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Aria Da Capo: A Play in One Act
Edna St Vincent Millay was a lyric poet and playwright. She was the first woman poet to receive a Pulitzer Prize. Millay is also known for her many romantic affairs and her Bohemian lifestyle in Greenwich Village. Aria da Capo is a one-act play. The play shows the upper class's indifference to the carnage of the lower class during the war. The play begins "The curtain rises on a stage set for a Harlequinade, a merry black and white interior. Directly behind the footlights, and running parallel with them, is a long table, covered with a gay black and white cloth, on which is spread a banquet. At the opposite ends of this table, seated on delicate thin-legged chairs with high backs, are Pierrot and Columbine, dressed according to the tradition, excepting that Pierrot is in lilac, and Columbine in pink. They are dining."
50 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1920
About the author
Edna St. Vincent Millay
449 books1,109 followersEdna St. Vincent Millay was an American lyrical poet and playwright. She received the Pulitzer Prize for Poetry in 1923, the third woman to win the award for poetry, and was also known for her feminist activism and her many love affairs. She used the pseudonym Nancy Boyd for her prose work.
This famous portrait of Vincent (as she was called by friends) was taken by Carl Van Vechten in 1933.
This famous portrait of Vincent (as she was called by friends) was taken by Carl Van Vechten in 1933.
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Displaying 1 - 16 of 16 reviews
February 5, 2024
Sir, we are counting on this little hour. We said, “Here is an hour, — in which to think A mighty thought, and sing a trifling song, And look at nothing” — And, behold! the hour, Even as we spoke, was over, and the act begun, Under our feet!
”We cannot act a tragedy with comic properties!”
Aria Da Capo is one of Edna St Vincent Millay’s early works, written shortly after her graduation from Vassar. It is a short, absurdist play that opens with a traditional harlequinade, and proceeds to be a comic tragedy, or a tragic comedy, while never ceasing to be absurd. It is widely seen as an anti war play inspired by the Great War.
I’m a Millay super-fan, which makes me the target audience for this bit of a play. Millay was famous as a poet, not a playwright, and there’s good reason for that. While this play has a certain absurdist charm, it lacks the power of even her early poetry. This is a work for Millay completists, and if that’s not you, subtract a star from my rating.
”We cannot act a tragedy with comic properties!”
Aria Da Capo is one of Edna St Vincent Millay’s early works, written shortly after her graduation from Vassar. It is a short, absurdist play that opens with a traditional harlequinade, and proceeds to be a comic tragedy, or a tragic comedy, while never ceasing to be absurd. It is widely seen as an anti war play inspired by the Great War.
I’m a Millay super-fan, which makes me the target audience for this bit of a play. Millay was famous as a poet, not a playwright, and there’s good reason for that. While this play has a certain absurdist charm, it lacks the power of even her early poetry. This is a work for Millay completists, and if that’s not you, subtract a star from my rating.
January 19, 2022
[Scene: A stage]
[The curtain rises on a stage set for a Harlequinade, a merry
black and white interior. Directly behind the footlights, and
running parallel with them, is a long table, covered with a gay
black and white cloth, on which is spread a banquet. At the
opposite ends of this table, seated on delicate thin-legged
chairs with high backs, are Pierrot and Columbine, dressed
according to the tradition, excepting that Pierrot is in lilac,
and Columbine in pink. They are dining.]
COLUMBINE: Pierrot, a macaroon! I cannot live without a macaroon!
PIERROT: My only love, You are so intense! . . . Is it Tuesday, Columbine?— I'll kiss you if it's Tuesday.
COLUMBINE: It is Wednesday, If you must know . . . . Is this my artichoke, Or yours?
PIERROT: Ah, Columbine,—as if it mattered! Wednesday . . . . Will it be Tuesday, then, to-morrow, By any chance?
COLUMBINE: To-morrow will be—Pierrot, That isn't funny!
PIERROT: I thought it rather nice. Well, let us drink some wine and lose our heads And love each other.
COLUMBINE: Pierrot, don't you love Me now?
PIERROT: La, what a woman!—how should I know? Pour me some wine: I'll tell you presently.
COLUMBINE: Pierrot, do you know, I think you drink too much.
PIERROT: Yes, I dare say I do. . . . Or else too little. It's hard to tell. You see, I am always wanting A little more than what I have,—or else A little less. There's something wrong. My dear, How many fingers have you?
COLUMBINE: La, indeed, How should I know?—It always takes me one hand To count the other with. It's too confusing. Why?
PIERROT: Why?—I am a student, Columbine; And search into all matters.
COLUMBINE: La, indeed?— Count them yourself, then!
PIERROT: No. Or, rather, nay. 'Tis of no consequence. . . . I am become A painter, suddenly,—and you impress me— Ah, yes!—six orange bull's-eyes, four green pin-wheels, And one magenta jelly-roll,—the title As follows: Woman Taking in Cheese from Fire-Escape.
COLUMBINE: Well, I like that! So that is all I've meant To you!
PIERROT: Hush! All at once I am become A pianist. I will image you in sound. . . . On a new scale. . . , Without tonality. . . Vivace senza tempo senza tutto. . . . Title: Uptown Express at Six O'Clock. Pour me a drink.
COLUMBINE: Pierrot, you work too hard. You need a rest. Come on out into the garden, And sing me something sad.
