| Charles Everitt |
| Mary, his wife |
| Walter, seventeen |
| Alice, fifteen |
| Harold, five |
The scene shows a hotel "parlor" in the White Mountains. Beneath the flashy ugliness of its modern wall paper and upholstery, a certain refinement persists from an older generation. The room itself is well proportioned, with a very good hearth. The parlor might once have been the ball room in a squire's mansion.
It is about seven o'clock of an August evening, the room feebly lighted by a flickering acetylene burner. One feels the commencement of rain. A door to the rear opens and the Everitts enter, the younger children first.
Harold
She didn't give me any toast. I want some toast!
Walter
A rotten supper!
Mrs. Everitt
Never mind, Harold, you had two cups of that beautiful milk.
Alice
Of course it was rotten. Everything's second rate here. Ugh! what a musty smell!
Walter
I told father we ought to go ahead. The car could have done another six miles easily. And we'd have reached the Mountain Inn.
Alice
I'm sure there's a dance there to-night!
Everitt
The car could not have done the six miles. We were lucky to make that last hill. You might have had to walk the whole way.
Alice
Well, we always start too soon or too late. For goodness sake let's at least have some light. There's no use having it as dark inside as out. (Everitt goes about lighting all the burners)
Harold
Hear the rain, rain, rain!
Walter
It is coming down. I never heard it make so much noise.
Mrs. Everitt
That's because city people never have a roof over their heads!
Alice
Why, mother, the rain makes your voice vibrate like—
Walter
Like a fire engine. I stood right by one, once.
Mrs. Everitt
Come, Harold, sit on my lap.
Everitt
Shall I close the blinds?
Alice
Yes.
Mrs. Everitt
No, don't. Nobody's about on a night like this.
Harold
Wish I could see rain. What it like?
Everitt
What's what like?
Harold
Rain—rain.
Alice
Like shower baths.
Harold
Oh. Mother, tell me story about rain. I like rain! (Everitt feels about for his cigar case. A letter falls from his pocket which he picks up hurriedly)
Everitt
I'm going for a cigar.
Walter
It's like being in a submarine!
Harold
Mother, tell me story!
Mrs. Everitt
Once upon a time—
Walter
I'm going out for a minute.
Alice
I wish....
Harold
Once on a time!
Mrs. Everitt
Oh, yes. Once there was a little girl who lived in the country.
Harold
What country?
Mrs. Everitt
A country something like this. She and her mother lived in a little house beside a brook. The little girl loved to listen to the brook outside her window at night. One day she asked her mother where the brook went to. She didn't want her brook to run away. And what do you suppose her mother said?
Harold
What her mother say?
Mrs. Everitt
She said the brook didn't really run away, when it got out of sight across the fields it turned into rain. So then the little girl was glad whenever it rained, because she knew it was the little brook coming back to her.
Harold
Oh. And is this rain the brook coming back? The little girl's brook?
Mrs. Everitt
The little girl grew up and went away. But it's some little girl's brook. (Walter comes in with sticks)
Walter
I thought we'd have a fire.
Alice
Good! Make a big one.
Mrs. Everitt
Now, Harold, mother is going to put you in a nice bed, right under the roof where the rain-drops whisper and sing. (She takes Harold out)
Alice
Where'd father go?
Walter
He said he wanted a cigar.
Alice
He's been a long time.
Walter
Perhaps he's gone to look at the engine.
Alice
Walter, what's the matter with them? Last night....
Walter
I don't know. I heard them, too. It isn't the first time they have quarreled.
Alice
It's terrible!
Walter
Father's got a rotten temper, lately.
Alice
I thought she wanted him—
Walter
She did, but he had no business to get so angry about it.
Alice
But why did she want to change our plans at the last minute and go into Connecticut? Everything was arranged to come here.
Walter.
She said he had arranged it without speaking to her. She said—there's something about it I don't understand.
Alice
I don't either. I—(Mrs. Everitt enters)
Walter
Did he go to sleep?
