Langdon Elwyn Mitchell

“ Cynthia. The flowers that grow on the tree that hangs over the abyss! [Sir Wilfrid promptly confiscates the vase of orange blossoms.] They smell of six o'clock in the evening. When Philip's fallen asleep, and little boys are crying the winners outside, and I'm crying inside, and dying inside and outside and everywhere.
Sir Wilfrid. [Returning to her side.] Sorry to disappoint you. They're artificial. [Cynthia shrugs her shoulders.] That's it! They're emblematic of artificial domesticity! And I'm here to help you balk it. [He sits down and Cynthia half rises and looks toward John and Vida.] ”

“ Cynthia. I don't pretend.
John. [Interrupting her; proud, serious and strong.] How dare you look me in the face with the eyes that I once kissed, and pretend the least regard for me? [Cynthia recoils and looks away. Her own feelings are revealed to her clearly for the first time.] I begin to understand our American women now. Fire-flies—and the fire they gleam with is so cold that a midge couldn't warm his heart at it, let alone a man. You're not of the same race as a man! You married me for nothing, divorced me for nothing, because you are nothing!
Cynthia. [Wounded to the heart.] Jack! ”

“ Sir Wilfrid. Few months of moonshine! Never was a friend to a woman—thank God, in all my life.
Cynthia. Oh—oh, oh!
Sir Wilfrid. Might as well talk about being a friend to a whiskey-and-soda. [Pg 637]
Cynthia. A woman has a soul, Sir Wilfrid.
Sir Wilfrid. Well, good whiskey is spirits—dozens o' souls!
Cynthia. You are so gross!
Sir Wilfrid. [Changing his seat for one at the tea-table.] Gross? Not a bit! Friendship between the sexes is all fudge! I'm no friend to a rose in my garden. ”

“ John. [Still ready to say what is expected.] Cynthia—Vida, no man can sit beside you and look into your eyes without feeling—
Vida. [Speaking the truth as she sees it, seeing that her methods don't succeed.] Oh! That's not love! That's simply—well, my dear Jack, it's beginning at the wrong end. And the truth is you hate Cynthia Karslake with such a whole-hearted hate, that you haven't a moment to think of any other woman. ”

“ The fact is, Judge, the modern American marriage is like a wire fence. The woman's the wire—the posts are the husbands. [He indicates himself, and then Sir Wilfrid and Philip.] One—two—three! And if you cast your eye over the future you can count them, post after post, up hill, down dale, all the way to Dakota!
Philip. All very amusing, sir, but the fact remains—
John. [Going to Philip who at once moves away.] Now, now, Judge, I like you. But you're asleep; you're living in the dark ages. You want to call up Central. "Hello, Central! Give me the present time, 1906, New York!" ”

“ Vida. Chance? You're not serious?
Sir Wilfrid. I am!
Vida. [Striking while the iron is hot.] I'll give you a minute to offer yourself.
Sir Wilfrid. Eh?
Vida. Sixty seconds from now.
Sir Wilfrid. [Uncertain.] There's such a thing as bein' silly.
Vida. [Calm and determined.] Fifty seconds left.
Sir Wilfrid. I take you—count fair. [He hands her his watch and goes to where Cynthia stands.] I say, Mrs. Karslake—
Cynthia. [Overwhelmed with grief and emotion.] They're engaged; they're going to be married to-night, over champagne and lobster at my house! ”

“ Just think of the silly people, dear, that only have this sensation once in a lifetime!
[John follows Vida out the door.
Sir Wilfrid. [To Cynthia.] Good-bye, Mrs. Karslake. And I say, ye know, if you have married that dull old Phillimore fellah, why, when you've divorced him, come over and stay at Traynham! I mean, of course, ye know, bring your new husband. There'll be lots o' horses to show you, and a whole covey of jolly little Cates-Darbys. Mind you come! [With real delicacy of feeling and forgetting his wife.] Never liked a woman as much in my life as I did you! ”

“ Cynthia. [Cheerfully, with dash, putting the table between Vida and herself.] We're delighted to see you, Mrs. Phillimore. I needn't ask you to make yourself at home, but will you have a cup of tea? [Matthew sits near the little table.
Vida. [To Philip.] My dear, she's not in the least what I expected. I heard she was a dove! She's a very dashing kind of a dove! [To Cynthia, who moves to the tea-table.] My dear, I'm paying you compliments. Five lumps and quantities of cream. I find single life very thinning. [To Philip, calm and ready to be agreeable to any man.] And how well you're looking! ”

