The Complete Project Gutenberg Works of Galsworthy

J >> John Galsworthy >> The Complete Project Gutenberg Works of Galsworthy


She puts her face close to his. Her eyes trouble him; he draws back.

YOUNG OFF. Don't. I'd rather not, if you don't mind. [She looks at
him fixedly, with a curious inquiring stare] It's stupid. I don't
know--but you see, out there, and in hospital, life's different.
It's--it's--it isn't mean, you know. Don't come too close.

GIRL. Oh! You are fun----[She stops] Eesn't it light. No Zeps
to-night. When they burn--what a 'orrble death! And all the people
cheer. It is natural. Do you hate us veree much?

YOUNG OFF. [Turning sharply] Hate? I don't know.

GIRL. I don't hate even the English--I despise them. I despise my
people too; even more, because they began this war. Oh! I know that.
I despise all the peoples. Why haf they made the world so miserable
--why haf they killed all our lives--hundreds and thousands and
millions of lives--all for noting? They haf made a bad world--
everybody hating, and looking for the worst everywhere. They haf
made me bad, I know. I believe no more in anything. What is there
to believe in? Is there a God? No! Once I was teaching little
English children their prayers--isn't that funnee? I was reading to
them about Christ and love. I believed all those things. Now I
believe noting at all--no one who is not a fool or a liar can
believe. I would like to work in a 'ospital; I would like to go and
'elp poor boys like you. Because I am a German they would throw me
out a 'undred times, even if I was good. It is the same in Germany,
in France, in Russia, everywhere. But do you think I will believe in
Love and Christ and God and all that--Not I! I think we are animals
--that's all! Oh, yes! you fancy it is because my life has spoiled
me. It is not that at all--that is not the worst thing in life. The
men I take are not ni-ice, like you, but it's their nature; and--they
help me to live, which is something for me, anyway. No, it is the
men who think themselves great and good and make the war with their
talk and their hate, killing us all--killing all the boys like you,
and keeping poor People in prison, and telling us to go on hating;
and all these dreadful cold-blood creatures who write in the papers
--the same in my country--just the same; it is because of all of them
that I think we are only animals.

[The YOUNG OFFICER gets up, acutely miserable.]

[She follows him with her eyes.]

GIRL. Don't mind me talkin', ni-ice boy. I don't know anyone to
talk to. If you don't like it, I can be quiet as a mouse.

YOUNG OFF. Oh, go on! Talk away; I'm not obliged to believe you,
and I don't.

[She, too, is on her feet now, leaning against the wall; her
dark dress and white face just touched by the slanting
moonlight. Her voice comes again, slow and soft and bitter.]

GIRL. Well, look here, ni-ice boy, what sort of world is it, where
millions are being tortured, for no fault of theirs, at all? A
beautiful world, isn't it? 'Umbog! Silly rot, as you boys call it.
You say it is all "Comrades" and braveness out there at the front,
and people don't think of themselves. Well, I don't think of myself
veree much. What does it matter? I am lost now, anyway. But I
think of my people at 'ome; how they suffer and grieve. I think of
all the poor people there, and here, how lose those they love, and
all the poor prisoners. Am I not to think of them? And if I do, how
am I to believe it a beautiful world, ni-ice boy?

[He stands very still, staring at her.]

GIRL. Look here! We haf one life each, and soon it is over. Well,
I think that is lucky.

YOUNG OFF. No! There's more than that.

GIRL. [Softly] Ah! You think the war is fought for the future; you
are giving your lives for a better world, aren't you?

YOUNG OFF. We must fight till we win.

GIRL. Till you win. My people think that too. All the peoples
think that if they win the world will be better. But it will not,
you know; it will be much worse, anyway.

[He turns away from her, and catches up his cap. Her voice
follows him.]

GIRL. I don't care which win. I don't care if my country is beaten.
I despise them all--animals--animals. Ah! Don't go, ni-ice boy; I
will be quiet now.

[He has taken some notes from his tunic pocket; he puts then on
the table and goes up to her.]

YOUNG OFF. Good-night.