Mrs. Everitt
No. He is talking to the rain. I never heard him say such odd things. I hated to leave him. It seemed as if he heard voices....
Walter
Sit down, mother. It's very jolly here.
Mrs. Everitt
Thank you, Walter. How many years since I've enjoyed a real fire, like this!
Walter
Oh, there isn't enough wood. Just a minute—(He goes out)
Alice
You look tired.
Mrs. Everitt
I'm all right, dear.
Alice
No you're not. Why won't you tell me?
Mrs. Everitt
But Alice, there's nothing to tell. I do feel a little tired, but then, I shall be all right in the morning.
Alice
I wish—(Walter enters with more wood)
Walter
Well, Alice, are you still thinking about that dance?
Alice
Why no, I'd forgotten all about it. Who could dance in such a rain? It would make the music seem artificial. I'm getting tired of boys, too. They don't really feel things—like rain, and fire.
Mrs. Everitt
What's that noise,—Harold?
Walter
No. It's the men in the bar room.
Mrs. Everitt
I'm sure it's Harold.
Alice
I'll go see. (She goes out)
Walter
Mother.
Mrs. Everitt
What, Walter?
Walter
I must be an awful coward—
Mrs. Everitt
Why, what do you mean?
Walter
I mean that when I really want something, and ought to say so, I go along without saying it. I don't mean that I'm really afraid to say it, but I always feel somehow that other people ought to know what I want, and save me the trouble of asking it. No, not trouble exactly—but you know what I mean.
Mrs. Everitt
Yes, Walter, I'm afraid I know exactly what you mean. Lots of us are cursed with the same instinct. I am, and sometimes I believe your father is, too. It ought to be that when one sees a thing clearly in his own mind, and knows it is best, others—at least those near to him—should somehow be aware of it. But they usually are not.
Walter
No. And it's those nearest one that it's hardest to say things to. But to-night, somehow, I don't feel that way.
Mrs. Everitt
Tell me.
Walter
It's this architecture. You remember when I used to play with water colors all the while, and say I was going to be an artist?
Mrs. Everitt
Yes, but—
Walter
Father always said I would get over it. But when I didn't, then it occurred to him that if I learned architecture I could help him in his building.... I thought architecture would be the same. But it isn't. I can't see any art in it at all—it's nothing but engineering.
Mrs. Everitt
But Walter, you haven't gone far enough in it. The art will come later.
Walter
No it won't! At least not with father. He never builds anything that lets me imagine. You don't know how I hate those blue prints. I've been worrying along so far because I didn't want to disappoint father, though every day I hoped he would see what I really felt. But to-night I know I can't go on any longer without having it out. If he will let me follow my own idea he will be better pleased in the end than if I stick at this business of his. It will require one good fight, and then I shall be free to show what I can do.
Mrs. Everitt
But Walter, what is it exactly you want to do?
Walter.
I suppose I ought to say that I want to be an artist rather than a builder's draughtsman, but that isn't really it. I mean that behind the brain I think with every day there is another brain, bigger and wiser, that keeps asking the chance to show the rest of me what and how to act. In ordinary things the everyday mind gets along by itself all right, but I feel the other self there all the while, wanting me to begin something different, something to let it escape from dreaming to doing. And it keeps threatening that some day it will he too late. Only begin, begin!... Yes, I have worried along so far, but just to-night, for some reason or other, I seem to be standing on the brink. I won't go another step. It's in the rain now—I hear it. Oh, the pictures I could paint if we lived in the country!
Mrs. Everitt
In the country!
Walter
Yes. It comes over me here how much these hills mean. Oh! and there's another thing, mother.... I thought I was born in New York, I thought we always lived there, but just a while ago I ran onto your old family Bible, and it had the records in it. I—
Mrs. Everitt
Oh, Walter!
