Part 8

ANTHONY: In--out from its own place? (_she nods_) And--where they are? (_again she nods. Reluctantly he goes to the door_) I will not look into the heart. No one must know before you know.

(_In the inner room, his head a little turned away, he is seen very carefully to lift the plant which glows from within. As he brings it in, no one looks at it_. HARRY _takes a box of seedlings from a stand and puts them on the floor, that the newcomer may have a place_.)

ANTHONY: Breath of Life is here, Miss Claire.

(CLAIRE _half turns, then stops._)

CLAIRE: Look--and see--what you see.

ANTHONY: No one should see what you've not seen.

CLAIRE: I can't see--until I know.

(ANTHONY _looks into the flower._)

ANTHONY: (_agitated_) Miss Claire!

CLAIRE: It has come through?

ANTHONY: It has gone on.

CLAIRE: Stronger?

ANTHONY: Stronger, surer.

CLAIRE: And more fragile?

ANTHONY: And more fragile.

CLAIRE: Look deep. No--turning back?

ANTHONY: (_after a searching look_) The form is set. (_he steps back from it_)

CLAIRE: Then it is--out. (_from where she stands she turns slowly to the plant_) You weren't. You are.

ANTHONY: But come and see, Miss Claire.

CLAIRE: It's so much more than--I'd see.

HARRY: Well, I'm going to see. (_looking into it_) I never saw anything like that before! There seems something alive--inside this outer shell.

DICK: (_he too looking in and he has an artist's manner of a hand up to make the light right_) It's quite new in form. It--says something about form.

HARRY: (_cordially to_ CLAIRE, _who stands apart_) So you've really put it over. Well, well,--congratulations. It's a good deal of novelty, I should say, and I've no doubt you'll have a considerable success with it--people always like something new. I'm mighty glad--after all your work, and I hope it will--set you up.

CLAIRE: (_low--and like a machine_) Will you all--go away?

(ANTHONY _goes--into the other room._)

HARRY: Why--why, yes. But--oh, Claire! Can't you take some pleasure in your work? (_as she stands there very still_) Emmons says you need a good long rest--and I think he's right.

TOM: Can't this help you, Claire? Let this be release. This--breath of the uncaptured.

CLAIRE: (_and though speaking, she remains just as still_) Breath of the uncaptured? You are a novelty. Out? You have been brought in. A thousand years from now, when you are but a form too long repeated, Perhaps the madness that gave you birth will burst again, And from the prison that is you will leap pent queernesses To make a form that hasn't been-- To make a person new. And this we call creation, (_very low, her head not coming up_) Go away!

(TOM _goes_; HARRY _hesitates, looking in anxiety at_ CLAIRE. _He starts to go, stops, looks at_ DICK, _from him to_ CLAIRE. _But goes. A moment later_ DICK _moves near_ CLAIRE; _stands uncertainly, then puts a hand upon her. She starts, only then knowing he is there._)

CLAIRE: (_a slight shrinking away, but not really reached_) Um, um.

(_He goes_. CLAIRE _steps nearer her creation. She looks into what hasn't been. With her breath, and by a gentle moving of her hands, she fans it to fuller openness. As she does this_ TOM _returns and from outside is looking in at her. Softly he opens the door and comes in. She does not know that he is there. In the way she looks at the flower he looks at her._)

TOM: Claire, (_she lifts her head_) As you stood there, looking into the womb you breathed to life, you were beautiful to me beyond any other beauty. You were life and its reach and its anguish. I can't go away from you. I will never go away from you. It shall all be--as you wish. I can go with you where I could not go alone. If this is delusion, I want that delusion. It's more than any reality I could attain, (_as she does not move_) Speak to me, Claire. You--are glad?

CLAIRE: (_from far_) Speak to you? (_pause_) Do I know who you are?

TOM: I think you do.

CLAIRE: Oh, yes. I love you. That's who you are. (_waits again_) But why are you something--very far away?

TOM: Come nearer.

CLAIRE: Nearer? (_feeling it with her voice_) Nearer. But I think I am going--the other way.

TOM: No, Claire--come to me. Did you understand, dear? I am not going away.

CLAIRE: You're not going away?

TOM: Not without you, Claire. And you and I will be together. Is that--what you wanted?

CLAIRE: Wanted? (_as if wanting is something that harks far back. But the word calls to her passion_) Wanted! (_a sob, hands out, she goes to him. But before his arms can take her, she steps back_) Are you trying to pull me down into what I wanted? Are you here to make me stop?

