COLOMBINE
An old man and a boy are seen talking; both are labourers.
The old man, who is seated, speaks:
Dan’l. There’s little use in stopping here much longer.
Nathan’l. Not as I can see.
Dan’l. Like my old eyes, the sun don’t grow no stronger.
Nathan’l. And I wants my tea.
Dan’l. Which means ’tis time to go, I reckons.
Nathan’l. That’s a proposition as I seconds.
Dan’l. Come on then, let’s be moving. Tip us yer daddle.
Nathan’l. All of a sudden you be in a mortal caddle.
I wants to hear the finish of that yarn
As you was spinning down at Tranter’s Barn.
A peck of troubles it was all about.
I wants to know how everything turned out.
Dan’l. You wants your tea, that’s what you wants, my son.
Nathan’l. There’s time enough for tea when you be done.
Dan’l. Well, though ’tis little enough I read,
I sid in a story-book years ago,
(Though mind, Nathan’l, there beant no need
To be letting on as I told ee so)
That all the troubles as worrits a man
Was locked in a box when the world began.
And there no doubt they’d ha’ bid till now,
If the dummel soul as had got the key,
Hadn’t got mixed up with a maid somehow
And gone and handed it over to she.
And what do ee fancy the maiden did?
Darn me, Nathan’l, ur lifted the lid.
And all they troubles come trooping out,
Like hens from a chicken-run might have done.
For the maiden fancied without a doubt,
They’d go back in the evening like, one by one.
But time’s got to settle a few more clocks,
Afore they troubles goes back to their box.
Straight, Nathan’l, ’tis near enough
To make a methody parson swear.
And every time as I reads such stuff,
I goes so red as yon moon up there.
To think of the trouble ur brought on we—
I reckon I owes my old gal to she.
Nathan’l. Is it true, do ee think, Dan’l?
Dan’l. Mebbe, mebbe not, Nathan’l.
Nathan’l. Do ee think, Dan’l—she let out the lot?
Dan’l. Mebbe, Nathan’l, mebbe not.
Nathan’l. Sounds like a fairy story to me.
Dan’l. Mebbe, Nathan’l, mebbe, mebbe.
Nathan’l. Do ee believe in fairies, Dan’l?
Dan’l. Can’t be sure as I do, Nathan’l.
Nathan’l. Well, I don’t anyway, and that’s a fact.
Dan’l. Lawks-a-mussey, Nathan’l, be I dreaming or be I cracked?
Nathan’l. My goodness, Dan’l, I do believe as she’s a fairy....
Dan’l. Here, come into the shadow of these trees,
And give that clacking tongue of yourn a rest.
Nathan’l. Oh, this be more wonderful than all the things I ever guessed.
Dan’l. And it means summat that you may depend.
Nathan’l. See, where she walks, the grass don’t even bend
Beneath her feet. She be a fairy, Dan’l.
Dan’l. I wish you’d hold your clacking tongue, Nathan’l.
[Colombine, hearing a noise, pauses to listen.
Colombine. Who’s there? The daylight fades. I cannot see.
Dan’l. So please you, Miss, ’tis we.
Colombine. Good evening, Sirs.
Dan’l. Our best respects to ee.
A goodish evening to be sure, but getting dark and cold.
Time gals like you was safe abed, if I might make so bold.
Colombine. Old man, the night has but begun.
Colombine. The moon has scarcely risen yet.
Colombine. The sun his wandering footsteps stays to greet the crescent moon.
The nightjar and the nightingale will both be singing soon.
Dan’l. Us don’t set much store by nightingales in
these parts, and as for nightjars! Oh lor, us shoots they.
Give I a linnet now,
A-sitting on a bough;
As sings his message to the sun,
And goes to sleep when day be done,
Respectable like!
Nathan’l. [Coming forward.]
Queer things,
These here rings
You sees in the grass
When you pass.
They say ’tis where Pharisees dances at night!
Be that right?
Colombine. Quite right; yet once the circle that you see,
Saw war and tumult.
Dan’l. Lawks-a-mussey me!
Colombine. The Roman legions camped on yonder brow,
And built the road you stand on.
Colombine. The sun would sink out yonder in the west,
And shine upon their helmets.
Colombine. The very spot where Julius Caesar sat,
Lies just behind those beeches.
Colombine. In yonder barrow treasures rare lie hid.
Dig deep to find them.
Nathan’l. But when did all this
Happen, Miss?
How many years ago,
I’d like to know?
Colombine. Roughly two thousand, on this very spot.
Dan’l. Lor! What a memory you must have got.
Colombine. [To Nathan’l.] But tell me please;
Beneath these trees,
What travellers come, and whither bound?
Do still these ancient heights resound
With martial music and the tramp of men?
Nathan’l. Us gets a hurdy-gurdy now and then,
And once a clown on stilts went through the wood;
And oh! he could catch pennies, that he could.
Colombine. But in what fashion do you pass your days?
