Rudolf Besier

“ Lady Patricia.
It becomes more and more difficult to play my part, and return Michael’s love, which seems to grow stronger and deeper day by day. His eyes follow my every movement, his mind anticipates my every wish, he surrounds me with an atmosphere of passionate worship. Few women have ever received such love. It is the love that poets dream of—the love that must follow those marriages that are made in heaven. ”

“ O’Farrel.
My son! You know as well as I do that the foolish boy has been bewitched by that unprincipled woman.
Dean.
Come, come, Eileen. In common fairness we should apportion the blame equally—though, indeed, my experience has generally led me to the conclusion that the man is more to blame in these cases than the woman.
Mrs. O’Farrel.
Your experience! Quite so!... I shall give Patricia my plain, unvarnished opinion of herself and forbid her my house. You will tell Michael that he’s a scoundrel and a libertine. ”

“ But do you? Oh, do you? Can any one so sane and practical understand this living paradox? Can prose ever understand poetry? I am the refined essence of spirit and sense. I am a thing of fire and dew. I have in me the making of a great saint and a great courtesan....
Dean.
(Hurriedly.) Yes, yes; we quite understand....
Mrs. O’Farrel.
Go ahead, Patricia.
Lady Patricia.
If you really understand, my task will be so much the easier! For understanding is the beginning of sympathy. And sympathy ends in forgiveness.... Dean, Aunt Eileen—will you be patient and listen to me for a moment?
Dean. ”

“ Michael.
Hush, Clare, hush!... Patricia’s is a pure and delicate soul. It is I who am unworthy, since I cannot return her wonderful love.... Little girl, do you understand that this love of yours may bring much suffering into your life? I can never, by word or deed, change my attitude [84] towards Patricia—never! She must never know that I do not love her.... And what of us? Our love must stand alone in the world. ”

“ Lady Patricia.
I think and I think and I think, but I can see no solution to the mystery. Surely love is the best gift of God, and that such love as Michael’s—so noble, so pure, so unselfish—should be utterly wasted, is inconceivable. It must be that I am unworthy. ”

“ Michael.
Since I have spoken so much and done you wrong and Patricia wrong, I must tell you all and throw myself on your mercy.... When I married Patricia I sincerely believed I loved her. She seemed to me a kindred spirit—with her sensitive, beautiful nature. I found out too late that love depends as often on mutual difference as mutual sympathy. My love for her never went deeper than the intellect. Oh, the tragedy of it! She is such a fair, white soul, and so worthy of my whole love!...
Clare.
If you don’t love her, why do you pretend to? ”

“ And I knew that it would kill him should he learn the truth. But if the part I played was difficult before you came, after you came, and I knew what love was, it was almost beyond my power. And yet I drew strength somehow, not only to resist temptation and keep our love pure, but never by word, deed, or expression to let Michael suspect [31] for one moment that his devotion was not returned. Yes! I think a woman who has done all this cannot be altogether unworthy.
Bill.
You’re—you’re a saint—you’re an angel!
Lady Patricia. ”

“ Lady Patricia.
Ah, Bill!...
(She invites his caress with a beautiful movement. Kneeling beside her, he gathers her in his arms and kisses her. At that moment Baldwin enters, carrying a saw and a pair of shears. They are blissfully unconscious of his presence. He glances at them with complete indifference, then comes down looking carefully at the sky [33] on the right, his head dodging from side to side as though he were spying for something among the branches.) ”

“ Our bond is purely of the spirit.
Bill.
Eh?
Clare.
(Unconsciously imitating Michael’s manner.) He is a noble and high-souled gentleman. His life is one long self-sacrifice for the woman whom he married. She loves him, and for her sake he [124] fought against his love for me. But that love mastered him: he confessed it. I told him it was returned, though I know now it was the pity and friendship I felt for him which I mistook for love. We promised to be true to each other. I cannot—I dare not break my promise. My love is all he has to make life bearable.... ”

“ Michael.
(Roused.) Avoid me! Clare!
Lady Patricia.
Do you call her by her Christian name?
Michael.
Only in moments of excitement. Avoid me! Impossible!
Lady Patricia.
No, dear, not impossible. And when a girl pointedly avoids a man, it too often means—pursue me.
Michael.
(Distinctly relieved.) Ah!... Ah! yes. But I think you must be mistaken.
Lady Patricia.
Indeed, I hope so. But you must be careful. You are so attractive, Michael. ”

“ Dean.
Don’t you think we can leave that to—er—the imagination?
Mrs. O’Farrel.
Oh ... by all means! Then what do you mean by “rushing together”?
Lady Patricia.
I use the expression metaphorically ... spiritually. (With sudden drama.) Dean—Aunt Eileen—I swear to you by all that is beautiful and sacred that our love has been pure. You believe me? Ah, say you believe me!
Dean.
Why, of course we do!
Mrs. O’Farrel.
If you swore to the contrary, I should call you a liar! You’ve neither the strength nor the courage to do more than play with sin. ”

