A SALON CARRÉ FANTASY
Reading edition
Characters: Pictures, The Young Man with a Glove ... L’Homme au Gant, The Woman at her Toilet, supposed to be Laura Dianti. Other masterpieces, but unseen.
Human Beings: The Glove Young Man; Laura, an Art-student; Visitors to the galleries of the Louvre, including a Husband and Wife, an Elderly Party from the country with her niece, a Teacher and her Class, and a rhapsodic German Lady; a Gardien of the Louvre galleries.
Time: The present.
Scene: The spot in the Salon Carré of the Louvre where hangs Titian’s picture, L’Homme au Gant. In front of the railing which guards the walls is room for persons to pass. At one side is the regulation velvet-covered bench. On the other, at her easel, sits Laura, making a copy of the picture.
[As the curtains part, the Husband and Wife enter from the right.]
The Husband.
[With catalogue, announces with authority.]
Fifteen-ninety-two is L’Homme au Gant. Ha! French!
The Wife.
[Looking over his shoulder timidly corrects.]
Ha! French! Venetian.
The Husband.
Ha! French! Venetian. L’Homme is French for man. Gant, glove.
The Wife.
Gant, glove. Titian. Venetian School. Just look!
The Husband.
’Tis not the question where he went to school. L’Homme stamps him French.
The Wife.
[Timidly venturing a joke.]
Perhaps his gloves are French.
The Husband.
[Determined to find fault.]
Gant, glove, is singular. It should be called A Man with Pair of Gloves. I shall report The matter! Come!
[They pass to the left.]
Laura.
The matter! Come! Oh, dear! Such people make Me weary!
German Lady.
[Enters from the left. Speaks rapturously.]
Ach, du lieber ... wunderschön!
[Some French Visitors, entering, accidentally jostle the German Lady. Apologies are exchanged in their respective tongues.]
One French Visitor.
[Looking at the picture.]
Superbe! Magnifique!
Another French Visitor.
Pas grande chose!
[They pass on.]
[The Elderly Party and Young Woman enter, right.]
Elderly Party.
Who’s this young feller?
German Lady.
Wunder-wunder-wunderschön!
Elderly Party.
[Consulting catalogue.]
Wunder-wunder-wunderschön! St. George And Dragon! He’s some dressy for a saint! And, ef they haven’t left the dragon out! I allus had a notion I should like To see one!
Young Woman.
[Beckoning on the left.]
To see one! Auntie! Over here!
Elderly Party.
[Joining the Young Woman. Scrutinizes an unseen masterpiece.]
To see one! Auntie! Over here! Do tell! Is that a dragon? Mercy, ain’t he plain!
Laura.
Cattle! Why don’t they stay in home-pastures! Not come and trample down Elysian fields!
[Notices German Lady still enraptured.]
Well, on my word, does she intend to spend The whole day, wunderschöning here? I beg Your pardon!
German Lady.
Your pardon! Fräulein?
Laura.
Your pardon! Fräulein? You are not, as you May think, transparent!
German Lady.
[Apologetically, moving away.]
May think, transparent! Fräulein!
Laura.
May think, transparent! Fräulein! Thanks. The Louvre Contains some other works of interest!... The creature acts as if she thought she owned This portrait!
[Jealously.]
Young Man with Glove.
[Slightly bored.]
This portrait! Oh, ta, ta!
Laura.
[Agitated.]
This portrait! Oh, ta, ta! What’s that! It seemed to move, to say—
Young Man with Glove.
It seemed to move, to say— Oh, ta, ta, ta!
[Unable to believe the evidence of her senses, Laura resumes work. Teacher and Class enter from the left.]
Teacher.
[Dictating from Baedeker.]
It seemed to move, to say— Oh, ta, ta, ta! Giorgione’s work. Take notes. “A Rustic Festival.”
Class.
[Mechanically, taking notes.]
Giorgione, Rustic Festival.
Teacher.
[Dictating.]
Remark the depth and warmth of coloring, Rich treatment of the landscape!
Youngest Pupil.
[Looking at the picture.]
Rich treatment of the landscape! I don’t see The landscape!
Teacher.
The landscape! Well, it’s here!
[Indicating Baedeker, then glances up at picture.]
The landscape! Well, it’s here! Oh, wait a bit!
[Turns over leaves, finding place.]
The After-Dinner Concert.... Magdalen With Ointment.... Here we are. Young Man in Black with Glove.
Some of the Class.
[Mechanically, taking notes.]
Black with Glove. Young Man in Black Glove.
Others.
Black Young Man in Glove!
The Oldest Pupil.
Black Young Man in Glove! What must we say Of this?
Teacher.
[Dictating.]
Of this? “An admirable portrait....”
Class
An admirable portrait.
Youngest Pupil.
An admirable portrait. Please. Portrait Of whom?
Oldest Pupil.
[Glancing up at picture.]
Of whom? Why, Portrait of a Man!
Class.
[Glancing up at picture.]
Of whom? Why, Portrait of a Man! Of course!
Teacher.
[Consulting Baedeker.]
No, no. “An admirable portrait of His Middle Period.”
Class.
[Writing.]
His Middle Period.” His Middle Period.
Oldest Pupil.
How much must we admire this: very much?
Teacher.