“ Cynthia. [After a pause.] I suppose you think a woman has no right to divorce a man—and still continue to feel a keen interest in his affairs?
John. Well, I'm not so sure about that, but I don't quite see how—
Cynthia. A woman can be divorced—and still— [John assents; she hides her embarrassment.] Well, my dear Karslake, you've a long life before you, in which to learn how such a state of mind is possible! ”

“ Sir Wilfrid. New York, by Jove! Been to school, too. New York is bounded on the North, South, East and West by the state of Divorce! Come, come, Mrs. Karslake, I like your country. You've no fear and no respect—no cant and lots of can. Here you all are, you see—your former husband, and your new husband's former wife—sounds like Ollendoff! Eh? So there you are, you see! But, jokin' apart—why do you marry him? Oh, well, marry him if you must! You can run around the corner and get a divorce afterwards—
Cynthia. I believe you think they throw one in with an ice-cream soda! ”

“ But, I can't believe that your admiration for Cynthia Karslake is so warm that it led you to pay me this visit a half hour too early in the hope of seeing—
Sir Wilfrid. [Rising; most civil, but speaking his mind like a Briton.] I say, would you mind stopping a moment! [She smiles.] I'm not an American, you know; I was brought up not to interrupt. But you Americans, it's different with you! If somebody didn't interrupt you, you'd go on forever.
Vida. [Passing him to tantalize.] My point is you come to see Cynthia—
Sir Wilfrid. [Believing she means it.] ”

“ Mitchell, as a moralist, conveys to us.
He sacrifices the system of divorce for every trivial flaw of temper which prevails in the society he depicts; but he no doubt realizes that his doctrine as a satirist is hostile to his interest as a dramatist. Restrict the facilities of divorce and you at once restrict the possibilities of matrimonial comedy. Marriage becomes no longer a comic, but a tragic institution. ”

“ Cynthia. [Growing more and more excited and moved as she speaks.] To marry a friend—to marry on prudent, sensible grounds—a man—like Philip? That's what I should have done first, instead of rushing into marriage—because I had a wild, mad, sensitive, sympathetic—passion and pain and fury—of, I don't know what—that almost strangled me with happiness! ”

“ Cynthia. [Not oblivious of him, but in a low voice.] Insufferable! Well, yes. [She sits down. She is too much wounded to make any further appeal.] You're perfectly right. There's no possible harmony between divorced people! I withdraw my hand and all good feeling. No wonder I couldn't stand you. Eh? However, that's pleasantly past! But at least, my dear Karslake, let us have some sort of beauty behaviour! If we cannot be decent, let us endeavour to be graceful. If we can't be moral, at least we can avoid being vulgar.
John. Well—
Cynthia. If there's to be no more marriage in the world—
John. ”

“ Matthew. Ah, my dear, love is not the only thing in the world!
Philip. [Half aside.] I got there too late, she'd hung up.
Cynthia. Who, Philip?
Philip. Eh—a lady—eh—
[Thomas, flurried, comes in with a card on a salver.
Thomas. A card for you, sir. Ahem—ahem—Mrs. Phillimore—that was, sir.
Philip. Eh?
Thomas. She's on the stairs, sir. [He nods backward, only to find Vida at his side. He announces her as being the best way of meeting the difficulty.] Mrs. Vida Phillimore!
Vida comes in slowly, with the air of a spoiled beauty. She stops just inside the door and speaks in a very casual manner. ”

“ Cynthia. [Vida and John ever in mind.] No more heart than a dragon-fly! [The organ begins to play softly.
Sir Wilfrid. That's it, dragon-fly. Cold as stone and never stops buzzing about and showin' off her colours. It's that American dragon-fly girl that I'm afraid of, because, d'ye see, I don't know what an American expects when he marries; yes, but you're not listening!
Cynthia. I am listening. I am!
Sir Wilfrid. [Speaking directly to her.] An Englishman, ye see, when he marries expects three things: love, obedience, and five children. ”

“ John. [Taking a chair by the lounge.] Oh, no!
Vida. [Encouraged, begins to play the game again.] You'll never love again!
John. [Speaking to her from the foot of the sofa.] Try me! Try me! Ah, no, Mrs. Phillimore, I shall laugh, live, love and make money again! And let me tell you one thing—I'm going to rap her one over the knuckles. She had a stick of a Connecticut lawyer, and he—well, to cut a legal story short, since Mrs. Karslake's been in Europe, I have been quietly testing the validity of the decree of divorce. Perhaps you don't understand? ”

