THE GREAT DELUSION A Drama in One Act
FOR FOUR MEN AND FIVE WOMEN
CHARACTERS
DR. JOHN FOREST...........................scientist and spiritist
ELEANOR FOREST............................his wife
HAROLD FOREST.............................his son
SHEILA O'HARA.............................Harold's fiancée
MARGOT GRANT..............................Harold's old nurse
GRAFTON...................................the butler
LADY GRISEL BEATTIE..........
MRS. GARDEN..................guests at a meeting
PROFESSOR DEEMER.............
TIME:
Two years after the close of the World War. A night in spring.
PLACE:
The study in Dr. Forest's home in England.
Notes on Characters and Costumes
DR. FOREST: He is a man of fifty or sixty, tall, thin, gray, with a clean-shaven, pale face, and dark eyes that look out from under heavy brows, burning with a fanatical fervor. His voice varies between a natural, rather gentle, courteous, quiet, unpretentious way of speaking, to a deep, impressive tone of commanding oratory. He holds himself with a quiet dignity, and bows with deferential reserve in response to the remarks of his admirers. When he speaks of Harold and of his own work, he straightens, seems taller, and stares off into space, exultant. Throughout the play it is necessary for the character to catch the elusive hint of satisfaction that the Doctor feels in the role of comforter that he plays. One cannot call his air exactly smug, and yet, if he were not so grave, he would be smug.
MRS. FOREST: She is a slim, quiet woman, about the Doctor's age, with a weary manner. She rouses herself to smile at praise of him, or to anxiously defend the slightest criticism or question of him; the rest of the time she sinks into a weary lassitude. She is gray and quietly dressed in some somber color.
GRAFTON: The butler is a small, thin man, quiet white, with a seamed, smooth-shaven face, dressed in the conventional garb of the butler.
MARGOT: She is an elderly lady, with faded blue eyes, gray hair that shows under her white cap, a dark dress with a long, full skirt, relieved with a white kerchief and cuffs. She seems feeble beyond her years, and piteously distressed when she is aroused from her séance.
PROFESSOR DEEMER: He is a square-jawed, dynamic man of forty-five, dressed in well-cut business clothes, wearing glasses on a dark cord. His movements are definite, and his whole air is that of a successful broker or business man, rather than that of a professor.
MRS. GARDEN: She is a little, elderly lady, brightly dressed in a flowered crêpe, with a bright hat to match. She wears black velvet around her neck to hold her sagging chin. She is deliberately, intensely, and nervously young and alert. She turns quickly from one of the characters to the other, with nervous, bird-like movements.
LADY BEATTIE: She is a slim, grave woman of forty, with a beautiful, sad face. She is dressed in mourning.
SHEILA: She is a beautiful young girl of twenty with a tender, quiet manner, a gentle, motherly way about her most of the time, as though she had gained control of a deep sorrow, and had become the finer person for it. She is grave, self-contained, and thoroughly poised. Her detachment from the rest of the group at the opening of the play is very deliberate and intentional, and should be got over. She is dressed in a simple, becoming afternoon dress of dark blue or black.
HAROLD FOREST: He is a haggard young man of twenty-five, dressed in a private's uniform. He moves slowly, as though he had been long ill, and his pale, haggard face is the face of a person recovering from serious sickness. His speech is rapid, broken, and rather casual, as though many things had meant too much to him for him to be very definite about them. He speaks often with a weary light in his eyes, and a half smile on his lips.
PROPERTIES
GRAFTON: A large silver tray, with letters.
DR. FOREST: A pencil and a scroll of paper.
Chart of Stage Position
STAGE POSITIONS
Up stage means away from the footlights, down stage means toward the footlights, and right and left are used with reference to the actor as he faces the audience. R means right, L means left, U means up, D means down, C means center, and these abbreviations are used in combination, as: U R for up right, R C for right center, D L C for down left center, etc. One will note that a position designated on the stage refers to a general territory, rather than to a given point.
