KATY: All that’s for John to decide, of course.
(Katy turns inquiringly toward him, as does Mrs. Mowbrey.)
LUBBOCK (Belatedly he stammers): Oh, we . . . won’t be seeing too many people . . .
MRS. MOWBREY: There’s Judge Whittaker’s son for example. You’ll laugh till the tears run down your cheeks. (With confidential emphasis to Katy) Judge Whittaker can do anything in New York—anything you ask him . . . Old friend of mine.
(To Lubbock, rising) People with influence like that—you must know them.
(To Katy) And then I want to take you shopping, dear. Stores where they know me. They practically give me the things. Great Heavens, I haven’t had to pay the marked [price] for anything, for years. Friends, friends everywhere. —Now I’m going to leave you two alone together. I know you have a world of things to talk about.
(Katy rises.)
If you want some more tea, just ring and ask Marget for it.
KATY (Always quietly): Aunt Julia, I can see John perfectly well in my own home. I came to call on you.
MRS. MOWBREY (Moving to the door): What a sweet thing to say. —No, no. I know young people in love; don’t say I don’t. And beginning today I want you to think of this house as your second home. Besides, I have a present for you and I must go and get it. (She indicates a ring on her finger) A very pretty thing, indeed.
KATY (Following Mrs. Mowbrey toward the door; with a touch of firmer protest): But, Aunt Julia!—
MRS. MOWBREY: Ten minutes! I’ll give you ten minutes!
(She goes out. Katy turns and with lowered eyes goes slowly to her chair. She sits and covers her face with her hands.)
KATY (As though to herself): I can’t understand it . . . What a dreadful, dreadful person.
LUBBOCK (Uncomfortable): Come now, Katy. It’s not as bad as all that . . . Of course, she’s a little . . . odd; but I imagine she’s been through a lot of . . . trouble of some sort.
(Katy looks at him a moment and then says with great directness:)
KATY: What has she done, John? (He doesn’t answer) It must be something serious. Mother won’t talk about her one minute!—Tell me! What is it?
LUBBOCK: Well . . . uh . . . she may have made some wrong step . . . early in life. Something like that.
KATY (After weighing this thoughtfully): No. My mother would have forgiven that . . . It must be something much worse.
LUBBOCK: Whatever it was it’s behind her. It’s in the past.
KATY (Shakes her head; she gives a shudder): It’s there—now. (Always very sincerely, this as though to herself) I don’t even know the names of things. Except what I’ve read about. In books. (Brief pause)
(As with an effort to say such an awful thing) Was she a . . . usurer?
LUBBOCK: What’s that?—Oh, a usurer. (With too loud a laugh) NO, no—she wasn’t that!
KATY: Was she a perjurer?
LUBBOCK: Katy, where do you get these old expressions? I don’t know, but I guess she wasn’t that.
KATY (Gravely pursuing her thought): Was she . . . that other kind of bad person. That word that’s in the Bible and in Shakespeare . . . (This takes solemn courage) . . . that begins with “double-you” . . . with “double-you aitch”—?
(This takes a minute to dawn on Lubbock. He reacts violently; with as little comic effect as possible.)
LUBBOCK: Katy!! How can you say such a thing.
KATY: I don’t know how to pronounce it.
LUBBOCK: Do stop this! Put this all out of your head, please.
KATY: But she’s my own aunt. I must have some idea to go by. Mother won’t say a word. She just bursts into tears and leaves the room.
LUBBOCK: Please, Katy. —For Heaven’s sake, change the subject.
KATY: I don’t want to know anything that it’s unsuitable for me to know. But I don’t want to live with people hiding things from me. I don’t think ignorance helps anybody. I can see perfectly well that you know the answer: Was Aunt Julia that thing that beings with “double-you”?
LUBBOCK: I’m not going to answer you, Katy. This conversation is unsuitable. Very unsuitable.
KATY (Who has kept her eyes on him; calmly): Then she was.
LUBBOCK: No—I didn’t say that. Anyway, how would I know a thing like that?—Probably, she was just connected with such things—at a distance.
KATY: How do you mean?
LUBBOCK: She wasn’t in it herself . . . She just—sort of—stood by . . . I’m not going to stay here another moment. Where’s that woman put my hat?
