Complete Works of J. M. Barrie

by Unknown

  PRINCE. I had forgotten.

  CINDERELLA (quaking). I was feared there would be a riddle.

  KING (prompted by LORD TIMES). Know ye all, my subjects, that before blue blood can wed there is a riddle; and she who cannot guess it — (darkly) is taken away and censored.

  (The CENSOR with his axe comes into sudden prominence behind CINDERELLA and the two other competitors.)

  My Lord Times, the riddle.

  LORD TIMES. I hold in my one hand the riddle, and in the other the answer in a sealed envelope, to prevent any suspicion of hanky-panky. Third prize, forward. Now, my child, this is the riddle. On the night of the Zeppelin raids, what was it that every one rushed to save first?

  3RD PRIZE. The children.

  LORD TIMES. Children not included.

  (The lady is at a loss.)

  PRINCE. Time’s up! Hoo-ray!

  (He signs callously to the CENSOR, who disappears with his victim through a side door, to reappear presently, alone, wiping his axe and skipping gaily.)

  LORD TIMES. Second prize, forward. Now, Duchess, answer.

  2ND PRIZE. Her jewels.

  (LORD TIMES shakes his head.)

  PRINCE (brightly). Off with her head. Drown her in a bucket.

  (The CENSOR again removes the lady and does his fell work.)

  LORD TIMES. First prize, forward. Now, Cinderella, answer.

  (The CENSOR, a kindly man but used to his calling, puts his hand on her shoulder, to lead her away. She removes it without looking at him.)

  CINDERELLA. It’s not a catch, is it?

  LORD TIMES (hotly). No, indeed.

  CINDERELLA. There ‘s just one thing all true Britons would be anxious about.

  KING (who has been allowed to break the envelope and read the answer). But what, Cinderella — what?

  LORD MAYOR (hedging again). What, chit?

  CINDERELLA. Their loveletters.

  KING and LORD TIMES (together, but LORD TIMES a little in front). The fair Cinderella has solved the riddle!

  LORD MAYOR (promptly). Oh, fair lady!

  CINDERELLA (remembering the Venus). There’s just one thing that makes it not quite a perfect ball. I wanted Mrs. Bodie to be one of the competitors — so as I could beat her.

  KING. Send for her at once. Take a taxi.

  (A courtier rushes out whistling, and returns with VENUS, now imbued with life. Her arms go out wantonly to the PRINCE.

  He signs to the CENSOR, who takes her away and breaks her up.)

  PRINCE. I crave a boon. The wedding at once, my lord.

  (LORD TIMES signifies assent.)

  KING. The marriage ceremony will now take place.

  CINDERELLA (calling to the children). Bridesmaids!

  (They rush down and become her bridesmaids. At the top of the stair appears a penguin — a penguin or a bishop, they melt into each other on great occasions. The regal couple kneel.)

  PENGUIN. Do you, O Prince, take this lady to be your delightful wife — and to adore her for ever?

  PRINCE. I do, I do! Oh, I do, I do indeed! I do — I do — I do! penguin. DO you, Cinderella, loveliest of your sex, take this Prince for husband, and to love, honour, and obey him?

  CINDERELLA (primly). If you please.

  PENGUIN. The ring?

  (It is MARIE-THERESE’S great hour; she passes her ring to CINDERELLA, who is married in it. Triumphant music swells out as a crown is put upon our Princess’s head, and an extraordinarily long train attached to her person. Her husband and she move dreamily round the ballroom, the children holding up the train, LORD TIMES with exquisite taste falls in behind them. Then follow the courtiers, all dreamily; and completing the noble procession is the LORD MAYOR, holding aloft on a pole an enormous penny. It has the face of CINDERELLA on one side of it — the penny which to those who know life is the most romantic of coins unless its little brother has done better. The music, despite better intentions, begins to lose its head. It obviously wants to dance. Every one wants to dance. Even

  LORD TIMES has trouble with his legs.)