Walter
It seems queer that neither of you said anything about it, if I was really born in this very town.... I might never have thought much about it, but to-night everything seems to be stirred up. Tell me, mother—
Mrs. Everitt
We lived here only a little while. We didn't like it, so your father sold his farm and we went away to New York.
Walter
Yes, but why wasn't something said about it when we came here this afternoon? It seems funny, not to.
Mrs. Everitt
Dear, there was a little family trouble, long ago, which is best forgotten.
Walter
Oh.
Alice (entering)
It wasn't Harold, after all, but I just had to stay and listen to him. He tried over and over to tell me something. I couldn't make out what it was until he showed me with his hands—you know that funny little way he has—and what do you suppose it was?
Mrs. Everitt
The dear child. What was it?
Alice
Why, he remembered the big drum he saw once in a parade, and he was trying to explain that he was inside a drum. The rain, you know.
Everitt (entering)
We had to jack up the car. The barn is flooding with water.
Mrs. Everitt
Is that where you were?
Everitt
Yes.... How strange you look in that light, Alice! I never saw you look like that before. (He kisses her)
Alice
Oh!
Mrs. Everitt
What is it, Alice?
Alice
Why ... I thought his cigar was going to burn me.
Mrs. Everitt
Oh.
Everitt
Alice, you jumped because you didn't like my breath. I'm sorry, I did take a drink, and I shouldn't have kissed you, only....
Walter
Only what?
Everitt
She looked just as Mary did when I first knew her. It startled me.
Alice
Do I?
Mrs. Everitt
Was I like that?
Everitt
Of course you were.
Alice
Oh, I'm glad!
Mrs. Everitt
Thank you, dear, but you're not half so glad as I am.
Everitt
It's queer, there used to be a fine old stock up in this country. It seems to have died out. The people here don't half appreciate the place.
Mrs. Everitt
But you haven't seen many of them, have you?
Everitt
No, I talked with some in the bar room.
Alice
Oh, the bar room?
Everitt
Yes, I know. One can't judge from that. A filthy place—it made me ashamed of drinking. I only went in hoping to see some of the people I used to know.
Mrs. Everitt
Oh!
Walter
Where's my portfolio?
Mrs. Everitt
In the office, with those hand bags we decided not to open.
Walter
I'm going to get it. I just had an idea.... (He goes out)
Everitt
It's only ten o'clock, but it seems like midnight.
Alice
So it does. Are we going on to-morrow? Will the car be all right?
Everitt
George says so. To-morrow? I suppose so.
Alice
Well, I'm going to bed.
Mrs. Everitt
I hope Harold is asleep. Good night, dear.
Everitt
Good night, Mary.
Alice
You said "Mary."
Everitt
Did I? Well, you might be, for all that.
Alice (leaving)
Good night.
Everitt
If she had on that blue dress you used to wear, your own mother couldn't tell you apart.
Mrs. Everitt
Charles.
Everitt
What?
Mrs. Everitt
Walter knows he was born here. He wants to know why we didn't mention it to-day.
Everitt
So do I! So do I want to know why we didn't mention it! It's been between us all these years! (Walter enters with his portfolio. He stands unnoticed at the door)
Mrs. Everitt
You want to know? You know very well yourself! It's I who ought to ask what the matter is!
Everitt
You? Good heavens! Wasn't it you who suddenly made up your mind we had to leave this town, and insisted and insisted until I sold the house? Didn't I do that to please you, because you went into hysterics about it, and I had to think of Walter? I didn't want to go. It isn't every man who would change his whole life for a woman's unreasonable whim!
Mrs. Everitt
Whim! It isn't every wife who—Oh! Oh!
Everitt
Yes whim! And haven't I stayed away all these years from my people because you wouldn't hear to our coming back even for a visit?
Mrs. Everitt
No you didn't stay away! You sneaked up here the very next year when you made that trip to Boston. And you can't deny it, because Janet Richardson wrote me.