“ It never dawned on me that the fellow was such a scoundrel. And a precious hypocrite, too, by Jove! Playing up so as to make that poor, trusting woman believe him madly in love with her....
Clare.
That poor, trusting woman? Are you, by any chance, speaking of Patricia?
Bill.
Of course I am. Hanging about her neck while all the time he’s making love to an innocent girl! It’s perfectly disgusting!
Clare.
And what has your noble, high-souled Patricia been doing, I should like to know? Shamming infatuation for poor Michael to hide her shameful flirtation with a callow boy. ”

“ Dean.
Oh, delighted! Delighted!
(Michael goes out. Mrs. O’Farrel looks with amusement at the Dean, who stands with the twig in his hand glancing quizzically at her and longingly at Lady Patricia.)
Mrs. O’Farrel.
When duty and pleasure are combined, there’s no reason to hesitate. I saw a fly settle on Patricia’s chin.
Dean.
Happy fly!
(He tiptoes up to Patricia and starts fanning her and daintily examining her through his eyeglass. Mrs. O’Farrel puts up her lorgnette and regards them with vast amusement. Suddenly a rotten branch falls from above on to the platform.) ”

“ O’Farrel.
What on earth does the woman mean by scrawling “Sunrise” on the top of the page?
Dean.
Presumably that was when she wrote the letter.
Mrs. O’Farrel.
Oh, I see! She wants you to believe she paced her room in wakeful agony all night. (Reads.) “Sunrise. I have need of confession. I will call at the Deanery before morning service—Patricia Cosway.” Confession! Evidently she means to enjoy herself!... (Opens the other note and reads.) “Dear Dean,—I am calling on you before morning service to-day. I trust, in spite of all that has happened, you will not refuse to receive me—Michael Cosway.” ”

“ Bill.
How are you, mother? How-de-do, Mr. Dean? How-de-do, Miss Lesley? How’s yourself, Michael?
Lady Patricia.
And have you no greeting for poor me, Cousin Bill?
Bill.
Oh, I say, I’m awfully sorry! How-de-do, Cousin Patricia?
Mrs. O’Farrel.
But what on earth were you doing up the tree?
Bill.
Birds’-nesting.
[58]
Mrs. O’Farrel, Michael, Dean.
Birds’-nesting?
Clare.
(Gravely.) And you took a saucer up with you to put the eggs in?
Bill.
Oh, did I?
Clare.
Of course. It’s the usual thing to do when you go birds’-nesting. Didn’t you always take a saucer with you as a boy, Mr. Cosway?
Michael. ”

“ Dean.
And now?
Mrs. O’Farrel.
Presumably he’s gone in search of this maligned young woman. My blessings attend on him!... Well, Dean, I’m a brilliant and original tactician, what?
Dean.
Brilliant, certainly—original, no!
Mrs. O’Farrel.
No?
Dean.
Not ten minutes ago I adopted precisely the same tactics with Clare and achieved precisely the same result. She’s searching for your worthless son at present.
Mrs. O’Farrel.
Upon my word, I should never have credited you with so much sense!
Dean.
My dear Eileen, I put down the tragedy of so many women’s lives——
(Enter John.) ”

“ Thy touch upon the palm——
(Ellis, the footman, enters carrying a tray with a cup and saucer, and some sliced lemon. Lady Patricia raises her hand to command silence. He stands rigid. She continues with scarcely a break:)
The widest land
Doom takes to part us, leaves thy hand in mine,
With pulses that beat double. What I do
And what I dream include thee as the wine
Must taste of its own grape. And when I sue
God for myself, He hears that name of thine,
And sees within my eyes the tears of two....
(A pause; she repeats in a deep voice)
And sees within my eyes the tears of two ... ”

“ Bill.
By Jove! Fancy thinking of that!
Lady Patricia.
To sin beautifully is the less a sin. Don’t forget, dear, that, however innocent, our love is wrong. We should never neglect an opportunity of ennobling it with little touches of beauty, should we?
[24]
Bill.
Rather not!... So Michael’s away?
Lady Patricia.
Only this afternoon. He has gone to a garden party at the Fitzgeralds’. Your mother’s there as well. Everybody’s there. But I wanted to see you for a little while before any one else, so I sent you that wire and pretended a headache. A petty deceit that avenged itself! ”

“ I could not love thee, dear, so much,
Loved I not honour more. Lady Patricia.
Loved I not honour more.... Love—duty—honour—— (She sighs deeply.) Come, dear....
(They go out on the left. A pause. The Dean comes out of the summer-house. He barely conceals his triumph under a mask of outraged propriety. Mrs. O’Farrel follows him.) ”

