Scene I.
(A place in The Darker Realm. The background forms a cave-like enclosure or gallery with an arched roof composed of massive blocks of fitted stone. At the center of the enclosure is a tall well-sweep with other gigantic structures. Chains and tubes range along the walls and ceiling. At the right there is an opening into one of the larger conduits, and over the opening a trap-door is held up diagonally by a long dusty rope with a pulley attaching it to the wall above. From above this opening dangles a cord that floats out tensely, showing that a strong current of air is coming down through the conduit and is flowing out into the gallery. Near the front a foot-bridge crosses a gulley in the floor of the passage; one can see the glint of the water flowing below. At the left, high up on the wall, juts forth a crane and on this hangs an iron lantern from which a sickly light is given forth. This is almost the only center of light in the place, though it is possible to see that there is some kind of a lamp beyond the half-open door of a windowless hut which is dimly perceived at the back of the gallery. Also, above the foot-bridge, there is a flue in the ceiling, and through this flows downward a faint, pale light, almost imperceptible, like the dimmest twilight. At the back of the gallery, arched openings on either side lead to passages of impenetrable blackness.
From the door of the hut a young girl emerges and passes across the gallery. She hums a strain of the hymn Varina, and as she comes along, she touches the wall lightly with her white finger tips and walks with a hesitating step as if the floor were slippery, or as if she were accustomed to find her way more by the sense of touch than by that of sight. She is a slender and delicate looking girl, and the pupils of her eyes are large and dark as if they were trying to gather all the light they could. Her garment is a poor, dull-colored thing, and her face and her two hands are the only spots of pure white in the whole picture. She comes forward slowly, touching the wall sensitively and sings, as she approaches, in a voice like a soft, sweet flute, and yet more pathetic than any words can describe.)
(She comes forward to the bridge and looks down into the water.)
(She looks up toward the flue; the dim radiance there falls like a halo upon her head. She whispers:)
Angelica—“Saints immortal!” I wonder what “saints immortal” may be!
(She looks around wonderingly and then looks down at her hand and turns a ring upon her finger, and then holds it up to the pale light from above, and smiles as she sings the second line of the stanza.)
(Then she turns and takes in long breaths of the air from the fresh current, lifting her shoulders as if she enjoyed the mere pleasure of breathing.)
(She rests her face upon her hand meditatively.)
Angelica—This air—it must be the “everlasting spring” that mother sings about, it is so sweet!—for when I ask mother what “spring” is, she says it is where the air is fresh and sweet. Ah, yes! I would rather be out here, rather than in the close room, since mother is so sad and will not talk with me. Here the air comes rushing down the conduit and pours out into the gallery and fills me with such joy that I can scarcely breathe enough of it! I breathe and breathe it in! But—(she stops, listening, and holds her hand to her heart) surely, surely that is Jean’s step! It comes nearer! It turns down the Branch of Blind Alleys. It is, it is! Jean! Jean! (Then with an effort to gain composure of tone—) Why, Jean, is that you? (A boyish-looking fellow comes forward; he is dressed in workman’s clothes and has all the marks of sordid labor upon his frame. His body is muscular but his complexion shows the pallor that suggests the cellar-grown plant. His eyes glow, however, with happy expectancy as he moves swiftly toward Angelica and takes her hands in his.)
Jean—Angelica! Do not pretend you did not hear my step; I saw you listening. I could tell from the very Court of Miracles what you were thinking of if I saw only the bend of your head! But look you! I am here! Jean! It is Jean!
Angelica—I know. (She turns and seems to make up her mind to throw all ruse aside; with a gesture of welcome she cries:) Ah, I thought I was never to see you again!
Jean—I thought so, too. I have wished to see you!
Angelica—Why, then, were you so long?
Jean—I was working with old Jacques over in the Old Freestone Branch beyond the Court of Miracles.
Angelica—(She shudders.) The Old Freestone? O, why did you go there?
Jean—Some one must go, Angelica, and I was the youngest and strongest. If I had not gone, old Jacques would have had to as he was the only one that understood the buttressing of the ancient wall, and I wouldn’t have had old Jacques made to go for worlds!
Angelica—No indeed, old Jacques that saved your life and pulled you out of the Great River!
