IT’S TIME SOMETHING HAPPENED
CAST
(The Prologue steps before the curtain. He is dressed in tights, etc., and carries a trumpet.)
Prologue
Do you know who I am? Yes, I’m the Prologue. I’m not really the Prologue: I am really the Exposition. But they put tights on me and gave me this (indicating the trumpet) and called me the Prologue. I can’t play a trumpet, but it goes well with my tights and looks good, and besides it’s something to lean on while I’m standing over there. Yes, I stand there during the whole play. It’s that kind of play.
There, I’ve told you! Yes, you’re going to see a play of a sort. Maybe it won’t be much of a play. That will depend on how much of a help you are. I suppose I’ve got to explain. That is part of my duties as the Exposition.
You see last night a young man (he must have been a very young man) dreamed a dream. I don’t mean that you can dream anything but a dream, but it is better to say “dreamed a dream” than to say simply, “he dreamed.” Now, this young man dreamed about triangles—not the kind he ought to have dreamed about as a student of higher mathematics and a very young man—but the other kind. He must have been pretty much of a playgoer, this young man.
As I say, he dreamed of triangles. He dreamed of a man and a wife and another man. That’s what is known as a triangle, you know. He didn’t give much time to the husband, but he did get the wife and the other man into a terrible mess. He made them fall in love, and he was just about to solve the problem of how he was going to get rid of the husband—that’s always the problem of triangles, you know—when he woke up.
Do you see the difficulty? Here are two angles, desperately in love, and they haven’t yet found out how they can get rid of the husband angle. And, moreover—but no, I’ve been enough Exposition for the present. If anything comes up that you don’t understand, I’ll try to make it clear to you. I’ll be right over here if you want me. If you’re all ready, we’ll begin. Just remember that you’re to help the angles if you can, please!
(He walks to one side and folds his arms. The curtains part, revealing a blank wall of curtains in the rear. Before curtains are three high stools. On left stool the She-Angle sits and on right stool the He-Angle, leaving the center stool vacant.)
He-Angle
Well?
She-Angle (shortly)
I didn’t say anything.
He-Angle
Oh!
(Pause.)
She-Angle
What?
He-Angle
I didn’t say anything.
She-Angle
Oh!
(Pause.)
He-Angle
This isn’t getting us anywhere.
She-Angle
That’s right. Blame it on me!
He-Angle
Who’s blaming it on you?
She-Angle
You are!
He-Angle
I’m not!
She-Angle
You are!
He-Angle
I’m not!
She-Angle
I say you are.
He-Angle
I’m—Oh, well, have it your own way. But, after all, it isn’t getting us anywhere, is it?
She-Angle
Who said it was?
He-Angle
That’s right. Blame it on me!
She-Angle
Who’s blaming it on you?
He-Angle
You are.
She-Angle
I’m not!
He-Angle
You— Oh, there we go again. (Gets off chair and paces across stage.) After all, it isn’t getting us anywhere.
She-Angle
Well, I’ve done all I could.
He-Angle
What have you done?
She-Angle
I’ve done everything I could.
He-Angle
So I heard you say. But what have you done?
She-Angle
I’ve racked my brains for days, if you want to know.
He-Angle
Oh, surely, it didn’t take all that.
She-Angle
All what?
He-Angle
Days.
She-Angle (beginning to sob)
There! You’re just like all men. Oh! And I thought you different.
He-Angle
Oh, come now! I say, there isn’t any reason for that.
She-Angle
Oh, no! You’d say not. You would.
He-Angle
Well, what did I say?
She-Angle
You said—(Sobs.)—You said I didn’t have any brains.
He-Angle
I didn’t!
She-Angle
You did.
He-Angle
I didn’t.
She-Angle (sobbing)
You did!
He-Angle
Oh, well. (He goes over to her and takes her hand.) I’m sorry. Really, I am, if I said it, but I don’t think I did.
She-Angle (brightening)
Well, you did.
He-Angle
I’m sorry. (Puts arm about her.) I am like all men, I guess.
She-Angle
What do you mean by that?
He-Angle
Oh, nothing. But what are you going to do about it?
She-Angle
I’ve been trying to tell you all along, if you’d only let me.
He-Angle
What have you been trying to tell me?
She-Angle
What I’m going to do about it.
