FORREST: Catherine.
MRS. FORREST: The men are much more subtle. No, perhaps subtle is the wrong word. (Beat) Tricky. This is the word. They can be very very . . . (Short pause. Without looking at anyone) My apologies. To all of you. Including Miss Burton and Miss Bass. (Beat) I promise you I do not normally act in this manner.
(Beat. Boucicault comes back in, followed by a servant with some food.)
BOUCICAULT: I don’t know what they were waiting for. Anyway, I was talking about my play. (Beat) A very nice idea, isn’t it? Shakespeare in love. So who should play Shakespeare? (Sits back down) That seems to be the question. (Beat) You both know actors. On both sides of the ocean. Who would be good to play our greatest dramatist? (Beat. To Miss Burton) I’m having a reading next week. In the afternoon so all of you busy theatre actors can come. (Beat) The reading isn’t completely cast yet. (Beat) Any ideas about who could play Shakespeare? Not in the reading. I’ll play him in the reading. (Beat) He’d have to be a major actor. Think about it. (Suddenly laughs) But as I said—I don’t want you to think you have to work for your dinner. (Laughs, stops, looks at the food) This looks good.
(Blackout.)
SCENE 7
1 A.M.
The same. The dinner is long over, though the dishes remain on the table, as well as wine bottles, glasses, etc.
Mrs. Forrest and Agnes have left some time earlier. Forrest, with Miss Bass at his side, sits at the table and talks to Macready, who has his head on the table, and occasionally to Boucicault, who sits next to Miss Burton, and at times turns and stares at her and smiles. Ryder is out for a pee.
FORREST: I’m serious. I think what one must do—what the battle finally is about. For us. You need to— With your hands out— keeping it all away— all out of the way. (Beat) Everything that is coming at you. The distractions and everything. Everything like that. Out there. The moment you go off the stage it is like—to me, I feel this—it is like they are trying to take it all away from you. (Beat) Tell you it never happened. What you felt out there on stage! What you knew you had done out there on the stage!
(Short pause.)
MISS BURTON (To Boucicault): Will you stop smiling at me!
(He smiles and takes a sip of wine.)
FORREST: They may mean well. These people. Well-wishers mean well, but— (Beat) Sometimes I think it’s all just interference. And the test we are putting ourselves through . . . Have been put through— By whom? Where does it come from? God? I don’t know. But it’s to push all that away. Not let it break into the art of what we do.
(Short pause.)
MACREADY (Lifting up his head for a moment): The world should be left behind. In the dressing room.
FORREST: It certainly should not be brought onto the stage. (Beat. To Miss Bass) You don’t agree.
MISS BASS: I didn’t say any—
FORREST: Take an argument you might have. With—? Anyone. A friend. (Beat) A wife. You have this argument. You’re boiling over. Then you must play Hamlet. If you try to bring that argument into—onto— (Beat) You have to push it all away. Become someone who has not had an argument. In this case who does not have a wife.
MACREADY (Lifting head): And into someone whose father just died.
FORREST: Exactly.
(Beat.)
MACREADY: Now if my father had just died and I had to play Hamlet that night—
FORREST: This I would love to see.
MACREADY: That would be— (Beat) Yes. (Smiles)
FORREST (Smiling): But fathers don’t die every time we play Hamlet. (Beat) Instead, bills are sent that day which can be wrong. You step in horseshit on the street. Wives don’t listen when you talk to them. You lose your favorite pen. Or hat. Or your right shoe. Or other stocking. (Beat) Or you fall in love that day. Or hear a joke that you cannot forget and cannot stop smiling about. Your brother writes and says he’s going to visit. The breakfast wasn’t at all what you wanted. (Beat) And then you play Hamlet. Then you become someone else. (Beat) To do this you must learn to forget. (Takes a sip of wine) Sometimes I think this is my favorite part of being an actor.
(Pause. Ryder enters and sits.)
RYDER: What did I miss?
(Macready, without picking up his head, just shakes his head.)
BOUCICAULT (Standing up, to Ryder): Good idea. I have to go, too.
(He leans over and tries to kiss Miss Burton, who slaps him hard across the head. Others turn and see this. Boucicault smiles and leaves.)
MACREADY (With head down): For me I think I like being able to—It’s not forget. But I know what you mean.
