menu_book Chapter 5

are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. The fifth act. The scene is unchanged. It is night time. The electric light, softened by shades of rose-coloured silk diffuses a warm glow over the room. The room is empty. There is a knock at the door on the right of the fireplace. The knock is repeated. Then the door is opened and the woman servant enters. Finding nobody, she goes to the door on the left and drawing the portiere

aside, knocks at that door gently. Having knocked, she drops the portiere and retreating a few steps waits. Presently a hand is seen holding the portier and Iris's voice is heard. Yes? The gentleman ma'am. The curtain is disturbed and the hand vanishes. Servant approaching the curtain. I beg your pardon ma'am. Ask him in. The servant goes out at the door at which she entered and returns almost immediately with Lawrence. Lawrence is in evening dress but in place of his town air

he has the bronzed face and slightly stiffened gait of a man accustomed to life in the open. He is wearing an overcoat and carries a felt hat. The servant withdraws leaving him gazing about him in some bewilderment. Slowly surveying the apartment he puts his hat upon the little table behind the settee and is taking off his gloves. When the portier again moves and Iris appears, she remains in the doorway, her back towards him, clutching the curtain. Iris. She turns and faces

him. She is clad entirely in black and wears no jewellery or embellishment of any description. Iris. Iris. He stretches out his arms. For a moment she wavers.

Then with a swift movement, she sweeps across the room and falls upon his breast. Lauren's kissing her passionately. My dearest. My dearest. Iris.

Iris, you are unaltered towards me. Iris, tell me you are quite unchanged. Iris murmuring his name as she clings to him. Laurie, Laurie, Laurie. Kiss me. You don't kiss me.

With a cry, she takes his head between her hands and kisses him. Ah, nothing has occurred to cause you to withdraw your love from me. I only want you to assure me of that. Iris, her arms twined about his neck. I love you. I love you. I love you.

Thank God. Your silence has driven me almost distracted. How could you be so cruel to me? Iris hiding her face against his shoulder. Cruel. Cruel, yes. Cruel. What have I had done to deserve it? Can't understand your motive. Hush. Wait. Not yet. Not yet. Kiss me again.

Lawrence obeying her. Ah, ah, let me look at you. Holding her at arm's length. I am dying to look at you. Iris, her eyes closed.

Ah. You are more beautiful than ever. Oh. Your face, it was always divine, but it has become still more spiritual. Saint-like.

Uh-huh. Lauren's passing his hand over her brow. I see. You've dressed your hair away from your forehead. That is it. You resemble the pictures of angels one was familiar with in childhood. A dark angel. Lawrence observing her dress for the first time.

Why, yes, I didn't notice. Dearest, are you in mourning? Iris supporting herself upon his arm as she looks into his face. Mourning? This is not mourning. It is merely black. nothing but the loss of you would make it morning. Ha! It was my fancy to receive you in this gown.

She turns from him and walks away, a little unsteadily to the fireplace. Lauren's following her. How long may I remain with you? You're not going to send me away quickly.

That depends upon yourself. I am free for the rest of the evening. Depends upon me. Taking off his overcoat and throwing it over the back of the chair on the left of the fireplace. Well, a month would hardly suffice for me to say all I have to say to you.

Returning to her and seizing her hands, which he presses again and again to his lips. Dearest, why? Why did you cease writing to me? The torch of waiting for the infernal post. What could have been your reason? What did you imagine it was? Did you think I was ill? At first, I cabled home to Miss Sylvain, asking her if it was so.

To Fanny Sylvain. And received a laconic reply. Best of health. There my pride stepped in. Oh, the soil of a lonely ranch is favourable to the cultivation of a certain sort of sullen pride. For the agony of it.

Iris, the theories I formed, all of them incorrect, doubtless. Now at last you can blow them away with a breath. Iris plucking at his sleeve Lawrence, have you seen Croker? Lawrence nodding

Last night? Yes, but today? No, he merely left a note in my hotel giving me your message Message? That I was to be here at your lodgings at nine

Nothing further? Lawrence shaking his head Nothing further? And you've met no one else of our acquaintance? Nobody

Smiling. I've been frantically busy trying to make myself resentable for this visit. Those theories of yours, what were they? One of them. Looking about the room, a trace of apprehension in his voice.

Don't tell me there was ever any grounds for it. One of them? Was that your friends had come to your assistance, on condition that you broke faith with a struggling, hard-working fellow in British Columbia. Embracing her.

Forgive me. The chair in which Iris was seated at breakfast in the preceding act is now on the further side of the table, with its back to the fireplace. She releases herself from Lawrence's embrace and sits in this chair, a desperate look in her eyes, stealing herself for her task.