He-Angle
Oh!
She-Angle
What?
He-Angle
Nothing. I just said “Oh”!
She-Angle
Oh!
(Pause.)
He-Angle
Well?
She-Angle
I didn’t say anything.
He-Angle
Oh!
(Pause.)
She-Angle
You see, I will not just run away from my husband. I say I won’t!
He-Angle
No! Certainly not. But what are you going to do? You know I love you. Where do I come in?
She-Angle
Well, I’ve sent for a playwright.
He-Angle
Oh!
She-Angle
Yes.
He-Angle
But what good is a playwright?
She-Angle
Why, don’t you see? To get us out of this mess.
He-Angle
But what good is he?
She-Angle
Why, don’t you see?
He-Angle
No.
She-Angle
Why, playwrights have to do with angles, and triangles, and all that sort of thing. He should be able to help us.
He-Angle
Oh!
(Pause.)
She-Angle
Well?
He-Angle
I didn’t say anything.
She-Angle
Oh!
(Pause.)
She-Angle
But I think you might.
He-Angle
Might what?
She-Angle
Say something. What do you think of it—my plan?
He-Angle
Oh! it’s all right, I guess.
She-Angle
You guess!
(Looks as if on the verge of tears.)
He-Angle
Why, of course it is. It’s fine; that’s what it is. It’s great! But suppose he won’t be able to help us?
She-Angle
He—(Looks off left.)—Here he comes! He will!
(Enter Playwright from left. Both He-Angle and She-Angle look at him curiously. He-Angle goes back to his stool.)
Playwright
You sent for me?
She-Angle
So you’re really a playwright! Oh!
Playwright
Well, rather. You sent for me?
She-Angle
Yes. I sent for you.
Playwright
Well?
She-Angle
I didn’t say anything.
Playwright
But what did you send for me for?
She-Angle
I told you that—in my letter. You know—my husband. We’ve got to get free from him.
Playwright
Oh, yes! Husband—triangle. H’m.
She-Angle
I thought that you, being a playwright—
Playwright
Yes, yes, of course.
She-Angle
You see, it’s really a very serious matter.
Playwright
H’m! Oh, not so serious!
He-Angle
But what are we going to do about it?
Playwright
Not so fast, young man! Don’t be impatient.
He-Angle
But we’re tired just being—angles.
Playwright
Of course. H’m! Have you told him?
She-Angle
Whom?
Playwright
Why, your husband.
She-Angle
No.
Playwright
No, of course not. But it is all very plain.
He-Angle
What is all very plain?
Playwright
It’s all very simple. All you have to do is to run away.
She-Angle
Playwright
Why, of course. Together!
She-Angle
But—but the scandal.
Playwright
Ah, of course—the scandal. Wonderful! Think of it. The whole town talking. Ah, Pinero! Everyone that’s worth while. Of course!
She-Angle
But I don’t want them to talk!
Playwright
Don’t be foolish! Think of the dialogue!
He-Angle
The what?
Playwright
The dialogue. Think of what people will say! Sparkling, eh, what! Scintillating! Think of it! Ah, Wilde!
She-Angle
But I don’t want them to talk!
Playwright
Well, of all the—! But they will talk!
He-Angle
No!
Playwright
Yes! Of course they will. Do you think they’re fools? If they didn’t talk, why—why there wouldn’t be any sense to triangles. You angles must take the consequences. If you must angle, you must be talked about.
She-Angle
No! I refuse!
He-Angle
Certainly not!
(Pause.)
Playwright
Well, then, if you insist on shutting out dialogue. There—have you thought of—How is your husband?
She-Angle
Why, well, thank you! Why—What do you mean?
Playwright
I mean—doesn’t he have anything?
She-Angle
Doesn’t he have anything?
Playwright
Why, yes—apoplexy or locomotor ataxia, or diabetes, or something?
She-Angle
Why—why, no!
Playwright
Pshaw, that’s too bad.
She-Angle
But I don’t know what you mean!
Playwright
Why, don’t you see? If he had something, he’d be bound to die at the right moment—which is now. Sort of an unwritten law among husbands, you know. They always do. They’re bound to in such cases as this—if everything else fails.
She-Angle
Well, he won’t.