Marked with but one star, no; not very much. In the Salon Carré, admire, of course. One star, more admiration than for those Without one. But unstinted raptures keep For double-stars. For instance, this one, here....
[Leading to the right.]
St. Catharine—Correggio. All take notes. Of which Vasari says—
Youngest Pupil.
[Lingering.]
Of which Vasari says— We don’t have time To see the pictures!
Teacher.
[Wearily.]
To see the pictures! How can I help that? An hour is all we have to do the Louvre! “Of which Vasari says....” Take notes!
Laura.
“Of which Vasari says....” Take notes! Barbarians! Of all The hordes, nose-glued to Baedekers, that pass, Scarce one is worthy to lift eyes to thee, O masterpiece of masterpieces!
Young Man with Glove.
O masterpiece of masterpieces! Oh, ta, ta!
Laura.
Good Heavens, there it goes again ... ta, ta! Absurd. I’m dreaming. Eyesight overtaxed, Nerves play me false. To work again. Right hand A patch of light, significant that seems To follow whither eyes direct, those eyes Alive with challenge, charm! His gracile ease, As on the parapet he leans, denotes No haste. We catch him unawares. Near by Some interlocutor—by which I mean, God help me!—interlocutress, for whom He feels a more than common interest! Oh, for a miracle. Would that those lips Might break the seal of centuries for me To learn his secret!
Young Man with Glove.
To learn his secret! Oh, ta, ta!
Laura.
To learn his secret! Oh, ta, ta! He lives, Moves, speaks! It is too much to bear! Help! Help!
[Runs off, left, crying for help.]
Gardien.
[Hurrying on from the right.]
Au secours! Au secours!
[Seeing nothing demanding his services, he dusts the bench with his handkerchief.]
The Husband.
[Entering from the left.]
Do come!
The Wife.
[Following, looking back, to the left.]
Do come! But that poor girl in trouble!
The Husband.
[Taking his wife’s arm and steering her, right.]
Do come! But that poor girl in trouble! Well, Don’t look! Don’t meddle with.... How dare you, sir!
[Bumping into Gardien who is going to the left.]
Gardien.
M’sieur! Mille pardons!
The Husband.
Certainly not. You ought to be discharged!
[Going to the right, sees a picture further on, exclaims.]
Certainly not. You ought to be discharged! Bless my soul! That red-head hussy yonder, doing up Her hair, while someone, obviously a man, Holds up two looking-glasses! Shameless thing!
[Putting up eyeglass to get a better view.]
The Wife.
Oh, exquisite! A Titian!
The Husband.
Oh, exquisite! A Titian! A disgrace! If this is what art’s coming to—!
The Wife.
If this is what art’s coming to—! My dear, That’s an Old Master!
The Husband.
That’s an Old Master! Old enough to know Much better. I shall write a letter to The Times about it!
[Exclaims, as the Young Man with Glove, leaning forward, knocks his hat over one eye.]
The Times about it! What a draught! But where Can it be coming from!
[Again exclaims, as the Young Man knocks his hat which he just has righted, over the other eye.]
Can it be coming from! And where can it Be going to! I shall report it! Come!
[He goes to the right, the wife following.]
Young Man with Glove.
[Laughing, emerges from his frame, vaulting neatly over the railing.]
A neat revenge; eh, compari?
Unseen Pictures.
A neat revenge; eh, compari? Bravo! Bravissimo!
The Woman at her Toilet.
[Enters from the right, gathering some rich drapery about herself.]
Bravissimo! Red-head, indeed, and hussy! I can’t wait Till closing time, Signore, to express My warmest gratitude.... I fain would say My heartfelt, had I but a heart; for this Your gallant championship!
[Curtseying.]
Young Man with Glove.
[Bowing low.]
With pleasure duty lies in your behalf. Madonna ... Laura Dianti, I believe?
Woman at her Toilet.
A point on which historians divide! The name suits me as well as any! You, Signore, were baptized—?
Young Man with Glove.
Signore, were baptized—? In oils alone! Unsired, came I into this picture-world! No human mother bore me that I knew! Even as you I sprang from hand and brain Of the Vecelli! But what man he used As manikin to fit my features on, Have I forgotten, if I ever knew! As for a name, oft I amuse myself By filching one from passers-by! To-day Carlo of the Neroni seems to ring Not unbecomingly. What think you?
Woman at her Toilet.
Not unbecomingly. What think you? Fine! From whom derived?
Young Man with Glove.
From whom derived? A letter that I found Beside this easel. Charley Black, ’tis signed. Which I translated.... But why do we stand? My frame why not enter with me awhile?
Woman at her Toilet.
[Hesitating.]
I fear ’twould cause remark!
Unseen Pictures.
[On the left, warning.]
I fear ’twould cause remark! Look out!
[The Woman at her Toilet runs away, right.]
Young Man with Glove.
[Looking toward the left.]
We’re safe. ’Tis only the custodian Of our security!...
[Leans against wall while Gardien passes across, left to right.]
Of our security!... St. George, come down From your high horse and fence!
St. George.
[Unseen.]
From your high horse and fence! Sorry, Dear boy, but there’s a fine for breaking ranks In exhibition hours!
[Murmurs of assent from other unseen pictures.]
Young Man with Glove.
In exhibition hours! Oh, very well! I’ll take a turn among the Later Dutch, Or through the Spanish School!
