[_Touching his jacket with her fingers._] And this, too. Your nice
velvet coat.
ROBERT.
Also. I will keep no secrets from you.
BERTHA.
You remind me of someone in a picture. I like you in it... But you are
not angry, are you?
ROBERT.
[_Darkly._] Yes. That was my mistake. To ask you to come here. I felt
it when I looked at you from the garden and saw you—you,
Bertha—standing here. [_Hopelessly._] But what else could I have done?
BERTHA.
[_Quietly._] You mean because others have been here?
ROBERT.
Yes.
[_He walks away from her a few paces. A gust of wind makes the lamp on
the table flicker. He lowers the wick slightly._]
BERTHA.
[_Following him with her eyes._] But I knew that before I came. I am
not angry with you for it.
ROBERT.
[_Shrugs his shoulders._] Why should you be angry with me after all?
You are not even angry with him—for the same thing—or worse.
BERTHA.
Did he tell you that about himself?
ROBERT.
Yes. He told me. We all confess to one another here. Turn about.
BERTHA.
I try to forget it.
ROBERT.
It does not trouble you?
BERTHA.
Not now. Only I dislike to think of it.
ROBERT.
It is merely something brutal, you think? Of little importance?
BERTHA.
It does not trouble me—now.
ROBERT.
[_Looking at her over his shoulder._] But there is something that would
trouble you very much and that you would not try to forget?
BERTHA.
What?
ROBERT.
[_Turning towards her._] If it were not only something brutal with this
person or that—for a few moments. If it were something fine and
spiritual—with one person only—with one woman. [_Smiles._] And perhaps
brutal too. It usually comes to that sooner or later. Would you try to
forget and forgive that?
BERTHA.
[_Toying with her wristlet._] In whom?
ROBERT.
In anyone. In me.
BERTHA.
[_Calmly._] You mean in Dick.
ROBERT.
I said in myself. But would you?
BERTHA.
You think I would revenge myself? Is Dick not to be free too?
ROBERT.
[_Points at her._] That is not from your heart, Bertha.
BERTHA.
[_Proudly._] Yes, it is; let him be free too. He leaves me free also.
ROBERT.
[_Insistently._] And you know why? And understand? And you like it? And
you want to be? And it makes you happy? And has made you happy? Always?
This gift of freedom which he gave you—nine years ago?
BERTHA.
[_Gazing at him with wide open eyes._] But why do you ask me such a lot
of questions, Robert?
ROBERT.
[_Stretches out both hands to her._] Because I had another gift to
offer you then—a common simple gift—like myself. If you want to know it
I will tell you.
BERTHA.
[_Looking at her watch._] Past is past, Robert. And I think I ought to
go now. It is nine almost.
ROBERT.
[_Impetuously._] No, no. Not yet. There is one confession more and we
have the right to speak.
[_He crosses before the table rapidly and sits down beside her._]
BERTHA.
[_Turning towards him, places her left hand on his shoulder._] Yes,
Robert. I know that you like me. You need not tell me. [_Kindly._] You
need not confess any more tonight.
[_A gust of wind enters through the porch, with a sound of moving
leaves. The lamp flickers quickly._]
BERTHA.
[_Pointing over his shoulder._] Look! It is too high.
[_Without rising, he bends towards the table, and turns down the wick
more. The room is half dark. The light comes in more strongly through
the doorway of the bedroom._]
ROBERT.
The wind is rising. I will close that door.
BERTHA.
[_Listening._] No, it is raining still. It was only a gust of wind.
ROBERT.
[_Touches her shoulder._] Tell me if the air is too cold for you.
[_Half rising._] I will close it.
BERTHA.
[_Detaining him._] No. I am not cold. Besides, I am going now, Robert.
I must.
ROBERT.
[_Firmly._] No, no. There is no _must_ now. We were left here for this.
And you are wrong, Bertha. The past is not past. It is present here
now. My feeling for you is the same now as it was then, because
then—you slighted it.
BERTHA.
No, Robert. I did not.
ROBERT.
[_Continuing._] You did. And I have felt it all these years without
knowing it—till now. Even while I lived—the kind of life you know and
dislike to think of—the kind of life to which you condemned me.
BERTHA.
I?
ROBERT.
