Read Complete Works of James Joyce Online
Authors: Unknown
RICHARD
(Holds out his hands.)
Feel those hands.
ROBERT
(Taking his hands.)
Yes. Mine are stronger. But I meant strength of another kind.
577
RICHARD
(Gloomily.)
I think you would try to take her by violence.
(He withdraws his hands slowly.)
ROBERT
(Rapidly.)
Those are moments of sheer madness when we feel an intense passion for a woman. We see nothing. We think of nothing. Only to possess her. Call it brutal, bestial, what you will.
RICHARD
(A little timidly.)
I am afraid that that longing to possess a woman is not love.
ROBERT
(Impatiently.)
No man ever yet lived on thus earth who did not long to possess — I mean to possess in the flesh — the woman whom he loves. It is nature’s law.
RICHARD
(Contemptuously.)
What is that to me? Did I vote it?
ROBERT
But if you love... What else is it?
RICHARD
(Hesitatingly.)
To wish her well.
ROBERT
(Warmly.)
But the passion which burns us night and day to possess her. You feel it as I do. And it is not what you said now.
RICHARD
Have you...?
(He stops for an instance.)
Have you the luminous certitude that yours is the brain in contact with which she must think and understand and that yours is the body in contact with which her body must feel? Have you this certitude in yourself?
ROBERT
Have you?
RICHARD
(Moved.)
Once I had it, Robert: a certitude as luminous as that of my own existence — or an illusion as luminous.
ROBERT
(Cautiously.)
And now?
RICHARD
If you had it and I could feel that you had it — even now...
ROBERT
What would you do?
RICHARD
(Quietly.)
Go away. You, and not I, would be necessary to her. Alone as I was before I met her.
578
ROBERT
(Rubs his hands nervously.)
A nice little load on my conscience!
RICHARD
(Abstractedly.)
You met my son when you came to my house this afternoon. He told me. What did you feel?
ROBERT
(Promptly.)
Pleasure.
RICHARD
Nothing else?
ROBERT
Nothing else. Unless I thought of two things at the same time. I am like that. If my best friend lay in his coffin and his face had a comic expression I should smile.
(With a little gesture of despair.)
I am like that. But I should suffer too, deeply.
RICHARD
You spoke of conscience... Did he seem to you a child only — or an angel?
ROBERT
(Shakes his head.)
No. Neither an angel nor an Anglo-Saxon. Two things, by the way, for which I have very little sympathy.
RICHARD
Never then? Never even... with her? Tell me. I wish to know.
ROBERT
I feel in my heart something different. I believe that on the last day (if it ever comes), when we are all assembled together, that the Almighty will speak to us like this. We will say that we lived chastely with one other creature...
RICHARD
(Bitterly.)
Lie to Him?
ROBERT
Or that we tried to. And He will say to us: Fools! Who told you that you were to give yourselves to one being only? You were made to give yourselves to many freely. I wrote that law with My finger on your hearts.
RICHARD
On woman’s heart, too?
ROBERT
Yes. Can we close our heart against an affection which we feel deeply? Should we close it? Should she?
RICHARD
We are speaking of bodily union.
579
ROBERT
Affection between man and woman must come to that. We think too much of it because our minds are warped. For us today it is of no more consequence than any other form of contact — than a kiss.
RICHARD
If it is of no consequence why are you dissatisfied till you reach that end? Why were you waiting here tonight?
ROBERT
Passion tends to go as far as it can; but, you may believe me or not, I had not that in my mind — to reach that end.
RICHARD
Reach it if you can. I will use no arm against you that the world puts in my hand. If the law which God’s finger has written on our hearts is the law you say I too am God’s creature.
(He rises and paces to and fro some moments in silence. Then he goes towards the porch and leans against the jamb. Robert watches him.)
ROBERT
I always felt it. In myself and in others.
RICHARD
(Absently.)
Yes?
ROBERT
(With a vague gesture.)
For all. That a woman, too, has the right to try with many men until she finds love. An immoral idea, is it not? I wanted to write a book about it. I began it...
RICHARD
(As before.)
Yes?
ROBERT
Because I knew a woman who seemed to me to be doing that — carrying out that idea in her own life. She interested me very much.
RICHARD
When was this?
ROBERT
O, not lately. When you were away.
(Richard leaves his place rather abruptly and again paces to and fro.)
ROBERT
You see, I am more honest than you thought.
RICHARD
I wish you had not thought of her now — whoever she was, or is.
580
ROBERT
(Easily.)
She was and is the wife of a stockbroker.
RICHARD
(Turning.)
You know him?
ROBERT
Intimately.
(Richard sits down again in the same place and leans forward, his head on his hands.)
ROBERT
(Moving his chair a little closer.)
May I ask you a question?
RICHARD
You may.
ROBERT
(With some hesitation.)
Has it never happened to you in these years — I mean when you were away from her, perhaps, or travelling — to... betray her with another. Betray her, I mean, not in love. Carnally, I mean... Has that never happened?
RICHARD
It has.
ROBERT
And what did you do?
RICHARD
(As before.)
I remember the first time. I came home. It was night. My house was silent. My little son was sleeping in his cot. She, too, was asleep. I wakened her from sleep and told her. I cried beside her bed; and I pierced her heart.
ROBERT
O, Richard, why did you do that?
RICHARD
Betray her?
ROBERT
No. But tell her, waken her from sleep to tell her. It was piercing her heart.
RICHARD
She must know me as I am.
ROBERT
But that is not you as you are. A moment of weakness.
RICHARD
(Lost in thought.)
And I was feeding the flame of her innocence with my guilt.
ROBERT
(Brusquely.)
O, don’t talk of guilt and innocence. You have made her all that she is. A strange and wonderful personality — in my eyes, at least.
RICHARD
(Darkly.)
Or I have killed her.
ROBERT
Killed her?
581
RICHARD
The virginity of her soul.
ROBERT
(Impatiently.)
Well lost! What would she be without you?
RICHARD
I tried to give her a new life.
ROBERT
And you have. A new and rich life.
RICHARD
Is it worth what I have taken from her — her girlhood, her laughter, her young beauty, the hopes in her young heart?
ROBERT
(Firmly.)
Yes. Well worth it.
(He looks at Richard for some moments in silence.)
If you had neglected her, lived wildly, brought her away so far only to make her suffer...
(He stops. Richard raises his head, and looks at him.)
RICHARD
If I had?
ROBERT
(Slightly confused.)
You know there were rumours here of your life abroad — a wild life. Some persons who knew you or met you or heard of you in Rome. Lying rumours.
RICHARD
(Coldly.)
Continue.
ROBERT
(Laughs a little harshly.)
Even I at times thought of her as a victim.
(Smoothly.)
And of course, Richard, I felt and knew all the time that you were a man of great talent — of something more than talent. And that was your excuse — a valid one in my eyes.
RICHARD
Have you thought that it is perhaps now — at this moment — that I am neglecting her?
(He clasps his hands nervously and leans across toward Robert.)
I may be silent still. And she may yield to you at last — wholly and many times.
ROBERT
(Draws back at once.)
My dear Richard, my dear friend, I swear to you I could not make you suffer.
RICHARD
(Continuing.)
You may then know in soul and body, in a hundred forms, and ever restlessly, what some old theologian, Duns Scotus, I think, called a death of the spirit.
582
ROBERT
(Eagerly.)
A death. No; its affirmation! A death! The supreme instant of life from which all coming life proceeds, the eternal law of nature herself.
RICHARD
And that other law of nature, as you call it: change. How will it be when you turn against her and against me; when her beauty, or what seems so to you now, wearies you and my affection for you seems false and odious?