Everitt
Sneaked up here! Deny it! Are you mad? The only reason I didn't mention it was because I never understood your positive hatred for the place. What harm was there in coming back for a day or two? On every other subject you are all right, but whenever we get within a mile of mentioning this town I feel your hysteria, so I have kept still. But if there's anything you can say to explain yourself, for goodness sake say it! This nightmare has been between us long enough.
Mrs. Everitt
Yes, it has! Too long! And I like your way of saying you had to think of Walter! It was I had to think of my baby! If it hadn't been for Walter, I wouldn't have lived with you another day! I kept on at first so that he might be born with a father to look out for him, and then I kept on so that he needn't grow up in the shame of a divorce. But oh, the pain of it! To keep silent, year after year!
Everitt
Look here, are we both crazy? Out with it!
Mrs. Everitt
Annie Pratt!
Everitt
What? Who?
Mrs. Everitt
Annie Pratt!
Everitt
Who the devil's Annie Pratt? What's she got to do with it?
Mrs. Everitt
Ha! Not faithful even to her! Or are you trying to lie out of it? You can't, because I've still got the letter.
Everitt
What letter? I'm not going to stand these hysterics any longer!
Mrs. Everitt
You needn't. But you've got to stand the truth, do you hear me? I found the letter in your pocket. We hadn't been married a year. I was so happy! Oh! Oh!
Everitt
So was I happy, Oh! Oh!
Mrs. Everitt
Hypocrite! "Dearest Charlie: You said it is I who am your wife really, because it's I who make you happy." Vile cat!
Everitt
Annie Pratt, Annie Pratt. I remember her....
Mrs. Everitt
I should think you would! But any man who will—
Everitt
Look here! I've got the whole thing! You found that letter in my pocket?
Mrs. Everitt
Yes I did.
Everitt
Well, do you remember my quarrel with Charlie Fisher?
Mrs. Everitt
Yes. Why?
Everitt
Because, you poor child, that letter was written to him.
Mrs. Everitt
To him!
Everitt
Yes, Charlie Fisher. I found that he was going with Annie Pratt and I had it out with him one day in the barn. I told him if he didn't quit his foolishness I'd tell his people. We nearly came to blows—he was drinking too much, too—and I found that letter on the floor afterwards. I meant to burn it up, but I forgot it. And you thought I was the Charlie!
Mrs. Everitt
God forgive me!
Everitt
But why on earth didn't you come right out with it?
Mrs. Everitt
Oh! You can't realize how crushed I felt. I wanted only to run away, like a wounded animal.... And then I couldn't bear to quarrel, for the sake of Walter. So it's been festering in me all this time.
Everitt
So that's it. Well, thank heaven! (He starts to embrace her)
Mrs. Everitt
But that letter you picked up so quickly to-night—was that from somebody else?
Everitt
Lord, I'd almost forgotten it.
Mrs. Everitt
There! And I was almost happy!
Everitt
For goodness sake, read it!
Mrs. Everitt
From your bank.... I don't understand it.
Everitt
It's simple enough. They won't make me another loan.
Mrs. Everitt
Well?
Everitt
Between the unions and the new inspection—well, I can't finish the Broadway contract on time, and I'm done.
Mrs. Everitt
Done?
Everitt
Done. Smashed. I might save ten thousand dollars, that's all. My life's work....
Mrs. Everitt
You mean money?
Everitt
I mean the lack of it.
Mrs. Everitt
Is that all? Thank heaven!
Everitt
All! But do you realize it means giving up the house, and beginning all over again on ten thousand dollars?
Mrs. Everitt
I don't care. I was never happy there anyhow. And now I could be happy doing my own work in a tenement.
Everitt
I think I could be happy as a carpenter again by the day. But the children. It's going to be hard for them. Walter's architecture.
Walter
Father!
Everitt
Good gracious! Where did you come from?
