Complete Works of J. M. Barrie

by Unknown

  (He is old and is near weeping, but Columbine indicates with her personality that if he does not forgive her she must droop and die, and soon again he is a magnanimous father.)

  Yes, yes, my pet, I forgive you. You can’t abide sausages; nor can you, Boy. (They hide their shamed heads.) It’s not your fault. Some are born with the instinct for a sausage, and some have it not. (More brightly) Would you like me to be funny now, my dear, or shall we have tea first?

  (They prefer to have tea first, and the courteous old man sits down with them.)

  But you do think me funny, don’t you, Fairy? Neither of you can look at me without laughing, can you? Try, Boy; try, Fairy. (They try, but fail. He is moved.) Thank you both, thank you kindly. If the public only knew how anxiously we listen for the laugh they would be less grudging of it. (Hastily) Not that I have any cause of complaint. Every night I get the laugh from my generous patrons, the public, and always by legitimate means. When I think what a favourite I am I cannot keep my seat. (He rises proudly.) I am acknowledged by all in the know to be a funny old man. (He moves about exultantly, looking at the portraits that are to hand him down to posterity.) That picture of me, Boy, was painted to commemorate my being the second funniest man on earth. Of course Joey is the funniest, but I am the second funniest.

  (They have scarcely listened; they have been exchanging delicious glances with face and foot. But at mention of the Clown they shudder a little, and their hands seek each other for protection.)

  This portrait I had took — done — in honour of your birth, my love. I call it ‘The Old ‘Un on First Hearing that He is a Father.’

  (He chuckles long before another picture which represents him in the dress of ordinary people.)

  This is me in fancy dress; it is how I went to a fancy-dress ball. Your mother, Fairy, was with me, in a long skirt! Very droll we must have looked, and very droll we felt. I call to mind we walked about in this way; the way the public walks, you know.

  (In his gaiety he imitates the walk of the public, and roguish Columbine imitates them also, but she loses her balance.)

  Yes, try it. Don’t flutter so much. Ah, it won’t do, Fairy. Your natural way of walking’s like a bird bobbing about on a lawn after worms. Your mother was the same, and when she got low in spirits I just blew her about the room till she was lively again. Blow Fairy about, Boy.

  (Harlequin blows her divinely about the room, against the wall, on to seats and off them, and for some sad happy moments Pantaloon gazes at her, feeling that his wife is alive again. They think it is the auspicious time to tell him of their love, but bashfulness falls upon them. He only sees that their faces shine.)

  Ah, she is happy, my Fairy, but I have news that will make her happier! (Curiously) Fairy, you look as if you had something you wanted to tell me. Have you news too?

  (Tremblingly she extends her hand and shows him the ring on it. For a moment he misunderstands.)

  A ring! Did he give you that? (She nods rapturously.) Oho, oho, this makes me so happy. I’ll be funnier than ever, if possible.

  (At this they dance gleefully, but his next words strike them cold.)

  But, the rogue! He said he wanted me to speak to you about it first. That was my news. Oh, the rogue! (They are scared, and sudden fear grips him.) There’s nothing wrong, is there? It was Joey gave you that ring, wasn’t it, Fairy?

  (She shakes her head, and the movement shakes tears from her eyes.)

  If it wasn’t Joey, who was it?

  (Harlequin steps forward.)

  You! You are not fond of Boy, are you, Fairy?

  (She is clinging to her lover now, and Pantaloon is a little dazed.)

  But, my girl, Joey wants you. A clown wants you. When a clown wants you, you are not going to fling yourself away on a harlequin, are you?

  (They go on their knees to him, and he is touched, but also frightened.)

  Don’t try to get round me; now don’t. Joey would be angry with me. He can be hard when he likes, Joey can. (In a whisper) Perhaps he would cane me! You wouldn’t like to see your dad caned, Fairy.

  (Columbine’s head sinks to the floor in woe, and Harlequin eagerly waves his wand.)

  Ah, Boy, you couldn’t defy him. He is our head. You can do wonderful things with that wand, but you can’t fight Joey with it.

  (Sadly enough the wand is lowered.)

  You see, children, it won’t do. You have no money, Boy, except the coppers Joey sometimes gives you in an envelope of a Friday night, and we can’t marry without money (with an attempt at joviality), can’t marry without money, Boy.

  (Harlequin with a rising chest produces money.)

  Seven shillings and tenpence! You have been saving up, Boy. Well done! But it’s not enough.

  (Columbine darts to the mantelshelf for her money-box and rattles it triumphantly. Pantaloon looks inside it.)

  A half-crown and two sixpences! It won’t do, children. I had a pound and a piano-case when I married, and yet I was pinched.

  (They sit on the floor with their fingers to their eyes, and with difficulty he restrains an impulse to sit beside them.)

  Poor souls! poor true love!

  (The thought of Joey’s power and greatness overwhelms him.)

  Think of Joey’s individuality, Fairy. He banks his money, my love. If you saw the boldness of Joey in the bank when he hands the slip across the counter and counts his money, my pet, instead of being thankful for whatever they give him. And then he puts out his tongue at them! The artist in him makes him put out his tongue at them. For he is a great artist, Joey. He is a greater artist than I am. I know it and I admit it. He has a touch that is beyond me. (Imploringly) Did you say you would marry him, my love?

