The Black Cat by John Todhunter (drm ebook reader .txt) 📖

Some women are Love's toys, kiss'd and flung by,
Some his pale martyrs: thou art womanhood,
Superbly symbol'd in rare flesh and blood.
Eternal Beauty, she for whom we sigh,
Dowers thee with her own eternity;
Thou art Love's sibyl: in proud solitude
O'er his old mysteries thy deep eyes brood,
And at thy feet his rich dominions lie.
Hast thou a heart? Let me desire it still.
Torture my heart to life with thy disdain;
Yet smile, give me immortal dreams, still be
My Muse, my inspiration, vision, will!
I ask no pity, I demand but pain:
And if I love thee, what is that to thee?

It sounds very well; but I'm afraid I don't quite understand it.

Denham.

That is the highest praise you could give it; if it be unintelligible it must be fine. It means "mes hommages!" (Kisses her hand.) And now come down! (He hands her down from the "throne".)

Mrs. Tremaine.

(with a shy laugh, crosses r) But you don't mean to say that you have said all those fine words about me?

Denham.

Yes—to you, Blanche. I love you. What is that to you? (Comes down to fire.)

Mrs. Tremaine.

It is very flattering, no doubt, to be made love to in pretty verses. (With a mocking smile.) Is this your "situation" at last?

Denham.

Yes, it is a situation.

Mrs. Tremaine.

(sharply) Oh, I see! I am to be a sort of lay figure for your poetry, as well as your painting; the Laura of this new Petrarch. Thank you! (She bows with a little laugh.)

Denham.

I love you, Blanche, I love you!

Mrs. Tremaine.

Say it in verse as much as you like. It does not sound nice in prose. Don't let us make fools of ourselves, Mr. Denham.

Denham.

We can't avoid it, Mrs. Tremaine. To do it with dignity is all that can be expected of us.

Mrs. Tremaine.

(with increased vexation) That's impossible. (Crosses r, and takes cloak.) Don't let us spoil a pleasant friendship with nonsense of this kind. Let me keep that—and your sonnet—and good-bye!

(She comes down to l c. Denham takes her cloak and puts it on her, keeping his hands on her shoulders.)

Denham.

As you please. Call it friendship, or anything you like. To me it is new life. You have simply taken possession of me from the first—imagination, heart, soul, everything. I live in you, I see your face, I hear your voice, I speak to you when you are absent, just as if you were present. I call you aloud by your name—Blanche, Blanche!

(She starts away from him, and the cloak remains in his hands.)

Mrs. Tremaine.

Hush, hush, Mr. Denham! I ought not to listen to such words from you. I never dreamed—

Denham.

(throwing cloak over back of sofa) I know, I know. Women never do; they go on their way like blindfold fates. Is there such a thing as a magnetic attraction—affinity? I never believed in it till I saw you.

Mrs. Tremaine.

(laughs nervously) With how little ingenuity men make love!

Denham.

Don't laugh at my raving, you cruel Blanche! I know it sounds as foolish as a schoolboy's valentine; but it is as sincere—and inadequate. Words are stupid things. (He takes her hands, and looks in her face.)

Mrs. Tremaine.

Do let us part friends. If you are in earnest, you must know this is wicked as well as foolish.

Denham.

Yes, it is always wicked to snatch a moment's supreme happiness in this world. If I am in earnest! You know I am in earnest! (He strokes her hair, then, as she turns away, he puts his arm round her waist and draws her to him.) Blanche, my beautiful Blanche! I did not mean to say all this, but it was too strong for me.

Mrs. Tremaine.

Let me go, Mr. Denham!

Denham.

(releasing her) Well, go! (Crosses l.) Go, if you can!

Mrs. Tremaine.

(angrily) I can and will. (Turns to take her cloak.)

Denham.

Do you know, Blanche, I thought you loved me?

Mrs. Tremaine.

(turning sharply) Then you were more foolish than I thought. (Softening.) Perhaps I was to blame, but I meant nothing wrong.

Denham.

Oh, I acquit you completely! We drifted—that was all. Jest sometimes turns to earnest. Well, go—go with those tears in your eyes. There is nothing worth crying about—more than is becoming.

Mrs. Tremaine.

Don't say unkind things to me. I can't bear them, though I suppose I deserve them. I liked you, and your admiration flattered my vanity; and I suppose I may have made you think I cared more for you than—I did.

Denham.

Well, you don't love me. What does it matter? I love you; that is the important thing to me. I thank you for that eternal possession. Let it be a dream, austere and pure. Passion has its own ascetic cell, where it can fast and scourge itself. I ask you for nothing, Blanche. I am yours wholly. Do what you like with me.

Mrs. Tremaine.

Go back to your wife.

Denham.

Yes—my poor Constance! Well, Blanche, at least you and I can't utterly spoil each other's lives. We can't marry each other.

Mrs. Tremaine.

Don't say any more. Let us forget all this.

Denham.

Forget? No. But we must renounce. You, too, will wear the sackcloth.

Mrs. Tremaine.

(petulantly) Why should I wear sackcloth?

Denham.

My dear Blanche, you are not such a fine coquette as you imagine. (Going close up to her.) Do you think I can't read those beautiful eyes of yours? You love me! Your love fills the air like the fragrance of a flower. (He clasps her in his arms.)

Mrs. Tremaine.

(impatiently) Suppose I did. Après?

Denham.

You do love me, Blanche? (Kisses her.)

Mrs. Tremaine.

(with inward rage) Yes, I love you. (Suddenly embracing him.) I love you! What does it matter?

