WHITE NARCISSUS A stage play by John Ramsay Copyright 1994 by John Ramsay, based on the 1929 novel by Raymond Knister Cast of Characters Raymond Knister : author and narrator, ageless look to him Carson Hymerson : early 50's, genial on the surface with tensions beneath. Smallish with hard, weathered face. Richard Milne : a 27 year-old novelist and successful ad copywriter Mrs. Hymerson : quiet and gentle, tries to mollify her husband's abrasiveness Ada Lethen : also 27, the object of Richard's affections. Somewhat ethereal in appearance at first, she gradually becomes more real. Her voice is soft but very precise Arvin Hymerson : Carson's son, browbeaten by his father. Fairly tall, 28-30 years old Mrs. Lethen : Ada's mother, tall and bent, aging and reclusive Mr. Lethen : Ada's elderly father. Philosophical rather than practical Costume Note : All characters should be dressed in the fashion of the 1920's, rural or urban as required Set design : Although this will depend on the ingenuity of the director and designer, the author/adapter suggests three distinct areas revealed or concealed by lighting 1. Upstage right : Mrs Lethen's area, with one large and several small vases of white narcissus on tables 2. Upstage left : ACT ONE : The Hymerson kitchen, with table and four chairs where some discussion takes place. A backdrop can give the illusion of a farm kitchen. ACT TWO : The space is occupied by a reasonable representation of a sumach grove. 3. Downstage : an open area where much of the action takes place, aided by occasional props, e.g. a removable porch glider D.S.R. in front of Mrs. Lethen's area and a removable farm gate D.S.L. in front of Hymerson's place The season : Mid-June in Southern Ontario in the 1920's ACT ONE (Curtain rises to dark stage. Soft light slowly comes up on the Lethen place U.S.R. and the vases of white narcissus. Knister emerges from among the plants and takes a few steps forward before addressing audience.) KNISTER : Good evening. I am Raymond Knister. I welcome you to this stage adaptation of my first novel 'White Narcissus'. The novel was published in 1929 and did receive some attention but the competition in 1929, I now realize, was fierce. Ernest Hemingway's 'A Farewell to Arms', William Faulkner's 'The Sound and the Fury', Thomas Wolfe's 'Look Homeward Angel', Sinclair Lewis's 'Dodsworth', John Steinbeck's 'The Cup of Gold' were all published in that year - and those were only the more notable novels. In a more humorous vein James Thurber published 'Is Sex Necessary?'... and a chap named Shaw was still writing for the stage. I can not even claim credit for having a major impact on Canadian writing. You see, Mazo de la Roche published 'Jalna' in 1927 and Morley Callaghan published his first novel, 'Strange Fugitive' in 1928. Still, the book has outlived me - I drowned in 1934, an unfortunate swimming accident aided by an undertow - and it has been re-issued since. I am glad to know it did survive its early competition and is still read by Canadians today. There was much poetic description in the novel (Wry smile) I was a poet as well as a novelist... but that has been eliminated. The action does speak for itself, I hope. (Pause) This is a story of the conflict between love and duty...and a triumph of longing over despair. (Light fades on Knister and white narcissus, then comes up on Carson Hymerson who is behind gate D.S.L. with a pail, slopping hogs. He looks up to see Richard enter, carrying a travel bag.) CARSON : (Speaks apparently without breath, and with the automatic and evenly timed swiftness of a phonograph record turned at twice its normal speed.) Just time supper, have a good trip out? Hogs there they know it's time for supper, 'Spose you're glad to get away to the country once 'nawhile, how long you goin' to stay? RICHARD : A while, Mr. Hymerson. Just how long, I'm not sure. CARSON : Carson's good enough, now you're all grown. (Starts to offer slop-stained hand but thinks again.) Well, Missus'll want to see you better go in supper, I'll be there right now. RICHARD : (Hesitates, then goes through gate.) Lights come up on Hymerson area. CARSON : (Continues to slop the hogs.) MRS. HYMERSON : (Is setting the table and looks up to see Richard) Why how do you do; you're quite a stranger, Richard. But I suppose I should call you Mr. Milne. I thought, you know, I heard Carson talking to somebody, but I couldn't just be sure. You must stay for tea. How's everybody (Beat) How's everything in the city? It must be hot there. Well! It's nice to have you come back and see us. Do sit down. RICHARD : (Disposes of bag and sits at table.) Thank you, Mrs. Hymerson. It's nice to be back in the country again. (Mrs. Hymerson bustles about setting out supper. Carson finishes and goes to table, sits down. Mrs. Hymerson serves.) CARSON : (Managing to talk and eat simultaneously.) Seen some calves come through the fence this afternoon. Gotta talk the neighbour. Can't feed my own and his. Trouble enough feeding my own, what with price'a feed these days. RICHARD : Are they from the Lethen side? CARSON : Certainly they're from Lethen's. That old man's past farming, if he ever was any good at it. Can't even keep up his fences. Why he ever stays on - But then you must remember. Bet he'd seem as old when you were a kid as he does now. RICHARD : I remember how impressive he appeared, with his young brown face and his white hair. I hadn't seen anyone like him; and when I got to know him better he never became quite commonplace. MRS. HYMERSON : Quite a character. And you know, he knows more than you'd think too. They say he was well educated when he was young... CARSON : (Interrupting) Appear distinguished, I guess he does, appear. That's all he does is appear, the old fraud, don't I know him, know him like a book! I guess I ought to, hmph! Why, when I and he was on the school-board, there was never any peace, but he'd be thinking up ideas. And you couldn't do anything with him, once he got an idea in his head. Crazy, that's what he is, crazy, and he don't know it. RICHARD : I am sorry to hear that. Mr. Lethen must have changed. It seemed to me that he was the kind of man who, if he could make out to live in the country at all, would be of invaluable service. CARSON : (Snorts in middle of above and seems about to interrupt Richard but his wife's glance stays him.) CARSON : You might think so. It's quite a while since you had much to do with old Lethen, ain't it? Well! You ask the neighbours when you want to find out about a man! You can ask...(Mumbles)... Invaluable use, why that's just what he ain't, is useful. MRS. HYMERSON : Yes, of course, it must be kind of past his time for working very hard. CARSON : Why, look at the way he's always lived with that woman of his. That's enough for me, never speaking! And take his daughter. RICHARD : (Sharply) Yes...? MRS. HYMERSON : (Hastily) All I can say is... all I can say is, we can't ever know, don't you see, what may be at the bottom of these things. Everyone has their cross to bear, and we can't always understand, so it behoves us not to judge others. (Brief silence) RICHARD : (Obviously changing subject) Is Arvin not at home now, Mrs. Hymerson? I hope you'll pardon me not inquiring before; I missed him at once, of course. CARSON : Arvin, he went out in the country today to look for a cow. Kind of running out of good cows, some going dry, going to fat a couple for beef. So I thought I'd give the boy a chance, let him use his head this time and buy one without me near. (Grimly) I hope he don't get beat. RICHARD : That's fine. I don't think they'll get ahead of Arvin in a deal. (Smiling) Not with his father's training. MRS. HYMERSON : And how is - your work progressing? I've heard a lot about your books. They happen around here. Two of them you've written, haven't you? RICHARD : Two have been published. I've written others that have not. I'm afraid my advertising agency work is what pays the bills, and keeps me in the office, which gets pretty tiresome, especially at this season of the year. CARSON : (With usual farmer's disdain for city folk) Get you out in the hay-field. Find out it was hot enough there too. RICHARD : The advertising work is interesting; so we are told by people who don't know it. It's fun to know that you are writing for a million readers, from the start. (The meal is finished. Mrs. Hymerson starts to clear table.) RICHARD : And how are all the old neighbours? MRS. HYMERSON : Most of them are here yet. Not many have moved away. CARSON : Good riddance if some would get out. Let their land be farmed right. How long you planning to stay this time? RICHARD : A few days, perhaps longer. CARSON : Same, uhh, rates as last time? RICHARD : That will be fine. (Rising) I think I'll take a stroll down the road this evening. CARSON : You wouldn't be going down to Lethen's tonight, would you? RICHARD : Yes. I'll probably call there. CARSON : (Grinning) Oh, I see! There's an attraction over there, come to think of it. Not that I blame you. Now that I remember, you did used to kind of shine around Ada when you was a young gaffer. That's all right! RICHARD : (Tight-lipped) Pleasant of you to