MISS BURTON (Standing): I think I should be leaving, it’s—
MISS BASS: Helen, it’s only—
MISS BURTON: He’s climbing all over me. That’s not what I came for!
FORREST: Sit over here with us. We’ll make room.
MISS BASS: I’ll move over.
FORREST: Come on. Come on. We won’t stay much longer.
(Forrest and Ryder move a chair for her. She sits next to Miss Bass, protected from Boucicault by both Forrest and Ryder.)
MACREADY (Finally): As I was saying—
FORREST (To Miss Burton): We’re talking about why we act. What we— Why do you act?
MISS BURTON: I don’t know.
(He looks at her and nods. He turns back to Macready.)
MACREADY: It’s hard to explain really. Where shall I begin? (Beat) You see—as Descartes has said—inside us all are these— He called them animal spirits. (Beat) Which are really, what other people call passions.
(Short pause. Forrest nods.)
And they’re all—these spirits—they’re bordered, they’re all sort of fenced in. (Suddenly remembering) You could also call them emotions. (Beat) Anyway, they’re fenced in. But when one of them escapes from the others—and is not quickly caught by—I don’t know, spirits who do the catching, like sheepdogs catch—
(Beat.)
FORREST: Sheep.
MACREADY: That’s right. Like sheepdogs catch sheep. Anyway, when one escapes and is not caught, then it becomes a very deep, a very—a very passionate— (Beat) What?! (Beat. He remembers) Feeling! Feeling. (Short pause) So what an actor does, I believe, is this: philosophically speaking—I haven’t studied enough philosophy, I’d like to study much more, but . . . well— People like us who are busy doing!— But, as I was saying, the art of the actor— (Beat) What was I going to say? I was about to say something that was very clear. I remember. The art of the actor is like ripping down the fences. (Beat) And tying up the sheepdogs. (Beat) And letting the spirits loose. A few at a time. Or more! Depending on the part. Letting them roam for a while. (Short pause) So, that’s what I love about acting. (Pause) I don’t know how clear I’ve been.
FORREST: No, no, you’ve been . . . (Nods and shrugs)
(During this, Boucicault enters, noticing that Miss Burton has moved. He hesitates, not knowing where he should now sit. He brings a chair, trying to squeeze in next to Miss Burton.)
MISS BURTON: There’s no room here.
MACREADY: Dion, stay over there.
BOUCICAULT: There’s no one over there.
(He stands behind Miss Burton, making her very uncomfortable.)
FORREST (To Macready): That was very interesting.
MACREADY: I’ve only tried to explain it to one other person, and he laughed so— (Shrugs) You can see how I might be a little— about talking about . . .
FORREST: Please! (Beat) Please, we are all actors here.
MISS BASS (Standing up): I’ll sit over there.
(She moves to where Miss Burton had been sitting. Boucicault follows, going back to his seat.)
FORREST (To Macready): No one would make fun . . .
RYDER (To Macready): What’s that on your sleeve? Don’t move, I’ll kill it. (Goes to get something off Macready’s jacket) I got it! Oh my God, it’s an escaped animal spirit! Quick, kill it! Kill it! Kill it!
(He laughs at his joke, Macready and Forres
t ignore him.)
MACREADY: It’s a theory. A way of talking about something that is not easy to talk about.
(Forrest nods.)
BOUCICAULT: In my play, Shakespeare in Love, Shakespeare, by falling in love, can’t write. Or doesn’t want to write. (Beat) His talent dies. This is why the characters from his plays—
MACREADY: I thought we finished talking about your play, Dion.
BOUCICAULT: Had we? I’m sorry, I didn’t know. (Short pause. He turns to Miss Bass) Which witch? (Through his drunkenness he has trouble saying this) Which witch do you play? May I ask? (Beat) In Macbeth.
MISS BASS: I’m the first witch.
BOUCICAULT: Ah, the first one. Mmmmmmmm. Not the one I would have chosen for you, but a good one just the same.
MACREADY (Standing with difficulty): I have no more to say. So I am going to bed.
(Ryder stands, then Forrest.)
FORREST (To the women): I shall take you two home.
BOUCICAULT: Wait a minute! What about my problem? How shall I choose between you on Monday night? Whose Macbeth do I attend?