  KING (threatening, supplicating). Don’t dance yet. I’ve got a surprise for you. Don’t dance. I haven’t told you about it, so as to keep you on the wonder.

  (In vain do they try to control themselves.)

  It’s ices!

  (All stop dancing.)

  (Hoarsely). There’s an ice-cream for everybody.

  (Amid applause the royal ice-cream barrow is wheeled on by haughty menials who fill the paper sieves with dabs of the luscious condiment. The paper sieves are of gold, but there are no spoons. The children, drunk with expectation, forget their manners and sit on the throne. Somehow CINDERELLA’S penny clients drift in again, each carrying a sieve.) None touches till one royal lick has been taken by us four.... (He gives them a toast.) To the Bridal Pair!

  (At the royal word ‘Go!’ all attack the ices with their tongues, greedily but gracefully. They end in the approved manner by gobbling up the sieves. It is especially charming to see the last of LORD TIMES’S sieve. The music becomes irresistible. If you did not dance you would be abandoned by your legs. It is as if a golden coin had been dropped into a golden slot. Ranks are levelled. The KING asks GLADYS for this one; the QUEEN is whisked away by MR. BODIE. Perhaps they dance like costers: if you had time to reflect you might think it a scene in the streets. It becomes too merry to last; couples are whirled through the walls as if the floor itself were rotating: soon

  CINDERELLA and her PRINCE dance alone.

  It is then that the clock begins to strike twelve. CINDERELLA should fly now, or woe befall her. Alas, she hears nothing save the whispers of her lover. The hour has struck, and her glorious gown shrinks slowly into the tattered frock of a girl with a broom. Too late she huddles on the floor to conceal the change. In another moment the PRINCE must see. The children gather round her with little cries, and, spreading out their nightgowns to conceal her, rush her from the scene. It is then that the PRINCE discovers his loss. In a frenzy he calls her sweet name. The bewildered girl has even forgotten to drop the slipper, without which he shall never find her.

  MARIE-THERESE, the ever-vigilant, steals back with it, and leaves it on the floor. The ballroom is growing dark. The lamps have gone out. There is no light save the tiniest glow, which has been showing on the floor all the time, unregarded by us. It seems to come from a policeman’s lantern. The gold is all washed out by the odd streaks of white that come down like rain. Soon the PRINCE’S cry of ‘Cinderella, Cinderella’ dies away. It is no longer a ballroom on which the lantern sheds this feeble ray. is the street outside CINDERELLA’S door, a white street now, silent in snow. The child in her rags, the POLICEMAN ‘S scarf still round her precious feet, is asleep on the doorstep, very little life left in her, very little oil left in the lantern.)

  III

  The retreat in which Cinderella is to be found two months later has been described to us by our POLICEMAN with becoming awe. It seems to be a very pleasant house near the sea, and possibly in pre-war days people were at ease in it. None of that, says the POLICEMAN emphatically, with Dr. Bodie in charge.

  He could wink discreetly at Dr. Bodie in absence, but was prepared to say on oath that no one ever winked at her when she was present. In the old days he had been more than a passive observer of the suffragette in action, had even been bitten by them in the way of business; had not then gone into the question of their suitability for the vote, but liked the pluck of them; had no objection to his feelings on the woman movement being summed up in this way, that he had vaguely disapproved of their object, but had admired their methods. After knowing Dr. Bodie he must admit that his views about their object had undergone a change; was now a whole-hearted supporter, felt in his bones that Dr. Bodie was born to command: astonishing thing about her that she did it so natural like. She was not in the least mannish or bullying; she was a very ladylike sort of person, a bit careful about the doing of her hair, and the set of her hat, and she had a soft voice, though what you
might call an arbitrary manner. Very noticeable the way she fixed you with her steely eye. In appearance she was very like her room at the retreat, or the room was very like her; everything in cruel good order, as you might say; an extraordinarily decorous writing-table near the centre, the sort of table against which you instinctively stood and waited to make your deposition; the friendliest thing in the room (to a policeman) was the bookcases with wire doors, because the books looked through the wires at you in a homely way like prisoners. It was a sunny room at times, but this did not take away from its likeness to the doctor, who could also smile on occasion. Into this room Mr. Bodie is shown on a summer afternoon by a maid with no nonsense about her in working hours.

