MERCENARY ONE
Say--I don’t like the _atmosphere_ of this place.
SCORNFUL ONE
We don’t like it as well as we did.
MERCENARY ONE
A business proposition is a business proposition. What a man needs and
can pay for--
SILLY ONE
[_Rising and wringing her hands._] I really must ask you--Love is so
beautiful!
MERCENARY ONE
Well, suppose it is? What’s that got to do with it?
MOTHERLY ONE
You seem hard for one so young.
MERCENARY ONE
I may be hard, but I’m not a nut.
SCORNFUL ONE
Woman’s honor doesn’t play much part in your young life, does it? Or
woman’s self-respect, either.
MERCENARY ONE
[_Rising._] Say, you think you can sit there and insult me? I don’t
know what you are, but I’ll have you know I’m an honest working girl! I
heard they were going to take on another stenographer down here, but I
don’t like the _atmosphere_ of this place.
[_She leaves._
SILLY ONE
[_Settling herself with relief._] It was a misunderstanding. Ah, life
is paved with misunderstanding.
MOTHERLY ONE
It _will_ be said we did this for money.
SCORNFUL ONE
Oh, a great deal will be said. If you care about what’s said you’d
better follow the honest working girl out that door.
MOTHERLY ONE
What’s said makes an awful difference in some people’s lives.
[_Her eyes turn toward the SHIELDED ONE._
SCORNFUL ONE
They don’t know how much difference until they’ve heard it said.
[_She too looks at the SHIELDED ONE._
MOTHERLY ONE
You get made into one thing and then it’s not easy to be another. And
as the honest working girl hinted, some of us aren’t as young as--we’d
like to be.
SCORNFUL ONE
Age shouldn’t discourage one. It’s never too late to mend.
[_The door swings, the women look expectantly around; the unfortunate
young man, whose face has been buried in his hands, looks round in
terror. They wait a moment but no one comes in._
MOTHERLY ONE
If “she” is here, and really minds losing her honor--well, she could
just go home. [_SILLY ONE rises, simpers, sits down again._] We can’t
all lose our honor. It might do the young man more harm than good. It’s
different with you--[_To SCORNFUL ONE_] you had an early start. And
then you’ve got character. You don’t need honor to lean on.
SHIELDED ONE
[_Breaking her silence with simple intensity._] What _is_ woman’s honor?
SCORNFUL ONE
A thing men talk about.
MOTHERLY ONE
A safe corner.
SILLY ONE
A star to guide them!
SHIELDED ONE
[_Very earnestly._] Guide them where?
SCORNFUL ONE
Yes, where? Many a woman who’s guided hasn’t guided anywhere.
SHIELDED ONE
[_Passionately._] Aren’t we something more than things to be noble
about?
SCORNFUL ONE
Of course what we’ve really been is kind. We have not deprived them of
the pleasures of being noble. If we do it now, it will leave them in a
bleak world.
SHIELDED ONE
[_Troubled but determined._] Can’t we put something in its place, so
they won’t be too desolate and yet we won’t be so--
SCORNFUL ONE
Bored.
MOTHERLY ONE
If we could only get them noble about something else. I should really
hate to take it from them entirely. It’s like giving up smoking or
drinking. You have to do it gradually, and there should be something to
put in its place.
SCORNFUL ONE
If we could only think up a new vice for them.
MOTHERLY ONE
They have all those.
SHIELDED ONE
Oh, I hope you women can work out some way to free us from men’s noble
feelings about it! I speak for all the women of my--[_Hesitates_]
under-world, all those others smothered under men’s lofty sentiments
toward them! I wish I could paint for you the horrors of the shielded
life. [_Says “shielded” as if it were “shameful.”_] I know you would
feel something must be done to save us. After all [_Growing a little
wild_] are we not your sisters? Our honor has been saved so many times.
We are tired. And so when I read in the paper this morning that woman’s
honor was being saved _again_--
SCORNFUL ONE
[_Excitedly going to her._] Read in the paper? Then you’re _not_--the
one?
