Plays
him_) How dare you pass for what you're not? We are tired, and so we
think it's you. Stop with you. Don't get through--to what you're in the
way of. Beauty is not something you say about beauty.
TOM: I say little about beauty, Claire.
CLAIRE: Your life says it. By standing far off you pass for it. Smother
it with a life that passes for it. But beauty--(_getting it from the
flower_) Beauty is the humility breathed from the shame of succeeding.
TOM: But it may all be within one's self, dear.
CLAIRE: (_drawn by this, but held, and desperate because she is held_)
When I have wanted you with all my wanting--why must I distrust you now?
When I love you--with all of me, why do I know that only you are worth
my hate?
TOM: It's the fear of easy satisfactions. I love you for it.
CLAIRE: (_over the flower_) Breath of Life--you here? Are you
lonely--Breath of Life?
TOM: Claire--hear me! Don't go where we can't go. As there you made a
shell for life within, make for yourself a life in which to live. It
must be so.
CLAIRE: As you made for yourself a shell called beauty?
TOM: What is there for you, if you'll have no touch with what we have?
CLAIRE: What is there? There are the dreams we haven't dreamed. There is
the long and flowing pattern, (_she follows that, but suddenly and as if
blindly goes to him_) I am tired. I am lonely. I'm afraid, (_he holds
her, soothing. But she steps back from him_) And because we are
tired--lonely--and afraid, we stop with you. Don't get through--to what
you're in the way of.
TOM: Then you don't love me?
CLAIRE: I'm fighting for my chance. I don't know--which chance.
(_Is drawn to the other chance, to Breath of Life. Looks into it as if
to look through to the uncaptured. And through this life just caught
comes the truth she chants._)
I've wallowed at a coarse man's feet,
I'm sprayed with dreams we've not yet come to.
I've gone so low that words can't get there,
I've never pulled the mantle of my fears around me
And called it loneliness--And called it God.
Only with life that waits have I kept faith.
(_with effort raising her eyes to the man_)
And only you have ever threatened me.
TOM: (_coming to her, and with strength now_) And I will threaten you.
I'm here to hold you from where I know you cannot go. You're trying what
we can't do.
CLAIRE: What else is there worth trying?
TOM: I love you, and I will keep you--from fartherness--from harm. You
are mine, and you will stay with me! (_roughly_) You hear me? You will
stay with me!
CLAIRE: (_her head on his breast, in ecstasy of rest. Drowsily_) You can
keep me?
TOM: Darling! I can keep you. I will keep you--safe.
CLAIRE: (_troubled by the word, but barely able to raise her head_)
Safe?
TOM: (_bringing her to rest again_) Trust me, Claire.
CLAIRE: (_not lifting her head, but turning it so she sees Breath of
Life_) Now can I trust--what is? (_suddenly pushing him roughly away_)
No! I will beat my life to pieces in the struggle to--
TOM: To _what_, Claire?
CLAIRE: Not to stop it by seeming to have it. (_with fury_) I will keep
my life low--low--that I may never stop myself--or anyone--with the
thought it's what _I_ have. I'd rather be the steam rising from the
manure than be a thing called beautiful! (_with sight too clear_) Now I
know who you are. It is you puts out the breath of life. Image of
beauty--_You fill the place--should be a gate._ (_in agony_) Oh, that it
is _you_--fill the place--should be a gate! My darling! That it should
be you who--(_her hands moving on him_) Let me tell you something. Never
was loving strong as my loving of you! Do you know that? Oh, know that!
Know it now! (_her arms go around his neck_) Hours with you--I'd give my
life to have! That it should be you--(_he would loosen her hands, for he
cannot breathe. But when she knows she is choking him, that knowledge is
fire burning its way into the last passion_) It _is_ you. It is you.
TOM: (_words coming from a throat not free_) Claire! What are you doing?
