Original Plays [First Series]

SCENE: _Same as Acts I. and II._

_Enter DAPHNE._

_Daph._ It seems Pygmalion _has_ the fearful gift Of bringing stone to life. I’ll question him And ascertain how far that power extends.

_Enter MYRINE, weeping._

Myrine--and in tears! Why, what’s amiss?

_Myr._ Oh, we were all so happy yesterday, And now, within twelve miserable hours, A blight has fallen upon all of us. Pygmalion is blind as death itself, Cynisca leaves his home this very day, And my Leucippe hath deserted me! I shall go mad with all this weight of grief!

_Daph._ All this is Galatea’s work?

_Myr._ Yes, all.

_Daph._ But can’t you stop her? Shut the creature up, Dispose of her, or break her? Won’t she chip?

_Myr._ No, I’m afraid not.

_Daph._ Ah, were I his wife, I’d spoil her beauty! There’d be little chance Of finding him and her alone again!

_Myr._ There’s little need to take precautions now, For he, alas! is blind!

_Daph._ Blind! What of that? Man has five senses; if he loses one The vital energy on which it fed Goes to intensify the other four. He had five arrows in his quiver; well, He has shot one away, and four remain. My dear, an enemy is not disarmed Because he’s lost one arrow out of five!

_Myr._ The punishment he undergoes might well Content his wife!

_Daph._ A happy woman, that!

_Myr._ Cynisca happy?

_Daph._ To be sure she is; She has the power to punish faithlessness, And she has used it on her faithless spouse. Had I Cynisca’s privilege, I swear I’d never let my Chrysos rest in peace, Until he warranted my using it! Pygmalion’s wronged her, and she’s punished him. What more could woman want?

_Enter CYNISCA._

_Cyn._ What more? Why, this! The power to tame my tongue to speak the words That would restore him to his former self! The power to quell the fierce, unruly soul That battles with my miserable heart! The power to say, “Oh, my Pygmalion, My love is thine to hold or cast away, Do with it as thou wilt; it can not die!” I’d barter half my miserable life For power to say these few true words to him!

_Myr._ Why, then there’s hope for him?

_Cyn._ There’s none indeed! This day I’ll leave his home and hide away Where I can brood upon my shame. I’ll fan The smoldering fire of jealousy until It bursts into an all-devouring flame, And pray that I may perish in its glow!

_Daph._ That’s bravely said, Cynisca! Never fear; Pygmalion will give thee wherewithal To nurture it.

_Cyn._ (_passionately_). I need not wherewithal! I carry wherewithal within my heart! Oh, I can conjure up the scene at will When he and she sit lovingly alone. I know too well the devilish art he works, And how his guilty passion shapes itself. I follow him through every twist and turn By which he wormed himself into _my_ heart; I hear him breathing to the guilty girl The fond familiar nothings of _our_ love; I hear him whispering into _her_ ear The tenderness that he rehearsed on me. I follow him through all his well-known moods-- Now fierce and passionate, now fanciful; And ever tuning his accursed tongue To chime in with the passion at her heart: Oh, never fear that I shall starve the flame! When jealousy takes shelter in _my_ heart, It does not die for lack of sustenance!

_Daph._ Come to my home, and thou shalt feed it there; We’ll play at widows, and we’ll pass our time Railing against the perfidy of man.

_Cyn._ But Chrysos?--

_Daph._ Chrysos? Oh, you won’t see him.

_Cyn._ How so?

_Daph._ How so? I’ve turned him out of doors! Why, does the girl consider jealousy Her unassailable prerogative? Thou hast thy vengeance on Pygmalion-- He can no longer feast upon _thy_ face. Well, Chrysos can no longer feast on mine! I can’t _put out_ his eyes (I wish I could!) But I can _shut_ them out, and that I’ve done.

_Cyn._ I thank you, madam, and I’ll go with you.

_Myr._ No, no; thou shalt not leave Pygmalion; He will not live if thou desertest him. Add nothing to his pain--this second blow Might well complete the work thou hast begun!

_Cyn._ Nay, let me go--I must not see his face; For if I look on him I may relent. Detain me not, Myrine--fare thee well! [_Exit CYNISCA, MYRINE follows her._

_Daph._ Well, there’ll be pretty scenes in Athens now That statues may be vivified at will. (_CHRYSOS enters unobserved._) Why, I have daughters--all of them of age-- What chance is there for plain young women, now That every man may take a block of stone And carve a family to suit his tastes?

_Chry._ If every woman were a Daphne, man Would never care to look on sculptured stone! Oh, Daphne!

_Daph._ Monster--get you hence, away! I’ll hold no converse with you, get you gone. (_Aside_) If I’d Cynisca’s tongue I’d wither him! (_Imitating CYNISCA_) “Oh, I can conjure up the scene at will “Where you and she sit lovingly alone! “Oh, never fear that I will starve the flame: “When jealousy takes shelter in _my_ heart, “It does not die for lack of sustenance!”