PIERROT: Don't stand so near me! I am become a socialist. I love Humanity; but I hate people. Columbine, Put on your mittens, child; your hands are cold.
COLUMBINE: My hands are not cold!
PIERROT: Oh, I am sure they are. And you must have a shawl to wrap about you, And sit by the fire.
COLUMBINE: Why, I'll do no such thing! I'm hot as a spoon in a teacup!
PIERROT: Columbine, I'm a philanthropist. I know I am, Because I feel so restless. Do not scream, Or it will be the worse for you!
COLUMBINE: Pierrot, My vinaigrette! I cannot live without My vinaigrette!
PIERROT: My only love, you are So fundamental! . . . How would you like to be An actress, Columbine?—I am become Your manager.
COLUMBINE: Why, Pierrot, I can't act.
PIERROT: Can't act! Can't act! La, listen to the woman! What's that to do with the price of furs?—You're blonde, Are you not?—you have no education, have you?— Can't act! You underrate yourself, my dear!
COLUMBINE: Yes, I suppose I do.
PIERROT: As for the rest, I'll teach you how to cry, and how to die, And other little tricks; and the house will love you. You'll be a star by five o'clock . . . that is, If you will let me pay for your apartment.
COLUMBINE: Let you?—well, that's a good one! Ha! Ha! Ha! But why?
PIERROT: But why?—well, as to that, my dear, I cannot say. It's just a matter of form.
COLUMBINE: Pierrot, I'm getting tired of caviar And peacocks' livers. Isn't there something else That people eat?—some humble vegetable, That grows in the ground?
PIERROT: Well, there are mushrooms.
COLUMBINE: Mushrooms! That's so! I had forgotten . . . mushrooms . . . mushrooms. . . . I cannot live with . . . How do you like this gown?
PIERROT: Not much. I'm tired of gowns that have the waist-line About the waist, and the hem around the bottom,— And women with their breasts in front of them!— Zut and ehe! Where does one go from here!
COLUMBINE: Here's a persimmon, love. You always liked them.
PIERROT: I am become a critic; there is nothing I can enjoy. . . . However, set it aside; I'll eat it between meals.
COLUMBINE: Pierrot, do you know, Sometimes I think you're making fun of me.
PIERROT: My love, by yon black moon, you wrong us both.
COLUMBINE: There isn't a sign of a moon, Pierrot.
PIERROT: Of course not. There never was. "Moon's" just a word to swear by. "Mutton!"—now there's a thing you can lay the hands on, And set the tooth in! Listen, Columbine: I always lied about the moon and you. Food is my only lust.
COLUMBINE: Well, eat it, then, For Heaven's sake, and stop your silly noise! I haven't heard the clock tick for an hour.
PIERROT: It's ticking all the same. If you were a fly, You would be dead by now. And if I were a parrot, I could be talking for a thousand years!
[Enter COTHURNUS.]
PIERROT: Hello, what's this, for God's sake?— What's the matter? Say, whadda you mean?—get off the stage, my friend, And pinch yourself,—you're walking in your sleep!
COTHURNUS: I never sleep.
PIERROT: Well, anyhow, clear out. You don't belong on here. Wait for your own scene! Whadda you think this is,—a dress-rehearsal?
COTHURNUS: Sir, I am tired of waiting. I will wait No longer.
PIERROT: Well, but whadda you going to do? The scene is set for me!
COTHURNUS: True, sir; yet I Can play the scene.
PIERROT: Your scene is down for later!
COTHURNUS: That, too, is true, sir; but I play it now.
PIERROT: Oh, very well!—Anyway, I am tired Of black and white. At least, I think I am.
[Exit COLUMBINE.]
Yes, I am sure I am. I know what I'll do!— I'll go and strum the moon, that's what I'll do. . . . Unless, perhaps . . . you never can tell . . . I may be, You know, tired of the moon. Well, anyway, I'll go find Columbine. . . . And when I find her, I will address her thus: "Ehe, Pierrette!"— There's something in that.
[Exit PIERROT.]
COTHURNUS: You, Thyrsis! Corydon! Where are you?
THYRSIS: [Off stage.] Sir, we are in our dressing-room!
COTHURNUS: Come out and do the scene.
CORYDON: [Off stage.] You are mocking us!— The scene is down for later.
COTHURNUS: That is true; But we will play it now. I am the scene. [Seats himself on high place in back of stage.]
[Enter CORYDON and THYRSIS.]
CORYDON: Sir, we are counting on this little hour. We said, "Here is an hour,—in which to think A mighty thought, and sing a trifling song, And look at nothing."—And, behold! the hour, Even as we spoke, was over, and the act begun, Under our feet!
THYRSIS: Sir, we are not in the fancy To play the play. We had thought to play it later.
CORYDON: Besides, this is the setting for a farce. Our scene requires a wall; we cannot build A wall of tissue-paper!
THYRSIS: We cannot act A tragedy with comic properties!
COTHURNUS: Try it and see. I think you'll find you can. One wall is like another. And regarding The matter of your insufficient mood, The important thing is that you speak the lines, And make the gestures. Wherefore I shall remain Throughout, and hold the prompt-book. Are you ready?
CORYDON-THYRSIS: [Sorrowfully.] Sir, we are always ready.
COTHURNUS: Play the play!
[CORYDON and THYRSIS move the table and chairs to one side out
of the way, and seat themselves in a half-reclining position
on the floor.]