[Cries of “Stop him! Stop him!”]
Or through the Spanish School! What can I do? If I play here you all complain that I Disturb the Holy Families!
Unseen Pictures.
[In succession.]
Disturb the Holy Families! You do!
Young Man with Glove.
[Whimsically, keeping count.]
See, now! Murillo’s; Rembrandt’s; Raphael’s, And all the rest!
St. George.
And all the rest! At times, dear boy, you act Just like a silly human being!
Young Man with Glove.
[Protesting.]
Just like a silly human being! Oh, St. George!
Several Unseen Pictures.
St. George! ’Tis true!
Woman at her Toilet.
[Coming again toward the Young Man.]
St. George! ’Tis true! Signore, neighbor, friend, And, strongest bond, co-Titian. Have a care. I speak for all in saying that, of all, Are you the highest note, last cry in art That’s personal!
Young Man with Glove.
[Striving to be modest about it.]
That’s personal! So commentators say! And who am I that should contradict!
A Gruff Voice.
[On the left.]
’Tis naught so much to brag of, my young blade!
Young Man with Glove.
[Looking in the direction of the Voice.]
Indeed, Poussin’s Diogenes.... It was Poussin’s Diogenes, I think, that spoke?
Deep, Solemn Voice.
You talk too much for the Salon Carré! You should be hung among the Moderns!
[Others murmur, as if this were too severe.]
Young Man with Glove.
You should be hung among the Moderns! Oh, St. Michael! Though you are a Raphael Touched up a bit, indeed, ’tis said, by—
[Loud cries of “Order! Order!”]
St. George.
Invidious reference to pedigrees Is barred!
[Loud cries of “Hear, Hear!”]
Young Man with Glove.
Is barred! True. Still I think he should withdraw The slur of modernism!
St. Michael.
The slur of modernism! I refuse To enter talking-lists! Sublimest art Is ever silent! I have spoken!
Woman at her Toilet.
Is ever silent! I have spoken! Hush! Provoke him not! Remember, he’s a Saint!
Young Man with Glove.
[Laughing, gracefully yields the point.]
Heaven be thanked, I’m secular! One gets So much more harmless pleasure out of art! But, to our muttons. You were saying, what? Something about my Middle Period!
Woman at her Toilet.
Sir, long ago it was constated, you Express most fully life-in-art to life That speaks in terms of life, not terms of art!
[Cries of “Hear, hear!”]
St. George.
That hits the nail where rarely nail is hit By womenkind!
Woman at her Toilet.
By womenkind! My thanks, St. George! ’Tis not My own, though!... Then, I’m just a bit that way Myself!
[General laughter.]
[To the Young Man.]
Myself! Sublimest heights you may not scale....
St. Michael.
No; not by many a league!
Young Man with a Glove.
No; not by many a league! I quite admit My single-starred estate!
[General laughter.]
My single-starred estate! I would not brag, By that same token, though, am I not, well, More popular than others I could name In this collection?
St. Michael.
In this collection? I don’t understand A word he says what time he tries to talk St. George’s English.
St. George.
St. George’s English. Oh, not mine! Echoes Of text-book, tourist jargon, student slang!
Woman at her Toilet.
[Drawing the Young Man forward.]
Listen. I fear not, as our neighbors do, Your frolic humor, lifelike charm, may bring Our cinquecento into disrepute. ’Tis for yourself I plead!
Young Man with a Glove.
[Puzzled.]
’Tis for yourself I plead! You plead for me, Madonna?
Woman at her Toilet.
Madonna? Aye. And for another!
Young Man with a Glove.
Madonna? Aye. And for another! Who...?
Woman at her Toilet.
A woman!
Young Man with a Glove.
A woman! Dio mio! Dare I hope...?
[Advancing toward her.]
Woman at her Toilet.
[Retreating.]
Ah, no, no, no! Misread me not! Oh, who Are you and I to play at life and love— To breathe, even, of mysteries that lie Our shadow-world of canvas, paint, beyond?
Young Man with a Glove.
[Musingly.]
And yet, if only dimly sensed, why not?
Woman at her Toilet.
[Always with increasing feeling.]
O fateful power, poised in bold relief Against your dusky background, so to seem Alert into a world of flesh and blood To spring!
Young Man with a Glove.
[With growing life-quality.]
To spring! Yet, for one human hour, why not! Come, let us forth into the sunlit groves, Where birds are singing, you and I?
[Holding arms out toward her.]
Woman at her Toilet.
Where birds are singing, you and I? For you It would be death!
Young Man with a Glove.
It would be death! With you, why not?
Woman at her Toilet.
It would be death! With you, why not? Alas! Ser Tiziano in another mood Contrived me! You clean-cut may break away, Our prison roam at will!
Young Man with a Glove.
[Laughing.]
Our prison roam at will! A fiction! Hark: Outposts of Renaissance I cannot pass!
Woman at her Toilet.
But I only a few steps may achieve. And, see! the damask how I tear away!
[Drawing drapery closer about herself.]
Young Man with a Glove.
My strength shall draw you, draw you, draw, All barriers across!
Woman at her Toilet.
[Almost yielding.]
We should be missed!
Young Man with a Glove.
What then? “Another scandal in the Louvre! Two masterpieces missing, raped, no doubt, By some trans-ocean plutocrat!” While hand In hand we fare to Italy!
