Plays by Susan Glaspell Part 16

ELIZABETH: (_not shocked from what she is_) But of course, the object of it all is to make them better plants. Otherwise, what would be the sense of doing it?

CLAIRE: (_not reached by_ ELIZABETH) Out there--(_giving it with her hands_) lies all that's not been touched--lies life that waits. Back here--the old pattern, done again, again and again. So long done it doesn't even know itself for a pattern--in immensity. But this--has invaded. Crept a little way into--what wasn't. Strange lines in life unused. And when you make a pattern new you know a pattern's made with life. And then you know that anything may be--if only you know how to reach it. (_this has taken form, not easily, but with great struggle between feeling and words_)

HARRY: (_cordially_) Now I begin to get you, Claire. I never knew before why you called it the Edge Vine.

CLAIRE: I should destroy the Edge Vine. It isn't--over the edge. It's running, back to--'all the girls'. It's a little afraid of Miss Lane, (_looking sombrely at it_) You are out, but you are not alive.

ELIZABETH: Why, it looks all right, mother.

CLAIRE: Didn't carry life with it from the life it left. d.i.c.k--you know what I mean. At least you ought to. (_her ruthless way of not letting anyone's feelings stand in the way of truth_) Then destroy it for me!

It's hard to do it--with the hands that made it.

d.i.c.k: But what's the point in destroying it, Claire?

CLAIRE: (_impatiently_) I've told you. It cannot create.

d.i.c.k: But you say you can go on producing it, and it's interesting in form.

CLAIRE: And you think I'll stop with that? Be shut in--with different life--that can't creep on? (_after trying to put destroying hands upon it_) It's hard to--get past what we've done. Our own dead things--block the way.

TOM: But you're doing it this next time, Claire, (_nodding to the inner room_.) In there!

CLAIRE: (_turning to that room_) I'm not sure.

TOM: But you told me Breath of Life has already produced itself. Doesn't that show it has brought life from the life it left?

CLAIRE: But timidly, rather--wistfully. A little homesick. If it is less sure this time, then it is going back to--Miss Lane. But if the pattern's clearer now, then it has made friends of life that waits. I'll know to-morrow.

ELIZABETH: You know, something tells me this is _wrong_.

CLAIRE: The hymn-singing ancestors are tuning up.

ELIZABETH: I don't know what you mean by that, mother but--

CLAIRE: But we will now sing, 'Nearer, my G.o.d, to Thee: Nearer to--'

ELIZABETH: (_laughingly breaking in_) Well, I don't care. Of course you can make fun at me, but something does tell me this is wrong. To do what--what--

d.i.c.k: What G.o.d did?

ELIZABETH: Well--yes. Unless you do it to make them better--to _do_ it just to do it--that doesn't seem right to me.

CLAIRE: (_roughly_) 'Right to you!' And that's all you know of adventure--and of anguish. Do you know it is you--world of which you're so true a flower--makes me have to leave? You're there to hold the door shut! Because you're young and of a gayer world, you think I can't _see_ them--those old men? Do you know why you're so sure of yourself? Because you can't _feel_. Can't feel--the limitless--out there--a sea just over the hill. I will not stay with you! (_buries her hands in the earth around the Edge Vine. But suddenly steps back from it as she had from_ ELIZABETH) And I will not stay with _you! (grasps it as we grasp what we would kill, is trying to pull it up. They all step forward in horror.

ANTHONY is drawn in by this harm to the plant_)

ANTHONY: Miss Claire! Miss Claire! The work of years!

CLAIRE: May only make a prison! (_struggling with_ HARRY, _who is trying to stop her_) You think I too will die on the edge? (_she has thrown him away, is now struggling with the vine_) Why did I make you? To get past you! (_as she twists it_) Oh yes, I know you have thorns! The Edge Vine should have thorns, (_with a long tremendous pull for deep roots, she has it up. As she holds the torn roots_) Oh, I have loved you so! You took me where I hadn't been.

ELIZABETH: (_who has been looking on with a certain practical horror_) Well, I'd say it would be better not to go there!

CLAIRE: Now I know what you are for! (_flings her arm back to strike_ ELIZABETH _with the Edge Vine_)

HARRY: (_wresting it from her_) Claire! Are you mad?

CLAIRE: No, I'm not mad. I'm--too sane! (_pointing to_ ELIZABETH--_and the words come from mighty roots_) To think that object ever moved my belly and sucked my breast! (ELIZABETH _hides her face as if struck_)

HARRY: (_going to_ ELIZABETH, _turning to_ CLAIRE) This is atrocious!

You're cruel.

(_He leads_ ELIZABETH _to the door and out. After an irresolute moment in which he looks from_ CLAIRE _to_ TOM, d.i.c.k _follows._ ANTHONY _cannot bear to go. He stoops to take the Edge Vine from the floor._ CLAIRE's _gesture stops him. He goes into the inner room._)

CLAIRE: (_kicking the Edge Vine out of her way, drawing deep breaths, smiling_) O-h. How good I feel! Light! (_a movement as if she could fly_) Read me something, Tom dear. Or say something pleasant--about G.o.d.

But be very careful what you say about him! I have a feeling--he's not far off.

CURTAIN

ACT II

_Late afternoon of the following day._ CLAIRE _is alone in the tower--a tower which is thought to be round but does not complete the circle. The back is curved, then jagged lines break from that, and the front is a queer bulging window--in a curve that leans. The whole structure is as if given a twist by some terrific force--like something wrong. It is lighted by an old-fas.h.i.+oned watchman's lantern hanging from the ceiling; the innumerable p.r.i.c.ks and slits in the metal throw a marvellous pattern on the curved wall--like some masonry that hasn't been.

There are no windows at back, and there is no door save an opening in the floor. The delicately distorted rail of a spiral staircase winds up from below._ CLAIRE _is seen through the huge ominous window as if shut into the tower. She is lying on a seat at the back looking at a book of drawings. To do this she has left the door of her lantern a little open--and her own face is clearly seen.

A door is heard opening below; laughing voices,_ CLAIRE _listens, not pleased._

ADELAIDE: (_voice coming up_) Dear--dear, why do they make such twisting steps.

HARRY: Take your time, most up now. (HARRY_'s head appears, he looks back._) Making it all right?

ADELAIDE: I can't tell yet. (_laughingly_) No, I don't think so.

HARRY: (_reaching back a hand for her_) The last lap--is the bad lap.

(ADELAIDE _is up, and occupied with getting her breath._)

HARRY: Since you wouldn't come down, Claire, we thought we'd come up.

ADELAIDE: (_as_ CLAIRE _does not greet her_) I'm sorry to intrude, but I have to see you, Claire. There are things to be arranged. (CLAIRE _volunteering nothing about arrangements,_ ADELAIDE _surveys the tower.

An unsympathetic eye goes from the curves to the lines which diverge.

Then she looks from the window_) Well, at least you have a view.

HARRY: This is the first time you've been up here?

ADELAIDE: Yes, in the five years you've had the house I was never asked up here before.