(_then she knows what she is doing_)
CLAIRE: (_to his resistance_) No! You are _too much_! You are _not
enough_. (_still wanting not to hurt her, he is slow in getting free. He
keeps stepping backward trying, in growing earnest, to loosen her hands.
But he does not loosen them before she has found the place in his throat
that cuts off breath. As he gasps_)
Breath of Life--my gift--to you!
(_She has pushed him against one of the plants at right as he sways,
strength she never had before pushes him over backward, just as they
have struggled from sight. Violent crash of glass is heard._)
TOM: (_faint smothered voice_) _No_. I'm--hurt.
CLAIRE: (_in the frenzy and agony of killing_) Oh, gift! Oh, gift!
(_there is no sound._
CLAIRE _rises--steps back--is seen now; is looking down_) Gift.
(_Like one who does not know where she is, she moves into the
room--looks around. Takes a step toward Breath of Life; turns and goes
quickly to the door. Stops, as if stopped. Sees the revolver where the
Edge Vine was. Slowly goes to it. Holds it as if she cannot think what
it is for. Then raises it high and fires above through the place in the
glass left open for ventilation_. ANTHONY _comes from the inner room.
His eyes go from her to the body beyond_. HARRY _rushes in from
outside_.)
HARRY: Who fired that?
CLAIRE: I did. Lonely.
(_Seeing_ ANTHONY'S _look_, HARRY _'s eyes follow it_.)
HARRY: Oh! What? What? (DICK _comes running in_) Who? Claire!
(DICK _sees--goes to_ TOM)
CLAIRE: Yes. I did it. MY--Gift.
HARRY: Is he--? He isn't--? He isn't--?
(_Tries to go in there. Cannot--there is the sound of broken glass, of a
position being changed--then_ DICK _reappears_.)
DICK: (_his voice in jerks_) It's--it's no use, but I'll go for a
doctor.
HARRY: No--no. Oh, I suppose--(_falling down beside_ CLAIRE--_his face
against her_) My darling! How can I save you now?
CLAIRE: (_speaking each word very carefully_) Saved--myself.
ANTHONY: I did it. Don't you see? I didn't want so many around.
Not--what this place is for.
HARRY: (_snatching at this but lets it go_) She wouldn't let--(_looking
up at_ CLAIRE--_then quickly hiding his face_) And--don't you see?
CLAIRE: Out. (_a little like a child's pleased surprise_) Out.
(DICK _stands there, as if unable to get to the door--his face
distorted, biting his hand_.)
ANTHONY: Miss Claire! You can do anything--won't you try?
CLAIRE: Reminiscence? (_speaking the word as if she has left even that,
but smiles a little_)
(ANTHONY _takes Reminiscence, the flower she was breeding for fragrance
for Breath of Life--holds it out to her. But she has taken a step
forward, past them all_.)
CLAIRE: Out. (_as if feeling her way_)
Nearer,
(_Her voice now feeling the way to it_.)
Nearer--
(_Voice almost upon it_.)
--my God,
(_Falling upon it with surprise_.)
to Thee,
(_Breathing it_.)
Nearer--to Thee,
E'en though it be--
(_A slight turn of the head toward the dead man she loves--a
mechanical turn just as far the other way_.)
a cross
That
(_Her head going down_.)
raises me;
(_Her head slowly coming up--singing it_.)
Still all my song shall be,
Nearer, my--
(_Slowly the curtain begins to shut her out. The last word heard is the
final_ Nearer--_a faint breath from far_.)
CURTAIN
INHERITORS
_Inheritors_ was first performed at the Provincetown Playhouse on April 27, 1921.