GIRL. [Plaintively] Are you really going? Don't you like me
enough?

YOUNG OFF. Yes, I like you.

GIRL. It is because I am German, then?

YOUNG OFF. No.

GIRL. Then why won't you stay?

YOUNG OFF. [With a shrug] If you must know--because you upset me.

GIRL. Won't you kees me once?

[He bends, puts his lips to her forehead. But as he takes them
away she throws her head back, presses her mouth to his, and
clings to him.]

YOUNG OFF. [Sitting down suddenly] Don't! I don't want to feel a
brute.

GIRL. [Laughing] You are a funny boy; but you are veree good. Talk
to me a little, then. No one talks to me. Tell me, haf you seen
many German prisoners?

YOUNG OFF. [Sighing] A good many.

GIRL. Any from the Rhine?

YOUNG OFF. Yes, I think so.

GIRL. Were they veree sad?

YOUNG OFF. Some were; some were quite glad to be taken.

GIRL. Did you ever see the Rhine? It will be wonderful to-night.
The moonlight will be the same there, and in Rooshia too, and France,
everywhere; and the trees will look the same as here, and people will
meet under them and make love just as here. Oh! isn't it stupid, the
war? As if it were not good to be alive!

YOUNG OFF. You can't tell how good it is to be alive till you're
facing death. You don't live till then. And when a whole lot of you
feel like that--and are ready to give their lives for each other,
it's worth all the rest of life put together.

[He stops, ashamed of such, sentiment before this girl, who
believes in nothing.]

GIRL. [Softly] How were you wounded, ni-ice boy?

YOUNG OFF. Attacking across open ground: four machine bullets got me
at one go off.

GIRL. Weren't you veree frightened when they ordered you to attack?

[He shakes his head and laughs.]

YOUNG OFF. It was great. We did laugh that morning. They got me
much too soon, though--a swindle.

GIRL. [Staring at him] You laughed?

YOUNG OFF. Yes. And what do you think was the first thing I was
conscious of next morning? My old Colonel bending over me and giving
me a squeeze of lemon. If you knew my Colonel you'd still believe in
things. There is something, you know, behind all this evil. After
all, you can only die once, and, if it's for your country--all the
better!

[Her face, in the moonlight, with, intent eyes touched up with
black, has a most strange, other-world look.]

GIRL. No; I believe in nothing, not even in my country. My heart is
dead.

YOUNG OFF. Yes; you think so, but it isn't, you know, or you
wouldn't have 'been crying when I met you.

GIRL. If it were not dead, do you think I could live my life-walking
the streets every night, pretending to like strange men; never
hearing a kind word; never talking, for fear I will be known for a
German? Soon I shall take to drinking; then I shall be "Kaput" veree
quick. You see, I am practical; I see things clear. To-night I am a
little emotional; the moon is funny, you know. But I live for myself
only, now. I don't care for anything or anybody.

YOUNG OFF. All the same; just now you were pitying your folk at
home, and prisoners and that.

GIRL. Yees; because they suffer. Those who suffer are like me--I
pity myself, that's all; I am different from your English women. I
see what I am doing; I do not let my mind become a turnip just
because I am no longer moral.

YOUNG OFF. Nor your heart either, for all you say.

GIRL. Ni-ice boy, you are veree obstinate. But all that about love
is 'umbog. We love ourselves, noting more.

At that intense soft bitterness in her voice, he gets up,
feeling stifled, and stands at the window. A newspaper boy some
way off is calling his wares. The GIRL's fingers slip between
his own, and stay unmoving. He looks round into her face. In
spite of make-up it has a queer, unholy, touching beauty.