THE GREAT DELUSION
SCENE: The study in the Forest home. It is a dignified and beautiful apartment, with paneled walls, French windows, and a lofty fireplace. Against the R wall, well down stage, is a fireplace with a low-burning fire. Above the fireplace, in the R wall, is a door. In the back wall, U R C and U L C, are French windows. R C is a long, carved table with a wing chair back of it. D L C is a small divan. Against the L wall, about C, is a tall clock, ticking. There are wing chairs D L, below the divan, and well D R, by the fireplace. A small table is against the back wall U C, and a pot of incense burns on it. In front of that table, standing so that it faces up stage and slightly to the R, is an easel, which seems to hold a large oil painting. It is night. The scene is dimly lighted with a low-burning fire, a floor lamp left of the divan, blue moonlight which streams in through the French windows, and, more noticeable than any other light, a strange lavender light which shines on the picture on the easel.]
AT RISE OF CURTAIN: MARGOT, a quiet Scotch body with cap, kerchief and cuffs, is sitting immovable in the armchair behind the table, facing the audience. DR. FOREST is standing R C. In the window U R C, stands SHEILA. Well D L are LADY BEATTIE, MRS. GARDEN, and MRS. FOREST. DEEMER stands C.]
DEEMER. It's been most convincing, Dr. Forest. Most convincing. I came here filled with doubt. I leave, a convert.
LADY BEATTIE. I've no words, Cousin John. No words. You've opened the gates of Heaven to me. If your dear Harold, whom we all mourned, still lives, still remembers, why, so does my boy. So do all the hosts of the departed.
MRS. GARDEN. Yes, we may go rejoicing from now on. What I've learned in this room during the past year has brought the sunshine flooding back into my life. I took off my mourning as you see, and I've resumed life as if there'd been no sense of loss.
DEEMER. But, Dr. Forest—is it not—singular—that your medium brings messages from no one but your son—from no one but Captain Forest?
MRS. FOREST. Ah, you see, Professor Deemer, dear old Margot is so very new to all this sort of thing. At first she was quiet unwilling to try, but when she saw how desperately we wished her to, she consented. She has always been such a quiet body; shy, except with us. Harold was—I mean, is—the core of her heart.
DR. FOREST. Yes—the core of her heart. When she goes questing into the unknown, her spirit speeds straight to Harold. She heeds no one else.
MRS. FOREST. No one else. I said to her the other day that we mustn't be selfish. There were others who longed to hear from their friends—even as we long to hear from our boy, but she begged me not to ask any more of her.
LADY BEATTIE. No, no, I don't suppose we should. It is enough that she has proved they are still living, all those we thought we had lost. Oh, that is quite enough. I say that over and over to myself. What if I have had no direct word from Dick—
MRS. FOREST. You have had indirect word from him several times, dear Lady Grisel. Several times Harold has referred to him in his writings.
DEEMER. Sir, you have changed the whole outlook of humanity. You've slain despair.
MRS. GARDEN. It isn't that what you have done is so unheard of, Dr. Forest. Others have established communications with the dead—
MRS. FOREST. Oh, not that word; not "dead"!
MRS. GARDEN. Oh, pardon me! With the departed. But always there seemed some reason to doubt. There other investigators might have been deceived, mightn't they? With you, Dr. Forest, one of the foremost scientific men of the age—there can be no doubt.
DEEMED. No. No doubt.
[There is a little moan from MARGOT, and all look quickly toward her. For the first time, SHEILA moves, and turns from the window.]
MRS. GARDEN. She comes out of her trance by herself?
MRS. FOREST. We never hasten her. We're deeply anxious not to shock her.
[SHEILA hastens to MARGOT, to her right, and puts her arm consolingly around the bent shoulders. There is another shudder and a piteous little moan from MARGOT, and SHEILA tightens her arm about her.]
SHEILA. It's quite all right, Margot, old dear. You're right here at home. This is Sheila, Margot. Do you understand?
DEEMER. Oh, yes, poor dear. Well, thank you, Dr. Forest, thank you. [He turns, bows silently to the women, and then turns and goes out quickly U R.]
MRS. GARDEN. Thank you, Mrs. Forest, thank you. I can't begin to say how much—Thank you, doctor; it's meant so much. [She goes out U R.]
LADY BEATTIE. Good night, Cousin John, and thank you. One should be satisfied. [She turns slowly, and goes out U R.]
[SHEILA has paid no attention through these farewells, but is still bending over MARGOT, patting her shoulder, murmuring to her soothingly.]
DR. FOREST. That's right, Sheila, my dear, help her back on to our plane. I dare say it seems a dull enough place to her after all she's been seeing. I'm always sorry for her when she has to come back.
SHEILA. I'm sorry for her, too, sir, but for another reason.