FORREST: It doesn’t matter to—
BOUCICAULT: Perhaps I shall have to flip a coin. Who has a coin? I have a coin. (Beat) Ready? Heads and I go to Mr.—Forrest’s. And tails to Mr. Macready’s. (He flips. The coin falls under the table) I will get it. No one move. I am getting it.
(The others stand and watch as Boucicault crawls under the table.)
I can’t—did anyone see which way it rolled? (Bumps his head) Ow!
(He grabs Miss Burton’s ankle.)
MISS BURTON: Stop that!
(She kicks him, he laughs.)
Get me out of here.
MISS BASS: We’re going. Ned?
FORREST: It is late.
BOUCICAULT: I have it! I found it! (Comes out from under the table) Here it is. (Looks at the coin) I forget. Who had tails and who had heads?
(The others immediately move to leave, ignoring Boucicault.)
FORREST: Mr. Ryder, I shall see you on Monday.
RYDER: I’ll be there.
MISS BASS: Can we drop you off somewhere?
RYDER: I have rooms here in the hotel.
MISS BASS: So you don’t have far—
RYDER: No.
MISS BASS: They’re comfortable rooms I hope.
FORREST: Do you want him to show you them?
MISS BASS: Ned!
FORREST: I didn’t mean— (Turns to Boucicault) Mr. Boucicault, I thank you for this evening.
MACREADY: Yes, a lovely affair.
BOUCICAULT: Is everyone leaving?
MISS BURTON: We are.
FORREST: Mr. Macready, we have a cab.
MACREADY: I’m staying in the hotel as well.
FORREST: Ah. (Leaving) Helen. Jane.
MACREADY (Leaving): So—I’m home.
BOUCICAULT (Leaving): Thank you for coming. (To Miss Burton) It was charming to meet you.
(In the distance, we hear them say goodnight and they are gone. Blackout.)
SCENE 8
THREE DAYS LATER, MONDAY, MAY 7. 7:30 P.M.
The Astor Place Opera House, backstage.
A curtain upstage represents the stage and audience for production of Macbeth, Act I.iii. Through the curtain, in silhouette, we see the three Witches (Sefton, Chippindale and Bridges). Someone makes a thunder sound.
Downstage of this curtain, in the backstage area, actors in and out of costume listen, wait and mill around. After a moment, one actor with a drum bangs on it, and from “the stage” one vaguely hears:
3RD WITCH:
A drum! A drum!
Macbeth doth come.
ALL:
The Weird Sisters, hand in hand,
Posters of the sea and land,
Thus do go about, about:
Thrice to thine, and thrice to mine,
And thrice again, to make up nine.
Peace!— The charm’s wound up.
(Dressed in costume, Macready enters the backstage. He slaps Bradshaw [Banquo] on the back. Bradshaw enters “the stage.” From the audience, one hears cheers and yells. Macready smiles.)
MACREADY (To the actor with the drum): They think he’s me.
(He makes his entrance on “the stage.”)
So foul and fair a day I have not seen.
(Before he can even get the sentence out, boos and cries ring out from the audience, then screaming and yells and violent insults. The other actors look at each other. From “the stage,” Banquo is heard trying to go on, as do the Witches, but all is chaos. Finally, Macready can be heard screaming:)
Stay, you imperfect speakers, tell me more!
(But he is drowned out. Suddenly someone rips down the curtain, and Macready’s face is seen to be completely bloodied; he staggers back, ducking the things being thrown at him. Other actors run for cover. Macready stumbles and turns to an actor:)
Who are they? What do they want?!
(The Witches hurry in [Sefton, Chippindale and Bridges].)
MRS. POPE (Taking Macready): Sit down. Over here. Let me get you a cloth.
(She takes him to a chair.)
BRIDGES: He’s bleeding.
MACREADY: They tried to kill me! (Grabs Chippindale) They want to kill me!
CHIPPINDALE (Taking the cloth from Mrs. Pope): Give me that. Let me wipe your face.
(Macready screams.)
MACREADY: I haven’t done anything to them. They have interrupted my performance! (Stands)
MRS. POPE: Sit down.
(The yelling and screaming continue from the audience.)
BRADSHAW (Entering from the stage): They’re breaking the seats.