Nathan’l. I kill the time in various sorts of ways.
Scaring the rooks as settles on the corn;
Helping the shepherd when the lambs be born.
Talking to Dan’l about these here rings,
And wondering about a power of things.
As don’t concern nobody, I suppose.
But then, you must do summat, goodness knows.
Colombine. Of course. ’Tis lonely here without a doubt.
What are the things you’re wondering about
To-day?
Nathan’l. Such things as surely never was.
Such things as surely no one ever does.
And yet, of nothing, for they moves so fast,
You finds as you’ve forgotten them at last.
Just like a dream they passes and be gone.
Just like a dream they passes....
Nathan’l. Just like a dream, for though I thinks a lot,
Before they’re rightly thought they’re clean forgot.
Though somehow, now I sits and talks to you,
I keeps remembering things I never knew.
Just like as though somebody slammed a door,
When you was going where you’d been before;
Leaving you standing on the further side,
Wondering at what was happening inside.
Whether the folk you knew was there or not;
Whether you really knew, and had forgot;
Whether you’d been there once when you was small,
Or whether you was never there at all.
’Tis plaguey awkerd, wondering, that it be.
And now I must be off, I wants my tea.
[Exit.
Colombine. Good-bye. And think sometimes of me.
[Rousing herself from the brown study into
which this revelation has thrown her, and
addressing Dan’l.
Colombine. Are you fond of a fight?
Dan’l. It all depends. Why?
Colombine. There’s going to be a fight.
Colombine. Very soon.
By the light of the moon.
On the very stroke of nine.
All for love of Colombine.
Dan’l. Shall I fetch a policeman?
Colombine. A policeman! Dear me, no.
Dan’l. Who’s going to fight.
Colombine. Don’t you know?
Harlequin and Pierrot.
Dan’l. Never heard of they.
Colombine. Won’t it be fun?
Dan’l. Good fun
For the one as gets killed.
Colombine. But they won’t kill each other. They
never do. They’re most dependable.
Dan’l. Have um fought before?
Colombine. Of course. Hundreds of times.
Dan’l. Silly young chaps.
Colombine. They’re not silly. They’re fighting for
me. Don’t you understand?
Dan’l. I fought about a girl once. But only once.
It was a long time ago.
Colombine. You’re not romantic. Romance would
die if it wasn’t for fighting. Romance is fighting.
Dan’l. Then I’ve had quite enough romance to
please me.
Colombine. All properly constituted love affairs
should include a fight. Love without fighting is
insipid.
Dan’l. You don’t have to do the fighting. Which
of ’em loves you the most?
Colombine. Why, Pierrot, of course.
Dan’l. Then why don’t you marry him?
Colombine. And disappoint Harlequin? I couldn’t
do that.
Dan’l. When are you going to decide?
Colombine. I don’t know. [On her fingers.] This
year, next year, some time, never. To-night perhaps.
Dan’l. One day they’ll get tired of fighting. What
then?
Colombine. Never!
Dan’l. You’re sure of that?
Colombine. Oh, yes. Quite sure.
Dan’l. One of them may get killed.
Colombine. They wouldn’t be so careless.
Dan’l. What should you do if one of ’em got killed
by accident?
Colombine. I should be very angry. But you’re
very horrid to suggest such things. Why don’t you
go away?
Dan’l. Good-bye.
Colombine. No, stay.
Dan’l. Well, I’m fond of a fight, I must say.
Colombine. Hush! They are coming. Quick, behind
this tree.
Dan’l. Anywhere in the background’s good enough
for me.
Colombine. A fight, a fight! And all for love
of me.
[The orchestra plays quietly the Soldiers’ Chorus
and snatches of other martial refrains.
The two watchers betray tense excitement.
Harlequin and Pierrot enter arm in
arm. Any differences they may have had
are evidently settled. Colombine looks
on in astonishment.
Harlequin. Mind you, as girls go, Colombine’s one
of the best.
Pierrot. Ah yes.
Harlequin. But nothing to fight about.
Pierrot. [Without conviction.] No.
Harlequin. And fighting’s going out of fashion.
There’s no doubt about that.
Pierrot. Yes.
Harlequin. The whole trend of modern thought
is opposed to it.
Pierrot. Yes.
Harlequin. None of the best people do it.
Pierrot. I suppose not.
Harlequin. And one must be in the movement.
Pierrot. Of course.
Harlequin. Arbitration’s the thing nowadays.
Pierrot. What’s that?
Harlequin. Why, you each talk until you’re out
of breath, and the one with most breath wins.
Pierrot. [Taking a deep breath.] That seems a
good idea.
Harlequin. It is.
Pierrot. But what will Colombine say if we don’t
fight? She loves to watch us fight.
Harlequin. My dear chap, we must be firm.
Adopt your point of view, and stick to it in the face
of all opposition.
Colombine. [Advancing.] Aren’t you going to fight?
Pierrot. [Kindly.] Not to-night.