Woman at her Toilet.
[Looking toward the right.]
Oh! The patrol!
[The two duck behind the bench as the Gardien passes through, right to left, then rise.]
[Just then the German Lady enters from the right.]
Young Man with a Glove.
Heavens! Here comes the Wunderschöner! Hide!
[They duck again.]
German Lady.
[Begins, rapturously.]
Ach, wunder....
[Breaks off, rubs eyes, staring at frame.]
[Teacher and Class enter from the right, the Youngest Pupil leading.]
Youngest Pupil.
Ach, wunder.... Please, I want another look At the Young Man with.... Why, he isn’t there!
Teacher.
Nonsense! Of course he’s there!
Class.
[Echoing.]
Of course he’s there!
Youngest Pupil.
But, look!
Teacher.
He must be there! It says so here! In Baedeker!
German Lady.
[Loyally, going to the left.]
Ach, Wunderschön!
Teacher.
[Leading the way back, right.]
Ach, Wunderschön! Come, come!
Youngest Pupil.
[Lingering, unconvinced.]
He must have just stepped out!
[The Young Man and the Woman rise from their hiding-place.]
Young Man with a Glove.
He must have just stepped out! So few there are To whom we bear a real message.... Come! In native Italy fullness of life Awaits us! Oh, once more to be where first We saw the light!
Woman at her Toilet.
The light saw us, you mean!
Young Man with a Glove.
One time were man and woman we, altho Till now have I denied it, knew it not!
Woman at her Toilet.
Ah, no, no, no!
Young Man with a Glove.
Ah, no, no, no! Already feel you not A quickening? A something here?
[Hand on heart.]
Woman at her Toilet.
[Puts up hands as if to ward off danger.]
A quickening? A something here? Ah, no! Have pity!
Young Man with a Glove.
Have pity! Come ... to life! Come back to life, I should have said!
Woman at her Toilet.
I should have said! Heaven, be merciful! For us there is no life—there never was! What man and woman sat for us, long since Are dust, their souls with God!
Young Man with a Glove.
Are dust, their souls with God! Then what are we?
Woman at her Toilet.
Poor simulacra only, that reveal, By grace of art, life to the living, yet Have none ourselves. Half-lengths—’Tis all we are!— Below the frame-line we are just inferred— As Titian would have rendered us, as ’twere, From waist to toe!—By lifelikeness beguiled, If life’s forbidden fruit to taste we seek, We perish!
Young Man with a Glove.
We perish! Then, what woman meant you now?
Woman at her Toilet.
Poor fool adoringly long hours who spends Before you at her easel!
[Pointing to Laura’s copy.]
Young Man with a Glove.
[Laughs.]
Before you at her easel! Oh, ta, ta!
[Examines copy.]
Ye shades of Titian, what a travesty!
Woman at her Toilet.
E’en as the call of life to you and me To be forever blotted out would mean, One step across the line, her world from ours Dividing, for that girl spells madness!
Young Man with a Glove.
[Shocked at the idea.]
Dividing, for that girl spells madness! Oh! Though mortals rank a race inferior To art-creations—
Woman at her Toilet.
To art-creations— I should say so!
Young Man with a Glove.
To art-creations— I should say so! Still, Their suffrage ’tis on us confers our claim To immortality! Sooner than harm A hair on silly head of one, then, I Could wish myself a landscape, seapiece, aye, Truncated cherub, even! anything But what I am!
Woman at her Toilet.
[Applauding.]
But what I am! Oh, worthy of our School!
[Voices are heard on the left.]
But, hark! Quick! Quick! Back to our frames!
[The two hurriedly return to their places, the Woman going to the right, the Young Man getting into his frame.]
[The Glove Young Man enters from the right.]
Glove Young Man.
Laura! Hey, Laura!... Why, they said I sure Should find her here! I must have lost my way Again.
[Gardien passes through from left to right.]
Again. Conductor!
Gardien.
Again. Conductor! Eh, m’sieur?
Glove Young Man.
Is this Saloon carre?
[Mispronouncing.]
Gardien.
[Enquiringly.]
Is this Saloon carre? M’sieur?
Glove Young Man.
Is this Saloon carre? M’sieur? Or words To that effect?
Gardien.
[Shrugs shoulders, deprecating inability to understand.]
M’sieur!
[Passes on.]
Glove Young Man.
I give it up!
[Sits, pushes hat on back of head, consults guide-book.]
The Husband.
[Entering from the right, followed by the wife.]
I give it up! We’ll cut the rest. We’ve seen Enough to say we’ve seen them! And go get A cup of tea, if decent tea is found In Paris!
The Wife.
In Paris! I should like a bun, if one Can find one!
The Husband.
[Dogmatically.]
Can find one! Bun is a French word. I’ve heard it frequently!
The Wife.
I’ve heard it frequently! But bun in French Does not mean English bun!
The Husband.
[With finality.]
Does not mean English bun! In English, French,— In any language bun means bun! What else Could bun mean, except bun—just bun!
Glove Young Man.
[Closes guide-book, rising.]
Since English doesn’t work I’ll try my French! Ahem! Pardon, monsieur! Comprenez-vous anglais?
[Speaking laboriously.]
The Husband.
Comprenez-vous anglais? Certainly not! How dare you ask me! Come!
[Leads wife away, to the left.]