say so. (Moves to leave) MRS. HYMERSON : Remember me to Mrs. Lethen. CARSON : (Joins him in leaving table and moving downstage) Kind of looks as though I wasn't going to have you help me see to them calves after all, eh? Unless you go that way through the fields with me. Maybe I'll see you over there anyway. Ha! Ha! But, of course, you wouldn't be coming away with me yet so early. Well, I'll see the door's left unlocked for you. RICHARD : (Stiffly) Thank you. CARSON : Well, don't go 'way mad, looks like it was going to breeze, don't it. (Lights fade as Richard goes through gate and turns toward Lethen place, then rise downstage. Ada enters stage right and sits on the glider with a book.) RICHARD : (Slowly walks across the stage with eyes down.) ADA : (Rising to greet him) Richard Milne! Why are you here? When did you come? RICHARD : (Takes her hand and stares into her eyes.) You are asking? Do you know, I couldn't quite believe - well, in you. Ever since I got off the train I've been hurried, urged by something. Something was wrong - at least; and I had to see you to believe that this sorry, this decorative and rapscallion world did hold you - all that you mean. (Laughs boyishly) ADA : (Smiles sadly) Sit down. You've not changed. When did you come? RICHARD : Then you don't refuse to see me, you don't send me away this time...or not yet. ADA : (Softly) Why shouldn't I be...simply enchanted to see an old friend? Not every evening...It's a long time... (She moves some books and he sits beside her) RICHARD : You still read a great deal. ADA : Yes, the books. I read a great deal still...still. RICHARD : I remember them. Your wide and esoteric explorations! (Teasingly) Am I to take it that your are wearying of wandering? Or are you only temporarily abashed by the illimitable wastes, you're waiting to start forth again, afresh - you see the minarets of your city, lost in vapour, and you pause; and its riddle, while you rest, calls again. Its riddle... ADA : The riddle...That alone used to serve as reward, but it is long since the penance. RICHARD : I am not a riddle, but a man. Come, are you so quiet because you think I am a ghost? You want proof? (Ada moves away slightly. They stare at each other.) RICHARD : I should inquire about your parents, the circumstances of your life which nobody else knows. ADA : (Laughs slightly) Do I seem so quiet? I assure you it's not because I don't appreciate, in all the word means, that you are here. Only the other day Mother was speaking to me of you. RICHARD : Did she? I hope Mrs. Lethen has been in good health lately? ADA : Not exactly. She never is, of course, that would be too much to expect. Lately at times she appears better, and then a day or a week will come when she alarms me. (Sighs) RICHARD : (Looks at her in longing and frustration) What is it that holds you, Ada? ADA : I don't know...Why are you here? RICHARD : (Pause) Once more I'm overcome by a sense of strangeness. I was in my office this morning; I walked and taxied in the streets of the city and left it at noon, riding through unforgettable miles of railway yards and factories and grimy suburbs. And already I can make myself believe in the existence of such things only with an effort. For all the years in which I have struggled for success there, it seems that the only real and personal part of my life has been lived here, surrounded by trees, fields, river, which claim me as though I had never left them. I did not need to look at this house or hedge or vista for a landmark, because I can believe that I have walked down this road every night for the past year. And accompanying the return upon me bodily of the old life is the same sense of futility and uncertainty which I knew in those times - the cause of my eventual determination to leave, and also of my periodic returns. (Pause) That is what brings me...but what holds you? ADA : I don't know, and I have admitted to you that there is no reason which would operate logically. But perhaps what holds me here is knowing that if I went my mother would die. She would starve, as completely - God knows it is precious little that I do or can do for her, and yet it is only my being here that keeps her soul alive. They have been estranged so long that they are really dead to each other, and yet if they were left alone together they would both, she, at least, would die the bodily death as well. RICHARD : (Bitterly) It is always of her you speak. Doesn't your father have feelings? Do you think he doesn't know the bitterness of loneliness and misprision as well as your mother? ADA : Father, of course. I know that, and it is why things are the way they are. Possibly, if I could take sides, there could be some outcome, even to strife. But I see, I understand too well, so that there is no hope. I see the sadness of both, and how oblivion awaits it all...across a mist of pathos like dreaming. RICHARD : You're too sympathetic. Surely something could be done. I tell you, it would be a tonic, a rough cold-blooded treatment. Why, they could have been laughed out of everything, or I'm mistaken. To go on in this way - it's absurd...It's plain to me that your father has a good deal to complain of. Perhaps you don't know that there are many kinds of men with whom no - no such situation could exist. ADA : (Low murmur) I hope so. RICHARD: There are women who wouldn't let it exist. ADA : (Does not respond) RICHARD : Well...We don't seem to know that we have been apart for a long time. As children we were inseparable. ADA : Yes, we were. (They smile briefly at mutual memories) RICHARD : You do not love them. But that does not cause you to change your attitude toward me. You're no kinder or more reasonable. I dare say if you hated them you'd think that gave you the right, or the obligation to care for their needs. ADA : Hate? I can never hate them - it would be impossible. (Looks at him with longing) Only pity. It is pity which will - Pity will kill me! (Leans against his shoulder and sobs) I can't! I can't! RICHARD : (Embracing her) Precious Ada! This is going to kill you. Ada! Let us go away. You must! We can live a different life from this. We'll go...Let us go away...Let us go away. (Light rises behind them U.S.R. on the vases of white narcissus. Ada and Richard turn to look. Mrs. Lethen moves among the plants slowly, stopping to admire one or caress the blossom of another, with trembling shakes of her head; then slowly exits.) ADA : She can't have heard us... RICHARD : You speak as though nothing could be more terrible than her hearing us. As a matter of fact, it would probably be one of the best things which could happen if they overheard us - both of them - discussing them in the harshest and least sympathetic manner. ADA : She has always loved her white narcissus. RICHARD : I remember. But how does she endure them? A bulb or two is nice to have, if you like them, but such a number, with their enervating odour, must be intolerable to anyone else. ADA : But she likes them, worships them. She seems to think of nothing else from day to night. She looks at them, cares for them, she has some of them beside her when she sleeps, and first thing in the morning she comes downstairs to look at the others. I have known her to get up in the middle of the night to come downstairs to the sitting-room and look at them. Sometimes she will fall in a reverie over them, and I can scarcely call her away to a meal. RICHARD : Yes, she must be fairly fond of them. But how do you stand it? It must get on your nerves, doesn't it, day after day? To say nothing of the smell. And that she keeps the windows closed all the time? ADA : Yes, nearly all the time...Sometimes I plead with her, but I think it does no good, it does harm. She becomes secretive, and starts when I come into the room and she is with them. RICHARD : It's pathological. Should be looked into. ADA : They've always been so much to her, a refuge for her yearning, since I seem inanimate and averse. And - more now - and then...father... RICHARD : And your father still means more to her than she admits or knows, though she would cut out her heart to be rid of him. ADA : (Somewhat coldly) That is to be expected, seeing the source of it all. Had it been any ordinary quarrel which tempted them into declaring in the frenzied tones I remember, that they would never speak to each other again - the bitterness might have, it must have, lapsed, passed away in the lukewarm tolerance with which most people must regard each other. RICHARD : (Surprised) You were present at the quarrel, the original one? ADA : Yes, as a child sitting at the head of the stairs. The raised voices went on for hours until it seemed the violence could reach no further pitch. I'll never forget how I shivered, and my heart went when I thought they meant to kill one another. But at last I fell asleep there...And there I was in the morning. They were so overwrought, they paid no attention to me. RICHARD : My poor Ada! I'm afraid I can never understand all that your childhood was; only pity you for it. But what you say does not tend to make me pity - these people. Quite the contrary. ADA : You shouldn't pity me. It must have been