PICTURE PLAYS

BY MARGUERITE MERINGTON

Author of “Cranfeld: a Play,” “The Vicar of Wakefield: a Play,” “Holiday Plays,” etc., etc.

NEW YORK DUFFIELD AND COMPANY 1911

[Pg 5]

Copyright, 1911, by DUFFIELD AND COMPANY

All rights reserved

[Pg 6]

THE LAST SITTING

Characters: Da Vinci the artist and his sitter Mona Lisa.

The scene presents a section of the artist’s studio in Florence in the first years of the sixteenth century. At the back, which is open, one sees a balcony, and beyond this the sky of late afternoon, gradually fading to a mellow twilight. Plants, flowers, statues, give the place a festive air. In the centre is a plain, dark screen, in which has been cut a frame-like opening. Behind this sits Mona Lisa, a young woman in the early twenties, in the picture-attitude. Well down to one side, at his easel, is Da Vinci, a handsome man between forty and fifty, in rose-colored coat, and black cap from beneath which flow his dark curling locks, absorbed in his work. Before the curtains part, and for a minute or so after, men’s voices to the accompaniment of a lute are heard singing:

Mona Lisa.

[As the song ends, with a sigh of rapture.]

O strain divine! Ferarra’s music set With lyric words befitting! What means it all? Twin spirits met Only to part, parting to meet again ... Like yonder crystal globes that play At hide-and-seek beneath the fountain’s spray;

[Pointing to one side where a fountain is supposed to be.]

As pain mocks pleasure, sunbeams conquer rain! Master!

[With sudden contrition.]

Master! I spoil the sitting! A thousand pardons. I’ll keep still.

Da Vinci.

Not so, Madonna. Speak and move at will, The background while I sketch.

Mona Lisa.

[Rising, comes from behind the screen.]

Background, in sooth!

[Leaning on the balcony, she looks over, then turns to him.]

Below, a tempting parquet, Lies Florence, jewel-bright with youth, [Pg 11] And all the singing pageantry of life! From which I fain must turn to face In fancy, what?

[Indicating the front, as if it were a wall on which her dreams were visualized during her sittings.]

Da Vinci.

In fancy, what? Your home.

Mona Lisa.

In fancy, what? Your home. Sole resting place For fancy?

Da Vinci.

[With conviction.]

For fancy? Aye, Madonna, when a wife.... Unless ’twere mass or market!

Mona Lisa.

[With a half-smile and a half-sigh, going to a mirror and contemplating her reflection.]

Poor Mona Lisa! Such reply Might give Giocondo ... he whose third am I!

[After a slight pause she approaches Da Vinci, who is busily at work.]

Ser Leonardo, is, as men aver, Art so to you a cloister No woman boasts your love for her?

Da Vinci.

[Smiles, and pauses a minute before answering.]

Once on a time, a crab, all craft and claw, Wooed shellfish with crustacean wile. [Pg 12] Then, through the flattered fool’s wide-open smile, Plucked out its heart! The moral, pray you, draw!

Mona Lisa.

[Laughs, but slightly ruefully.]

Crab I; you no such oyster!

[Da Vinci nods a smiling assent. Again she speaks, but this time seriously.]

Is art love’s foe, then?

Da Vinci.

[With a gesture renouncing the issue.]

Is art love’s foe, then? Who can tell If spark shall kindle altar-flame, or hell?

[The lady nods, as if to say, “I see your point-of-view, though without binding myself to share it!” and moves about the room, occupying herself with the flowers. Going behind the artist, she showers a handful of petals over him. Looking up, Da Vinci invites her attention to his work.]

Mona Lisa.

[Exclaims, and claps her hands delightedly.]

’Tis wondrous strange: when to be painted, first My good Giocondo brought me, Strained glance and formal mien rehearsed, Prim folded hands ... like this!

[Illustrating.]

Prim folded hands ... like this! Self-conscious smirk As one who from her frame cries, “See! “The great Da Vinci’s self hath painted me!” I deemed my sitter’s tribute to your work! But these four years have taught me...!

[Pg 13]

Da Vinci.

[Completing her thought.]

From fragment mood one gleans the whole; Portrays, less hand, eye, smiling lip, than soul!

Mona Lisa.

[Reflecting on this, speaks with some bitterness.]