Walter
I came back from the office.... I heard what you were saying. So that's all right. But you needn't worry about my architecture. I was telling mother to-night. I don't like it—it isn't my work. I only wanted you to feel as I do about it. Just feel that I really want to paint—to be an artist. Even if I have to work at something else for a long time, I'll feel easier, knowing you realize what I want. I love color so. And I want to let my imagination go. I'll help in any way I can, naturally. I'm glad too. I mean, I had rather live in the country like this than in New York.
Everitt
Good Lord! (Alice appears in the doorway holding Harold)
Walter
It seems to me that none of us has been really satisfied, so it isn't so bad after all. We can begin on something real to us all. Mother said she would be happy in a tenement. Well, maybe she would, but why not come up here?
Mrs. Everitt
Oh, Charles!
Everitt
Well ... but Alice.
Alice
Mother.
Mrs. Everitt
You, too! What is it? What's the matter with Harold?
Alice
Nothing. He wouldn't go to sleep, and wouldn't. He said he wanted to sit in your lap. I never saw him so. I had to bring him.
Mrs. Everitt
Give him to me, dear.
Alice
And I knew something was going on down here... I could feel it. I don't know what it was, but there's one thing I do know.
Mrs. Everitt
What?
Alice
Why, ever since father said I looked as you used to I've been thinking about what you must have been like as a girl, and it came over me how useless I am. I've never done anything. And you must have done a lot.
Everitt
I should say she did!
Walter
There! Say, Alice, how'd you like to live in that white house we passed, the one with the orchard?
Alice
Really? And do things?
Mrs. Everitt
Charles!
Everitt
This is the most extraordinary night I ever heard of. Here I was, feeling like a condemned criminal because I'd lost my business, afraid to tell Mary and you children, and now you all seem positively glad of it. I expected all kinds of trouble, and all at once.... What the deuce is it?
Harold
Rain—rain.... Mother, why can't the brook come back to the same little girl?
PICTURES
A studio on the Rue Notre-Dame-des-Champs. There is a small entrance hall, kitchenette, and a balcony before which curtains are drawn. It is a winter afternoon, and a young man is busy at an easel placed close beside the north light. A young woman arranges tea things on the table.
Silvia
Joe.
Joe
Um.
Silvia
Joe!
Joe
Um—um! (She walks over, draws his watch from his pocket and shows him the time)
Silvia
It's nearly four o'clock.
Joe
Just a minute—the light's fine, and I want to finish.
Silvia
Yes, I know, but he may be here any minute.
Joe
Tea on?
Silvia
Yes.
Joe
Well, that'll keep him while I get ready. That's mostly what they came for, anyhow.
Silvia
But he's different. He isn't a Cook's tourist—
Joe
No, he's a relative!
Silvia
You wouldn't say that if one of your family dropped in. Besides, I've never even seen him. And he's something of a collector, Joe. He buys pictures.
Joe
So I hear. The last thing he bought was a Bougereau!
Silvia
Well, he's a relative ... and when he sees your last things!
Joe
Um.... There, it's all done.
Silvia
I'm crazy to see it, Joe, but run up and get ready. Sh! (A knock at the door. Joe runs upstairs to the balcony. Silvia opens the door and admits Mr. Wentworth, rather stout and with gold spectacles)
Mr. Wentworth
Mrs. Carson?
Silvia
Yes. This is Mr. Wentworth? Joe and I have been expecting you. Let me take your coat. The studio's rather upset just now—
Mr. Wentworth
Delightful! How I love the atmosphere of work in a studio! I used to paint a bit myself, you know.
Silvia
Did you? Father never mentioned that.
Mr. Wentworth
Oh, I guess everybody has forgotten it by now. An early adventure with life! Goodness only knows what might have happened, though, if the business hadn't fallen on me to look out for. I might have been a great artist. Ha!
Silvia
I'm sure you would, Mr. Wentworth. You've always been interested in art, haven't you?
Mr. Wentworth
Yes indeed. Of course I have been very busy, until lately. But I always followed the best English magazines.
