Free Three Plays: Six Characters in Search of an Author, Henry IV, The Mountain Giants (Oxford World's Classics) by Luigi Pirandello Page B

pity—the terrible pity that I felt for her.
    MOTHER . And he sent me away!
    FATHER . Well provided for in every way, to that man, yes, sir—to set her free from me.
    MOTHER . And to free himself.
    FATHER . Yes, to free myself as well—I admit it. And a great evil came of it. But I acted with a good intention—and more for her than for myself, I swear. [
He folds his arms; then suddenly turning to the
MOTHER ] Did I ever stop looking after you, tell me, did I ever let you out of my sight? Not until he took you away, from one day to the next, without me knowing it, to another town. Because he was so stupid as to misunderstand my pure interest, pure, sir, without the slightest ulterior motive. I watched the new family that was growing up around her with incredible tenderness.
She
can vouch for that. [
Points to the
STEPDAUGHTER ]
    STEPDAUGHTER . And how! When I was still a little girl, little, you know, just so high—with plaits down to my shoulders and drawers longer than my skirt—I used to see him at the school gate when I came out. He came to see how I was growing up …
    FATHER . That’s vicious! Scandalous!
    STEPDAUGHTER . No, why?
    FATHER . Scandalous, scandalous! [
Turning abruptly to the
DIRECTOR
in agitated explanation
] When she went away, sir [
referring to the
MOTHER ], the house suddenly seemed empty. She had been a constant burden; but she filled the house for me. Left alone in those rooms I felt like some mindless fly. That boy there [
indicating the
SON ] brought up away from home—I don’t know—when he came back, he no longer seemed to be mine. With no mother to be a link between us, he grew up by himself, quite alone, having no intellectual or emotional connection with me. And then (it may be strange, sir, but that’s how it is) I became at first fascinated and then gradually attracted by that family of hers which I had brought into being. The thought of them began to fill the void that I felt around me. I needed, I really needed to believe she was at peace,busy with the simple cares of life, lucky in being away from me, far from the complex torments of my soul. And to prove it I would go to see this child as she came out of school.
    STEPDAUGHTER . That’s true. He used to follow me in the street, smiling, and when I got home he’d wave his hand to me—like this. I looked at him with wide eyes, suspicious. I didn’t know who he was. I told Mother, and she must have understood immediately. [
The
MOTHER
nods agreement
] At first, for several days, she stopped sending me to school. When I did go back, there he was at the school gate—looking silly—holding a large paper package. He came up to me, patted me, and took from the package a lovely big Florentine straw hat with a border of rosebuds—just for me!
    DIRECTOR . But this is all anecdote, narrative.
    SON [
scornfully
]. Of course. Literature, literature.
    FATHER . Literature, you say! This is life, sir. Passion.
    DIRECTOR . Maybe. But it’s not for the stage.
    FATHER . Agreed, sir. Because all this only leads up to the action. And I don’t say it should be staged. In fact, as you can see, [
pointing to the
STEPDAUGHTER ] she’s no longer a little girl with plaits on her shoulders …
    STEPDAUGHTER . And drawers showing beneath her skirt!
    FATHER . Now comes the drama, sir. New, complex …
    STEPDAUGHTER [
sombre, proud, coming forward
]. As soon as my father was dead …
    FATHER [
quickly, leaving her no time to speak
]. The misery of it, sir! They came back here without letting me know, thanks to her stupidity. [
Indicating the
MOTHER ] She hardly knows how to write; but she could have got her daughter to do it, or that boy there, to tell me they were in need.
    MOTHER . You tell me, sir, how I could have known that he felt all this.
    FATHER . That’s just what’s wrong with you. You’ve never been able to imagine any of my feelings.
    MOTHER . After so many years apart, and everything that had happened …
    FATHER . And was it my