Yes, when you slighted the common simple gift I had to offer you—and
took his gift instead.
BERTHA.
[_Looking at him._] But you never...
ROBERT.
No. Because you had chosen him. I saw that. I saw it on the first night
we met, we three together. Why did you choose him?
BERTHA.
[_Bends her head._] Is that not love?
ROBERT.
[_Continuing._] And every night when we two—he and I—came to that
corner to meet you I saw it and felt it. You remember the corner,
Bertha?
BERTHA.
[_As before._] Yes.
ROBERT.
And when you and he went away for your walk and I went along the street
alone I felt it. And when he spoke to me about you and told me he was
going away—then most of all.
BERTHA.
Why then most of all?
ROBERT.
Because it was then that I was guilty of my first treason towards him.
BERTHA.
Robert, what are you saying? Your first treason against Dick?
ROBERT.
[_Nods._] And not my last. He spoke of you and himself. Of how your
life would be together—free and all that. Free, yes! He would not even
ask you to go with him. [_Bitterly._] He did not. And you went all the
same.
BERTHA.
I wanted to be with him. You know... [_Raising her head and looking at
him._] You know how we were then—Dick and I.
ROBERT.
[_Unheeding._] I advised him to go alone—not to take you with him—to
live alone in order to see if what he felt for you was a passing thing
which might ruin your happiness and his career.
BERTHA.
Well, Robert. It was unkind of you towards me. But I forgive you
because you were thinking of his happiness and mine.
ROBERT.
[_Bending closer to her._] No, Bertha. I was not. And that was my
treason. I was thinking of myself—that you might turn from him when he
had gone and he from you. Then I would have offered you my gift. You
know what it was now. The simple common gift that men offer to women.
Not the best perhaps. Best or worst—it would have been yours.
BERTHA.
[_Turning away from him._] He did not take your advice.
ROBERT.
[_As before._] No. And the night you ran away together—O, how happy I
was!
BERTHA.
[_Pressing his hands._] Keep calm, Robert. I know you liked me always.
Why did you not forget me?
ROBERT.
[_Smiles bitterly._] How happy I felt as I came back along the quays
and saw in the distance the boat lit up going down the black river,
taking you away from me! [_In a calmer tone._] But why did you choose
him? Did you not like me at all?
BERTHA.
Yes. I liked you because you were his friend. We often spoke about you.
Often and often. Every time you wrote or sent papers or books to Dick.
And I like you still, Robert. [_Looking into his eyes._] I never forgot
you.
ROBERT.
Nor I you. I knew I would see you again. I knew it the night you went
away—that you would come back. And that was why I wrote and worked to
see you again—here.
BERTHA.
And here I am. You were right.
ROBERT.
[_Slowly._] Nine years. Nine times more beautiful!
BERTHA.
[_Smiling._] But am I? What do you see in me?
ROBERT.
[_Gazing at her._] A strange and beautiful lady.
BERTHA.
[_Almost disgusted._] O, please don’t call me such a
thing!
ROBERT.
[_Earnestly._] You are more. A young and beautiful queen.
BERTHA.
[_With a sudden laugh._] O, Robert!
ROBERT.
[_Lowering his voice and bending nearer to her._] But do you not know
that you are a beautiful human being? Do you not know that you have a
beautiful body? Beautiful and young?
BERTHA.
[_Gravely._] Some day I will be old.
ROBERT.
[_Shakes his head._] I cannot imagine it. Tonight you are young and
beautiful. Tonight you have come back to me. [_With passion._] Who
knows what will be tomorrow? I may never see you again or never see you
as I do now.
BERTHA.
Would you suffer?
ROBERT.
[_Looks round the room, without answering._] This room and this hour
were made for your coming. When you have gone—all is gone.
BERTHA.
[_Anxiously._] But you will see me again, Robert... as before.
ROBERT.
[_Looks full at her._] To make him—Richard—suffer.
BERTHA.
He does not suffer.
ROBERT.
[_Bowing his head._] Yes, yes. He does.
BERTHA.
He knows we like each other. Is there any harm, then?
ROBERT.
[_Raising his head._] No there is no harm. Why should we not? He does
not know yet what I feel. He has left us alone here at night, at this
hour, because he longs to know it—he longs to be delivered.
BERTHA.
