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_ ACT II - SCENE III
JULIA is sitting at the foot of a tree in the wood. CHRIS, NAT and TANSIE are seated near her on the ground.
JULIA.
I wish this day might last for always.
CHRIS.
Why, when to-morrow's come, 'twill be the same.
JULIA.
That it will not. To-day is a holiday. To-morrow's work.
TANSIE.
One day 'tis much the same as t'other with me.
NAT.
'Tis what we gets to eat as do make the change.
TANSIE.
I should have thought as how a grand young mistress like yourself might have had the days to your own liking.
JULIA.
Ah, and so I did once. But that was before Uncle died and left me the farm. Now, 'tis all different with the days.
CHRIS.
How was it with you afore then, mistress?
JULIA.
Much the same as 'tis with that bird flying yonder. I did so as I listed. If I had a mind to sleep when the sun was up, then I did sleep. And if my limbs would not rest when 'twas dark, why, then I did roam. There was naught to hold me back from my fancy.
TANSIE.
And how is it now with you, mistress?
JULIA.
'Tis all said in one word.
CHRIS.
What's that?
JULIA.
'Tis "work."
NAT.
Work?
CHRIS.
Work?
TANSIE.
Work! And yet 'tis a fine young lady as you do look in your muslin gown with silky ribbons to it and all.
JULIA.
I'm a farmer, Tansie. And for a farmer 'tis work of one sort, or t'other from when the sun is up till the candle has burned itself short. If 'tisn't working with my own hands, 'tis driving of the hands of another.
CHRIS.
I've heard tell as a farmer do spin gold all the day same as one of they great spiders as go putting out silk from their mouths.
JULIA.
And what is gold to me, Chris, who have no one but myself to spend it on
CHRIS.
Folks do say as the laying up of gold be one of the finest things in the world.
JULIA.
It will never bring happiness to me, Chris.
CHRIS.
Come, mistress, 'tis a fine thing to have a great stone roof above the head of you.
JULIA.
I'd sooner get my shelter from the green leaves.
NAT.
And a grand thing to have your victuals spread afore you each time 'stead of having to go lean very often.
JULIA.
O, a handful of berries and a drink of fresh water is enough for me.
TANSIE.
And beautiful it must be to stretch the limbs of you upon feathers when night do come down, with a fine white sheet drawn up over your head.
JULIA.
O, I could rest more sweetly on the grass and moss yonder.
NAT.
I did never sleep within four walls but once, and then 'twas in gaol.
JULIA.
O Nat, you were never in gaol, were you?
NAT.
'Twas that they mistook I for another. And when the morning did come, they did let I go again.
CHRIS.
I count 'twas a smartish long night, that!
NAT.
'Twas enough for to shew me how it do feel when anyone has got to bide sleeping with the walls all around of he.
JULIA.
And the ceiling above, Nat. And locked door. And other folk lying breathing in the house, hard by. All dark and close.
CHRIS.
And where us may lie, the air do run swift over we. We has the smell of the earth and the leaves on us as we do sleep. There baint no darkness for we, for the stars do blink all night through up yonder.
TANSIE.
And no sound of other folk breathing but the crying of th' owls and the foxes' bark.
JULIA.
Ah, that must be a grand sound, the barking of a fox. I never did hear one. Never.
CHRIS.
Ah, 'tis a powerful thin sound, that--but one to raise the hair on a man's head and to clam the flesh of he, at dead of night.
NAT.
You come and bide along of we one evening, and you shall hearken to the fox, and badger too, if you've the mind.
JULIA.
O that would please me more than anything in the world.
TANSIE.
And when 'twas got a little lighter, so that the bushes could be seen, and the fields, I'd shew you where the partridge has her nest beneath the hedge; where we have gotten eggs, and eaten them too.
CHRIS.
And I'll take and lead you to a place what I do know of, where the water flows clear as a diamond over the stones. And if you bides there waiting quiet you may take the fish as they come along-- and there's a dinner such as the Queen might not get every day of the week.
JULIA.
O Chris, who is there to say I must bide in one place when all in me is thirsting to be in t'other!
CHRIS.
I'm sure I don't know.
NAT.
I should move about where I did like, if 'twas me.
TANSIE.
A fine young lady like you can do as she pleases.
JULIA.
Well then, it pleases me to bide with you in the free air.
CHRIS.
Our life, 'tis a poor life, and wandering. 'Tis food one day, and may be going without the next. 'Tis the sun upon the faces of us one hour--and then the rain. But 'tis in freedom that us walks, and we be the masters of our own limbs.
