Plays - Susan Glaspell
CLAIRE: No.
HARRY: But it's time to go down for dinner.
CLAIRE: I'm not hungry.
HARRY: But we have a guest. Two guests--Adelaide's staying too.
CLAIRE: Then you're not alone.
HARRY: But I invited Dr Emmons to meet you.
CLAIRE: (_her smile flashing_) Tell him I am violent to-night.
HARRY: Dearest--how can you joke about such things!
CLAIRE: So you do think they're serious?
HARRY: (_irritated_) No, I do not! But I want you to come down for
dinner!
ADELAIDE: Come, come, Claire; you know quite well this is not the sort
of thing one does.
CLAIRE: Why go on saying one doesn't, when you are seeing one does (_to_
TOM) Will you stay with me a while? I want to purify the tower.
(ADELAIDE _begins to disappear_)
HARRY: Fine time to choose for a _tete-a-tete. (as he is leaving_) I'd
think more of you, Edgeworthy, if you refused to humour Claire in her
ill-breeding.
ADELAIDE: (_her severe voice coming from below_) It is not what she was
taught.
CLAIRE: No, it's not what I was taught, (_laughing rather timidly_) And
perhaps you'd rather have your dinner?
TOM: No.
CLAIRE: We'll get something later. I want to talk to you. (_but she does
not--laughs_) Absurd that I should feel bashful with you. Why am I so
awkward with words when I go to talk to you?
TOM: The words know they're not needed.
CLAIRE: No, they're not needed. There's something underneath--an open
way--down below the way that words can go. (_rather desperately_) It is
there, isn't it?
TOM: Oh, yes, it is there.
CLAIRE: Then why do we never--go it?
TOM: If we went it, it would not be there.
CLAIRE: Is that true? How terrible, if that is true.
TOM: Not terrible, wonderful--that it should--of itself--be there.
CLAIRE: (_with the simplicity that can say anything_) I want to go it,
Tom, I'm lonely up on top here. Is it that I have more faith than you,
or is it only that I'm greedier? You see, you don't know (_her reckless
laugh_) what you're missing. You don't know how I could love you.
TOM: Don't, Claire; that isn't--how it is--between you and me.
CLAIRE: But why can't it be--every way--between you and me?
TOM: Because we'd lose--the open way. (_the quality of his denial shows
how strong is his feeling for her_) With anyone else--not with you.
CLAIRE: But you are the only one I want. The only one--all of me wants.
TOM: I know; but that's the way it is.
CLAIRE: You're cruel.
TOM: Oh, Claire, I'm trying so hard to--save it for us. Isn't it our
beauty and our safeguard that underneath our separate lives, no matter
where we may be, with what other, there is this open way between us?
That's so much more than anything we could bring to being.
CLAIRE: Perhaps. But--it's different with me. I'm not--all spirit.
TOM: (_his hand on her_) Dear!
CLAIRE: No, don't touch me--since (_moving_) you're going away
to-morrow? (_he nods_) For--always? (_his head just moves assent_) India
is just another country. But there are undiscovered countries.
TOM: Yes, but we are so feeble we have to reach our country through the
actual country lying nearest. Don't you do that yourself, Claire? Reach
your country through the plants' country?
CLAIRE: My country? You mean--outside?
TOM: No, I don't think it that way.
CLAIRE: Oh, yes, you do.
TOM: Your country is the inside, Claire. The innermost. You are
disturbed because you lie too close upon the heart of life.
CLAIRE: (_restlessly_) I don't know; you can think it one way--or
another. No way says it, and that's good--at least it's not shut up in
saying. (_she is looking at her enclosing hand, as if something is shut
up there_)
TOM: But also, you know, things may be freed by expression. Come from
the unrealized into the fabric of life.
CLAIRE: Yes, but why does the fabric of life have to--freeze into its
pattern? It should (_doing it with her hands_) flow, (_then turning like
an unsatisfied child to him_) But I wanted to talk to you.
TOM: You are talking to me. Tell me about your flower that never was
before--your Breath of Life.
CLAIRE: I'll know to-morrow. You'll not go until I know?
TOM: I'll try to stay.