From what?
ROBERT.
[_Moves closer to her and presses her arm as he speaks._] From every
law, Bertha, from every bond. All his life he has sought to deliver
himself. Every chain but one he has broken and that one we are to
break. Bertha—you and I.
BERTHA.
[_Almost inaudibly._] Are you sure?
ROBERT.
[_Still more warmly._] I am sure that no law made by man is sacred
before the impulse of passion. [_Almost fiercely._] Who made us for one
only? It is a crime against our own being if we are so. There is no law
before impulse. Laws are for slaves. Bertha, say my name! Let me hear
your voice say it. Softly!
BERTHA.
[_Softly._] Robert!
ROBERT.
[_Puts his arm about her shoulder._] Only the impulse towards youth and
beauty does not die. [_He points towards the porch._] Listen!
BERTHA.
[_In alarm._] What?
ROBERT.
The rain falling. Summer rain on the earth. Night rain. The darkness
and warmth and flood of passion. Tonight the earth is loved—loved and
possessed. Her lover’s arms around her; and she is silent. Speak,
dearest!
BERTHA.
[_Suddenly leans forward and listens intently._] Hush!
ROBERT.
[_Listening, smiles._] Nothing. Nobody. We are alone.
[_A gust of wind blows in through the porch, with a sound of shaken
leaves. The flame of the lamp leaps._]
BERTHA.
[_Pointing to the lamp._] Look!
ROBERT.
Only the wind. We have light enough from the other room.
[_He stretches his hand across the table and puts out the lamp. The
light from the doorway of the bedroom crosses the place where they sit.
The room is quite dark._]
ROBERT.
Are you happy? Tell me.
BERTHA.
I am going now, Robert. It is very late. Be satisfied.
ROBERT.
[_Caressing her hair._] Not yet, not yet. Tell me, do you love me a
little?
BERTHA.
I like you, Robert. I think you are good. [_Half rising._] Are you
satisfied?
ROBERT.
[_Detaining her, kisses her hair._] Do not go, Bertha! There is time
still. Do you love me too? I have waited a long time. Do you love us
both—him and also me? Do you, Bertha? The truth! Tell me. Tell me with
your eyes. Or speak!
[_She does not answer. In the silence the rain is heard falling._]
Third Act
_The drawingroom of Richard Rowan’s house at Merrion. The folding doors
at the right are closed and also the double doors leading to the
garden. The green plush curtains are drawn across the window on the
left. The room is half dark. It is early in the morning of the next
day. Bertha sits beside the window looking out between the curtains.
She wears a loose saffron dressing gown. Her hair is combed loosely
over the ears and knotted at the neck. Her hands are folded in her lap.
Her face is pale and drawn._
[_Brigid comes in through the folding doors on the right with a
featherbroom and duster. She is about to cross but, seeing Bertha, she
halts suddenly and blesses herself instinctively._]
BRIGID.
Merciful hour, ma’am. You put the heart across me. Why did you get up
so early?
BERTHA.
What time is it?
BRIGID.
After seven, ma’am. Are you long up?
BERTHA.
Some time.
BRIGID.
[_Approaching her._] Had you a bad dream that woke you?
BERTHA.
I didn’t sleep all night. So I got up to see the sun rise.
BRIGID.
[_Opens the double doors._] It’s a lovely morning now after all the
rain we had. [_Turns round._] But you must be dead tired, ma’am. What
will the master say at your doing a thing like that? [_She goes to the
door of the study and knocks._] Master Richard!
BERTHA.
[_Looks round._] He is not there. He went out an hour ago.
BRIGID.
Out there, on the strand, is it?
BERTHA.
Yes.
BRIGID.
[_Comes towards her and leans over the back of a chair._] Are you
fretting yourself, ma’am, about anything?
BERTHA.
No, Brigid.
BRIGID.
Don’t be. He was always like that, meandering off by himself somewhere.
He is a curious bird, Master Richard, and always was. Sure there isn’t
a turn in him I don’t know. Are you fretting now maybe because he does
be in there [_pointing to the study_] half the night at his books?
Leave him alone. He’ll come back to you again. Sure he thinks the sun
shines out of your face, ma’am.
BERTHA.
[_Sadly._] That time is gone.
BRIGID.