Glove Young Man.
How dare you ask me! Come! I give it up!
[Sinks back on bench.]
Elderly Party.
[Entering from the left with Young Woman.]
How dare you ask me! Come! I give it up! They’re very fine, No doubt, but give me cheerful art, like Pigs In Clover, Dancing in a Barn. Or things That make you cry. Last Days of Pompeii! Pictures of common things, home-folks you know! That’s my style!
Young Woman.
[Protesting.]
Auntie! Shocking! This is ART!
Glove Young Man.
Guess I’ll try my French on this bunch!... Hem! Parlez-vous Français, s’il vous plaît, Madame?
Young Woman.
[Explaining to the Elderly Party in undertone.]
I think he’s asking you in French if you Speak French!
Elderly Party.
[Flustered, asks Young Woman.]
Speak French! Do I speak French or do I not? And how in French shall I tell him if I Speak French or not?
Young Woman.
Speak French or not? Leave him to me!
[Gets out conversation manual.]
“Non, ma chere marraine, le soldat n’as pas avalé le tisonier, mais la femme du boulanger a un petit chien chinois.”
[Slowly, reading.]
Glove Young Man.
Fine day, indeed, as you remark!... I give it up!
[He is about to go, when the Elderly Party recognizes him.]
Elderly Party.
Ef it ain’t Charley Black!
Young Woman.
Ef it ain’t Charley Black! Why, so it is! Why, Charley!
Glove Young Man.
Why, Charley! Mrs. Johnson! Mandy! This Is great!
[They shake hands.]
Elderly Party.
Is great! What brings you here?
Young Woman.
Is great! What brings you here? ART, same as us, Of course!
Glove Young Man.
Not on your life. For one thing, gloves. I’m buyer for our firm, you know. And, next, The usual thing.
Young Woman.
The usual thing. A girl!
Glove Young Man.
The usual thing. A girl! The girl! She’s here Somewhereabouts, messing with paint!
Young Woman.
Somewhereabouts, messing with paint! Maybe I know her. Reddish hair and rather plain?
Glove Young Man.
Hair auburn. Girl a peach!... Why, there she is! Laura!
[Looking toward the left.]
Laura! Laura, dear!
Elderly Party.
[Making signs to Young Woman, and going away, right.]
Two’s company.
Young Woman.
[Following, looks back, appraising Laura.]
Two’s company. Distinctly red, and plain!
Laura.
[Coldly.]
Charles, this is a surprise!
Glove Young Man.
Charles, this is a surprise! Intended so! But, say a joyful one!
Laura.
But, say a joyful one! I—I—My breath You’ve stolen!
Glove Young Man.
[Trying to kiss her.]
You’ve stolen! Sweetheart! Let me give it back!
Laura.
[Repulsing him.]
So public!
Glove Young Man.
[Looking about.]
So public! Not a soul in sight. Unless You count that guy there!
[Indicating portrait.]
Laura.
You count that guy there! Mr. Black! I beg, Insist, that you withdraw....
Glove Young Man.
[Puzzled.]
Insist, that you withdraw.... What, guy?
Laura.
[Shudders.]
Insist, that you withdraw.... What, guy? The word, Also your person, from this Presence!
Glove Young Man.
Also your person, from this Presence! What In thunder do you mean!
Laura.
[Teeth on edge.]
Thunder, indeed!
[She resumes her painting. Puzzled and discomfited, the Glove Young Man sits on the bench.]
Glove Young Man.
[After a pause.]
Delightful weather. Though a thunderstorm Seems in the air!
[Another pause.]
Seems in the air! Not a bad-looking guy.... Beg pardon!
[Rises and bows to the portrait.]
Beg pardon! Individual! And, from his sample there, he carries quite As fine a line of gloves as I myself!
Laura.
[Rises, shrieks, waving paint-brush.]
Creature!
Glove Young Man.
Referring to yours truly?
Laura.
Referring to yours truly? Aye! Begone!
Glove Young Man.
[Unable to believe it.]
Begone means Git? Skidoo?
Laura.
Begone means Git? Skidoo? Translate As pleases you, but do it!
Glove Young Man.
[Looks at her in silence, then turns to go, but suddenly changes his mind.]
As pleases you, but do it! I’ll be hanged If I.... What ails you, girl?
Laura.
If I.... What ails you, girl? I can’t explain.
Glove Young Man.
You loved me....
Laura.
You loved me.... Rather, thought I did!
Glove Young Man.
You loved me.... Rather, thought I did! Nonsense! You loved me well enough to promise—Yes, You promised.
Laura.
[Wildly.]
You promised. Spare me this remembrancing!
Glove Young Man.
What makes you talk so queerly!
Laura.
What makes you talk so queerly! Who are you To comprehend, were I to tell!
Glove Young Man.
To comprehend, were I to tell! You try! Poetry-stuff’s not my long suit, but I Can do a lot of comprehending! Fire Away!...
[Sits.]
Away!... Engagement’s off?
Laura.
Away!... Engagement’s off? It never was!
Glove Young Man.
What’s come between us? You’re the only girl In all the world for me! And I am just The same old Charley-boy you’ve always known!
Laura.
[Hands over ears, shudders, then apostrophizes picture.]
Forgive, O Masterpiece, this squalid scene!
Glove Young Man.
