A SALON CARRÉ FANTASY
Characters: Pictures, The Young Man with a Glove ... L’Homme au Gant, The Woman at her Toilet, supposed to be Laura Dianti. Other masterpieces, but unseen.
Human Beings: The Glove Young Man; Laura, an Art-student; Visitors to the galleries of the Louvre, including a Husband and Wife, an Elderly Party from the country with her niece, a Teacher and her Class, and a rhapsodic German Lady; a Gardien of the Louvre galleries.
Time: The present.
Scene: The spot in the Salon Carré of the Louvre where hangs Titian’s picture, L’Homme au Gant. In front of the railing which guards the walls is room for persons to pass. At one side is the regulation velvet-covered bench. On the other, at her easel, sits Laura, making a copy of the picture.
[As the curtains part, the Husband and Wife enter from the right.]
The Husband.
[With catalogue, announces with authority.]
Fifteen-ninety-two is L’Homme au Gant.
Ha! French!
The Wife.
[Looking over his shoulder timidly corrects.]
Ha! French! Venetian.
The Husband.
Ha! French! Venetian. L’Homme is French for man.
Gant, glove.
The Wife.
Gant, glove. Titian. Venetian School. Just look!
The Husband.
’Tis not the question where he went to school.
L’Homme stamps him French.
The Wife.
[Timidly venturing a joke.]
Perhaps his gloves are French.
The Husband.
[Determined to find fault.]
Gant, glove, is singular. It should be called
A Man with Pair of Gloves. I shall report
The matter! Come!
[They pass to the left.]
Laura.
The matter! Come! Oh, dear! Such people make
Me weary!
German Lady.
[Enters from the left. Speaks rapturously.]
Ach, du lieber ... wunderschön!
[Some French Visitors, entering, accidentally jostle the German Lady. Apologies are exchanged in their respective tongues.]
One French Visitor.
[Looking at the picture.]
Superbe! Magnifique!
Another French Visitor.
Pas grande chose!
[They pass on.]
[The Elderly Party and Young Woman enter, right.]
Elderly Party.
Who’s this young feller?
German Lady.
Wunder-wunder-wunderschön!
Elderly Party.
[Consulting catalogue.]
Wunder-wunder-wunderschön! St. George
And Dragon! He’s some dressy for a saint!
And, ef they haven’t left the dragon out!
I allus had a notion I should like
To see one!
Young Woman.
[Beckoning on the left.]
To see one! Auntie! Over here!
Elderly Party.
[Joining the Young Woman. Scrutinizes an unseen masterpiece.]
To see one! Auntie! Over here! Do tell!
Is that a dragon? Mercy, ain’t he plain!
Laura.
Cattle! Why don’t they stay in home-pastures!
Not come and trample down Elysian fields!
[Notices German Lady still enraptured.]
Well, on my word, does she intend to spend
The whole day, wunderschöning here? I beg
Your pardon!
German Lady.
Your pardon! Fräulein?
Laura.
Your pardon! Fräulein? You are not, as you
May think, transparent!
German Lady.
[Apologetically, moving away.]
May think, transparent! Fräulein!
Laura.
May think, transparent! Fräulein! Thanks. The Louvre
Contains some other works of interest!...
The creature acts as if she thought she owned
This portrait!
[Jealously.]
Young Man with Glove.
[Slightly bored.]
This portrait! Oh, ta, ta!
Laura.
[Agitated.]
This portrait! Oh, ta, ta! What’s that!
It seemed to move, to say—
Young Man with Glove.
It seemed to move, to say— Oh, ta, ta, ta!
[Unable to believe the evidence of her senses, Laura resumes work. Teacher and Class enter from the left.]
Teacher.
[Dictating from Baedeker.]
It seemed to move, to say— Oh, ta, ta, ta! Giorgione’s work.
Take notes. “A Rustic Festival.”
Class.
[Mechanically, taking notes.]
Giorgione, Rustic Festival.
Teacher.
[Dictating.]
Remark the depth and warmth of coloring,
Rich treatment of the landscape!
Youngest Pupil.
[Looking at the picture.]
Rich treatment of the landscape! I don’t see
The landscape!
Teacher.
The landscape! Well, it’s here!
[Indicating Baedeker, then glances up at picture.]
The landscape! Well, it’s here! Oh, wait a bit!
[Turns over leaves, finding place.]
The After-Dinner Concert.... Magdalen
With Ointment.... Here we are. Young Man in
Black with Glove.
Some of the Class.
[Mechanically, taking notes.]