KATY: I see . . . She arranged them. That’s in Shakespeare, too. She was a bawd.
LUBBOCK: Katy!
KATY: It’s in the Bible, too: she was a . . . (She pronounces the “aitch”) whoremonger.
(She rises.)
LUBBOCK (Fiercely): Stop this right now. How can you say such ugly words?
KATY: Are there any others that aren’t ugly?—Anyway, now I know.
(She quickly moves up toward the entrance.)
LUBBOCK: Where are you going?
KATY (From the steps): You don’t want me to stay, do you?
LUBBOCK: Think a moment, Katy. Stop and think.
KATY: Think what?
LUBBOCK: Well . . . this Bible you’re quoting from . . . should have taught you to be charitable about people’s mistakes. About Mary Magdalene and all that.
KATY (Turning in deep thought): Yes, it should, shouldn’t it?—But Mary Magdalene wasn’t the second thing; she was the first. (She returns to her chair and sits, her eyes on the floor. Again as though to herself) I don’t know anything about anything. (She suddenly looks at him and says with accusing directness) And you’re not helping me. Tell me what I should think. Are you going to be like this always? . . . When I ask questions? . . .
LUBBOCK (Urgently): No, Katy. I promise you. I’ll answer anything you ask me!
KATY: When?
LUBBOCK: When we’re married.—But not here! Not now! —Today, anyway, put all this out of your head.
KATY (Reluctantly acquiescent, rises again): When we’re married. That’s like what Mother’s always saying: “When you’re older; when you’re older.” (Turning to him with decision) But if she is those things—those things that Shakespeare said—
LUBBOCK: Don’t say them!
KATY: Promise me that you’ll never see her again.
LUBBOCK: Now, K-a-a-ty! She’s a client. In business we can’t stop to take any notice of our client’s morals . . .
KATY: In business they don’t? I mean: thieves and criminals? Don’t men meet that kind of people all the time?
LUBBOCK (Putting his hands over his ears): Questions! Questions! You’re going to drive me crazy.
KATY (Looking around the room, musingly): And all this money came from . . . that! (Her eyes return to him) And when she asks us to come here to dinner?
LUBBOCK: Of course, we don’t have to come often. But she’s a lonely woman who’s trying to put the mistakes of her life behind her. Be kind, Katy. Be charitable!
KATY (Weighs this, then says simply): Have you ever seen her before?
LUBBOCK: Mrs. Mowbrey? (Loud laugh of protest) Of course not.
(Katy goes to the hall. From the top step she turns and says with great quiet but final significance:)
KATY: And you want me to invite her to the wedding?
(Lubbock cannot answer. His jaw is caught rigid. Katy returns into the room, drawing a ring off her finger.)
All I know is what I read in Shakespeare and the Bible. That’s all I have to go by, John. Nobody else helps. You don’t help me. I’m giving you back your ring.
(She puts the ring on the taboret and goes quickly, with lowered head, out of the house. The front door is heard closing. Lubbock stands rigid. Slowly he goes to the taboret and takes up the ring. Mrs. Mowbrey appears at the hall indignant.)
MRS. MOWBREY: Who went out the front door? Was that Katy?
(He puts down the ring on the taboret.)
LUBBOCK: Yes, Mrs. Mowbrey. She went home.
MRS. MOWBREY (Coming in): Without saying good-bye to me! Her own aunt! Well—there’s a badly brought up girl! (Sitting down) What did she say?
LUBBOCK: She left no message.
MRS. MOWBREY: I’m ashamed of her, Mr. Lubbock. I never heard of such behavior. The idea!
(Seeing the ring) What’s this? What’s this ring?
LUBBOCK: She left it. It’s her engagement ring.
MRS. MOWBREY: She broke her engagement?
(Rising) Mr. Lubbock, listen to me! You can call yourself a very lucky man. One look at her, and I could see she wasn’t the right girl for you. —Left without saying one word of good-bye! I don’t know what’s become of the girls these days. A niece of mine—behaving like that. (Giving him the ring and wagging her finger in his face) Now you must put that in a safe place—and you’ll find the real right girl for you. They aren’t all dead yet. You’re going to find some splendid girl and I’m going to make a second home for you here. We’re going to have fun. You only live once, as the Good Book says.
