One-Act Plays Part 45

PAUL. Mais oui, monsieur.

GERALD. And that's about as far as my French will go. I say, you're not on duty, are you? Vous n'etes pas de garde?

PAUL. Non, monsieur.

GERALD. No, of course you're not. d.a.m.ned silly question to ask. All the same, I wish he'd take a hint. I say. Lord, I've forgotten the French for "have a drink." Besides, he couldn't. It's too late. I'll just do what I came for and go. [_Puts back into pocket the coin he had taken out._] After all, the fellow's as good a right to be here as I have. I'll have one more shot. N'avez-vous pas des affaires?

PAUL. Mais non, monsieur. Pas ce soir. Je suis en conge.

GERALD. Heaven knows what that means, except that he's a fixture. Oh well, I don't care if he does see me. He'll not know what to make of it, anyhow. [_Up to statue._] Jeanne d'Arc, I'm putting this wreath on your statue. It's an English wreath and it came from England. It's English holly and English ivy and it's supposed to mean that England's sorry for the awful things she did to you and I hope you've forgiven us all. [_He has cap off. Now puts cap on._] I think that's all.

[_Places wreath at statue's feet. Stands erect, salutes, turns._] Hang that French fellow. I suppose he'll think I'm mad. [_GERALD goes down steps and off R. PAUL salutes, then goes up steps to look at the wreath. FRED COLLEDGE, an English private, enters L. Without noticing PAUL, he sits on the steps and lights a cigarette. In the light of his match he sees PAUL, gives a little amused laugh and lies back making himself comfortable, turning up coat-collar, etc. PAUL sees him, and is shocked. Comes down steps._]

PAUL. Monsieur!

FRED. Hullo, c.o.c.key. How are you getting on?

PAUL. Monsieur! This place. These steps. One does not rest upon these steps.

FRED. Ho yes, one does. I'm doing it, so I ought to know.

PAUL. But here, monsieur. Outside the church.

FRED. That's all right. The better the place the better the seat. It ain't a feather-bed in the old house at home, but I've sort of lost the feather-bed 'abit lately.

PAUL. One should not sit on these steps, monsieur.

FRED. You must like that tune, old son, the way you stick to it. And, if you ask me, one should not do a pile of things that one's been doing over here. Take me, now. By rights, I ought to be eating roast beef and plum-pudding to-morrow in Every Street. Third turn on the left below the Mile End Pavilion, but I suppose I'm the same way as you. Going back on the train at 2 A.M. to eat my Christmas dinner in the blooming trenches. That's you, ain't it? And it's me, too. So let's sit down together and do an entente for an hour. Don't talk and I'll race you to where the dreams come from. [_He pulls PAUL down genially beside him._]

PAUL [_sitting_]. I ought not to sit here.

FRED. Ain't these steps soft enough for you?

PAUL. Monsieur, you do not understand. I come from Domremy.

FRED. Do you? I'm Mile End myself. What about it?

PAUL. But Domremy.

FRED. Can't say I'm much the wiser.

PAUL. But here, monsieur. This statue. It is our glorious maid. C'est Jeanne d'Arc.

FRED. Ark, eh? Is that old Noah? [_Gets up to look at statue._]

PAUL [_rising_]. Jeanne d'Arc, monsieur. She--

FRED. Oh, it's a lady, is it? Dressed like that for riding, I reckon.

So that's old Noah's wife, is it? Well, the old c.o.c.k had a bit of taste.

PAUL. It is Jeanne d'Arc. You call her--what do you call her?--Joan of--

FRED. Not guilty. I ain't so forward with the ladies. I don't call them in their Christian names till I've been introduced.

PAUL. You English call her Joan of Arc. The great Jeanne d'Arc. She--

FRED. Wait a bit. Now don't excite me for a moment. I'm thinking. I've heard that name before.

PAUL. But yes, monsieur. In history.

FRED. That's done it. I take you, c.o.c.key. I knew it was a way back.

Well, she's nothing in my life. [_Returns to steps and sits._]

PAUL. She is of my life. I come from Domremy.

FRED. So you said.

PAUL. It was her birthplace.

FRED [_clapping him on the shoulder_]. c.o.c.key, I'm with you now. I know the feeling. Why, we'd a man born in our street that played center-forward for the a.r.s.enal. Makes you proud of the place where you were born. Na pooed now, poor devil. Got his head blown off last month. He was a sergeant in our lot. 'Ave a woodbine?

PAUL. Not here, monsieur.

FRED. Please yourself. Smoke your own. Them black things are no use to me. It's a rum country yours, old son. Light beer and black tobacco.

But you fight on it all right. Oh yes, you fight all right. 'Ere, 'ave a piece of chocolate to keep the cold out. My missus sent me that.

PAUL [_accepting_]. Merci. I hope madame is well.

FRED. Eh? Who's madame? Oh, you mean old Sally. She's all right. In bed. That's where she is. And I'm here. But I could do with a bit of a snooze myself. Come on, let's do a doss together.

PAUL. A doss?

FRED. Yus. Wait a bit. I speak French when I'm 'appy. Je vais dormir.

Vous likewise dormir.

PAUL. I did not come to sleep, monsieur. I came to watch.

FRED. Watch? What do you want to watch for here? No Germans here.

PAUL. C'est la nuit de Noel, monsieur. They say the statues come to life on Christmas Eve, and I am watching here to see if Jeanne will breathe and move and speak to a piou-piou from Domremy.

FRED. You know, old son, you could have scared me once with a tale like that. But not to-day. I've been seeing life lately. If old Nelson got down off his perch, and I met him walking in Trafalgar Square, I'd just salute and think no more about it. You can't raise my hair now.

PAUL. Then you believe that she will speak?

FRED. You go to sleep, c.o.c.key, and there's no knowing what you'll hear. Come on, old sport. Je dormir and vous dormir, and we'll be a blooming dormitory. [_PAUL hesitates, looks at statue, then lies by FRED._] That's right. Lie close. Two can keep warmer than one. Oh well, good-night all. Merry Christmas, and to h.e.l.l with the Kaiser.

[_They sleep. The statue is darkened, and the lay figure of the statue is replaced by the living JEANNE. Bells chime midnight. As they begin, JEANNE awakes. With the first chime, light s.h.i.+nes dimly on the statue.

By the last chime, the statue is in brilliant light and JEANNE stirs on the pedestal and bends to the wreath. She lifts it, wondering._]