Collected Novels and Plays

by James Merrill

  (To the MAID.)

  Is that trunk full now, Jeannie?

  MAID:

  Yes, Mrs. Mallow. I’ll call John, shall I?

  MRS. MALLOW:

  Wait. This one can go in on top. I’m nearly done.

  MAID:

  She’s a fortunate young lady who’ll be getting these lovely clothes.

  TITHONUS:

  Go on, go on! It’s the natural thing, to discuss it.

  MRS. MALLOW (handing the dress to the MAID):

  Here you are, Jeannie dear.

  TITHONUS:

  And it will be natural for Cousin Aggie to feel grateful—

  MRS. MALLOW:

  What else wants mending?

  TITHONUS:

  —and natural, she being such a plain young woman, for the clothes to be wasted upon her.

  MRS. MALLOW:

  Now hush, Tithonus, it was your mother’s wish.

  MAID (showing a dress):

  There’s a tiny tear right here in the hem.

  MRS. MALLOW (taking it):

  That won’t take a minute.

  MAID:

  Do you know, this is the fifth day of steady rain? John’s all upset. He says the rain will wash away the soil from the roots. Rain’s not at all good in such quantities, John says.

  MRS. MALLOW:

  Well, John should know, shouldn’t he?

  TITHONUS:

  Rain is like sorrow. It exposes our roots.

  MRS. MALLOW:

  And nourishes them.

  MAID:

  I can’t recall the mistress ever wearing that dress.

  MRS. MALLOW:

  Oh, this was one of her favorite dresses. A wonder it still holds together. She’d wear it on carriage rides, in midsummer—before you came to us, five, six years ago. After that, she grew so thin, poor soul, she said to me, “Mrs. Mallow,”—when I’d already taken in the seams once or twice—“let’s put away that dress, and not try to alter it any more.” Now is that trunk firmly shut?

  MAID:

  Yes, Ma’am.

  MRS. MALLOW:

  Then call John, and I shall lock it. Let’s see if we can’t squeeze these last things into the other trunk. If we’re clever we can get both of them on the afternoon coach.

  (Exit MAID.)

  TITHONUS:

  Oh it’s wrong, it’s wrong! Don’t you think it’s wrong?

  MRS. MALLOW:

  Do I think what’s wrong, dear?

  TITHONUS:

  Life … the world … death ….

  MRS. MALLOW:

  It’s not for us to say, Tithonus. Life must go on.

  TITHONUS:

  That’s what I hate, to see everybody humming and sewing and bustling about, Father upstairs in a flowered dressing gown sorting out her jewelry, sending away her clothes, putting everything out of sight, because she is out of sight—

  MRS. MALLOW:

  You’re in my light, dear.

  TITHONUS (moving):

  —everything being scrubbed and aired, as if she had done a shameful thing. It’s wrong, Mrs. Mallow.

  MRS. MALLOW (biting off a thread):

  It’s not for us to say.

  TITHONUS:

  Who else will say it, if we don’t? It’s a small thing to ask, that a time be set aside, that we close our eyes and try to see her as she was,

  (Touching a bonnet.)

  dressed to go out, or coming in from a walk ….

  MRS. MALLOW:

  You’re right, Tithonus. It is a small thing to ask. But did she ask it? No.

  (Goes to him and strokes his cheek.)

  She asked only that her clothes go to your cousin Agatha. She asked that I keep her thimble. Look now, how it’s begun to shine, and it was badly tarnished this morning when I put it on. Think of it that way, dear.

  (Goes to trunk and locks it.)

  Out of sorrow comes beauty. Now where is John?

  TITHONUS:

  She asked nothing of me.

  MRS. MALLOW:

  What can a mother ask of her child, but that he grow strong and virtuous? By doing that, a son shows his love. Not by tears, but by living the way she has taught him to live.

  TITHONUS (with irony):

  And by dying the way she has taught him to die?

  MRS. MALLOW (vaguely):

  That’s right. Now if only John—

  (TITHONUS starts out.)

  Where are you going, dear?

  TITHONUS:

  I don’t know.

  MRS. MALLOW:

  Let me give you some tea and muffins. You didn’t touch your breakfast.

  TITHONUS (going out):

  I’m not hungry.

  MRS. MALLOW (calling after him): We must keep up our strength!

  (Enter MAID and GARDENER.)

  Oh John, there you are. Move that trunk over here.

  (He does so.)

  Good. Now Jeannie, I’ll let you finish. I’m going up for a word with the master.

  MAID:

  Why, it’s stopped raining, look!

  MRS. MALLOW (darkly):

  I don’t like to think what that might mean.

  GARDENER:

  It’s good news to me, Mrs. Mallow. Shall I carry the other trunk out to the carriage?

  MRS. MALLOW:

  Yes, do, John. There’s scarcely room to walk about. I’ll be down presently. And I’ll feel like a cup of tea, Jeannie dear, if the kettle’s on. And some muffins and jam. We must keep up our strength.