  MAID (who knows that male visitors should be impressed at once). This way, sir; I shall see whether Dr. Bodie is disengaged.

  BODIE (doggedly). Miss Bodie.

  MAID (with firm sweetness). Dr. Bodie, sir. What name shall I say?

  BODIE (wincing). Mr. Bodie; her brother.

  MAID (unmoved). I shall tell Dr. Bodie, sir.

  BODIE (a fighter to the last). Miss Bodie.

  MAID. Dr. Bodie, sir.

  (He is surveying the room with manly disapproval when his sister appears and greets him. She is all that the POLICEMAN has said of her, and more; if we did not have a heroine already we would chose DR. BODIE.

  At the same time it cannot be denied that she is enough to make any brother wince. For instance, immediately she has passed him the time of day, she seems to be considering his case. Perhaps this is because she has caught him frowning at her stethoscope. There is certainly a twinkle somewhere about her face. Before he can step back indignantly she raises one of his eyelids and comes to a conclusion.)

  DR. BODIE. Oh dear! Well, Dick, it’s entirely your own fault.

  (MR. BODIE has a curious trick of kicking backwards with one foot when people take liberties with him, and a liberty has been taken with him now.) Kick away, Dick, but you needn’t pretend that you have no faith in me as a medical man; for when you are really ill you always take the first train down here. In your heart I am the only doctor you believe in.

  BODIE. Stuff, Nellie.

  DR. BODIE. Then why did you put Cinderella under my care?

  BODIE. I didn’t know where else to send her when she was discharged from the hospital. Had to give her a chance of picking up. (Thawing.) It was good of you to give her board and lodging.

  DR. BODIE (sitting down to her day-book). Not at all. I’ll send you in a whacking bill for her presently.

  BODIE (kicking). Well, I’ve come all this way to see her. How is she getting on, Nellie?

  DR. BODIE. She is in the garden. I dare say you can see her from the window.

  BODIE. I see some men only; I believe they are wounded Tommies.

  DR. BODIE. Yes. There is a Convalescent Home down here. That is part of my job. Do the men look as if they were gathering round anything?

  BODIE. They do.

  DR. BODIE. Ah! Then that is Cinderella. She is now bossing the British Army, Dick.

  BODIE. I might have guessed it. (Chuckling.) Does she charge a penny?

  DR. BODIE. Not to the military.

  BODIE. Nellie, I have had some inquiries made lately about her parents.

  DR. BODIE. She doesn’t know much about them herself.

  BODIE. No, and we needn’t tell her this. Her mother — ah well, poor soul! — and the father was a very bad egg. And from that soil, Nellie, this flower has sprung. Nobody to tend it. Can’t you see little Cinderella with her wateringcan carefully bringing up herself. I wish I could paint that picture.

  (Perhaps DR. BODIE sees the picture even more clearly than he does.) I see her now. She is on a bed, Nellie.

  DR. BODIE. Yes. That is for convenience, for wheeling her about.

  BODIE (waving). She sees me. And how is she, Nell?

  DR. BODIE. She is always bright; perhaps too bright.

  BODIE. Can’t be too bright.

  DR. BODIE (controlling her feelings). A girl who is found frozen in the street by a POLICEMAN and taken to a London Hospital, where she has pneumonia — poor little waif! You know, she is very frail, Dick.

  BODIE. I know; but she will get better, won’t she?

  (He has said it confidently, but his sister looks at him and turns away. He is startled.) Come, Nellie, she is going to get better, isn’t she?

  DR. BODIE (shaking her head). There isn’t much chance, Dick. Her body and soul have had to do too long without the little things they needed.