The soul! A human soul! Poor wanton thing! Sport of your beck and bribing! Thus wide its prison-doors you fling For thrush, caged swallow, ransomed from the mart ... Through pity of its lonely note? Ah, no! Cold-blood, by rule to test, and rote, Dipped wing and balanced muscle for your Art!

[She moves away.]

Da Vinci.

[Has uttered a protesting “Oh, oh!” He now explains.]

That’s Buonarotti’s gibing!

Mona Lisa.

[Earnestly; completing her analogy.]

Master, to bird or soul such flight Spells—

Da Vinci.

Spells— Freedom!

[Pg 14]

Mona Lisa.

[Shakes her head mournfully.]

Spells— Freedom! Song-void days, and mateless night!

Da Vinci.

[After a slight pause, picks up his brush again.]

Come; sit, Madonna, for the last time!

Mona Lisa.

[Turns on him with a startled exclamation, then forces herself to speak calmly.]

Come; sit, Madonna, for the last time! Done, My portrait, then?

Da Vinci.

[Bows affirmatively.]

My portrait, then? The features. Poised, Sphinx-wise, twixt coquette and nun, Ever your smile eludes....

Mona Lisa.

Ever your smile eludes.... Painter, or man?

Da Vinci.

[Shrugs shoulders.]

Ask Time, artist whose master-skill Puts the transcending touch! Unfinished, still Divine, so bides my Christ-face at Milan!

[Pg 15]

Mona Lisa.

And I, least of His creatures, Bide ... how?

Da Vinci.

Bide ... how? Divine, grace of Art’s brush, Or.... Choose! Woman by love revealed!

[Throwing aside his brush, he strides a step or so toward her, then stands with extended arms, awaiting her choice.]

Mona Lisa.

[Exclaims, shocked at the crisis she herself has invited.]

Or.... Choose! Woman by love revealed! Oh! Hush!

[Picking up the artist’s brush, she puts it into his hand, then quietly resumes her place behind the screen. Da Vinci bows, resigning himself to her decision, and goes back to his place, first, with a wave of his hand, giving a signal to the musicians, who would seem to be in a gallery to one side, but unseen by the spectator. Again the music sounds, men’s voices accompanied by the lute, very softly and finally dying away. Mona Lisa glances now and then wistfully at Da Vinci, but he soon becomes wholly engrossed with his work, as if no emotional passage between them had occurred. At last, with a slight sigh of final renunciation, she composes her features to her inscrutable half-smile as she gazes steadfastly on an imaginary world. And so are the curtains drawn upon the scene.]

[Pg 16]

[Pg 17]

A SALON CARRÉ FANTASY

Picture, The Young Man with a Glove. L’Homme au Gant by Titian (Tiziano Vecelli, 1477–1578).

[Pg 18]

[Pg 19]

A SALON CARRÉ FANTASY

Characters: Pictures, The Young Man with a Glove ... L’Homme au Gant, The Woman at her Toilet, supposed to be Laura Dianti. Other masterpieces, but unseen.

Human Beings: The Glove Young Man; Laura, an Art-student; Visitors to the galleries of the Louvre, including a Husband and Wife, an Elderly Party from the country with her niece, a Teacher and her Class, and a rhapsodic German Lady; a Gardien of the Louvre galleries.

Time: The present.

Scene: The spot in the Salon Carré of the Louvre where hangs Titian’s picture, L’Homme au Gant. In front of the railing which guards the walls is room for persons to pass. At one side is the regulation velvet-covered bench. On the other, at her easel, sits Laura, making a copy of the picture.

[As the curtains part, the Husband and Wife enter from the right.]

The Husband.

[With catalogue, announces with authority.]

Fifteen-ninety-two is L’Homme au Gant. Ha! French!

[Pg 20]

The Wife.

[Looking over his shoulder timidly corrects.]

Ha! French! Venetian.

The Husband.

Ha! French! Venetian. L’Homme is French for man. Gant, glove.

The Wife.

Gant, glove. Titian. Venetian School. Just look!

The Husband.

’Tis not the question where he went to school. L’Homme stamps him French.

The Wife.

[Timidly venturing a joke.]

Perhaps his gloves are French.

The Husband.

[Determined to find fault.]

Gant, glove, is singular. It should be called A Man with Pair of Gloves. I shall report The matter! Come!

[They pass to the left.]

