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The Mob, a play by John Galsworthy |
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Act 3 - Scene 2 |
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_ ACT III - SCENE II The window-end of KATHERINE'S bedroom, panelled in cream-coloured wood. The light from four candles is falling on KATHERINE, who is sitting before the silver mirror of an old oak dressing-table, brushing her hair. A door, on the left, stands ajar. An oak chair against the wall close to a recessed window is all the other furniture. Through this window the blue night is seen, where a mist is rolled out flat amongst trees, so that only dark clumps of boughs show here and there, beneath a moonlit sky. As the curtain rises, KATHERINE, with brush arrested, is listening. She begins again brushing her hair, then stops, and taking a packet of letters from a drawer of her dressing-table, reads. Through the just open door behind her comes the voice of OLIVE. OLIVE. Mummy! I'm awake! [But KATHERINE goes on reading; and OLIVE steals into the room in her nightgown.] OLIVE. [At KATHERINE'S elbow--examining her watch on its stand] It's fourteen minutes to eleven. KATHERINE. Olive, Olive! OLIVE. I just wanted to see the time. I never can go to sleep if I try--it's quite helpless, you know. Is there a victory yet? [KATHERINE, shakes her head] Oh! I prayed extra special for one in the evening papers. [Straying round her mother] Hasn't Daddy come? KATHERINE. Not yet. OLIVE. Are you waiting for him? [Burying her face in her mother's hair] Your hair is nice, Mummy. It's particular to-night. [KATHERINE lets fall her brush, and looks at her almost in alarm.] OLIVE. How long has Daddy been away? KATHERINE. Six weeks. OLIVE. It seems about a hundred years, doesn't it? Has he been making speeches all the time? KATHERINE. Yes. OLIVE. To-night, too? KATHERINE. Yes. OLIVE. The night that man was here whose head's too bald for anything--oh! Mummy, you know--the one who cleans his teeth so termendously--I heard Daddy making a speech to the wind. It broke a wine-glass. His speeches must be good ones, mustn't they! KATHERINE. Very. OLIVE. It felt funny; you couldn't see any wind, you know. KATHERINE. Talking to the wind is an expression, Olive. OLIVE. Does Daddy often? KATHERINE. Yes, nowadays. OLIVE. What does it mean? KATHERINE. Speaking to people who won't listen. OLIVE. What do they do, then? KATHERINE. Just a few people go to hear him, and then a great crowd comes and breaks in; or they wait for him outside, and throw things, and hoot. OLIVE. Poor Daddy! Is it people on our side who throw things? KATHERINE. Yes, but only rough people. OLIVE. Why does he go on doing it? I shouldn't. KATHERINE. He thinks it is his duty. OLIVE. To your neighbour, or only to God? KATHERINE. To both. OLIVE. Oh! Are those his letters? KATHERINE. Yes. OLIVE. [Reading from the letter] "My dear Heart." Does he always call you his dear heart, Mummy? It's rather jolly, isn't it? "I shall be home about half-past ten to-morrow night. For a few hours the fires of p-u-r-g-a-t-or-y will cease to burn--" What are the fires of p-u-r-g-a-t-o-r-y? KATHERINE. [Putting away the letters] Come, Olive! OLIVE. But what are they? KATHERINE. Daddy means that he's been very unhappy. OLIVE. Have you, too? KATHERINE. Yes. OLIVE. [Cheerfully] So have I. May I open the window? KATHERINE. No; you'll let the mist in. OLIVE. Isn't it a funny mist-all flat! KATHERINE. Now, come along, frog! OLIVE. [Making time] Mummy, when is Uncle Hubert coming back? KATHERINE. We don't know, dear. OLIVE. I suppose Auntie Helen'll stay with us till he does. KATHERINE. Yes. OLIVE. That's something, isn't it? KATHERINE. [Picking her up] Now then! OLIVE. [Deliciously limp] Had I better put in the duty to your neighbour if there isn't a victory soon? [As they pass through the door] You're tickling under my knee! [Little gurgles of pleasure follow. Then silence. Then a drowsy voice] I must keep awake for Daddy. [KATHERINE comes back. She is about to leave the door a little open, when she hears a knock on the other door. It is opened a few inches, and NURSE'S voice says: "Can I come in, Ma'am?" The NURSE comes in.] KATHERINE. [Shutting OLIVE's door, and going up to her] What is it, Nurse? NURSE. [Speaking in a low voice] I've been