  BODIE. She shall have them now, I promise. What are they?

  DR. BODIE. First of all, just food. She has been half starved all her life. And then human affection. She has been starved of that also; she who has such a genius for it.

  (She goes to the window and calls.) No. 7, bring Cinderella in here.

  (CINDERELLA in her bed is wheeled in through the window by the soldier, DANNY. She is wearing a probationer’s cap and dressing jacket. The bed is a simple iron one, small and low, of the kind that was so common in war hospitals; it is on tiny pneumatic wheels with ball bearings for easy propulsion. Though frail, CINDERELLA is full of glee.)

  BODIE. Hurray, Cinderella!

  CINDERELLA. Hurray! Isn’t it lovely. I’m glad you’ve seen me in my carriage. When I saw there was a visitor I thought at first it might be David.

  BODIE. David? I didn’t know you... Is he a relative?

  (CINDERELLA finds this extremely funny — so does DANNY; even the DOCTOR is discreetly amused.)

  CINDERELLA (to DANNY). Tell the men that!

  He’s not exactly a relative. (She pulls MR.

  BODIE down by the lapels of his coat.) He’s just that great big ridiculous policeman!

  BODIE. Oho! Our POLICEMAN again. Does he come all this way to see you?

  CINDERELLA (her shoulders rising in pride). Twice already; and he’s coming again to-day. Mr. Bodie, get the Doctor to take you over the Convalescent Home. There’s a field with cows in it, a whole litter of them! And the larder? There’s barrel upon barrel full of eggs and sawdust, and Danny says — this is Danny —

  (DANNY, who is slightly lame and is in hospital blue, comes to attention). Danny says the hens lay in the barrels so as to save time in packing.

  (DANNY finds the severe eye of the Doctor upon him and is abashed.) Mr. Bodie, look! (displaying her cap). The Doctor lets me wear it; it makes me half a nurse, a kind of nurse’s help. I make bandages, and they ‘re took away in glass bottles and sterilized. Mr. Bodie, as sure as death I’m doing something for my country.

  DR. BODIE. Cinderella, you ‘re talking too much.

  CINDERELLA (subsiding meekly). Yes, Doctor.

  DR. BODIE. Dick, I am going over to the hospital presently. If you like to come with me — really want to see it — no affected interest —

  BODIE. Thanks, I should like it — Dr. Bodie.

  DR. BODIE (to DANNY). YOU are not required any more, No. 7.

  (DANNY is going thankfully, but she suddenly pulls him forward to examine his face). No. 7, you are wearing that brown eye again.

  DANNY (who has a glass eye). Yes, Doctor; you see it’s like this. First they sent me a brown eye. Then some meddlesome person finds out my natural eye is blue. So then they sends me a blue eye.

  DOCTOR. Yes, where is it?

  DANNY. It was a beautiful eye, Doctor; but I had taken a fancy to little browny. And I have a young lady; so I took the liberty of having the blue eye made up into a brooch and I sent it to her. DR BODIE (without moving a muscle). I shall report you.

  BODIE (when the martinet and DANNY have gone). Are you afraid of her, Cinderella? I am.

  CINDERELLA. No! She sometimes dashes me, but she is a fearful kind lady. (She pulls him down again for further important revelations.) She’s very particular about her feet.

  BODIE (staggered). Is she! In a feminine way?

  CINDERELLA. Yes.

  BODIE. Hurray! Then I have her. The Achilles Heel! (He is
once more jerked down.)

  CINDERELLA. I have a spring bed.

  BODIE. Oh!

  CINDERELLA (in some awe). The first time I woke in hospital, an angel with streamers was standing there holding a tray in her hand, and on the tray was a boiled egg. Then I thought it was the egg you get the day before you die.

  BODIE. What egg is that?

  CINDERELLA (who in the course of a troubled life has acquired much miscellaneous information). In the Workhouse you always get an egg to your tea the day before you die. (She whispers.) I know now I’m not the real Cinderella.