The snow man

Scene:—A poor peasant dwelling, barely furnished with articles of the roughest description, a tressle-table, two benches,—a large one serving as a window-seat, and a smaller one standing by the hearth,—a wooden chair, a spinning wheel, a large bread pan, a shelf containing household crockery, and on the inner wall of the ingle a few pots and pans hanging on the wall. The room is wide and low; to the left is a deep hooded fireplace with containing walls on either side of it,—to one side a bread oven, to the other a cubby-bed with doors; opposite to the fireplace is a door leading to the woodshed. The house door is at the back rather to the right; in its left a long low window extends almost to a line with the fireplace. In the right hand corner stands a large chest. The roof is of heavy beams gray with smoke, and between them shows an inner surface of thatch, the walls are of blue plaster marked by mildew, with patches here and there where the plaster has peeled off. It is winter and daylight is drawing in. Outside the world is white with snow. A peasant-woman moves to and fro with quick dogged pace. The pace of a hard worker tired but always pushed for time. She takes black bread out of the oven, lays it out on the table, cuts off two pieces, and puts the remainder into the bread-pan. Then she takes down the garments from before the fire, presses them with a heavy iron, and puts them away in the chest. While crossing the room to and fro she economizes her time, never going empty-handed. She puts milk to warm on the fire, and gets down two small mugs from a shelf. She also gets from the cubby-bed two night garments, and hangs them to warm over the bench by the hearth. While she is thus engaged, children’s voices are heard outside, laughing and shouting. The woman, absorbed in her work, pays no attention. Two small romping figures occasionally pass the window. Presently they begin to sing.

Children.—

Here we have a snowman, a snowman, a snowman!

Oh, where does he come from, and what shall be his name?

He says his name is no man, no man, no man!

And nowhere and nowhere the land from which he came.

(Now again)

Oh, why did you come here, oh, snowman, oh, snowman?

And will you now a friend be, or will you be a foe?

“Oh, whether I a friend am, or whether I’m a foe-man,

It’s here I mean to stay now, until I have to go!”

(Now again)

But what should you go for, oh, snowman, oh, snowman?

And why would you leave us, when home lies at hand?

“Oh, when the sun calls me, then I can wait for no man,

But back I must go again, to my own land!”

And now we’ve made him, he’ll have to stay,

Ha! Ha! Ha! He can’t get away.

(The door bursts open, the two children run in: Matthew Mark and Mary Ann.)

Mary.—

Oh, mother, come and look at our snowman.

Matthew.—

Mother, do look at him.

Mary.—

When we began

A-building him, we didn’t ever know

How big he’d get to be—he seemed to grow

All by himself!

Matthew.—

Mother, do look!

Joan.—

There, there!

It’s “look,” “look,” “look,” all day!

(She speaks in a good-humored scolding tone which the children seem not in the least afraid of. She goes and looks out)

Well, I declare,

You’ve done a silly thing—made ’im to stand

Right in the door!—with no room either ’and

For folks to get by.

Matthew.—

Yah!

Mary.—

Yah! Ah, ha! That’s why.

Matthew.—

We didn’t want to let no folk get by

To steal our muvver!

(He rubs against her)

Joan.—

Here, and what d’yer mean

Getting yourself all wet like this? You’ve been

And clammed yourself,—you too. Now off you go!

Take all those things off! One can’t ever know

What children will be up to next. Come here!

(Catches hold of Matthew)

Now you undress yourself.

(To Mary)

You get in there

Into the warm. Stand still, stand still, I say,

And put this round yer. Oh, so that’s the way

You do when I ain’t looking? All day long

You’re up to mischief. Always something wrong

Soon as my back is turned. That heap o’ snow

How long’s that to stay there, I’d like to know?

Here, take your milk, and there’s a bit o’ bread

For both on yer. Don’t want it? Ah, it’s bed

You’d best be off to! There, put your mug down!

Now come and get into your nighty-gown.

Ah, you sweet thing! Well, kiss your mother then!

But you mind what I say—no more snowmen

To-morrow!

(Crosses the room)

Mary.—

Mother—Mother—will there be

Anyone here to-morrow? Shan’t we see

Someone?

Joan.—

See someone?

Mary.—

I mean, won’t there no

Man come with a spade and clear away the snow?

Last year one come.

Joan.—

That was your father,—he

Haven’t been near us since, and where he be

God alone knows. Here! Don’t fill your ’ead

With silly fancies! You get on to bed.

(She goes out into the woodshed)

Matthew.—

Say! Say! She’s gone! come along, Mary Ann

And have another look at our snowman.