He-Angle
No, he’s healthy as a fool! Besides, he wouldn’t have the decency.
She-Angle
He would! He would die, if he could. I know he would!
He-Angle
He wouldn’t! He’s too mean!
She-Angle
He isn’t! Besides, I don’t want him to die.
He-Angle
Who said you did?
She-Angle
You did!
He-Angle
I didn’t!
She-Angle
You did! You did! You did!
He-Angle
Oh, well!
Playwright
Come now, this isn’t getting us anywhere. We’re not through yet. There’s still another chance.
She-Angle
What is it?
Playwright
Hire a yacht!
She-Angle
A yacht?
Playwright
Of course. Hire a yacht and get shipwrecked.
She-Angle
Oh!
He-Angle
Get shipwrecked?
Playwright
Of course. Hire a yacht and go to the South Sea Islands—Fiji will do. Get shipwrecked—it’s very easy to manage. Then, out there, under the open sky and the stars—nature will tell.
She-Angle
Nature will tell?
Playwright
Why, yes. You’ll fight—you (to He-Angle) and he. Let the best man win! You’ll win—unless you lose. In either case—(To She-Angle.) In either case you’ll be satisfied. If your husband wins, you’ll find that all along you wanted your husband to win. (Indicating He-Angle.) If he wins, you’ll be happy to know that the man destiny picked for you won. It’s a fine place, the South Seas. You’re always satisfied.
She-Angle
But I don’t want to go to the South Seas!
He-Angle
Neither do I. It’s too lonely.
Playwright
Ah, no! It isn’t lonely any more. The South Seas have become very popular with the people who want to read their Ten Favorite Books and who never would read them anywhere else. You’d not be lonely—if you enjoy Shakespeare and Walt Whitman.
She-Angle
I hate Shakespeare, and I hate Walt Whitman! I won’t go! A fortune teller once told me I’d die by drowning, and I won’t go aboard a ship!
Playwright
Not even to Europe?
She-Angle
Not even to Europe.
Playwright
How vulgar! (He walks toward off stage.) Good day!
She-Angle
What, are you going?
Playwright
Yes, I’m going. What do you expect me to do? Stay here and be insulted?
He-Angle
Be insulted?
Playwright
Yes, be insulted. When you sent for me, I thought you would follow my advice. I have more to give, but I refuse to have my ideas laughed at. They’ve always been successful before—they still are in a thousand cases. But you think you’re too good, and your husband is too damn healthy, and yourself too superstitious. Good day.
(He lifts his hat and passes out right. Both He-Angle and She-Angle look disconsolately after him.)
She-Angle
Well?
He-Angle
I didn’t say anything.
She-Angle
Oh!
(Pause.)
He-Angle
I told you so!
She-Angle
What did you tell me?
He-Angle
That a fool playwright wouldn’t be any help.
She-Angle
You didn’t!
He-Angle
I did! Now if you’d followed my plan in the first place!
She-Angle
You didn’t have any plan.
He-Angle
I did. You know I did. My friend, the Poet. If you’d only sent for him—He’d be able to help us. A poet’s got imagination. That’s what we need—imagination. He’s got it—my friend, the Poet.
She-Angle
Why didn’t you send for him?
He-Angle
I did, even if you wouldn’t. I asked him to come, and he said he’d be right over.
She-Angle
Well, why didn’t he come?
He-Angle
He’d been here long ago if it hadn’t been for that fool of a playwright. I never liked playwrights anyway. Poets for me every time. They’re so practical.
She-Angle
Well, why doesn’t he come?
He-Angle
He probably is here; no doubt he’s been here all the time that fool Playwright was here, only I didn’t want to have them meet. They don’t hitch very well, Poets and Playwrights. At least any more. (He looks toward Prologue.) Is the Poet here?
(The Prologue looks off stage right.)
Prologue
Yes, the Poet is here.
He-Angle
Send him in.
Prologue
I beg your pardon! I’m a Prologue—not a butler. However, I’ll call him if you insist. But please address me more respectfully in the future.
He-Angle
I beg your pardon, Prologue. Please call the Poet.
Prologue (beckoning off stage right)
Poet.
(Enter Poet from right. He is fat, bald, and of a rosy complexion.)
Poet
Hullo!
He-Angle (getting off stool)
Hullo! (Turns to She-Angle.) May I introduce Poet?