meaning to--I'll never do it in the daytime. I'm giving you notice. KATHERINE. Nurse! You too! [She looks towards OLIVE'S room with dismay. The NURSE smudges a slow tear away from her cheek.] NURSE. I want to go right away at once. KATHERINE. Leave Olive! That is the sins of the fathers with a vengeance. NURSE. I've had another letter from my son. No, Miss Katherine, while the master goes on upholdin' these murderin' outlandish creatures, I can't live in this house, not now he's coming back. KATHERINE. But, Nurse----! NURSE. It's not like them [With an ineffable gesture] downstairs, because I'm frightened of the mob, or of the window's bein' broke again, or mind what the boys in the street say. I should think not-- no! It's my heart. I'm sore night and day thinkin' of my son, and him lying out there at night without a rag of dry clothing, and water that the bullocks won't drink, and maggots in the meat; and every day one of his friends laid out stark and cold, and one day--'imself perhaps. If anything were to 'appen to him. I'd never forgive meself--here. Ah! Miss Katherine, I wonder how you bear it--bad news comin' every day--And Sir John's face so sad--And all the time the master speaking against us, as it might be Jonah 'imself. KATHERINE. But, Nurse, how can you leave us, you? NURSE. [Smudging at her cheeks] There's that tells me it's encouragin' something to happen, if I stay here; and Mr. More coming back to-night. You can't serve God and Mammon, the Bible says. KATHERINE. Don't you know what it's costing him? NURSE. Ah! Cost him his seat, and his reputation; and more than that it'll cost him, to go against the country. KATHERINE. He's following his conscience. NURSE. And others must follow theirs, too. No, Miss Katherine, for you to let him--you, with your three brothers out there, and your father fair wasting away with grief. Sufferin' too as you've been these three months past. What'll you feel if anything happens to my three young gentlemen out there, to my dear Mr. Hubert that I nursed myself, when your precious mother couldn't? What would she have said --with you in the camp of his enemies? KATHERINE. Nurse, Nurse! NURSE. In my paper they say he's encouraging these heathens and makin' the foreigners talk about us; and every day longer the war lasts, there's our blood on this house. KATHERINE. [Turning away] Nurse, I can't--I won't listen. NURSE. [Looking at her intently] Ah! You'll move him to leave off! I see your heart, my dear. But if you don't, then go I must! [She nods her head gravely, goes to the door of OLIVE'S room, opens it gently, stands looking for a-moment, then with the words "My Lamb!" she goes in noiselessly and closes the door.] [KATHERINE turns back to her glass, puts back her hair, and smooths her lips and eyes. The door from the corridor is opened, and HELEN's voice says: "Kit! You're not in bed?"] KATHERINE. No. [HELEN too is in a wrapper, with a piece of lace thrown over her head. Her face is scared and miserable, and she runs into KATHERINE's arms.] KATHERINE. My dear, what is it? HELEN. I've seen--a vision! KATHERINE. Hssh! You'll wake Olive! HELEN. [Staring before her] I'd just fallen asleep, and I saw a plain that seemed to run into the sky--like--that fog. And on it there were--dark things. One grew into a body without a head, and a gun by its side. And one was a man sitting huddled up, nursing a wounded leg. He had the face of Hubert's servant, Wreford. And then I saw--Hubert. His face was all dark and thin; and he had--a wound, an awful wound here [She touches her breast]. The blood was running from it, and he kept trying to stop it--oh! Kit--by kissing it [She pauses, stifled by emotion]. Then I heard Wreford laugh, and say vultures didn't touch live bodies. And there came a voice, from somewhere, calling out: "Oh! God! I'm dying!" And Wreford began to swear at it, and I heard Hubert say: "Don't, Wreford; let the poor fellow be!" But the voice went on and on, moaning and crying out: "I'll lie here all night dying--and then I'll die!" And Wreford dragged himself along the ground; his face all devilish, like a man who's going to kill. KATHERINE. My dear! HOW ghastly! HELEN. Still that voice went on, and I saw Wreford take up the dead man's gun. Then Hubert got upon his feet, and went tottering along, so feebly, so dreadfully--but