  MAID:

  Certainly, Ma’am.

  (Exit MRS. MALLOW. The GARDENER moves behind the MAID and playfully embraces her.)

  Oh John, stop it, do! The poor mistress not cold in her grave!

  GARDENER:

  Ah Jeannie, don’t be taken in by all that talk. One fine day you’ll be developing a morbid streak.

  MAID:

  If I do, that’s my own affair.

  (Pause.)

  What kind of streak?

  GARDENER:

  Morbid. It’s when you thrive on tragedy, like a vulture.

  (Pause.)

  That was a joke, Jeannie. Ah, if you could have seen, the day of the funeral, your cheeks glowing through that black veil! I wanted to kiss them then, right in church. You looked so bright and pretty.

  (Pause.)

  That was a compliment, Jeannie.

  MAID (preoccupied):

  You’re a proper poet.

  GARDENER:

  Come now, what is it? Tell John.

  MAID:

  Has Mrs. Mallow got a morbid streak?

  GARDENER:

  I hadn’t given the matter much thought.

  MAID:

  I dreamed a dream about her last night.

  (Remembering it.)

  I had a little house with a garden and a lake, and everything I wanted ….

  GARDENER:

  Was I there?

  MAID:

  I can’t recall …. No, but all of a sudden, looking up from my knitting, who should I see but Mrs. Mallow, nodding and smiling. “Jeannie dear,” she said, “you’re turning into the best little housekeeper that ever was.” And I looked, and all around me were hundreds of little houses, no bigger than—

  (Staring into the open trunk.)

  with somebody in each one. And all the people were dead, and all the houses—I woke up then, I was in such a fright!

  GARDENER:

  That’s so like you, Jeannie, to be frightened of a dream.

  MAID:

  What does it mean, do you suppose? Is somebody going to die?

  GARDENER (philosophizing):

  We’re all of us going to die, so cheer up! It’s not so bad!

  MAID:

  Cheer up, John! What a thing to say!

  GARDENER:

  What is bad’s the way the young master takes it. Mooning and moping—as if that changed anything.

  MAID:

  I think the young master’s feeling is beautiful and
right.

  GARDENER:

  It’s too beautiful. He keeps standing off and admiring it, like he was painting a picture. No,

  (Looking upward.)

  he’s not the one she ought to have.

  MAID:

  And who is the one she ought to have? It wouldn’t be yourself, would it? And what makes you think Miss Aurora’s goddess of the dawn, anyhow? I’ve never seen her do a single uncommon thing.

  GARDENER:

  Why should she? Of course she doesn’t send off fireworks every quarter of an hour. She’s not vulgar. But one day, you wait and see—she’ll turn herself into a white peacock, like one of them over to the Manor, and stretch her throat and spread her wings and carry off the lover she fancies, just the way it’s done in the mythology book!

  MAID:

  See that you don’t catch it for educating yourself with the master’s books.

  GARDENER:

  I’ll catch you first.

  (He does so.)

  MAID (wriggling):

  Oh John, enough of your foolishness! I hear them!

  GARDENER:

  I don’t.

  MRS. MALLOW (offstage):

  We’re doing up the last one now. It will go this afternoon.

  MAID:

  She’s with the master! Hurry! Don’t leave the trunk!

  (She goes out. The GARDENER lifts the full trunk. Enter MRS. MALLOW and LAOMEDON.)

  LAOMEDON:

  Well, Mrs. Mallow, I don’t know what we would do without you. Not only at this time, but all during the past year—Oh John, I’ll be wanting the carriage later this morning.

  GARDENER:

  I’ll give it a good wash, Sir.

  LAOMEDON:

  If it clears, we’ll inspect that broken pump before I go.

  GARDENER:

  There’s the apple tree too, Sir, I wish you’d have a look at.

  LAOMEDON:

  Quite so, the apple tree. The whole place has gone to rack and ruin these last weeks. Well, there was a reason for that ….

  GARDENER:

  We’ll set it to rights before long, Sir.

  LAOMEDON:

  Thank you, John.

  (Exit GARDENER with trunk.)

  No, Mrs. Mallow, I think we’re all very grateful to you.

  MRS. MALLOW:

  It’s a pleasure to be useful, Sir.

  LAOMEDON:

  Georgiana said to me, not two weeks ago, “I feel easier, thinking that Mrs. Mallow will be with you.” I’ll never forget the care you took of her. You seemed to know instinctively whenever she was in pain. The door would open and there you’d be with her medicine, and a kind word, or a little bouquet of spring flowers ….

  MRS. MALLOW:

  Oh Sir, you needn’t say these things.

  LAOMEDON: I shan’t go on.

  (Offering a brooch.)

  Perhaps this will say what I cannot.

  MRS. MALLOW:

  Her pearl brooch! Oh, I couldn’t, Sir! I’m touched, but—it has too many associations ….

  LAOMEDON:

  That’s one reason we wanted you to have it. I spoke to Tithonus. He shares my feeling.