MRS. FOREST. Hush, hush, Sheila, my dear. I'm sure you have no desire to distress us.
DR. FOREST. Let the child say what she has to say, Eleanor. Our boy can talk with the angels if he likes, but I'm quite sure if he had his choice, he'd prefer Sheila.
MRS. FOREST. Don't be impious, John.
[MARGOT, with a sigh, looking about with a wan smile and stretching out her trembling old hands before her, tries to raise herself slowly to her feet. SHEILA helps her rise, pulling the chair back out of her way, and stands for a moment, steadying MARGOT, with her arm around her. With a quick catch of her breath, MARGOT raises her head and smiles at SHEILA.]
MARGOT. I'm richt enough, now, Miss Sheila. Thank 'e for a gude lassie. My Harold's ane lassie. Thank 'e, thank 'e. [SHEILA turns and watches MARGOT go slowly out U R.]
DR. FOREST. Now, come here, Harold's ane lassie, and tell us what it is that troubles your sweet soul. What makes you feel so sorry for Margot?
MRS. FOREST. Don't be forever questioning Sheila, my dear. Let her have her reticences. You scientists are so—so explorative.
DR. FOREST. This from you, Eleanor. If it hadn't been for my explorative ways, as you call them, should we have had word from our boy?
MRS. FOREST. That's true enough, John.
DR. FOREST. Speak, Sheila.
SHEILA. You asked, sir, why I was sorry for dear old Margot.
DR. FOREST. Yes, my dear.
SHEILA. I'm sorry for her because we make her do something she doesn't wish to do.
DR. FOREST. Why wouldn't she wish to penetrate beyond the veil that hangs between our boy and ourselves? She is privileged to actually look upon his face. She sees him moving about his new world, at ease, friendly with the great host of other young heroes; smiling, talking, even singing. She said she heard him singing the other day, didn't she, Eleanor?
MRS. FOREST. Yes, she said she heard him singing.
DR. FOREST. What grieves you then, Sheila? Isn't she fortunate beyond any of us?
SHEILA. I hardly know how to say it, sir, but it's as if she weren't satisfied. In her conscience, I mean.
DR. FOREST. She's honest, Sheila. Never question her honesty.
SHEILA. No, no. But she seems so jaded, so exhausted, so pitiful. I can't tell why, but she breaks my heart.
DR. FOREST. The only thing that need break your heart, my child, is to lose Harold.
SHEILA. But I have lost him! I have lost him!
MRS. FOREST. How can you say that, Sheila? I must say it seems ungrateful. Why, the written communications alone should satisfy you. Didn't I, myself, see the pencil moving in your hand the other evening? You can't deny that you had direct communication with him.
SHEILA. Oh, my dear, you know what the message was—something about being happy and our not mourning for him! If Harold could have got word through to me, do you think he would have said that—merely that?
DR. FOREST. But the words came involuntarily?
SHEILA. I was the sincere automaton, if that's what you mean, sir. Something—something—[With a glance toward the DOCTOR.] perhaps you, unconsciously—moved my hand to write. But do you think there was anything in that message that meant anything to me?
DR. FOREST. You hardly loved him more than his mother and I, my dear, and yet we are contented with the messages he sends us.
[As DR. FOREST speaks, he sits again at the table. SHEILA, with a weary shrug, turns back to the window U R C. GRAFTON, the butler, enters, bringing a large silver tray covered with letters—dozens of them. He comes down to the left of the table.]
GRAFTON. Your mail, sir.
DR. FOREST. At this hour?
MRS. FOREST. It's the first time you've been free since the delivery, John. [She crosses back to the divan and sits down again.] Sometimes I'm distressed at your lack of privacy. You can hardly call your soul your own.
[GRAFTON goes quietly out U R.]
DR. FOREST. I don't wish to call my soul my own, Eleanor. If there's anything that has comforted me these last few months, it's knowing that the world needs me. [He rises again, lifting the letters in his hand and dropping them down in a scattered heap on the table.] You know what these appeals are—all these letters, visits. They're from fellow creatures who have known an unendurable sorrow. They come to me for reassurance, and, thank God, I can give it to them. I doubt if there is a person in the world today who can give so great a boon of healing as I can.
MRS. FOREST. But if these people wear you out utterly, John, you can't help anyone. Let them read your books. They tell the story.