Why, where does he come in?
Laura.
[Takes a sudden resolution, and addresses Glove Young Man.]
Why, where does he come in? The I erstwhile You knew no longer am the I you see!
Glove Young Man.
[Considers this.]
I’m getting it! Go on!
Laura.
I’m getting it! Go on! Into mine own Came I, this very hour!
Glove Young Man.
Came I, this very hour! Yea, verily! Go right ahead!
Laura.
Go right ahead! To me hath been vouchsafed Behind the veil to glimpse, art’s face that screens From gaze profane!
Glove Young Man.
[Airily.]
From gaze profane! I haven’t an idea Where we are bound for, but we’re on the way!
Laura.
To-day I start upon a pilgrimage!
Glove Young Man.
[Starts up.]
Where ... where’s your ticket taken to?
Laura.
[Impressively.]
Where ... where’s your ticket taken to? This spot!
Glove Young Man.
She’s crazy!
[Falling back into seat.]
Laura.
She’s crazy! Standing here, shall I be drawn Across the border-line dividing art From life, as such as you conceive it!
Woman at her Toilet.
[Unseen, mournfully.]
From life, as such as you conceive it! Oh!
[Mournful echoes resound through the gallery.]
Laura.
[Listens, a moment, puzzled, then continues.]
Absorbed, as ’twere, in yonder dusky shades.
[Indicating portrait.]
Forth into sunlit groves the real I Shall fare, and not alone! in Italy!
[The mournful exclamations are repeated with intensity.]
Glove Young Man.
[Wrought up to passion.]
She’s mad! This is your work, you villain, you!
[Throws his gloves into the face of the portrait.]
[Laura shrieks wildly; cries of indignation from all the pictures are heard. There is a flash of lightning, followed by a loud thunder-clap. Then the Young Man with a Glove and the Woman at her Toilet are seen in the foreground, together.]
Woman at her Toilet.
’Tis as I feared! Oh, save her!
Young Man with a Glove.
’Tis as I feared! Oh, save her! ... And ourselves!
[Together the two stand, arms upraised, appealing.]
Young Man with a Glove and Woman at her Toilet
O comrades! Ye Co-Masterpieces, here Collected! In the sacred name of art Avenge the insult that, offered to one, Is offered to us all!
[Cries from Unseen Pictures of “We will!”]
Is offered to us all! Saints Michael, George, Of Raphael....
The Two Saints.
Of Raphael.... Here! Here!
Young Man with a Glove.
Of Raphael.... Here! Here! Works of Poussin—!
Unseen Pictures.
Here!
Young Man with Gloves.
Correggios! Michelangelos! Rembrandts! Da Vincis! Rubens’! Antony Van Dycks! Paolo Veronese! Rembrandts!
[All answer to the roll-call.]
Help, in the name of Titian, and of art!
[There is a vivid flash of lightning, followed by a terrific thunder-clap. When the momentary darkness passes it is seen that the Young Man with a Glove and the Woman at her Toilet have disappeared; Laura is lying on the bench, swooning, or asleep, while the Glove Young Man is in the picture-pose, within the frame.]
Glove Young Man.
[After a pause, breaking his picture-pose, addresses an imaginary audience.]
Help, in the name of Titian, and of art! Yes, it’s me all right, The same old Charley-boy you know! I can’t explain My present straitened circumstances, but I’m quite aware how foolish I must look!
Unseen Pictures.
[Menacingly, with a clash of swords.]
Hush!
Glove Young Man.
[Leaning forward, addresses them.]
Ladies, Gentlemen, and Landscapes! This is an honor I did not expect! But since ’tis thrust upon me....
Unseen Pictures.
But since ’tis thrust upon me.... Hush!
[As before.]
Glove Young Man.
I won’t hush!... May I smoke?... Oh, very well! If no one wants to play.... But just you wait!
[Resumes picture-pose. Gardien passes through, right to left.]
Hey, Conductor! Stop this car! I want to get out! Conductor!
[Gardien passes on without noticing him. Pictures threaten as before. Elderly Party and Young Woman enter from the right.]
Elderly Party.
I wonder how them two young courtin’ folks Is gittin’ on!... Say, Mandy, don’t this look Like Charley Black!
[Staring at Glove Young Man.]
Glove Young Man.
[Raising hat.]
Oh, Mrs. Johnson! Mandy! How-de-do! Would you mind calling up a messenger? Of course I’m doing this for pleasure, but....
Elderly Party.
It is his living image!
Young Woman.
[Shocked.]
It is his living image! Charley Black, Indeed? Why, Auntie, this is Art!
[They go out, left.]
Glove Young Man.
Indeed? Why, Auntie, this is Art! I’m art, Am I? We’ll see!
Unseen Pictures.
Am I? We’ll see! Hush!
[The Husband and Wife enter from the left.]
The Husband.
[Looking about.]
Am I? We’ll see! Hush! This is the room We started from. We’ve lost our way again! These galleries are wretchedly mapped out! I shall report....
Glove Young Man.
I shall report.... Beg pardon! I myself Have lost my way, and so if you....
The Wife.
Have lost my way, and so if you.... My dear! That portrait raised its hat to me!
The Husband.
That portrait raised its hat to me! What’s that? How dare you, sir, take such a liberty!
[Shaking his fist at the Glove Young Man.]