Laura.

The matter! Come! Oh, dear! Such people make Me weary!

[Pg 21]

German Lady.

[Enters from the left. Speaks rapturously.]

Ach, du lieber ... wunderschön!

[Some French Visitors, entering, accidentally jostle the German Lady. Apologies are exchanged in their respective tongues.]

One French Visitor.

[Looking at the picture.]

Superbe! Magnifique!

Another French Visitor.

Pas grande chose!

[They pass on.]

[The Elderly Party and Young Woman enter, right.]

Elderly Party.

Who’s this young feller?

German Lady.

Wunder-wunder-wunderschön!

Elderly Party.

[Consulting catalogue.]

Wunder-wunder-wunderschön! St. George And Dragon! He’s some dressy for a saint! And, ef they haven’t left the dragon out! I allus had a notion I should like To see one!

Young Woman.

[Beckoning on the left.]

To see one! Auntie! Over here!

[Pg 22]

Elderly Party.

[Joining the Young Woman. Scrutinizes an unseen masterpiece.]

To see one! Auntie! Over here! Do tell! Is that a dragon? Mercy, ain’t he plain!

Laura.

Cattle! Why don’t they stay in home-pastures! Not come and trample down Elysian fields!

[Notices German Lady still enraptured.]

Well, on my word, does she intend to spend The whole day, wunderschöning here? I beg Your pardon!

German Lady.

Your pardon! Fräulein?

Laura.

Your pardon! Fräulein? You are not, as you May think, transparent!

German Lady.

[Apologetically, moving away.]

May think, transparent! Fräulein!

Laura.

May think, transparent! Fräulein! Thanks. The Louvre Contains some other works of interest!... The creature acts as if she thought she owned This portrait!

[Jealously.]

[Pg 23]

Young Man with Glove.

[Slightly bored.]

This portrait! Oh, ta, ta!

Laura.

[Agitated.]

This portrait! Oh, ta, ta! What’s that! It seemed to move, to say—

Young Man with Glove.

It seemed to move, to say— Oh, ta, ta, ta!

[Unable to believe the evidence of her senses, Laura resumes work. Teacher and Class enter from the left.]

Teacher.

[Dictating from Baedeker.]

It seemed to move, to say— Oh, ta, ta, ta! Giorgione’s work. Take notes. “A Rustic Festival.”

Class.

[Mechanically, taking notes.]

Giorgione, Rustic Festival.

Teacher.

[Dictating.]

Remark the depth and warmth of coloring, Rich treatment of the landscape!

Youngest Pupil.

[Looking at the picture.]

Rich treatment of the landscape! I don’t see The landscape!

[Pg 24]

Teacher.

The landscape! Well, it’s here!

[Indicating Baedeker, then glances up at picture.]

The landscape! Well, it’s here! Oh, wait a bit!

[Turns over leaves, finding place.]

The After-Dinner Concert.... Magdalen With Ointment.... Here we are. Young Man in Black with Glove.

Some of the Class.

[Mechanically, taking notes.]

Black with Glove. Young Man in Black Glove.

Others.

Black Young Man in Glove!

The Oldest Pupil.

Black Young Man in Glove! What must we say Of this?

Teacher.

[Dictating.]

Of this? “An admirable portrait....”

Class

An admirable portrait.

Youngest Pupil.

An admirable portrait. Please. Portrait Of whom?

Oldest Pupil.

[Glancing up at picture.]

Of whom? Why, Portrait of a Man!

[Pg 25]

Class.

[Glancing up at picture.]

Of whom? Why, Portrait of a Man! Of course!

Teacher.

[Consulting Baedeker.]

No, no. “An admirable portrait of His Middle Period.”

Class.

[Writing.]

His Middle Period.” His Middle Period.

Oldest Pupil.

How much must we admire this: very much?

Teacher.

Marked with but one star, no; not very much. In the Salon Carré, admire, of course. One star, more admiration than for those Without one. But unstinted raptures keep For double-stars. For instance, this one, here....

[Leading to the right.]

St. Catharine—Correggio. All take notes. Of which Vasari says—

Youngest Pupil.

[Lingering.]

Of which Vasari says— We don’t have time To see the pictures!

[Pg 26]

Teacher.

[Wearily.]

To see the pictures! How can I help that? An hour is all we have to do the Louvre! “Of which Vasari says....” Take notes!