SHIELDED ONE
Not that one, but--
[_Slowly the door opens and a woman comes in--comes with a strange
quiet. She droops, she has a queer passivity--she is unaccountably
forceful. Gives a sense of one who has been cheated and is going to
be cheated no more. She is scarcely aware of the other women. Her
eyes, dead, or rather dogged with life, go to the unfortunate young
man. He has turned to look at her; he is not able to look away._
SCORNFUL ONE
[_Nervously._] Are you a stenographer?
CHEATED ONE
[_Not interested in this._] No.
[_In her dogged way she advances upon the PRISONER. He is afraid. She
sits down close to him, as if to cut off escape._
MOTHERLY ONE
[_Low._] I wonder if _she_ is here.
SCORNFUL ONE
I wonder.
SHIELDED ONE
[_With an effort bringing herself and the others back to her._] But
don’t turn against me because I’m not this particular woman. What a
_detail_ that is. I am--those victims of men’s dreadful--[_Turns away
her face_] _need_ for nobility. I’d rather die than go back to it! Help
me to lead another life!
SCORNFUL ONE
[_Fervently._] We must lift her up.
MOTHERLY ONE
We will find a place for her in the great good world outside the
shielded life.
SHIELDED ONE
Then you others go, and I will stay.
[_MOTHERLY ONE and SCORNFUL ONE rise and move to the door._
SILLY ONE
I will give my life for yours, my sister!
SCORNFUL ONE
No you won’t. I’ll have nothing to do with saving you. You deserve
nothing better than woman’s honor. Come with us.
[_But at the door these three stand looking back at the CHEATED ONE._
SCORNFUL ONE
[_Moving down to her._] Aren’t you coming with us?
CHEATED ONE
[_Without raising her eyes._] No.
SCORNFUL ONE
Why not?
CHEATED ONE
I shall stay.
MOTHERLY ONE
Perhaps _she_ is here. And if “she” _is_ here--then we have not the
right to leave her.
[_Indicating the SHIELDED ONE._
SCORNFUL ONE
[_To CHEATED ONE._] Tell us: are you the woman Gordon Wallace was with
on the night of October 25?
CHEATED ONE
Yes.
MOTHERLY ONE
Of course we’ve all said that.
SCORNFUL ONE
But she says it in a different way.
MOTHERLY ONE
[_To SHIELDED ONE._] I am afraid that you will have to leave with us.
It seems she has the right.
[_These four move to the door._
SHIELDED ONE
[_Thinking of it just in time._] But do you think she has the right
just because she is the one?
[_To consider this, they go back and sit down._
SILLY ONE
Leave me!
SCORNFUL ONE
[_Wickedly inspired._] Suppose we do! You know, I _like_ the idea.
Why--the more I think about it--the better I like it. [_To the other
women._] Yes, come! [_To the young man._] This is the lady you were
going to die for!
SHIELDED ONE
[_Distressed._] But, no! What can it do for her? And how, through her,
can we reach my poor sisters smothered under woman’s honor? I insist
upon it! I am the one!
CHEATED ONE
[_Suddenly turning upon her._] You are not the one!
MOTHERLY ONE
Now I think, to avoid feeling between you two, I had better stay. I’m
a nurse, and a mother, and I keep coming back to the idea these things
are needed.
SCORNFUL ONE
No, you have too many other things to do. I am the one to remain. I
am--peculiarly fitted for it.
SHIELDED ONE
You are not fitted for it at all. There is no one less fitted for it
than you.
SCORNFUL ONE
How do you make that out?
SHIELDED ONE
You don’t need it. Woman’s honor never hurt you.
SCORNFUL ONE
[_Reluctantly accepting this. To PRISONER._] Are you acquainted with
this woman?
[_Indicates CHEATED ONE._
PRISONER
No.
SCORNFUL ONE
Then why are you so afraid of her?
PRISONER
I’m not--
[_But he is forced to meet the smoldering eye of the CHEATED ONE; he
cannot look away._
SHIELDED ONE
[_Almost in tears._] But you were going to help me lead a better life.
And now you stand here quibbling over a petty question of fact, when
the whole great question of escape from woman’s honor is at stake! Oh,
is it true that women will not help one another? That they are hard and
self-seeking?
[_She breaks down; MOTHERLY ONE goes to comfort her._
SILLY ONE
My heart is full--
SCORNFUL ONE
Your heart is full of a simpering parrot!