Lawrence leaning over her shoulder. Dearest, can you blame me? As I have said, the distorted ideas solitude gives rise to. Surveying the room once more. And even now I can't help feeling puzzled.

What a charming place you have here. Huh? Did your new lawyer manage to recover for you more than he expected? Struck by a new thought. Iris, surely you have not been angry with yourself for not fulfilling a promise to starve during my absence?

iris her elbows on the table digging her fingers into her hair you you are nearing the truth lawrence furiously his lips close to her ear oh my love my dear love in whatever way these comforts have come to you how could you doubt that i shall be the first to rejoice that you have not after all been waiting for me in privation anxiety iris in a hard level voice gently pushing him from her.

Lawrence, it is about the way in which these comforts have come to me that I want to talk to you. She points to the settee and he seats himself there, a growing fear expressed in his face. Iris sitting upright, her body stiff, her eyes averted,

with the little twist of her mouth. Laurie, this charming place is not mine. No. That is, it is not maintained by myself. By a friend, as I supposed.

By a friend. A pause. A friend. A further pause. Yes, there is something in your theory.

Oh? You mean the condition does exist? The condition obliging you to be untrue to me? Iris? With an effort, she turns her head and meets his gaze.

It is a man-friend. He allows the words to soak into his brain. Then he rises and advances to her. She rises with him and they stand, facing each other, on opposite sides of the table. A man-friend?

Mr Maldonado. Maldonado? He is master here. Master? I... you must be plainer. He intended to take his revenge.

Revenge? He never rested, never rested until... Until... He was able to cry quits with you. Lawrence recoils.

Opening her eyes widely, she gives him a final look of guilt and abasement. Then she collapses suddenly, dropping into her chair and laying her head and outstretched arms upon the table. He continues staring at her for a time. Ultimately, covering his face with his hands, he sinks upon the settee. Iris lifting her head.

No, he never left me alone. There is no palliation in that, perhaps, no excuse, but he never left me alone. Bursting into tears. No, I'm meant to be poor. I'm meant to be poor. She rises and goes to the fireplace, upon which she leans weeping.

He placed some money at my disposal before he quitted Candinabia, opened an account for me without my leave at his bank in London. That was the beginning of it. the beginning of the path leading down to this awful abyss. I remained at Tremezzo barely a fortnight.

I went there, as you know, because it was at Tremezzo we had passed such delicious hours, and I believed your spirit would linger about those quiet spots where we had been constantly together, you with your sketchbook on your knees, eye close to you, both silent and happy. And so it was. Only your presence became a reproach to me instead of a solace, a haunting reproach, for almost from the very moment of my receiving it, my hand accustomed itself to scrawling checks for one object and another in the checkbook he had considerably furnished me with. Therefore, finding my conscience wouldn't let me sit with your spirit in those dear retreats,

I packed my trunks and slunk away to Varice. He has not stirred. She looks at his stricken figure woefully and wanders towards the writing table. Varice. At Varice I found him waiting for me.

Unfortunately, I had written to him informing him of my arrangements, And there he was, in the courtyard of the little hotel, and he came forward to greet me. I confess I was glad to meet him. It was a familiar face. Advancing to the table in the centre. Varis. How many times have I cursed Varis?

He introduced me to some people who were wintering there, people who attached themselves to me, gave me treats, took me upon excursions. These I returned with interest. I felt myself compelled to have a small salon in which to entertain my new acquaintances, I who ought to have been weighing every sou.

And soon, the afternoons growing chilly, I must need sent to Milan for a sable palito to drive in. You see, step by step, he looked on. And throughout all this I was allowing you to believe I was fighting the battle of poverty with you. He stirs slightly. She essays to put a hand upon his shoulder, but falters and draws back.

After I had spent a couple of months at Varys, somebody proposed that we should move to Rome. And to Rome we went, the whole party. Pressing her hands to her brow. Rome, Rome. It was at Rome shortly after we arrived there that I discovered I had overdrawn my account at his bank.

Strangely enough, he was advised of the circumstance by the same mail. Of course, it was the crisis he had been waiting for, and he came to me promptly with his pocketbook in his hand. Then it was that my eyes were opened. Early next day I sold my sables for a third of their value and made off, got out of the city, fled, literally fled,

and there commenced my long term of penury. Lawrence, if you ever forgive me, if I am ever to be forgiven in this world or hereafter, it will be because of my sufferings during the months that followed my flight from Rome. Finding myself hopelessly embarrassed, I set myself to hunt up my old friends in England.

