Fifty Contemporary One-Act Plays. Various

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СКАЧАТЬ Of a harmonious life, filled with deep sound,

       With the vigor and strength of wine poured out

       Into bowls of truths, deep with the depth of death.

       We crave no water, lymphatic, pure,

       In glasses of wind, frail as life.

       Better the vintage of the rich

       Served in vile glasses of gold. And if the mind be coarse,

       Perchance the hands will glitter with many stones.

       And if I may not have a fragrant and well-ordered nest

       Filled with clear rhythm and little blond heads,

       Then let me have my palace where luxurious pleasure

       Lends to love of earth, grief and deep dismay.

       Why do you not love living, poets? Why is it,

       The dullard who nor loves nor lives poaches your kisses?

      Poet.

      I do not comprehend, marquise. Why love living,

       If that is to live loving? We know that life and love

       Are wings forever fledging out

       In a bird neither swan nor hawk.

       I am resigned to my unequal destiny, for I know

       That my two eyes cannot perceive the same color.

       For even when there is calm, anxiety arises

       And then, I am not master, not even of my pain.

       I would be your friend, but there are obstacles,

       Captious dynamics, that put a check upon my words.

       I yield to the dumb pride of my huge torment,

       The song without words, the sonorous silence,

       And I do not desire any one to penetrate

       The garden wherein flowers the mystery I adore.

      Marquise.

      Conserve your mysteries, poet; they will have no heirs.

      Poet.

      Death is the heir of everything impenetrable.

      Marquise.

      But only during life do the words of the sphinx

       Possess a meaning for our ears.

      Poet.

      I am terror-stricken by the sphinx.

      Marquise.

      Coward! The sun blinds him who cannot hearken to the sphinx.

      [Sounds of music in the distance.]

      Poet.

      Does not the music tempt you?

      Marquise.

      It does, and I feel sure

       My lover must be waiting. Will you come with me?

      Poet.

      No, thanks. I shall remain and think of what has died.

      Marquise.

      May you have the protection of my defunct illusion.

      [She goes out.]

      [Curtain.]

MONSIEUR LAMBLIN

       Table of Contents

A Comedy

       By George Ancey

       Translated from the French by Barrett H. Clark.

       Table of Contents

CHARACTERS

Lamblin. Marthe. Madame Bail. Madame Cogé. Servant.

      First published in the Stratford Journal, March, 1917. Reprinted by permission of Mr. Barrett H. Clark.

MONSIEUR LAMBLIN

       Table of Contents

      A Comedy

      By George Ancey

      Translated from the French by Barrett H. Clark.

      [A stylish drawing-room. There are doors at the back, and on each side. Down-stage to the right is a window; near it, but protected by a screen, is a large arm-chair near a sewing-table. Down-stage opposite is a fire-place, on each side of which, facing it, are a sofa and another large arm-chair; next the sofa is a small table, and next to it, in turn, a stool and two chairs. This part of the stage should be so arranged as to make a little cozy-corner. The set is completed by various and sundry lamps, vases with flowers, and the like.

      As the curtain rises, the servant enters to Lamblin, Marthe and Madame Bail, bringing coffee and cigarettes, which he lays on the small table.]

      Lamblin [settling comfortably into his chair]. Ah, how comfortable it is! Mm—! [To Marthe.] Serve us our coffee, my child, serve us our coffee.

      Marthe [sadly]. Yes, yes.

      Lamblin [aside]. Always something going round and round in that little head of hers! Needn't worry about it—nothing serious.—Well, Mother-in-law, what do you say to the laces, eh?

      Madame Bail. Delicious! It must have cost a small fortune! You have twenty yards there!

      Lamblin. Five thousand francs! Five thousand francs! [To Marthe.] Yes, madame, your husband was particularly generous. He insists upon making his wife the most beautiful of women and giving her everything her heart desires. Has he succeeded?

      Marthe. Thank you. I've really never seen such lovely malines. Madame Pertuis ordered some lately and they're not nearly so beautiful as these.

      Lamblin. I'm glad to hear it. Well, aren't you going to kiss your husband—for his trouble? [She kisses him.] Good! There, now.

      Madame Bail [to Lamblin]. You spoil her!

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