The Black Cat | Page 6

me--you shall obey! (_Shakes the child; she screams._)
Denham.
Dear! Dear!
Mrs. Denham.
How dare you scream at me like that?
Undine.
(_crying_) But you're hurting me.
Mrs. Denham.
Bear it then, bear it decently, without screaming like a beast. Have you done your sums?
Undine.
Not all.
Mrs. Denham.
(_looking at sums_) Only one done, and that not right. Oh, this wicked waste of time! You are killing me and killing yourself. When you waste your time you are wasting your life. Why will you waste your time?
Undine.
I don't know.
Mrs. Denham.
Then you must be taught to know.
Denham.
May I say a word? I am chiefly to blame. We were talking about the Greek gods.
Mrs. Denham.
Oh well, if you encourage her in her laziness, I can do nothing. (_Crosses L as she speaks, then turns suddenly._) Get out of my sight, miss! It is time for you to go out now. Go away, and take off that pinafore. You are a disgrace to your father and to me. (_Gives her a final shake. Undine runs out screaming._) Oh dear! Oh dear! There! Listen to that precious daughter of yours, filling the house with her yells. (_She presses her hands over her ears._) Oh, that child will be the death of me! (_Throws herself down upon the couch._) She ought never to have been born. Her existence is a mistake and a curse.
Denham.
(_sighing_) Yes, we are all mistakes from the ideal standpoint.
Mrs. Denham.
It makes me mad to think that I--I--should have brought such an idiot into the world!
Denham.
Yes, you are an over-populated woman, dear. (_Rises up to her._) The modern woman is very easily over-populated.
Mrs. Denham.
You can joke about it, of course. To me it is a serious calamity. (_Weeps._)
Denham.
Well, dear, at least we have not repeated our initial mistake. (_Crosses to picture._)
Mrs. Denham.
Do you regret it?
Denham.
God forbid! I only regret that our relations were not always strictly platonic. That is the highest practical ideal of the age--modern woman being what she is.
Mrs. Denham.
Yes, I know you despise me in your heart. You are always sneering at me as a modern woman. What do you mean?
Denham.
(_crosses to her_) I agree with Michelet: "_La femme est une malade._"
Mrs. Denham.
And what is man?
Denham.
(_sits in armchair_) Oh, a sick creature too--that's the worst of it. The world spirit is moulting, and we're all sick together.
Mrs. Denham.
Phrases, phrases, always phrases! When I am most in earnest you put me off with a jest.
Denham.
"If I laugh at any mortal thing, 'tis that I may not weep."
Mrs. Denham.
(_sobbing_) I know I have disappointed you; I know you are not satisfied with me; I have not made you happy.
Denham.
(_starting up and pacing_) Happy? Give me life! Give me life! Happiness can take care of itself. But there is no use in crying "Give, give!" like the horse-leech. If we want impossibilities we must achieve them. (_Crosses R._)
Mrs. Denham.
You want incompatible things.
Denham.
Of course I do. So do you. Your reason and your instincts are at war, just like mine. That is our sickness.
Mrs. Denham.
How at war?
Denham.
Your reason tells you that woman is independent, self-sufficing. Your instincts cry feebly for passion, that savage outlaw which still lies in wait for the modern woman, to carry her whither she would not. Hence your lapse from strict agnostic morality into matrimony, bondage, subjection, and the mistake, Undine.
Mrs. Denham.
That child has come between us. I think children often do.
Denham.
Is that one of the necessary horrors of matrimony?
Mrs. Denham.
Heaven help me, that girl drives me mad!
Denham.
Nerves, nerves, as usual. She irritates you, and you irritate her. The mere presence of a child sets your teeth on edge. (_Crosses, and sits R of table._)
Mrs. Denham.
My brain has been torn to pieces by children all my life. I was a slave to my own brothers and sisters, because I was the eldest.
Denham.
That was very hard, I know; but your own child is different, surely?
Mrs. Denham.
You seem to think I don't love her?
Denham.
Not wisely, but too well--as you love me.
(_Re-enter Undine, dressed to go out, and stands just inside door. Mrs. Denham rises, and Undine comes slowly towards her._)
Mrs. Denham.
Well, dear, have you washed your hands and face?
Undine.
Yes, mother.
Mrs. Denham.
That's my nice clean little girl. (_She embraces and kisses her._) Why does my little girl make mother angry?
Undine.
I don't know.
Mrs. Denham.
Well, kiss father, and go out while it is fine and bright.
Undine.
(_coming behind Denham, and pulling back his head_) Father, I'm going to bring you some buttercups, to put on your table and make your work look pretty.
Denham.
Thanks, my wee one. And bring me some sunshine in their cups, like a good little fairy.
Undine.
I will.
Denham.
(_kissing her_) Good-bye, and now run away.
Undine.
I'll bring you some speedwell, mother.
Mrs. Denham.
(_kissing her_) Thanks, my little Undine.
(_Undine goes out, then peeps back through the door._)
Undine.
And I'll make a daisy chain for Demeter.
Mrs. Denham.
That will be pretty. Good-bye.
Undine.
Good-bye. (_Kisses her hand to Denham._)
(_Exit Undine._)
Denham.
Well, it isn't