DR. FOREST. But people do read them, Eleanor. They've been best sellers for the last two years.
MRS. FOREST. I know, dear.
DR. FOREST [moving from behind his desk down in front of the fireplace]. You know what it cost to build and endow the hospital for insane soldiers; and you know that it was all done with the royalties of these books.
MRS. FOREST. Yes. That was Harold's service to his comrades. It was he who did it.
DR. FOREST. But he couldn't have done it alone, Eleanor. Those who have gone require someone on this plane to co-operate with them. He needed us. He needed our love and faith. Yes, and our skill. We summoned him, made him articulate, and we have brought immeasurable comfort to the human race. We have demonstrated a science beyond science. We—
[SHEILA, who has moved quietly in front of the picture again, to the right of it, sighs as if with fatigued patience, and turns out the light on the picture. Both DR. FOREST and MRS. FOREST turn Sharply toward her and stand motionless for an instant. Then SHEILA looks at MRS. FOREST with an apologetic smile.]
SHEILA. Oh, Mrs. Forest, forgive me! I should have asked your permission. I shouldn't have turned out the light. But sometimes he seems so tired, smiling and smiling for our sakes.
DR. FOREST. You are the one who is tired, Sheila. Go to your room and rest. These meetings are hard for you, I know.
SHEILA. Thank you. I think I'll go to bed. May I say good night?
DR. FOREST. So early? I had hoped you would return after a while and help me look over the mail.
SHEILA. Wouldn't it be just as well for you to wait till morning? You were up at six, and you've been so busy all day.
DR. FOREST. I've other things to think of than myself, Sheila. Quite other things. [He moves to the right of the desk.] This mail, look at it. From London, Calcutta, Lausanne, Christiania, New York—three more from New York. Even from Vancouver. See, Eleanor, one from Vancouver. All asking help, begging for the secret, trying to penetrate to that beautiful place where our slain young warriors have advanced. Turning to me, Eleanor, turning to me from across the world. I must not think of myself. Out of all the world of rulers, priests, philosophers, people are turning to me—
MRS. FOREST [rises]. I know, John, I know. You cannot fail them, of course. But if you'll excuse me, I think I'll go to bed. I don't know why it is that I get so very, very weary.
SHEILA. I'll go with you.
MRS. FOREST. Oh, thank you, Sheila, but you needn't bother—
SHEILA. No, no, I'll go, please. Sometimes I'm as lonely as you are.
DR. FOREST. Lonely, Sheila? How can you be lonely? How can our boy's mother be lonely? Didn't he send word that he was thinking of us constantly? Didn't he cause this portrait of himself to be painted—this living, breathing thing—to comfort us?
SHEILA. It doesn't seem living and breathing to me. It seems like a shining mist. I can't endure it.
DR. FOREST. What's come over you, Sheila?
SHEILA. Common sense! Actuality! They've come over me! I may as well say what I think! I may as well be honest! I don't believe in that picture. I don't believe it was painted by spirits. I think Arnold painted it himself, consciously and deliberately, and lied about it, and sold it to you for a magnificent sum. And I think he laughs at you. I hate him.
DR. FOREST. Mother, she's tired. You'd better go to bed, both of you, and may Harold speak to you in your dreams. [He sits at his desk again.] He comes to me almost nightly in my dreams.
[MRS. FOREST leans over slowly, and kisses him, looks at him anxiously, and then, with a little sigh, crosses to the door and precedes SHEILA out the door U R. DR. FOREST sits a moment at his desk, glances toward the portrait, sees it is dark, rises and turns on the electricity. He steps backward to his chair, seats himself, seizes a pencil, and begins to write. There comes a cautious movement, and a shadow against the French window left of the portrait. For a moment the shadow stands against the window, and then moves on to the window U R C. The window opens slowly and a young man, sallow faced, haggard, dressed in a worn private's uniform, stands in the window. He makes a movement as though to come forward, then hesitates, steps back, moves out backward through the window, and, with a long look at DR. FOREST, closes the window slowly. A pause. Then there comes a sharp knock at the door R. It is repeated. DR. FOREST, startled by this disturbance, cries out.]
DR. FOREST. What! What! What is it, I say? Who?
[The door R opens and GRAFTON staggers into the room, frightened, breathless, and pauses left of the desk, leaning on it].
DR. FOREST. What is it? Speak!