CLAIRE: It seems to me, if it has--then I have, integrity in--(_smiles,
it is as if the smile lets her say it_) otherness. I don't want to die
on the edge!
TOM: Not you!
CLAIRE: Many do. It's what makes them too smug in allness--those dead
things on the edge, died, distorted--trying to get through. Oh--don't
think I don't see--The Edge Vine! (_a pause, then swiftly_) Do you know
what I mean? Or do you think I'm just a fool, or crazy?
TOM: I think I know what you mean, and you know I don't think you are a
fool, or crazy.
CLAIRE: Stabbed to awareness--no matter where it takes you, isn't that
more than a safe place to stay? (_telling him very simply despite the
pattern of pain in her voice_) Anguish may be a thread--making patterns
that haven't been. A thread--blue and burning.
TOM: (_to take her from what even he fears for her_) But you were
telling me about the flower you breathed to life. What is your Breath of
Life?
CLAIRE: (_an instant playing_) It's a secret. A secret?--it's a trick.
Distilled from the most fragile flowers there are. It's only
air--pausing--playing; except, far in, one stab of red, its quivering
heart--that asks a question. But here's the trick--I bred the air-form
to strength. The strength shut up behind us I've sent--far out.
(_troubled_) I'll know tomorrow. And I have another gift for Breath of
Life; some day--though days of work lie in between--some day I'll give
it reminiscence. Fragrance that is--no one thing in here
but--reminiscent. (_silence, she raises wet eyes_) We need the haunting
beauty from the life we've left. I need that, (_he takes her hands and
breathes her name_) Let me reach my country with you. I'm not a plant.
After all, they don't--accept me. Who does--accept me? Will you?
TOM: My dear--dear, dear, Claire--you move me so! You stand alone in a
clearness that breaks my heart, (_her hands move up his arms. He takes
them to hold them from where they would go--though he can hardly do it_)
But you've asked what you yourself could answer best. We'd only stop in
the country where everyone stops.
CLAIRE: We might come through--to radiance.
TOM: Radiance is an enclosing place.
CLAIRE: Perhaps radiance lighting forms undreamed, (_her reckless
laugh_) I'd be willing to--take a chance, I'd rather lose than never
know.
TOM: No, Claire. Knowing you from underneath, I know you couldn't bear
to lose.
CLAIRE: Wouldn't men say you were a fool!
TOM: They would.
CLAIRE: And perhaps you are. (_he smiles a little_) I feel so desperate,
because if only I could--show you what I am, you might see I could have
without losing. But I'm a stammering thing with you.
TOM: You do show me what you are.
CLAIRE: I've known a few moments that were life. Why don't they help me
now? One was in the air. I was up with Harry--flying--high. It was about
four months before David was born--the doctor was furious--pregnant
women are supposed to keep to earth. We were going fast--I _was_
flying--I had left the earth. And then--within me, movement, for the
first time--stirred to life far in air--movement within. The man unborn,
he too, would fly. And so--I always loved him. He was movement--and
wonder. In his short life were many flights. I never told anyone about
the last one. His little bed was by the window--he wasn't four years
old. It was night, but him not asleep. He saw the morning star--you
know--the morning star. Brighter--stranger--reminiscent--and a promise.
He pointed--'Mother', he asked me, 'what is there--beyond the stars?' A
baby, a sick baby--the morning star. Next night--the finger that pointed
was--(_suddenly bites her own finger_) But, yes, I am glad. He would
always have tried to move and too much would hold him. Wonder would
die--and he'd laugh at soaring, (_looking down, sidewise_) Though I
liked his voice. So I wish you'd stay near me--for I like your voice,
too.
TOM: Claire! That's (_choked_) almost too much.
CLAIRE: (_one of her swift glances--canny, almost practical_) Well, I'm
glad if it is. How can I make it more? (_but what she sees brings its
own change_) I know what it is you're afraid of. It's because I have so
much--yes, why shouldn't I say it?--passion. You feel that in me, don't
you? You think it would swamp everything. But that isn't all there is to
me.
TOM: Oh, I know it! My dearest--why, it's because I know it! You think I
_am_--a fool?
