four short plays-第7节
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VANE。 Well； sir； you'll see。
FRUST。 This your lighting？ It's a bit on the spiritool side。 I've
left my glass。 Guess I'll sit in the front row。 Ha'f a minute。 Who
plays this Orphoos？
VANE。 George Fleetway。
FRUST。 Has he got punch？
VANE。 It's a very small part。
FRUST。 Who are the others？
VANE。 Guy Toone plays the Professor； Vanessa Hellgrove his wife；
Maude Hopkins the faun。
FRUST。 H'm！ Names don't draw。
VANE。 They're not expensive； any of them。 Miss Hellgrove's a find；
I think。
FRUST。 Pretty？
VANE。 Quite。
FRUST。 Arty？
VANE。 ＇Doubtfully＇ No。 ＇With resolution＇ Look here； Mr FRUST；
it's no use your expecting another 〃Pop goes the Weasel。〃
FRUST。 We…ell； if it's got punch and go； that'll be enough for me。
Let's get to it！
＇He extinguishes his cigar and descends the steps and sits in
the centre of the front row of the stalls。＇
VANE。 Mr Foreson？
FORESON。 ＇Appearing through curtain； Right＇ Sir？
VANE。 Beginners。 Take your curtain down。
＇He descends the steps and seats himself next to FRUST。 The
curtain goes down。＇
＇A woman's voice is heard singing very beautifully Sullivan's
song： 〃Orpheus with his lute； with his lute made trees and the
mountain tops that freeze'。〃 etc。＇
FRUST。 Some voice！
The curtain rises。 In the armchair the PROFESSOR is yawning；
tall； thin； abstracted； and slightly grizzled in the hair。 He
has a pad of paper over his knee； ink on the stool to his right
and the Encyclopedia volume on the stand to his left…barricaded
in fact by the article he is writing。 He is reading a page over
to himself； but the words are drowned in the sound of the song
his WIFE is singing in the next room； partly screened off by the
curtain。 She finishes； and stops。 His voice can then be heard
conning the words of his article。
PROF。 〃Orpheus symbolized the voice of Beauty； the call of life；
luring us mortals with his song back from the graves we dig for
ourselves。 Probably the ancients realized this neither more nor less
than we moderns。 Mankind has not changed。 The civilized being still
hides the faun and the dryad within its broadcloth and its silk。 And
yet〃＇He stops； with a dried…up air…rather impatiently＇ Go on； my
dear！ It helps the atmosphere。
＇The voice of his WIFE begins again； gets as far as 〃made them
sing〃 and stops dead； just as the PROFESSOR's pen is beginning
to scratch。 And suddenly； drawing the curtain further aside＇
＇SHE appears。 Much younger than the PROFESSOR； pale； very
pretty； of a Botticellian type in face； figure； and in her
clinging cream…coloured frock。 She gazes at her abstracted
husband； then swiftly moves to the lintel of the open window；
and stands looking out。＇
THE WIFE。 God！ What beauty！
PROF。 ＇Looking Up＇ Umm？
THE WIFE。 I said： God！ What beauty！
PROF。 Aha！
THE WIFE。 ＇Looking at him＇ Do you know that I have to repeat
everything to you nowadays？
PROF。 What？
THE WIFE。 That I have to repeat
PROF。 Yes； I heard。 I'm sorry。 I get absorbed。
THE WIFE。 In all but me。
PROF。 ＇Startled＇ My dear； your song was helping me like anything to
get the mood。 This paper is the very deuceto balance between the
historical and the natural。
THE WIFE。 Who wants the natural？
PROF。 ＇Grumbling＇ Umm！ Wish I thought that！ Modern taste！
History may go hang； they're all for tuppence…coloured sentiment
nowadays。
THE WIFE。 ＇As if to herself＇ Is the Spring sentiment？
PROF。 I beg your pardon； my dear； I didn't catch。
WIFE。 ＇As if against her willurged by some pent…up force＇ Beauty；
beauty！
PROF。 That's what I'm； trying to say here。 The Orpheus legend
symbolizes to this day the call of Beauty！ ＇He takes up his pen；
while she continues to stare out at the moonlight。 Yawning＇ Dash
it！ I get so sleepy； I wish you'd tell them to make the after…dinner
coffee twice as strong。
WIFE。 I will。
PROF。 How does this strike you？ ＇Conning＇ 〃Many Renaissance
pictures； especially those of Botticelli； Francesca and Piero di
Cosimo were inspired by such legends as that of Orpheus； and we owe a
tiny gemlike Raphael 'Apollo and Marsyas' to the same Pagan
inspiration。〃
WIFE。 We owe it more than thatrebellion against the dry…as…dust。
PROF。 Quite。 I might develop that： 〃We owe it our revolt against
the academic； or our disgust at 'big business；' and all the grossness