JULIA.
Will you be good to me if I journey with you?
CHRIS.
Ah, 'tis not likely as I'll ever fail you, mistress.
JULIA.
Do not call me mistress any longer, Chris, my name is Julia.
CHRIS.
'Tis a well-sounding name, and one as runs easy as clear water upon the tongue.
JULIA.
Tansie, how will it be for me to go with you?
TANSIE.
'Twill be well enough with the spirit of you I don't doubt, but how'll it be with the fine clothes what you have on?
NAT.
[Suddenly looking up.]
Why, there's Susan coming.
JULIA.
[Looking in the same direction.]
So that is Susan?
TANSIE.
I count as her has had a smartish job to get away from th' old missis so early in the day.
CHRIS.
'Tis a rare old she cat, and handy with the claw's of her, Susan's missis.
[SUSAN comes shyly forward.]
NAT.
Come you here, Susan, and sit along of we.
JULIA.
Yes, sit down with us in this cool shade, Susan. You look warm from running.
SUSAN.
O, I didn't know you was here, Mistress Julia.
JULIA.
Well, Susan, and so you live at Road Farm. Are you happy there?
SUSAN.
I should be if 'twern't for mistress.
JULIA.
No mistress could speak harshly to you, Susan--you are so young and pretty.
SUSAN. Ah, but mistress takes no account of aught but the work you does, and the tongue of her be wonderful lashing.
JULIA.
Then how comes it that you have got away to the forest so early on a week day?
SUSAN.
'Tis that mistress be powerful took up with sommat else this afternoon, and so I was able to run out for a while and her didn't notice me.
TANSIE.
Why Su, what's going on up at the farm so particular to-day?
SUSAN.
'Tis courting.
ALL.
Courting?
SUSAN.
Yes. That 'tis. 'Tis our Master William what's dressed up in his Sunday clothes and gone a-courting with a basket of green stuff on his arm big enough to fill the market, very nigh.
CHRIS.
Well, well, who'd have thought he had it in him?
NAT.
He's a gentleman what's not cut out for courting, to my mind.
SUSAN.
Indeed he isn't, Nat. And however the mistress got him dressed and set off on that business, I don't know.
JULIA.
But you have not told us who the lady is, Susan.
SUSAN.
[Suddenly very embarrassed.]
I--I--don't think as I do rightly know who 'tis, mistress.
CHRIS.
Why, look you, Susan, you'll have to take and hide yourself if you don't want for them to know as you be got along of we.
SUSAN.
What's that, Chris?
CHRIS.
[Pointing.]
See there, that man of Master Gardner's be a- coming along towards us fast. Look yonder -
SUSAN.
O whatever shall I do? 'Tis John, and surely he will tell of me when he gets back.
NAT.
Come you off with me afore he do perceive you, Susan. I'll take you where you shall bide hid from all the Johns in the world if you'll but come along of me.
JULIA.
That's it. Take her off, Nat; take her, Tansie. And do you go along too, Chris, for I have a fancy to bide alone in the stillness of the wood for a while.
[SUSAN, TANSIE and NAT go out.]
CHRIS.
Be I to leave you too, Julia?
JULIA.
[Slowly.]
Only for a little moment, Chris; then you can come for me again. I would like to stay with myself in quiet for a while. New thoughts have come into my mind and I cannot rightly understand what they do say to me, unless I hearken to them alone.
CHRIS.
Then I'll leave you, Julia. For things be stirring powerful in my mind too, and I'd give sommat for to come to an understanding with they. Ah, that I would.
[They look at one another in silence for a moment, then CHRIS slowly follows the others, leaving JULIA alone. JULIA sits alone in the wood. Presently she begins to sing.]
JULIA.
[Singing.]
I sowed the seeds of love,
It was all in the Spring;
In April, in May, and in June likewise
When small birds they do sing.
[JOHN with a large basket on his arm comes up to her.]
JOHN.
A good day to you, mistress.
JULIA.
Good afternoon.
JOHN.
Now I count as you would like to know who 'tis that's made so bold in speaking to you, Mistress.
JULIA.
Why, you're Master Gardner's farm hand, if I'm not mistaken.
JOHN.
Ah, that's right enough. And there be jobs as I wish Master William would get and do for hisself instead of putting them on I.
JULIA.
Well, and how far may you be going this afternoon?
JOHN.
I baint going no further than where I be a-standing now, mistress.
JULIA.
It would appear that your business was with me, then?
JOHN.