CLAIRE: It's a thing that's--sometimes more than I am. And yet I--I am
more than it is.
TOM: I know. I know about you.
CLAIRE: I don't know that you do. Perhaps if you really knew about
me--you wouldn't go away.
TOM: You're making me suffer, Claire.
CLAIRE: I know I am. I want to. Why shouldn't you suffer? (_now seeing
it more clearly than she has ever seen it_) You know what I think about
you? You're afraid of suffering, and so you stop this side--in what you
persuade yourself is suffering, (_waits, then sends it straight_) You
know--how it is--with me and Dick? (_as she sees him suffer_) Oh, no, I
don't want to hurt you! Let it be you! I'll teach you--you needn't scorn
it. It's rather wonderful.
TOM: Stop that, Claire! That isn't you.
CLAIRE: Why are you so afraid--of letting me be low--if that is low? You
see--(_cannily_) I believe in beauty. I have the faith that can be bad
as well as good. And you know why I have the faith? Because
sometimes--from my lowest moments--beauty has opened as the sea. From a
cave I saw immensity.
My love, you're going away--
Let me tell you how it is with me;
I want to touch you--somehow touch you once before I die--
Let me tell you how it is with me.
I do not want to work,
I want to be;
Do not want to make a rose or make a poem--
Want to lie upon the earth and know. (_closes her eyes_)
Stop doing that!--words going into patterns;
They do it sometimes when I let come what's there.
Thoughts take pattern--then the pattern is the thing.
But let me tell you how it is with me. (_it flows again_)
All that I do or say--it is to what it comes from,
A drop lifted from the sea.
I want to lie upon the earth and know.
But--scratch a little dirt and make a flower;
Scratch a bit of brain--something like a poem. (_covering her face_)
Stop _doing_ that. Help me stop doing that!
TOM: (_and from the place where she had carried him_)
Don't talk at all. Lie still and know--
And know that I am knowing.
CLAIRE:
Yes; but we are so weak we have to talk;
To talk--to touch.
Why can't I rest in knowing I would give my life to reach you?
That has--all there is.
But I must--put my timid hands upon you,
Do something about infinity.
Oh, let what will flow into us,
And fill us full--and leave us still.
Wring me dry,
And let me fill again with life more pure.
To know--to feel,
And do nothing with what I feel and know--
That's being good. That's nearer God.
(_drenched in the feeling that has flowed through her--but
surprised--helpless_) Why, I said your thing, didn't I? Opened my life
to bring you to me, and what came--is what sends you away.
TOM: No! What came is what holds us together. What came is what saves us
from ever going apart. (_brokenly_) My beautiful one. You--you brave
flower of all our knowing.
CLAIRE: I am not a flower. I am too torn. If you have anything--help me.
Breathe, Breathe the healing oneness, and let me know in calm. (_with a
sob his head rests upon her_)
CLAIRE: (_her hands on his head, but looking far_) Beauty--you pure one
thing. Breathe--Let me know in calm. Then--trouble me, trouble me, for
other moments--in farther calm. (_slow, motionless, barely articulate_)
TOM: (_as she does not move he lifts his head. And even as he looks at
her, she does not move, nor look at him_) Claire--(_his hand out to her,
a little afraid_) You went away from me then. You are away from me now.
CLAIRE: Yes, and I could go on. But I will come back, (_it is hard to
do. She brings much with her_) That, too, I will give you--my
by-myself-ness. That's the uttermost I can give. I never thought--to try
to give it. But let us do it--the great sacrilege! Yes! (_excited, she
rises; she has his hands, and bring him up beside her_) Let us take the
mad chance! Perhaps it's the only way to save--what's there. How do we
know? How can we know? Risk. Risk everything. From all that flows into
us, let it rise! All that we never thought to use to make a moment--let
it flow into what could be! Bring all into life between us--or send all
down to death! Oh, do you know what I am doing? Risk, risk everything,
why are you so afraid to lose? What holds you from me? Test all. Let it
live or let it die. It is our chance--our chance to bear--what's there.
