Fifty Contemporary One-Act Plays Part 74

MRS. LEZINSKY [_bending over the baby-carriage_]. Good-by, Mrs.

Rooney--next time you come, maybe you see her in the baby-carriage.

[_Soothing the blanket_]--the little Eileen! [_Turns to her husband as the door closes._] Yes, Solly?

[_They look at each other in silence for a moment.--She puts out her hands imploringly. His face softens; he lays his hand on her shoulder as the three little boys, David, Julius and Benny pa.s.s by the window. As they come into the shop_

_the Curtain Falls._]

THE PIERROT OF THE MINUTE

A DRAMATIC FANTASY

BY ERNEST DOWSON

CHARACTERS

A MOON MAIDEN.

PIERROT.

THE PIERROT OF THE MINUTE

A DRAMATIC FANTASY BY ERNEST DOWSON

[SCENE: _A glade in the Parc du Pet.i.t Trianon. In the center a Doric temple with steps coming down the stage. On the left a little Cupid on a pedestal. Twilight._

_Enter Pierrot with his hands full of lilies. He is burdened with a little basket. He stands gazing at the Temple and the Statue._]

PIERROT.

My journey's end! This surely is the glade Which I was promised: I have well obeyed!

A clue of lilies was I bid to find, Where the green alleys most obscurely wind; Where tall oaks darkliest canopy o'erhead, And moss and violet make the softest bed; Where the path ends, and leagues behind me lie The gleaming courts and gardens of Versailles; The lilies streamed before me, green and white; I gathered, following: they led me right, To the bright temple and the sacred grove: This is, in truth, the very shrine of Love!

[_He gathers together his flowers and lays them at the foot of Cupid's statue; then he goes timidly up the first steps of the temple and stops._]

It is so solitary, I grow afraid.

Is there no priest here, no devoted maid?

Is there no oracle, no voice to speak, Interpreting to me the word I seek?

[_A very gentle music of lutes floats out from the temple. Pierrot starts back; he shows extreme surprise; then he returns to the foreground, and crouches down in rapt attention until the music ceases. His face grows puzzled and petulant._]

Too soon! too soon! in that enchanting strain Days yet unlived, I almost lived again: It almost taught me that I most would know-- Why am I here, and why am I Pierrot?

[_Absently he picks up a lily which has fallen to the ground, and repeats._]

Why came I here, and why am I Pierrot?

That music and this silence both affright; Pierrot can never be a friend of night.

I never felt my solitude before-- Once safe at home, I will return no more.

Yet the commandment of the scroll was plain; While the light lingers let me read again.

[_He takes a scroll from his bosom and reads._]

"He loves to-night who never loved before; Who ever loved, to-night shall love once more."

I never loved! I know not what love is.

I am so ignorant--but what is this?

[_Reads._]

"Who would adventure to encounter Love Must rest one night within this hallowed grove.

Cast down thy lilies, which have led thee on, Before the tender feet of Cupidon."

Thus much is done, the night remains to me.

Well, Cupidon, be my security!

Here is more writing, but too faint to read.

[_He puzzles for a moment, then casts the scroll down._]

Hence, vain old parchment. I have learnt thy rede!

[_He looks round uneasily, starts at his shadow; then discovers his basket with glee. He takes out a flask of wine, pours it into a gla.s.s, and drinks._]

Courage _mon Ami_! I shall never miss Society with such a friend as this.

How merrily the rosy bubbles pa.s.s, Across the amber crystal of the gla.s.s.

I had forgotten you. Methinks this quest Can wake no sweeter echo in my breast.

[_Looks round at the statue, and starts._]

Nay, little G.o.d! forgive. I did but jest.

[_He fills another gla.s.s, and pours it upon the statue._]

This libation, Cupid, take, With the lilies at thy feet; Cherish Pierrot for their sake, Send him visions strange and sweet, While he slumbers at thy feet.

Only love kiss him awake!

_Only love kiss him awake!_

[_Slowly falls the darkness, soft music plays, while Pierrot gathers together fern and foliage into a rough couch at the foot of the steps which lead to the Temple d'Amour. Then he lies down upon it, having made his prayer. It is night. He speaks softly._]

Music, more music, far away and faint: It is an echo of mine heart's complaint.

Why should I be so musical and sad?

I wonder why I used to be so glad?

In single glee I chased blue b.u.t.terflies, Half b.u.t.terfly myself, but not so wise, For they were twain, and I was only one.

Ah me! how pitiful to be alone.

My brown birds told me much, but in mine ear They never whispered this--I learned it here: The soft wood sounds, the rustling in the breeze, Are but the stealthy kisses of the trees.