A MILLET GROUP
Characters (Taken from Millet’s paintings).
| The Man with the Hoe | L’Homme à la Houe |
| A Mother and Child | La Sortie |
| Two Washerwomen | Les Lavandières |
| A Youth | Le Semeur |
| A Husband and Wife | L’Angelus du Soir |
The Voice of Millet heard in a snatch of song.
The frame must be proportioned, the scene prepared, for the final tableau, The Angelus. At one moment or another each picture is presented, the characters not belonging to it dropping naturally to right and left, as if passing and repassing in a field. The dialogue is accompanied by a simple, natural action except when a picture-attitude is being held, when a natural pause must be achieved. Before the curtains are drawn a horn is heard in the distance, and the tinkling of cowbells. Then silence. The curtains drawn disclose the field of L’Angelus du Soir, but with the solitary figure of The Man with the Hoe, L’Homme à la Houe, occupying the stage. He remains immobile for an appreciable time, till the picture shall have been recognized and the spirit of the scene imposed. Then the Mother carrying her child, La Sortie, appears at the right. The Mother stands, watching the Man, for a short space, then speaks.
The Mother.
A sou for your thoughts!
The Man.
[Turns as if wakened from sleep.]
A sou for your thoughts! Eh? My thoughts?
[Laughs.]
A sou for your thoughts! Eh? My thoughts? That’s a joke!
Now and then when my back is a-weary I pause,
Draw a breath, wipe the sweat off!
[Suits the action to the word.]
Draw a breath, wipe the sweat off! But, thoughts...!
Are you troubled with such?
The Woman.
[Advancing.]
Are you troubled with such? I don’t know! As a girl
I read fairy-tales; dreamed as I dusted and span
Or helped in the field!
[Laughter is heard. From the left come the two Washerwomen with their baskets. They halt, seeing the others.]
The Older Washerwoman.
On my word! One would think ’twas a funeral, feast,
That you’re stopping to chatter!
The Man.
[Indicating the Mother with a jerk of his head.]
That you’re stopping to chatter! She’s telling her dreams!
The Younger Washerwoman.
[With curiosity.]
Has she dreams?
[From the right comes the Youth, whistling. He also pauses.]
The Mother.
[Apologetically, disclaiming the notion of indulging in dreams.]
Has she dreams? Oh, not nowadays! Now I’m too old!
I’m turned twenty! But, oh! as a girl how I looked
For a prince to come wooing, and clothe me in silk;
Jewels fine as the crown on our Lady! A coach,
Horses white as your linen, to carry me off
To a castle with servants to wait on me!... Well,
I must go get my good man his supper. All day
He’s been carting manure!
[Moves as if to go.]
The Younger Washerwoman.
He’s been carting manure! Ha, ha, ha! And those dreams?
The Mother.
He’s been carting manure! Ha, ha, ha! And those dreams? I pass on
To my baby!
[She talks to the infant. From the left enter the Husband and Wife, with pitchfork and wheelbarrow, gathering potatoes.]
The Wife.
To my baby! Well, well! How she grows! Healthy, too!
The Mother.
Aye. I’m hoping to keep her. The others—
The Wife.
[Sympathetically.]
Aye. I’m hoping to keep her. The others— I know.
So with mine. The Lord gives and the Lord takes away!
The Younger Washerwoman.
[Folding linen.]
He takes more in proportion than gives!
The Others.
[Shocked, exclaim.]
He takes more in proportion than gives! Oh, Louise!
The Younger Washerwoman.
But it’s true, as we country-folk know. He takes youth,
Health, and beauty, and hope. And he gives in return...?
Why, not even a grave!
The Man.
Why, not even a grave! Aye; there’s something in that!
The Younger Washerwoman.
[Bitterly, working herself up.]
To the earth are we born, and the earth all our days
Must we till for a meagre subsistence, backs bent,
And our faces, like beasts’, to the earth! Look at you.
[To the Man.]
Like some crooked old tree! Do you think like a man?
Do you feel like a man among men? Why, this hoe
Is as human as you, you old stick-i’-the-mud!
The Woman.
Oh, Louise!
The Man.
[Nettled.]
Oh, Louise! I don’t know about that!
The Younger Washerwoman.
Oh, Louise! I don’t know about that! Well, I do!
[She goes over to the Mother.]
As for you with your prince of a dung-heap....
The Mother.
Hold your tongue! Jealous cat, you!
The Younger Washerwoman.
Hold your tongue! Jealous cat, you! Me jealous! Of you!