She-Angle (bowing stiffly)
How do you do!
(She is not a bit impressed.)
Poet
You sent for me?
He-Angle
Yes. As I explained in my letter, we want advice on how to solve our triangle.
Poet
But I’m a Poet. I always was rotten at mathematics.
He-Angle
But this is not a mathematical triangle. (He gets back on stool.) You see (indicating She-Angle), we’re angles.
Poet
Oh, I see! (To She-Angle.) He’s complimentary, eh, what? Haw!
(She-Angle sniffs, very much upstage, at the pun.)
He-Angle
We need your advice. Imagination! It’s going to take imagination to get us out of this mess. That’s why I sent for you.
Poet
Thank you. Well, then, what have you done?
He-Angle
Nothing.
She-Angle
A Playwright tried to help us, but—
Poet
But couldn’t. Of course! Tawdry stuff, I suppose. I know just about what he would suggest. It goes well enough on the stage, but it isn’t art.
She-Angle
Ah! Art!
Poet
Of course. You want to be artistic, don’t you?
She-Angle (beginning to melt)
Yes. Oh, yes!
Poet
H’m.
(Pause.)
He-Angle
Well?
Poet
I didn’t say anything.
She-Angle
Oh!
(Pause.)
Poet
There’s really not much to be done. It’s all so simple, really, and all so artistic. Poetry! I tell you there’s poetry there.
She-Angle
Where?
Poet
There.
She-Angle
Oh!
Poet
Yes, there’s poetry there, and art. It’s so artistic to suffer.
She-Angle
To suffer?
Poet
Yes, so artistic. A sacrifice on the altar of living love. Oh, divine sacrifice! Oh, the beauty and the art of suffering!
He-Angle
Say, I don’t get all that you’re raving about, but if you have the idea that we aren’t suffering, you’re way off. We are. And it may be artistic, but it’s damn uncomfortable.
Poet
Uncomfortable. Yes. So artistic. The altar of living love. Purple love, deep, mystic, fragrant, yes. So uncomfortable, but so beautiful.
She-Angle
But I thought you would be able to help us.
Poet
Ah, I am able. So able! Already I have envisioned your life. So heroic! So hopeless!
He-Angle
Hopeless?
Poet
Yes. Two lives sacrificed on the altar of living, hopeless love. Deathless love, fragrant and so purple!
He-Angle
Come out of it and explain all this nonsense to us! Can you help us escape from this awful three-cornered prison?
Poet
Ah, yes, three-cornered. The three-cornered prison of love! Fetters forged in the vermillion fire of love. No blue flame to love, but deep vermillion girandoles of passion! So vermillion!
She-Angle (she has stood it as long as she can)
He’s mad!
Poet (starting up)
What?
He-Angle
I sent for you, thinking that with your imagination you would be able to help us. But it seems that you’ve got too much imagination. Have you any suggestion or haven’t you?
Poet
Why, of course I have. Haven’t I been telling you all along?
She-Angle
Well, how am I to get rid of my husband?
Poet
Ah, madam. You’ll not do that. Ah, no! So comfortable but so inartistic.
She-Angle
Not get rid of him! But what shall I do?
Poet
Live. Madam, live—a living sacrifice on the altar of a living love!
She-Angle
You mean—? You don’t mean—?
Poet
Yes.
He-Angle
But where do I come in?
Poet
Ah, my boy. That is it. You, too, can suffer so beautifully. Eternally! Love is eternity. Love her, my boy, and suffer from afar.
He-Angle
Not marry her?
Poet
No, no! Not marry her! That would not be art. You must deny your love, lock it in your heart and go.
He-Angle
Go where?
Poet
That doesn’t matter. Just go. In your heart a love denied. So denied!
He-Angle
But I’m not going. I’m going——
Poet
But I thought you said you weren’t.
He-Angle
I’m going to marry her!
Poet
No! Good Lord, no! Anything but that. Seal up your hearts with the seals of eternity and deny your love. There only is Poetry! There only is Art! Seal up your hearts, I say. But don’t marry.
She-Angle
I will marry him!
Poet
You, too! Think of it. Why, you are spoiling your great opportunity of sacrificing yourself on the altar of deathless love. You may be sung, if you seal your hearts; but marry, and you’ll go and have children. Ugh!