Jean—Yes, dear old fellow! And it’s dangerous over there. You know they made the walls of the Old Freestone Branch out of blocks of stone so large that when a break starts and they begin to fall, it is not safe to be working among them.
Angelica—Yes, I know; Didon was lost there. Ah, poor Didon!
Jean—Yes, alas! But do not think of Didon; think of me! I am here again! I came to see you!
Angelica—But not for so long, for so long! And all the time I feared and wondered what I should do if you should fall from a bridge into the water, or should be caught beneath a break, or should have illness, or should get drawn into the quicksands.
Jean—Ah, do not think of these things! Think only of the pleasant side! Think that we are together!
Angelica—But how can I think of this when I remember that any moment you may be snatched away from me and I never see you again! Do you not remember how when a stone in the wall crumbled away and a rivulet burst into the new tunnel that the Triangle Branch men were working on, and you with them, how the rivulet all in a moment swelled into a stream that rushed forward with a roar we could hear away here, and how it tore down walls and bridges and air flues in its course, and how you nearly got caught in it? You barely escaped, Jean!
Jean—Yes, I know it, Angelica.
Angelica—And ah, if you should fall beneath a break, or get caught in a quicksand, if you should leave us quite alone, mother and me! Wild terror comes over me every time I try to think it out.
Jean—Do not try to think it out, dear Angelica. Put your hand on my arm. Feel how strong it is! I shall work for you.
Angelica—Now that father is gone, I may need to have you work for me.
Jean—Your father gone? Where?
Angelica—Three days now he has not come home.
Jean—But he will surely come.
Angelica—Yes, if he be not caught in a break!
Jean—Well, if he comes not, I shall still be here, strong and loving.
Angelica—(Timidly) Loving?
Jean—Yes, loving; why not? Have I not always been loving? From the first day I ever came into the Great River Branch and pushed my tool-cart along with old Jacques and saw you sitting there on the doorstep of your hut, saw you there but a minute when your mother called you in because she heard strange voices outside and the jingle of tools,—from that day have I not loved you and thought of you as my most sacred dream?
Angelica—(Clasping her hands) Have you, oh have you? Have I been to you like a dream?
Jean—And did you not think of me at all? Do you not remember that day too?
Angelica—I do not remember that day, I think, but I remember other days. I remember when we played together down where the Branch of Blind Alleys juts into the Great River Gallery. I had caught a little lizard and kept it to play with and called it Prince, and along came Didon, heedless, cruel Didon, and he gave my poor Prince one knock on the head. What is a lizard? he cried, and you—do you remember what you did?
Jean—Well, what I did was to give Didon a good thrashing. I beat him well and he deserved it.
Angelica—(Sighing) Ah, poor Didon!
Jean—Do not say “poor Didon.”
Angelica—But alas, he suffered and lost his life in the War, and all because of my Prince, my poor little dead lizard. Yes, that was really the cause of the war, wasn’t it? The Blind Alley men taking up my side and the Triangle men and the Great River men on his, and then the fight going on and taking in other Branches besides.
Jean—So we got tired of the lizard-play!
Angelica—We did indeed.
Jean—Yet it was good play while it lasted, wasn’t it?
Angelica—Yes, it was good play while it lasted, but I have noticed that the things we play with get so after awhile that we do not care to play with them anymore. Have you noticed that?
Jean—No, I never did; but then, you are the great noticer.
Angelica—But I think you are!
Jean—Well, out of our lizard-play came the war, which went on——
Angelica—Until the Break!
Jean—Yes, the Great Break when the wall fell in and poor Didon was crushed under the toppled mason-work.
Angelica—That made all our wars seem useless and small, didn’t it? But do you think that the great pressure of the crowd of boys and men from the Branch of Blind Alleys that took up your side and fought with Didon’s crew, made the gallery wall cave in? Or did it just cave in of itself?
Jean—How can I tell? It may have been either, or both. The walls are always falling in the Old Freestone galleries.
Angelica—It is this never knowing the causes of things that worries me! Now when the water began to flow right in to the top of the Main Cross Tunnel and all the men were so frightened by that, as if the whole Darker Realm were to come to an end, why were they so much more frightened than usual? And I overheard them talking about a diver going down from above. Now if a diver was to go down from above to stop the hole, where was he to dive from?