My dear one--I will love you so. With all of me. I am not afraid
now--of--all of me. Be generous. Be unafraid. Life is for _life_--though
it cuts us from the farthest life. How can I make you know that's true?
All that we're open to--(_hesitates, shudders_) But yes--I will, I will
risk the life that waits. Perhaps only he who gives his
loneliness--shall find. You never keep by holding, (_gesture of giving_)
To the uttermost. And it is gone--or it is there. You do not know
and--that makes the moment--(_music has begun--a phonograph downstairs;
they do not heed it_) Just as I would cut my wrists--(_holding them
out_) Yes, perhaps this lesser thing will tell it--would cut my wrists
and let the blood flow out till all is gone if my last drop would
make--would make--(_looking at them fascinated_) I want to see it doing
that! Let me give my last chance for life to--
(_He snatches her--they are on the brink of their moment; now that there
are no words the phonograph from downstairs is louder. It is playing
languorously the Barcarole; they become conscious of this--they do not
want to be touched by the love song._)
CLAIRE: Don't listen. That's nothing. This isn't that, (_fearing_) I
tell you--it isn't that. Yes, I know--that's amorous--enclosing. I
know--a little place. This isn't that, (_her arms going around him--all
the lure of 'that' while she pleads against it as it comes up to them_)
We will come out--to radiance--in far places (_admitting, using_) Oh,
then let it be that! Go with it. Give up--the otherness. I will! And in
the giving up--perhaps a door--we'd never find by searching. And if it's
no more--than all have known, I only say it's worth the allness! (_her
arms wrapped round him_) My love--my love--let go your pride in
loneliness and let me give you joy!
TOM: (_drenched in her passion, but fighting_) It's _you_. (_in
anguish_) You rare thing untouched--not--not into this--not back into
this--by me--lover of your apartness.
(_She steps back. She sees he cannot. She stands there, before what she
wanted more than life, and almost had, and lost. A long moment. Then she
runs down the stairs._)
CLAIRE: (_her voice coming up_) Harry! Choke that phonograph! If you
want to be lewd--do it yourselves! You tawdry things--you cheap little
lewd cowards, (_a door heard opening below_) Harry! If you don't stop
that music, I'll kill myself.
(_far down, steps on stairs_)
HARRY: Claire, what _is_ this?
CLAIRE: Stop that phonograph or I'll--
HARRY: Why, of course I'll stop it. What--what is there to get so
excited about? Now--now just a minute, dear. It'll take a minute.
(CLAIRE _comes back upstairs, dragging steps, face ghastly. The amorous
song still comes up, and louder now that doors are open. She and_ TOM
_do not look at one another. Then, on a languorous swell the music comes
to a grating stop. They do not speak or move. Quick footsteps_--HARRY
_comes up_.)
HARRY: What in the world were you saying, Claire? Certainly you could
have asked me more quietly to turn off the Victrola. Though what harm
was it doing you--way up here? (_a sharp little sound from_ CLAIRE; _she
checks it, her hand over her mouth_. HARRY _looks from her to_ TOM)
Well, I think you two would better have had your dinner. Won't you come
down now and have some?
CLAIRE: (_only now taking her hand from her mouth_) Harry, tell him to
come up here--that insanity man. I--want to ask him something.
HARRY: 'Insanity man!' How absurd. He's a nerve specialist. There's a
vast difference.
CLAIRE: Is there? Anyway, ask him to come up here. Want to--ask him
something.
TOM: (_speaking with difficulty_) Wouldn't it be better for us to go
down there?
CLAIRE: No. So nice up here! Everybody--up here!
HARRY: (_worried_) You'll--be yourself, will you, Claire? (_She checks a
laugh, nods_.) I think he can help you.
CLAIRE: Want to ask him to--help me.
HARRY: (_as he is starting down_) He's here as a guest to-night, you
know, Claire.
CLAIRE: I suppose a guest can--help one.
TOM: (_when the silence rejects it_) Claire, you must know, it's because
it is so much, so--
CLAIRE: Be still. There isn't anything to say.
TOM: (_torn--tortured_) If it only weren't _you_!