THYRSIS: How gently in the silence, Corydon, Our sheep go up the bank. They crop a grass That's yellow where the sun is out, and black Where the clouds drag their shadows. Have you noticed How steadily, yet with what a slanting eye They graze?
CORYDON: As if they thought of other things. What say you, Thyrsis, do they only question Where next to pull?—Or do their far minds draw them Thus vaguely north of west and south of east?
THYRSIS: One cannot say. . . . The black lamb wears its burdocks As if they were a garland,—have you noticed? Purple and white—and drinks the bitten grass As if it were a wine.
CORYDON: I've noticed that. What say you, Thyrsis, shall we make a song About a lamb that thought himself a shepherd?
THYRSIS: Why, yes!—that is, why,—no. (I have forgotten my line.)
COTHURNUS: [Prompting.] "I know a game worth two of that!"
THYRSIS: Oh, yes. . . . I know a game worth two of that! Let's gather rocks, and build a wall between us; And say that over there belongs to me, And over here to you!
CORYDON: Why,—very well. And say you may not come upon my side Unless I say you may!
THYRSIS: Nor you on mine! And if you should, 'twould be the worse for you!
[They weave a wall of colored crepe paper ribbons from the
centre front to the centre back of the stage, fastening the
ends to COLUMBINE'S chair in front and to PIERROT'S chair in
the back.]
CORYDON: Now there's a wall a man may see across, But not attempt to scale.
THYRSIS: An excellent wall.
CORYDON: Come, let us separate, and sit alone A little while, and lay a plot whereby We may outdo each other. [They seat themselves on opposite sides of the wall.]
PIERROT: [Off stage.] Ehe, Pierrette!
COLUMBINE: [Off stage.] My name is Columbine! Leave me alone!
THYRSIS: [Coming up to the wall.] Corydon, after all, and in spite of the fact I started it myself, I do not like this So very much. What is the sense of saying I do not want you on my side the wall? It is a silly game. I'd much prefer Making the little song you spoke of making, About the lamb, you know, that thought himself A shepherd!—what do you say?
[Pause.]
CORYDON: [At wall.] (I have forgotten the line.)
COTHURNUS: [Prompting.] "How do I know this isn't a trick?"
CORYDON: Oh, yes. . . . How do I know this isn't a trick To get upon my land?
THYRSIS: Oh, Corydon, You know it's not a trick. I do not like The game, that's all. Come over here, or let me Come over there.
CORYDON: It is a clever trick To get upon my land. [Seats himself as before.]
THYRSIS: Oh, very well! [Seats himself as before.] [To himself.] I think I never knew a sillier game.
CORYDON: [Coming to wall.] Oh, Thyrsis, just a minute!—all the water Is on your side the wall, and the sheep are thirsty. I hadn't thought of that.
THYRSIS: Oh, hadn't you?
CORYDON: Why, what do you mean?
THYRSIS: What do I mean?—I mean That I can play a game as well as you can. And if the pool is on my side, it's on My side, that's all.
CORYDON: You mean you'd let the sheep Go thirsty?
THYRSIS: Well, they're not my sheep. My sheep Have water enough.
CORYDON: Your sheep! You are mad, to call them Yours—mine—they are all one flock! Thyrsis, you can't mean To keep the water from them, just because They happened to be grazing over here Instead of over there, when we set the wall up?
THYRSIS: Oh, can't I?—wait and see!—and if you try To lead them over here, you'll wish you hadn't!
CORYDON: I wonder how it happens all the water Is on your side. . . . I'll say you had an eye out For lots of little things, my innocent friend, When I said, "Let us make a song," and you said, "I know a game worth two of that!"
COLUMBINE: [Off stage.] Pierrot, D'you know, I think you must be getting old, Or fat, or something,—stupid, anyway!— Can't you put on some other kind of collar?
THYRSIS: You know as well as I do, Corydon, I never thought anything of the kind. Don't you?
CORYDON: I do not.
THYRSIS: Don't you?
CORYDON: Oh, I suppose so. Thyrsis, let's drop this,—what do you say?—it's only A game, you know . . . we seem to be forgetting It's only a game ... a pretty serious game It's getting to be, when one of us is willing To let the sheep go thirsty for the sake of it.
THYRSIS: I know it, Corydon.
[They reach out their arms to each other across the wall.]
COTHURNUS: [Prompting.] "But how do I know—"
THYRSIS: Oh, yes. . . . But how do I know this isn't a trick To water your sheep, and get the laugh on me?
CORYDON: You can't know, that's the difficult thing about it, Of course,—you can't be sure. You have to take My word for it. And I know just how you feel. But one of us has to take a risk, or else, Why, don't you see?—the game goes on forever! . . . It's terrible, when you stop to think of it. . . . Oh, Thyrsis, now for the first time I feel This wall is actually a wall, a thing Come up between us, shutting you away From me. . . . I do not know you any more!
THYRSIS: No, don't say that! Oh, Corydon, I'm willing To drop it all, if you will! Come on over And water your sheep! It is an ugly game. I hated it from the first. . . . How did it start?
CORYDON: I do not know . . . I do not know . . . I think I am afraid of you!—you are a stranger! I never set eyes on you before! "Come over And water my sheep," indeed!—They'll be more thirsty Than they are now before I bring them over Into your land, and have you mixing them up With yours, and calling them yours, and trying to keep them!
