First Plays Part 55

MOTHER. Your song was well sung, sir; I thank you for it. (To the FIDDLER) Will you not play us something now?

FIDDLER. If you wish it.

TALKER. You would wish me to accompany her, of course.

MOTHER (with a smile). It is kind of you, sir, but I think perhaps my daughter--

DAUGHTER (eagerly). Yes, of course, I will if I can. (She goes to the spinet.)

FIDDLER (playing a few notes). Do you know this?

DAUGHTER. Yes, I think so. (She plays. At the end of it the TALKER finds himself bowing to the applause.)

TALKER. And now, Madame, you have had a sample of all our poor talents, save and except that paltry talent of mine which in other company concludes such a performance. I pray you tell me what you think of the entertainment.

MOTHER. I have enjoyed it immensely, good Master Johannes. And if you did wish to exercise that talent of yours, of which so far we have only heard--

TALKER. Nay, nay, Madame, I beg you.

MOTHER. Then, Sir, I offer you my grateful thanks for your entertainment.

DAUGHTER. And I too.

TALKER. Ladies, you are too kind--er--(he hesitates)--er--

MOTHER. Yes?

TALKER, The fact is, Madame, that now we approach or, so to speak, draw nigh or adjacent--in other words, Madame, we are perilously approximate--

FIDDLER. Tell her straight out.

MOTHER. Tell her what?

FIDDLER. What we've come for.

SINGER. Master Johannes, Madam, is so accustomed when he goes round with the hat to disguise under it flow of words the fact that money is as necessary to an artist as applause, that he has lost the habit of saying anything in less than ten sentences.

TALKER (mournfully). And yet I am a taciturn man.

MOWER. Well, will somebody tell me, for I confess I have been wondering what is behind it all.

FIDDLER. Tell her, Johannes.

TALKER. If you will allow me, Madame. But tell me first, did you notice anything lacking in our performance?

MOTHER (surprised). No; I don't think so.

TALKER (to DAUGHTER). Perhaps you, Mademoiselle?

DAUGHTER (shyly). It seemed to lack a woman's voice, sir.

TALKER (admiringly). What intelligence! What profundity! (To MOTHER) Madam, I felicitate you again on your daughter. Unerringly she has laid her finger on the weak joint in our armour. We have no woman's voice.

MOTHER. Well, Sir, I don't see how I can help you.

TALKER. Madame, you have a nightingale. It has lived in a cage all its life. It looks through the bars sometimes, and sees the great world outside, and sighs and turns back to its business of singing. Madame, it would sing better outside in the open air, with the other birds.

MOTHER. I don't understand you, sir. Are you referring to my daughter?

TALKER (looking towards the window). There is a stream which runs beyond the road, with a green bank to it. We were seated on that bank, I and my two companions, eating our bread and cheese, and washing it down with draughts from that good stream. We were tired, for we had come from over the hills that morning, and it was good to lie on our backs there and watch the little clouds taking shape after shape in the blue, and so to dream our dreams. In a little while the road would take us westward, here through a wood banked with primroses, there across a common or between high spring hedges with the little stream babbling ever at the side of us. And in the evening we would come to an inn, where there would be good company, and we would sing and play to them, and they would reward us. (With a shrug) It is a pleasant life.

DAUGHTER (eagerly). Oh, go on!

MOTHER. Yes, go on, Sir.

TALKER. We were lying on our backs thus, Madame, when we heard the nightingale. "Duke," says I, "it is early yet for the nightingale." His Flutiness removes his cap from his face, takes a squint at the sun, and says "Monstrous early, good Master Johannes," and claps his cap back again. "What says you, Fiddler," says I, "in this matter of nightingales? Is it possible," says I; "the sun being where it is, and nightingales being what they are--to wit, nightingales?" "It's not a nightingale," says Fiddler dreamily, "it's a girl." "Then," says I, jumping up, "it is a girl we want. She must put the red feather in her cap, and come her ways with us." (With a bow) Madame, your humble servant.

DAUGHTER. Oh, Mother, you will let me go, won't you? I must, I must! He is quite right. I'm caged here. Oh, you will let me see something of the world before I grow old!

FIDDLER (suddenly). Yes, let her come. If she feels like that, she ought to come.

SINGER (with a very winning smile). We will take great care of her, Madame, as if she were our own sister.

MOTHER (surprisingly to JOHANNES). What do you think of cider as a drink, Master Johannes?

TALKER (who had not expected it, but is always ready). Cider--ah, there's a drink! Oh, I can talk to you about cider, glum body as I am by nature, having been as it were taciturn from birth. Yet of cider I could talk you--

MOTHER. Ours is considered very good cider. (To her daughter) Take them, child, and give them such refreshment as they want. They have deserved it for their entertainment.

DAUGHTER. Why, of course, Mother. Come this way please.

[She leads the way, and the others follow, the TALKER coming last and murmuring "Cider" to himself.]

MOTHER. Master Johannes. (He turns round.) A word with you, if you please, sir.

TALKER. But certainly, Madame. The cider will be all the better for the expectation.

MOTHER. Sit down, please. (He does so.) Master Johannes, who are you, all of you?

TALKER. I thought I had explained, Madame. Her Royal Sweetness Princess Carissima, His Flutiness the Duke of Bogota, and myself a humble Marquis. We may be referred to collectively as the Red Feathers. For myself I am sometimes called Silent John, being of a close disposition.

MOTHER. Whatever you are called, you are, I think, a man of the world, and you will understand that if I am to trust my daughter to you, for however little a time, I must know something more about you.

TALKER. Madame, I will make a confession to you, a confession I have never yet made to man, woman, or child. I am forty-six years of age; it is, in fact, my birthday. Were I to begin to tell you something about myself, starting from that day, forty-six years ago, when I was born--were I to begin--well, Madame, I am only too ready to begin. It is a subject I find vastly pleasant. But, (looking at her comically) shall I begin?

MOTHER (with a smile). Would you make it so long a story, sir?

TALKER (with a sigh). The tongue is an unruly member, and to one who has but three notes on the pipe, and yet desires to express himself, talking is a great comfort.