Laura.

“Of which Vasari says....” Take notes! Barbarians! Of all The hordes, nose-glued to Baedekers, that pass, Scarce one is worthy to lift eyes to thee, O masterpiece of masterpieces!

Young Man with Glove.

O masterpiece of masterpieces! Oh, ta, ta!

Laura.

Good Heavens, there it goes again ... ta, ta! Absurd. I’m dreaming. Eyesight overtaxed, Nerves play me false. To work again. Right hand A patch of light, significant that seems To follow whither eyes direct, those eyes Alive with challenge, charm! His gracile ease, As on the parapet he leans, denotes No haste. We catch him unawares. Near by Some interlocutor—by which I mean, God help me!—interlocutress, for whom He feels a more than common interest! Oh, for a miracle. Would that those lips Might break the seal of centuries for me To learn his secret!

[Pg 27]

Young Man with Glove.

To learn his secret! Oh, ta, ta!

Laura.

To learn his secret! Oh, ta, ta! He lives, Moves, speaks! It is too much to bear! Help! Help!

[Runs off, left, crying for help.]

Gardien.

[Hurrying on from the right.]

Au secours! Au secours!

[Seeing nothing demanding his services, he dusts the bench with his handkerchief.]

The Husband.

[Entering from the left.]

Do come!

The Wife.

[Following, looking back, to the left.]

Do come! But that poor girl in trouble!

The Husband.

[Taking his wife’s arm and steering her, right.]

Do come! But that poor girl in trouble! Well, Don’t look! Don’t meddle with.... How dare you, sir!

[Bumping into Gardien who is going to the left.]

[Pg 28]

Gardien.

M’sieur! Mille pardons!

The Husband.

Certainly not. You ought to be discharged!

[Going to the right, sees a picture further on, exclaims.]

Certainly not. You ought to be discharged! Bless my soul! That red-head hussy yonder, doing up Her hair, while someone, obviously a man, Holds up two looking-glasses! Shameless thing!

[Putting up eyeglass to get a better view.]

The Wife.

Oh, exquisite! A Titian!

The Husband.

Oh, exquisite! A Titian! A disgrace! If this is what art’s coming to—!

The Wife.

If this is what art’s coming to—! My dear, That’s an Old Master!

The Husband.

That’s an Old Master! Old enough to know Much better. I shall write a letter to The Times about it!

[Exclaims, as the Young Man with Glove, leaning forward, knocks his hat over one eye.]

[Pg 29]

The Times about it! What a draught! But where Can it be coming from!

[Again exclaims, as the Young Man knocks his hat which he just has righted, over the other eye.]

Can it be coming from! And where can it Be going to! I shall report it! Come!

[He goes to the right, the wife following.]

Young Man with Glove.

[Laughing, emerges from his frame, vaulting neatly over the railing.]

A neat revenge; eh, compari?

Unseen Pictures.

A neat revenge; eh, compari? Bravo! Bravissimo!

The Woman at her Toilet.

[Enters from the right, gathering some rich drapery about herself.]

Bravissimo! Red-head, indeed, and hussy! I can’t wait Till closing time, Signore, to express My warmest gratitude.... I fain would say My heartfelt, had I but a heart; for this Your gallant championship!

[Curtseying.]

Young Man with Glove.

[Bowing low.]

With pleasure duty lies in your behalf. Madonna ... Laura Dianti, I believe?

[Pg 30]

Woman at her Toilet.

A point on which historians divide! The name suits me as well as any! You, Signore, were baptized—?

Young Man with Glove.

Signore, were baptized—? In oils alone! Unsired, came I into this picture-world! No human mother bore me that I knew! Even as you I sprang from hand and brain Of the Vecelli! But what man he used As manikin to fit my features on, Have I forgotten, if I ever knew! As for a name, oft I amuse myself By filching one from passers-by! To-day Carlo of the Neroni seems to ring Not unbecomingly. What think you?

Woman at her Toilet.

Not unbecomingly. What think you? Fine! From whom derived?

Young Man with Glove.

From whom derived? A letter that I found Beside this easel. Charley Black, ’tis signed. Which I translated.... But why do we stand? My frame why not enter with me awhile?

Woman at her Toilet.

[Hesitating.]

I fear ’twould cause remark!