CHIPPINDALE: Get them to stop!
BRADSHAW: And how am I supposed to do that?!
MACREADY: Shoot them!
BRIDGES (Who has been listening to the crowd): They’re calling for Mr. Macready.
SEFTON: Tell them he’s left! Tell them he’s gone!
(He pushes Bridges to go on stage.)
MACREADY: I haven’t left.
BRIDGES (Stopping and hesitating): They’ll tear down the theatre!
MACREADY: I’m here.
SEFTON: Somebody tell them!
(No one moves, then Sefton goes to the stage.)
MACREADY: I have a performance to give. People have paid to see me perform.
BRIDGES (To Chippindale): What are they screaming now?
SEFTON (Repeating): “Kill the English Bastard. We have our own actors now. Long live Ned Forrest.”
MACREADY: I have to finish!
SEFTON (Off, to the audience, yelling): Mr. Macready has left the theatre!
MACREADY: I need to finish!
SEFTON (Off, to the audience, yelling): Mr. Macready has left the theatre!
(Yelling and screaming continue. The others watch Macready.)
MACREADY: I wish to continue my . . .
SEFTON (Off, to the audience, yelling): Macready has left the theatre!!!
(Beat. Screaming dies down. Suddenly there is a deafening cheer from the audience. Blackout.)
ACT TWO
SCENE 1
THE NEXT DAY, TUESDAY, MAY 8. 9:45 P.M.
The stage of the Broadway Theatre during a performance of Metamora. Forrest as the title character and Miss Holland as Metamora’s wife, Nahmeokee. The last few minutes of the play.
METAMORA: Nahmeokee, I look up through the long path of thin air, and I think I see our infant borne onward to the land of the happy, where the fair hunting grounds know no storms or snows, and where the immortal brave feast in the eyes of the giver of good. Look upwards, Nahmeokee, the spirit of thy murdered father beckons thee.
NAHMEOKEE: I will go to him.
METAMORA: Embrace me, Nahmeokee—’twas like the first you gave me in the days of our strength and joy—they are gone. (Places his ear to the ground) Hark! In the distant wood I faintly hear the cautious tread of men! They are upon us, Nahmeokee—the home of the happy is made ready for thee.
(He stabs her, she dies.)
She felt no white man’s bondage—free as the air she lived—pure as the snow she died! In smiles she died! Let me taste it, ere her lips are cold as the ice.
(Loud shouts. Roll of drums. Kaneshine [Fisher] leads Church [Tilton] and soldiers.)
CHURCH: He is found! Metamora is our prisoner.
METAMORA: No! He lives—last of his race—but still your enemy lives to defy you still. Though numbers overpower me and treachery surround me, though friends desert me, I defy you still! Come to me—come singly to me! And this true knife that has tasted the foul blood of your nation and now is red with the purest of mine, will feel a grasp as strong as when it flashed in the blaze of your burning dwellings, or was lifted terribly over the fallen in battle.
CHURCH: Fire upon him!
METAMORA: Do so, I am weary of the world for ye are dwellers in it; I would not turn upon my heel to save my life.
CHURCH: Your duty, soldiers.
(They fire. Metamora falls.)
METAMORA: My curses on you, white men! May the Great Spirit curse you when he speaks in his war voice from the clouds! Murderers! The last of the Wampanoags’ curse be on you! May your graves and the graves of your children be in the path the red man shall trace! And may the wolf and panther howl o’er your fleshless bones, fit banquet for the destroyers! Spirits of the grave, I come! But the curse of Metamora stays with the white man! I die! My wife! My queen! My Nahmeokee!
(He falls and dies. A tableau is formed. Drums and trumpet sound a retreat. Slow curtain. Blackout.)
SCENE 2
WHILE AT THE SAME TIME
Macready’s rooms, New York Hotel.
The actors from the Astor Place Opera House production of Macbeth, including Clark, Mrs. Pope, Wemyss, Bridges, Bradshaw, Sefton, Chippindale and Arnold, are all shouting for explanations about what has happened. They are shouting at an elderly Washington Irving, who stands next to Macready, who now wears a bandage on his head, and looks weary.
IRVING (Over the shouts): Quiet, please! Please, let me finish!
Goodnight Children Everywhere and Other Plays Page 14