“ O’Farrel.
Hand her over to Baldwin.
Lady Patricia.
Baldwin?
Dean.
Eileen! I beg of you!
Lady Patricia.
On the surface my marriage has been perfect. Michael is the husband of old romance, steel-true, chivalrous, and devoted—oh! as no man was ever devoted to a woman before! (Mrs. O’Farrel and the Dean exchange significant glances.) But he just lacked what the depths of my complex nature cried out for—passion, simplicity, primeval energy. These he hadn’t in him to give, and I [188] wanted them, not knowing at first what I wanted.... But when Bill came into my life—I knew—I knew ... ”

“ O’Farrel.
What’s the matter with you both?
Bill and Clare.
The matter?...
Mrs. O’Farrel.
Have you been quarrelling?
Bill and Clare.
Quarrelling?...
Mrs. O’Farrel.
You’re as sulky as two bears.
Bill and Clare.
I?
[133]
Mrs. O’Farrel.
As two bears. Aren’t they, Dean?
Dean.
Sulky? No, no; surely not sulky! Chastened! Thoughtful! A little overcome, perhaps, by the beauty of the night—as all sensitive young souls should be.
Mrs. O’Farrel.
H’m!... Sensitive young souls!...
(Lady Patricia, followed by Michael, enters on the left.)
Lady Patricia.
All of you? But how charming! How delightful! ”

“ Mrs. O’Farrel.
On the contrary, I think it’s most delightful! One can hear every note so perfectly at this elevation.
Dean.
Is it generous of you—is it generous of you, Eileen, to flaunt your terrible triumph like this? I am heart-broken! I am distracted! What on earth am I to do?
[146]
Mrs. O’Farrel.
(Pouring him out a whisky-and-soda.) Drink this!
Dean.
(Pettishly.) I don’t care for whisky.
Mrs. O’Farrel.
Oh, you needn’t make such a fuss! It’s perfectly obvious from what we saw just now that no real harm has been done. The way she kissed Michael——
(She bursts out laughing.) ”

“ O’Farrel.
Now then, Dean, pray don’t lose your temper. It’s neither wise nor becoming, and at our age very bad for the heart. Listen to me quietly for a moment. I refused for a long time to believe any ill of this—er—friendship. I knew Michael to be infatuated with his wife, and Clare to be a healthy-minded girl. But last week Emily Fitzgerald told me she had seen Michael walking in the Stanton Woods with his arm around Clare’s shoulder. She added that the affair was becoming quite notorious in the neighbourhood.... You must act, and act at once. ”

“ Poor Michael’s spiritual nature, his dreams, his subtlety, his devotion, never touched me deeper than the intellect. I mistook sympathy for love—I seemed to have found a [27] kindred spirit—I married him. Yes! we are all born to suffer and endure.... Which reminds me, my poor dear boy, you must be dying for tea. (Pouring out the tea.) I hope you had some lunch?
Bill.
Rather! I had a luncheon-basket in the train, and put away the best part of a chicken, among other things.
Lady Patricia.
How young and hungry you are!
(Hands him a cup of tea with a lemon slice in the saucer.)
Bill. ”

“ But O, Patricia, you know that to love and not [203] to love isn’t in our control. And if I never loved you with all the passion I pretended ... I’m really deeply attached to you. It was for your sake I pretended. I felt it might kill you should you ever dream that your wonderful love was not returned in full ... that I loved ... elsewhere.
Lady Patricia.
(In a cold, level voice.) What are you talking about?
Michael.
(Floored.) Eh ...?
Lady Patricia.
You appear to be under the impression that the Dean and Aunt Eileen have told me something unpleasant about you.
Michael. ”

“ I should first of all put a stop to her galavantin’ about every other day with Michael.
Dean.
Really, my dear Eileen, I think the friendship between Michael Cosway and Clare is wholly charming and can only do the child good. Surely you don’t [54] ——
Mrs. O’Farrel.
No, of course I don’t! Michael’s far too infatuated with your sleeping beauty there. Still, I’d put a stop to it. And then I should marry your daughter to Bill with indecent haste.
Dean.
Eh, what? Your son? Dear me!
Mrs. O’Farrel.
Why shouldn’t they marry? They are obviously kindred spirits. ”

“ Dean.
Just now you believed your son had been impertinently taking Clare to task for her charming friendship with Michael Cosway. I am convinced you were mistaken. It was Clare who had been warning your son that his indiscretions were becoming the talk of the place.
Mrs. O’Farrel.
Bill entangled with Patricia! And Clare—Clare preaching propriety! It’s too laughable! A boy’s innocent homage for a woman at least ten years his senior! You’re a very foolish old man. ”