[Laughing scornfully.]
The Husband.
[Interposing, pacifically.]
Come, now, lasses! Don’t quarrel!
The Younger Washerwoman.
[Snapping her fingers at him.]
Come, now, lasses! Don’t quarrel! Potato-face!
The Others.
[Some shocked, the rest amused.]
Come, now, lasses! Don’t quarrel! Potato-face! Oh!
The Wife.
[Infuriated.]
Don’t you dare call my man such a name!
The Younger Washerwoman.
[With sudden tenderness, strokes the Wife’s cheek.]
Don’t you dare call my man such a name! Poor Adèle!
Scarce nineteen, and all furrowed and brown, like the earth!
But you never rebel!
The Wife.
[Mollified.]
But you never rebel! I rebel? There are times
When life’s hard—
The Younger Washerwoman.
When life’s hard— Is there ever a time when it’s not?
The Wife.
But I always have Jean!
The Husband.
[Indicating the Wife.]
But I always have Jean! Jean has her!
The Man.
But I always have Jean! Jean has her! Aye, that’s true!
The Voice of Millet.
[Singing, on the right.]
Oh, Normandy! My Normandy! Again to see my Normandy!
[All turn enquiringly.]
The Youth.
[Shading his eyes, the better to see.]
’Tis our neighbor, the artist, Millet. He’s been off
Selling pictures in Paris. He must have come back
By the Fontainebleau stage!
[The snatch of song again is heard, receding.]
By the Fontainebleau stage! From his song he’s had luck
With his market!
The Older Washerwoman.
With his market! It’s time. Months behind with his rent!
And their bills...! Butcher, baker, unpaid for—how long?
Not a shop in Chailly gives them credit!
The Wife.
Not a shop in Chailly gives them credit! Poor souls!
With nine children to feed!
The Mother.
With nine children to feed! And his wife—she’s not strong.
The Older Washerwoman.
Bailiffs soon will be put in possession, they say,
Of the house, unless money’s forthcoming!
The Wife.
Of the house, unless money’s forthcoming! Poor souls!
With nine children!
The Older Washerwoman.
With nine children! You can’t blame the tradesmen! Monsieur
Is an artist, you see!
The Wife.
Is an artist, you see! He means well, all the same.
The Husband.
[Nods assent, while continuing his work.]
A good fellow!
The Older Washerwoman.
A good fellow! He’s lazy. I’ve seen him, myself,
By the hour, lying back on the heather!
The Man.
By the hour, lying back on the heather! Well, well!
The Mother.
On the heather? His wife is too patient! If I
Caught my man...!
The Youth.
Caught my man...! He has told me—he’s watching the sky!
[All exclaim, derisively.]
The Man.
[Rather apologetically for himself as well as for Millet.]
Well, I do that myself, now and then, just to see
If ’twill rain.
The Older Washerwoman.
If ’twill rain. He’s no farmer, or peasant, like us!
What’s the weather to him!
The Youth.
What’s the weather to him! It’s the forms of the clouds
That he studies. He’s told me! the colors that change
With the day. Oh, it’s just like a poem, the way
That he tells it!... The trees of the forest, he says,
Speak a language their own! And the birds, and the wind—!
The Older Washerwoman.
He’s a lazybones!
The Man.
He’s a lazybones! Hm! Now I doubt if he’s right!
[Taps forehead significantly.]
The Husband.
All the same, a good neighbor, kind heart, at a time
When there’s trouble!
The Wife.
When there’s trouble! But—nine! And he looks at the sky!
The Youth.
But he works! Oh, I don’t mean just painting! He digs
In his garden of mornings! His roses are fine,
And his cabbages ... well, you can’t beat them!
The Wife.
And his cabbages ... well, you can’t beat them! Poor soul!
He has need, with nine children!
[The voice of Millet again is heard in a snatch of song.]
The Youth.
He has need, with nine children! Just hark how he sings!
He’s so glad to be home!
The Younger Washerwoman.
He’s so glad to be home! Fancy. Glad to be here!
Fancy! Glad to leave Paris! An artist at that!
The Older Washerwoman.
[Helping the other to fold a sheet.]
Oh, not really an artist! Why, look what he paints!
Nothing nice: parks with fountains and ladies with fans,
And guitar-playing lovers! Such ev’ryday things.
Just a field, such as this. Why, you almost can smell
The potatoes, the newly-turned earth, or the wheat
As the harvesters bind it, the linen we wash,
In those pictures of his!