She-Angle
I love children.
Poet
Ugh! Deny your purple love, and suffer the eternal pangs of deathless, hopeless yearning. I’ll sing you. Why, I’ve already thought of two new rhymes for love and a beautiful simile. Think of it. Deny your love and have your story told to the world in similes!
She-Angle
I hate similes!
Poet
So heroic! So beautiful! So deathless to deny a hopeless love. Beside it the human sacrifices of golden Chichen-Itza were pale and anemic. I’m holding out to you the straw of immortality.
She-Angle
I don’t want to be immortal. I want children.
Poet
Oh, well. Then have your children. But don’t, in the name of art and beauty, don’t have legitimate children. Legitimate children are so prosy. A poet can’t sing of them.
She-Angle (feeling her cheeks)
Oh! Oh! Why, the idea!
He-Angle
Come, now, that’s going a bit too far! I don’t think you can help us. In fact, I think everything you’ve said about the most ridiculous rubbish I ever heard.
Poet
Rubbish! Fool! Fools! (He stalks toward left.) I’m through with you. Love your damn heads off and marry and have children, dozens of them. I hope they’re all cross-eyed! Fools!
(He goes off left angrily, He-Angle and She-Angle sit on their stools, a picture of resentment and outraged respectability.)
She-Angle
I told you so.
He-Angle
What did you tell me?
She-Angle
I knew he couldn’t help us. A poet! He’s no poet. Fat and bald. Ugh! I think he ought to be arrested as an impostor. Why, the idea of his talking about illegit—about—ah—children!
He-Angle
And I thought he was a friend of mine! I always liked poetry, too.
She-Angle
Deny our love! Live and suffer! I don’t believe he knows what love is. Or life either. And then those—children!
(She feels her cheeks again. Pause while both sit thoughtfully.)
He-Angle
Well?
She-Angle
I didn’t say anything.
He-Angle
Oh!
(Pause.)
She-Angle
But what are we to do?
He-Angle
I don’t know. This is an awful mess. Maybe Poet is right and we’ll have to go on as we are—just angles.
She-Angle
He isn’t right! and I won’t go on just being an angle.
He-Angle
But what are we going to do?
She-Angle
I’m sure I don’t know—yet. But we’ll find a way.
(Pause while they both seem to concentrate.)
She-Angle
I have it!
He-Angle
What?
She-Angle
Why didn’t we think of it before?
He-Angle
What?
She-Angle
Why, Prologue! Why don’t we ask Prologue?
He-Angle
That’s right. Why didn’t we?
She-Angle
Oh, Prologue!
(Prologue, who has been leaning half asleep on his trumpet, turns to the Angles.)
Prologue
Yes?
She-Angle
We want your help. We need your advice.
Prologue
Oh, no!
She-Angle
What do you mean?
Prologue
I mean you’re not going to drag me into this mess. I’m a Prologue and don’t know anything about Angles—any more than I do about playing this trumpet We Prologues have a lot to contend with these days. They make us do all sorts of things—even to shifting scenery at times. But so far they have kept us out of scandals, and I’m not going to start in, as old as I am, getting into such scrapes.
She-Angle
But, Prologue, we don’t want you to get into any scrapes. We only want you to give us advice on how to solve the triangle.
Prologue
Oh, yes, that’s all you want me to do. But say, haven’t I seen plays before? Haven’t I seen innocent bystanders dragged into such messes as this, even into the divorce courts, just because of a little good advice given at the wrong time.
She-Angle
But this is the right time.
Prologue
How can I be sure of that? Besides, as I said before, I’m the Prologue and not an information bureau or ways and means committee.
(He turns back to the side of the proscenium where he has been standing.)
He-Angle
Don’t give us any advice, Prologue. But haven’t you any suggestions?
Prologue
No!—Why, yes, I’ll give you a suggestion. Why don’t you try the audience?
He-Angle
The—the audience?
Prologue
Yes. Why don’t you try them? Maybe there is a novelist among them.
She-Angle
Oh, fine! Maybe there is! Ask them, Prologue, do! I know an Author can help us!
Prologue (turning to audience)
Is there an Author in the audience? (Pause.) A Novelist?
