Complete Works of J. M. Barrie

by Unknown

  SAUL. There shall be no punishment happen to thee for this thing.

  WITCH (whose fears are in contrast to his firmness). Whom shall I bring up unto thee?

  SAUL. Bring me up Samuel.

  (There is suddenly a torch in her hand and she is using it to peer at his face.)

  WITCH (huskily). Thou art Saul!

  SAUL. Fear not. What see’st thou?

  WITCH. An old man cometh up and he is covered with a mantle.

  (She vanishes. Perhaps we see less the figure of SAMUEL than a thickness, and we know that someone is there. To that, saul addresses himself.)

  SAUL. Samuel! (He bows low to the unseen.)

  SAMUEL (sternly). Why hast thou disquieted me, Saul, to bring me up?

  SAUL (firm). I am sore distressed, for the Philistines make war against me, and the Lord answereth me no more. Therefore I have called thee up that thou mayest make known to me how long is my time — how long.

  SAMUEL (relentless). The Lord is departed from thee, for He rends the kingdom out of thy hand and gives it to thy neighbour. Because thou disobeyed’st Him He has done this thing unto thee. Tomorrow, after the battle with the Philistines, thou and thy son shall no longer be of this world: you will be in mine with me.

  (saul has listened, without flinching. He again bows lowly. He sways. The thickening fades. The scene dissolves and changes to a mountain side on the next day, where the Philistines gained their only great victory over the Israelites and saul was slain. There is doubt as to the exact site, but Mount Gilboa comes into the picture and the battle might be called after it. The Israelites, who always chose the higher ground because they were without horses or chariots, were driven upward and dispersed with great slaughter, but all we see is a last effort of saul’s after the fight has been lost. In the background many dead of both sides lie, seen vaguely as in mist. In the foreground, saul, badly wounded, is hewing down some of the enemy in the manner of a mighty warrior of old; but still we hear no sound. When they are killed or driven off, he falls, shot by an arrow, OPHIR, equally wounded, is by him saul in the Old Testament was wearing his crown.)

  SAUL. Tell me, is it so with Jonathan — also?

  OPHIR. Alas! (He bows his head.)

  SAUL. Ophir, truly am I sore wounded by the archers. Dispatch me now quickly. Thrust me through, lest the uncircumcised Philistines come and abuse me.

  OPHIR. I cannot lift my hand against my King.

  SAUL. I forgive you, sweet Ophir.

  (He dies by his own hand and OPHIR falls back among the slain. A figure appears on the battlefield and resolves himself into the man DAVID. He comes down to the side of saul, kneels, then rises and salutes him. He is again in military rags, as in the second of the visions.)

  DAVID. How are the mighty fallen! Tell it not in Gath; publish it not in the streets of Ascalon, lest the daughters of the Philistines rejoice. Ye mountains of Gilboa, let there be no dew, neither let there be rain, upon you, nor fields of offerings; for here the shield of the mighty is vilely cast away, the shield of Saul, as though he had not been anointed with oil. From the blood of the slain, from the fat of the mighty, the bow of Jonathan turned not back, and the sword of Saul returned not empty. Saul and Jonathan were lovely and pleasant in their lives, and in their death they were not divided; they were swifter than eagles, they were stronger than lions. Ye daughters of Israel, weep over Saul who clothed you in scarlet, with other delights. (Now addressing a body which we do not distinguish) O Jonathan, thou wast slain in thine high places. I am distressed for thee, my brother Jonathan; very pleasant hast thou been unto me; thy love to me was wonderful, passing the love of women. How are the mighty fallen, and the weapons of war perished! (He sinks down, mourning for JONATHAN, and is gone.)

  (The figure of SAMUEL comes to SAUL. Throughout the scene that follows they are as simple as two villagers gossiping about old times.)

  SAMUEL. Greeting, friend. Can I help you?

  (SAUL sits up.)

  SAUL. Do I know you?

  SAMUEL. I was called Samuel.

  SAUL. I cannot remember such a one, but I like your face.

  SAMUEL. And I yours — though it is unknown to me.

  SAUL. Sit with me, good Samuel.

  (SAMUEL sits beside him.)

  SAMUEL (uncertain). If your name should be Saul —

  SAUL. It comes to me that such is my name.

  SAMUEL. Then, to guide you, I was sent hither, as one who in a past time had, in some way now forgotten by me, been tied up with you in the bundle of life.

  SAUL. Is it so? (Dropping unconsciously into DAVID’S manner)

  Now do you ask me what was my way of life, and I will tell you, and then shall I ask you what was your way of life, and, lo, you will tell me. (Puzzled) Was it you who used to say this to me?

  SAMUEL. I know not. But tell me, Saul, what was your way of life?

  SAUL. I was a shepherd. Now tell me what was yours.

  SAMUEL. I see it not so dearly as you do, for I am farther away. All I bring back is that I had two troublesome sons. How one forgets the smaller things!

  SAUL. Verily.

  SAMUEL (ruminating). A shepherd? It is as if I had known such a one — one who went out into far places to seek his asses which had strayed.