[_Confidentially._] And good cause I have to remember it—that time when
he was paying his addresses to you. [_She sits down beside Bertha. In a
lower voice._] Do you know that he used to tell me all about you and
nothing to his mother, God rest her soul? Your letters and all.
BERTHA.
What? My letters to him?
BRIGID.
[_Delighted._] Yes. I can see him sitting on the kitchen table,
swinging his legs and spinning out of him yards of talk about you and
him and Ireland and all kinds of devilment—to an ignorant old woman
like me. But that was always his way. But if he had to meet a grand
highup person he’d be twice as grand himself. [_Suddenly looks at
Bertha._] Is it crying you are now? Ah, sure, don’t cry. There’s good
times coming still.
BERTHA.
No, Brigid, that time comes only once in a lifetime. The rest of life
is good for nothing except to remember that time.
BRIGID.
[_Is silent for a moment: then says kindly._] Would you like a cup of
tea, ma’am? That would make you all right.
BERTHA.
Yes, I would. But the milkman has not come yet.
BRIGID.
No. Master Archie told me to wake him before he came. He’s going out
for a jaunt in the car. But I’ve a cup left overnight. I’ll have the
kettle boiling in a jiffy. Would you like a nice egg with it?
BERTHA.
No, thanks.
BRIGID.
Or a nice bit of toast?
BERTHA.
No, Brigid, thanks. Just a cup of tea.
BRIGID.
[_Crossing to the folding doors._] I won’t be a moment. [_She stops,
turns back and goes towards the door on the left._] But first I must
waken Master Archie or there’ll be ructions.
[_She goes out by the door on the left. After a few moments Bertha
rises and goes over to the study. She opens the door wide and looks in.
One can see a small untidy room with many bookshelves and a large
writingtable with papers and an extinguished lamp and before it a
padded chair. She remains standing for some time in the doorway, then
closes the door again without entering the room. She returns to her
chair by the window and sits down. Archie, dressed as before, comes in
by the door on the right, followed by Brigid._]
ARCHIE.
[_Comes to her and, putting up his face to be kissed, says:_] _Buon
giorno_, mamma!
BERTHA.
[_Kissing him._] _Buon giorno_, Archie! [_To Brigid._] Did you put
another vest on him under that one?
BRIGID.
He wouldn’t let me, ma’am.
ARCHIE.
I’m not cold, mamma.
BERTHA.
I said you were to put it on, didn’t I?
ARCHIE.
But where is the cold?
BERTHA.
[_Takes a comb from her head and combs his hair back at both sides._]
And the sleep is in your eyes still.
BRIGID.
He went to bed immediately after you went out last night,
ma’am.
ARCHIE.
You know he’s going to let me drive, mamma.
BERTHA.
[_Replacing the comb in her hair, embraces him suddenly._] O, what a
big man to drive a horse!
BRIGID.
Well, he’s daft on horses, anyhow.
ARCHIE.
[_Releasing himself._] I’ll make him go quick. You will see from the
window, mamma. With the whip. [_He makes the gesture of cracking a whip
and shouts at the top of his voice._] _Avanti!_
BRIGID.
Beat the poor horse, is it?
BERTHA.
Come here till I clean your mouth. [_She takes her handkerchief from
the pocket of her gown, wets it with her tongue and cleans his mouth._]
You’re all smudges or something, dirty little creature you are.
ARCHIE.
[_Repeats, laughing._] Smudges! What is smudges?
[_The noise is heard of a milkcan rattled on the railings before the
window._]
BRIGID.
[_Draws aside the curtains and looks out._] Here he is!
ARCHIE.
[_Rapidly._] Wait. I’m ready. Goodbye, mamma! [_He kisses her hastily
and turns to go._] Is pappie up?
BRIGID.
[_Takes him by the arm._] Come on with you now.
BERTHA.
Mind yourself, Archie, and don’t be long or I won’t let you go any
more.
ARCHIE.
All right. Look out of the window and you’ll see me. Goodbye.
[_Brigid and Archie go out by the door on the left. Bertha stands up
and, drawing aside the curtains still more, stands in the embrasure of
the window looking out. The hall door is heard opening: then a slight
noise of voices and cans is heard. The door is closed. After a moment
or two Bertha is seen waving her hand gaily in a salute. Brigid enters
and stands behind her, looking over her shoulder._]
BRIGID.