[Enter COLUMBINE]
COLUMBINE: [To COTHURNUS.] Glummy, I want my hat.
THYRSIS: Take it, and go.
COLUMBINE: Take it and go, indeed. Is it my hat, Or isn't it? Is this my scene, or not? Take it and go! Really, you know, you two Are awfully funny!
[Exit COLUMBINE]
THYRSIS: Corydon, my friend, I'm going to leave you now, and whittle me A pipe, or sing a song, or go to sleep. When you have come to your senses, let me know. [Goes back to where he has been sitting, lies down and sleeps.]
[CORYDON, in going back to where he has been sitting, stumbles
over bowl of colored confetti and colored paper ribbons.]
CORYDON: Why, what is this?—Red stones—and purple stones— And stones stuck full of gold!—The ground is full Of gold and colored stones! . . . I'm glad the wall Was up before I found them!—Otherwise, I should have had to share them. As it is, They all belong to me. . . . Unless—
[He goes to wall and digs up and down the length of it,
to see if there are jewels on the other side.]
None here— None here—none here—They all belong to me! [Sits.]
THYRSIS: [Awakening.] How curious! I thought the little black lamb Came up and licked my hair; I saw the wool About its neck as plain as anything! It must have been a dream. The little black lamb Is on the other side of the wall, I'm sure.
[Goes to wall and looks over. CORYDON is seated on the ground,
tossing the confetti up into the air and catching it.]
Hello, what's that you've got there, Corydon?
CORYDON: Jewels.
THYRSIS: Jewels?—And where did you ever get them?
CORYDON: Oh, over here.
THYRSIS: You mean to say you found them, By digging around in the ground for them?
CORYDON: [Unpleasantly.] No, Thyrsis, By digging down for water for my sheep.
THYRSIS: Corydon, come to the wall a minute, will you? I want to talk to you.
CORYDON: I haven't time. I'm making me a necklace of red stones.
THYRSIS: I'll give you all the water that you want, For one of those red stones,—if it's a good one.
CORYDON: Water?—what for?—what do I want of water?
THYRSIS: Why, for your sheep!
CORYDON: My sheep?—I'm not a shepherd!
THYRSIS: Your sheep are dying of thirst.
CORYDON: Man, haven't I told you I can't be bothered with a few untidy Brown sheep all full of burdocks?—I'm a merchant. That's what I am!—And if I set my mind to it I dare say I could be an emperor! [To himself.] Wouldn't I be a fool to spend my time Watching a flock of sheep go up a hill, When I have these to play with?—when I have these To think about?—I can't make up my mind Whether to buy a city, and have a thousand Beautiful girls to bathe me, and be happy Until I die, or build a bridge, and name it The Bridge of Corydon,—and be remembered After I'm dead.
THYRSIS: Corydon, come to the wall, Won't you?—I want to tell you something.
CORYDON: Hush! Be off! Be off! Go finish your nap, I tell you!
THYRSIS: Corydon, listen: if you don't want your sheep, Give them to me.
CORYDON: Be off! Go finish your nap. A red one—and a blue one—and a red one— And a purple one—give you my sheep, did you say?— Come, come! What do you take me for, a fool? I've a lot of thinking to do,—and while I'm thinking, The sheep might just as well be over here As over there. . . . A blue one—and a red one—
THYRSIS: But they will die!
CORYDON: And a green one—and a couple Of white ones, for a change.
THYRSIS: Maybe I have Some jewels on my side.
CORYDON: And another green one— Maybe, but I don't think so. You see, this rock Isn't so very wide. It stops before It gets to the wall. It seems to go quite deep, However.
THYRSIS: [With hatred.] I see.
COLUMBINE: [Off stage.] Look, Pierrot, there's the moon.
PIERROT: [Off stage.] Nonsense!
THYRSIS: I see.
COLUMBINE: [Off stage.] Sing me an old song, Pierrot,— Something I can remember.
PIERROT: [Off stage.] Columbine. Your mind is made of crumbs,—like an escallop Of oysters,—first a layer of crumbs, and then An oystery taste, and then a layer of crumbs.
THYRSIS: [Searching.] I find no jewels . . . but I wonder what The root of this black weed would do to a man If he should taste it. ... I have seen a sheep die, With half the stalk still drooling from its mouth. 'Twould be a speedy remedy, I should think, For a festered pride and a feverish ambition. It has a curious root. I think I'll hack it In little pieces. . . . First I'll get me a drink; And then I'll hack that root in little pieces As small as dust, and see what the color is Inside. [Goes to bowl on floor.]
The pool is very clear. I see A shepherd standing on the brink, with a red cloak About him, and a black weed in his hand. . . . 'Tis I. [Kneels and drinks.]
CORYDON: [Coming to wall.] Hello, what are you doing, Thyrsis?
THYRSIS: Digging for gold.
CORYDON: I'll give you all the gold You want, if you'll give me a bowl of water. If you don't want too much, that is to say.
THYRSIS: Ho, so you've changed your mind?—It's different, Isn't it, when you want a drink yourself?
CORYDON: Of course it is.
THYRSIS: Well, let me see ... a bowl Of water,—come back in an hour, Corydon. I'm busy now.
CORYDON: Oh, Thyrsis, give me a bowl Of water!—and I'll fill the bowl with jewels, And bring it back!
THYRSIS: Be off, I'm busy now.
[He catches sight of the weed, picks it up and looks at it, unseen by CORYDON.]