that, perhaps, rather than my rational intelligence, which taught me to be cold to both of them. Perhaps if any love for either of them had been left afterward my heart should have been broken. As it is (Bitter laugh) you know it is I that am heartless. RICHARD : (Not willing to believe her) Your heart was too tender for such storms. It makes me wild to think of it - to think of you sitting there, hearing - ADA : I think I could repeat every word. They - each thought the other unfaithful. They proved that each was certain, no matter how much the other denied it, and that they would be obliged by every human consideration to hate each other to the end of life. And they have never spoken to each other since. RICHARD : Never? (Muses, then bursts out) Ada! This is absurd! For anyone who could do that, much as I might ultimately pity them, it's impossible to find excuse or condolence. To pamper them emotionally all this time is ridiculous. As your parents they will receive my respect; not otherwise, I assure you. You know as well as I that unless some definite course is undertaken nothing can be hoped. ADA : A course! What course? RICHARD: But, if you let things take their own way there is bound to be a great deal of trouble and bitterness. You will find that you have acquired nothing for the furnishing of your life but sorrow and the memories of sorrow. You are even farther removed than my own ideals from the dogma of today. That arrivism, opportunism, at best only cloaks the thirst for getting which is rendering barren the lives we see everywhere. Materialism. Yet in a degree we've got to recognize that it is based on the reality which is foundation to material things. People get it reversed and think that material things are the only basis of reality. But it is our destiny. We are bound to conquer. We must subdue things; we've got to take from life even the emotions, the experience, and fulfilment we need. If we shirk that we are doing a wrong as great as that of starving in the midst of nature's abundance. There's no use talking, sacrifice is all right. It is part of the acceptance of life. Calmness and freedom from inordinate grasping is good. But the fact which you and I have to face right now is that happiness is not offered forever in this world, it does not go begging; and we have a right to all of it we can make, a duty to ourselves which is imperative and primary, and only the fruition of which enables us to do a duty to others. ADA : (Is silent for a moment) Richard, I know. That is what makes it so hard, that I do understand. Oh, don't think I don't want happiness, that I am harsh. But I have found the hardest thing to do...I see Father going about the farm as though he were lost; and his hair is white...Like his horses, he is old; like them he is patient, even in waiting for the end. What should I be doing to leave him? There is some other way. My mother seems daily to give her frail life to the white narcissus; and, while she is not old, she makes me fear the more. You can see how it is with me, and how I must not listen to - the outer world, even to - even as I have... RICHARD : (Standing) It is late and I must not keep you, Ada. We must talk again. I hope my intrusion has not kept your mother from her bulbs. (Makes as if to leave but turns back to her) I am going to have to talk with your parents. They, too, may not be able to understand reason and common logic, but at least they shall listen. It is late now and I shall not disturb them. ADA : (Putting out her hand) I am sorry, Richard. RICHARD : (Grasps her hand) Give them my regards, please, and tell them that. We'll see. ADA : I'm sure they'll be glad to see you again. They have so few visitors, and they remember you, of course. Father was asking why you hadn't seen him the last time you were here. RICHARD : I look at the whole thing differently now. I must see them both regardless of any kind interest they may have in me. ADA : (Gravely) Richard, you mustn't look at it in that way. There's nothing to get angry about, nothing to be done. RICHARD : That remains to be seen, and will be seen. Good night, Ada. (Richard turns and leaves. Ada watches him go silently as lights fade) (Morning light rises on Carson and Arvin D.S.L., working on a side-delivery hay-rake or similar farm implement. Richard leans on the gate and watches them.) CARSON : (As wires spring loose) There! You've let loose and they're slipped out again. Give me that piece of wire! (Fumbles with hay-rake) Show'em. (Arvin gets him a piece of wire. Carson fiddles and has wires snap loose again. Arvin and Richard exchange smiles) CARSON : (Looking up) Now! What you gawpin' at me for? You've let the others loose, and now they've jumped out of the holes. If I ever see - ARVIN : (Moves to help him) Well! You told me to get the wire, and now see what you've done. CARSON : You're too smart. It's all your fault. You just think we shouldn't be doing it ourselves, that's all, and you won't help. ARVIN : (Starts to speak but thinks better of it) CARSON : (Continues to fiddle with Arvin hanging on) It's all right for you to talk. Yes, eh, send it to the blacksmith; don't do anything yourself for fear of getting your hands dirty. No, I'm not farming that way just yet...I don't say but what if I was gone, stowed away safe under ground, there'll be enough of that goes on, but not just today, thank you, too rich for my blood. That ain't how the old pioneers got along. If your grandfather could see the slouchy way you do things, he'd turn over in his grave. Reach me that chisel... ARVIN : Yeh, I bet he'd... CARSON : Don't you leave go! People are getting more shiftless all the time. For a certainty. (Glances at Richard) RICHARD : Is that a subtle way of saying you need a hand? (Comes through gate and helps Arvin hold the rake.) CARSON : (Snaps wires in place.) Thanks. Arvin fixes rakes like he buys cows. RICHARD : Oh, I should think that Arvin must know a great deal about cattle, Mr. Hymerson. I don't think I'd care to trade with him myself. CARSON : Not 'less you wanted to get beat, eh? Well, go look at his cow sometime, and see what you think of the bargain. (Wheels hay-rake off-stage leaving Richard & Arvin alone) RICHARD : (Glancing after Carson) Makes me realize how hard farming is. ARVIN : Not so bad as it used to be. We got hay-rakes in the field, even though they really need a blacksmith to repair. We got litter-carriers in the cow-stalls, cuts down on the shovellin'. RICHARD : (Shading eyes and looking stage right) What's that implement over there on the Lethen place with the barrel behind it? ARVIN : Tobacco planter. CARSON : (Returning) Yes, that's Lethen's tobacco planter. ARVIN : Dad don't like the tobacco. Won't grow it. I keep telling him we're going to lose out, with tobacco the price it is... CARSON : I guess, eh! I wouldn't have the dirty stuff on my place, let alone smoke it, put the dirty stuff in my mouth... Agh! He can have it, that Lethen! Grows dirty tobacco but won't even keep up the line fence between neighbours. I've had enough of it, never keeping the fences fixed, letting the cattle run - even his hogs. RICHARD : Why don't you make some settlement, say, have it that - if this is Lethen's end of the line - that the fence should be fixed by him, or, if not, that you will do so at his expense? I should think that some arrangement could be made. CARSON : Oh, that would hardly do. (Looks alarmed) Might get to be bad friends with him that way. (Hastily) Well. Better go see to the cows. Leave you two youngsters to chew the fat. (Exits) (Richard and Arvin look at each other for a moment, puzzled by the hasty exit) RICHARD : (Making conversation) How are your crops, Arvin? Clover seems to have a pretty good stand. What happened to the oats? ARVIN : Guess you ain't forgot all about farming. Oats was difficult this year. Ground was too wet for planting. Then we had drought. Bad weather may not be over either. But we'll get some crops. Can't be crop failure in everything, like out West. Imagine you've been out there. Heard you travelled quite a bit since leaving here. RICHARD : No. I've not been West. Haven't travelled nearly as much as people suppose. ARVIN : People thought you'd become a regular Yankee by now. Wondered if you'd ever come back. That's how it turns out, you know, when they get away once. RICHARD : On the contrary, this place has scarcely been out of my mind. Naturally, when one's been raised in a place one wonders about the changes. Have you seen many changes? ARVIN : Well, no, can't say I do. Of course, they grow more tobacco than they ever did. That began in the War, I guess. Then there were a couple of years there the farmers had to give away what they had. Over-production, they say, or some warfare between the tobacco companies. Amused Dad no end, him not agreeing with tobacco. RICHARD : Why is that? I thought your father would desire a cash crop. ARVIN : (Uneasily) Well, it is hard on the land - lotta work planting and picking by hand too. RICHARD : Is there a more personal reason? Perhaps because Mr. Lethen grows it? ARVIN : (Defensively) The Lethens ain't the best of neighbours, you know. Not keeping