[_The LAWYER returns._
LAWYER
Ladies--ladies--quarreling? I’m sorry to find you in this mood. I
had hoped while you were here together you might--arrive at some
understanding.
SCORNFUL ONE
[_To SILLY ONE._] I wish you’d go home. We might arrive at something if
we didn’t have you on our backs.
LAWYER
Now why must women always dislike each other?
MOTHERLY ONE
[_In her motherly way._] If I were you I’d try not to talk much.
LAWYER
Why not?
SCORNFUL ONE
She has a kind heart. Now I--I’d let you talk.
LAWYER
Sometimes it seems quite as well not to try to follow women.
SCORNFUL ONE
Sometimes even better.
LAWYER
Well now, Ladies, let us drop personal dissentions for the moment. This
unfortunate young man, Mr. Wallace, is much moved by your generosity.
He had made up his mind to die for woman’s honor. Now it seems he
is not to do so--a change of plan to which he has not yet adjusted
himself. His perturbation makes him unequal to selecting the lady who
was with him on the night of October 25. [_Door swings, PRISONER looks
around nervously._] So--I would like to get your feeling. Since it
seems unnecessary for all of you to have been with the young man on the
night of October 25--
[_Again door swings._
PRISONER
[_In a rasped voice._] Could that door be closed? It makes me--nervous.
[_MOTHERLY WOMAN closes the door._
LAWYER
Now, doubtless you will agree with me that we should always eliminate
waste. If a woman’s honor is to be sacrificed, may I without indelicacy
inquire who would sacrifice least?
SHIELDED ONE
[_Firmly._] I would.
LAWYER
[_Weakly._] _You_ would?
CHEATED ONE
[_In a voice dull as destiny._] The rest of you can talk as long as you
like. _I_ shall stay.
[_She rises and takes firm hold of the unfortunate young man’s chair._
LAWYER
Well, there seems something final about that.
MOTHERLY ONE
Tell us, are you the one?
CHEATED ONE
I am the one to stay.
SCORNFUL ONE
Now, don’t cheat. Tell us, are you--
CHEATED ONE
[_Passion flaming through sullenness._] Cheat? Cheat? You say to me,
don’t cheat? I don’t cheat. I’ve been cheated. Cheated out of my chance
to have a man I wanted by a man who would have what he wanted. Then he
saved my woman’s honor. Married me and cheated me out of my life. I’m
just something to be cheated. That’s the way I think of myself. Until
this morning. Until I read about Gordon Wallace. Then I saw a way to
get away from myself. It’s the first thing I ever wanted to do that
I’ve done. You’ll not cheat me out of this. Don’t you try!
SHIELDED ONE
But she is thinking of it in just a personal way.
CHEATED ONE
That’s why I stay.
SHIELDED ONE
But think of my poor sisters! All those unfortunate women--
CHEATED ONE
The only unfortunate woman I’ll think about is myself.
SHIELDED ONE
[_Wildly._] You hear her? The only unfortunate woman she’ll think
about--
MOTHERLY ONE
[_Approaching CHEATED ONE._] Now we really must ask you--
SILLY ONE
Love is so beautiful!
SCORNFUL ONE
You can’t cheat just because you’ve been cheated.
CHEATED ONE
[_Inflamed--incoherent._] You say cheat to me again? You say _cheat_
to--
LAWYER
[_Stepping in to pacify._] Ladies--ladies. Surely there must be a way
out of the difficulty. Perhaps we can work out some way to--
SCORNFUL ONE
To save _both_ of them through Gordon Wallace!
[_All women except CHEATED ONE draw together excitedly. The PRISONER,
who has rapidly been approaching the breaking point makes a move
as if he must try to escape. The CHEATED ONE is watching the other
women._
SCORNFUL ONE
Here! Yes! On the night of October 25--
[_Their heads together in low-voiced conference with LAWYER. Suddenly
the PRISONER slips around the CHEATED ONE--trying now not to be
cheated of what is being said--and makes for the door. It opens
in his face, and the doorway is blocked by a large and determined
woman. PRISONER staggers back to LAWYER’S arms._
PRISONER
Oh, _hell_. _I’ll plead guilty._
(CURTAIN)
* * * * *
BERNICE
A PLAY IN THREE ACTS
* * * * *
First Performed by the Provincetown Players, New York, March 21, 1919.