of commercial success。 We owe〃。 ＇His voice peters out。＇
WIFE。 Itlove。
PROF。 ＇Abstracted＇ Eh！
WIFE。 I said： We owe it love。
PROF。 ＇Rather startled＇ Possibly。 Buter ＇With a dry smile＇
I mustn't say that herehardly！
WIFE。 ＇To herself and the moonlight＇ Orpheus with his lute！
PROF。 Most people think a lute is a sort of flute。 ＇Yawning
heavily＇ My dear； if you're not going to sing again； d'you mind
sitting down？ I want to concentrate。
WIFE。 I'm going out。
PROF。 Mind the dew！
WIFE。 The Christian virtues and the dew。
PROF。 ＇With a little dry laugh＇ Not bad！ Not bad！ The Christian
virtues and the dew。 ＇His hand takes up his pen； his face droops
over his paper； while his wife looks at him with a very strange face＇
〃How far we can trace the modern resurgence against the Christian
virtues to the symbolic figures of Orpheus； Pan； Apollo； and Bacchus
might be difficult to estimate； but〃
＇During those words his WIFE has passed through the window into
the moonlight； and her voice rises； singing as she goes：
〃Orpheus with his lute； with his lute made trees 。 。 。〃
PROF。 ＇Suddenly aware of something＇ She'll get her throat bad。
＇He is silent as the voice swells in the distance＇ Sounds queer at
night…H'm！ ＇He is silentYawning。 The voice dies away。 Suddenly
his head nods； he fights his drowsiness； writes a word or two； nods
again； and in twenty seconds is asleep。＇
＇The Stage is darkened by a black…out。 FRUST's voice is heard
speaking。＇
FRUST。 What's that girl's name？
VANE。 Vanessa Hellgrove。
FRUST。 Aha！
＇The Stage is lighted up again。 Moonlight bright on the
orchard； the room in darkness where the PROFESSOR'S figure is
just visible sleeping in the chair； and screwed a little more
round towards the window。 From behind the mossy boulder a
faun…like figure uncurls itself and peeps over with ears
standing up and elbows leaning on the stone； playing a rustic
pipe； and there are seen two rabbits and a fox sitting up and
listening。 A shiver of wind passes； blowing petals from the
apple…trees。＇
＇The FAUN darts his head towards where； from Right； comes slowly
the figure of a Greek youth； holding a lute or lyre which his
fingers strike； lifting out little wandering strains as of wind
whinnying in funnels and odd corners。 The FAUN darts down
behind the stone； and the youth stands by the boulder playing
his lute。 Slowly while he plays the whitened trunk of an
apple…tree is seen； to dissolve into the body of a girl with
bare arms and feet； her dark hair unbound； and the face of the
PROFESSOR'S WIFE。 Hypnotized； she slowly sways towards him；
their eyes fixed on each other； till she is quite close。 Her
arms go out to him； cling round his neck and； their lips meet。
But as they meet there comes a gasp and the PROFESSOR with
rumpled hair is seen starting from his chair； his hands thrown
up； and at his horrified 〃Oh！。〃 the Stage is darkened with a
black…out。
＇The voice of FRUST is heard speaking。＇
FRUST。 Gee！
The Stage is lighted up again； as in the opening scene。 The
PROFESSOR is seen in his chair； with spilt sheets of paper round
him； waking from a dream。 He shakes himself； pinches his leg；
stares heavily round into the moonlight； rises。
PROF。 Phew！ Beastly dream！ Boof！ H'm！ ＇He moves to the window
and calls。 Blanche！ Blanche！ ＇To himself＇ Made trees…made trees！
＇Calling＇ Blanche！
WIFE's VOICE。 Yes。
PROF。 Where are you？
WIFE。 ＇Appearing by the stone with her hair down＇ Here！
PROF。 I sayI…I've been asleephad a dream。 Come in。 I'll tell
you。
＇She comes； and they stand in the window。＇
PROF。 I dreamed I saw a…faun on that boulder blowing on a pipe。 ＇He
looks nervously at the stone＇ With two damned little rabbits and a
fox sitting up and listening。 And then from out there came our
friend Orpheus playing on his confounded lute； till he actually
turned that tree there into you。 And gradually he…he drew you like a
snake till youerput your arms round his neck anderkissed him。
Boof！ I woke up。 Most unpleasant。 Why！ Your hair's down！
WIFE。 Yes。
PROF。 Why？
WIFE。 It was no dream。 He was bringing me to life。
PROF。 What on earth？
WIFE。 Do you suppose I am alive？ I'm as dead as Euridice。
PROF。 Good heavens； Blanche； what's the matter with you to…night？
WIFE。 ＇Pointing to the litter of papers＇ Why don't we live； instead
of writing of it？ ＇She points out unto the moonlight＇ What do we
get out of