up fences, let stock run wild. (Shrugs) In other ways you feel sorry for them. I guess old lady Lethen is all right. It just seems funny these days - them never speaking. RICHARD : (Musingly) Strange existence. ARVIN : You understand me, they don't seem alive. I used to go over there to borrow a tool or something. Get to the door, the old lady would be so polite, just as nice as pie, ask about the family, tell me where she thought I'd find her old man, and all that. But if he wasn't home, no use leaving any message with her. Might as well save your breath. She'd never tell him anything if it was going to save you from the grave. Makes it unhandy that way for the neighbours. Makes it hard for the girl. Now she's smart, right sensible. If they would let her alone she'd fix things up, run the farm - good head on her. But her parents - why they don't seem livin'. RICHARD : (Slowly) Don't seem living. (Lights fade then rise on Richard, leaning on the gate. Ada enters right. He looks up, sees her and moves towards her. They meet centre stage.) RICHARD : You're going the wrong way. ADA : Am I? I hadn't any particular place in view - RICHARD : Just out for a walk? May I join you? ADA : But I just did come out of that bush. I rather expected that there might be some wild flowers there. Perhaps I'm too late. But then I didn't happen to think of them before... RICHARD : Never too late! Orange lilies, jack-in-the-pulpits, we'll find some. Come. I must explore the whole country while I'm here. (They wander briefly) RICHARD : I can hardly believe it, but here I am. Here are you, what's more. Here are we! (Looking up) My the trees are tall. Whatever foundling gods take the place of Pan, we are here! ADA : (Smiling at his enthusiasm) I'm inclined not to come out very often. I think today is the first since winter that I have left the farm like this. In winter, spring, autumn, it's good to come and see that there is growth, change, and death, nothing of which is bitter or gay, simply because it does not return again. It does return again...Yet in that way, too, it is very precious. But you don't wish me to be serious... RICHARD : Winter, spring, autumn...Why not summer? ADA : Oh, it makes me dizzy. RICHARD : Do you remember the time we saw a crane when we were children? We stared and stared, and you were dizzy that time too...The bush is drier now than it was in those days. I remember it was all pools under the trees, brown with dead leaves. I thought you were going to fall into one when you became dizzy looking up. ADA : It's later now...later in the year. RICHARD : And the land all about is drained now. How vast the bush seemed, and echoey then. Now we know how few acres it is, and how small a mystery. ADA : You speak of a childhood which will never return. RICHARD : But in memory it does. We walked to school together, carrying our lunch pails. ADA : Until the other children's teasing stopped you. RICHARD : But it was not long after I began to carry your books, at least until you decided you were dedicated to music. You were going to Toronto, to the conservatory. What prevented you? ADA : My mother's... illness. And you went to Toronto instead, and became a noted writer. RICHARD : Not much noted, I'm afraid. Ada... (Seems about to say something important but stops as Carson enters, crossing stage in front of them.) CARSON : (Glances at them suspiciously) Afternoon. Kinda hot, ain't it. (Exits) ADA : He won't be expecting you home for supper now. (Sudden decision) So you'd better come with me. Never mind. (As Richard seems about to demur) I want you to meet Mother, and it's no inconvenience. RICHARD : All right. (Beat) You seem to know Carson. ADA : (Laughing a little) Yes, but I wonder whether I do. One thinks one knows this one and that one, when, if one did, things would be different; there would be no flaws in communication. RICHARD : Obviously here there are. But don't you think that it is possible to know people too well for their comfort and yours? ADA : Perhaps, if you know them without sympathy. But then if you didn't sympathize you couldn't know anyone perfectly. Could you? And if you did know a person perfectly you would be compelled to sympathize with him. RICHARD : Quite a syllogism. Still, people don't like to be understood. Not really. Not too well; and perhaps it is fortunate I don't understand Carson Hymerson. But he does cause me to speculate. ADA : My father does that to Carson. If only such people would resign themselves not to understand. They seem to think that since my father is what they call "strange", they are licensed to attain their ends, the petty ends of trickery. They do manage to bother him; it can't be denied. I can't see why they should attempt to do so, or what they hold against him. I suppose to see anyone unhappy arouses a sadistic tendency in coarser minds. RICHARD : Ada, you just tell me when anything overt - but, of course, nothing can happen, save by the rarest mischance...(Angrily) I'd just like to see them bother you. ADA : Dear boy...Nothing's going to happen. RICHARD : Promise me you will. ADA : Yes, I shall be glad of any help you can give. RICHARD : Ada! You don't seem to realize my right - haven't I earned it? - to want to protect you, in all the years you've ruled my life. Why, my dear, I wouldn't be here...Love is like... ADA : Hush! RICHARD : Like an intermittent fever. ADA : Hush! We are nearly there. Let's talk about - anything - dinner, until you can eat it. (Gesturing at the landscape) You're too late for the locust blossoms. (They move slowly towards the Lethen place) RICHARD : Your house doesn't seem to change, but it still does. It's becoming more dilapidated and worn, more forsaken-looking every year. ADA : Ah, forsaken. (Laughs) At any rate you don't say, as almost anyone else would, that it looks smaller than your memories of it. RICHARD : No, not smaller. Nothing connected with it could dwindle. ADA : Sit down. It's time I got dinner. (Exits) (Richard sits on glider. Ada re-enters with Mrs. Lethen who holds a pot of white narcissus.) ADA : Mr. Milne has consented to stay to dinner with us, but I'm afraid he'll have a little wait, for I've just put the potatoes on to boil. I spent too long on my walk, it seems. But we three will be alone. MRS. LETHEN : (Nodding approval at the 'alone'.) Yes, you'll have to see to dinner, now you've said you would. (Ada exits. Mrs. Lethen places the pot of flowers on the glider between herself and Richard and sits down. They survey each other uncomfortably.) MRS. LETHEN : Look at them. Look at them. Aren't they beautiful! (Laughs quietly) Beautiful! RICHARD : (Formally) Your narcissi are very nice...and I believe you have a good number of them too. MRS. LETHEN : They're worth coming a long way to see, aren't they, Mr. Milne? RICHARD : (In deliberate tones) Mrs. Lethen, don't you find something more beautiful in the souls of people around you than in these flowers? Something warmer at least, that concerns you, your own fate and happiness, rather than a momentary pleasure of the eyes. Are you sure that you have not raised up an idol? Are you not likely to waken sometime and find that everything vital in your life has gone, and there is left only these wilted flowers to mock you? What of the happiness of your daughter? Have you ever thought that Ada deserved your support, all your effort now, to gain the happiness which the world, which life is saving for her, and which - for reasons which you know - it may be hard for her to discover? It is possible to look across the fields of everyday life to some mirage of mountains, longing to be there, and to find after years that one's limbs are too worn even to gather the valley flowers of reality. And then the mirage dissolves; you are left with nothing who might have had all the sweets of reality without the empty yearning of thwarted longing for unseizable beauty. But how empty and cold is such beauty without the part fulfilled by others. Think how wonderfully different Ada's life would be, and your own. Sacrifice is the badge of motherhood, and the honour of it finer than any flower. MRS. LETHEN : (Laughs without interest or surprise) The world! Beauty! The soul! Idols! Yes. I have erected an idol, and since it gives me more satisfaction to my days, leavens them better than the clods of this dull life can, who is to say me nay? If my white narcissus give me the love everything and everyone else denies me, what then? (Gives him a disparaging look.) Sacrifice. How like a man. Excuse me, but I should help Ada. (Exits with her white narcissus) RICHARD : (Ironically) Of course. (Sits and fidgets, waiting for Ada) ADA : (Enters after a longish pause and sits on glider) Just a few more minutes. Mother has taken over. RICHARD : And Mr. Lethen...is he not at home today? ADA : (Coldly) If you are really anxious to see my father, he will be at home tonight, or almost any time after that. RICHARD : Unfortunate. I had naturally hoped to see him, but, of course, I am not giving up hope. (Broods a bit) ADA : What is it? RICHARD : What should it be? Do you want me to just go away? ADA : Yes. RICHARD : But, Ada! What's the matter? What has come