  (She does not raise her head, and he continues with a new break in his voice.)

  It is not his caning me I am so afraid of, but — but I’m oldish now, Fairy, even for an old ‘un, and there is something I must tell you. I have tried to keep it from myself, but I know. It is this: I am afraid, my sweet, I am not so funny as I used to be. (She encircles his knees in dissent.) Yes, it’s true, and Joey knows it. On Monday I had to fall into the barrel three times before I got the laugh. Joey saw! If Joey were to dismiss me I could never get another shop. I would be like a dog without a master. He has been my master so long. I have put by nearly enough to keep me, but oh, Fairy, the awfulness of not being famous any longer. Living on without seeing my kind friends in front. To think of my just being one of the public, of my being pointed at in the streets as the old ‘un that was fired out of the company because he missed his laughs. And that’s what Joey will bring to pass if you don’t marry him, my girl.

  (It is an appeal for mercy, and Columbine is his loving daughter. Her face is wan, but she tries to smile. She hugs the ring to her breast, and then gives it back to Harlequin. They try to dance a last embrace, but their legs are leaden. He kisses her cheeks and her foot and goes away broken-hearted. The brave girl puts her arm round her father’s neck and hides her wet face. He could not look at it though it were exposed, for he has more to tell.)

  I haven’t told you the worst yet, my love. I didn’t dare tell you the worst till Boy had gone. Fairy, the marriage is to be to-day! Joey has arranged it all. It’s his humour, and we dare not thwart him. He is coming here to take you to the wedding. (In a tremble she draws away from him.) I haven’t been a bad father to you, have I, my girl? When we were waiting for you before you were born, your mother and I, we used to wonder what you would be like, and I — it was natural, for I was always an ambitious man — I hoped you would be a clown. But that wasn’t to be, and when the doctor came to me — I was walking up and down this room in a tremble, for my darling was always delicate — when the doctor came to me and said, ‘I congratulate you, sir, on being the father of a fine little columbine,’ I never uttered one word of reproach to him or to you or to her.

  (There is a certain grandeur about the old man as he calls attention to the nobility of his conduct, but it falls from
him on the approach of the Clown. We hear Joey before we see him: he is singing a snatch of one of his triumphant ditties, less for his own pleasure perhaps than to warn the policeman to be on the alert. He has probably driven to the end of the street, and then walked. A tremor runs through Columbine at sound of him, but Pantaloon smiles, a foolish, ecstatic smile. Joey has always been his hero.)

  Be ready to laugh, my girl. Joey will be angry if he doesn’t get the laugh.

  (The Clown struts in, as confident of welcome as if he were the announcement of dinner. He wears his motley like an order. A silk hat and an eyeglass indicate his superior social position. A sausage protruding from a pocket shows that he can unbend at times. A masterful man when you don’t applaud enough, he is at present in uproarious spirits, as if he had just looked in a mirror. At first he affects not to see his host, to Pantaloon’s great entertainment.)

  Clown. Miaw, miaw!

  Pantaloon (bent with merriment). He is at his funniest, quite at his funniest.

  (Clown kicks him hard but good-naturedly, and Pantaloon falls to the ground.)

  Clown. Miaw!

  Pantaloon (reverently). What an artist.

  Clown (pretends to see Columbine for the first time in his life. In a masterpiece of funniness he starts back, like one dazzled by a naked light). Oh, Jiminy Crinkles! Oh, I say, what a beauty.

  Pantaloon. There’s nobody like him.

  Clown. It’s Fairy. It’s my little Fairy.

  (Strange, but all her admiration for this man has gone. He represents nothing to her now but wealth and social rank. He ogles her, and she shrinks from him as if he were something nauseous.)

  Pantaloon (warningly). Fairy!

  Clown (showing sharp teeth). Hey, what’s this, old ‘un? Don’t she admire me?

  Pantaloon. Not admire you, Joey? That’s a good ‘un. Joey’s at his best to-day.

  Clown. Ain’t she ready to come to her wedding?

  Pantaloon. She’s ready, Joey.

  Clown (producing a cane, and lowering). Have you told her what will happen to you if she ain’t ready?

  Pantaloon (backing). I’ve told her, Joey (supplicating). Get your hat, Fairy.

  Clown. Why ain’t she dancing wi’ joy and pride?

  Pantaloon. She is, Joey, she is.

  (Columbine attempts to dance with joy and pride, and the Clown has been so long used to adulation that he is deceived.)

  Clown (amiable again). Parson’s waiting. Oh, what a lark.

  Pantaloon (with a feeling that lark is not perhaps the happiest word for the occasion). Get your things, Fairy.

  Clown (riding on a chair). Give me something first, my lovey-dovey. I shuts my eyes and opens my mouth, and waits for what’s my doo.