Friends. Ha! The scandal of our travelling abroad together, you and I, furnished them with a ready excuse to deliberately turn their backs upon a woman who had lost fortune and position. Only Fanny and Croker were left. Fanny living on relations at Strandrear, Croker upon his meagre salary as secretary of a club.

Mainly to spare poor Croker the sight of me, I hid myself in cheap seaside resorts out of their season. At the approach of their season crept inland to a stuffy town, all the while sinking further, further into debt and difficulty. At last every device for keeping my head above water was exhausted.

I had even contrived to pledge the tiny income remaining from the wreck of my affairs, and I was without a shilling, absolutely without a shilling, my clothes nearly falling off me, my shoes in holes. I was in London again by that time. It was as if I had come home for the finish.

The horror of it. The back room in the narrow, grimy street, the regular, shameful visit to the pawnbrokers, "'the listless mechanical stroll out in the dusk for air and exercise. "'I, I, your Iris!'

"'At the head of the settee.' "'And one evening,' he was continually tracing me and dogging my steps, "'one evening I met him and let him walk beside me, "'and he handed me the key of this flat. "'Oh!'

"'Turning away and throwing herself upon the divan.' they were waiting for me these pretty rooms they had been kept prepared for me for months that was my deepest disgrace that he seemed to be so certain i should find my way here she lies upon the divan sobbing and moaning laurence removes his hands from his face and looks about him vacantly then he rises and walks stiffly and heavily to the fireplace Laurence staring into the fire, speaking in a toneless, expressionless voice. I... I am intensely sorry for you, Iris.

Iris raising her head, faint and exhausted. Eh? I... I am sincerely sorry for you. Iris putting her disordered hair back from her brow. Sorry for me? I... I knew you would be. I...

I was sure. She leaves the divan and goes a little way towards him. Then, seeing that he does not turn to her, she checks herself. Iris by the settee feebly. Ah, ah, yes.

I ought to have spared you from learning it in this abrupt fashion. Sitting upon the settee, her eyes closed, her head resting against the back of the settee. How pitiless women are, especially to those they love and have injured. Poor Laurie.

But dear, the first few weeks of my stay here were lived in a kind of stupor, inertia. I couldn't think, I couldn't reason. I didn't realize the dishonor, only that I was well housed again. And afterwards? At one moment I would find myself hoping that the shocking news might reach you from other sources,

at the next that my breaking off with you might keep you from returning to England, and that, by some miracle, you'd never hear the truth. At any rate, till I had passed away. And so the months went on and on. Lauren's partly turning to her.

This man, he wished to marry you once. He wishes it still to do him justice. Now that he has, oh, revenged himself upon us, he finds out that he wishes to tie me to him. Lauren's facing her.

He is in earnest. He means it. In earnest, indeed, yes. And I, I suppose I should have acceded to his wish ultimately if this had not happened, if you had not come back. Sitting upright and putting her hands together prayerfully.

Laurie, Laurie. Laurence averting his eyes. Iris. Iris going down upon her knees beside the table and bowing her head upon her clasped hands. Laurie, Laurie, Laurie.

I, I'm very sorry. He turns to the chair on his right and takes up his overcoat. Looking up, she sees his action. Ah. Struggling to her feet.

What are you doing? Lauren's hanging his head. I... I'm very sorry. She retreats, watching his movements. He goes to the table upon which he has deposited his hat.

Oh. He picks up his hat. no he advances always avoiding her gaze and stands before her looking upon the ground you you can't pardon me oh try she waits for a reply but he is silent i had my good resolutions lorry it was through them that we separated if you remember that i refused to go with you

The little good in me then has proved my downfall. That's hard. I am sorry. You could trust me now, dear, if you would but take me back with you. Oh, it would save me from so much that is hateful.

Try. No. You feel you can't? I'm sorry. Iris supporting herself by leaning upon the chair by the writing table.

Have you prospered? Would the home have been ready for me? Yes. Iris dropping her head upon her breast. Oh.

Rallying a little and returning to him. Well, I don't reproach you. If I were a man, I suppose I should do precisely as you are doing. Piteously. Only I thought, as my first wrong step was taken for love of you...

Laurence covering his eyes with his hand. Iris! Iris! Hush! I ought not to have said that to you. That wasn't fair. She cries for a moment softly,

then dries her eyes and offers him her hand. He takes it. By and by, in a little while, send me a photograph of that log house of yours. Merely slip it into an envelope, will you?

He inclines his head. Thanks. I should dearly like to have one, just to see. She withdraws her hand, and after a brief struggle with himself, he goes to the door. Almost involuntarily, she totters after him for a few steps, but he leaves her without looking back. When he has gone, she drops upon the settee and sits there stunned and motionless.