Author (rising somewhere in the audience)
Yes. I’m a Novelist. (He comes forward.) I’ve been thinking it was about time some one with a little brains took a hand in these proceedings. I’ll be glad to help you.
Prologue
Come right up, Author.
(Author goes up on the stage.)
Prologue (to Angles)
Here is your Author.
(Turns back to his original post.)
Author
You know, I feel very sorry for you people, not because of the mess you’re in but because of the way you tried to get out of it.
He-Angle
What do you mean?
Author
Why, calling on a playwright and a poet. What good did you ever think they could possibly do you? I’m suspicious of them, particularly playwrights. I once had a novel, one of my best, adapted for the stage. (He throws up his hands.) You should have seen it when that playwright got through with it! I wouldn’t have recognized it myself. Only the title remained the same.
She-Angle
But they’re usually very good in triangles.
Author (sniffing)
Oh, yes. They know how to invent them, but they fail utterly in solving them satisfactorily. Why, not so long ago a very prominent playwright put two triangles together and tried to pass it off as a circle, but they remained triangles. It might be good dialogue, but it’s poor mathematics.
He-Angle
Do you think you can help us?
Author
My boy, I’m sure of it. Of course, it’s largely up to you. If you’re willing to take sound advice, I know I can help you. I’ve solved many triangles in my time. That’s the kind of novel I have always written, and I always see to it that there’s a good moral attached. So do you feel it safe to listen to me?
She-Angle
Oh, yes! (To He-Angle.) I’m sure he’s going to be able to help us!
Author
Now then. The first thing you’re to do is to send for your husband and tell him all about it.
She-Angle
Tell him! Oh, I can’t do that!
Author
Yes, you must tell him. Now twenty years ago you would not have been able to do that, but now—all is different. Twenty years ago it would have meant a duel or a murder. To-day, however, husbands are different. I suppose we novelists are really responsible for the change. Realism has done it. Realism has made men realize that man and wife are two separate and individual entities. The wife, man now realizes, has a right to lead her own life as she chooses. And he accepts it. Realism has done it!
She-Angle
But my husband doesn’t.
Author
Doesn’t what?
She-Angle
Accept it. He doesn’t believe it. He wouldn’t allow it!
Author
But how do you know unless you try him? I am willing to stake my reputation as a Novelist that he would be amenable to argument.
She-Angle
But he hates arguments. I never could even argue with him over the price of a hat.
Author
Besides, perhaps he, too, is tired.
She-Angle
Tired of what?
Author
Of—of marriage.
She-Angle
Oh! of marriage. Of me, you mean?
Author
That is putting it very bluntly. But, since you put it that way—yes.
She-Angle (turning to He-Angle)
Oh!
He-Angle
See here! What are you trying to insinuate?
Author
I’m not trying to insinuate anything. My dear man, I am simply appealing to your sense of justice. It is not unreasonable to conceive of a mutual feeling of surfeit arising in man and wife. That has frequently been the case, as you will realize if you read the popular novel. We novelists were among the first to recognize it. It will soon be put on the stage.
She-Angle
I’m sure he isn’t tired of me.
Author
Of you—probably not. But of marriage and its restrictions—yes, perhaps.
He-Angle
But, suppose he were tired of marriage. What good would all this be?
Author
You should be able to come to some arrangement. Divorce, perhaps.
She-Angle
I hate divorce! It’s so vulgar!
Author
Oh, not any more. It’s really very smart.
She-Angle
I don’t like it!
Author
Well, I don’t know how you’re going to get out of this mess if you won’t listen to divorce. There’s no chance of your husband’s dying you told the playwright. There are only two other ways out.
She-Angle
And what are they?
Author
Murder and free love. I don’t suppose you’ll commit murder?
She-Angle (shrinking)
Oh, no! Murder my husband!
Author
It’s not so very bad. Really, murder may be so committed that it is neither vulgar nor sinful.
She-Angle
Not sinful!
Author
Of course not. Murder is not necessarily sinful. It is held to be so only as a matter of convenience and because people have a naïve way of speaking of one’s having a right to live. After all, no one has any real right except to die. Murder is not considered sinful even by so-called moralists if it be done for a patriotic reason as in war. To ease your conscience, then, can’t you think of a patriotic reason why your husband should die? Does he obey the laws?