ORIGINAL CAST
MR. ALLEN, _Bernice’s Father_ O. K. LIVERIGHT
ABBIE SUSAN GLASPELL
CRAIG NORRIS, _Bernice’s Husband_ JAMES K. LIGHT
LAURA (MRS. KIRBY), _Craig’s Sister_ BLANCHE HAYS
MARGARET PIERCE, _Bernice’s Friend_ IDA RAUH
BERNICE
ACT ONE
SCENE: _The living-room of Bernice’s house in the country. You feel
yourself in the house of a woman you would like to know, a woman of
sure and beautiful instincts, who lives simply. At the spectator’s
right, stairs go up from the living room; back of this--right, rear,
a door; to the front of the stairs is a narrowed passage as of a hall
leading to the kitchen. On the other side of the room, is a tea-table
before the fireplace, and before it is a low rounded chair, as if
awaiting the one who will come to serve tea. Toward the rear of this
left wall is a door. This door is closed. From the back of the room
French windows lead directly out of doors. On each side of this door
is a window thus opening almost the entire wall to the October woods.
There are comfortable seats under the windows, books about. It is late
afternoon and the sun glows through the flaming leaves. As the curtain
is drawn the FATHER is seen sitting at a long table at the side of the
stairway, playing solitaire. At the back of the cards, open books are
propped against the wall, and papers on which he has been writing.
ABBIE, a middle-aged servant, is attending to the open fire._
FATHER
[_Holding up a card he is about to place._] Ten minutes since the train
whistled. They’ll be here in five minutes now.
ABBIE
Yes, sir.
FATHER
It will be hard for Craig to come in this house, Abbie.
ABBIE
Oh, yes.
FATHER
Bernice made this house. [_Looking around._] Everything is Bernice.
[_A pause._] Change something, Abbie! [_With growing excitement._] Put
something in a different place. [_He takes a pillow from the seat under
the window, holds it irresolutely a moment, puts it on the floor at the
side of the fireplace. On the other side he moves a high vase from the
window. Then helplessly._] Well, I don’t know. You can’t get Bernice
out of this room. The tea-table! Come, Abbie, quick! We will take this
_out_ of the room. [_Together, ABBIE reluctant, they move it to the
passage-way leading out from the living-room. The FATHER comes back and
sees the chair, now without its table. He goes as if to move it, but
cannot do this; looks old and broken as he faces the closed door._]
I wish they’d left Bernice upstairs, Abbie, in her own room. Now
_there_--so near the living-room--right off the living-room. [_Hastily
goes back to his cards, but in an instant he brushes them together and
pulls the open book toward him, and papers; but he only rests his hand
on the book._] There’ll be only Craig and his sister on this train,
Abbie.
ABBIE
That’s all I know of.
FATHER
But Margaret Pierce will be here soon. As soon as she can get here,
Margaret will come. Within an hour, probably.
ABBIE
[_Apprehensive._] You think so, sir?
FATHER
I think so. That train from the West got to the Junction at three. I
have a feeling Margaret won’t wait for the five o’clock train to get
here. She’ll get a car. [_ABBIE goes to the door and looks out._] It
would save a little time, and--she doesn’t know that Bernice--Yes,
Margaret will get here the quickest way. She always came to Bernice
when Bernice needed her.
ABBIE
She doesn’t need anyone now.
FATHER
No. But yes--in a way, she does. She needs some one to be here to do
what she can’t go on doing. Margaret will see that--when she knows.
Margaret sees everything.
ABBIE
[_Frightened now._] You think so, sir?
FATHER
Oh, yes, she does. Bernice knew that. “Margaret sees things,” I’ve
heard Bernice say. [_ABBIE turns from him._] Now Mrs. Kirby, Craig’s
sister Laura, she’s a sensible woman, she’ll be a help to you, Abbie,
in--arranging things. But see things? No. How different people are.