_Chry._ I’m sure of that! your hospitality Is world-renowned. Extend it, love, to me! Oh, take me home again!

_Daph._ Home? no, not I! Why I’ve a gallery of goddesses, Fifty at least--half-dressed bacchantes, too-- Dryads and water-nymphs of every kind; Suppose I find, when I go home to-day, That they’ve all taken it into _their_ heads To come to life--what would become of them, Or me, with Chrysos in the house? No--no, They’re bad enough in marble--but in flesh!!! I’ll sell the bold-faced hussies one and all, But till I’ve sold them, Chrysos stops outside!

_Chry._ What _have_ I done?

_Daph._ What have you _not_ done sir?

_Chry._ I can not tell you--it would take too long!

_Daph._ I saw you sitting with that marble minx, Your arm pressed lovingly around her waist. Explain _that_ Chrysos.

_Chry._ It explains itself: I am a zealous patron of the arts. And I am very fond of statuary.

_Daph._ Bah--I’ve artistic tastes as well as you. But still, you never saw _me_ sitting with My arms around a stone Apollo’s waist! As for this “statue”--could I see her now, I’d test your taste for fragments!

_Chry._ Spare the girl, She’s very young and very innocent; She claims your pity.

_Daph._ _Does_ she?

_Chry._ Yes, she does. If I saw Daphne sitting with her arm Round an Apollo, I should pity _him_.

_Daph._ (_relenting_). Would you?

_Chry._ I should, upon my word, I should.

_Daph._ Well, Chrysos, thou art pardoned. After all The circumstances were exceptional.

_Chry._ (_aside_). Unhappily, they were!

_Daph._ Come home, but mind I’ll sell my gallery of goddesses; No good can come of animating stone.

_Chry._ Oh, pardon me--why every soul on earth Sprang from the stones Deucalion threw behind.

_Daph._ But then Deucalion only _threw_ the stones, He left it to the gods to fashion them.

_Chry._ (_aside--looking at her_). And we who’ve seen the work the gods turn out, Would rather leave it to Pygmalion!

_Daph._ (_taking CHRYSOS’ arm, who is looking at a statue of Venus._) Come along, do! [_Exeunt._

_Enter MYRINE, in great distress._

_Myr._ Pygmalion’s heard that he must lose his wife, And swears, by all the gods that reign above, He will not live if she deserts him now! What--what is to be done?

_Enter GALATEA._

_Gal._ Myrine here! Where is Pygmalion?

_Myr._ Oh, wretched girl! Art thou not satisfied with all the ill Thy heedlessness has worked, that thou art come To gaze upon thy victim’s misery? Well, thou hast come in time!

_Gal._ What dost thou mean?

_Myr._ Why this is what I mean--he will not live Now that Cynisca has deserted him. Oh, girl, his blood will be upon thy head!

_Gal._ Pygmalion will not live! Pygmalion die! And I, alas, the miserable cause! Oh, what is to be done?

_Myr._ I do not know. And yet there is one chance, but one alone; I’ll see Cynisca, and prevail on her To meet Pygmalion but once again.

_Gal._ (_wildly_). But should she come too late? He may not live Till she returns.

_Myr._ I’ll send him now to thee, And tell him that his wife awaits him here. He’ll take thee for Cynisca; when he speaks, Answer thou him as if thou wast his wife.

_Gal._ Yes, yes, I understand.

_Myr._ Then I’ll be gone. The gods assist thee in this artifice! [_Exit MYRINE._

_Gal._ The gods will help me, for the gods are good. Oh, Heaven, in this great grief I turn to thee. Teach me to speak to him, as, ere I lived, Cynisca spake to him. Oh, let my voice Be to Pygmalion as Cynisca’s voice, And he will live--for her and not for me-- Yet he will live. I am the fountain head

_Enter PYGMALION, unobserved, led by MYRINE._

Of all the horrors that surround him now, And it is fit that I should suffer this; Grant this, my first appeal--I do not ask Pygmalion’s love; I ask Pygmalion’s life!

(_PYGMALION utters an exclamation of joy. She rushes to him and seizes his hand._)

Pygmalion!

_Pyg._ I have no words in which To tell the joy with which I heard that prayer. Oh, take me to thine arms, my dearly loved! And teach me once again how much I risked In risking such a heaven-sent love as thine.

_Gal._ (_believing that he refers to her_). Pygmalion! my love! Pygmalion! Once more those words! again! say them again! Tell me that thou forgivest me the ill That I unwittingly have worked on thee!

_Pyg._ Forgive _thee_? Why, my wife, I did not dare To ask _thy_ pardon, and thou askest mine, The compact with thy mistress Artemis Gave thee a heaven-sent right to punish me. I’ve learnt to take whate’er the gods may send.