  SAUL. Not my asses, my father’s asses.

  SAMUEL. It was you?

  SAUL. One forgets not such a thing as that.

  SAMUEL (his memory jogged). Tell me, were you never a King?

  SAUL. What is that?

  SAMUEL. One who is lord-over-all.

  SAUL (quietly reproving). Speak not blasphemy, friend. There is but One such.

  SAMUEL. It is so. Nevertheless —

  (He prostrates before SAUL, whom it vaguely disturbs.)

  SAUL. What mean you? Trouble me not.

  SAMUEL. Thus did all your people.

  SAUL. Who were my people?

  SAMUEL. They were called Israel.

  SAUL. Israel. It is a beautiful word.

  SAMUEL. Put all such vanity from you, friend.

  SAUL. What happened, Samuel? Was the Lord fair to me?

  (Giving it up contentedly) Truly His ways are past finding out.

  SAMUEL. Now are they to be made clear to you. Come with me.

  SAUL. Israel.

  (They go away together. The scene darkens, and in the obscurity of the battlefield, we become aware of a small white figure wandering about on it. Only the white nightgown makes us realise that this is the boy DAVID. He is flitting about here and there, in search of saul, but does not find him. He calls:)

  Saul — Saul!

  (After a pause:)

  It is thy David seeking thee!

  (Again, after a pause:)

  Shepherd!

  (Finally:)

  Saul, Saul!

  (His childishness is in strong contrast to the virility of the older DAVID. The scene blacks out, and changes to the room of the sleepers, the back wall being replaced, and they are still lying there asleep. It should be noted that all sounds made in the room are now heard though none were heard in the visions. The room is still dark, but, as the mother enters, the grey light of early morning comes through the doorway which she has left open. It is now lighter in the room but only light enough to show the sleeping figures. The mother is evidently the first up to meet the labours of the new day, and is carrying a broom. She comes to DAVID’s bed, expecting all to be as usual, and is startled to find that he is not in the bed. This should be unexpected to us also. She utters one alarmed cry.)

  MOTHER. Jesse!

  (And then realises that it is best not to waken the others. While she is pondering what to do, the back door opens and DAVID comes in, still wearing his white garment, which is now bedraggled. He leaves the door open, which adds to the amount of light. His eyes are glassy and he moves like a sleep-walker. She murmurs his name, and she both goes to him and shrinks back, for she has a feeling that in his condition he ought not to be addressed. He does not see her, t
hough she is in full view, but goes straight to his bed and lies on it like a log, in an extremity of sleep and exhaustion. She is no longer emotional, She is entirely practical. She takes off her shawl and puts it round his shoulders. She is startled to find his sling round his waist. She feels her own neck, thinking it is surely still there. She looks at door as a suspicion comes to her.)

  MOTHER (bewildered). Your sling! Did you come in to where I lay and take it off me while I slept? (She finds his knee cut and bandages it. She says in awe) David, where have you been?

  (He sleeps on.)

  SCENE II

  DAVID AND JONATHAN

  The scene, which is pastoral, is the fields south-east of Bethlehem, and here David is found tending his sheep. It is early evening two days later and the setting sun lingers over its best achievement. We may see a suggestion of its rays, but not the sun itself. It should be an idyll of quiet rural loveliness, in contrast to the rest of the play. In the not far distance is the old walled town of Bethlehem on its hill, not conspicuous and yet vaguely dominating the landscape, which shows many of the wild flowers for which this place was famous, such as the white flower called the Star of Bethlehem, with masses of scarlet anemones. A half-cut field of barley is also prominent, shining at times in the sun. In the foreground is a large rock (practical)

  of limestone which slopes from right to left, beginning from ground and reaching at its highest point to nearly five feet. Thus it is really a small rock, though to David’s eyes it is great. It extends back sufficiently far to contain a small cave just large enough to hold two people. It has moss growing on it, and there are similar smaller rocks here and there going into distance, for it is not rich ground for pasture but often stony. In the foreground there is a thick patch of long grass (practical), about half a dozen yards of it. All the action of this scene of country life must take place downstage. It really consists of a duologue between the two boys, and must not play much more than ten minutes. There are possibly some real sheep and black goats browsing here and there, but in any case most of them are artificial. There are bells round their necks, and at the opening of the scene (before any talk) the tinkle of the bells is heard, but this must not be overdone. It should be no louder than the hum of bees.

  (DAVID is discovered standing on the rock crest tending his sheep. A shepherd’s staff -with crooked handle is in his hand and it is much taller than himself; he has to reach to grasp the handle. He is wearing a long shepherd’s mantle of linen, no doubt stitched together by his mother, though he thinks he is looking every inch a shepherd, and he should have the effect of a shepherd as seen in the pictures of the period. His hand is outstretched and he seems to be numbering the sheep. Seeing that all is well with his flock, DAVID sits on the rock pursuing a secret occupation. He has now a lump of soft clay in his hand on which he is laboriously writing a letter. This is done with a sharp instrument in his knife, and is really carving. His head is cocked in the effort and he is biting his tongue. The peaceful pastoral scene is interrupted by someone unseen throwing clods of earth at him. He evidently guesses who it is and he jumps down and hides in his cave. A whistle is heard offstage, DAVID whistles back and hides in cave. The voice of Jonathan calls.)