They’re all different, Abbie. I don’t think Bernice cared much for
Laura--though she didn’t mind her. She’d just laugh about Laura--about
her being so sure of everything. It was nice, Abbie, the way Bernice
would just laugh about things. She had no malice.
ABBIE
[_Strangely intense._] No. She didn’t have, did she?
FATHER
Oh, no, Abbie. Malice wasn’t in her. It was just that a good many
things--well, the things that are important to most people weren’t so
important to Bernice. It was another set of things were important.
People called her detached. But--I don’t know. Maybe _they’re_
detached, Abbie. Maybe it’s Laura Kirby, the sensible woman, who’s
detached,--Bernice would have laughed at that--the practical person
who’s detached, and Bernice.... You know what I mean, Abbie?
ABBIE
I think I do--knowing her.
FATHER
To you--did she seem detached?
ABBIE
[_Tenderly thinking it out._] She was loving, and thoughtful, and gay.
But always a little of what she is now--[_Faces the closed door_] off
by herself. [_With that intensity the present moment does not account
for._] You can’t expect to understand a person who is “off by herself.”
Now can you?
FATHER
I understood Bernice. Except, there were things--outside what I
understood.
ABBIE
[_Eagerly._] That’s it. And we should take what _we_ had, shouldn’t we,
and not try to reach into--to where we didn’t go.
FATHER
I suppose that’s true, Abbie. [_Buries his face._] I wish my little
girl hadn’t died. What am I going to do, Abbie? How can I stay here?
And how can I go away? We should die in our proper order; I should
have gone before my daughter. Anything else makes confusion. There’s
not going to be anybody to laugh at me now, Abbie. I’ll miss the way
Bernice laughed at me, a laugh that took me in and--yes, took me in.
She laughed at my spending the whole time of the war studying Sanscrit.
Well, why shouldn’t I? What can the old do about war? I had my vision
of life. If that had been followed there’d have been no war. But in
a world that won’t have visions--why not study Sanscrit while such a
world is being made over--into another such world. [_Listening._] You
hear some one, Abbie?
ABBIE
[_After listening._] It didn’t turn in.
FATHER
And you, Abbie. [_With wonder._] Why you were with us when Bernice was
born.
ABBIE
Yes, I was--in the room the night she was born. The night she died I
thought of the night she was born.
FATHER
That was--how long ago, Abbie?
ABBIE
Thirty-five years ago.
FATHER
Was Bernice thirty-five years old? She _was_, Abbie--my little girl?
Well, life moves by--and we hardly know it’s moving. Why, Abbie, your
whole life has been lived around Bernice. [_ABBIE nods._] It will be
now as if things had--fallen apart. And it was the main thing in your
life--doing things for her.
ABBIE
[_With excitement._] Yes, it was the _main_ thing in my life--doing
what she wanted. I couldn’t do anything else now, could I?
FATHER
[_A little surprised at her agitation, but not thinking about it._]
Why, no. Now some one is coming, Abbie. You hear them coming?
ABBIE
I think so. [_She goes to the door._] Yes.
[_ABBIE opens the door and LAURA and CRAIG come in. CRAIG holds back
as if to enter this house is something he can scarcely make himself
do; he does not look around the room._
LAURA
[_To the FATHER, taking his hand._] This is so hard for you, Mr. Allen.
I cannot tell you--[_Turning to ABBIE_] Abbie.
FATHER
[_Going to CRAIG, who is still at the door._] Well, Craig. [_The FATHER
holds out his hand, CRAIG takes it._] Well, I don’t know what we’re
going to do without her.
LAURA
[_Coming to the rescue with the practical._] And where are you going to
put us, Abbie?
ABBIE
I have the rooms ready upstairs.
CRAIG
[_As if he cannot do this._] Upstairs?
ABBIE
[_In a low voice._] She is down here, sir.
[_She indicates the closed door. Then takes LAURA’S bag and they
start upstairs. CRAIG does not move._
LAURA
[_On the stairway._] Aren’t you coming up, Craig, to get clean and rest
a little?
CRAIG
In a minute or two. [_He sits down--on the edge of a chair near the
door. The FATHER and husband sit there silent._] Bernice--hadn’t been
sick long, had she?