Look at the sit of him! As serious as you like.
BERTHA.
[_Suddenly withdrawing from her post._] Stand out of the window. I
don’t want to be seen.
BRIGID.
Why, ma’am, what is it?
BERTHA.
[_Crossing towards the folding doors._] Say I’m not up, that I’m not
well. I can’t see anyone.
BRIGID.
[_Follows her._] Who is it, ma’am?
BERTHA.
[_Halting._] Wait a moment.
[_She listens. A knock is heard at the hall door._]
BERTHA.
[_Stands a moment in doubt, then._] No, say I’m in.
BRIGID.
[_In doubt._] Here?
BERTHA.
[_Hurriedly._] Yes. Say I have just got up.
[_Brigid goes out on the left. Bertha goes towards the double doors and
fingers the curtains nervously, as if settling them. The hall door is
heard to open. Then Beatrice Justice enters and, as Bertha does not
turn at once, stands in hesitation near the door on the left. She is
dressed as before and has a newspaper in her hand._]
BEATRICE.
[_Advances rapidly._] Mrs Rowan, excuse me for coming at such an hour.
BERTHA.
[_Turns._] Good morning, Miss Justice. [_She comes towards her._] Is
anything the matter?
BEATRICE.
[_Nervously._] I don’t know. That is what I wanted to ask you.
BERTHA.
[_Looks curiously at her._] You are out of breath. Won’t you sit down?
BEATRICE.
[_Sitting down._] Thank you.
BERTHA.
[_Sits opposite her, pointing to her paper._] Is there something in the
paper?
BEATRICE.
[_Laughs nervously: opens the paper._] Yes.
BERTHA.
About Dick?
BEATRICE.
Yes. Here it is. A long article, a leading article, by my cousin. All
his life is here. Do you wish to see it?
BERTHA.
[_Takes the paper, and opens it._] Where is it?
BEATRICE.
In the middle. It is headed: _A Distinguished Irishman._
BERTHA.
Is it... for Dick or against him?
BEATRICE.
[_Warmly._] O, for him! You can read what he says about Mr Rowan. And I
know that Robert stayed in town very late last night to write it.
BERTHA.
[_Nervously._] Yes. Are you sure?
BEATRICE.
Yes. Very late. I heard him come home. It was long after two.
BERTHA.
[_Watching her._] It alarmed you? I mean to be awakened at that hour of
the morning.
BEATRICE.
I am a light sleeper. But I knew he had come from the office and
then... I suspected he had written an article about Mr Rowan and that
was why he came so late.
BERTHA.
How quick you were to think of that!
BEATRICE.
Well, after what took place here yesterday afternoon—I mean what Robert
said, that Mr Rowan had accepted this position. It was only natural I
should think...
BERTHA.
Ah, yes. Naturally.
BEATRICE.
[_Hastily._] But that is not what alarmed me. But immediately after I
heard a noise in my cousin’s room.
BERTHA.
[_Crumples together the paper in her hands, breathlessly._] My God!
What is it? Tell me.
BEATRICE.
[_Observing her._] Why does that upset you so much?
BERTHA.
[_Sinking back, with a forced laugh._] Yes, of course, it is very
foolish of me. My nerves are all upset. I slept very badly, too. That
is why I got up so early. But tell me what was it then?
BEATRICE.
Only the noise of his valise being pulled along the floor. Then I heard
him walking about his room, whistling softly. And then locking it and
strapping it.
BERTHA.
He is going away!
BEATRICE.
That was what alarmed me. I feared he had had a quarrel with Mr Rowan
and that his article was an attack.
BERTHA.
But why should they quarrel? Have you noticed anything between them?
BEATRICE.
I thought I did. A coldness.
BERTHA.
Lately?
BEATRICE.
For some time past.
BERTHA.
[_Smoothing the paper out._] Do you know the reason?
BEATRICE.
[_Hesitatingly._] No.
BERTHA.
[_After a pause._] Well, but if this article is for him, as you say,
they have not quarrelled. [_She reflects a moment._] And written last
night, too.
BEATRICE.
Yes. I bought the paper at once to see. But why, then, is he going away
so suddenly? I feel that there is something wrong. I feel that
something has happened between them.