Jean—O, the explanation of all that is easy enough. I think there must have been a river above there and a bridge.
Angelica—A bridge? (in astonishment) a bridge above there? A bridge like this one I am standing on? Are there bridges above us? Is there a world above with bridges and galleries and air-conduits and lizards and lizard-wars and—and breaks?
Jean—(Laughing) O no! I am certain that if there were a world above, there wouldn’t be any wars and breaks in it!
Angelica—I am sure I don’t see how you know that. You can’t imagine anything else for the people to do but roll tool-cars, clean pipes, and repair breaks, can you?
Jean—I can’t imagine it, no; but I am sure if there were a world above it would not be so sad and dark as this.
Angelica—Dark? What does that mean?
Jean—Isn’t this The Darker Realm?
Angelica—Oh! I see! And yet I am not sure that I do see!
Jean—Why, dark is everything that isn’t light, everything that isn’t lamps and cressets, everything that isn’t your face, everything that isn’t you! If there’d been a world above, you’d have been in it, not here!
Angelica—(With enthusiasm) Ah, I wish I had!
Jean—(In a surly voice) I don’t.
Angelica—Why not?
Jean—Because I want you here—here with me!
Angelica—Oh, yes, that!—but if we both could go to The World Above?
Jean—Don’t talk such nonsense; of course there isn’t any such thing, and what’s the use of bothering our heads with puzzling and wondering?
Angelica—Yes, that’s just it, wondering! I can’t help wondering. There’s something in my head that goes on wondering and wondering. My wondering-machine will keep going, and I cannot stop it. It makes me very unhappy and yet I do not wholly want it to stand still. Now, I can’t help wondering what these fearful things mean, these breaks. Do you never wonder?
Jean—Wonder? No. I wonder at nothing. I don’t see anything to wonder at.
Angelica—Now, I wonder all the time. I want to know the meanings of things. What makes this water flow, what makes the lamp burn, who made this cloth of my dress, these walls and foot-paths, the cressets and windlasses and charcoal-burners. I asked mother if she made the cloth and she said “no.” I said, “who did?” She said, “how should I know?” I said, “where did it come from?” She said, “Father brought it.” “Where did he get it,” I said. She said, “I didn’t ask him,”—and not a word more would she say. Where do my dresses come from, this cloth-stuff, do you know? Do they not come from The World Above?
Jean—Why, no. They just come from your mother. She sews them for you. And the stone in your precious ring, that Jacques calls an opal, do you know where it came from?
Angelica—(Eagerly) From The World Above?
Jean—(Very impatiently) Oh, no! I gave it to you. It came from me. I loved you and I gave it to you.
Angelica—But where did you get it?
Jean—I found it in the Court of Miracles at the edge of the Great Pool, of course, where we are always finding things. We never found anything that was not found there, of course, for that is the Great Place-of-Finding-Things.
Angelica—Do you believe that?
Jean—Believe what? That this is the Great Place-of-Finding-Things? Why, of course! How can you keep from believing what you feel with your very own hands and hear with your own ears? When I took hold of the scoop something slipped over the handle and I felt a little knob-like thing go between my fingers. I caught at it and cleaned away what was tangled around it and gave it to you.
Angelica—And I washed it and washed it and washed it, and made it clean, quite clean, and lo, it was a ring just right for my finger, for my finger, finger, finger! (She flourishes her hand joyously with the ring upon it.)
Jean—Let me see it again; let me take it and look at it.
Angelica—Oh, you cannot take it! I cannot be without it one moment, I love it so.
Jean—But let me, me only, look at it one moment. (He snatches at her hand and draws it to him and kisses it impulsively.)
Angelica—I thought you wanted to look at the ring!
Jean—I forget the ring when I think of you, dearest Angelica. Can’t you forgive that? Can’t you? Can’t you?
Angelica—I would try, perhaps; but now, look at it! look! (She holds up the ring to the lamp’s light.) See the wonders in it?
Jean—I see no wonders; it is just a little round drop of dull white set on a band of gold.