Silvia
My husband's upstairs getting the paint off his hands. He will be down in a minute. Then we'll have some tea.
Mr. Wentworth
You don't paint, do you, Silvia? I may call you Silvia, may I not?
Silvia
Of course. No, I don't paint. I just fly around amongst the artists and see what's going on. Are you staying in Paris very long?
Mr. Wentworth
A couple of weeks more, at least. I am revelling in the galleries and museums here.
Silvia
Here comes Joe. Joe, I want you to meet my cousin, Mr. Wentworth. Mr. Wentworth—Mr. Carson.
Joe
Very glad to meet you, Mr. Wentworth.
Mr. Wentworth
It's a great pleasure for me to meet a real artist, Mr. Carson.
Silvia
Excuse me a moment. I'll bring on the tea.
Joe
Oh, as for that—I'm working along. Sometimes I hit it—
Mr. Wentworth
Ars longa, vita brevis you know! I want to see your pictures very much. I was just telling Silvia how I delight in the Louvre. I go there with a class for lectures every morning. I suppose you often copy the old masters?
Joe
Copy the old masters? I should say not. I'm not out to be a camera. It's all I can do to work out my own impressions.
Mr. Wentworth
Oh, I see. But—
Silvia
The tea's ready. Joe, bring up that chair for Mr. Wentworth. Mr. Wentworth, do you take cream and sugar?
Mr. Wentworth If you please. Yes, two lumps. There's nothing like the atmosphere of a studio, is there? I love it. I feel I have missed so much. Still, the instinct for beauty, fragile as it is, does persist.... I was surprised to feel so many of my old emotions awake on coming to Paris. So much that hasn't been real to me for years! I have gained much inspiration for planning my new house.
Silvia
You are building a new house? I have heard father talk about your collection of Japanese prints.
Mr. Wentworth
A really delightful thing, Japanese prints. Yes, I intend building on Long Island. And my new interest in pictures ... I shall have a gallery especially for them.
Joe
Americans haven't done any too much for art so far.
Mr. Wentworth
Oh, I assure you! I know many men who are continually buying the best on the market.
Joe
Oh, that....
Silvia
Another cup, Mr. Wentworth? Joe, pass the cake.
Mr. Wentworth
No, thank you, Silvia. Yes, the cake if you please. Why, it's real English plumcake!
Silvia
English things are getting very popular over here. Joe, won't you show us the new picture? He finished it just before you came, Mr. Wentworth.
Mr. Wentworth
Indeed! I should like to see it very much.
Joe
There isn't very much light.
Silvia
No, the light is poor. But even so—and your colors will stand out, Joe.
Mr. Wentworth
Really, Mr. Carson, I counted on seeing some of your work. I have heard, nice things about you.
Joe
There. If you stand just here....
Silvia
Oh, Joe!
Joe
What?
Silvia
It's our little cottage! I'm so glad! That's where we lived last summer, Mr. Wentworth. I always wanted Joe to paint it. Joe, it's splendid! Don't you think so, Mr. Wentworth?
Mr. Wentworth
Yes.... Yes. Very interesting....
Silvia
Don't you love the bright colors and the firm, flowing lines?
Mr. Wentworth
Of course, it isn't exactly what I have been accustomed to.... I have heard that some of the younger Frenchmen and Russians are painting in a new way, but—
Silvia
Joe, it's so alive! I feel it, every inch of it! You've no idea, Mr. Wentworth, how Joe's painting has changed me. I used to be such a little New Englander, afraid of life, but now—
Joe
It isn't only what you call the "younger Frenchmen and Russians" who are learning how to paint—the modern movement has spread all over.
Mr. Wentworth
Of course, I don't pretend to be an artist myself, but I have always studied and loved pictures, and when you say "learning how to paint"—
Joe
That's exactly what it is. Learning how to paint. Learning what art is. Getting life into it instead of abstract ideas.
Mr. Wentworth
Art? But art is beauty! Eternal beauty. You can't change art over night, like a fashion!