Black with Glove. Young Man in Black Glove.
Others.
Black Young Man in Glove!
The Oldest Pupil.
Black Young Man in Glove! What must we say
Of this?
Teacher.
[Dictating.]
Of this? “An admirable portrait....”
Class
An admirable portrait.
Youngest Pupil.
An admirable portrait. Please. Portrait
Of whom?
Oldest Pupil.
[Glancing up at picture.]
Of whom? Why, Portrait of a Man!
Class.
[Glancing up at picture.]
Of whom? Why, Portrait of a Man! Of course!
Teacher.
[Consulting Baedeker.]
No, no. “An admirable portrait of
His Middle Period.”
Class.
[Writing.]
His Middle Period.” His Middle Period.
Oldest Pupil.
How much must we admire this: very much?
Teacher.
Marked with but one star, no; not very much.
In the Salon Carré, admire, of course.
One star, more admiration than for those
Without one. But unstinted raptures keep
For double-stars. For instance, this one, here....
[Leading to the right.]
St. Catharine—Correggio. All take notes.
Of which Vasari says—
Youngest Pupil.
[Lingering.]
Of which Vasari says— We don’t have time
To see the pictures!
Teacher.
[Wearily.]
To see the pictures! How can I help that?
An hour is all we have to do the Louvre!
“Of which Vasari says....” Take notes!
Laura.
“Of which Vasari says....” Take notes! Barbarians! Of all
The hordes, nose-glued to Baedekers, that pass,
Scarce one is worthy to lift eyes to thee,
O masterpiece of masterpieces!
Young Man with Glove.
O masterpiece of masterpieces! Oh, ta, ta!
Laura.
Good Heavens, there it goes again ... ta, ta!
Absurd. I’m dreaming. Eyesight overtaxed,
Nerves play me false. To work again. Right hand
A patch of light, significant that seems
To follow whither eyes direct, those eyes
Alive with challenge, charm! His gracile ease,
As on the parapet he leans, denotes
No haste. We catch him unawares. Near by
Some interlocutor—by which I mean,
God help me!—interlocutress, for whom
He feels a more than common interest!
Oh, for a miracle. Would that those lips
Might break the seal of centuries for me
To learn his secret!
Young Man with Glove.
To learn his secret! Oh, ta, ta!
Laura.
To learn his secret! Oh, ta, ta! He lives,
Moves, speaks! It is too much to bear! Help! Help!
[Runs off, left, crying for help.]
Gardien.
[Hurrying on from the right.]
Au secours! Au secours!
[Seeing nothing demanding his services, he dusts the bench with his handkerchief.]
The Husband.
[Entering from the left.]
Do come!
The Wife.
[Following, looking back, to the left.]
Do come! But that poor girl in trouble!
The Husband.
[Taking his wife’s arm and steering her, right.]
Do come! But that poor girl in trouble! Well,
Don’t look! Don’t meddle with.... How dare you, sir!
[Bumping into Gardien who is going to the left.]
Gardien.
M’sieur! Mille pardons!
The Husband.
Certainly not. You ought to be discharged!
[Going to the right, sees a picture further on, exclaims.]
Certainly not. You ought to be discharged! Bless my soul!
That red-head hussy yonder, doing up
Her hair, while someone, obviously a man,
Holds up two looking-glasses! Shameless thing!
[Putting up eyeglass to get a better view.]
The Wife.
Oh, exquisite! A Titian!
The Husband.
Oh, exquisite! A Titian! A disgrace!
If this is what art’s coming to—!
The Wife.
If this is what art’s coming to—! My dear,
That’s an Old Master!
The Husband.
That’s an Old Master! Old enough to know
Much better. I shall write a letter to
The Times about it!
[Exclaims, as the Young Man with Glove, leaning forward, knocks his hat over one eye.]
The Times about it! What a draught! But where
Can it be coming from!
[Again exclaims, as the Young Man knocks his hat which he just has righted, over the other eye.]
Can it be coming from! And where can it
Be going to! I shall report it! Come!
[He goes to the right, the wife following.]
Young Man with Glove.
[Laughing, emerges from his frame, vaulting neatly over the railing.]
A neat revenge; eh, compari?
Unseen Pictures.
A neat revenge; eh, compari? Bravo!
Bravissimo!
The Woman at her Toilet.
[Enters from the right, gathering some rich drapery about herself.]
Bravissimo! Red-head, indeed, and hussy! I can’t wait
Till closing time, Signore, to express
My warmest gratitude.... I fain would say
My heartfelt, had I but a heart; for this
Your gallant championship!