The Wife.
I think he wants to know the time!... Quarter To five!
[Consulting her watch, tells the Glove Young Man.]
Glove Young Man.
[Groans.]
To five! What, nearly time to close!
The Wife.
To five! What, nearly time to close! My dear, He’s telling us it’s nearly time to close! Most civil of him!
The Husband.
Most civil of him! A disgrace to Art! I should report the matter if I knew To whom such matters are reported! Come!
[Leading the Wife away to the right.]
The Wife.
[Bowing politely to the Glove Young Man.]
Most civil!
Glove Young Man.
[Groans. Unseen Pictures cry, “Hush!” He then shouts.]
Help! Help! Police!
[Again the Pictures silence him. From the left the German Lady returns, and from the right the Youngest Pupil.]
Youngest Pupil.
Help! Help! Police! I want to see If he’s come back!
[The German Lady begins, “Ach Wunder—” but breaks off, rubbing her eyes.]
Youngest Pupil.
If he’s come back! Oh, it’s someone else!
Teacher.
You’re dreaming! It’s the same!
Class.
You’re dreaming! It’s the same! Of course it is!
Youngest Pupil.
He’s changed his clothes, then!
Glove Young Man.
He’s changed his clothes, then! Dear young lady, I Am Charley Black. This is my business card. If you would be so kind....
Youngest Pupil.
If you would be so kind.... Oh! He’s alive!
Teacher.
He can’t be!
Youngest Pupil.
He can’t be! But he is! Aren’t you alive?
Glove Young Man.
I am, indeed; the livest ever. Though That’s not exactly news to me!
Youngest Pupil.
That’s not exactly news to me! He is! He says he is himself!
Teacher.
[Leading the Youngest Pupil away, right.]
He says he is himself! He can’t be! If He were ’twould say so here in Baedeker!
Class.
Of course!
Glove Young Man.
Of course! This grows monotonous!
[Notices German Lady still gazing at him, puzzled.]
Of course! This grows monotonous! Although Not introduced, if you would be so kind—
German Lady.
[Shrieks, running away to the left.]
Ach, du lieber....
Glove Young Man.
[Wearily.]
Gesundheit!
German Lady.
[Returning, says with conviction.]
Gesundheit! WUNDERSCHÖN!
[Goes.]
Glove Young Man.
[After a slight pause.]
I never was more highly entertained! Yet one may have too much of a good thing. Then, too, there’s business to attend to. So If this distinguished company would drop A hint how long the game will last—
[It grows dark. From both sides pictures in their frames steal forth, only their backs being presented to the audience. They stand in a semicircle opposite the Young Man. He bows jauntily.]
Why, how-de-do!... I trust you like my looks!
[It grows constantly darker. Mutterings of thunder are heard from time to time, mingled with the clash of swords.]
Will someone kindly press the button, call A waiter?... Or if any gentleman Will lend his hat and half a dozen eggs, I’ll make an omelette!... No?... Look here, Fair play! How long am I in for: for life?
[Pictures bow assent.]
No commutation for exemplary Behavior, eh?
[Pictures shake themselves as if saying no.]
Behavior, eh? ... I move that you adjourn!
[Pictures signify no.]
Oh, very well!
[He whistles. The sword-clash grows louder.]
I see! Life’s short but art is long! Is that Your motto?
[Pictures signify assent.]
Your motto? You intend to kill me?
[Pictures assent.]
Your motto? You intend to kill me? So! The ayes would seem to have it! Go ahead! Once in a lifetime only can one die! And as an angel I would sooner be The real article than just a sham, Old, tarnished, cracked, and canvas-back, like—
[There is a terrible clash, while the pictures seem to close about the Young Man. Suddenly the Woman at her Toilet runs in from the right, shrieking.]
Woman at her Toilet.
Spare him! Spare him to me!
Glove Young Man.
Spare him! Spare him to me! Good gracious! Who Is this enthusiastic but somewhat Imperfectly attired young female! Miss, Your name escapes me, but ... my business card!
Woman at her Toilet.
As hostage let him live, to me enchained! Price of the masterwork a mortal’s love This day destroyed! I ask it in the name Of Titian and of Art!
Unseen Pictures.
Of Titian and of Art! So be it!
Others.
Of Titian and of Art! So be it! Amen!
[The Pictures in evidence retreat.]
Woman at her Toilet.
Come!
[Glove Young Man descends from frame.]
Glove Young Man.
Kindest thanks for timely help! But—who—?
Woman at her Toilet.
Come forth into the world with me!
Glove Young Man.
Come forth into the world with me! Aren’t you Afraid of taking cold?
Woman at her Toilet.
Not while the sun is shining, and with you!
Glove Young Man.
Sunshine is so uncertain. If you had A rag of fringe, a lambrequin, a sash, To patch you up a bit! And then your hair—
Woman at her Toilet.
Am I not beautiful the way I am?
Glove Young Man.
Too beautiful by half!
Woman at her Toilet.
Too beautiful by half! One cannot have Too much of beauty! So all artists say!
Glove Young Man.
But my dear Miss ... or Madam, is it? I Am not an artist! Such a thing—tap wood! Has never happened in our family!
Woman at her Toilet.
Your time has come! Not artist; work of art, Like to myself, I’ll render you! Take off Those hideous clothes!
Glove Young Man.