Wait!—Pick me out the finest stones you have . . . I'll bring you a drink of water presently.
CORYDON: [Goes back and sits down, with the jewels before him.] A bowl of jewels is a lot of jewels.
THYRSIS: [Chopping up the weed.] I wonder if it has a bitter taste.
CORYDON: There's sure to be a stone or two among them I have grown fond of, pouring them from one hand Into the other.
THYRSIS: I hope it doesn't taste Too bitter, just at first.
CORYDON: A bowl of jewels Is far too many jewels to give away And not get back again.
THYRSIS: I don't belie
[The curtain rises on a stage set for a Harlequinade, a merry
black and white interior. Directly behind the footlights, and
running parallel with them, is a long table, covered with a gay
black and white cloth, on which is spread a banquet. At the
opposite ends of this table, seated on delicate thin-legged
chairs with high backs, are Pierrot and Columbine, dressed
according to the tradition, excepting that Pierrot is in lilac,
and Columbine in pink. They are dining.]
COLUMBINE: Pierrot, a macaroon! I cannot live without a macaroon!
PIERROT: My only love, You are so intense! . . . Is it Tuesday, Columbine?— I'll kiss you if it's Tuesday.
COLUMBINE: It is Wednesday, If you must know . . . . Is this my artichoke, Or yours?
PIERROT: Ah, Columbine,—as if it mattered! Wednesday . . . . Will it be Tuesday, then, to-morrow, By any chance?
COLUMBINE: To-morrow will be—Pierrot, That isn't funny!
PIERROT: I thought it rather nice. Well, let us drink some wine and lose our heads And love each other.
COLUMBINE: Pierrot, don't you love Me now?
PIERROT: La, what a woman!—how should I know? Pour me some wine: I'll tell you presently.
COLUMBINE: Pierrot, do you know, I think you drink too much.
PIERROT: Yes, I dare say I do. . . . Or else too little. It's hard to tell. You see, I am always wanting A little more than what I have,—or else A little less. There's something wrong. My dear, How many fingers have you?
COLUMBINE: La, indeed, How should I know?—It always takes me one hand To count the other with. It's too confusing. Why?
PIERROT: Why?—I am a student, Columbine; And search into all matters.
COLUMBINE: La, indeed?— Count them yourself, then!
PIERROT: No. Or, rather, nay. 'Tis of no consequence. . . . I am become A painter, suddenly,—and you impress me— Ah, yes!—six orange bull's-eyes, four green pin-wheels, And one magenta jelly-roll,—the title As follows: Woman Taking in Cheese from Fire-Escape.
COLUMBINE: Well, I like that! So that is all I've meant To you!
PIERROT: Hush! All at once I am become A pianist. I will image you in sound. . . . On a new scale. . . , Without tonality. . . Vivace senza tempo senza tutto. . . . Title: Uptown Express at Six O'Clock. Pour me a drink.
COLUMBINE: Pierrot, you work too hard. You need a rest. Come on out into the garden, And sing me something sad.
PIERROT: Don't stand so near me! I am become a socialist. I love Humanity; but I hate people. Columbine, Put on your mittens, child; your hands are cold.
COLUMBINE: My hands are not cold!
PIERROT: Oh, I am sure they are. And you must have a shawl to wrap about you, And sit by the fire.
COLUMBINE: Why, I'll do no such thing! I'm hot as a spoon in a teacup!
PIERROT: Columbine, I'm a philanthropist. I know I am, Because I feel so restless. Do not scream, Or it will be the worse for you!
COLUMBINE: Pierrot, My vinaigrette! I cannot live without My vinaigrette!
PIERROT: My only love, you are So fundamental! . . . How would you like to be An actress, Columbine?—I am become Your manager.
COLUMBINE: Why, Pierrot, I can't act.
PIERROT: Can't act! Can't act! La, listen to the woman! What's that to do with the price of furs?—You're blonde, Are you not?—you have no education, have you?— Can't act! You underrate yourself, my dear!
COLUMBINE: Yes, I suppose I do.
PIERROT: As for the rest, I'll teach you how to cry, and how to die, And other little tricks; and the house will love you. You'll be a star by five o'clock . . . that is, If you will let me pay for your apartment.
COLUMBINE: Let you?—well, that's a good one! Ha! Ha! Ha! But why?
PIERROT: But why?—well, as to that, my dear, I cannot say. It's just a matter of form.
COLUMBINE: Pierrot, I'm getting tired of caviar And peacocks' livers. Isn't there something else That people eat?—some humble vegetable, That grows in the ground?
PIERROT: Well, there are mushrooms.
COLUMBINE: Mushrooms! That's so! I had forgotten . . . mushrooms . . . mushrooms. . . . I cannot live with . . . How do you like this gown?
PIERROT: Not much. I'm tired of gowns that have the waist-line About the waist, and the hem around the bottom,— And women with their breasts in front of them!— Zut and ehe! Where does one go from here!
COLUMBINE: Here's a persimmon, love. You always liked them.
PIERROT: I am become a critic; there is nothing I can enjoy. . . . However, set it aside; I'll eat it between meals.
COLUMBINE: Pierrot, do you know, Sometimes I think you're making fun of me.
PIERROT: My love, by yon black moon, you wrong us both.
COLUMBINE: There isn't a sign of a moon, Pierrot.