[Curtseying.]
Young Man with Glove.
[Bowing low.]
With pleasure duty lies in your behalf.
Madonna ... Laura Dianti, I believe?
Woman at her Toilet.
A point on which historians divide!
The name suits me as well as any! You,
Signore, were baptized—?
Young Man with Glove.
Signore, were baptized—? In oils alone!
Unsired, came I into this picture-world!
No human mother bore me that I knew!
Even as you I sprang from hand and brain
Of the Vecelli! But what man he used
As manikin to fit my features on,
Have I forgotten, if I ever knew!
As for a name, oft I amuse myself
By filching one from passers-by! To-day
Carlo of the Neroni seems to ring
Not unbecomingly. What think you?
Woman at her Toilet.
Not unbecomingly. What think you? Fine!
From whom derived?
Young Man with Glove.
From whom derived? A letter that I found
Beside this easel. Charley Black, ’tis signed.
Which I translated.... But why do we stand?
My frame why not enter with me awhile?
Woman at her Toilet.
[Hesitating.]
I fear ’twould cause remark!
Unseen Pictures.
[On the left, warning.]
I fear ’twould cause remark! Look out!
[The Woman at her Toilet runs away, right.]
Young Man with Glove.
[Looking toward the left.]
We’re safe. ’Tis only the custodian
Of our security!...
[Leans against wall while Gardien passes across, left to right.]
Of our security!... St. George, come down
From your high horse and fence!
St. George.
[Unseen.]
From your high horse and fence! Sorry,
Dear boy, but there’s a fine for breaking ranks
In exhibition hours!
[Murmurs of assent from other unseen pictures.]
Young Man with Glove.
In exhibition hours! Oh, very well!
I’ll take a turn among the Later Dutch,
Or through the Spanish School!
[Cries of “Stop him! Stop him!”]
Or through the Spanish School! What can I do?
If I play here you all complain that I
Disturb the Holy Families!
Unseen Pictures.
[In succession.]
Disturb the Holy Families! You do!
Young Man with Glove.
[Whimsically, keeping count.]
See, now! Murillo’s; Rembrandt’s; Raphael’s,
And all the rest!
St. George.
And all the rest! At times, dear boy, you act
Just like a silly human being!
Young Man with Glove.
[Protesting.]
Just like a silly human being! Oh,
St. George!
Several Unseen Pictures.
St. George! ’Tis true!
Woman at her Toilet.
[Coming again toward the Young Man.]
St. George! ’Tis true! Signore, neighbor, friend,
And, strongest bond, co-Titian. Have a care.
I speak for all in saying that, of all,
Are you the highest note, last cry in art
That’s personal!
Young Man with Glove.
[Striving to be modest about it.]
That’s personal! So commentators say!
And who am I that should contradict!
A Gruff Voice.
[On the left.]
’Tis naught so much to brag of, my young blade!
Young Man with Glove.
[Looking in the direction of the Voice.]
Indeed, Poussin’s Diogenes.... It was
Poussin’s Diogenes, I think, that spoke?
Deep, Solemn Voice.
You talk too much for the Salon Carré!
You should be hung among the Moderns!
[Others murmur, as if this were too severe.]
Young Man with Glove.
You should be hung among the Moderns! Oh,
St. Michael! Though you are a Raphael
Touched up a bit, indeed, ’tis said, by—
[Loud cries of “Order! Order!”]
St. George.
Invidious reference to pedigrees
Is barred!
[Loud cries of “Hear, Hear!”]
Young Man with Glove.
Is barred! True. Still I think he should withdraw
The slur of modernism!
St. Michael.
The slur of modernism! I refuse
To enter talking-lists! Sublimest art
Is ever silent! I have spoken!
Woman at her Toilet.
Is ever silent! I have spoken! Hush!
Provoke him not! Remember, he’s a Saint!
Young Man with Glove.
[Laughing, gracefully yields the point.]
Heaven be thanked, I’m secular! One gets
So much more harmless pleasure out of art!
But, to our muttons. You were saying, what?
Something about my Middle Period!
Woman at her Toilet.
Sir, long ago it was constated, you
Express most fully life-in-art to life
That speaks in terms of life, not terms of art!
[Cries of “Hear, hear!”]
St. George.
That hits the nail where rarely nail is hit
By womenkind!
Woman at her Toilet.
By womenkind! My thanks, St. George! ’Tis not
My own, though!... Then, I’m just a bit that way
Myself!