YOUNG OFF. [With an outburst] No; we don't only love ourselves;
there is more. I can't explain, but there's something great; there's
kindness--and--and-----

[The shouting of newspaper boys grows louder and their cries,
passionately vehement, clash into each other and obscure each
word. His head goes up to listen; her hand tightens within his
arm--she too is listening. The cries come nearer, hoarser, more
shrill and clamorous; the empty moonlight outside seems suddenly
crowded with figures, footsteps, voices, and a fierce distant
cheering. "Great victory--great victory! Official! British!
'Eavy defeat of the 'Uns! Many thousand prisoners! 'Eavy
defeat!" It speeds by, intoxicating, filling him with a fearful
joy; he leans far out, waving his cap and cheering like a
madman; the night seems to flutter and vibrate and answer. He
turns to rush down into the street, strikes against something
soft, and recoils. The GIRL stands with hands clenched, and
face convulsed, panting. All confused with the desire to do
something, he stoops to kiss her hand. She snatches away her
fingers, sweeps up the notes he has put down, and holds them out
to him.]

GIRL. Take them--I will not haf your English money--take them.

Suddenly she tears them across, twice, thrice, lets the bits.
flutter to the floor, and turns her back on him. He stands
looking at her leaning against the plush-covered table, her head
down, a dark figure in a dark room, with the moonlight
sharpening her outline. Hardly a moment he stays, then makes
for the door. When he is gone, she still stands there, her chin
on her breast, with the sound in her ears of cheering, of
hurrying feet, and voices crying: "'Eavy Defeat!" stands, in the
centre of a pattern made by the fragments of the torn-up notes,
staring out unto the moonlight, seeing not this hated room and
the hated Square outside, but a German orchard, and herself, a
little girl, plucking apples, a big dog beside her; and a
hundred other pictures, such as the drowning see. Then she
sinks down on the floor, lays her forehead on the dusty carpet,
and presses her body to it. Mechanically, she sweeps together
the scattered fragments of notes, assembling them with the dust
into a little pile, as of fallen leaves, and dabbling in it with
her fingers, while the tears run down her cheeks.

GIRL. Defeat! Der Vaterland! Defeat!. . . . One shillin'!

[Then suddenly, in the moonlight, she sits up, and begins to
sing with all her might "Die Wacht am Rhein." And outside men
pass, singing: "Rule, Britannia!"]


CURTAIN







THE SUN

A SCENE




CHARACTERS

THE GIRL.
THE MAN.
THE SOLDIER.


THE SUN

A Girl, sits crouched over her knees on a stile close to a
river. A MAN with a silver badge stands beside her, clutching
the worn top plank. THE GIRL'S level brows are drawn together;
her eyes see her memories. THE MAN's eyes see THE GIRL; he has
a dark, twisted face. The bright sun shines; the quiet river
flows; the Cuckoo is calling; the mayflower is in bloom along
the hedge that ends in the stile on the towing-path.

THE GIRL. God knows what 'e'll say, Jim.

THE MAN. Let 'im. 'E's come too late, that's all.

THE GIRL. He couldn't come before. I'm frightened. 'E was fond o'
me.

THE MAN. And aren't I fond of you?

THE GIRL. I ought to 'a waited, Jim; with 'im in the fightin'.

THE MAN. [Passionately] And what about me? Aren't I been in the
fightin'--earned all I could get?

THE GIRL. [Touching him] Ah!

THE MAN. Did you--? [He cannot speak the words.]

THE GIRL. Not like you, Jim--not like you.

THE MAN. Have a spirit, then.

THE GIRL. I promised him.

THE MAN. One man's luck's another's poison.

THE GIRL. I ought to 'a waited. I never thought he'd come back from
the fightin'.

THE MAN. [Grimly] Maybe 'e'd better not 'ave.

THE GIRL. [Looking back along the tow-path] What'll he be like, I
wonder?

THE MAN. [Gripping her shoulder] Daisy, don't you never go back on
me, or I should kill you, and 'im too.

[THE GIRL looks at him, shivers, and puts her lips to his.]

THE GIRL. I never could.

THE MAN. Will you run for it? 'E'd never find us!

[THE GIRL shakes her head.]

THE MAN [Dully] What's the good o' stayin'? The world's wide.

THE GIRL. I'd rather have it off me mind, with him home.

THE MAN. [Clenching his hands] It's temptin' Providence.

THE GIRL. What's the time, Jim?

THE MAN. [Glancing at the sun] 'Alf past four.

