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The Harlequinade An Excursion by Calthrop, Dion Clayton, 1878-1937, Granville-Barker, Harley, 1877-1946
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A word from our supporters: File extension DBX | GRACE. Laughter...! CLOWN. Never laughed in her life! Never had a life to laugh in! MAN OF THE WORLD. Young man, if this were a performance, you would be dealt with by our aesthetic policewoman. Vulgar comments made in public upon works of art are now an indictable offence. CLOWN. Works of what? GRACE. ...And the joy of life! CLOWN. Stop, I say! MAN OF THE WORLD. For the last time... don't interrupt. CLOWN. I will interrupt. And I'll smash those durned machines, though the last Clown in the world is hung for it. For that's me ...that's me! Oh, has it come to this, after all we've done for the theatre! Haven't we loved it, Grandfer, haven't we? My red-hot poker's in pawn, and I've worn out the sausages. But let's have a try to make him laugh. Take the starch out of him! Take the banknote rustle out of him! Take the Theatre from him. Save it and save him, too! Come on, old 'un. Kiss your hand, Columbine. Harlequin, if you love me, if you love the drama, have one more try. Magic...Magic! Turn these clicking clocks there back into wholesome human bad actors again, and turn the Deputy Inspector of the New York Circuit of the Hustle Bustle Trust of Automatic... head over heels and sends the Man of the World flying. Harlequin leaps in the air and smites with his wand the two pink gramophones on two green stands. They vanish! Down through a trap goes the Man of the World. Red Fire! And Alice, as she tugs the curtains to, calls in her most stentorian tones... ALICE. Grand transformation scene! I always draw the curtains rather quick because it never works quite right. The gods go back... UNCLE EDWARD. You want your glass of milk. ALICE. They don't ever really go. For what would become of us without them? But it rounds off the play. They just go back as flowers die to come again forever. For the seed of the gods is sown in the hearts of men. The seeds of Love and of the Magic of High Adventure and of Laughter and of Foolishness, too. Well, when they reach the Styx there still sits that philosopher, who wasn't a philosopher at all because he sought no wisdom but his own. Because of that, you see, he has found none. There he sits, deaf and blind, while Olympus flashes and thunders behind him. There he sits, chattering that there are no gods. * * * * *The curtains are drawn back on the last scene. The Styx again, flowing black beneath its black mountains. There sits the Philosopher, patiently. He is dressed now as a Member of Parliament, or worse. He has a fountain pen and a notebook. And the gods arrive. Mercury, Charon, Momus, and Psyche. PHILOSOPHER. Who are you? MERCURY. We are the gods returning. PHILOSOPHER. [Very definitely indeed.] There are no gods. Though from time to time it has been necessary to invent them. PANTALOON. Why, it's my friend, the philosopher! |