TOM: How can you ask that? I love you because it is not in you to stop.

CLAIRE: And loving me for that--would stop me? Oh, help me see it! It is so important that I see it.

TOM: It is important. It is our lives.

CLAIRE: And more than that. I cannot see it because it is so much more than that.

TOM: Don't try to see all that it is. From peace you'll see a little more.

CLAIRE: Peace? (_troubled as we are when looking at what we cannot see clearly_) What is peace? Peace is what the struggle knows in moments very far apart. Peace--that is not a place to rest. Are you resting? What are you? You who'd take me from what I am to something else?

TOM: I thought you knew, Claire.

CLAIRE: I know--what you pass for. But are you beauty? Beauty is that only living pattern--the trying to take pattern. Are you trying?

TOM: Within myself, Claire. I never thought you doubted that.

CLAIRE: Beauty is it. (_she turns to Breath of Life, as if to learn it there, but turns away with a sob_) If I cannot go to you now--I will always be alone.

(TOM _takes her in his arms. She is shaken, then comes to rest._)

TOM: Yes--rest. And then--come into joy. You have so much life for joy.

CLAIRE: (_raising her head, called by promised gladness_) We'll run around together. (_lovingly he nods_) Up hills. All night on hills.

TOM: (_tenderly_) All night on hills.

CLAIRE: We'll go on the sea in a little boat.

TOM: On the sea in a little boat.

CLAIRE: But--there are other boats on other seas, (_drawing back from him, troubled_) There are other boats on other seas.

TOM: (_drawing her back to him_) My dearest--not now, not now.

CLAIRE: (_her arms going round him_) Oh, I would love those hours with you. I want them. I want you! (_they kiss--but deep in her is sobbing_) Reminiscence, (_her hand feeling his arm as we touch what we would remember_) Reminiscence. (_with one of her swift changes steps back from him_) How dare you pass for what you're not? We are tired, and so we think it's you. Stop with you. Don't get through--to what you're in the way of. Beauty is not something you say about beauty.

TOM: I say little about beauty, Claire.

CLAIRE: Your life says it. By standing far off you pass for it. Smother it with a life that passes for it. But beauty--(_getting it from the flower_) Beauty is the humility breathed from the shame of succeeding.

TOM: But it may all be within one's self, dear.

CLAIRE: (_drawn by this, but held, and desperate because she is held_) When I have wanted you with all my wanting--why must I distrust you now? When I love you--with all of me, why do I know that only you are worth my hate?

TOM: It's the fear of easy satisfactions. I love you for it.

CLAIRE: (_over the flower_) Breath of Life--you here? Are you lonely--Breath of Life?

TOM: Claire--hear me! Don't go where we can't go. As there you made a shell for life within, make for yourself a life in which to live. It must be so.

CLAIRE: As you made for yourself a shell called beauty?

TOM: What is there for you, if you'll have no touch with what we have?

CLAIRE: What is there? There are the dreams we haven't dreamed. There is the long and flowing pattern, (_she follows that, but suddenly and as if blindly goes to him_) I am tired. I am lonely. I'm afraid, (_he holds her, soothing. But she steps back from him_) And because we are tired--lonely--and afraid, we stop with you. Don't get through--to what you're in the way of.

TOM: Then you don't love me?

CLAIRE: I'm fighting for my chance. I don't know--which chance.

(_Is drawn to the other chance, to Breath of Life. Looks into it as if to look through to the uncaptured. And through this life just caught comes the truth she chants._)

I've wallowed at a coarse man's feet, I'm sprayed with dreams we've not yet come to. I've gone so low that words can't get there, I've never pulled the mantle of my fears around me And called it loneliness--And called it God. Only with life that waits have I kept faith.

(_with effort raising her eyes to the man_)

And only you have ever threatened me.

TOM: (_coming to her, and with strength now_) And I will threaten you. I'm here to hold you from where I know you cannot go. You're trying what we can't do.

CLAIRE: What else is there worth trying?

TOM: I love you, and I will keep you--from fartherness--from harm. You are mine, and you will stay with me! (_roughly_) You hear me? You will stay with me!

CLAIRE: (_her head on his breast, in ecstasy of rest. Drowsily_) You can keep me?

TOM: Darling! I can keep you. I will keep you--safe.