over you since I came? ADA : I don't like the attitude you take toward my parents. RICHARD : And I don't like the attitude they take toward you. Nor to me either. I thought you could make allowance for at least that. ADA : Your course then seems obvious. RICHARD : (Standing) My course is not obvious, but it will be definite, when I've decided. I've had about enough of this. What did your mother say in the kitchen? What did she say about me? ADA : (Remains aloof) RICHARD : Let us go for a walk. You can't see things straight here, Ada; I can explain. ADA : (Coldly) No thank you. (Lights fade as they stare at each other in a stalemate) CURTAIN ACT TWO Lights rise on white narcissus and Knister KNISTER : Ada had spoken, and Richard had pretended to accept what she said. He could scarcely convince even himself that there was any use of hoping, or of staying there. He could love her with a love which should have moved mountains, and blown trivial obstacles from them as sand is swept across a beach, which should have caused happiness as the air of a valley is changed, charged with sunlight. But as for being effectively moved by these considerations, she might have been a worn-out stump in such a valley, on such a beach. What balked him, what finally enraged him, was not the feeling that she did not return his love, or the difficulty of convincing her that she loved him, but the fact that love could make so little difference. He had found exaltation and in his darkest despair had taken consolation from thinking that he was to learn what love alone could do, and he thought he saw now it could do nothing when circumstances conspired to cause a deadlock. The deadlock in Ada, he realized, was between love and duty. Her feelings for him were opposed by her sense of duty towards her parents. DUTY versus LOVE, he mused - Tennyson versus Browning. Tennyson proclaiming that DUTY was: "Stern daughter of the voice of God", while Browning simply marched into 22 Wimpole Street and swept Elizabeth Barrett away. Richard too wanted to sweep Ada away, like Robert Browning, but he also recalled the patience of Lord Tennyson, who had courted his wife for 14 years. On further reflection, he decided that he was not strong enough for the sweeping away, and not patient enough to wait 14 years. (Lights fade on Knister and rise on Richard and Carson with pitch-forks, obviously baling hay, behind the gate but Stage Right of it.) CARSON : (Usual machine-gun delivery) Well, I kind of thought from the start you was sensible that way, not scairt of getting your hands soiled. Was gonna ask you to drive the team, soft enough job fer a city fella. RICHARD : Any kind of plain hard work will do, Carson. (Smiling) I need to build up my physical strength to compensate for living the soft life. CARSON : Did that before, didn't ya? Time you went off to university and got the influenza. Had to come back here and work yourself back to health on your father's farm. Then you was off to Iowa City and back again. Then off to Toronto - and back again. RICHARD : I didn't come back this time because I was sick. CARSON : A little lovesick maybe? Pinin' after Ada Lethen? Wastin' yer time. She's about as useful as her parents - never talkin', old man Lethen can't keep his fences in repair. Cows wander all over my crops... RICHARD : Did you try to come to an arrangement with him? CARSON : Arrangement! With that old crazy! I got better ideas than that. Man can't run a farm just don't deserve to own one. RICHARD : Are you planning something to remedy the situation? CARSON : (Guiltily) No, no. Jest talkin'. (Arvin enters, Carson looks up and sees him. Uses opportunity to break off conversation.) CARSON : Well there you are, finally. Where you been? Hanging around town again? ARVIN : Had to get supplies. CARSON : Yes, and hang about the store with a bunch of no-accounts - better at talkin' than workin'. ARVIN : (A touch rebellious) I do my work around here. (Pause) Besides, if it weren't for your talking we'd be tending to the mustard in the oat field right now. CARSON : Gosh darnit - that darn mustard! (Throws down hay-fork) Ruin the oats. Then nothing to feed the horses. We'd best see to it. (Carson exits hastily. Arvin exchanges a smile with Richard and follows. Richard resumes hay-pitching.) LETHEN : (Enters right and stops Centre Stage to quietly observe Richard) RICHARD : (Looking up) Good day, Mr. Lethen. LETHEN : (Stands there quietly looking at Richard in a vacant manner. Richard continues pitching at slower rate and listens to Lethen with barely concealed hostility, pausing occasionally to answer him.) RICHARD : (Stiffly) Well? LETHEN : (Softly) You are Alma Milne's son, aren't you? Ada, my daughter, has told me about you. You've changed a little, or so it seems to me, since your last visit. I understand you are to be congratulated on very creditable work. I'm glad. RICHARD : Thank you, Mr. Lethen. What can I do for you? LETHEN : I hardly know how to put it. You are helping Carson just now, and I don't want to be bearing tales against him like this. But it seems like there's nothing else to be done. You must have noticed his attitude. And I was wondering whether you couldn't do anything to straighten things out. RICHARD : I might, if I could see in what way it affected me. LETHEN : It means everything - everything to me, to get this straightened out. Surely there's a way. RICHARD : (Maliciously) Are you sure now that it wouldn't be necessary to make Carson over for that, as well as, perhaps, yourself? LETHEN : Of course, to come right down to it at once, it's us, our own fault. You can blame us both. It's his way, and it's my being what I am. But still there is no need of things coming to such a pass... RICHARD : Between neighbours, eh? LETHEN : Yes, between neighbours. When we've always got along, I may say, perfectly. When I first settled here as a young man I used to compliment myself on having such good neighbours. They were kind of backward about associating, but awfully obliging, lend you anything you asked for. My father used to say it was worth living here just to have such good neighbours. Then things changed, little by little, the younger fellows came along, like Carson, and somehow they seemed to see things differently. They kept away more than ever. Not shy, they weren't. They seemed to take pride in being independent, I suppose they called it. RICHARD : In other words, their fathers had to swallow your learning and possibly your manners and means, and the sons' teeth are edged with an inferiority complex. But to what pass is it that things, as you say, are coming? LETHEN : Things couldn't go much farther between neighbours. I had to go in to see my lawyer, the other day, and he says it's nothing which should go to court. RICHARD : Apparently you are sure you want trouble, or you would not go to a lawyer. If matters have gone to that stage, I'm sure I can't see there's anything but for you to go ahead until you both get your fill of dissension, and the costs connected with it... LETHEN : But you see I had to go to see my lawyer, since Carson has filed a suit against me. The only thing now is to try to get it settled out of court. It puzzles me - it puzzles me still. I can't see what he should have against me. RICHARD : (Still aloof) And, if you care to tell me, what is he suing you for? LETHEN : My land. RICHARD : (Surprised out of his cold manner) Your land! What title has Carson Hymerson to your land? LETHEN : None that will stand in court. But that is another matter, scarcely relevant. There's a mortgage - I've had one for years - against the farm. He has got hold of the mortgage, and he has always wanted the farm. RICHARD : (Reverting to a cool manner) And your lawyer tells you his claim won't stand. How fortunate for you. LETHEN : No, it only postpones my difficulty. It's not necessary for him to win the case. The expense if I lose will be enough to put me where I can't wiggle - as Carson himself told me. I guess it's true enough. After the lawsuit, even if the court doesn't give him judgement, holding the mortgage, he'll be able to sell me out. He could now, if he only knew. I might as well tell him that. (Bitterly) But after the lawsuit there won't even be public opinion to hinder him. That goes by the board when you get into trouble. Then he can say that I'd do as much to him if I could, that I tried, and so on. People that don't know me would believe it. He has his standing as an officer in farmers' organizations and the like. RICHARD : (Now sympathetic) Well, that is not as it may be assumed now. It would not appear safe to generalize until after the event. LETHEN : (Breaking down) I tell you, Mr. Milne, it has got me going! I don't know what I am going to do. There must be some- thing, some way. I thought at first it's not possible that such a thing could happen. But it appears to be possible all right. I guess I'll have to admit I've been worrying about it... RICHARD : Don't. There's no use worrying about it. Carson would make the most of that. Instead, everything should be done to get at the root of the trouble...Does Arvin know about it? LETHEN : Yes, but that was in the early