DIANA (Miserably): How do you explain it, Uncle Edward?
BLAKE: I don’t know. I want you to study it right here today. Is it a sickness?
DIANA (Shocked): Uncle Edward!
BLAKE: Is it a defect in character?
DIANA: Roger has no faults.
BLAKE: Whatever it is, it’s deep—deep in the irrational. For Roger it’s as hard to part with twenty-five cents as it is for some people to climb to the top of a skyscraper, or to eat frogs, or to be shut up with a cat. Whatever it is—it proceeds from a fear, and whatever it is, it represents an incorrect relation to—
DIANA: To what?
BLAKE (Groping): To . . .
(Paul appears at the entrance.)
PAUL: Mr. Osterman has just come into the hall, Mr. Blake.
BLAKE: Thank you, Paul.
(Paul goes out.)
DIANA: Incorrect relation to what?
BLAKE: To material things—and to circumstance, to life—to everything.
(Enter Roger Osterman, twenty-seven, in a rush. The finest young fellow in the world.)
ROGER: Diana! Joy and angel of my life. (He kisses her)
Uncle Edward. —Ten minutes past five. I’ve got to make a phone call. To Mother. I’ll be back in a minute. Mother and I are setting up a fund. I’ll tell you all about it. Uncle Edward, what are you feeding us?
BLAKE: We haven’t ordered yet. We were waiting for our host.
ROGER (All this quickly): Am I your host? Very well. You’ve forgotten that you invited us to tea. Didn’t he, Diana?
BLAKE: You distinctly said—
ROGER: You distinctly said—really, Diana, we can’t let him run away from his responsibilities like that. Uncle Edward, we accept with pleasure your kind invitation—
BLAKE: You called me and told me to convey your invitation to Diana. Diana, thank Roger for his kind invitation.
DIANA (Rising, with a touch of exasperation): Gentlemen, gentlemen! Do be quiet. The fact is I planned this party and you’re both my guests. So do your telephoning, Roger, and hurry back.
ROGER: You’re an angel, Diana. Tea with rum in it, Uncle Edward.
DIANA: Come here, you poor, poor boy. (She looks gravely into his eyes and gives him a kiss)
ROGER (Laughing): Why am I a poor, poor boy?
DIANA: Well, you are.
(She gives him a light push and he goes out laughing.)
BLAKE: We must act quickly now. I’ve arranged for some things to happen during this hour. You’re going to spill some tea on your dress—no, some chocolate from a chocolate éclair.
DIANA: What?!
BLAKE: And you’ll have to go to the ladies’ room to clean it up. And you’re going to need fifty cents. Open your purse. Give me all the change you have—under a five dollar bill.
DIANA: Why?
BLAKE: Because you’ll have to borrow the fifty-cent piece from him. —Give me your change.
DIANA: Uncle Edward, you’re a devil. (But she opens her handbag and purse)
BLAKE (Counting under his breath): Three quarters. Fifty-cent piece. Dimes. No dollar bills.
DIANA (Crossing the room, in distress): Uncle, I don’t believe in putting people to tests.
BLAKE: Simply a demonstration—
DIANA: I don’t need a demonstration. I suffer enough as it is.
BLAKE: But have you forgotten: we’re trying to learn something. Is it a sickness or is it a—
DIANA: Don’t say it!
BLAKE: And I want you to notice something else: every subject that comes up in conversation . . .
(He starts laughing.)
DIANA (Suspicious and annoyed): What?
BLAKE: To call your attention to it, I’ll (He drops his purse) drop something. Every subject that comes up in the conversation will have some sort of connection with money.
DIANA (Angrily drops her handbag): But that’s all you and I have been talking about—until I’m about to go crazy.
BLAKE: Yes . . . yes, it’s contagious.
DIANA (With weight): Uncle Edward, are you trying to break up my engagement?
BLAKE (With equal sincerity, but quietly): No! I’m trying to ratify it . . . to save it.
DIANA: How?
BLAKE (Emphatic whisper): With . . . understanding.
(Enter Paul.)
Oh, there you are, Paul. Tea for three and a decanter of rum. And a chocolate éclair for Miss Colvin.
DIANA: But I hate chocolate éclairs!