Silvia
But that picture's beautiful!
Joe
Art changes as life changes. Art has always changed. If it didn't, why isn't your Japanese art just like Greek art? And Greek art like the Italian?
Mr. Wentworth
Oh, in that way, of course. But all the great masters obey the eternal laws of beauty!
Joe
There aren't any eternal laws of beauty! There's only the eternal impulse to create. Every artist has to express himself in his own way. What you call the "eternal laws" are merely the particular expressions your own favorite painters happened to work out in their time. If they had lived in another time—
Mr. Wentworth
A master would always be a master. There's no change possible in the vision of the soul.
Silvia
You see, Mr. Wentworth, what I have learned these last two years from living among artists is that the painter with an original vision is always opposed by the schools. That is, at first. But when he wins out, then the schools merely take over his technic and use it as a club to put down the next creator. And so it goes.
Mr. Wentworth
Naturally, the great artist suffers hardship. But if we once admit there are no laws, where are we? Anarchy!
Joe
The laws are contained in the impulses themselves. They come with the vision, not before it! If any one thinks this modern art is just an easy way of painting—
Silvia
Indeed it isn't! Joe works much harder than the students who go to the schools. Of course, he doesn't paint by the clock.
Mr. Wentworth
But the Louvre! All those beautiful pictures, those priceless treasures! What about the Louvre?
Joe
The Louvre? It's a museum.
Mr. Wentworth
What do you mean by "it's a museum"?
Joe
I mean that it's the place to put pictures in when they are dead.
Mr. Wentworth
Dead? A great masterpiece dead?
Joe
Of course. No man lives forever. Nobody that was ever born was useful enough to live forever. The bigger a man is the longer his influence is creative, in art and everything else, but the time always comes when his value is spent. When the world needs a new influence.
Silvia
It's really wonderful, Mr. Wentworth, how knowing the truth about art shows one the truth about other things. When I remember what I used to believe!
Mr. Wentworth
But see here, young man, you wouldn't do away with the Louvre, would you? Why, what would happen if these ideas were carried out....
Joe
No, I wouldn't do away with it. Why should I? If to burn it down would wake people up to life, I'd do it in a minute. But it wouldn't. They would only sanctify the superstition and make it immortal. No, leave the Louvre as it is. It's really quite useful.
Mr. Wentworth
But good gracious! Useful?
Joe
Yes. Like history. To do away with the Louvre would be to destroy a part of history. There's no good doing that. We need history—it cranks up life—but we've got to recognize that after all it is only history, not life itself—not art.
Mr. Wentworth
But what is art, if the Louvre isn't?
Silvia
Don't you see, Mr. Wentworth? If you could only get for a moment into the stream of experience where Joe and the others brought me! A picture is art as long as it's alive—as long as it can give back the fresh, first-hand impulses that were put into it. After that—when life has flowed on and set up new impulses requiring a different expression—then a picture drops back upon a lower level. What Joe calls history.
Joe
Like everything else.
Mr. Wentworth
But you put art on the same plane as invention. An improved motor car scraps the old model. But you can't improve art!
Joe
No, certainly not. We don't try to. We just do our best. We recover art.
Mr. Wentworth
Recover it?
Silvia
Yes—discover it all over again. It gets lost, lost in hard and fast rules or sentimentality, then a genius comes along and digs down to the buried city—creation. Art isn't like invention. It's more like religion.
Mr. Wentworth
There you are!
Joe
There we are! Isn't there a struggle going on all the time to free religion, the spirit of religion, from hard and fast rules and from false emotions? It's exactly the same thing.
Mr. Wentworth
Ah, but rules are necessary to maintain order. That's what I insist about art. We must have rules!
Silvia
I know exactly what you mean, Mr. Wentworth. You mean that if fanatics tore down all the churches on the street corners, and there weren't any more Sunday morning sermons, everybody would run wild. But there again it's the same thing as with art: the man who has the spirit of the thing in him feels that the spirit itself is a far better control than heaps of stones and sermons. It's all a matter of living. Imagine asking one of the Apostles which church he went to!