GRAFTON. Oh, sir! Oh, sir! I must tell you—
DR. FOREST [rises slowly]. A fresh sorrow, Grafton? I am prepared. I am in the care of my God. He will not desert me.
GRAFTON. Not sorrow, sir, not sorrow. Joy. Joy—Look!
[HAROLD enters slowly U R. DR. FOREST looks at him in amazed delight, and speaks in a glad whisper.]
DR. FOREST. A materialization, at last! His very image. You see it, Graton, don't you? You see it?
GRAFTON. Oh, sir, don't you hunderstand? It's 'imself. It's Mr. 'Arold, come back, livin' sir; im as was reported dead.
DR. FOREST. No wonder you think so, Grafton. I'd think so, myself, if I didn't know the truth. I've waited and waited for this, but I never dreamed it would be so wonderful, so real.
HAROLD. Dad, I'm no ghost. It's Harold.
DR. FOREST. Grafton, he's speaking!
GRAFTON. 'Course 'e's a-speakin', sir. Why shouldn't 'e? Welcome 'ome, Mr. 'Arold, beggin' your pardon. Welcome 'ome.
HAROLD. Thank you, Grafton. See, Dad, he knows. He understands I'm real. Oh, Dad, it's good—[He reaches out his hand to his father.]
DR. FOREST [takes HAROLD'S hand experimentally and looks at it with scientific detachment]. Perfect ectoplasm. The emanation of myself, of my own profound desire. [He drops the boy's hand.]
HAROLD. Dad, has it been too much? Shall Grafton call for Mother? It's really Harold, Dad. It's a good joke on us all. I've been lying for months in that hospital you erected in my memory. For months I was there. No mind, no recollection. No consciousness at all for a long time. Then, bit by bit, I began to know I was in the world.
GRAFTON. Mr. 'Arold!
HAROLD. You see, they had picked me out of some unspeakable mess. Picked a dozen of us out. Stripped, mostly; disfigured; most of us done for, dead as herrings. Too messy for identification. But I was lucky. They patched me together. By and by I began to remember, but I couldn't get my name. I tell you, I thought till I blubbered like a three-year-old. But it wouldn't come, and then, today, suddenly I knew. Dad, it was as if I'd stopped and picked a needle out of a haysack. Found it after looking for centuries. The needle was my name, and once I had it, it grew till it was as big as a sword. Yes, sir, it seemed to me like a sword that I was holding up to the sun. I couldn't stop to explain to the hospital people. Didn't want to explain. Only wanted to get home.
GRAFTON. Of course, poor lad, of course!
HAROLD. The ward was as quiet as Sunday when I slipped out. No one saw me. Or if they did, thought nothing of it. One more luney wandering around the grounds.
GRAFTON. Poor boy, poor boy!
HAROLD. But, of course, I hadn't any notion of where I was, but I looked up—
GRAFTON. And you recognized it?
HAROLD. Yes, by George! There was the spire of the old church and the gable of the parish house I've known all my life. I could have shouted. I watched for a chance, and finally, it came. The guards at the gate changed and took their time about it.
GRAFTON. And you walked out? Good! Good!
HAROLD. Yes, and no one noticed. And when I got outside, and I looked back at the gate of the hospital, and there it was: "The Harold Forest Memorial Hospital." Dear, dear old Dad. What a joke! [He reaches out his arm to his father.]
DR. FOREST [tremblingly holds him off]. Grafton, are you there? Are you there still?
GRAFTON. Yet, I'm 'ere, sir. What can I do for you? Shall I call Mrs. Forest?
DR. FOREST. No, no, Grafton, not yet.
[He edges away from HAROLD, who is now by the lower right corner of the desk, and seats himself slowly at the desk. HAROLD looks at him, puzzled.]
HAROLD. But I don't understand, Dad. It's your old boy, all right. Same old sixpence. Not much good yet, perhaps, but bound to come out all right. But no more dead than Grafton or you. Maybe I've changed. Maybe that's the trouble. You'd better call Mother, Grafton. She'd know me, Mother would. [His eyes fall on the picture. He looks at it, startled.] What in h—I mean, what on earth—who is it?
GRAFTON. It's you, sir, beggin' your pardon.
HAROLD. I should think you would beg my pardon, Grafton. Who did it?
GRAFTON. Spirits, sir. It's a spirit picture.
[SHEILA enters U R and crosses slowly D R.]