Angelica—Little round drop of dull white indeed! See there! See there! Do you not see a streak of something, like the pain that now and then shoots down through one’s shoulders?
Jean—No, there is no streak in it.
Angelica—But now, now, see it! Try it in this light, in this pale, pure light that shines down through the flue from above.
Jean—Ah, yes, I do see it now; now that you hold it in the light of the flue, I see it; now, a darting of red!
Angelica—Of red? What is red?
Jean—O wonderful eyes!—Don’t you know that red is a color?
Angelica—A color? What is a color?
Jean—Why, a color is—is, well, for instance, red; look at it!—that is a color.
Angelica—But it changes. Is that, now—see!—is that a color too? Can you not catch the other dartings?
Jean—Yes, I see; that is blue; yes, that is a color, too. Now I can see yellow, orange and purple; these are the colors; all the colors there are, are here.
Angelica—How do you know, now, that they are all the colors there are?
Jean—I know because these are all the colors I have ever seen, and of course, then, they are all there are.
Angelica—But how did they come there? What put the dartings in there? What are they for?
Jean—Come there? What for? What silly questions! Why, this is an opal, and it is the nature of opals to have these colors in them and to dart about in this way.
Angelica—And are these beautiful colors to be seen only in the opal?
Jean—Of course, where else should one see them? Did you ever see them anywhere else, child?
Angelica—No, I never did, but I thought perhaps you might, since you have traveled so far, so far beyond the Great Cloaca Branch and the Branch of Blind Alleys and even beyond the Great Cross. (She holds the opal in the light and turns and turns it.) It seems to me that I dimly perceive other dartings than these you have named, although perhaps I am mistaken. But it is very beautiful and I love it. (A pause.) Well, well, it is all a mystery, I see I must have a new pair of eyes or a new sense of some kind to know all about this wonderful thing you call color. (Brightening) But I know I shall have them some day, else why did I get the opal and how was it that I found the shooting, pain-like rays in my opal? Jean, if I had made the world, I would have made it all opals! I wish I could make a world! O, but everything should be beautiful if I could make life!
Jean—(Patronizingly and coaxingly) Make life? What do you mean by that?
Angelica—Why, make life, make things and people! Oh, if I could but make things and people!
Jean—I don’t see what you could do with them when you made them.
Angelica—Oh, I would have them live and laugh and have lights, lights, all they wanted of lights!
Jean—But what for?
Angelica—Oh, because I love people and I love lights. I could never have too many lights. Oh, how I love them! When I wake up from a long sleep and see that mother has set the lamp a-burning I could shout for joy. Then if I had lights enough, I know I would not have to bring my opal out to the bridge to make it throw forth all its dartings. If I could make a world, I would have things very different from this.
Jean—Should I be there?
Angelica—Oh, yes, you would be there but (with just a little touch of coquetry) I should not pay much attention to you. (Seriously) I should be so busy looking around at all the beautiful opal-colored things. Now for myself I would have a skirt of red and a sacque of blue and the walls of my hut should be covered with red and purple all swaying and melting as in the ring, and I would have the shades that sweep from color to color, the softest for my ceiling and beneath my feet the richest and warmest. Thus should my world have been, had I made the world!
Jean—Do not worry your mind with these visions and wonderings, dearest Angelica. You will become so excited you will be ill, dear.
Angelica—Oh no, I shall not be ill, I shall be well! It makes me almost believe that there is such a world above when I think of how well I could be if I were in it. For, why did I have eyes that long for light, light, more light, if I was never to have more light?
Jean—Dear Angelica! (soothingly.)
Angelica—No, no, do not speak against it! I know there is a world above. I know it. I feel it. O, let us go there! Let us go up through this flue and find it!
Jean—Why, Angelica, if there had been such a thing, your mother would have told you and old Jacques would surely have known about it.
Angelica—Then I shall ask mother,—and now! For I feel that I cannot wait; I must know. I shall ask mother; I shall make her tell.
Jean—And shall I go and ask old Jacques?
Angelica—Do you do so, and come to tell me again. Come here in an hour, here to the Bridge. Good bye, Jean! Good bye! We must find The World Above!
(Jean watches Angelica go into the hut and then passes slowly across the gallery and disappears in one of the Blind Alleys.)