BERTHA.
Would you be sorry?
BEATRICE.
I would be very sorry. You see, Mrs Rowan, Robert is my first cousin
and it would grieve me very deeply if he were to treat Mr Rowan badly,
now that he has come back, or if they had a serious quarrel especially
because...
BERTHA.
[_Toying with the paper._] Because?
BEATRICE.
Because it was my cousin who urged Mr Rowan always to come back. I have
that on my conscience.
BERTHA.
It should be on Mr Hand’s conscience, should it not?
BEATRICE.
[_Uncertainly._] On mine, too. Because—I spoke to my cousin about Mr
Rowan when he was away and, to a certain extent, it was I...
BERTHA.
[_Nods slowly._] I see. And that is on your conscience. Only that?
BEATRICE.
I think so.
BERTHA.
[_Almost cheerfully._] It looks as if it was you, Miss Justice, who
brought my husband back to Ireland.
BEATRICE.
I, Mrs Rowan?
BERTHA.
Yes, you. By your letters to him and then by speaking to your cousin as
you said just now. Do you not think that you are the person who brought
him back?
BEATRICE.
[_Blushing suddenly._] No. I could not think that.
BERTHA.
[_Watches her for a moment; then turning aside._] You know that my
husband is writing very much since he came back.
BEATRICE.
Is he?
BERTHA.
Did you not know? [_She points towards the study._] He passes the
greater part of the night in there writing. Night after night.
BEATRICE.
In his study?
BERTHA.
Study or bedroom. You may call it what you please. He sleeps there,
too, on a sofa. He slept there last night. I can show you if you don’t
believe me.
[_She rises to go towards the study. Beatrice half rises quickly and
makes a gesture of refusal._]
BEATRICE.
I believe you, of course, Mrs Rowan, when you tell me.
BERTHA.
[_Sitting down again._] Yes. He is writing. And it must be about
something which has come into his life lately—since we came back to
Ireland. Some change. Do you know that any change has come into his
life? [_She looks searchingly at her._] Do you know it or feel it?
BEATRICE.
[_Answers her look steadily._] Mrs Rowan, that is not a question to ask
me. If any change has come into his life since he came back you must
know and feel it.
BERTHA.
You could know it just as well. You are very intimate in this house.
BEATRICE.
I am not the only person who is intimate here.
[_They both look at each other coldly in silence for some moments.
Bertha lays aside the paper and sits down on a chair nearer to
Beatrice._]
BERTHA.
[_Placing her hand on Beatrice’s
knee._] So you also hate me, Miss Justice?
BEATRICE.
[_With an effort._] Hate you? I?
BERTHA.
[_Insistently but softly._] Yes. You know what it means to hate a
person?
BEATRICE.
Why should I hate you? I have never hated anyone.
BERTHA.
Have you ever loved anyone? [_She puts her hand on Beatrice’s wrist._]
Tell me. You have?
BEATRICE.
[_Also softly._] Yes. In the past.
BERTHA.
Not now?
BEATRICE.
No.
BERTHA.
Can you say that to me—truly? Look at me.
BEATRICE.
[_Looks at her._] Yes, I can.
[_A short pause. Bertha withdraws her hand, and turns away her head in
some embarrassment._]
BERTHA.
You said just now that another person is intimate in this house. You
meant your cousin... Was it he?
BEATRICE.
Yes.
BERTHA.
Have you not forgotten him?
BEATRICE.
[_Quietly._] I have tried to.
BERTHA.
[_Clasping her hands._] You hate me. You think I am happy. If you only
knew how wrong you are!
BEATRICE.
[_Shakes her head._] I do not.
BERTHA.
Happy! When I do not understand anything that he writes, when I cannot
help him in any way, when I don’t even understand half of what he says
to me sometimes! You could and you can. [_Excitedly._] But I am afraid
for him, afraid for both of them. [_She stands up suddenly and goes
towards the davenport._] He must not go away like that. [_She takes a
writing pad from the drawer and writes a few lines in great haste._]
No, it is impossible! Is he mad to do such a thing? [_Turning to
Beatrice._] Is he still at home?
BEATRICE.
[_Watching her in wonder._] Yes. Have you written to him to ask him to
come here?