FATHER
No, it was very sudden. You know she had had trouble occasionally
in the past year; Dr. Willis had said she might have to go to the
hospital. At first this seemed like that--so Abbie and I weren’t really
alarmed. Of course we sent for Willis, but he was in Boston. Young
Stuart had the grip. So there was no doctor here--till afterwards.
CRAIG
And--how long was Bernice sick?
[_He speaks with difficulty._
FATHER
She spoke of feeling badly on Tuesday. She was lying down most of that
day. Wednesday--she didn’t get up at all Wednesday. And she died late
Wednesday night. [_Emotion breaking through._] Abbie and I were here
all alone!
CRAIG
Did she say--Did she leave--Well, we can talk of that later.
FATHER
[_Changing to something not so hard to speak of._] You landed last week?
CRAIG
Yes, I was held in New York by things to do. [_A glance at the
FATHER._] Of course, if I had had any idea--
FATHER
Of course.
CRAIG
But Bernice wrote me she was fine.
FATHER
She seemed so. She was well and--seemed very happy here this fall. You
know how she loves to tramp the woods in the fall. She was counting on
your coming home. She had done over your room upstairs. And hers too.
They both look so nice and fresh. And she was just starting to do some
things to Margaret’s room. Margaret was coming next month for a rest.
She’s been working very hard.
CRAIG
Are you expecting Margaret now?
FATHER
Yes. Wednesday evening Bernice seemed to want Margaret to come. She
thought maybe Margaret could get away now, and that it would do her
good too. She had been worrying about her--thinking she was working
too hard. Margaret’s been in Chicago, you know, working on some labor
things--I never know just what it is she is doing. Bernice seemed to
want to see her. I wonder if Bernice herself felt it was more than we
knew. Anyway, she wanted us to send for Margaret.
CRAIG
But you didn’t send for me until--until it was over.
FATHER
No. You see we didn’t know--Abbie and I didn’t have any idea--I spoke
of sending for you when we sent the telegram for Margaret, but Bernice
said you’d be here soon anyway, and she didn’t want to hurry you away
from New York. [_As if not understanding it himself, and trying to find
an explanation._] I suppose you were doing something that she knew
about, and didn’t want to interrupt.
[_CRAIG half looks at him._
CRAIG
And Margaret answered that she was coming?
FATHER
Yes, we heard from her Thursday morning that she had started. She could
get here today. We didn’t know where to reach her telling her it was
too late now for--for the visit with Bernice. [_Breaking._] I just
can’t believe it! Think of what you and I are talking about! Bernice,
_out_ of life. She was so--_of_ it. Didn’t you feel that, Craig--about
Bernice?
CRAIG
Yes. She seemed so--secured. It never seemed anything could--destroy
Bernice.
FATHER
When I think she won’t come down those stairs again!
CRAIG
I can’t--think of things that way now.
FATHER
No. No, of course not. [_He does not know what to say, so gathers
together his cards, then books._] I’ll just--I was just going in my
room. [_Pause._] I’ve been getting on fine with my Sanscrit, Craig.
CRAIG
That’s good.
FATHER
And now the war is over, and some of the people who fussed around about
it influenced it as little as I, and I--have my Sanscrit. You know,
Bernice used to laugh at me, Craig. She--the way she used to laugh at
us--lovingly. Seems to me I’ll miss that most of all.
[_He goes into his room--through the door to the rear of the
stairway._
[_Alone in the room, CRAIG tries to look around. He cannot. He has
taken a step toward the closed door when he hears ABBIE’S step on
the stairs._
CRAIG
[_Impetuously going to her, his hands out._] Abbie, _you_ were good to
her. [_Takes her hands, holds them tight. Then changing._] Why didn’t
you telegraph me when she was taken sick? [_Violently._] Do you think
there was anything in New York I wouldn’t have left? Bernice _knew_
that if she needed me--She never seemed to need me. I never felt
she--couldn’t get along without me. [_Taking a few stumbling steps
toward the room where Bernice is._] Oh, I _wish_ I could have a talk
with her.
ABBIE
Mr. Norris! [_Her tone halts him._] There’s something I must tell you.
CRAIG
A--message she left?
ABBIE
Message? No. Yes--perhaps. Before you go in there I must tell you--