PIERROT: Of course not. There never was. "Moon's" just a word to swear by. "Mutton!"—now there's a thing you can lay the hands on, And set the tooth in! Listen, Columbine: I always lied about the moon and you. Food is my only lust.
COLUMBINE: Well, eat it, then, For Heaven's sake, and stop your silly noise! I haven't heard the clock tick for an hour.
PIERROT: It's ticking all the same. If you were a fly, You would be dead by now. And if I were a parrot, I could be talking for a thousand years!
[Enter COTHURNUS.]
PIERROT: Hello, what's this, for God's sake?— What's the matter? Say, whadda you mean?—get off the stage, my friend, And pinch yourself,—you're walking in your sleep!
COTHURNUS: I never sleep.
PIERROT: Well, anyhow, clear out. You don't belong on here. Wait for your own scene! Whadda you think this is,—a dress-rehearsal?
COTHURNUS: Sir, I am tired of waiting. I will wait No longer.
PIERROT: Well, but whadda you going to do? The scene is set for me!
COTHURNUS: True, sir; yet I Can play the scene.
PIERROT: Your scene is down for later!
COTHURNUS: That, too, is true, sir; but I play it now.
PIERROT: Oh, very well!—Anyway, I am tired Of black and white. At least, I think I am.
[Exit COLUMBINE.]
Yes, I am sure I am. I know what I'll do!— I'll go and strum the moon, that's what I'll do. . . . Unless, perhaps . . . you never can tell . . . I may be, You know, tired of the moon. Well, anyway, I'll go find Columbine. . . . And when I find her, I will address her thus: "Ehe, Pierrette!"— There's something in that.
[Exit PIERROT.]
COTHURNUS: You, Thyrsis! Corydon! Where are you?
THYRSIS: [Off stage.] Sir, we are in our dressing-room!
COTHURNUS: Come out and do the scene.
CORYDON: [Off stage.] You are mocking us!— The scene is down for later.
COTHURNUS: That is true; But we will play it now. I am the scene. [Seats himself on high place in back of stage.]
[Enter CORYDON and THYRSIS.]
CORYDON: Sir, we are counting on this little hour. We said, "Here is an hour,—in which to think A mighty thought, and sing a trifling song, And look at nothing."—And, behold! the hour, Even as we spoke, was over, and the act begun, Under our feet!
THYRSIS: Sir, we are not in the fancy To play the play. We had thought to play it later.
CORYDON: Besides, this is the setting for a farce. Our scene requires a wall; we cannot build A wall of tissue-paper!
THYRSIS: We cannot act A tragedy with comic properties!
COTHURNUS: Try it and see. I think you'll find you can. One wall is like another. And regarding The matter of your insufficient mood, The important thing is that you speak the lines, And make the gestures. Wherefore I shall remain Throughout, and hold the prompt-book. Are you ready?
CORYDON-THYRSIS: [Sorrowfully.] Sir, we are always ready.
COTHURNUS: Play the play!
[CORYDON and THYRSIS move the table and chairs to one side out
of the way, and seat themselves in a half-reclining position
on the floor.]
THYRSIS: How gently in the silence, Corydon, Our sheep go up the bank. They crop a grass That's yellow where the sun is out, and black Where the clouds drag their shadows. Have you noticed How steadily, yet with what a slanting eye They graze?
CORYDON: As if they thought of other things. What say you, Thyrsis, do they only question Where next to pull?—Or do their far minds draw them Thus vaguely north of west and south of east?
THYRSIS: One cannot say. . . . The black lamb wears its burdocks As if they were a garland,—have you noticed? Purple and white—and drinks the bitten grass As if it were a wine.
CORYDON: I've noticed that. What say you, Thyrsis, shall we make a song About a lamb that thought himself a shepherd?
THYRSIS: Why, yes!—that is, why,—no. (I have forgotten my line.)
COTHURNUS: [Prompting.] "I know a game worth two of that!"
THYRSIS: Oh, yes. . . . I know a game worth two of that! Let's gather rocks, and build a wall between us; And say that over there belongs to me, And over here to you!
CORYDON: Why,—very well. And say you may not come upon my side Unless I say you may!
THYRSIS: Nor you on mine! And if you should, 'twould be the worse for you!
[They weave a wall of colored crepe paper ribbons from the
centre front to the centre back of the stage, fastening the
ends to COLUMBINE'S chair in front and to PIERROT'S chair in
the back.]
CORYDON: Now there's a wall a man may see across, But not attempt to scale.
THYRSIS: An excellent wall.
CORYDON: Come, let us separate, and sit alone A little while, and lay a plot whereby We may outdo each other. [They seat themselves on opposite sides of the wall.]
PIERROT: [Off stage.] Ehe, Pierrette!
COLUMBINE: [Off stage.] My name is Columbine! Leave me alone!
THYRSIS: [Coming up to the wall.] Corydon, after all, and in spite of the fact I started it myself, I do not like this So very much. What is the sense of saying I do not want you on my side the wall? It is a silly game. I'd much prefer Making the little song you spoke of making, About the lamb, you know, that thought himself A shepherd!—what do you say?
[Pause.]
CORYDON: [At wall.] (I have forgotten the line.)
COTHURNUS: [Prompting.] "How do I know this isn't a trick?"
CORYDON: Oh, yes. . . . How do I know this isn't a trick To get upon my land?