CLAIRE: (_troubled by the word, but barely able to raise her head_) Safe?

TOM: (_bringing her to rest again_) Trust me, Claire.

CLAIRE: (_not lifting her head, but turning it so she sees Breath of Life_) Now can I trust--what is? (_suddenly pushing him roughly away_) No! I will beat my life to pieces in the struggle to--

TOM: To _what_, Claire?

CLAIRE: Not to stop it by seeming to have it. (_with fury_) I will keep my life low--low--that I may never stop myself--or anyone--with the thought it's what _I_ have. I'd rather be the steam rising from the manure than be a thing called beautiful! (_with sight too clear_) Now I know who you are. It is you puts out the breath of life. Image of beauty--_You fill the place--should be a gate._ (_in agony_) Oh, that it is _you_--fill the place--should be a gate! My darling! That it should be you who--(_her hands moving on him_) Let me tell you something. Never was loving strong as my loving of you! Do you know that? Oh, know that! Know it now! (_her arms go around his neck_) Hours with you--I'd give my life to have! That it should be you--(_he would loosen her hands, for he cannot breathe. But when she knows she is choking him, that knowledge is fire burning its way into the last passion_) It _is_ you. It is you.

TOM: (_words coming from a throat not free_) Claire! What are you doing? (_then she knows what she is doing_)

CLAIRE: (_to his resistance_) No! You are _too much_! You are _not enough_. (_still wanting not to hurt her, he is slow in getting free. He keeps stepping backward trying, in growing earnest, to loosen her hands. But he does not loosen them before she has found the place in his throat that cuts off breath. As he gasps_)

Breath of Life--my gift--to you!

(_She has pushed him against one of the plants at right as he sways, strength she never had before pushes him over backward, just as they have struggled from sight. Violent crash of glass is heard._)

TOM: (_faint smothered voice_) _No_. I'm--hurt.

CLAIRE: (_in the frenzy and agony of killing_) Oh, gift! Oh, gift! (_there is no sound._

CLAIRE _rises--steps back--is seen now; is looking down_) Gift.

(_Like one who does not know where she is, she moves into the room--looks around. Takes a step toward Breath of Life; turns and goes quickly to the door. Stops, as if stopped. Sees the revolver where the Edge Vine was. Slowly goes to it. Holds it as if she cannot think what it is for. Then raises it high and fires above through the place in the glass left open for ventilation_. ANTHONY _comes from the inner room. His eyes go from her to the body beyond_. HARRY _rushes in from outside_.)

HARRY: Who fired that?

CLAIRE: I did. Lonely.

(_Seeing_ ANTHONY'S _look_, HARRY _'s eyes follow it_.)

HARRY: Oh! What? What? (DICK _comes running in_) Who? Claire!

(DICK _sees--goes to_ TOM)

CLAIRE: Yes. I did it. MY--Gift.

HARRY: Is he--? He isn't--? He isn't--?

(_Tries to go in there. Cannot--there is the sound of broken glass, of a position being changed--then_ DICK _reappears_.)

DICK: (_his voice in jerks_) It's--it's no use, but I'll go for a doctor.

HARRY: No--no. Oh, I suppose--(_falling down beside_ CLAIRE--_his face against her_) My darling! How can I save you now?

CLAIRE: (_speaking each word very carefully_) Saved--myself.

ANTHONY: I did it. Don't you see? I didn't want so many around. Not--what this place is for.

HARRY: (_snatching at this but lets it go_) She wouldn't let--(_looking up at_ CLAIRE--_then quickly hiding his face_) And--don't you see?

CLAIRE: Out. (_a little like a child's pleased surprise_) Out.

(DICK _stands there, as if unable to get to the door--his face distorted, biting his hand_.)

ANTHONY: Miss Claire! You can do anything--won't you try?

CLAIRE: Reminiscence? (_speaking the word as if she has left even that, but smiles a little_)

(ANTHONY _takes Reminiscence, the flower she was breeding for fragrance for Breath of Life--holds it out to her. But she has taken a step forward, past them all_.)

CLAIRE: Out. (_as if feeling her way_) Nearer, (_Her voice now feeling the way to it_.) Nearer-- (_Voice almost upon it_.) --my God, (_Falling upon it with surprise_.) to Thee, (_Breathing it_.) Nearer--to Thee, E'en though it be-- (_A slight turn of the head toward the dead man she loves--a mechanical turn just as far the other way_.) a cross That (_Her head going down_.) raises me; (_Her head slowly coming up--singing it_.) Still all my song shall be, Nearer, my--

(_Slowly the curtain begins to shut her out. The last word heard is the final_ Nearer--_a faint breath from far_.)