The Man.
In those pictures of his! Aye! There is something in that!
The Older Washerwoman.
And his people, just peasants like us!
The Man.
And his people, just peasants like us! Aye; that’s true.
And so ugly!
[Naïvely.]
And so ugly! Why, he’s painted me!
[Unconsciously falling again into the picture-position. The others laugh at him.]
The Husband.
[With a slight, reminiscent grievance.]
Aye. Myself and the wife here have stood for him. Decked
In our Sundayfied best, for the Barbizon fête,
There are worse-looking couples! But Monsieur Millet
Is for painting us just as you see!
The Wife.
Is for painting us just as you see! But, poor soul!
He means well!
The Youth.
He means well! But that’s beauty! He told me. Ourselves
As God meant, tillers, toilers of earth, with God’s sky
Overhead! And I feel, when, in sowing the seed,
With a prayer the first handful I toss in the form
Of a cross—
[Instinctively acting it out he falls naturally into the position of “The Sower.”]
Of a cross— Then I feel—
[He breaks off, smitten with self-consciousness.]
Of a cross— Then I feel— I lack words, but I feel
What our neighbor puts into his pictures!
The Man.
[Not knowing what else to say, says]
What our neighbor puts into his pictures! Well, well!
The Mother.
[Sitting on the edge of the Husband’s wheelbarrow.]
When I wanted to put on my earrings at least—
Who’s to know that one has them if not! Said Monsieur,
Mother-love was adornment enough! Mother-love
Makes the face of a woman divine, be she queen,
Or just peasant, like me!
[Cuddling her infant.]
Several.
Or just peasant, like me! Well, there’s something in that!
The Wife.
[With some faint apprehension of the finer thing.]
And I, too, when it’s cool and the evening is still,
The potatoes all stacked, from yon church at Chailly,
When the bell rings the Angelus—
[Breaks off, lacking expression, and picks up another potato.]
The Younger Washerwoman.
[Has listened attentively. She now breaks into mocking laughter.]
Clots of earth! Clots of earth, clots of earth, ev’ry one!
The Older Washerwoman.
[Resentfully.]
Clot yourself! Aren’t you one of us born?
The Younger Washerwoman.
Clot yourself! Aren’t you one of us born? Being born
Isn’t all of one’s life! Soon this Barbizon soil
I shake off, change sabots for silk stockings, and shoes
With high heels like a lady’s! You’ll see!
The Others.
With high heels like a lady’s! You’ll see! And what then?
The Younger Washerwoman.
[Balancing her basket on her head.]
And then ... Paris!
The Others.
And then ... Paris! Louise!
The Younger Washerwoman.
And then ... Paris! Louise! And then, Paris!
[Going.]
The Older Washerwoman.
[Following her.]
And then ... Paris! Louise! And then, Paris! Louise!
The Younger Washerwoman.
[Is heard, laughing, and repeating.]
And then ... Paris! Louise! And then, Paris! Paris!
The Man.
[Preparing to go.]
You can’t blame her. Life’s hard, as she said!
The Wife.
You can’t blame her. Life’s hard, as she said! Oh, not blame!
Shall one blame what the good God permits? But at least
One can pity and pray!
[Crossing herself.]
The Mother.
[Going.]
One can pity and pray! Well, my man will be in
From the field
[The Youth drifts away, whistling Millet’s song.]
The Husband.
[Shaking down the potatoes in their sack.]
Life is hard, as she said. But at least—
The Wife.
[Completing his thought.]
Life is hard, as she said. But at least— Aye. At least,
God be thanked! we’re together!
[Millet’s voice again is heard softly in a snatch of song.]
The Husband.
[Recurring to a former train of thought.]
God be thanked! we’re together! But as for him yon
And his pictures...!
[Shakes his head, resigning the subject.]
The Wife.
And his pictures...! Poor soul! He means well!
[The daylight, bright at first, gradually has declined to twilight. As Husband and Wife, their work ended, prepare to leave the field, from the tower of Chailly church rings the evening Angelus. Setting down barrow, planting pitchfork, the two bow their heads in prayer, repeating]:
“The Angel of the Lord declared unto Mary,
And she conceived of the Holy Ghost.
Hail, Mary, full of grace. The Lord is with thee....”
[The bell grows fainter and fainter. The words die on the lips of the man and woman. The figures become motionless, as if the scene were being translated from the realm of reality to that of fantasy. Then the curtains are drawn.]