Ah, you've hit the right nail, mistress. 'Tis with you. 'Tis a straight offer as my master have sent me out for to make.
JULIA.
Now I wonder what sort of an offer that might be!
JOHN.
'Tis master's hand in marriage, and a couple of pigs jowls, home-cured, within this here basket.
JULIA.
O my good man, you're making game of me.
JOHN.
And that I baint, mistress. 'Twas in the church as Master William seed you first. And 'tis very nigh sick unto death with love as he have been since then.
JULIA.
Is he too sick to come and plead his cause himself, John?
JOHN.
Ah, and that he be. Do go moulting about the place with his victuals left upon the dish--a sighing and a grizzling so that any maid what's got a heart to th' inside of she would be moved in pity, did she catch ear of it, and would lift he out of the torment.
JULIA.
Well, John, I've not seen or heard any of this sad to-do, so I can't be moved in pity.
JOHN.
An, do you look within this basket at the jowls what Master William have sent you. Maybe as they'll go to your heart straighter nor what any words might.
[JOHN sits down on the bench by JULIA and opens the basket. JULIA looks in.]
JULIA.
I have no liking for pigs' meat myself.
JOHN.
Master's pig meat be different to any in the county, mistress. "Tell her," says Master William, "'tis a rare fine bit of mellow jowl as I be a sending she."
JULIA.
O John, I'm a very poor judge of such things.
JOHN.
And look you here. I never seed a bit of Master William's home-cured sent out beyond the family to no one till this day. No, that I have not, mistress.
JULIA.
[Shutting the basket.]
Well--I have no use for such a gift, John, so it may be returned again to the family. I am sorry you had the trouble of bringing it so far.
JOHN.
You may not be partial to pig meat, mistress, but you'll send back the key of Master William's heart same as you have done the jowls.
JULIA.
I have no use for the key of Master William's heart either, John. And you may tell him so, from me.
JOHN.
Why, mistress. You don't know what you be a talking of. A man like my master have never had to take a No in place of Yes in all the born days of him.
JULIA.
[Rising.]
Then he'll have to take it now, John. And I'm thinking 'tis time you set off home again with your load.
JOHN.
Well, mistress, I don't particular care to go afore you have given me a good word or sommat as'll hearten up poor Master William in his love sickness.
JULIA.
Truly, John, I don't know what you would have me say.
JOHN.
I warrant there be no lack of words to the inside of you, if so be as you'd open you mouth a bit wider. 'Tis not silence as a maid is troubled with in general.
JULIA.
O, I have plenty of words ready, John, should you care to hear them.
JOHN.
Then out with them, Mistress Julia, and tell the master as how you'll take the offer what he have made you.
JULIA.
I've never seen your master, John, but I know quite enough about him to say I'll never wed with him. Please to make that very clear when you get back.
JOHN.
'Tis plain as you doesn't know what you be a talking of. And 'tis a wonder as how such foolishness can came from the mouth of a sensible looking maid like yourself.
JULIA.
I shall not marry Master William Gardner.
JOHN.
I reckon as you'll be glad enough to eat up every one of them words the day you claps eyes on Master William, for a more splendid gentleman nor he never fetched his breath.
JULIA.
I'll never wed a farmer, John.
JOHN.
And then, look at the gift what Master William's been and sent you. 'Tisn't to everyone as master do part with his pig meat. That 'tisn't.
JULIA.
[Rising.]
Well, you can tell your master I'm not one that can be courted with a jowl, mellow or otherwise. And that I'll not wed until I can give my heart along with my hand.
JOHN.
I'd like to know where you would find a better one nor master for to give your heart to, mistress?
JULIA.
May be I have not far to search.
JOHN.
[Taking up the basket.]
You're a rare tricksy maid as ever I did see. Tricksy and tossy too.
JULIA.
There--that's enough, John. Suppose you set off home and tell your master he can hang up his meat again in the larder, for all that it concerns me.
JOHN.
I'll be blowed if I do say anything of the sort, mistress. I shall get and tell Master William as you be giving a bit of thought to the matter, and that jowls not being to your fancy, 'tis very like as a dish of trotters may prove acceptabler.
JULIA.
Say what you like, John. Only let me bide quiet in this good forest now. I want to be with my thoughts.
JOHN.
[Preparing to go and speaking aloud to himself.]
Her's a wonderful contrary bird to be sure. And bain't a shy one neither, what gets timid and flustered and is easily netted. My word, but me and master has a job before us for to catch she.
JULIA.