SMITH (a young business man)
GRANDMOTHER (SILAS MORTON'S mother)
SILAS MORTON (a pioneer farmer)
FELIX FEJEVARY, the First (an exiled Hungarian nobleman)
FELIX FEJEVARY, the Second (his son, a Harvard student)
FELIX FEJEVARY, the Second (a banker)
SENATOR LEWIS (a State Senator)
HORACE FEJEVARY (son of FELIX FEJEVARY, the Second)
DORIS (a student at Morton College)
FUSSIE (another college girl)
MADELINE FEJEVARY MORTON (daughter of IRA MORTON, and granddaughter of
SILAS MORTON)
ISABEL FEJEVARY (wife of FELIX FEJEVARY, the Second, and MADELINE'S
aunt)
HARRY (a student clerk)
HOLDEN (Professor at Morton College)
IRA MORTON (son of SILAS MORTON, and MADELINE'S father)
EMIL JOHNSON (an Americanized Swede)
ACT I
SCENE: _Sitting-room of the Mortons' farmhouse in the Middle West--on
the rolling prairie just back from the Mississippi. A room that has been
long and comfortably lived in, and showing that first-hand contact with
materials which was pioneer life. The hospitable table was made on the
place--well and strongly made; there are braided rugs, and the wooden
chairs have patchwork cushions. There is a corner closet--left rear. A
picture of Abraham Lincoln. On the floor a home-made toy boat. At rise
of curtain there are on the stage an old woman and a young man._
GRANDMOTHER MORTON _is in her rocking-chair near the open door, facing
left. On both sides of door are windows, looking out on a generous land.
She has a sewing basket and is patching a boy's pants. She is very old.
Her hands tremble. Her spirit remembers the days of her strength._
SMITH _has just come in and, hat in hand, is standing by the table. This
was lived in the year 1879, afternoon of Fourth of July._
SMITH: But the celebration was over two hours ago.
GRANDMOTHER: Oh, celebration, that's just the beginning of it. Might as
well set down. When them boys that fought together all get in one
square--they have to swap stories all over again. That's the worst of a
war--you have to go on hearing about it so long. Here it is--1879--and
we haven't taken Gettysburg yet. Well, it was the same way with the war
of 1832.
SMITH: (_who is now seated at the table_) The war of 1832?
GRANDMOTHER: News to you that we had a war with the Indians?
SMITH: That's right--the Blackhawk war. I've heard of it.
GRANDMOTHER: Heard of it!
SMITH: Were your men in that war?
GRANDMOTHER: I was in that war. I threw an Indian in the cellar and
stood on the door. I was heavier then.
SMITH: Those were stirring times.
GRANDMOTHER: More stirring than you'll ever see. This war--Lincoln's
war--it's all a cut and dried business now. We used to fight with
anything we could lay hands on--dish water--whatever was handy.
SMITH: I guess you believe the saying that the only good Indian is a
dead Indian.
GRANDMOTHER: I dunno. We roiled them up considerable. They was mostly
friendly when let be. Didn't want to give up their land--but I've
noticed something of the same nature in white folks.
SMITH: Your son has--something of that nature, hasn't he?
GRANDMOTHER: He's not keen to sell. Why should he? It'll never be worth
less.
SMITH: But since he has more land than any man can use, and if he gets
his price--
GRANDMOTHER: That what you've come to talk to him about?
SMITH: I--yes.
GRANDMOTHER: Well, you're not the first. Many a man older than you has
come to argue it.
SMITH: (_smiling_) They thought they'd try a young one.
GRANDMOTHER: Some one that knew him thought that up. Silas'd help a
young one if he could. What is it you're set on buying?
SMITH: Oh, I don't know that we're set on buying anything. If we could
have the hill (_looking off to the right_) at a fair price--
GRANDMOTHER: The hill above the town? Silas'd rather sell me and the
cat.
SMITH: But what's he going to do with it?
GRANDMOTHER: Maybe he's going to climb it once a week.
SMITH: But if the development of the town demands its use--
GRANDMOTHER: (_smiling_) You the development of the town?
SMITH: I represent it. This town has been growing so fast--
GRANDMOTHER: This town began to grow the day I got here.
SMITH: You--you began it?
GRANDMOTHER: My husband and I began it--and our baby Silas.
SMITH: When was that?