(Blake looks at her rebukingly.)
Oh, all right.
BLAKE: And, Paul, when we’ve finished tea, you’ll place the check beside Mr. Osterman.
(Diana purposefully drops her lipstick.)
PAUL (Picking up the lipstick): Yes, sir.
DIANA: Thank you, Paul.
(Paul goes out. Diana leans toward Blake and says confidentially:)
Now you must play fair. If you cheat, I’ll stop the whole thing.
(Enter Roger.)
ROGER: All is settled. It’s really very exciting. Mother and I setting up a fund where there’s a particular particular need.
DIANA: What is it, Roger?
ROGER (Laughs; then): Guess where Mother and I are going tomorrow?
DIANA: Where?
ROGER: To the poorhouse!
(Blake pushes and drops the ashtray from the table.)
DIANA (Covering her ears): Uncle Edward, do be careful!
ROGER In fact, we’re going to three. Mother’s already been to thirty—in England and France and Austria—I’ve been to ten. We’re doing something about them. We’re making them attractive. Lots of people come to the ends of their lives without pensions, without social security. We’re taking the curse off destitution.
BLAKE: And you’re taking the curse off superfluity.
(Diana looks at Blake hard and drops her gloves.)
ROGER: We’re beginning in a small way. Mother’s giving two million and Uncle Henry and I are each giving one. We’re not building new homes yet—we’re improving the conditions of those that are there. Everywhere we go we ask a thousand questions of superintendents, and of the old men and women . . . And do you know what these elderly people want most? (He looks at them expectantly)
DIANA (Dropping a shoe): Money.
ROGER (Admiringly): How did you know?!
(Diana shrugs her shoulders.)
You see, in a sense, they have everything: shelter, clothes, food, companionship. We’ve scarcely found one who wishes to leave the institution. But they all want the one thing for which there is no provision.
(Paul enters with a tray: tea; rum; éclair; the service check, which he places on the table beside Roger; and a letter.)
PAUL: A letter has come for you, Mr. Osterman, by special messenger. Will you sign for it, Mr. Osterman?
ROGER: For me? But no one else knows that I’m here.
BLAKE: By special messenger, Paul?
PAUL: Yes, Mr. Blake.
BLAKE: And is the messenger waiting?
(Intimately) Roger . . . the messenger’s waiting in the hall . . .
ROGER: What?
BLAKE: Fifty cents . . . for the messenger.
ROGER (A study): But I don’t think this is for me.
(He looks at it.)
DIANA (Taking it from him): “Roger Osterman, Georgian Room, etc.” Yes, I think it’s for you.
(Roger makes some vague gestures toward his pockets.)
ROGER: Uncle Edward . . . lend me a quarter, will you?
BLAKE (Slowly searching his pockets): A quarter . . . twenty-five cents . . . Haven’t got it.
ROGER: Paul, give the boy a quarter, will you?
PAUL (Deaf as a post): Hot water? Yes, Mr. Osterman—
ROGER (Loud): No . . . a QUARTER, Paul . . . give the boy a quarter . . .
PAUL: It’s right here, Mr. Osterman.
ROGER (Has torn the letter open; to Blake): It’s from you. You say you’ll be here. Well, if the messenger boy is from your own of
fice, you can give him a quarter.
BLAKE (Smiting his forehead; gives quarter to Paul): That’s right . . . Paul . . . I’ll see you . . .
ROGER (Dabbing his forehead with his handkerchief): My, it’s hot in here.
DIANA: Roger—you were saying that these old people wanted money. They have everything provided, but they still want money.
ROGER: Yes, I suppose it’s to give presents to their nephews and nieces . . . to one another . . . They have everything except that . . .
(He starts laughing; then leans forward confidentially and says) You know, I think one of the reasons Mother became so interested in all this was . . . (Then he stops, laughs again, and says) Anyway, she’s interested.
DIANA: What were you going to say?
ROGER (Reluctantly): Well . . . she’s always had the same kind of trouble. (The other two stare at him) Do you know that Mother once pawned a diamond ring?
BLAKE: Your mother went to a pawnshop?
