"The Angel Intrudes" was first produced by the Provincetown Players,
New York City, in 1917, with the following cast:
The Policeman...... Abram Gillette
The Angel.......... James Light
Jimmy Pendleton.... Justus Sheffield
Annabelle.......... Edna St. Vincent Millay
_Washington Square by moonlight. A stream of Greenwich Villagers
hurrying across to the Brevoort before the doors are locked. In their
wake a sleepy policeman.
The policeman stops suddenly on seeing an Angel with shining garments
and great white wings, who has just appeared out of nowhere_.
THE POLICEMAN. Hey, you!
THE ANGEL. (_haughtily, turning_) Sir! Are you addressing me?
THE POLICEMAN. (_severely_) Yes, an' I've a good mind to lock you up.
THE ANGEL. (_surprised and indignant_) How very inhospitable! Is
that the way you treat strangers?
THE POLICEMAN. Don't you know it's agen the law of New York to parade
the streets in a masquerade costume?
THE ANGEL. No. I didn't know. You see, I've just arrived this minute
from Heaven.
THE POLICEMAN. Ye look it. (_Taking his arm kindly_) See here, me lad,
you've been drinkin' too many of them stingers. Ye'd better take a
taxi and go home.
THE ANGEL. What! So soon?
THE POLICEMAN. I know how ye feel. I've been that way meself. But I
can't leave ye go traipsin' about in skirts.
THE ANGEL. (_drawing away_) Sir, I'm not traipsing about. I am
attending to important business, and I must ask you not to detain me.
THE POLICEMAN. (_suspiciously_) Not so fast, me laddie-buck. What
business have you at this hour of the night? Tell me that.
THE ANGEL. I don't mind telling you. It concerns a mortal called James
Pendleton.
THE POLICEMAN. (_genial again_) Aha! So you're a friend of Jimmy
Pendleton's, are you?
THE ANGEL. Not exactly. I am his Guardian Angel.
THE POLICEMAN. Well, faith, he needs one! Come, me b'y, I'll see ye
safe to his door.
THE ANGEL. Thank you. But, if you don't mind, I prefer to go alone.
_He turns away_.
THE POLICEMAN. Good night to you, then.
_He idly watches the angelic figure walk away, and then stares with
amazement as it spreads its wings and soars to the top of Washington
Arch. Pausing there a moment, it soars again in the air, and is seen
wafting its way over the neighbouring housetops to the northeast. The
policeman shakes his head in disapproval.
Jimmy Pendleton is dozing in an easy chair before the grate-fire in
Ms studio in Washington Mews. A yellow-backed French novel has fallen
from his knee to the floor. It is Anatole France's "La Revolte des
Anges". A suitcase stands beside the chair. Jimmy is evidently about to
go on some journey.
A clock begins to strike somewhere. Jimmy Pendleton awakes_.
JIMMY. What a queer dream! (_He looks at his watch_.) Twelve o'clock.
The taxi ought to be here. (_He takes two tickets from his pocket,
looks at them, and puts them back. Then he commences to pace
nervously up and down the room, muttering to himself_)--Fool! Idiot!
Imbecile! (_He is not, so that you could notice it, any of these
things. He is a very handsome man of forty. There is the blast of an
auto-horn outside. He makes an angry gesture_.) Too late! That's the
taxi. (_But he stands uncertainly in the middle of the floor. There
is a loud pounding on the knocker_.) Yes, yes!
_He makes a movement toward the door, when it suddenly opens, and a
lovely lady enters. He stares at her in surprise_.
JIMMY. Annabelle!
_Annabelle is little. Annabelle's petulant upturned lips are rosebud
red. Annabelle's round eyes are baby-blue. Annabelle is--young_.
ANNABELLE. Yes! It's me! (_There is a tiny lisp in Annabelle's
speech_.) I got tired of waiting, and the door was unlocked, so I
came right in.
JIMMY. Well!
ANNABELLE. (_hurt_) Aren't you glad to see me?
JIMMY. I'm--delighted. But--but--I thought we were to meet at the
station.
ANNABELLE. So we were.
JIMMY. You haven't changed your mind?
ANNABELLE. No. . . .
JIMMY. Er--good.