  MRS. MALLOW:

  Does he now? Well, he’s a dear good boy! But it should go to him, for his bride.

  LAOMEDON:

  Between ourselves, I’m not overly sanguine on the subject of Tithonus’s bride.

  MRS. MALLOW:

  He’ll outgrow that, just wait and see. He’s young, Sir.

  LAOMEDON:

  He’s no longer a child, but he still acts like one.

  (Closing her hand over the brooch.)

  But please ….

  MRS. MALLOW:

  I’m at a loss for words. I shall never part with it.

  (Looking up, sees that TITHONUS has entered.)

  Tithonus, dear, your father has told me of your share in this beautiful remembrance.

  (Kisses him.)

  TITHONUS:

  You’ve given her the pearl brooch?

  LAOMEDON:

  With your permission, if you remember.

  TITHONUS:

  Of course I remember. Keep the brooch, Mrs. Mallow. And the thimble. Why don’t you take these clothes, too? Mother’s room is empty, move into it. Father, have you ever considered marrying Mrs. Mallow.

  MRS. MALLOW:

  Tithonus! I’ve lived in this house ten years, and never yet claimed anything that was not my due.

  LAOMEDON:

  We know that, Mrs. Mallow.

  (To TITHONUS.)

  The principal use of courtesy is to help others through painful situations. That was not a remark to have made before either Mrs. Mallow or myself.

  TITHONUS:

  I’m sorry, I believe it’s wrong not to show what one feels.

  LAOMEDON:

  True, but we do not need to make a display of our feelings.

  TITHONUS:

  It’s less of a display than your callousness!

  LAOMEDON:

  Don’t imagine, if I try to hide my sorrow, that I feel it less than you. Life is hard, and suffering the common lot.

  TITHONUS:

  Oh Father, stop ….

  LAOMEDON:

  As Doctor Johnson said, the hope that we shall meet our loved ones again must support the mind.

  TITHONUS:

  But I don’t have that hope. I believe that we shall never see her again! Then what supports the mind? What supports my mind, Father?

  MRS. MALLOW:

  The boy’s idle, Sir. What has he had to do these last weeks but sit about a house all hushed and melancholy?

  TITHONUS:

  I’ve enjoyed that part of it!

  LAOMEDON:

  You’re right, Mrs. Mallow. An idle mind is the Devil’s workshop. Of course, he’s missed his term at the University. A new one won’t begin—

  TITHONUS:

  I don’t choose to go back to the University.

  LAOMEDON:

  We’ll see about that.

  MRS. MALLOW:

  Tithonus, why? You’d be with friends your own age.

  TITHONUS:

  I hate people my own age.

  LAOMEDON:

  I can’t blame you. What is your age? Nineteen?

  TITHONUS:

  Not yet! Not till August!

  LAOMEDON:

  Old enough in any event to conduct yourself with dignity. What supports your mind is youth, with all the virtues and vices of youth. Purity and energy on one hand, arrogance and idleness on the other. Times have certainly changed! At your age I had lived through three battles. I was the youngest Englishman to witness the signing of the Treaty of Amiens.

  TITHONUS (slowly and gently):

  Perhaps when I am old I shall no longer feel what I feel now. I hope I shan’t. Because I feel that you, both of you, don’t feel anything. You’re dry inside, dry and old, and that’s somehow far worse than dying. You want even her memory to die. Soon nothing will be left that was hers.

  (Pause.)

  LAOMEDON (hurt):

  Well, we mustn’t stand about all morning. There are a hundred and one things waiting to be done. It’s turning into a fine day. I’m going upstairs to dress.

  MAID (entering):

  Cook’s just back from the village, Sir, and brought the newspaper.

  (Gives it to him.)

  Oh Mrs. Mallow, I clean forgot your tea!

  MRS. MALLOW:

  I’ll have it in the kitchen, Jeannie, presently.

  (Exit MAID.)

  LAOMEDON (reading):

  Ha! It seems we are now connected with Ireland, by submarine telegraph.

  MRS. MALLOW:

  What will they think of next?

  LAOMEDON:

  A year ago it was France. Well, to work. I slept last night like a child.

  (He goes out.)

  MRS. MALLOW:

  Shame on you, Tithonus, for talking so to your father, with all the sorrow in his hea
rt.

  (Opening the trunk.)

  I can’t think what’s got into you. You used to be such a sweet, considerate boy. You’d come running to show me things you’d found, a caterpillar, an odd stone ….

  TITHONUS:

  I’ve made a decision, Mrs. Mallow. I can’t stay at home any longer. I don’t belong here.

  MRS. MALLOW (bustling about, not quite listening):

  Now if you’re going to take up my precious time with nonsense—Not belong here, indeed!

  TITHONUS:

  Everything’s changed, yet everything’s the same. You heard Father—pompous, callous, as ever before. In a strange way I’m relieved that Mother’s dead.

  MRS. MALLOW:

  I understand that, dear. She suffered greatly, and now she’s no longer in pain.