THE GIRL. [Looking along the towing-path] He said four o'clock.
Jim, you better go.

THE MAN. Not I. I've not got the wind up. I've seen as much of
hell as he has, any day. What like is he?

THE GIRL. [Dully] I dunno, just. I've not seen him these three
years. I dunno no more, since I've known you.

THE MAN. Big or little chap?

THE GIRL. 'Bout your size. Oh! Jim, go along!

THE MAN. No fear! What's a blighter like that to old Fritz's
shells? We didn't shift when they was comin'. If you'll go, I'll
go; not else.

[Again she shakes her head.]

THE GIRL. Jim, do you love me true?

[For answer THE MAN takes her avidly in his arms.]

I ain't ashamed--I ain't ashamed. If 'e could see me 'eart.

THE MAN. Daisy! If I'd known you out there, I never could 'a stuck
it. They'd 'a got me for a deserter. That's how I love you!

THE GIRL. Jim, don't lift your hand to 'im! Promise!

THE MAN. That's according.

THE GIRL. Promise!

THE MAN. If 'e keeps quiet, I won't. But I'm not accountable--not
always, I tell you straight--not since I've been through that.

THE GIRL. [With a shiver] Nor p'raps he isn't.

THE MAN. Like as not. It takes the lynch pins out, I tell you.

THE GIRL. God 'elp us!

THE MAN. [Grimly] Ah! We said that a bit too often. What we want
we take, now; there's no one else to give it us, and there's no
fear'll stop us; we seen the bottom of things.

THE GIRL. P'raps he'll say that too.

THE MAN. Then it'll be 'im or me.

THE GIRL. I'm frightened:

THE MAN. [Tenderly] No, Daisy, no! The river's handy. One more or
less. 'E shan't 'arm you; nor me neither. [He takes out a knife.]

THE GIRL. [Seizing his hand] Oh, no! Give it to me, Jim!

THE MAN. [Smiling] No fear! [He puts it away] Shan't 'ave no need
for it like as not. All right, little Daisy; you can't be expected
to see things like what we do. What's life, anyway? I've seen a
thousand lives taken in five minutes. I've seen dead men on the
wires like flies on a flypaper. I've been as good as dead meself a
hundred times. I've killed a dozen men. It's nothin'. He's safe,
if 'e don't get my blood up. If he does, nobody's safe; not 'im, nor
anybody else; not even you. I'm speakin' sober.

THE GIRL. [Softly] Jim, you won't go fightin' in the sun, with the
birds all callin'?

THE MAN. That depends on 'im. I'm not lookin' for it. Daisy, I
love you. I love your hair. I love your eyes. I love you.

THE GIRL. And I love you, Jim. I don't want nothin' more than you
in all the world.

THE MAN. Amen to that, my dear. Kiss me close!

The sound of a voice singing breaks in on their embrace. THE
GIRL starts from his arms, and looks behind her along the
towing-path. THE MAN draws back against, the hedge, fingering
his side, where the knife is hidden. The song comes nearer.


"I'll be right there to-night,
Where the fields are snowy white;
Banjos ringing, darkies singing,
All the world seems bright."

THE GIRL. It's him!

THE MAN. Don't get the wind up, Daisy. I'm here!

[The singing stops. A man's voice says "Christ! It's Daisy;
it's little Daisy 'erself!" THE GIRL stands rigid. The figure
of a soldier appears on the other side of the stile. His cap is
tucked into his belt, his hair is bright in the sunshine; he is
lean, wasted, brown, and laughing.]

SOLDIER. Daisy! Daisy! Hallo, old pretty girl!

[THE GIRL does not move, barring the way, as it were.]

THE GIRL. Hallo, Jack! [Softly] I got things to tell you!

SOLDIER. What sort o' things, this lovely day? Why, I got things
that'd take me years to tell. Have you missed me, Daisy?

THE GIRL. You been so long.