Denham.

Oh, it is the eternal tragedy! We must renounce.

(Half releasing her.)

Mrs. Tremaine.

Why must we renounce? Now that you have gone so far, why turn back?

Denham.

(releasing her) It is the least of evils. How should I hide you from the world's vile slanders? Let us keep our dream unsullied. (Crosses l.)

Mrs. Tremaine.

I have been through the fire already, and could face it again—for a man I loved, and who loved me.

Denham.

But it would scorch you worse than before. Then, Constance!

Mrs. Tremaine.

(with scorn) Ay, Constance! You ought to have thought of her before. (Passionately.) Why have you spoken to me? Why have you compelled me to speak, if you are not bold enough to break the bonds that are strangling you?

Denham.

Because I must. Don't tempt me, Blanche. We shall sometimes meet, look in each other's eyes, and keep our secret. It is best so. I love you so much that I would save you from yourself.

Mrs. Tremaine.

I don't understand such love. (Turns away r.)

Denham.

Women never do. They prefer being treated like dogs. Is it nothing that we have met heart to heart for one sweet moment, that you have rested a moment in my arms? To me it is a glimpse of the unattainable heaven of love. (Going up to her.) Kiss me once, Blanche, and farewell!

Mrs. Tremaine.

It must be for ever, then.

(They kiss, and remain clasped in each other's arms.)

(Enter Mrs. Denham suddenly.)

Mrs. Denham.

Arthur! Oh, I see, I am in the way! (She is about to retire.)

Denham.

(coming forward) No; come in, Constance. Blanche is going away. (Crosses l.)

Mrs. Denham.

Indeed! I must apologise for interrupting a very pretty parting scene. Had I not better retire until your interesting tête-à-tête is over?

Denham.

There is no necessity. It is over.

Mrs. Denham.

(coming down c) Then may I ask for an explanation of—what I have unintentionally seen?

Denham.

Certainly. You have a right to ask anything you please.

Mrs. Denham.

Well?

Denham.

We have had our fit of madness. Now we are sane, and Blanche is going away. That is all. (Goes to table l.)

Mrs. Denham.

Oh, indeed! Arthur, Arthur, I trusted in your love, and you have betrayed me. You love this woman!

Mrs. Tremaine.

(coming down) Let me speak, Constance. If there be a fault or a folly in the matter, it is mine. You hate me; you have cause. I have—been vain and selfish. I thought, like many another woman, I could play with temptation—

Mrs. Denham.

(with fierce scorn) And with your experience, too!

Mrs. Tremaine.

I know my own weakness now. But I am going away, Constance—going away out of your lives for ever. If I have sinned, I can expiate.

Mrs. Denham.

Expiate! A fine word, with which we drug our consciences. You have treated me basely, cruelly, treacherously, and you will expiate! A common thief can at least make restitution. Can you do that? You are going away, taking my husband's heart with you. Can you give me that back? I would rather you had stabbed me—killed me with one merciful stroke.

Mrs. Tremaine.

No, I am taking nothing with me—nothing but my own folly. I have been the toy of your husband's imagination, that is all. To him this has been nothing more than a passing flirtation.

Mrs. Denham.

You love him, and he loves you. Don't palter with the truth. (Crosses l.)

Mrs. Tremaine.

Yes, I love him; but he does not love me. If either of us have cause for jealousy, it is not you.

Mrs. Denham.

(laughing bitterly) You jealous of me? You dare to say this? (Moves towards door.)

Denham.

For God's sake, Constance, don't let us lose our heads! Let us be just to each other. This was our fate. Call it our fault, if you will. We have been in the grip of a strong temptation; but we have given each other up.

(Mrs. Tremaine puts on her hat, cloak, and gloves.)

Mrs. Denham.

(coming back c) Given each other up! Do you think you can satisfy me with such phrases? I am to be your faithful wife, I suppose; content with whatever poor shreds of affection you choose to dole out to me, while all your thoughts are with another woman. It would have been more straightforward, (with withering contempt) I won't say more manly, to have told me plainly: "I cannot love you, therefore I must leave you." But this intrigue behind my back is despicable—despicable!

Denham.

(pacing about angrily) Intrigue! Yes, of course. You always knew the value of an ugly word. (Restraining himself.) Otherwise you have put the abstract morality of the thing admirably. But I am unprincipled enough not to want to desert my wife and child, merely because I love another woman.

Mrs. Denham.

Oh yes, compromise, compromise, the god that men worship! Go to your mistress, if she will have you. I renounce you.

Mrs. Tremaine.

(laughing bitterly) Excuse me, but our little comedy is played out. I am out of the story. (Exit.)

Denham.

(crosses up to door) Stay, Blanche! You must not go like this. One moment, Constance.

(Exit, following Mrs. Tremaine.)

Mrs. Denham.

(flinging herself down on the sofa) My God! my God! what am I to do? How am I to live? I cannot stay in this house with a man who no longer loves me. Oh, if she had not come between us! Yes, yes! A pretty face and a little flattery outweighs a life's devotion. Oh, it is hard, it is hard!

(A pause. Then enter Undine.)

Undine.

Mother! Are you sick?

Mrs. Denham.

No, dear. I have a headache, that's all.

Undine.

I'm sorry, mother. (Kisses her.)

Mrs. Denham.

(clasping her in her arms) Well, what does my little girl want now?

Undine.

May I go and play with Maude and Bertie after school to-morrow, and stay to tea?

Mrs. Denham.

You may go and play; but you know I cannot let you stay to tea.

Undine.

Oh, but why?