LUBBOCK: You did this! Look! (Holding the ring toward her) She’s gone. —You with your conniving and sticking your nose into other people’s business. WHY the hell did you have to put your goddamned nose into my affairs?
MRS. MOWBREY: I have never allowed profanity to be used in my presence.
LUBBOCK: Well, you’ll hear it now. You—with your sentimental whining about wanting friends. You’ll never have any friends. You don’t deserve to have any friends. God, have you wrecked your chances today! —While you were wrecking mine.
(She has descended coolly into the room. Lubbock passes her toward the hall.)
You can sit here alone for ever and ever, as far as I care. Where’d that girl put my hat?
MRS. MOWBREY: Yes, Mr. Lubbock, you go and you stay away. You have just shown yourself to be the biggest fool I ever saw. It wasn’t I that lost you that girl; it was yourself. And you deserve to lose her.
LUBBOCK: How do you know what happened?
MRS. MOWBREY: I will ring and Marget will get your hat.
(She pulls a bell rope. The waiting.)
Katy is my niece. Every inch my niece. She put you to the test and you were . . . (Vituperatively) Shown up. Shown up. Oh, you men! On your high saddles.
LUBBOCK: I tried to save you, anyway.
MRS. MOWBREY: I never saw anyone so stupid.
(Enter Marget.)
MARGET: Yes, Mrs. Mowbrey.
MRS. MOWBREY: Mr. Lubbock’s been looking for his hat, Marget.
MARGET: Yes, ma’am.
(Marget disappears and returns with a straw hat. Lubbock takes it. Marget disappears. Lubbock lingers at the top of the stairs.)
LUBBOCK: Well—out with it. What should I have done?
MRS. MOWBREY: In the first place you should have lied, of course. Strong and loud and clear. A girl like that is not ready to learn what she wants to know. And at this stage it’s not your business or mine to tell her.
LUBBOCK: She said she left me because I wasn’t any help to her. Is lying any help?
MRS. MOWBREY: Of course it is. I suppose you think you were trying to tell her the truth? Young man, you’re not old enough to tell the truth and it doesn’t look as though you ever will be. In the first place, you should have lied, firmly, cleanly. THEN, you should have shown her that you were her friend. Katy did just right. Katy left you standing here, because she saw that you never would be her friend—that you haven’t the faintest idea what it is to be a friend. What took place here took place in my own life. It’s taking place all the time. Mr. Lubbock, people don’t like to be—
(Lubbock rises, crosses the room and says aggressively and a little brutally:)
LUBBOCK: Mrs. Mowbrey, this has all been very interesting; and you’ve played your various cards very neatly and all that, but I want to know why you really asked me to come and see you today.
MRS. MOWBREY (Also getting tougher): I am coming to that. (She pauses) Do you prefer to stand?
LUBBOCK (Shortly): Yes, I do.
MRS. MOWBREY: There’s one event in your life—in our lives—that I’d like you to explain to me. One night, at The Palace—it was in the spring of—you lost your head, or rather you lost control of yourself. You broke every bottle in my bar. You did like that with your arm. (Her arm makes wide sweeping gestures, from right to left and left to right) You terrorized everyone. You didn’t strike anyone, but the flying glass could have blinded my girls. You weren’t drunk. What happened? What made you do that?
LUBBOCK (Furious, but coldly contained): I paid for it, didn’t I?
MRS. MOWBREY: Oh, Mr. Lubbock. Don’t talk like a child. You and I know that there are a great many things that can’t be paid for. —Was it something that Dolores said to you—or that I said to you? (Pause) Or did that friend of yours—what was his name? Jack Wallace or Wallop?—did he hurt your feelings? No, it couldn’t be that; because you didn’t strike him. The only thing you struck was a lot of bottles and you weren’t drunk.
(She waits in silence; finally he says in barely controlled impatience:)
LUBBOCK: What of it? What of it? I lost my temper, that’s all.
MRS. MOWBREY: I can understand your losing your temper at people, Mr. Lubbock—we all do; but I can’t understand your losing your temper at things.
LUBBOCK: What are you trying to get at, ma’am? Out with it. Are you trying to tell me that you think I’m not fit to be the husband of your niece?