THYRSIS: Oh, Corydon, You know it's not a trick. I do not like The game, that's all. Come over here, or let me Come over there.
CORYDON: It is a clever trick To get upon my land. [Seats himself as before.]
THYRSIS: Oh, very well! [Seats himself as before.] [To himself.] I think I never knew a sillier game.
CORYDON: [Coming to wall.] Oh, Thyrsis, just a minute!—all the water Is on your side the wall, and the sheep are thirsty. I hadn't thought of that.
THYRSIS: Oh, hadn't you?
CORYDON: Why, what do you mean?
THYRSIS: What do I mean?—I mean That I can play a game as well as you can. And if the pool is on my side, it's on My side, that's all.
CORYDON: You mean you'd let the sheep Go thirsty?
THYRSIS: Well, they're not my sheep. My sheep Have water enough.
CORYDON: Your sheep! You are mad, to call them Yours—mine—they are all one flock! Thyrsis, you can't mean To keep the water from them, just because They happened to be grazing over here Instead of over there, when we set the wall up?
THYRSIS: Oh, can't I?—wait and see!—and if you try To lead them over here, you'll wish you hadn't!
CORYDON: I wonder how it happens all the water Is on your side. . . . I'll say you had an eye out For lots of little things, my innocent friend, When I said, "Let us make a song," and you said, "I know a game worth two of that!"
COLUMBINE: [Off stage.] Pierrot, D'you know, I think you must be getting old, Or fat, or something,—stupid, anyway!— Can't you put on some other kind of collar?
THYRSIS: You know as well as I do, Corydon, I never thought anything of the kind. Don't you?
CORYDON: I do not.
THYRSIS: Don't you?
CORYDON: Oh, I suppose so. Thyrsis, let's drop this,—what do you say?—it's only A game, you know . . . we seem to be forgetting It's only a game ... a pretty serious game It's getting to be, when one of us is willing To let the sheep go thirsty for the sake of it.
THYRSIS: I know it, Corydon.
[They reach out their arms to each other across the wall.]
COTHURNUS: [Prompting.] "But how do I know—"
THYRSIS: Oh, yes. . . . But how do I know this isn't a trick To water your sheep, and get the laugh on me?
CORYDON: You can't know, that's the difficult thing about it, Of course,—you can't be sure. You have to take My word for it. And I know just how you feel. But one of us has to take a risk, or else, Why, don't you see?—the game goes on forever! . . . It's terrible, when you stop to think of it. . . . Oh, Thyrsis, now for the first time I feel This wall is actually a wall, a thing Come up between us, shutting you away From me. . . . I do not know you any more!
THYRSIS: No, don't say that! Oh, Corydon, I'm willing To drop it all, if you will! Come on over And water your sheep! It is an ugly game. I hated it from the first. . . . How did it start?
CORYDON: I do not know . . . I do not know . . . I think I am afraid of you!—you are a stranger! I never set eyes on you before! "Come over And water my sheep," indeed!—They'll be more thirsty Than they are now before I bring them over Into your land, and have you mixing them up With yours, and calling them yours, and trying to keep them!
[Enter COLUMBINE]
COLUMBINE: [To COTHURNUS.] Glummy, I want my hat.
THYRSIS: Take it, and go.
COLUMBINE: Take it and go, indeed. Is it my hat, Or isn't it? Is this my scene, or not? Take it and go! Really, you know, you two Are awfully funny!
[Exit COLUMBINE]
THYRSIS: Corydon, my friend, I'm going to leave you now, and whittle me A pipe, or sing a song, or go to sleep. When you have come to your senses, let me know. [Goes back to where he has been sitting, lies down and sleeps.]
[CORYDON, in going back to where he has been sitting, stumbles
over bowl of colored confetti and colored paper ribbons.]
CORYDON: Why, what is this?—Red stones—and purple stones— And stones stuck full of gold!—The ground is full Of gold and colored stones! . . . I'm glad the wall Was up before I found them!—Otherwise, I should have had to share them. As it is, They all belong to me. . . . Unless—
[He goes to wall and digs up and down the length of it,
to see if there are jewels on the other side.]
None here— None here—none here—They all belong to me! [Sits.]
THYRSIS: [Awakening.] How curious! I thought the little black lamb Came up and licked my hair; I saw the wool About its neck as plain as anything! It must have been a dream. The little black lamb Is on the other side of the wall, I'm sure.
[Goes to wall and looks over. CORYDON is seated on the ground,
tossing the confetti up into the air and catching it.]
Hello, what's that you've got there, Corydon?
CORYDON: Jewels.
THYRSIS: Jewels?—And where did you ever get them?
CORYDON: Oh, over here.
THYRSIS: You mean to say you found them, By digging around in the ground for them?
CORYDON: [Unpleasantly.] No, Thyrsis, By digging down for water for my sheep.
THYRSIS: Corydon, come to the wall a minute, will you? I want to talk to you.
CORYDON: I haven't time. I'm making me a necklace of red stones.
THYRSIS: I'll give you all the water that you want, For one of those red stones,—if it's a good one.
CORYDON: Water?—what for?—what do I want of water?
THYRSIS: Why, for your sheep!
CORYDON: My sheep?—I'm not a shepherd!
THYRSIS: Your sheep are dying of thirst.
