Europe.
TOM: And how did you like Europe?
ELIZABETH: (_capably_) Oh, I thought it was awfully amusing. All the
girls were quite mad about Europe. Of course, I'm glad I'm an American.
CLAIRE: Why?
ELIZABETH: (_laughing_) Why--mother! Of course one is glad one is an
American. All the girls--
CLAIRE: (_turning away_) O--h! (_a moan under the breath_)
ELIZABETH: Why, mother--aren't you well?
HARRY: Your mother has been working pretty hard at all this.
ELIZABETH: Oh, I do so want to know all about it? Perhaps I can help
you! I think it's just awfully amusing that you're doing something. One
does nowadays, doesn't one?--if you know what I mean. It was the war,
wasn't it, made it the thing to do something?
DICK: (_slyly_) And you thought, Claire, that the war was lost.
ELIZABETH: The _war? Lost!_ (_her capable laugh_) Fancy our losing a
war! Miss Lane says we should give _thanks_. She says we should each do
some expressive thing--you know what I mean? And that this is the
_keynote_ of the age. Of course, one's own kind of thing. Like
mother--growing flowers.
CLAIRE: You think that is one's own kind of thing?
ELIZABETH: Why, of course I do, mother. And so does Miss Lane. All the
girls--
CLAIRE: (_shaking her head as if to get something out_) S-hoo.
ELIZABETH: What is it, mother?
CLAIRE: A fly shut up in my ear--'All the girls!'
ELIZABETH: (_laughing_) Mother was always so amusing. So _different_--if
you know what I mean. Vacations I've lived mostly with Aunt Adelaide,
you know.
CLAIRE: My sister who is fitted to rear children.
HARRY: Well, somebody has to do it.
ELIZABETH: And I do love Aunt Adelaide, but I think its going to be
awfully amusing to be around with mother now--and help her with her
work. Help do some useful beautiful thing.
CLAIRE: I am not doing any useful beautiful thing.
ELIZABETH: Oh, but you are, mother. Of course you are. Miss Lane says
so. She says it is your splendid heritage gives you this impulse to do a
beautiful thing for the race. She says you are doing in your way what
the great teachers and preachers behind you did in theirs.
CLAIRE: (_who is good for little more_) Well, all I can say is, Miss
Lane is stung.
ELIZABETH: Mother! What a thing to say of Miss Lane. (_from this
slipping into more of a little girl manner_) Oh, she gave me a spiel one
day about living up to the men I come from.
(CLAIRE _turns and regards her daughter_.)
CLAIRE: You'll do it, Elizabeth.
ELIZABETH: Well, I don't know. Quite a job, I'll say. Of course, I'd
have to do it in my way. I'm not going to teach or preach or be a stuffy
person. But now that--(_she here becomes the product of a superior
school_) values have shifted and such sensitive new things have been
liberated in the world--