“ John and Cynthia Karslake are a couple devoted, not to automobiles, but to horses. Even their common passion for racing cannot keep them together; but their divorce is so "premature," and leaves John so restless and dissatisfied, that he actually neglects the cares of the stable. His favourite mare, Cynthia K, falls ill, and when his trainer brings him the news he receives it with shocking callousness. Then the trainer meets Cynthia and complains to her of her ex-husband's indifference. "Ah, ma'am," he says, "when husband and wife splits, it's the horses that suffers." ”

“ The old-fashioned, high-bred family in "The New York Idea" are solemnly frivolous, and the fast, light-minded, highly intelligent hero and heroine are frivolous in their own delightful way—frivolity, of course, to be used for tragedy or comedy. ”

“ John. My compliments to the bride, Judge.
Philip. [Angry.] And you, too, have the effrontery?
Sir Wilfrid. There you are!
John. [Pretending ease.] Oh, call it friendship—
[Thomas leaves.
Philip. [Puts bouquet on table. Ironically.] I suppose Mrs. Karslake—
John. She wagered me I wouldn't give her away, and of course—
Throughout his stay John hides the emotions he will not show behind a daring irony. ”

“ Vida. [To Cynthia.] Any hour but eleven, dear.
Cynthia. [Perfectly regardless of Vida, and ready to vex John if possible.] Mrs. Phillimore, I shall call on you at eleven—to see Cynthia K. I thank you for the invitation. Good-afternoon.
Vida. [Aside to John, crossing to speak quietly to him.] It's mere bravado; she won't come.
John. You don't know her.
There is a pause and general embarrassment. Sir Wilfrid uses his eye-glass. John angry. Cynthia triumphant. Matthew embarrassed. Vida irritated. Philip puzzled. Everybody is at odds. ”

“ It is probably too true to the details of American life to have much success in England; but the situation at the end of the third act could not fail to bring down the house even here. It would take too long to describe it in detail. Suffice it to say that just at the point where Cynthia Karslake dismisses her second bridegroom, to return to her first, the choir assembled for the marriage ceremony, mistaking a signal, bursts forth with irresistibly ludicrous effect into "The Voice That Breathed O'er Eden." ”

“ You make me feel awfully poetical, you know— [Philip comes toward them, glances nervously at Cynthia and Sir Wilfrid, and walks away again.] What's the matter? But, I say—poetry aside—do you, eh—— [Looking around to place Philip.] Does he—y'know—is he—does he go to the head?
Cynthia. Sir Wilfrid, Mr. Phillimore is my sober second choice.
Sir Wilfrid. Did you ever kiss him? I'll bet he fined you for contempt of court. Look here, Mrs. Karslake, if you're marryin' a man you don't care about—
Cynthia. [Amused and excusing his audacity as a foreigner's eccentricity.] Really! ”

“ Cynthia comes in, absorbed in reading a newspaper. She is a young creature in her twenties, small and high-bred, full of the love of excitement and sport. Her manner is wide-awake and keen, and she is evidently in no fear of the opinion of others. Her dress is exceedingly elegant, but with the elegance of a woman whose chief interests lie in life out of doors. There is nothing hard or masculine in her style, and her expression is youthful and ingenuous.
Sudley. ”

“ Cynthia. [Pouring tea and facing the facts.] I'm not Mr. Karslake's wife!
Sir Wilfrid. Oh!—Eh?—I see—
[He is evidently trying to think this out.
Vida. [Who has been ready for some time to speak to him.] Sir Wilfrid, I'm sure no one has asked you how you like our country?
Sir Wilfrid. [Going to Vida and standing by her at the sofa.] Oh, well, as to climate and horses, I say nothing. But I like your American humour. I'm acquiring it for home purposes.
Vida. [Getting down to love as the basis of conversation.] Aren't you going to acquire an American girl for home purposes? ”

“ John. [Banteringly.] I begin to think she is just the woman—
Cynthia. [Unable to quiet her jealousy.] She is not the woman for you! A man with your bad temper—your airs of authority—your assumption of—of—everything. What you need is a good, old-fashioned, bread-poultice woman!
[Cynthia comes to a full stop and faces him.
John. [Sharply.] Can't say I've had any experience of the good old-fashioned bread-poultice.
Cynthia. I don't care what you say! If you marry Vida Phillimore—you sha'n't do it. ”

“ Matthew. [Approaching Cynthia's chair, happily and pleasantly self-important.] No, really, it was a wonderful sermon, my dear. My text was from Paul—"It is better to marry than to burn." It was a strictly logical sermon. I argued—that, as the grass withereth, and the flower fadeth,—there is nothing final in Nature; not even Death! And, as there is nothing final in Nature, not even Death;—so then if Death is not final—why should marriage be final? [Gently.] And so the necessity of—eh—divorce! You see? It was an exquisite sermon! All New York was there! And all New York went away happy! ”