CLAIRE: Yes,--so you said. If it weren't. I suppose I wouldn't be
so--interested! (_hears them starting up below--keeps looking at the
place where they will appear_)
(HARRY _is heard to call_, 'Coming, Dick?' _and_ DICK's _voice replies_,
'In a moment or two.' ADELAIDE _comes first_.)
ADELAIDE: (_as her head appears_) Well, these stairs should keep down
weight. You missed an awfully good dinner, Claire. And kept Mr Edgeworth
from a good dinner.
CLAIRE: Yes. We missed our dinner. (_her eyes do not leave the place
where_ DR EMMONS _will come up_)
HARRY: (_as he and_ EMMONS _appear_) Claire, this is--
CLAIRE: Yes, I know who he is. I want to ask you--
ADELAIDE: Let the poor man get his breath before you ask him anything.
(_he nods, smiles, looks at_ CLAIRE _with interest. Careful not to look
too long at her, surveys the tower_)
EMMONS: Curious place.
ADELAIDE: Yes; it lacks form, doesn't it?
CLAIRE: What do you mean? How _dare_ you?
(_It is impossible to ignore her agitation; she is backed against the
curved wall, as far as possible from them._ HARRY _looks at her in
alarm, then in resentment at_ TOM, _who takes a step nearer_ CLAIRE.)
HARRY: (_trying to be light_) Don't take it so hard, Claire.
CLAIRE: (_to_ EMMONS) It must be very interesting--helping people go
insane.
ADELAIDE: Claire! How preposterous.
EMMONS: (_easily_) I hope that's not precisely what we do.
ADELAIDE: (_with the smile of one who is going to 'cover it'._) Trust
Claire to put it in the unique and--amusing way.
CLAIRE: Amusing? You are amused? But it doesn't matter, (_to the
doctor_) I think it is very kind of you--helping people go insane. I
suppose they have all sorts of reasons for having to do it--reasons why
they can't stay sane any longer. But tell me, how do they do it? It's
not so easy to--get out. How do so many manage it?
EMMONS: I'd like immensely to have a talk with you about all this some
day.
ADELAIDE: Certainly this is not the time, Claire.
CLAIRE: The time? When you--can't go any farther--isn't that that--
ADELAIDE: (_capably taking the whole thing into matter-of-factness_)
What I think is, Claire has worked too long with plants. There's
something--not quite sound about making one thing into another thing.
What we need is unity. (_from_ CLAIRE _something like a moan_) Yes,
dear, we do need it. (_to the doctor_) I can't say that I believe in
making life over like this. I don't think the new species are worth it.
At least I don't believe in it for Claire. If one is an intense,
sensitive person--
CLAIRE: Isn't there any way to _stop_ her? Always--always smothering it
with the word for it?
EMMONS: (_soothingly_) But she can't smother it. Anything that's really
there--she can't hurt with words.
CLAIRE: (_looking at him with eyes too bright_) Then you don't see it
either, (_angry_) Yes, she can hurt it! Piling it up--always piling it
up--between us and--What there. Clogging the way--always, (_to_ EMMONS)
I want to cease to know! That's all I ask. Darken it. Darken it. If you
came to help me, strike me blind!
EMMONS: You're really all tired out, aren't you? Oh, we've got to get
you rested.
CLAIRE: They--deny it saying they have it; and he (_half looks at_
TOM_--quickly looks away_)--others, deny it--afraid of losing it. We're
in the way. Can't you see the dead stuff piled in the path?
(_Pointing._)
DICK: (_voice coming up_) Me too?
CLAIRE: (_staring at the path, hearing his voice a moment after it has
come_) Yes, Dick--you too. Why not--you too. (_after he has come up_)
What is there any more than you are?
DICK: (_embarrassed by the intensity, but laughing_) A question not at
all displeasing to me. Who can answer it?
CLAIRE: (_more and more excited_) Yes! Who can answer it? (_going to
him, in terror_) Let me go with you--and be with you--and know nothing
else!
ADELAIDE: (_gasping_) Why--!