MRS. MOWBREY: No, indeed. I think you’re just the right husband for her; and the more I talk to you, the more I think you’re just the right lawyer for me.
(Lubbock is stunned by this sudden shift in Mrs. Mowbrey’s attitude.)
Now, do you know what I have out in the sun porch? Do you? (He shakes his head in confusion) A bottle of champagne. And do you know what Lena is looking at in the kitchen? Two great big steaks.
LUBBOCK (Slowly recovering himself): I don’t really like champagne, Mrs. Mowbrey; but would you happen to have any bourbon in the house?
MRS. MOWBREY: Bourbon! Have I bourbon? After six o’clock that’s all I touch. (Guiding him to the door) And if you’re a good boy I’ll show you the list of my investments. There are one or two I’m worried about. Really worried. [(She pauses at the top step; he beside her. She puts her hand on his arm)] We all have disappointments in life, John—every one of us—but remember Shakespeare said— [(She smiles and taps him significantly on the chest with her jeweled forefinger)] you know—
[(She laughs and exits. He stands a moment, uncertain, then notices the straw hat still in his hand. He descends into the room, and gazes thoughtfully about. Then he places his straw hat on the taboret, turns and quickly exits in the direction Mrs. Mowbrey has taken. The Lights fade.)]
END OF PLAY
This play became available through the research and editing of F. J. O’Neil of manuscripts in the Thornton Wilder Collection at Yale University.
The author’s manuscript of In Shakespeare and the Bible existed in three nearly completed drafts, the latest of which had a number of rewrites, additions and corrections toward a fourth draft. Pages and sections of the earlier drafts, which were lined-through or crossed-out, have been examined but have not played a significant part in assembling this version of the play. Wilder’s habit of throwing out what he emphatically rejected (“The writer’s best friend is his wastepaper basket,” is a motto he often articulated), but keeping around what he might refer to again and use again provided a richly marked road map to the play printed here.
Wilder leaves us wondering whether John will succumb to the strong impulse to grab success at any cost. For this reason I added stage directions (in brackets) at the end to give John a moment to collect his thoughts, wonder what the right path is, and then, at least for the moment, to cave in.
F. J. O’Neil
April 1997
SIX
Someone from Assisi
(Lust)
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CHARACTERS
PICA, a twelve-year-old girl
MONA LUCREZIA, a crazy woman, forty
MOTHER CLARA, a sister at Saint Damian’s, thirty-one
FATHER FRANCIS, a visiting priest, forty
SETTING
Poor Sisters Convent at Saint Damian’s near Assisi.
The kitchen-garden behind the convent. A number of low benches surround the playing area. The actors’ entrance at the back represents a door into the convent; it is famed by a trellis covered with vines. Opposite, the aisle through the audience represents a path to the village street.
A young girl, Pica, twelve, barefoot and wearing a simple smock, comes running out of the convent; she stares down the aisle through the audience and starts to shout in anger and grief.
PICA: No! No! Old Crazy—go home! You mustn’t come here today. Go home! Go HOME!! We have someone specially important coming and you mustn’t be here! Go home! You’ll spoil everything!
(Mona Lucrezia, looking much older than her forty years, comes lurching through the audience to the stage. She is crazy. Her black, gray and white hair is uncombed. She carries a large soiled shawl. She mumbles to herself as she advances.)
MONA: Don’t make such a noise, child. I must think what I’m going to say when he comes. Now, you go away. I must think.
PICA: No, you go away. —Oh, this is terrible!
(Pica turns and rushes into the convent, calling:) Mother Clara! Mother Clara!
MONA (Shouting): It’s I who have someone important coming—not you. And . . . (Worriedly) I must be ready. It’s so hard to be ready. I must put gold on my hair . . . and perfumes, more perfumes. He’ll have elephants and . . . camels.
(Mother Clara, thirty-one, enters and stands at the convent door looking thoughtfully at Mona Lucrezia. Pica passes her and comes toward the center of the stage.)
PICA: Mother, she mustn’t be here today when he comes. Tell Old Thomas to drive her away. She’ll sing and make a noise and spoil everything.—Old Crazy, go home! Mother Clara, we would die of shame, if he heard the things she says.