[Pg 31]

Unseen Pictures.

[On the left, warning.]

I fear ’twould cause remark! Look out!

[The Woman at her Toilet runs away, right.]

Young Man with Glove.

[Looking toward the left.]

We’re safe. ’Tis only the custodian Of our security!...

[Leans against wall while Gardien passes across, left to right.]

Of our security!... St. George, come down From your high horse and fence!

St. George.

[Unseen.]

From your high horse and fence! Sorry, Dear boy, but there’s a fine for breaking ranks In exhibition hours!

[Murmurs of assent from other unseen pictures.]

Young Man with Glove.

In exhibition hours! Oh, very well! I’ll take a turn among the Later Dutch, Or through the Spanish School!

[Cries of “Stop him! Stop him!”]

Or through the Spanish School! What can I do? If I play here you all complain that I Disturb the Holy Families!

[Pg 32]

Unseen Pictures.

[In succession.]

Disturb the Holy Families! You do!

Young Man with Glove.

[Whimsically, keeping count.]

See, now! Murillo’s; Rembrandt’s; Raphael’s, And all the rest!

St. George.

And all the rest! At times, dear boy, you act Just like a silly human being!

Young Man with Glove.

[Protesting.]

Just like a silly human being! Oh, St. George!

Several Unseen Pictures.

St. George! ’Tis true!

Woman at her Toilet.

[Coming again toward the Young Man.]

St. George! ’Tis true! Signore, neighbor, friend, And, strongest bond, co-Titian. Have a care. I speak for all in saying that, of all, Are you the highest note, last cry in art That’s personal!

[Pg 33]

Young Man with Glove.

[Striving to be modest about it.]

That’s personal! So commentators say! And who am I that should contradict!

A Gruff Voice.

[On the left.]

’Tis naught so much to brag of, my young blade!

Young Man with Glove.

[Looking in the direction of the Voice.]

Indeed, Poussin’s Diogenes.... It was Poussin’s Diogenes, I think, that spoke?

Deep, Solemn Voice.

You talk too much for the Salon Carré! You should be hung among the Moderns!

[Others murmur, as if this were too severe.]

Young Man with Glove.

You should be hung among the Moderns! Oh, St. Michael! Though you are a Raphael Touched up a bit, indeed, ’tis said, by—

[Loud cries of “Order! Order!”]

St. George.

Invidious reference to pedigrees Is barred!

[Loud cries of “Hear, Hear!”]

[Pg 34]

Young Man with Glove.

Is barred! True. Still I think he should withdraw The slur of modernism!

St. Michael.

The slur of modernism! I refuse To enter talking-lists! Sublimest art Is ever silent! I have spoken!

Woman at her Toilet.

Is ever silent! I have spoken! Hush! Provoke him not! Remember, he’s a Saint!

Young Man with Glove.

[Laughing, gracefully yields the point.]

Heaven be thanked, I’m secular! One gets So much more harmless pleasure out of art! But, to our muttons. You were saying, what? Something about my Middle Period!

Woman at her Toilet.

Sir, long ago it was constated, you Express most fully life-in-art to life That speaks in terms of life, not terms of art!

[Cries of “Hear, hear!”]

St. George.

That hits the nail where rarely nail is hit By womenkind!

[Pg 35]

Woman at her Toilet.

By womenkind! My thanks, St. George! ’Tis not My own, though!... Then, I’m just a bit that way Myself!

[General laughter.]

[To the Young Man.]

Myself! Sublimest heights you may not scale....

St. Michael.

No; not by many a league!

Young Man with a Glove.

No; not by many a league! I quite admit My single-starred estate!

[General laughter.]

My single-starred estate! I would not brag, By that same token, though, am I not, well, More popular than others I could name In this collection?

St. Michael.

In this collection? I don’t understand A word he says what time he tries to talk St. George’s English.

St. George.

St. George’s English. Oh, not mine! Echoes Of text-book, tourist jargon, student slang!

[Pg 36]

Woman at her Toilet.

[Drawing the Young Man forward.]

Listen. I fear not, as our neighbors do, Your frolic humor, lifelike charm, may bring Our cinquecento into disrepute. ’Tis for yourself I plead!

Young Man with a Glove.

[Puzzled.]

’Tis for yourself I plead! You plead for me, Madonna?

Woman at her Toilet.