(They run across to the window)

Snowman! Snowman!

Mary. It’s no good, he don’t hear, he’s gone to sleep.

(Re-enter Joan.)

Joan. Ah, what are you up to there? Back you go, quick. Or else you’ll get the rod! (They skip back to the fireplace) Now you kneel down and say your prayers. “Pray God”——

(The two children kneel at bench with their backs to the fire.)

Children. “Pray God”——

Joan. (As she moves about folding up clothes, etc.) “Pray God make Baba good”——

Children. Pray God make Baba good.

Joan. “Give Baba bread.”

Children. Give Baba bread.

Joan. “Give all the hungry food”——

Children. Give all the hungry food.

Joan. “Peace to the dead.” (Crosses herself)

Children. Peace to the dead.

(Joan stands lost in reverie and speaks unconsciously by rote.)

Joan. “God bless”—(She turns and looks out)

Children. God bless—(They wait to be prompted)

Matthew. Say, muvver, shall we pray for the snowman too? Shall us? Shall us?

Joan. (Still musing) Nay, nay! You leave the snowman out! He knows his way—he knows his way.

Children.—

{ sister }

Bless mother, { brother } kind friends all about,

Bring Dada home, and leave the snowman out.

Amen.

(Joan stands lost in her own thoughts. The children creep behind her toward the window.)

Mary. Good-night, snowman!

Matthew. Good-night!

(They approach Joan.)

Mary. Good-night, mother!

Joan. Good-night, darling!

Matthew. Night, mother.

Joan. Night-night, my dear,—night-night!

(Mary Ann goes and opens cubby-bed and begins to climb in. Matthew stops outside.)

Matthew.—

Matthew, Mark, Luke and John,

Guard the bed that I lie on;

Four corners to my bed,

Four angels at my head,

One to watch, and one to pray,

And two to——

Joan. There, you get in! you’ve prayed enough to-night. (She goes to close doors)

Mary. Don’t shut it up yet, mother, leave a light.

Joan.—

Just you be quiet. Be thankful you lie warm,

There’s some as won’t to-night. I can hear storm

A-coming on.

(She leaves door of cubby-bed half open.)

Matthew. Sing, mother, will ye sing?

Joan. (Putting away the bread and the milk-mugs and folding up the strewn garments; starts to sing in a dull toneless voice with little tune)

There come a man to a maid, and said,

All in a year and a day——

“So thou be mine now let us be wed

Out of the world and away.”

Said the maid to the man, “If I thee wed

Out of the world and away,

Bide ’e at home, and find me bread——

Just for a year and a day.”

They hadn’t been wed, the maid and the man,

For a year, for a year and a day,

Before a want in his heart began,

To be out to the world and away.

“Oh, wife, there’s come a call to my blood,

To be out in the world and away,

By road and river, by field and flood,

Just for a year and a day.”

Out and away to the world he went,

By road and river and sea.

Oh, man of the road, is your heart content?

Will ’e never come back to me?

(She goes and looks at the children and sees that they are asleep)

Oh, man of the road, is your heart content?

Will ’e never come back to me?

(While she sings, the firelight dies down and the light of the candle loses its warmth. Outside is a sound of rising wind, and the soft lash of snow against the pane. She goes and looks out of window)

Ah, there be storm, black blasts with icy breath!

The night’s gone colder now, aye cold like death,

Cold!

(She shivers—three knocks are struck on the door)

Who be there? Who is it? Whence do’e come?

(Another knock, very faint)

Have you no word? What, are ye deaf and dumb?

Or—dead?

(Knock. The light burns blue. She opens the door. Pause. Slowly the snowman enters and moves across the room toward the bed)

No, stop! Not there, not there!

(She interposes and lays hold of him. A cold rigour seizes her)

Snowman. Why do you touch me?

Joan. Why do you come here? Who are you? Answer! (He again moves forward) No, you don’t go there! You shan’t, you shan’t come nigh of ’em.

Snowman. Take care! My touch is—cold!

Joan.—

You think I’m feard o’ that?

You think them eyes as I be looking at

Have any fear for me, or shape of dread?

Worse that what life ’ave?

(With a sort of exultation)

Why, if I were dead!

(Pause. The snowman lifts his hand and points toward the bed. Joan sees his meaning.)

Snowman. If you were dead?

Joan.—

No, no, I say you lie!

My little ’uns? God wouldn’t let ’em die.

’A wouldn’t have the heart, ’a wouldn’t have the heart.

Snowman.—

Yet there’s a heart,

Now quick to beat,

Which, this same night,

Must lose its heat.