(_GALATEA, at first delighted, learns in the course of this speech that PYGMALION takes her for CYNISCA, and expresses extreme anguish._)

_Gal._ (_with an effort._) But then, this woman, Galatea--

_Pyg._ Well?

_Gal._ Thy love for her is dead?

_Pyg._ I had no love.

_Gal._ Thou hadst no love?

_Pyg._ No love. At first, in truth, In mad amazement at the miracle That crowned my handiwork, and brought to life The fair creation of my sculptor’s skill, I yielded to her god-sent influence, For I had worshiped her before she lived Because she called Cynisca’s face to me; But when she lived--that love died, word by word.

_Gal._ That is well said; thou dost not love her then? She is no more to thee than senseless stone?

_Pyg._ Speak not of her, Cynisca, for I swear

_Enter CYNISCA, unobserved._

The unhewn marble of Pentelicus Hath charms for me, which she, in all her glow Of womanly perfection, could not match.

_Gal._ I’m very glad to hear that this is so. Thou art forgiven! (_Kisses his forehead._)

_Pyg._ Thou hast pardoned me, And though the law of Artemis declared Thy pardon should restore to me the light Thine anger took away, I would be blind, I would not have mine eyes lest they should rest On her who caused me all this bitterness!

_Gal._ Indeed, Pygmalion--’twere better thus-- If thou couldst look on Galatea now, Thy love for her, perchance, might come again!

_Pyg._ No, no.

_Gal._ They say that she endureth pains That mock the power of words!

_Pyg._ It should be so!

_Gal._ Hast thou _no_ pity for her?

_Pyg._ No, not I. The ill that she hath worked on thee--on me-- And on Myrine--surely were enough To make us curse the hour that gave her life. She is not fit to live upon this world!

_Gal._ (_bitterly_). Upon this worthy world, thou sayest well, The woman shall be seen of thee no more. (_Takes CYNISCA’S hand and leads her to PYG._) What wouldst thou with her now? _Thou hast thy wife!_

(_She substitutes CYNISCA, and retires, weeping. CYNISCA takes him to her arms and kisses him. He recovers his sight._)

_Pyg._ Cynisca! see! the light of day is mine! Once more I look upon thy well-loved face!

_Enter MYRINE and LEUCIPPE._

_Leu._ Pygmalion! Thou hast thine eyes again! Come--this is happiness indeed!

_Pyg._ And thou! Myrine has recalled thee?

_Leu._ No, I came, But more in sorrow than in penitence; For I’ve a hardened and a blood-stained heart! I thought she would denounce me to the law, But time, I found, had worked a wondrous change; The very girl, who half-a-day ago Had cursed me for a ruthless murderer, Not only pardoned me my infamy, But absolutely hugged me with delight, When she, with hungry and unpitying eyes, Beheld my victim--at the kitchen fire! The little cannibal!

_Enter GALATEA._

_Pyg._ Away from me, Woman or statue! Thou the only blight That ever fell upon my love--begone, For thou hast been the curse of all who fell Within the compass of thy waywardness!

_Cyn._ No, no--recall those words, Pygmalion, Thou knowest not all.

_Gal._ Nay--let me go from him; That curse--_his_ curse--still ringing in mine ears, For life is bitterer to me than death. (_She mounts the steps of pedestal._) Farewell, Pygmalion! Farewell! Farewell! (_The curtains conceal her._)

_Cyn._ Thou art unjust to her as I to thee! _Hers_ was the voice that pardoned thee--not mine. I knew no pity till she taught it me. I heard the words she spoke, and little thought That they would find an echo in my heart; But so it was. I took them for mine own, And asking for thy pardon, pardoned thee!

_Pyg._ (_amazed_). Cynisca! Is this so?

_Cyn._ In truth it is!

_Gal._ (behind curtain). Farewell, Pygmalion! Farewell! Farewell!

(_PYGMALION rushes to the veil and tears it away, discovering GALATEA as a statue on the pedestal, as in Act I._)

CHARITY:

_A Play_,

IN FOUR ACTS.

Dramatis Personæ. DR. ATHELNEY, _a Colonial Bishop-Elect_ MR. CHIPPENDALE. TED ATHELNEY, _his son, aged 38_ MR. TEESDALE. MR. SMAILEY, _a Country Gentleman, aged 60_ MR. HOWE. FRED SMAILEY, _his son, aged 22_ MR. KENDAL. MR. FITZ PARTINGTON, _a Private Inquiry Officer_ MR. BUCKSTONE. BUTLER MR. CLARK. FOOTMAN MR. JAMES. MRS. VAN BRUGH, _a widow, aged 35_ MISS M. ROBERTSON. (MRS. KENDAL.) EVE, _her daughter, aged 17_ MISS AMY ROSELLE. RUTH TREDGETT, _a tramp, aged 37_ MISS WOOLGAR. (MRS. A. MELLON.)

ACTS I. AND II. _BOUDOIR IN MRS. VAN BRUGH’S COUNTRY HOUSE._