HAROLD. Well, of all—
SHEILA. Sweetheart! I knew it was your voice.
HAROLD. You're here, Sheila! It hasn't been too long? You haven't forgotten?
SHEILA. I'm still here. It's been long, oh, so long, but I haven't forgotten.
HAROLD. Sheila! Sheila!
SHEILA. But where have you been, dear?
HAROLD. I haven't known anything, Sheila. It's been like a twisting, turning hell, sweetheart; a place that never stood still. All I could see was faces that weren't real, and battles that were over—and then, out of all the lies and the confusion, you!
SHEILA. See, Father, that's how he talks! I told you those messages weren't from him. I knew he couldn't be so stupid.
DR. FOREST. But it can't be! After the pain, to have him again—after the loss—the—
HAROLD. It's been too much for you, Dad. I should have done it all better. I should have waited—seen Sheila—sent her to tell you. Still, I didn't know Sheila was here. I couldn't know for certain. I couldn't be sure of anything except your love and Mother's. I knew that would last.
DR. FOREST. There's something wrong. Don't you sense it, Sheila? Our boy never talked like this. He kept things to himself. You never could tell what he was thinking.
[HAROLD looks at his father, bewildered, then turns slowly and crosses U C to right of the picture again, and stands looking at it, puzzled. He is too far up stage for the light of the picture to fall on his face.]
SHEILA. He was shy with you then, Father. After all, he was just a boy. But he's grown up now, and he is not ashamed to show what he feels.
DR. FOREST [takes a deep breath, walks with a firm tread up back of the desk and speaks rather sternly]. Come into the light, sir. You keep your face in the shadow.
[HAROLD comes down near the picture.]
DR. FOREST. Sheila, come here. Look at the difference. Can't you see those faces aren't the same.
HAROLD. My God, Sheila, doesn't he believe me?
DR. FOREST. I believe in my son, sir, but not in you. You're someone else. You're someone who knew him. Some poor comrade of his, homeless, tempted by money—
HAROLD. Sheila, is he mad?
DR. FOREST. Mad? No. Sane. Too acutely sane for you.
HAROLD. What do you mean?
DR. FOREST. I have held communications with my hero son for almost two years. Messages have come to me, come through the barrage of death. I have two volumes of these authentic messages published. Folk come from all parts of this country and from other countries to be present when these message arrive. Even as you entered, I was receiving a message. I'll read it—
HAROLD. No, if you please. I couldn't quite stand that, I think. You mean, sir, that you don't recognize me, your son?
DR. FOREST. I tell you, there's no proof that you're my son. These deceptions are common enough. I've heard of them. Why, my son stands high in heaven. He has met the Savior of the World. He told me so. My boy has stood before the Christ of mankind. They stood together, two "gentlemen unafraid." That's where my boy is, sir, with the highest, doing his perfect work. Our Ambassador to the Court of Heaven.
HAROLD. Oh, Sheila—Oh, God!
DR. FOREST. You could make me suffer horribly, sir, but I shall not let you. I have suffered enough—too much. I tell you, I have found peace. No impostor shall take it away from me.
SHEILA [turns to GRAFTON]. Call his mother. Let her decide.
DR. FOREST. He'll work on her. He'll bewilder her.
SHEILA. Are you afraid to call her?
DR. FOREST. Why should I be afraid? Have you ever seen me afraid? I'll call—my wife.
[DR. FOREST turns and goes out U R and GRAFTON follows him from the room.]
HAROLD. Am I mad, Sheila? Is this a nightmare?
SHEILA. Oh, Harold, you must pity him.
HAROLD. I'd have pitied him yesterday when he was mourning, but today he has me back.
SHEILA. But think, Harold. Yesterday you were his proof of immortality. Your father is a famous man—
HAROLD. Yes, but Dad wouldn't let—
SHEILA. For one person who knew your father as a great scientist, ten thousand know him as the greatest communicator with the dead. Look at that pile of mail, Harold. That's the third pile that size today. He built a memorial hospital in your honor—
HAROLD. Yes, I know.
SHEILA. That hospital was built and endowed with the proceeds from the books filled with your spirit messages. You see?
HAROLD. I suppose I do. I come back and shatter his reputation.
SHEILA. Yes. You give him the lie. You expose him as a dupe.
HAROLD. But he can't love a reputation more than his own son.