before he could reach and stop him, Wreford fired at the man who was crying. And Hubert called out: "You brute!" and fell right down. And when Wreford saw him lying there, he began to moan and sob, but Hubert never stirred. Then it all got black again--and I could see a dark woman--thing creeping, first to the man without a head; then to Wreford; then to Hubert, and it touched him, and sprang away. And it cried out: "A-ai-ah!" [Pointing out at the mist] Look! Out there! The dark things! KATHERINE. [Putting her arms round her] Yes, dear, yes! You must have been looking at the mist. HELEN. [Strangely calm] He's dead! KATHERINE. It was only a dream. HELEN. You didn't hear that cry. [She listens] That's Stephen. Forgive me, Kit; I oughtn't to have upset you, but I couldn't help coming. [She goes out, KATHERINE, into whom her emotion seems to have passed, turns feverishly to the window, throws it open and leans out. MORE comes in.] MORE. Kit! [Catching sight of her figure in the window, he goes quickly to her.] KATHERINE. Ah! [She has mastered her emotion.] MORE. Let me look at you! [He draws her from the window to the candle-light, and looks long at her.] MORE. What have you done to your hair? KATHERINE. Nothing. MORE. It's wonderful to-night. [He takes it greedily and buries his face in it.] KATHERINE. [Drawing her hair away] Well? MORE. At last! KATHERINE. [Pointing to OLIVE's room] Hssh! MORE. How is she? KATHERINE. All right. MORE. And you? [KATHERINE shrugs her shoulders.] MORE. Six weeks! KATHERINE. Why have you come? MORE. Why! KATHERINE. You begin again the day after tomorrow. Was it worth while? MORE. Kit! KATHERINE. It makes it harder for me, that's all. MORE. [Staring at her] What's come to you? KATHERINE. Six weeks is a long time to sit and read about your meetings. MORE. Put that away to-night. [He touches her] This is what travellers feel when they come out of the desert to-water. KATHERINE. [Suddenly noticing the cut on his forehead] Your forehead! It's cut. MORE. It's nothing. KATHERINE. Oh! Let me bathe it! MORE. No, dear! It's all right. KATHERINE. [Turning away] Helen has just been telling me a dream she's had of Hubert's death. MORE. Poor child! KATHERINE. Dream bad dreams, and wait, and hide oneself--there's been nothing else to do. Nothing, Stephen--nothing! MORE. Hide? Because of me? [KATHERINE nods.] MORE. [With a movement of distress] I see. I thought from your letters you were coming to feel----. Kit! You look so lovely! [Suddenly he sees that she is crying, and goes quickly to her.] MORE. My dear, don't cry! God knows I don't want to make things worse for you. I'll go away. [She draws away from him a little, and after looking long at her, he sits down at the dressing-table and begins turning over the brushes and articles of toilet, trying to find words.] MORE. Never look forward. After the time I've had--I thought-- tonight--it would be summer--I thought it would be you--and everything! [While he is speaking KATHERINE has stolen closer. She suddenly drops on her knees by his side and wraps his hand in her hair. He turns and clasps her.] MORE. Kit! KATHERINE. Ah! yes! But-to-morrow it begins again. Oh! Stephen! How long--how long am I to be torn in two? [Drawing back in his arms] I can't--can't bear it. MORE. My darling! KATHERINE. Give it up! For my sake! Give it up! [Pressing closer to him] It shall be me--and everything---- MORE. God! KATHERINE. It shall be--if--if---- MORE. [Aghast] You're not making terms? Bargaining? For God's sake, Kit! KATHERINE. For God's sake, Stephen! MORE. You!--of all people--you! KATHERINE. Stephen! [For a moment MORE yields utterly, then shrinks back.] MORE. A bargain! It's selling my soul! [He struggles out of her arms, gets up, and stands without speaking, staring at her, and wiping the sweat from his forehead. KATHERINE remains some seconds on her knees, gazing up at him, not realizing. Then her head droops; she too gets up and stands apart, with her wrapper drawn close round her. It is as if a cold and deadly shame had come to them both. Quite suddenly MORE turns, and, without looking back, feebly makes his way out of the room. When he is gone KATHERINE drops on her knees and remains there motionless, huddled in her hair.] [THE CURTAIN FALLS] _ |
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