adore you! I desire you! I cannot live without you!
ASENATH. Please don't be silly.
JOSEPH. (_hurt_) Is it possible that you do not believe in my love?
ASENATH. It is a little difficult. . . .
JOSEPH. You think that I am a hard man--and so I am. But when I look at you, I tremble and grow weak. My knees are become as water, and the blood roaring in my veins confuses me.
ASENATH. Can I, a mere woman, so disturb you?
JOSEPH. You have more than a mere woman's beauty. Your hands are lotus petals. Your eyes are silver fireflies mirrored in a pool. Your breasts are white birds nestling behind the leaves of a pomegranate tree.
ASENATH. You have a smooth tongue, Joseph! One would think you really were in love at last. . . .
JOSEPH. I love you more than anything else in the world. You mean more to me than power, more than riches, more than freedom itself.
ASENATH. I could almost believe that you are in earnest. . . .
JOSEPH. Tell me, O lovely creature for whom my soul and body thirst, how can I prove my sincerity? What proof can I give you?
ASENATH. You can give me--that ring!
She points to the ring which Potiphar has given him.
JOSEPH. (_looking at her, then at the ring, takes it off, saying_)-- Freedom!
_He puts it on her finger. He draws her toward him. She resists. The candle is knocked over, and all is darkness_.
ASENATH. (_in the darkness, faintly_) Joseph! Joseph!
THE ANGEL INTRUDES
A COMEDY
To GEORGE CRAM COOK
"The Angel Intrudes" was first produced by the Provincetown Players, New York City, in 1917, with the following cast:
The Policeman...... Abram Gillette The Angel.......... James Light Jimmy Pendleton.... Justus Sheffield Annabelle.......... Edna St. Vincent Millay
_Washington Square by moonlight. A stream of Greenwich Villagers hurrying across to the Brevoort before the doors are locked. In their wake a sleepy policeman.
The policeman stops suddenly on seeing an Angel with shining garments and great white wings, who has just appeared out of nowhere_.
THE POLICEMAN. Hey, you!
THE ANGEL. (_haughtily, turning_) Sir! Are you addressing me?
THE POLICEMAN. (_severely_) Yes, an' I've a good mind to lock you up.
THE ANGEL. (_surprised and indignant_) How very inhospitable! Is that the way you treat strangers?
THE POLICEMAN. Don't you know it's agen the law of New York to parade the streets in a masquerade costume?
THE ANGEL. No. I didn't know. You see, I've just arrived this minute from Heaven.
THE POLICEMAN. Ye look it. (_Taking his arm kindly_) See here, me lad, you've been drinkin' too many of them stingers. Ye'd better take a taxi and go home.
THE ANGEL. What! So soon?
THE POLICEMAN. I know how ye feel. I've been that way meself. But I can't leave ye go traipsin' about in skirts.
THE ANGEL. (_drawing away_) Sir, I'm not traipsing about. I am attending to important business, and I must ask you not to detain me.
THE POLICEMAN. (_suspiciously_) Not so fast, me laddie-buck. What business have you at this hour of the night? Tell me that.
THE ANGEL. I don't mind telling you. It concerns a mortal called James Pendleton.
THE POLICEMAN. (_genial again_) Aha! So you're a friend of Jimmy Pendleton's, are you?
THE ANGEL. Not exactly. I am his Guardian Angel.
THE POLICEMAN. Well, faith, he needs one! Come, me b'y, I'll see ye safe to his door.
THE ANGEL. Thank you. But, if you don't mind, I prefer to go alone.
He turns away.
THE POLICEMAN. Good night to you, then.
_He idly watches the angelic figure walk away, and then stares with amazement as it spreads its wings and soars to the top of Washington Arch. Pausing there a moment, it soars again in the air, and is seen wafting its way over the neighbouring housetops to the northeast. The policeman shakes his head in disapproval.
Jimmy Pendleton is dozing in an easy chair before the grate-fire in Ms studio in Washington Mews. A yellow-backed French novel has fallen from his knee to the floor. It is Anatole France's "La Revolte des Anges". A suitcase stands beside the chair. Jimmy is evidently about to go on some journey.
A clock begins to strike somewhere. Jimmy Pendleton awakes_.
JIMMY. What a queer dream! (He looks at his watch.) Twelve o'clock. The taxi ought to be here. (_He takes two tickets from his pocket, looks at them, and puts them back. Then he commences to pace nervously up and down the room, muttering to himself_)--Fool! Idiot! Imbecile! (_He is not, so that you could notice it, any of these things. He is a very handsome man of forty. There is the blast of an auto-horn outside. He makes an angry gesture_.) Too late! That's the taxi. (_But he stands uncertainly in the middle of the floor. There is a loud pounding on the knocker_.) Yes, yes!
_He makes a movement toward the door, when it suddenly opens, and a
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