To give strength to a lame man’s feet.

Joan.—

A lame man?

Snowman.—

Gray-headed, bent,

He scarce can go,

His strength is spent

In drifts of snow,

And all the icy blasts that blow.

Joan.—

I don’t know who you mean.

Snowman.—

Give me your hand,

And you shall see,

Here, close at hand, snow-bound goes he.

Give me your hand,

And come with me.

Joan.—

With you? Why do you think I’d come with you?

I’ve got my children, I’ve a husband, too,

One as I love.

Snowman.—

And he—does he love you?

Joan.—

That’s no concern o’ yourn!

Aye, ’a did once, Aye! and ’a will again,

Some day, perhaps. When he first married me,

’A did,—’a did! We’ve sat here in this room

A-kissing by the hour! That were before

The children come. Children do make a house

No comfort to a man. He had his right

To go. He didn’t want ’em, but I did!

I did!

Aye! and I’ve ’ad ’em now a whole seven years,

Worked for ’em, I lived for ’em, starved for ’em,

And I’d die

So it could better ’em.

Snowman.—

And what—for him?

Joan.—

I’ve broke my ’eart for ’im; it’s past its work,

And now it ain’t no use—no use—to ’im.

Snowman.—

Its use has come. Oh, woman give

Your heart to me, I’ll make it live.

And what you lend he shall receive.

Joan.—

You can’t. You can’t do that——

You can’t raise up the sun when once it’s set;

You can’t put new roots in us, when we’re old,

Dried up, and withered.

Snowman.—

Yet within kind earth

Dry seed goes sown

And springs again to birth.

Joan.—

I’ve ’ad enough of earth. I’ve sowed, I’ve reaped,

I’ve gathered, and I’ve strawed. But me and ’im

We won’t meet any more. He ’aven’t come,

Nigh me—not for a year.

And when he did come back—he went again

Next day.

Snowman. Went? Where?

Joan. Nowhere. He roves about. Seeing the world, ’e calls it. Roving blood. That’s been ’is curse; and mind, ’is roving blood, it haven’t always roved. He liked his ease, he liked the victuals I give him well enough, he liked his fireside, and he liked his bed when I was by ’im. Ah! And then one day he’d ’ad enough of comfort, and was off,—looking for what? ’Ardship? He might have ’ad that ’ere if he’d but stayed. Aye, that ’e could—for it’s been ’ard enough—with they two there. Ah, you may look at ’em, they ’aven’t known trouble—yet they was with me all the time. Why, there’ve been days when I’ve not ’ad enough to eat myself. And what ’ave fed me? Just to ’ear ’em laugh and think they ’aven’t known. What do you look at me like that for? What do you know? What did you come for? Say!

Snowman. To bring you comfort.

Joan. Comfort? I’ve got no place for comfort in me now. It isn’t that I want—it’s rest.

Snowman. ’Tis rest I bring.

Joan. Where’s ’e?

Snowman. Here—near at hand. Come, come and do not be afraid. (He takes her hand)

Joan. Oh, dearie me. This feels like death. Like death!

(As they touch hands a mist draws over the stage, the walls of the house seem to fade away, the sound of the storm grows loud around them. They stand in a white world full of obscure movement and pale drifting forms.)

Snowman. What do you see?

Joan. A waste of snow.

Snowman. Anyone there?

Joan. No one I know. No—only you. What? You say you saw him on the road, coming? How do you know that it was ’im? Yes—yes—’e was like that. But younger, ’andsomer than that,—not lame——

No, he was never lame—a young, young man,

And strong!——

Oh, lost his way? You say ’e’d lost his way?

Well, maybe that might tire ’im just a bit,

But oh, he’d find it! Oh, trust him for that!

He’s been all round the world—and lost his way

Through coming ’ome. Yes, yes, he’s coming ’ome.

Ah! Now I see ’im. Yes, I’m ’ere, I’m ’ere!

Waiting for yer,—waiting—expecting yer.

Ah, never mind. Though yer don’t love me, still

It’s back to me you come! Yer can’t ’elp that

That’s ’ow God made yer. That’s why He made me.

No! I can’t reach yer. No, he’s got my hand,

Holding it, holding it,—and won’t leave go!

I’d ’elp yer, if I could. I’d die for yer!

But he won’t let me go.

——I’m cold, I’m cold!

Can’t see!—I’ve lost my way,

And I shan’t—never—any more come home!

(The snowman looses her hand, and she falls. The mist clears from a dark stage, the walls close in again, the chamber remains in darkness. A figure stumbles past the window, the door is thrown open, the Snowman stands aside. Enter Jaspar.)