SOLDIER. So I 'ave. My Gawd! It's a way they 'ave in the Army. I
said when I got out of it I'd laugh. Like as the sun itself I used
to think of you, Daisy, when the trumps was comin' over, and the wind
was up. D'you remember that last night in the wood? "Come back and
marry me quick, Jack." Well, here I am--got me pass to heaven. No
more fightin', no more drillin', no more sleepin' rough. We can get
married now, Daisy. We can live soft an' 'appy. Give us a kiss, my
dear.

THE GIRL. [Drawing back] No.

SOLDIER. [Blankly] Why not?

[THE MAN, with a swift movement steps along the hedge to THE
GIRL'S side.]

THE MAN. That's why, soldier.

SOLDIER. [Leaping over the stile] 'Oo are you, Pompey? The sun
don't shine in your inside, do it? 'Oo is he, Daisy?

THE GIRL. My man.

SOLDIER. Your-man! Lummy! "Taffy was a Welshman, Taffy was a
thief!" Well, mate! So you've been through it, too. I'm laughin'
this mornin' as luck will 'ave it. Ah! I can see your knife.

THE MAN. [Who has half drawn his knife] Don't laugh at me, I tell
you.

SOLDIER. Not at you, not at you. [He looks from one to the other]
I'm laughin' at things in general. Where did you get it, mate?

THE MAN. [Watchfully] Through the lung.

SOLDIER. Think o' that! An' I never was touched. Four years an'
never was touched. An' so you've come an' took my girl! Nothin'
doin'! Ha! [Again he looks from one to the other-then away] Well!
The world's before me! [He laughs] I'll give you Daisy for a lung
protector.

THE MAN. [Fiercely] You won't. I've took her.

SOLDIER. That's all right, then. You keep 'er. I've got a laugh in
me you can't put out, black as you look! Good-bye, little Daisy!

[THE GIRL makes a movement towards him.]

THE MAN. Don't touch 'im!

[THE GIRL stands hesitating, and suddenly bursts into tears.]

SOLDIER. Look 'ere, mate; shake 'ands! I don't want to see a girl
cry, this day of all, with the sun shinin'. I seen too much of
sorrer. You and me've been at the back of it. We've 'ad our whack.
Shake!

THE MAN. Who are you kiddin'? You never loved 'er!

SOLDIER. [After a long moment's pause] Oh! I thought I did.

THE MAN. I'll fight you for her.

[He drops his knife. ]

SOLDIER. [Slowly] Mate, you done your bit, an' I done mine. It's
took us two ways, seemin'ly.

THE GIRL. [Pleading] Jim!

THE MAN. [With clenched fists] I don't want 'is charity. I only
want what I can take.

SOLDIER. Daisy, which of us will you 'ave?

THE GIRL. [Covering her face] Oh! Him!

SOLDIER. You see, mate! Put your 'ands down. There's nothin' for
it but a laugh. You an' me know that. Laugh, mate!

THE MAN. You blarsted----!

[THE GIRL springs to him and stops his mouth.]

SOLDIER. It's no use, mate. I can't do it. I said I'd laugh
to-day, and laugh I will. I've come through that, an' all the stink
of it; I've come through sorrer. Never again! Cheerio, mate! The
sun's a-shinin'! He turns away.

THE GIRL. Jack, don't think too 'ard of me!

SOLDIER. [Looking back] No fear, my dear! Enjoy your fancy! So
long! Gawd bless you both!

He sings, and goes along the path, and the song fades away.

"I'll be right there to-night
Where the fields are snowy white;
Banjos ringing, darkies singing
All the world seems bright!"



THE MAN. 'E's mad!

THE GIRL. [Looking down the path with her hands clasped] The sun has
touched 'im, Jim!


CURTAIN






PUNCH AND GO

A LITTLE COMEDY

"Orpheus with his lute made trees
And the mountain tope that freeze....."




PERSONS OF THE PLAY

JAMES G. FRUST ..............The Boss
E. BLEWITT VANE .............The Producer
MR. FORESON .................The Stage Manager
"ELECTRICS"..................The Electrician
"PROPS" .....................The Property Man
HERBERT .....................The Call Boy




OF THE PLAY WITHIN THE PLAY

GUY TOONE ...................The Professor
VANESSA HELLGROVE ...........The Wife
GEORGE FLEETWAY .............Orpheus
MAUDE HOPKINS ...............The Faun




SCENE: The Stage of a Theatre.