CURTAIN

INHERITORS

_Inheritors_ was first performed at the Provincetown Playhouse on April 27, 1921.

SMITH (a young business man)

GRANDMOTHER (SILAS MORTON'S mother)

SILAS MORTON (a pioneer farmer)

FELIX FEJEVARY, the First (an exiled Hungarian nobleman)

FELIX FEJEVARY, the Second (his son, a Harvard student)

FELIX FEJEVARY, the Second (a banker)

SENATOR LEWIS (a State Senator)

HORACE FEJEVARY (son of FELIX FEJEVARY, the Second)

DORIS (a student at Morton College)

FUSSIE (another college girl)

MADELINE FEJEVARY MORTON (daughter of IRA MORTON, and granddaughter of SILAS MORTON)

ISABEL FEJEVARY (wife of FELIX FEJEVARY, the Second, and MADELINE'S aunt)

HARRY (a student clerk)

HOLDEN (Professor at Morton College)

IRA MORTON (son of SILAS MORTON, and MADELINE'S father)

EMIL JOHNSON (an Americanized Swede)

## ACT I

SCENE: _Sitting-room of the Mortons' farmhouse in the Middle West--on the rolling prairie just back from the Mississippi. A room that has been long and comfortably lived in, and showing that first-hand contact with materials which was pioneer life. The hospitable table was made on the place--well and strongly made; there are braided rugs, and the wooden chairs have patchwork cushions. There is a corner closet--left rear. A picture of Abraham Lincoln. On the floor a home-made toy boat. At rise of curtain there are on the stage an old woman and a young man._ GRANDMOTHER MORTON _is in her rocking-chair near the open door, facing left. On both sides of door are windows, looking out on a generous land. She has a sewing basket and is patching a boy's pants. She is very old. Her hands tremble. Her spirit remembers the days of her strength._

SMITH _has just come in and, hat in hand, is standing by the table. This was lived in the year 1879, afternoon of Fourth of July._

SMITH: But the celebration was over two hours ago.

GRANDMOTHER: Oh, celebration, that's just the beginning of it. Might as well set down. When them boys that fought together all get in one square--they have to swap stories all over again. That's the worst of a war--you have to go on hearing about it so long. Here it is--1879--and we haven't taken Gettysburg yet. Well, it was the same way with the war of 1832.

SMITH: (_who is now seated at the table_) The war of 1832?

GRANDMOTHER: News to you that we had a war with the Indians?

SMITH: That's right--the Blackhawk war. I've heard of it.

GRANDMOTHER: Heard of it!

SMITH: Were your men in that war?

GRANDMOTHER: I was in that war. I threw an Indian in the cellar and stood on the door. I was heavier then.

SMITH: Those were stirring times.

GRANDMOTHER: More stirring than you'll ever see. This war--Lincoln's war--it's all a cut and dried business now. We used to fight with anything we could lay hands on--dish water--whatever was handy.

SMITH: I guess you believe the saying that the only good Indian is a dead Indian.

GRANDMOTHER: I dunno. We roiled them up considerable. They was mostly friendly when let be. Didn't want to give up their land--but I've noticed something of the same nature in white folks.

SMITH: Your son has--something of that nature, hasn't he?

GRANDMOTHER: He's not keen to sell. Why should he? It'll never be worth less.

SMITH: But since he has more land than any man can use, and if he gets his price--

GRANDMOTHER: That what you've come to talk to him about?

SMITH: I--yes.

GRANDMOTHER: Well, you're not the first. Many a man older than you has come to argue it.

SMITH: (_smiling_) They thought they'd try a young one.

GRANDMOTHER: Some one that knew him thought that up. Silas'd help a young one if he could. What is it you're set on buying?

SMITH: Oh, I don't know that we're set on buying anything. If we could have the hill (_looking off to the right_) at a fair price--

GRANDMOTHER: The hill above the town? Silas'd rather sell me and the cat.

SMITH: But what's he going to do with it?

GRANDMOTHER: Maybe he's going to climb it once a week.

SMITH: But if the development of the town demands its use--

GRANDMOTHER: (_smiling_) You the development of the town?

SMITH: I represent it. This town has been growing so fast--

GRANDMOTHER: This town began to grow the day I got here.