part. He kind of laughed when I brought it up, and said that his father had strange notions - trying to hush it up as though it didn't amount to anything. He said his father wouldn't really sue when it came to the point. I think Arvin means well...But he's got in the way of giving way to everything his father says. RICHARD : Yes. No matter how absurd. And what about Carson himself? Have you actually spoken to him directly about the matter recently? LETHEN : Just half an hour ago, or less. He was in his oats field pulling mustard when I went to see whether we couldn't come to some understanding. He wouldn't listen to me at all. Finally, I told him I didn't think it would pay for him to go ahead; I guessed the world hadn't got so bad but what the public opinion would make it hot for him. Then he did get started! He said - why he went right up in the air, and talked so fast you couldn't hear yourself think. (Fair imitation of Carson's rapid delivery) I'd see how much people thought of me. They'd forgotten I was alive, long ago. Years ago I used to strut around like a lord. We'd see the way public opinion regarded me! Why I didn't deserve to own a farm, the way I go on. Only people deserve farms is those that work them right. (Reverting to his own slow pace) That's what makes it right for him to do me out of my own property. He wouldn't let me tell him that though; he was going at such a rate. The things he didn't think up weren't very many! There's no use trying to repeat them all. (Beat) And perhaps he's right, and people really are indifferent. A new generation...I am a back number. What he told me were private affairs which couldn't concern him at all - personal matters, you understand. Then he wound up telling me he'd do his worst; he'd put me on the road, bag and baggage, if I tried to stop him. Unusual logic. They'd been easy with me on the mortgage, he said, and as for that it's true some of these hard years I've only been able to pay the interest. But now he wants to make that right by taking the farm away from me. He put that quite plainly, without saying, 'If you don't pay me what you owe me.' He thinks there's no likelihood of that. He thinks I can't and he'll just take my farm. Oh, I never saw such a man. (Pauses) Well, I'm sorry to have stopped you this way. If Carson notices it won't make things any better...I hope you won't think I stop anybody like this and pour out a tale of woe. It seemed to me that I knew you, after knowing your people. Just the same it does a man good to talk about his troubles you know. RICHARD : Of course. It's an easy service. LETHEN : But not a small one...And how have things been going with you since you left this part of the country? RICHARD : (Gently) Fine, Mr. Lethen, just fine...about Carson...I'll see what I can do. I'm sorry more than I can tell you to see such troubles here. I'll probably see you, or let you know what can be done. Such things as he talks about don't very often really come to pass, fortunately. And I'm sure not this time if I can help it. LETHEN : (Desperately) I hope not. I'll - hope not. You don't know what it could mean...Well, it simply can't happen, that's all! Not to me! (Turning to go) Carson simply can't do this to me! (Moves past Richard and exits left. RICHARD : (Stares after him a moment, then resumes pitching hay.) (Lights fade, then come up again on Richard, still pitching hay.) ADA : (Entering right in a panic) Richard! RICHARD : Why, Ada. (Moves toward her) (They meet Centre Stage) ADA : Did you see my father? Quick, tell me, did you see him? RICHARD : Yes, your father was here not half an hour ago. Surely nothing's happened... ADA : Thank God! No, perhaps not. Oh, I was afraid... RICHARD : But, Ada. Tell me... ADA : It would take too long - too long a story, and I must go and look for him. RICHARD : He was here, and told me about it. Carson Hymerson says he is going ADA : Put us on the road! Yes. He has been so subdued of late, and I wondered what it could be - as if he hadn't enough to bear already! And today he told me, and something about the way - something in his manner - I began to think about it this afternoon, and I came out to talk it over with him. I looked all over the farm and I can't find him. RICHARD : Ada, it will be all right. He told me all the details, and what Carson said. It seemed to relieve his mind to a certain degree. I promised him that I would see Carson and find out what could be done. Ada! Please believe me, there's nothing happened, nothing can happen. I'll see that the business is straightened out. ADA : Oh, Richard! You can? (Presses hand against her heart) I can't seem to get over my foolish fright! RICHARD : Oh, Ada! (Moves to embrace her) ADA : (Backs away, then turns and flees) RICHARD : Ada, wait! (He stands there for a long moment, then goes back to pitching hay) ARVIN : (Enters left, picks up fork and joins Richard) RICHARD : Have you seen Mr. Lethen. ARVIN : Yeh, he was talking to Dad in the upper pasture. They got kinda steamed so I figured I'd better leave 'em be. RICHARD : Your father seems to want to dispossess the Lethens. ARVIN : (Uncomfortably) Dad just talks...they'll work something out. RICHARD : I certainly hope so. (They pitch hay together silently) CARSON : (Enters left) Nearly done, boys? Good job for a city fella' and a hang-about. Get you pitching manure next. The real stuff. That'll clear your sinuses. RICHARD : (Puts aside hayfork and looks intently at Carson) Is what Lethen says true? CARSON : (Avoiding Richard's gaze) True? How do I know what the old blatherer's been saying? RICHARD : (Voice rising) You know very well what he was saying; you needn't look at me in that hangdog manner. I want to know! Is it true you are going to foreclose his mortgage? CARSON : My own's my own, and I'll do with it what I please. RICHARD : (Angry) You'd better answer me. CARSON : (Raises eyes and glares at him) RICHARD : Look here. You go ahead with your doings; get the sheriff out here. Put this man off his farm if you can. I want you to understand that at the first step I'm going to get the best lawyer money can hire and fight it to the last. You think a lawsuit will ruin Lethen. Well we'll see how that works on you. I'll put everything behind this if necessary. My signature is good for quite as much as you can get together, understand that. City work, soft though it may be, pays considerably more than pitching manure. CARSON : Why you...(Makes a move towards Richard with his arm) RICHARD : (Brushes Carson's arm aside and knocks him down with a hard fist to the face) ARVIN : (Backs off in shock) RICHARD : Little cur! Foretaste... CARSON : (Scrambling to his feet and backing off.) I won't have a skunk like you in my house. Think I'm goin' to have such a... RICHARD : (Glaring at him contemptuously) You need not worry about that. I'll even pay my rates...but you won't get any further cash from me. (Carson glares back but then exits. After a moment Richard moves to leave. Arvin makes a tentative move to intercept him.) ARVIN : (Noncommittal) I ought to lick you...what you did to Dad. RICHARD : (Calmer now) Well, if that is the way you look at it, I had better tell you beforehand, while I think of it, that I have nothing against you, Arvin. Later it might slip my mind. I call your father's actions mighty strange. He wasn't that strange in earlier days, but he has been strange to all that I knew of him, ever since I came here. I can't make him out. ARVIN : (Sorrowfully) I don't understand myself. It didn't use to be so bad. Or perhaps I notice more...I think he gets more like he was as a boy, though he's not so terribly old, either. He was the youngest, and they used to pick on him, he told me... RICHARD : I can see well enough now what's wrong with him. A touch of paranoia. (Holds out his hand. Arvin reluctantly shakes it.) It's a well-known psychological type. Good-bye, Arvin. (Exits) (Lights fade on a puzzled Arvin for a moment then rise on Richard centre stage) RICHARD : (A reflective soliloqy) So I took up residence at another farm in the area and spent my days in wandering about the country, chatting over fences with old neighbours and new, drinking in impressions of the life I had known, or making a vague effort to impose exterior circumstances upon my attention, to let them supersede my inner conflict. But mostly I was unable to decide why I should make an effort toward anything. The bewitched summer was passing, to the senses imperceptibly, and generally to my dissatisfaction. The days were warm, even during the heaviest rains, the sun bright and ardent immediately after. Too bright, too warm. The ground would cake in the dry time to follow. Something in this rhythmic replenishing of the fecund and steaming earth calmed me without quite pleasing me as I walked about the black ground of the hollows, the lighter gravel of the tobacco ridges. Sumach grew densely along the moist ditches, rank, with stalks as thick as a man's arm, little groves towering twenty feet to spread a thick thatch of green which withstood light showers. A man could stop and sit on a bank under the canopy of sumach and stare at the ground, black earth strewn