Mr. Wentworth
Wait! We are getting art mixed up with too much else. Didn't you say, Mr. Carson, that pictures died when they no longer gave out impulses of beauty?
Joe
Yes.
Mr. Wentworth
Well! I admit there are dead pictures, too many of them, but they are the canvasses that were still-born. The masterpieces in the Louvre still give out impulses—beautiful impulses—to many of us, thank heaven!
Silvia
But that's just it! The impulses you mean aren't those of art at all. They—
Joe
Those pictures don't give out impulses to the artist. The impulses they do give out are only the emotions that satisfy the student who has learned some rules and then sees the rules worked out. The artist produced the rules as a side issue, but you are trying to make the rules produce the artist. That's the difficulty when people as a whole lose the creative sense. They are satisfied with things at second-hand. Second-hand expressions of life, and second-hand philosophies to justify the expressions. It's a kind of conspiracy in which everybody works against everybody else. Only the few real artists in any generation break through it into the light.
Silvia
The light of the sun!
Mr. Wentworth
I fear we are hopelessly at odds in this question. Well, as the Romans said, there's no disputing about tastes. Every one to his own taste.
Joe
No!
Mr. Wentworth
What do you mean?
Joe
I mean that it's a disgrace that Americans only study and only buy old masters. It's a burning shame that all they know about art is what they have been taught in books. They let their own artists starve—they make them come over here—while they bid up a Raphael like a block of shares. What good does it do Raphael? He had his day. And look how it holds back our own possible Raphaels!
Mr. Wentworth
Raphael? Ah, you are still very young. You don't understand the attitude of the majority, Mr. Carson. Raphael is one of our great inspirers of beauty.
Joe
You mean culture!
Silvia
Oh, it's getting quite dark. Joe, light the light.
Mr. Wentworth
Dear me, so it is! What time is it? It must be getting late—Good gracious! I have an engagement.
Silvia
You can't stay for a little dinner with us in the Quarter, Mr. Wentworth? Afterward we could go to one of the cafés.
Mr. Wentworth
I'm afraid I can't, Silvia. It's been a great pleasure to meet you both, I assure you. These little differences of opinion....
Silvia
Oh, that's all right. We argue art and religion every day, don't we, Joe? Of course, though, we do feel strongly about the young artists—the young American artists. They come over here, and then they have to burn their bridges ... and we see how wonderful America could be if they were given things to do instead of being neglected....
Joe
Here's your coat, Mr. Wentworth.
Mr. Wentworth
Thank you. Thank you for the delicious tea, Silvia. If I weren't leaving town so soon.... Good night.
Sylvia
Good night. The stairs are rather dark.... (He goes out)
Joe
Damn!
Sylvia
Yes, I know, Joe. It's discouraging....
Joe
Discouraging? It's immoral! Oh, these smug people who have been taught what to admire! These unborn souls who want to shut us all up in the dark! I suppose he went away thinking I put myself up higher than Raphael. Who are we painting for? They don't want it—wouldn't take it for a gift. And here we are, a poor little group, standing amazed before the glory of the sun, and painting it—for the blind!
Silvia
Some day, Joe....
Joe
Some day—yes, when the life has oozed out of all our bright canvasses, when only the "rules" are left. And we won't be able to rise from our graves and curse them!
Silvia
Now, Joe!
Joe
I guess I let you in for a hard time, Silvia. I wish sometimes I could really paint the kind of thing that goes with stupid people's dining rooms. They with their Long Island Louvres!
Silvia
If you did, Joe, I'd put it in the stove. Don't think you are having all the fun of being a pioneer. It's exciting to be within a mile of it!
Joe
Good girl. Ugh! Let's go to Boudet's and have dinner. I want to get the bad taste out of my mouth!