There is a pause, then the door on the right opens quietly, and Maldonado appears. He is still in his morning dress, but his necktie is disarranged, and his eyes are bloodshot and his face livid. He comes to her and lays his hand upon her shoulder. With a cry of terror, she twists her body round and faces him.

Your visitor has departed, eh? She rises and backs away from him towards the left. He follows her. You rack of a woman. You double-faced trill. You liar. Hush, Maldow. Duh.

He seizes her by the arms and hurls her onto the settee. Then he stands over her, his eyes aflame. You. Hush, Maldow. Don't hurt me. Maldow. gripping her wrist he pulls her up from the settee violently maldo maldo don't hurt me maldo he throws her from him again and she stumbles towards the fireplace where she falls

into the chair by the table once more he goes after her uttering ferocious sounds his fingers extended like claws. In the end, he forces himself to quit her side and staggers to the settee, upon which, his rage partially spent, he drops panting. There is silence between them for a time, broken only by her sobs and his heavy breathing. Oh, oh, oh!

Ha, ha, ha. Ho, ho, ho. So, so, so you've lost your second sweetheart, have you? Or am I number two? Which of us do you rank first? You, you know? You have listened, then? Maldonado nodding scowlingly. He cleared out pretty sharply. Your influence is a diminishing quantity, my dear. You must be getting old. How did you learn?

The note you wrote to him this morning and tore up. You should have thought better of committing yourself to paper and then have scattered the scraps of your love letter about your writing table. She glances at the waste paper basket. That dog, Harrington, is running your errands, is he? She rises feebly and goes to the mantelpiece, upon which she leans. Ha! An enjoyable day you've all given me.

I've been in this accursed street for hours, waiting for Mr Lawrence to arrive, or for you to come out. Well, you see, he has left me. Left me for good. Yes, the fellow has more sense than I, after all, a great deal more sense than I. Rising and crossing the room, his hands thrust deep into his pockets. What an escape, what an escape.

Escape? Escape. Wiping the sweat from his brow. Phew, you're the sort of woman that sends a hot-blooded man to the gallows, my dear. No, no, no, no.

You're not too old for that, still. Yes, today reads me a lesson. Partly to himself. Tush, what a lesson, Freddy. What a lesson.

Absorbed in thought, he moves towards the mantelpiece. She shrinks from him and comes to the settee. Oh, don't be frightened. My fit's over. Sitting staring before him, his fingers drumming upon the table.

Only I must be careful in the future, more careful in the future. The risk is too deadly. Iris seated upon the settee, eyeing him wonderingly. Risk? Maldonado again partly to himself.

I have no ambition to figure in the dock someday. That's not my game. To her I come of a race whose qualities are curiously blended, my dear Made up partly of passion, partly of prudence

For some years now, thanks to you, I've been letting the first run away with me Drawing a deep breath I can't afford that Freddy Maldonado can't afford that Bringing his fist down upon the table heavily

Tonight ends it, ends it. Rising and pointing to the door, which admits to the hall. You can go. Go? This place is mine.

Meldo. You'll take your departure. Meldo. You hear? Iris rising.

When? When? Now, I desire to be left alone. Tonight? At once. This is your punishment, my dear. Ah!

To drift back to the condition in which I found you a few months since. This is your reward. Maldonado! Maldonado ringing the bell. Go.

There is a pause during which he continues ringing. Suddenly she stiffens her body, and like one walking in a dream, crosses the room and goes out at the door on the left. The servant appears. Maldonado to the servant.

You'll all leave my service tomorrow, you women. Sir! Wages shall be paid you in lieu of notice, and a present given to you. Thank you, sir. Tell your fellow servants.

Yes, sir. Maldonado listening. That'll do. The servant withdraws as Iris returns wearing a hat and cape and carrying her gloves. Her head still erect, she moves towards the door leading to the hall.

Maldonado playing with his beard. You, er... Upon hearing his voice, she halts abruptly in the centre of the room. You can send for your trinkets and clothes in the morning. After that, let me hear no more of you.

She remains motionless, as if stricken. I've nothing further to say. A slight shiver runs through her frame and she resumes her walk. At the door she feels blindly for the handle. Finding it, she opens the door narrowly and passes out.

Directly the door closes behind her. Maldonado utters a fierce cry and with one movement of his arm sweeps the china and bric-a-brac from the mantelpiece. The fragments are scattered about the room. He overturns the table with a savage kick. Then, raising a chair high in the air, he dashes it to the floor and breaks it into splinters.

The curtain falls finally. End of Act 5 End of Iris by Arthur Wing Pinero