SMITH: You--you began it?

GRANDMOTHER: My husband and I began it--and our baby Silas.

SMITH: When was that?

GRANDMOTHER: 1820, that was.

SMITH: And--you mean you were here all alone?

GRANDMOTHER: No, we weren't alone. We had the Owens ten miles down the river.

SMITH: But how did you get here?

GRANDMOTHER: Got here in a wagon, how do you s'pose? (_gaily_) Think we flew?

SMITH: But wasn't it unsafe?

GRANDMOTHER: Them set on safety stayed back in Ohio.

SMITH: But one family! I should think the Indians would have wiped you out.

GRANDMOTHER: The way they wiped us out was to bring fish and corn. We'd have starved to death that first winter hadn't been for the Indians.

SMITH: But they were such good neighbours--why did you throw dish water at them?

GRANDMOTHER: That was after other white folks had roiled them up--white folks that didn't know how to treat 'em. This very land--land you want to buy--was the land they loved--Blackhawk and his Indians. They came here for their games. This was where their fathers--as they called 'em--were buried. I've seen my husband and Blackhawk climb that hill together. (_a backward point right_) He used to love that hill--Blackhawk. He talked how the red man and the white man could live together. But poor old Blackhawk--what he didn't know was how many white man there was. After the war--when he was beaten but not conquered in his heart--they took him east--Washington, Philadelphia, New York--and when he saw the white man's cities--it was a different Indian came back. He just let his heart break without ever turning a hand.

SMITH: But we paid them for their lands. (_she looks at him_) Paid them something.

GRANDMOTHER: Something. For fifteen million acres of this Mississippi Valley land--best on this globe, we paid two thousand two hundred and thirty-four dollars and fifty cents, and promised to deliver annually goods to the value of one thousand dollars. Not a fancy price--even for them days, (_children's voices are heard outside. She leans forward and looks through the door, left_) Ira! Let that cat be!

SMITH: (_looking from the window_) These, I suppose, are your grandchildren?

GRANDMOTHER: The boy's my grandson. The little girl is Madeline Fejevary--Mr Fejevary's youngest child.

SMITH: The Fejevary place adjoins on this side? (_pointing right, down_)

GRANDMOTHER: Yes. We've been neighbours ever since the Fejevarys came here from Hungary after 1848. He was a count at home--and he's a man of learning. But he was a refugee because he fought for freedom in his country. Nothing Silas could do for him was too good. Silas sets great store by learning--and freedom.

SMITH: (_thinking of his own project, looking off toward the hill--the hill is not seen from the front_) I suppose then Mr Fejevary has great influence with your son?

GRANDMOTHER: More 'an anybody. Silas thinks 'twas a great thing for our family to have a family like theirs next place to. Well--so 'twas, for we've had no time for the things their family was brought up on. Old Mrs Fejevary (_with her shrewd smile_)--she weren't stuck up--but she did have an awful ladylike way of feeding the chickens. Silas thinks--oh, my son has all kinds of notions--though a harder worker never found his bed at night.

SMITH: And Mr Fejevary--is he a veteran too?

GRANDMOTHER: (_dryly_) You don't seem to know these parts well--for one that's all stirred up about the development of the town. Yes--Felix Fejevary and Silas Morton went off together, down that road (_motioning with her hand, right_)--when them of their age was wanted. Fejevary came back with one arm less than he went with. Silas brought home everything he took--and something he didn't. Rheumatiz. So now they set more store by each other 'an ever. Seems nothing draws men together like killing other men. (_a boy's voice teasingly imitating a cat_) Madeline, make Ira let that cat be. (_a whoop from the girl--a boy's whoop_) (_looking_) There they go, off for the creek. If they set in it--(_seems about to call after them, gives this up_) Well, they're not the first.

(_rather dreams over this_)

SMITH: You must feel as if you pretty near owned this country.

GRANDMOTHER: We worked. A country don't make itself. When the sun was up we were up, and when the sun went down we didn't. (_as if this renews the self of those days_) Here--let me set out something for you to eat. (_gets up with difficulty_)

SMITH: Oh, no, please--never mind. I had something in town before I came out.

GRANDMOTHER: Dunno as that's any reason you shouldn't have something here.

(_She goes off, right; he stands at the door, looking toward the hill until she returns with a glass of milk, a plate of cookies._)

SMITH: Well, this looks good.