  (She knows what he means, and it is sacrilege to her. But her father’s arms are extended beseechingly. She gives the now abhorred countenance a kiss, and runs from the room. The Clown plays with the kiss as if it were a sausage, a sight abhorrent to Harlequin, who has stolen in by the window. Fain would he strike, but though he is wearing his mask, which is a sign that he is invisible, he fears to do so. As if conscious of the unseen presence, the Clown’s brow darkens.)

  Joey, when I came in I saw Boy hanging around outside.

  Pantaloon (ill at ease). Boy? What can he be wanting?

  Clown. I know what he is wanting, and I know what he will get.

  (He brandishes the cane threateningly. At the same moment the wedding bells begin to peal.)

  Pantaloon. Hark!

  Clown (with grotesque accompaniment).

  My wedding bells.

  Fairy’s wedding bells.

  There they go again, here we are again,

  there they go again, here we are again.

  (Columbine returns. She has tried to hide the tears on her cheeks behind a muslin veil. There is a melancholy bouquet in her hand. She passionately desires to be like the respectable public on her marriage day. Harlequin raises his mask for a moment that she may see him, and they look long at each other, those two, who are never to have anything lovely to look at again. ‘Won’t he save her yet?’ says her face, but ‘I am afraid’ says his. Still the bells are jangling.)

  Pantaloon. My girl.

  Clown. Mine.

  (He kisses her, but it is the sausage look that is in his eyes. Pantaloon, bleeding for his girl, raises his staff to strike him, but Columbine will not have the sacrifice. She gives her arm to the Clown.)

  To the wedding. To the wedding. Old ‘un, lead on, and we will follow thee. Oh, what a lark!

  (They are going toward the door, but in this supreme moment love turns timid Boy into a man. He waves his mysterious wand over them, so that all three are suddenly bereft of movement. They are like frozen figures. He removes his mask and smiles at them with a terrible face. Fondly and leisurely he gathers Columbine in his arms and carries her out by the window. The Clown and Pantaloon remain there, as if struck in the act of taking a step forward. The wedding bells are still pealing.)

  The curtain falls for a moment only. It rises on the same room several years later.

  The same room; as one may say of a suit of clothes, out of which the whilom tenant has long departed, that they are the same man. A room cold to the touch, dilapidated, fragments of the ceiling fallen and left where they fell, wall-paper peeling damply, portraits of Pantaloon taken down to sell, unsaleable, and never rehung. Once such a clean room that its ghost to-day might be Columbine chasing a speck of dust, it is now untended. Even the windows are grimy, which tells a tale of Pantaloon’s final capitulation; while any heart was left him we may he sure he kept the windows clean so that the policeman might spy upon him. Perhaps the policeman has gone from the street, bored, nothing doing there now.

  It is evening and winter time, and the ancient man is moving listlessly about his room, mechanically blowing life into his hands as if he had forgotten that there is no real reason why there should be life in them. The clothes Columbine used to brush with such care are slovenly, the hair she so often smoothed with all her love is unkempt. He is smaller, a man who has shrunk into himself in shame, not so much shame that he is uncared for as that he is forgotten.

  He is sitting forlorn by the fire when the door opens to admit his first visitor for years. It is the Clown, just sufficiently stouter to look more resplendent. The drum, so to say, is larger. He gloats over the bowed Pantaloon like a spiteful boy.

  Clown (poking Pantaloon with his cane). Who can this miserable ancient man be?

  (Visited at last by some one who knows him, Pantaloon rises in a surge of joy.)

  Pantaloon. You have come back, Joey, after all these years!

  Clown. Hands off. I came here, my good fellow, to inquire for a Mr. Joseph.

  Pantaloon (shuddering). Yes, that’s me; that’s all that’s left of me; Mr. Joseph! Me that used to be Joey.

  Clown. I think I knew you once, Mr. Joseph?

  Pantaloon. Joey, you’re hard on me. It wasn’t my fault that Boy tricked us and ran off wi’ her.

  Clown. May I ask, Mr. Joseph, were you ever on the boards?

  Pantaloon. This to me as was your right hand!

  Clown. I seem to call to mind something like you as used to play the swell.

  Pantaloon (fiercely). It’s a lie! I was born a Pantaloon, and a Pantaloon I’ll die.

  Clown. Yes, I heard you was dead, Mr. Joseph. Everybody knows it except yourself. (He gnaws a sausage.)

  Pantaloon (greedily). Gie me a bite, Joey.

  Clown (relentless). I only bites with the profession. I never bites with the public.

  Pantaloon. What brought you here? Just to rub it in?

  Clown. Let’s say I came to make inquiries after the happy pair.

  Pantaloon. It’s years and years, Joey, since they ran away, and I’ve never seen them since.

  Clown. Heard of them?

  Pantaloon. Yes, I’ve heard. They’re in distant parts.

  Clown. Answer their letters?

  Pantaloon (dar
kening). No.

  Clown. They will be doing well, Mr. Joseph, without me?

  Pantaloon (boastfully). At first they did badly, but when the managers heard Fairy was my daughter they said the daughter o’ such a famous old ‘un was sure to draw by reason of her father’s name. And they print the name of her father in big letters.

  Clown (rapping it out). It’s you that lie now. I know about them. They go starving like vagabonds from town to town.