HARRY: Claire! This is going a little too--
CLAIRE: Far? But you have to go far to--(_clinging to_ DICK) Only a
place to hide your head--what else is there to hope for? I can't stay
with them--piling it up! Always--piling it up! I can't get through
to--he won't let me through to--what I don't know is there! (DICK _would
help her regain herself_) Don't push me away! Don't--don't stand me up,
I will go back--to the worst we ever were! Go back--and remember--what
we've tried to forget!
ADELAIDE: It's time to stop this by force--if there's no other way.
(_the doctor shakes his head_)
CLAIRE: All I ask is to die in the gutter with everyone spitting on me.
(_changes to a curious weary smiling quiet_) Still, why should they
bother to do that?
HARRY: (_brokenly_) You're sick, Claire. There's no denying it. (_looks
at_ EMMONS, _who nods_)
ADELAIDE: Something to quiet her--to stop it.
CLAIRE: (_throwing her arms around_ DICK) You, Dick. Not them. Not--any
of them.
DICK: Claire, you are overwrought. You must--
HARRY: (_to_ DICK, _as if only now realizing that phase of it_) I'll
tell you one thing, you'll answer to me for this! (_he starts for_
DICK--_is restrained by_ EMMONS, _chiefly by his grave shake of the
head. With_ HARRY_'s move to them,_ DICK _has shielded_ CLAIRE)
CLAIRE: Yes--hold me. Keep me. You have mercy! You will have mercy.
Anything--everything--that will let me be nothing!
CURTAIN
ACT III
_In the greenhouse, the same as Act I._ ANTHONY _is bedding small plants
where the Edge Vine grew. In the inner room the plant like caught motion
glows as from a light within._ HATTIE, _the Maid, rushes in from
outside._
ANTHONY: (_turning angrily_) You are not what this place--
HATTIE: Anthony, come in the house. I'm afraid. Mr Archer, I never saw
him like this. He's talking to Mr Demming--something about Mrs Archer.
ANTHONY: (_who in spite of himself is disturbed by her agitation_) And
if it is, it's no business of yours.
HATTIE: You don't know how he _is_. I went in the room and--
ANTHONY: Well, he won't hurt you, will he?
HATTIE: How do I know who he'll hurt--a person's whose--(_seeing how to
get him_) Maybe he'll hurt Mrs Archer.
ANTHONY: (_startled, then smiles_) No; he won't hurt Miss Claire.
HATTIE: What do you know about it?--out here in the plant house?
ANTHONY: And I don't want to know about it. This is a very important day
for me. It's Breath of Life I'm thinking of today--not you and Mr
Archer.
HATTIE: Well, suppose he does something to Mr Demming?
ANTHONY: Mr Demming will have to look out for himself, I am at work.
(_resuming work_)
HATTIE: Don't you think I ought to tell Mrs Archer that--
ANTHONY: You let her alone! This is no day for her to be bothered by
you. At eleven o'clock (_looks at watch_) she comes out here--to Breath
of Life.
HATTIE: (_with greed for gossip_) Did you see any of them when they came
downstairs last night?
ANTHONY: I was attending to my own affairs.
HATTIE: They was all excited. Mr Edgeworth--he went away. He was gone
all night, I guess. I saw him coming back just as the milkman woke me
up. Now he's packing his things. _He_ wanted to get to Mrs Archer
too--just a little while ago. But she won't open her door for none of
them. I can't even get in to do her room.
ANTHONY: Then do some other room--and leave me alone in this room.
HATTIE: (_a little afraid of what she is asking_) Is she sick,
Anthony--or what? (_vindicating herself, as he gives her a look_) The
doctor, he stayed here late. But she'd locked herself in. I heard Mr
Archer--
ANTHONY: You heard too much! (_he starts for the door, to make her
leave, but_ DICK _rushes in. Looks around wildly, goes to the trap-door,
finds it locked_)
ANTHONY: What are you doing here?
DICK: Trying not to be shot--if you must know. This is the only place I
can think of--till he comes to his senses and I can get away. Open that,
will you? Rather--ignominious--but better be absurd than be dead.
HATTIE: Has he got the revolver?
DICK: Gone for it. Thought I wouldn't sit there till he got back, (_to_
ANTHONY) Look here--don't you get the idea? Get me some place where he
can't come.
ANTHONY: It is not what this place is for.