I hear you, and 'tis very rudely that you talk. There's an old saying that I never could see the meaning of before, but now I think 'tis clear, "Like master, like man," they say. I'll have none of Master William, and you can tell him so.
[JOHN goes out angrily. JULIA sits down again on the bench and begins to sing.]
JULIA.
[Singing.]
My gardener stood by
And told me to take great care,
For in the middle of a red rose-bud
There grows a sharp thorn there.
[LAURA comes slowly forward, carrying the basket of vegetables on one arm. She holds a handkerchief to her face and is crying.]
JULIA.
Why, Laura, what has made you cry so sadly?
LAURA.
O, Julia, 'twas a rare red rose as I held in my hand, and a rare cruel thorn that came from it and did prick me.
JULIA.
And a rare basket of green stuff that you have been getting.
LAURA.
[Sinking down on the seat, and weeping violently.]
His dear gift to me!
JULIA.
[Looking into the basket.]
O a wonderful fine gift, to be sure. Young carrots and spring cabbage. I've had a gift offered too--but mine was jowls.
LAURA.
Jowls. O, and did you not take them?
JULIA.
No, I sent them back to the giver, with the dry heart which was along with them in the same basket.
LAURA.
O Julia, how could you be so hard and cruel?
JULIA.
Come, wouldn't you have done the same?
LAURA.
[Sobbing vehemently.]
That I should not, Julia.
JULIA.
Perhaps you've seen the gentleman then?
LAURA.
I have. And O, Julia, he is a beautiful gentleman. I never saw one that was his like.
JULIA.
The rare red rose with its thorn, Laura.
LAURA.
He did lay the heart of him before me--thinking my name was Julia.
JULIA.
And did he lay the vegetables too?
LAURA.
'Twas all the doing of a great fool, that man of his.
JULIA.
And you--did you give him what he asked of you--before he knew that your name was not Julia?
LAURA.
O, I did--that I did.
[A short silence.]
JULIA.
And could you forget the prick of the thorn, did you hold the rose again, Laura?
LAURA.
O that I could. For me there'd be naught but the rose, were it laid once more in my hand. But 'tis not likely to be put there, since 'tis you he favours.
JULIA.
But I don't favour him.
LAURA.
You'll favour him powerful well when you see him, Julia.
JULIA.
I've given my heart already, but 'tis not to him.
LAURA.
You've given your heart?
JULIA.
Yes, Chris has all of it, Laura. There is nothing left for anyone else in the world.
LAURA.
O Julia, think of your position.
JULIA.
That I will not do. I am going to think of yours.
LAURA.
[Beginning to cry.]
I'm no better in my station than a serving maid, like Susan.
JULIA.
[Pointing.]
There she comes
[calling]
Susan, Susan!
[SUSAN comes up. During the next sentences LAURA takes one bunch of vegetables after another from the basket, smoothing each in turn with a fond caressing movement.]
SUSAN.
Did you call, mistress?
JULIA.
Yes, Susan. That I did.
SUSAN.
Can I help you in any way, Miss Julia?
JULIA.
Yes, and that you can. You have got to run quickly back to the farm.
SUSAN.
Be it got terrible late, mistress?
JULIA.
'Tis not only that. You have got to find your master and tell him to expect a visit from me in less than an hour's time from now. Do you understand?
SUSAN.
O, yes, mistress, and that I do--to tell master as you be coming along after he as fast as you can run.
JULIA.
Well--I should not have put it in that way, but 'tis near enough may be. So off, and make haste, Susan.
SUSAN.
Please, mistress, I could make the words have a more loving sound to them if you do wish it.
JULIA.
My goodness, Susan, what are you thinking of? Say naught, but that I'm coming. Run away now, and run quickly. [SUSAN goes off.
LAURA.
[Looking up, a bunch of carrots in her hands.]
What are you going to do now, Julia?
JULIA.
You shall see, when you have done playing with those carrots.
LAURA.
He pulled them, every one, with his own hands, Julia.
JULIA.
My love has gathered something better for me than a carrot. See, a spray of elder bloom that was tossing ever so high in the wind.
[She takes a branch of elder flower from her dress, and shews it to LAURA.]
LAURA.
The roots that lie warm in the earth do seem more homely like to me.
JULIA.
Well--each one has their own way in love--and mine lies through the dark woods, and yours is in the vegetable garden. And 'tis your road that we will take this afternoon--so come along quickly with me, Laura, for the sun has already begun to change its light.
[LAURA replaces the vegetables in her basket and rises from the seat as the curtain falls.] _
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