ROGER: No. She sent her maid. Even today she doesn’t know that I know. —I was at boarding school, and I’d begun a collection of autographs. More than anything in the world I wanted for my birthday a certain letter of Abraham Lincoln that had come on the market. I couldn’t sleep nights I wanted it so bad. But Father thought it was unsuitable that a fifteen year old should get so worked up about a thing like that. —So Mother pawned her ring.
(Diana rises and crosses the room. She is flushed and serious.)
DIANA: I don’t think we should be talking about such things—but—let me ask one thing, Roger. Your mother has always had a great deal of money of her own?
ROGER (Laughing): Yes. But, of course, Father keeps it for her. More than that: he’s doubled and tripled it.
BLAKE: Of course. It passes through his hands.
ROGER: Yes.
BLAKE (Looking at Diana): He sees all the checks. Like the old people in the poorhouse, your mother has everything except money?
ROGER (Laughing): Exactly!—The other thing the old people are interested in is food—
DIANA (Looking down at her dress): Oh! I’ve spilled some of that tea and rum on my dress. I must go to the ladies’ room and have the spot taken out. Uncle Edward, lend me half a dollar for the attendant.
BLAKE (Ransacking his pockets): Half a dollar! Half a dollar! —I told you I hadn’t a cent.
ROGER: In institutions—like prisons and poorhouses—you never have any choice—
DIANA: Roger, lend me half a dollar.
ROGER (Taking out his purse, as he talks): That was the awful part about prep school—all the food—(He hands Diana a ten-dollar bill and goes on talking)—was, so to speak, assigned to you. You never had the least voice in what it would be.
DIANA: But I don’t want ten dollars. I want fifty cents.
ROGER: What for?
DIANA: To give the attendant in the ladies’ room.
ROGER: Fifty cents?
(Rising and inspecting her dress) I don’t see any stain.
(To Blake) Borrow it from Paul.
BLAKE: Paul’s deaf. Roger, put your hands in your pockets and see if you haven’t got fifty cents.
DIANA (Almost hysterically): It’s all right. The stain’s gone away. Forget it, please. Forgive me. I’ve made a lot of fuss about nothing.
ROGER (Again touching his forehead with his handkerchief): Awfully warm in here. We ought to have gone to the club. These places are getting to be regular traps. Why did we come here?
DIANA: What do you mean: traps?
ROGER: You’re interrupted all the time—these tiresome demands on you. I love to give, but I don’t like to be held up (Gesture of putting a revolver to someone’s head) held up every minute. (A touch of too much excitement) I’d like to give everything I’ve got. I don’t care how I live; but I don’t like to be forced to give anything. It’s not my fault that I have money.
DIANA: You’re right, Roger.
(She sees Paul’s service check on the table. She flicks it with her finger and it falls on the floor as near the center of the stage as possible.)
I don’t think of a tip as an expression of thanks. It’s just a transaction—a mechanical business convention. Take our waiter, Paul. My thanks is in my smile, so to speak. The money on the table has nothing to do with it.
ROGER: Well, whatever it is, it’s a mess.
BLAKE: Once upon a time there was a very poor shepherd. It was in Romania, I think.
DIANA: Uncle!
BLAKE: Every morning this shepherd led his sheep out to a field where there was a great big oak tree.
DIANA: Really, Uncle!
BLAKE: And one day—under that oak tree—he found a large gold piece. The next day he found another. For weeks, for months, for years—every day—he found another gold piece. He bought more sheep. He bought beautiful embroidered shirts.
(Diana is suddenly overcome with uncontrollable hysterical laughing. She crosses the room, her handkerchief to her mouth, and sits on the bench by the windows. Blake waits a moment until she has controlled herself.)
No one else in the village seemed to be finding any gold pieces.
(Diana sputters a moment. Blake lowers his voice mysteriously.)
The shepherd’s problem was: Where do they come from? And why are they given to him? Are they, maybe . . . supernatural?
ROGER (Sharply): What?
(Blake points to the ceiling.)
I don’t understand a word of this. Uncle Edward, do get on with it. I’ve never been able to understand these . . . allegories.
BLAKE: But why to him? Was he more intelligent—or more virtuous than the other young men?
(Pause.)