with rusty stems of the sumach leaves of other years, thinking of those times and of Ada Lethen, while the rain began to patter unheeded above him. So long had I been forced into a role of waiting that I scarcely could believe in the singleness of my intention to escape. Surely it was some bewitched aura of her ill-starred parents. What should I have to do with such people? It seemed to me at times that I had placed myself at the mercy of the unreason of two probably inexcusable and needlessly contentious peasants. I wished that their true colours would be revealed to Ada - if she could recognize them. (Lights fade and then rise on Richard entering DSR. He walks with head down and does not realize Carson has entered DSL) CARSON : (Sheepish grin) How-do, Richard. Funny little weather ain't it? Great day for ducks. RICHARD : (Nods abstractedly) CARSON : (Emboldened enough to resume his usual rapid pace) Funny way of farming the old bird has. (Gesture to indicate they are on boundary of Lethen place) The place sure needs somebody to take hold and take an interest in it. Of course, there's some waste land, bound to be, where that peat bog was burnt over. But when I've had it a couple of years and get it ploughed under, you won't know the farm. You want to come back and see it, Richard. Always welcome you know. No hard feelings. RICHARD : (Becoming alert) So you intend to go ahead and try to put this man off his property? CARSON : Well, it sounds like it, don't it. I - we all want what's ours, don't we? RICHARD : Yes, but we have different ideas about what is ours. CARSON : That doesn't matter. That won't hinder me any. RICHARD : (Ironically conventional) And how are Mrs. Hymerson and Arvin keeping? CARSON : (Only momentarily distracted) All right. (Resumes his pace) Old Lethen may think I'm going to let him off, but I ain't. Not any more. I'm out to get what's mine, and don't you forget to tell him. RICHARD : (Icily polite) This weather is not the most favourable for the crops, is it? How is that piece of corn you and I worked on cultivating? It must be getting rather weedy, is it not? CARSON : (Goaded) They been a public nuisance long enough, the Lethens. It's time somebody got stirred up about them. RICHARD : Nuisance or not, Mr. Lethen does not quarrel like a bickering child. CARSON : You tell him from me to go to hell. I don't care for him with his educated talk, or his wife with her useless flowers, or (Pauses for special vehemence) that daughter of his with all her phony airs - too good for anybody. (Stomps off) RICHARD : His daughter... (He moves to follow Carson, stops, then turns to see Ada enter) RICHARD : Ada, I just saw Carson...He said something about you. ADA : Mr. Hymerson always has much to say - about everything and every one. RICHARD : He displayed a special animus concerning you. ADA : I can't discern why. I have had little to do with him. When Mr. Hymerson's need to borrow something overcomes his dislike of us sufficiently he usually sends Arvin. RICHARD : Arvin! (Caught between amusement and disbelief) Ada, surely not Arvin. I can understand that Carson would have designs on your land, but surely he does not think that he could have cemented the bargain by having you marry Arvin! ADA : (Amused) And why not? Great estates were often, in times past, amalgamated by marriage. RICHARD : And amalgamated by loveless marriages too. How, for example, could you love Arvin? ADA : (Playfully) And why not? Arvin is a tall, strapping young man, painfully - and fetchingly - shy in my presence, who also stands to inherit a sizable, amalgamated estate. RICHARD : Ada... seriously... you couldn't... ADA : (Softly) Of course not. RICHARD : Because...you love...someone else... ADA : (Smiling) Yes. RICHARD : Could it be... ADA : Yes. (They lock in an embrace) RICHARD : Then we shall go, Ada. Today - tonight. Just as we are. We can buy clothes and everything when we get to the city. There is another world besides this one, which you must know. Where you can be all yourself. ADA : No. No, we cannot go. We can't? RICHARD : (Letting go of Ada) Ah, you say that. It's a monstrosity, that feeling. It is as though one in the free air should say 'I can't breathe' , or an angel, 'I can't fly.' When heaven depends upon it, it suddenly looms as impossible. Oh, Ada, it is your feeling of the oppressive rooms - it must be a long oppression of those rooms full of white narcissus. It can't be your mind assents to such a lie...Tell me your mind knows that it is only a fallacy. ADA : Oh, Richard, I have told you! I have confessed what my whole soul has fought against. And when I tell you I do love you - you are not satisfied. RICHARD : (Disconsolately) I should be glad you've admitted that you love me, in that case. You are a mystery. ADA : (Turns from him and wanders upstage) Why must you talk this way? (Turns and looks at Richard) RICHARD : Talk! It is the curse of our whole situation. ADA : (Laughing bitterly) I should have said the lack of talk. My parents do not even discuss each other with me anymore. RICHARD : Give them enough of their accursed silence. Your pity amounts to heartlessness, finally, if it does not lose them their soul. ADA : (Does not respond. They wander together) RICHARD : Ada, I don't want you to think I don't appreciate that you love me. (Entreatingly) Say it again. ADA : Oh, Richard! RICHARD : But if you, do there can be no question of things continuing in the manner of the present situation. It's one thing or the other. ADA : (Looking up) That beech tree...the cedars... RICHARD : That made you dizzy? ADA : The morning-glory...the sumach. RICHARD : (Taking her hand) Let's go down. (Lights rise on the sumach grove and they move towards it.) RICHARD : (Reaching for her) Say it again. ADA : (Moving into his arms) I love you. RICHARD : Why do you feel the way you do? Can't you let those two people take care of themselves? I tell you it would be the best thing that ever happened to them. It would have been the best thing long ago. You see that now? Of course you do. ADA : Oh, dear Richard, why must we never forget them? Why must you always try to make me change my mind? You can see my duty as well as I... RICHARD : You see - even if you want to forget, you're admitting...You know that you can't be happy that way, and that there must be a change. ADA : You are right that ten years ago - oh, twenty years ago when that happened and I didn't understand, it would have been the right thing to do. Now, how can I? What can be done? I doubt whether either would recognize the tones of the other's voice. When Mother talks to me it is always when he is away, and she worships the white narcissus. When I go outside, Father stops his work and tells me what is on his mind. And I know that if they did not have anyone to tell their troubles to - RICHARD : Perhaps you think me harsh. You know them better than I. I have never had any doubt that they are, or were, or should have been fine people. You don't object to my being open? Separately that is. ADA : Why should I object to anything you may say? RICHARD : What they have done to you...They have shaped your spirit to what it is, and perhaps - certainly I should be the last to complain. But only the rareness of its tempering has saved it. You have come past pain to sweetness. But you would be happier and we could love each other no less, had you not pitied them - too well. When they were hurt, they put you by, callously; then they discovered your power to assuage, and bent your tender soul to theirs like a splint between their festered wounds. Though it gave you all understanding, it was a weight of pity too cruel for a young soul. Though a tree grow beautiful and strong, wind-shaped on a hill, though your spirit has taken on the colour of poetry, you have known too much sacrifice, and I am trembling for the tragedy you may yet know, my lady. ADA : Dear, dear, my dearest Richard! I know it must seem hard...You know the tragedy is not - not all in the future. It hasn't been easy. And I can't imagine what would have happened... RICHARD : Never in future at all. ADA : You know, Father was so grateful to you for advising him in the trouble about the farm. He said he didn't know what he should have done if you had not stepped into the breach. RICHARD : Of course, under the circumstances, there was nothing else to do. One couldn't allow such a thing to take place. (Pause) I remember how I looked up to your father when I was a boy. There was no other man in the community like him...I suppose really I owe him more on that account than I'll ever know. He did not notice my admiration, of course. But at meetings of any kind, or at church, I would always pick him out, admiring his fine bearing and his features - I would recognize his erect brown head among any crowd. Your father was handsome then. No wonder you are beautiful. ADA : (Slipping away from him) We must be going. RICHARD : Ada, I think you love your parents with a great love. Perhaps it is that capacity in you which has led me to think of you all these years. I'm not a particularly faithful sort, at bottom. ADA : (Taking his hand) Oh, my love! You're - you're... RICHARD : I'm what? ADA : You're so - seeing - feeling. RICHARD : Well, perhaps I was wanting you simply to Say It Again. ADA : I love you. I'll never forget that. (They kiss and in slow motion begin to descend to the floor. Lights fade on them) ADA : So happy. RICHARD : You're mine - at last. (Stage is dark for a longish moment then lights rise on Richard alone.) RICHARD : It was complete content that embraced my mind as I lay alone in my room that night. I had never known that life was so simple, that thinking was unnecessary, and happiness sure. My slumber was deep, complete and satisfying rest, and when I rose my mirror told me I was smiling. But the day brought uncertainties, and the natural wish to go directly to the Lethen place was forestalled with trepidations. Would not Ada think that I was attempting to take advantage of her? And that might prove fatal. Or would she expect me...be hurt if I did not come? Shouldn't I think, in any case, get the matter straightened out in my mind, devise a certain and summary means of settling everything, finally and felicitously? And so I thought through the long day, until there was a summer-evening yellow cast to the air, though the sun was still high. It would set rapidly, and more summarily with the days of approaching autumn. But now I saw a fulfilment with the guise of significance in the passing of the summer, and even in my preoccupation I looked out with interest and tenderness at the fields and woods I was soon to leave...as I set out for the Lethen home. (Lights fade on Richard, then rise on Arvin, behind the gate pitching hay) RICHARD : (Enters left, hesitates on seeing Arvin. Then decides to speak to him) Hello, Arvin. Still at it I see. ARVIN : (Appears grateful for a chance to lean on his fork) Farm work never does seem to end. Finish the hay, it'll be time for the oats. RICHARD : Why isn't your father working away in his usual dynamic fashion? (Sharply) I hope he's not off bothering the Lethens! ARVIN : (Solemnly) No, Dad won't be bothering any one these days...Had a fit. Kept hollering something about everybody being in a conspiracy against him. Me and Mom tried to settle him down but he kept yelling till he collapsed. Doctor put him in the hospital. Says it's some kinda stroke. RICHARD : I'm sorry to hear it, but I guess you could see it coming. ARVIN : Guess you could. Dad always did drive himself too hard. RICHARD : Worked you rather hard too, Arvin. ARVIN : Well, I ain't gonna farm forever. Like to try a city job. You going back there? Maybe you could help me find something? RICHARD : Yes, Arvin, I'm going back, and I'll be glad to help you find something. ARVIN : Much obliged. But in the meantime...(He goes back to pitching hay) (Richard moves on as lights fade on Arvin and rise on the glider in front of the Lethen place) ADA : (Is sitting on the glider and stands as Richard approaches) Richard, dear. RICHARD : (Takes her hands and they sit together) Well, have you made or prepared any good-byes? (Smiling) Happiness maketh all men fools. ADA : (Pressing his hands) Yes. Yes. We are happy. RICHARD : Did you hear about Carson Hymerson? ADA : Yes. Very sad. They say that he believed that his son and Mrs. Hymerson were leagued against him. RICHARD : Oh, Ada, it's sad, very true, but surely that's not the first thing you see in it. Now your father will be in no danger of losing his place, and you and I are free. ADA : I wonder. (Sees his despair) Oh, don't think that anything can be the same again. I do love you, Richard. But tell me honestly what you think it means. RICHARD : (Coldly) I dare say everything about this cursed place means something I've never guessed or suspected. There'll never be an end to mysteries, and Carson Hymerson probably has a great deal to do with you and me of which I at least am quite unaware. ADA : Richard, don't talk like that. He had nothing to do with us. RICHARD : He seems to have had, to judge by the way you greeted the news. An absurd old man, embittered by a tortured self-importance and nameless pathological disturbances goes crazy. Sad! Of course it's sad. The world is full of sadness, if you like. We're not likely to forget that too long. But we've got to forget it sometime, if we're not intending to join the other sad people in cells or under the ground. ADA : Dear, if you really want to know the reason I was thinking of it at all, it's that - well - why should I have to tell you this? People say that Mr. Hymerson wanted Arvin to "go with me", in hopes of making a match, they say. It may not be true at all. But they say he always has been teasing Arvin about me. RICHARD : Not in my presence. ADA : Not before you, of course, since he knew of your interest...Arvin and I have always been friendly...but we rarely see each other more than two or three times a year. RICHARD : (Astonished) What? How's that? Carson wanted you to marry Arvin? ADA : People say he did. RICHARD : Well, that explains his attitude, partly. He began to lose hope for that scheme, I suppose, and then he thought he'd try to take your father's farm from him. ADA : It seems so. Your coming probably disturbed him. RICHARD : Not so much as it would have done if I had known. ADA : Don't you think Arvin was wise? He did not, after all, press his suit. RICHARD : I don't doubt his sense of the fitness of things. He saw it was a hopeless match, and did not try to do the impossible. (They are silent for a moment) ADA : But tell me, honestly, do you think I can leave here? RICHARD : (Explosively) Yes! (Pause) Ada, it's the very thing you must do, the only thing to be done. You've known too much of thinking first of others, of long tragic thoughts, of unselfishness. ADA : (Does not look convinced) RICHARD : Look here. I see you in exquisite gowns, radiant, differently beautiful, flattered by the lights of famous restaurants, of ballrooms I know. That's where we're going, for a little time. Do I think you can go? I think there's nothing else you can do, in sanity and health. ADA : You make it sound so attractive. RICHARD : And it is. You must see my favourite haunts in the city - meet my friends, who speak with humour, emotion, rising spirits. Ada, you were not meant to wither away here, in this spiritual desert. ADA : (Sobbing) I can't, I can't! Don't you see - what I'm afraid of? The same thing would happen as before - Oh, no - nobody knows what would happen. RICHARD : (Forcibly) They're, they're tough! I guess if all these years they've managed to stand it, they won't come to any harm. You know what I think - that even yet they would discover each other. Unless you are positive that it is the wrong time, I think it would be well to see them, say tonight, and explain the whole matter to them, get it all straightened out reasonably. ADA : (Tentatively) You think it might help them? RICHARD : You think it wouldn't help? Perhaps it would make things worse. But it seems to be practicable. In fact it seems the only thing to do. If one had a Shakespearian imagination now, to devise some 'Measure for Measure' plot, to reconcile them...Alas, such things are too problematical in real life. ADA : (In agony) I can't think of Mother here alone when I'm gone. RICHARD : (Urgently) Listen. You love me...I love you. We've - we must have each other. Isn't that right? ADA : (Seems to assent) RICHARD : And we can't be happy here. You see that. I doubt whether I could ever attempt to go on with my work. And you must, you must get away. ADA : Oh, Richard, I don't know... RICHARD : You don't really believe in happiness, that's it. You don't believe that we could be happy. Do you? ADA : (Puts her arms around his neck and looks at him solemnly) RICHARD : You do believe we'll be happy. ADA : (Softly) Above pity, we're above despair. (They embrace gently) (Lights slowly rise behind them on Mr. Lethen and the white narcissus) LETHEN : (Moves slowly forward as if to speak to Ada and Richard, hesitates, then turns around and surveys the plants. He turns again to look at the embracing couple for a moment, then slowly, deliberately moves towards the plants. He picks one up, holds it aloft to look at, then dashes it to the floor.) RICHARD : What was that? ADA : (Releasing embrace and turning to look) It's Father! He's just...(Moves towards her father) RICHARD : (Restraining her) Wait... LETHEN : (Proceeds to another vase and destroys it) RICHARD & ADA : (Move backwards silently towards CS) LETHEN : (Not content with smashing the vases is stamping on the bulbs) MRS. LETHEN : (Enters right and watches in horror) LETHEN : I did it! I did it! (Turns and sees his wife) I did it purposely! (Folds his arms in defiance) Now what? MRS. LETHEN : (Glares at him, then surveys the damage. Looks at him again) What a - what a fright you gave me! (Pause) Oh, Frank! MR. LETHEN : (Unfolds his arms and moves towards her) (Lights dim on Lethens but remain on Richard and Ada) RICHARD : And now will you believe me? ADA : Foolish boy! When you're right. RICHARD : (Grasping her hand) Am I right to say we can now leave? ADA : (Fervently) Oh, yes! (Hand in hand they dash off, Stage Left, past a smiling Knister who bows to the audience as the Curtain Falls)