Those hideous clothes! My goodness gracious me!
Unseen Pictures.
Do as she bids!
Glove Young Man.
Do as she bids! How many and how much Will satisfy the Louvre proprieties?
[Reluctantly preparing to remove his coat. Laura, who has wakened gradually, now sits up with a gasp.]
Laura.
Why, Charley Black! What would your mother say!
Glove Young Man.
If only it were mother!... Do you mind Turning your back?
Laura.
Turning your back? How dare you!
Glove Young Man.
Turning your back? How dare you! Oh, I dare Do all that may become a work of art! Who dares do more is none!
Woman at her Toilet.
Who dares do more is none! Oh, bravely said, And worthy of our School!
[Cries of “Hear, hear!” from Unseen Pictures.]
Laura.
[Noticing the Woman for the first time, advances on her.]
And worthy of our School! You scandalous Young Masterpiece—or, rather, Mistresspiece! Go right back to the frame where you belong!
Woman at her Toilet.
Never! Take you my place! With him I go, When he is decently undressed!
Glove Young Man.
[Ruefully.]
I’ll wreathe myself in smiles!
Laura.
I’ll wreathe myself in smiles! You will, will you! Oh, Charley Black! What shall I do!
[Bursting into tears.]
Young Man with a Glove.
[Suddenly appears at her side.]
What shall I do! Absorbed in yon dusk shades, Emerge ... and not alone! in sunlit groves In Italy!
Laura.
[Shrieks.]
In Italy! How dare you! Get right back Into your frame! Charley, put on your coat And come with me!
Unseen Pictures.
And come with me! Do as he bids!
Laura.
And come with me! Do as he bids! I won’t!
Young Man with a Glove.
And come with me! Do as he bids! I won’t! Fear not! Although a chromo, as compared to us, Ill-dressed, pretentious, modern at its worst, Your hair is not unTitianesque, your lines Susceptible of change!
Laura.
Susceptible of change! You horrid thing! Charley, why don’t you knock him down?
Woman at her Toilet.
We waste the daylight! Come!
[Trying to lead the Glove Young Man to the right.]
Unseen Pictures.
We waste the daylight! Come! Do as she bids!
Glove Young Man.
[Ruefully, to Laura.]
Sorry, my dear! This lady seems to have A lien upon me!—At your service, ma’am! We’ll take a taxi to the nearest shop, Outfitted with a raincoat, rubber shoes, Hairpins and usual et ceteras You won’t feel quite so, well, conspicuous In Paris!
Woman at her Toilet.
In Paris! Wonted to the gaze am I Of the admiring throng! As breath of life To me their plaudits are! O welcome chance On exhibition so to place myself! Then, come!
Young Man with a Glove.
Then, come! And you, into the background thrust A hundred years or so haply may learn Humbly, upon your knees, the rudiments Of all you glibly chatter now about!
Unseen Pictures.
[With a menacing clash.]
Do as they bid!
Laura.
Do as they bid! I won’t! I’d sooner die! Charley, forgive me! It is you I love, While as for you—You cinquecento dude—
[There is a terrible sword clash, followed by lightning and violent thunder. When the darkness clears the Young Man with a Glove is seen in his original attitude within his frame, while the Woman at her Toilet has disappeared. Laura is composedly gathering up her painting materials, the Glove Young Man, fully equipped, assisting her.]
Glove Young Man.
Storm’s over.
[Picking up the easel.]
Laura.
[Looking at her study of the picture.]
Storm’s over. ’Tisn’t really good!
Glove Young Man.
[Admiring it.]
Storm’s over. ’Tisn’t really good! Oh, yes, It is, though!
Laura.
[Comparing it with the original.]
It is, though! No. I know enough to know What I don’t know! Still, I will keep it as A souvenir.
[Dreamily.]
Glove Young Man.
A souvenir. Of what?
Laura.
[As if waking, laughs.]
A souvenir. Of what? I do not know. Charley, he looks a little bit like you!
Glove Young Man.
Well, I can stand it, if he can! This way!
[Leading Laura to the right.]
I saw a picture of a red-haired girl.... Like you!
[They laugh, and kiss.]
Gardien.
[Passing through.]
Like you! On ferme!
Glove Young Man.
Like you! On ferme! Where would you like to spend The honeymoon: in Italy?
Laura.
The honeymoon: in Italy? N-no! That’s too exciting. Just some quiet place!
Glove Young Man.
Why not Niagara?
Laura.
[Agreeing.]
Why not Niagara? Niagara!
Gardien.
[Again passing through.]
On ferme! On ferme!
[The lovers kiss again and pass out on the right.]
Gardien.
[Again passing through.]
On ferme!
Woman at her Toilet.
[Advances stealthily a few steps from the right.]
Signore.... Our ruse succeeded!
Young Man with a Glove.
Signore.... Our ruse succeeded! So it seems, Madonna!
Woman at her Toilet.
Madonna! Fare you well, then!
Young Man with a Glove.
Madonna! Fare you well, then! Fare you well!
[The Woman at her Toilet disappears on the right. The Young Man with a Glove becomes a picture again. The light fades. The Gardien, again passing through, cries, “On ferme!” on which the curtains are drawn.]
HIS MOTHER’S FACE
Picture, Une Fête Champêtre, Jean Antoine Watteau (1684–1721).