Jaspar.—

Home! Home, at last! Who’s there? Anyone there?

What? Nobody? No fire? Oh, bitter cold——

It feels like death!

(Fumbles for match-box)

Here, fool, give me a light!

Light, can’t yer? Ah, what’s that, what’s that, what’s that?

Who are yer? What for are you lying there?

Get up! Get up! What makes ’e be so cold?

So clammed?

(Strikes a light)

What the,—! My wife! It be my wife!

Wife! Don’t ’e hear me? It be I, come back,

Jaspar come back—Jaspar come home again——

Jaspar—why don’t ’e answer? There, now there!

Have that to warm yer. Oh, ye’ll soon come round,

Ye’ve starved yerself, ye—! Ah—she’s dead, she’s dead!

(He lifts her onto the chair by the hearth and now holds the candle to her face, then draws away with a growing fear of what other deaths may be there. He advances to the crib, and looks in on the sleeping children. He assures himself that they are alive. It startles him to fresh hope; he turns back to his wife)

No, she ain’t dead, she can’t be, they’re alive!

She wouldn’t leave ’em. No, she can’t be dead.

Wife, do ’e hear? The children be alive.

You wouldn’t go and leave ’em, no, not you——

’Twouldn’t be like yer. There, my—there, come, come!

Take warmth o’ me,—out of my ’eart and soul!

I’ll make ye warm.

(He takes her to his heart)

Why, I was coming ’ome.

I’d ’a been yere before, but I lost my way,

Got buried in the snow. Then I ’eard you

A-callin’ me! I thought I saw your face,

Then it all went, and then, my feet grew strong,

Life come to me, and warmth, and here I be!

Can’t ’e speak to me? Be ye gone so far

As ’e can’t ’ear me? Not the word I’d say

To tell ’e how I loved ’e?

Ah, now I be in ’ell, I be in ’ell!

And ’a won’t never know.

(Her hand falls out across chair, pointing toward the crib)

What’s that to say?

Oh, the dear hand. Yes, I’ll look after ’em.

They shan’t know want—and I won’t go away——

The way I’d wish to go. I’ll bear my life

And all the burden of it. There, there, my lass,

Rest ye in peace, I’ll do my best by ’em!

I’ll do my best.

(He bends and kisses her on the lips. The Snowman makes a pass toward her with his hand. She moves, and opens her eyes, all dazed and dreaming)

Joan. Who’s that, who’s that got hold o’ me? Let go! I must go to ’im.

Jaspar. No, no, bide ’e still. Here’s Jaspar!

Joan. Jaspar!

Jaspar. Oh, you be alive! (He sinks down broken, with his head on her breast. She takes his head in her hands stroking it softly. The Snowman moves slowly to the door, fades through it, and disappears)

Joan. So you’ve come back, I knew you’d come—some day. What’s this? (She touches the coat)

Jaspar. My coat. I found you lyin’ there cold, so I put it round yer. But you made no sign—until I thought as yer was dead.

Joan. Dead? Would I leave ’em? Leave my little ’uns?

Jaspar. Ah, there you do get home. It’s a true charge. It’s what I done.

Joan. You ’ad the roving blood. You couldn’t ’elp it.

Jaspar. It ain’t brought me no joy.

Joan.—

Jaspar, I think you’ve come here in a dream.

Put your arms round me and ’old me. Don’t let go.

Help me to dream, I’d like for it to last

Just one more hour—put your ’ead on my heart.

And don’t you speak—don’t speak—I want to dream,

You be come back again! I want to dream.

(They lie still in each other’s arms. Dawn light begins to creep in. A sound of sliding snow is heard on the roof, a sharp twittering of birds; down across the window masses of snow fall in soft thunder. There follows a sound of dropping water: the thaw has begun. The outer world grows radiant with light. The doors of the cubby-bed fly open, the two children peep out. A soft but heavy crash of falling snow is heard. It strikes the door.)

Mary. Mother, what’s that? Get up, get up, it’s light! (Jumps out of bed, followed by Matthew) Oh, come and look! The snow’s all falling—right down off the roof. Look how it’s letting go!

Matthew. Oh, the snowman. Look at the snowman! Oh! (Opens door)

Mary. Mother, the snowman’s tumbled in the night.

(Joan opens her eyes.)

Joan. Hush, hush, don’t wake ’im. Come ’e and look ’ere.

(The children approach softly, curious and surprised.)

Mary. Who is it, mother?

Joan. The snowman, my dear. He’s come to stay.

CURTAIN.

The snow man

About This Book

THE SNOW MAN