Now when you find a gold piece every morning, you get used to it. You get to need them. And you are constantly haunted by the fear that the gold pieces will no longer appear under the oak tree. What—oh, what—can he do to insure that those blessed gold pieces will continue to arrive every morning?
(Blake’s voice turns slightly calculatedly superstitious; he half closes his eyes, shrewdly. His blade-like hand describes an either-or decision or bargain.)
Obviously, he’d better give. In return, so to speak. He gave his town a fine hospital. He gave a beautiful altar to the church. (He changes his voice to the simple and direct) Of course, he gave. But this shepherd was a fine human being, and it was the other question that troubled him most—frightened him, I mean: Why have I been chosen?
DIANA (Sober; her eyes on the floor): I see that: he became frightened.
ROGER (Looking at Diana, in surprise—laughing): You understand what he’s talking about?
DIANA: Frightened, because . . . if the gold pieces stopped coming, he’d not only be poor . . . he’d be much more than poor. He’d be exposed. He’d be the man who was formerly fortunate, formerly—what did you say?—intelligent, formerly virtuous and—
BLAKE (Pointing to the ceiling): Formerly favored, loved.
DIANA: Far worse than poor.
BLAKE: So he was in the terrible situation of having to GIVE all the time and of having to SAVE all the time.
DIANA: Yes . . . Yes. —Roger, I have to go.
(She rises.)
Now, who’s going to pay the bill?—Roger, you do it, just to show that you like to.
ROGER (With charming spontaneity): Of course, I will. Where is it?
DIANA (Pointing): Right there on the floor.
ROGER (Picking it up): I’ll sign for it.—Where’s Paul? There he is!
DIANA (Putting on lipstick and watching him in her mirror): Surely, it’s not large enough to sign for. There’s something small about signing for a three or four dollar charge.
ROGER (Looking from one to the other): I don’t think so.
BLAKE: Diana’s right.
ROGER (Taking a ten-dollar bill from his purse and laying it on the bill): Diana, some day you must explain to me slowly what Uncle Edward’s been talking about.
(Enter Paul. Roger indicates the money with his head. Paul mak
es change quickly.)
Paul, we’re leaving.
(To Diana) And you must make your Uncle Edward promise not to get tied up in any long rambling stories he can’t get out of.
DIANA (To Paul): Thank you, Paul.
BLAKE: Thank you, Paul.
ROGER: Thank you, very much, Paul.
PAUL (As he goes out, leaving the bill and change on the table): You’re very welcome.
ROGER (While he talks, is feverishly figuring out his change): Because I must be very stupid . . . I can’t . . . (His hand among the coins of change, he turns and says) Because I must say there are lots of better things to talk about than what we’ve been . . . (He stops while he studies the change before him) In fact, in our family we make it a rule never to talk about money at all . . .
(Pause.)
I don’t think you realize, Diana, that my life is enough of a hell as it is: the only way I can cope with it is to never talk about it . . . what am I doing here? . . .
DIANA (Going toward him; soothingly): What’s the matter, dear? Just leave him a quarter.
ROGER (His face lighting up): Would that be all right? (She nods) Diana, you’re an angel. (Triumphantly) I’m going to leave him fifty cents, just to show him I love you.
DIANA: No. I’m not an angel. I’m a very human being. I’ll need to be fed. And clothed. And—
ROGER (Bewitched; kissing her gravely): I’ll see you have everything.
DIANA: I can look forward to everything?
ROGER: Yes.
DIANA: Like those old ladies in the poorhouse, I can look forward to—
ROGER: My giving you everything.
(Diana hurries out ever so lightly, blowing her nose. Paul appears at the door. Blake and Roger go out. Paul, alone, picks up the tip. No expression on his face. Diana appears quickly.)
DIANA: I dropped a glove.
(She drops a dollar bill on the table) Goodbye, Paul.
PAUL: Goodbye, Miss Colvin.
(They go out.)
END OF PLAY
The Seven Ages of Man
Infancy
A COMEDY
CHARACTERS
PATROLMAN AVONZINO
MISS MILLIE WILCHICK, a nursemaid
TOMMY, a baby in her care
MRS. BOKER
MOE, her baby boy
SETTING