[General laughter.]
[To the Young Man.]
Myself! Sublimest heights you may not scale....
St. Michael.
No; not by many a league!
Young Man with a Glove.
No; not by many a league! I quite admit
My single-starred estate!
[General laughter.]
My single-starred estate! I would not brag,
By that same token, though, am I not, well,
More popular than others I could name
In this collection?
St. Michael.
In this collection? I don’t understand
A word he says what time he tries to talk
St. George’s English.
St. George.
St. George’s English. Oh, not mine! Echoes
Of text-book, tourist jargon, student slang!
Woman at her Toilet.
[Drawing the Young Man forward.]
Listen. I fear not, as our neighbors do,
Your frolic humor, lifelike charm, may bring
Our cinquecento into disrepute.
’Tis for yourself I plead!
Young Man with a Glove.
[Puzzled.]
’Tis for yourself I plead! You plead for me,
Madonna?
Woman at her Toilet.
Madonna? Aye. And for another!
Young Man with a Glove.
Madonna? Aye. And for another! Who...?
Woman at her Toilet.
A woman!
Young Man with a Glove.
A woman! Dio mio! Dare I hope...?
[Advancing toward her.]
Woman at her Toilet.
[Retreating.]
Ah, no, no, no! Misread me not! Oh, who
Are you and I to play at life and love—
To breathe, even, of mysteries that lie
Our shadow-world of canvas, paint, beyond?
Young Man with a Glove.
[Musingly.]
And yet, if only dimly sensed, why not?
Woman at her Toilet.
[Always with increasing feeling.]
O fateful power, poised in bold relief
Against your dusky background, so to seem
Alert into a world of flesh and blood
To spring!
Young Man with a Glove.
[With growing life-quality.]
To spring! Yet, for one human hour, why not!
Come, let us forth into the sunlit groves,
Where birds are singing, you and I?
[Holding arms out toward her.]
Woman at her Toilet.
Where birds are singing, you and I? For you
It would be death!
Young Man with a Glove.
It would be death! With you, why not?
Woman at her Toilet.
It would be death! With you, why not? Alas!
Ser Tiziano in another mood
Contrived me! You clean-cut may break away,
Our prison roam at will!
Young Man with a Glove.
[Laughing.]
Our prison roam at will! A fiction! Hark:
Outposts of Renaissance I cannot pass!
Woman at her Toilet.
But I only a few steps may achieve.
And, see! the damask how I tear away!
[Drawing drapery closer about herself.]
Young Man with a Glove.
My strength shall draw you, draw you, draw,
All barriers across!
Woman at her Toilet.
[Almost yielding.]
We should be missed!
Young Man with a Glove.
What then? “Another scandal in the Louvre!
Two masterpieces missing, raped, no doubt,
By some trans-ocean plutocrat!” While hand
In hand we fare to Italy!
Woman at her Toilet.
[Looking toward the right.]
Oh! The patrol!
[The two duck behind the bench as the Gardien passes through, right to left, then rise.]
[Just then the German Lady enters from the right.]
Young Man with a Glove.
Heavens! Here comes the Wunderschöner! Hide!
[They duck again.]
German Lady.
[Begins, rapturously.]
Ach, wunder....
[Breaks off, rubs eyes, staring at frame.]
[Teacher and Class enter from the right, the Youngest Pupil leading.]
Youngest Pupil.
Ach, wunder.... Please, I want another look
At the Young Man with.... Why, he isn’t there!
Teacher.
Nonsense! Of course he’s there!
Class.
[Echoing.]
Of course he’s there!
Youngest Pupil.
But, look!
Teacher.
He must be there! It says so here! In Baedeker!
German Lady.
[Loyally, going to the left.]
Ach, Wunderschön!
Teacher.
[Leading the way back, right.]
Ach, Wunderschön! Come, come!
Youngest Pupil.
[Lingering, unconvinced.]
He must have just stepped out!
[The Young Man and the Woman rise from their hiding-place.]
Young Man with a Glove.
He must have just stepped out! So few there are
To whom we bear a real message.... Come!
In native Italy fullness of life
Awaits us! Oh, once more to be where first
We saw the light!
Woman at her Toilet.
The light saw us, you mean!
Young Man with a Glove.
One time were man and woman we, altho
Till now have I denied it, knew it not!
Woman at her Toilet.
Ah, no, no, no!
Young Man with a Glove.
Ah, no, no, no! Already feel you not
A quickening? A something here?
[Hand on heart.]
Woman at her Toilet.