Harlequin. Well, we’ve got
Other fish to fry,
That’s why.
Harlequin. Now, my dear girl, do listen to reason.
You will admit, I suppose, that the most elementary
point about a duel is to spit your opponent through
the gizzard.
Colombine. Yes.
Harlequin. Well, I haven’t got a gizzard, and
what’s the use of trying to spit a man’s gizzard, if he
hasn’t got a gizzard to spit? You must be reasonable.
Colombine. How do you know you haven’t got a
gizzard?
Harlequin. We don’t know for certain, we assume.
Pierrot. You’ve only to look at him to see there
isn’t room.
Colombine. But why the gizzard? What does it
matter where you spit him so long as you do spit him?
Harlequin. For heaven’s sake, my dear girl, don’t
preach such revolutionary doctrines. There is a certain
etiquette to be observed, even in a battle.
Colombine. [After a pause.] But it’s quite simple.
You spit Pierrot. He’s got a gizzard, I suppose.
Harlequin. Now, listen. Pierrot consulted a
phrenologist....
Pierrot. Soothsayer!
Harlequin. Sorry—soothsayer, who said he was
born to be hung....
Pierrot. Hanged!
Harlequin. Hanged, and so of course, he doesn’t
want to run the risk of disappointing him.
Colombine. Very considerate, I’m sure.
I think you’re absolutely horrid, there.
[Cries.
Harlequin. [To Pierrot.] Don’t waver, both together.
Harlequin and Pierrot. We don’t care
Tuppence what you think or say,
We talked the matter over, here to-day;
And arbitration is the only way.
Colombine. You’re frightened.
Harlequin. Don’t be silly. Frightened! Me!
Colombine. Well, who’s your arbitrator going to be?
Harlequin. [Taken aback.] Why yes, we must have someone, I suppose.
But who’s to do it?
Pierrot. Goodness only knows!
There’s not a single person within call.
Colombine. [Clapping her hands.] Hurrah! You’ll have to fight, then, after all.
[There is a pause, during which Pierrot and
Harlequin look at each other in dismay.
Colombine on the other hand claps her
hands and pirouettes round the stage. Then
Harlequin sees Dan’l and drags him forward
at the same time speaking in asides.
Harlequin. What’s your name?
Dan’l. Much the same
As it’s always bin,
Week out, week in,
This seventy year and more.
Harlequin. Good! We want you to arbitrate.
You’re the very man.
Dan’l. Lawks-a-mussey. I’ll do it if I can.
Harlequin. There’s much gold.
Wealth untold!
If you only do
As I tell you to.
Harlequin. Until to-day, Pierrot and I have been
in the habit of engaging in mortal combat for the hand
of Colombine. Owing to the fact that up to the present
neither has had the decency to get killed, and as a
result of the wave of anti-militarism that has swept over
the country, we have decided to fall back on arbitration.
And you are the arbitrator. You understand?
Harlequin. Then you’re very thick.
Dan’l. You speaks too quick
And the way you keeps hopping about makes me fair mazed.
Harlequin. Now, listen. One of us is to marry
Colombine, and you’ve to decide which it’s to be.
Do you see?
Harlequin. But it’s quite simple.
Dan’l. Maybe. But how do I know which it’s to be?
Harlequin. I’ll let you into a secret. It’s me!
Dan’l. Oh! And if I goes and sez ’tis you,
What’s yon chap in the white trousers going to do?
Harlequin. Never mind him. He’s a fool.
Dan’l. It seems it don’t much matter what I say;
I’m bound to upset one of ye either way.
Oh! very well.
Harlequin. Colombine! Pierrot! Gather round.
[They sit in a semicircle; Colombine and
Dan’l in the centre.
Dan’l. I shall catch my death of cold, sitting on
this damp ground.
[There is silence, each waiting for the other to speak.
Colombine. You don’t seem very anxious, either
of you.
Dan’l. Who goes first?
Harlequin. If I don’t say something, and quickly, I shall burst.
Dan’l. Then you’d best get started. [Aside.] How long will it take?
Harlequin. Until it’s ended.
Dan’l. Cut it short for goodness’ sake.
Harlequin. Colombine! Let me take you away
from these lonely hills. Into the heart of the world
where lies the Land of Yesterday. There are stored
all the happy hours that you have known. You shall
live them all over again, Colombine—every one. I
will lead you by secret paths, through the dim woods
of yesternight until we stand together in the sunlight
of the days that have been. Walking backward
through the years, we will collect those dear lost
delights, of which only the memory remains. From
all that has gone before, it shall be yours to pick and
choose, and no To-morrow shall throw its ominous
shade before. The past shall deliver up its treasures
to your hand; regrets shall be ended, and happiness
shall be sure. Will you come, Colombine?
Colombine. No, Harlequin. The road to your
Land of Yesterday is longer than you know, and there
is no going back. Let us still take from the past our
memories and our dreams, but do not ask for more,
lest even these be denied.