SHEILA. He loves his faith above all things, and—
HAROLD. Yes, go on.
SHEILA. You'd make him the laughing stock of the world.
HAROLD. But he's my father, and I'm his son.
SHEILA. You're his dead son.
HAROLD. But doesn't he love me, Sheila?
SHEILA. He loves your memory.
HAROLD. You mean—he never loved me as he loves my memory?
SHEILA. That's a hard thing to say, Harold, but do we ever prize real things as we do ideals?
HAROLD. But you, Sheila—
SHEILA. I never idealized you. I loved you as you were, and I love you as you are.
HAROLD. Darling—[He starts to take her in his arms.]
SHEILA. No, wait, Harold. There's more I must say. Please try to understand.
HAROLD. Yes?
SHEILA. You see, dear, the belief that you were dead and could communicate with the living, was a definite proof of immortality. It was more than that. It proved that the personality survives.
HAROLD. Yes?
SHEILA. That's what people want, you see. They yearn to believe that those who are dead remain the same, and your father's books and lectures have brought hope and faith to thousands; to hundreds of thousands, I suppose.
HAROLD. I see. I feel like a criminal.
SHEILA. It's grotesque, isn't it? But with your return, those thousands of messages will mean nothing, and thousands of people who have believed will lose their faith again.
HAROLD. I understand.
[DR. FOREST enters U R, leaning on GRAFTON'S arm.]
SHEILA. You didn't bring her?
DR. FOREST. She is sleeping. My wife is sleeping. I couldn't bear to waken her. I couldn't worry her with such a thing. She'd reject you, young man. She'd know you weren't her son, but she'd be tormented the rest of her days with the thought that you might have been her son. I couldn't endure that. I'd die of it. I've suffered enough. No one shall make me suffer any more.
[GRAFTON helps DR. FOREST into his chair back of the desk, and stands anxiously right of him.]
HAROLD. No, you shouldn't suffer any more. I see that. I'll always remember that you really couldn't endure any more.
SHEILA. What are you saying, Harold?
HAROLD. I have a confession to make to this gentleman.
SHEILA. No!
HAROLD. I am, as he suspected, a fraud. I was seeking, as he said, for a soft place. They said, in our regiment, that his son and I looked like each other. I traded on that. But it wasn't enough resemblance to deceive a father. There is no use in fighting a shining warrior in heaven, is there? I wouldn't try it. Good-bye, Dr. Forest. I'll take myself away, completely, forever. There's only one thing I ask—that you keep all that happened here tonight to yourself. Promise that.
DR. FOREST. I promise.
HAROLD. Never speak of it, in any way, to the last day of your life, to—to—your wife.
DR. FOREST. Never. I promise.
HAROLD. Grafton, lift your right hand. I must have your word, too. For the sake of old days, Grafton.
GRAFTON. My oath, sir. [Goes out U R.]
HAROLD. Good-bye, sir. May you comfort your thousands.
DR. FOREST. Oh, my boy in heaven, pity me, help me!
HAROLD [turning to SHEILA]. Good-bye, Sheila. [He reaches out his hands hungrily toward her, and then drops them to his sides.] I've—I've seen you, anyway.
SHEILA. You don't dare—
HAROLD. What do you mean?
SHEILA. You can't say good-bye to me. I'm going with you. You know that perfectly well.
HAROLD. But, Sheila, I'm penniless. I don't know where I'm going—I don't know what I'll have strength to do.
SHEILA. I have money and strength.
HAROLD. Oh, Sheila—
DR. FOREST [rises, shaking]. Shame on you, shame on you, Sheila. Can you shame him with an imposter?
SHEILA. We can't argue it, Father. Don't worry, and get comfort wherever you can. Always remember that you're giving happiness to unknown thousands. Hold on to that thought. You're going to need it.
DR. FOREST [sinks in his chair again]. Oh, Sheila, do you love me?
SHEILA. Always.
DR. FOREST. But you're leaving me. Mother and I will be alone.
SHEILA. It's your choice, Father. Come, Harold.
[As she leads HAROLD U C behind his father's chair, SHEILA pauses with HAROLD a moment, and then, with firm gentleness, leads him across the room, and out U R. DR. FOREST, rising, takes a step toward the portrait, lifts both hands appealingly, and falls on his knees before it.]
CURTAIN
1932, 3-23XML: ep.ss.0036.xml