  JONATHAN. Son of Jesse!

  (DAVID thinks it all exceedingly funny. Jonathan enters, not in armour, but well attired. He sees DAVID but politely pretends not to.)

  David! Whither have you got? I saw you on the rock like a he-goat.

  DAVID (like sentry). Say the password.

  JONATHAN. Goliath.

  DAVID. Enter!

  (Jonathan affects surprise to see him DAVID and he point at each other gleefully, DAVID emerges on all-fours. He winces and limps and sits down on the ground.)

  Jonathan. Have you hurt yourself?

  DAVID (emphatic). No!

  (Jonathan sits beside him DAVID pulls bandage off his knee and shows bandage dramatically.)

  ‘Behold!’ (He then shows his knee badly scratched.)

  JONATHAN. How then? Have more strange things befallen you who killed Goliath but two days ago?

  DAVID. Ay, truly! (Impressively) Jonathan, hearken. My mother says I did wander from my home in the dark of the night, and whither I went no one knows! (He is rather scared.) Jonathan, have you ever been at a dream?

  JONATHAN. At a dream? I have dreamed dreams, but you cannot be at a dream.

  DAVID (complacently, but uncomfortable). I can!

  JONATHAN. You are sure?

  DAVID. My mother is sure. When she sought me on my bed in the morning, I was not there, and then did I come in by the door and I saw her not, for my eyes were glassy. But my sling was in my hand and this knee did bleed, and she plucked from it thorns of the field. Jonathan, I had been at a dream!

  JONATHAN (awed). You are a strange one, David.

  DAVID (also awed but pleased). Am I not?

  JONATHAN. Show me your dream.

  DAVID. It has now gone from me.

  JONATHAN. Thus is it with dreams. (With boyish eagerness)

  Was I in it?

  DAVID (reflecting). I do not remember you in it.

  JONATHAN. Then it interests me not.

  DAVID. I think your father was in it.

  JONATHAN. Tell me.

  DAVID. Something about Saul and an enemy. (Puzzled)

  What enemy? (With excited glimpses of memory) He was a ragged soldier seeking the hurt of Saul, and so I rose from my bed and went out with my sling to kill him. (Realising) Ay, that was why I went out into the dream.

  JONATHAN. I am happy, David, that you do so love my father even in dreams.

  DAVID. Also I do love you.

  JONATHAN. And I you.

  DAVID. Jonathan, I have made a gift for you.

  JONATHAN. What is it?

  (DAVID gets on to rock and lifts the lump of clay, covering it with his hand as a treasure. Jonathan eagerly jumps up beside him and tries to open the hands of DAVID. They are sitting on rock.)

  DAVID (putting it into Jonathan’s hand). Now is it yours. Nay, be careful — it is now but soft clay, but when it is baked in the sun it will be... a brick!

  JONATHAN. Only a brick! (Disappointed but polite.) Truly a comely brick.

  DAVID (trying not to be lordly). Jonathan, it is a letter!

  (Jonathan examines it with wonder.)

  JONATHAN. You can write?

  DAVID (swelling). Behold! (Pointing to it.)

  JONATHAN. I cannot write. It is not for princes to practise such things.

  (DAVID offers it to him.)

  JONATHAN. Nor do we read. (Eagerly) How speaks it?

  DAVID. It says: ‘I, David, son of Jesse, am the one who slew Goliath, and none helped me, for I did it alone.’ Thus, Jonathan, will my sons know ‘twas I and no other who did it, and their sons and theirs and theirs down to for ever and a span will know, for such can be the life of a brick with writing on it.

  JONATHAN. O excellent brick. (Regally) David, when I am King I will make you one of my guard.

  DAVID. No, Jonathan, I have slain a lion and a bear and now is my great day ended.

  JONATHAN. All things shall be as I direct. Sometimes you shall sit at my table.

  DAVID. In my dream I saw the ragged one sit upon a throne.

  JONATHAN. Was he anyone you know?

  DAVID. No, he was a bad one. I can remember no more.

  (JONATHAN SHIVERS.)

  JONATHAN. He sat upon a throne? David, I like not this.

  DAVID. Then did I loose a pebble at him — and it struck him in the brow. Quickly did he leap from that throne! There was also a woman in the dream — (Sadly, as if this were a phrase of portentous meaning) — and, alas, she was fair to look upon. I think she was his wife, and he did call her Michal.... Here is another thing I do remember now. When he was old, he cried: ‘O my son Absalom! Would that I had died for thee, O Absalom, my son, my son!’ That time was I sorry for him — and I did vow never to call a son of mine Absalom. (Dismissing the dream.) Jonathan, co
me into my cave so that I may propose a hidden thing to you.

  (They sit in the cave, DAVID speaks rapturously.)

  Jonathan, shall you and I make a covenant? Jonathan (in the same spirit). Let us! But what?