Action continuous, though the curtain is momentarily lowered
according to that action.



PUNCH AND GO

The Scene is the stage of the theatre set for the dress
rehearsal of the little play: "Orpheus with his Lute." The
curtain is up and the audience, though present, is not supposed
to be. The set scene represents the end section of a room, with
wide French windows, Back Centre, fully opened on to an apple
orchard in bloom. The Back Wall with these French windows, is
set only about ten feet from the footlights, and the rest of the
stage is orchard. What is visible of the room would indicate
the study of a writing man of culture. ( Note.--If found
advantageous for scenic purposes, this section of room can be
changed to a broad verandah or porch with pillars supporting its
roof.) In the wall, Stage Left, is a curtained opening, across
which the curtain is half drawn. Stage Right of the French
windows is a large armchair turned rather towards the window,
with a book rest attached, on which is a volume of the
Encyclopedia Britannica, while on a stool alongside are writing
materials such as a man requires when he writes with a pad on
his knees. On a little table close by is a reading-lamp with a
dark green shade. A crude light from the floats makes the stage
stare; the only person on it is MR FORESON, the stage manager,
who is standing in the centre looking upwards as if waiting for
someone to speak. He is a short, broad man, rather blank, and
fatal. From the back of the auditorium, or from an empty box,
whichever is most convenient, the producer, MR BLEWITT VANE, a
man of about thirty four, with his hair brushed back, speaks.

VANE. Mr Foreson?

FORESON. Sir?

VANE. We'll do that lighting again.

[FORESON walks straight of the Stage into the wings Right.]

[A pause.]

Mr Foreson! [Crescendo] Mr Foreson.

[FORESON walks on again from Right and shades his eyes.]

VANE. For goodness sake, stand by! We'll do that lighting again.
Check your floats.

FORESON. [Speaking up into the prompt wings] Electrics!

VOICE OF ELECTRICS. Hallo!

FORESON. Give it us again. Check your floats.

[The floats go down, and there is a sudden blinding glare of
blue lights, in which FORESON looks particularly ghastly.]

VANE. Great Scott! What the blazes! Mr Foreson!

[FORESON walks straight out into the wings Left. Crescendo.]

Mr Foreson!

FORESON. [Re-appearing] Sir?

VANE. Tell Miller to come down.

FORESON. Electrics! Mr Blewitt Vane wants to speak to you. Come
down!

VANE. Tell Herbert to sit in that chair.

[FORESON walks straight out into the Right wings.]

Mr Foreson!

FORESON. [Re-appearing] Sir?

VANE. Don't go off the stage. [FORESON mutters.]

[ELECTRICS appears from the wings, Stage Left. He is a dark,
thin-faced man with rather spikey hair.]

ELECTRICS. Yes, Mr Vane?

VANE. Look!

ELECTRICS. That's what I'd got marked, Mr Vane.

VANE. Once for all, what I want is the orchard in full moonlight,
and the room dark except for the reading lamp. Cut off your front
battens.

[ELECTRICS withdraws Left. FORESON walks off the Stage into the
Right wings.]

Mr Foreson!

FORESON. [Re-appearing] Sir?

VANE. See this marked right. Now, come on with it! I want to get
some beauty into this!

[While he is speaking, HERBERT, the call boy, appears from the
wings Right, a mercurial youth of about sixteen with a wide
mouth.]

FORESON. [Maliciously] Here you are, then, Mr Vane. Herbert, sit
in that chair.

[HERBERT sits an the armchair, with an air of perfect peace.]

VANE. Now! [All the lights go out. In a wail] Great Scott!

[A throaty chuckle from FORESON in the darkness. The light
dances up, flickers, shifts, grows steady, falling on the
orchard outside. The reading lamp darts alight and a piercing
little glare from it strikes into the auditorium away from
HERBERT.]