Transcriber’s Notes
For possible printer’s errors in spelling, punctuation, etc., only the changes listed below were made.
Stage directions were generally silently moved outside of dialogue. When at the beginning of dialogue, they were moved above. When at the end of dialogue, they were moved below. When in the middle of dialogue, the line was split—with added indentation—and the directions were moved to the middle.
The alignment of stage directions was silently standardized. For reference, the first stage direction immediately after a character’s name was commonly centered below the name in the print.
Indented dialogue, when apparently part of a metrical line divided among different speakers, was silently indented to align with the other sections of the metrical line. Unindented dialogue, if likely part of a metrical line, was only indented when listed below.
Inconsistencies in the speaker’s name were generally retained. See “A SALON CARRÉ FANTASY” for examples such as “Young Man with Glove.” and “Young Man with a Glove.”.
On page 4 on the title page, “Cranfeld: a Play” appears to refer to the previously mentioned “Cranford: A Play”. This inconsistency was retained.
On page 11 in the stage direction that begins with “After a slight pause she approaches”, “Da Vinci” was formatted as Small Caps (Small Caps’d in later instances) for standardization.
On page 12 in the stage direction that begins with “The lady nods, as if to say”, “Da Vinci” was Small Caps’d.
On page 14, the stage direction “Bows affirmatively.” was enclosed with brackets.
On page 24, the unindented line “Well, it’s here!” was indented.
On the same page, the unindented line “Why, Portrait of a Man!” was indented.
On page 27, the unindented line “But that poor girl in trouble!” was indented.
On the same page in the stage direction that begins with “Bumping into”, “Gardien” was Small Caps’d.
On page 31 in the stage direction that goes “The Woman at her Toilet runs away, right.”, “Woman at her Toilet” was Small Caps’d.
On page 32 in the stage direction that begins with “Coming again toward”, “Young Man” was Small Caps’d.
On page 34 the unindented line “True. Still I think he should withdraw” was indented.
On page 35 in the stage direction that goes “To the Young Man”, “Young Man” was Small Caps’d.
On page 36, the unindented line “Aye. And for another!” was indented.
On the same page, the unindented line “Dio mio! Dare I hope...?” was indented.
On page 42, the unindented line “Then, what woman meant you now?” was indented.
On page 43, the unindented line “Oh, worthy of our School!” was indented.
On page 54, the unindented line “Standing here, shall I be drawn” was indented.
On page 57 immediately before the entrance of the Husband and Wife, the unindented line “Hush!” was indented.
On page 59 in the stage direction that goes “Leading the Wife away to the right.”, “Wife” was Small Caps’d.
On page 61, the unindented line “This grows monotonous!” was indented.
On page 69, the unindented line “’Tisn’t really good!” was indented.
On the same page in the stage direction that goes “Leading Laura to the right.”, “Laura” was Small Caps’d.
On page 73 on the title page of His Mother’s Face, “Champtêre” was corrected to “Champêtre”
On page 75 in the paragraph that begins with “The curtains, parting, disclose”, “Watteau” was Small Caps’d.
On page 83, a closing bracket was removed from the end of the paragraph that ends with “addressing her discourse to him.”.
On page 91 in the stage-setting paragraph, the section “always behind the frame, reaches” was italicized to match the formatting of the paragraph.
On page 94, the unindented line “First at counting-out suppose we play!” was indented.
On the same page, the stage direction “The curtains close.” was italicized.
On page 97, the scene description “A hall in a house at Tilsit.” was italicized.
On page 109 in the stage direction that goes “Touching a fold of the Queen’s dress.”, “Queen’s” was Small Caps’d.
On page 115, the unindented line “You devil, you!” was indented.
On page 116 immediately after the stage direction “Answering, calls.”, the unindented line “Coming, dears!” was indented.
On page 119 in the sentence “The Mother stands”, “Mother” was Small Caps’d.
On page 123 in the stage direction that goes “She goes over to the Mother.”, “Mother” was Small Caps’d.
On the same page, the unindented line “Me jealous! Of you!” was indented.
On page 124, the unindented line “Is there ever a time when it’s not?” was indented.
On page 125, the unindented line “It’s time. Months behind with his rent!” was indented.
On page 126, the unindented line “He has told me—he’s watching the sky!” was indented.
On the same page in the stage direction that goes “Rather apologetically for himself as well as for Millet.”, “Millet” was Small Caps’d.
On page 132 in the stage direction that includes “whistling Millet’s song”, “Millet’s” was Small Caps’d.