CORYDON: Man, haven't I told you I can't be bothered with a few untidy Brown sheep all full of burdocks?—I'm a merchant. That's what I am!—And if I set my mind to it I dare say I could be an emperor! [To himself.] Wouldn't I be a fool to spend my time Watching a flock of sheep go up a hill, When I have these to play with?—when I have these To think about?—I can't make up my mind Whether to buy a city, and have a thousand Beautiful girls to bathe me, and be happy Until I die, or build a bridge, and name it The Bridge of Corydon,—and be remembered After I'm dead.
THYRSIS: Corydon, come to the wall, Won't you?—I want to tell you something.
CORYDON: Hush! Be off! Be off! Go finish your nap, I tell you!
THYRSIS: Corydon, listen: if you don't want your sheep, Give them to me.
CORYDON: Be off! Go finish your nap. A red one—and a blue one—and a red one— And a purple one—give you my sheep, did you say?— Come, come! What do you take me for, a fool? I've a lot of thinking to do,—and while I'm thinking, The sheep might just as well be over here As over there. . . . A blue one—and a red one—
THYRSIS: But they will die!
CORYDON: And a green one—and a couple Of white ones, for a change.
THYRSIS: Maybe I have Some jewels on my side.
CORYDON: And another green one— Maybe, but I don't think so. You see, this rock Isn't so very wide. It stops before It gets to the wall. It seems to go quite deep, However.
THYRSIS: [With hatred.] I see.
COLUMBINE: [Off stage.] Look, Pierrot, there's the moon.
PIERROT: [Off stage.] Nonsense!
THYRSIS: I see.
COLUMBINE: [Off stage.] Sing me an old song, Pierrot,— Something I can remember.
PIERROT: [Off stage.] Columbine. Your mind is made of crumbs,—like an escallop Of oysters,—first a layer of crumbs, and then An oystery taste, and then a layer of crumbs.
THYRSIS: [Searching.] I find no jewels . . . but I wonder what The root of this black weed would do to a man If he should taste it. ... I have seen a sheep die, With half the stalk still drooling from its mouth. 'Twould be a speedy remedy, I should think, For a festered pride and a feverish ambition. It has a curious root. I think I'll hack it In little pieces. . . . First I'll get me a drink; And then I'll hack that root in little pieces As small as dust, and see what the color is Inside. [Goes to bowl on floor.]
The pool is very clear. I see A shepherd standing on the brink, with a red cloak About him, and a black weed in his hand. . . . 'Tis I. [Kneels and drinks.]
CORYDON: [Coming to wall.] Hello, what are you doing, Thyrsis?
THYRSIS: Digging for gold.
CORYDON: I'll give you all the gold You want, if you'll give me a bowl of water. If you don't want too much, that is to say.
THYRSIS: Ho, so you've changed your mind?—It's different, Isn't it, when you want a drink yourself?
CORYDON: Of course it is.
THYRSIS: Well, let me see ... a bowl Of water,—come back in an hour, Corydon. I'm busy now.
CORYDON: Oh, Thyrsis, give me a bowl Of water!—and I'll fill the bowl with jewels, And bring it back!
THYRSIS: Be off, I'm busy now.
[He catches sight of the weed, picks it up and looks at it, unseen by CORYDON.]
Wait!—Pick me out the finest stones you have . . . I'll bring you a drink of water presently.
CORYDON: [Goes back and sits down, with the jewels before him.] A bowl of jewels is a lot of jewels.
THYRSIS: [Chopping up the weed.] I wonder if it has a bitter taste.
CORYDON: There's sure to be a stone or two among them I have grown fond of, pouring them from one hand Into the other.
THYRSIS: I hope it doesn't taste Too bitter, just at first.
CORYDON: A bowl of jewels Is far too many jewels to give away And not get back again.
THYRSIS: I don't belie
February 2, 2020
My second favorite play.
Early absurdist drama with dialogue that manages to be simultaneously funny, heartwrenchingly sweet, and full of biting social and political commentary.
Early absurdist drama with dialogue that manages to be simultaneously funny, heartwrenchingly sweet, and full of biting social and political commentary.
November 18, 2020
My daughter was in a One Act version of this play and it didn't make any sense. Now that I've read it (including the third part, which they cut) I get it. It would be interesting to see the full play performed properly.
November 17, 2008
we were going to do this play one day. in the woods maybe. the two of us. and it would have been splendid.
"my only love, you are so intense!... it is tuedsay, Columbine?- I'll kiss you if it's tuesday."
"my only love, you are so intense!... it is tuedsay, Columbine?- I'll kiss you if it's tuesday."
July 7, 2010
Read this in high school and found it insufferable, as I find all Harlequinades.
May 30, 2024
At first, I was a bit confused by this- after the first two pages I thought I might even have finally found a St. Vincent Millay work I'd actually dislike. But then, page three or four, and I GOT IT. And I had to sit with it for a little while and digest after I finished this. I'd absolutely love to see this performed someday, though I'm not sure it could live up to what's in my head.
October 13, 2023
ESVM's humor doesn't translate as well across the time gap as her despair. I enjoyed the fourth wall breaks throughout the story with the characters being aware of timing problems and scene interruptions, but a lot of the actual jokes probably made more sense to the 1920 audience.
August 25, 2019
One of the rare times where I think a play would be better performed than read.
January 26, 2020
I love reading poetic plays, and this certainly qualifies - I think I need to see it performed to totally grasp it. So many good lines about the moon.
December 3, 2020
"I'm so tired of peacock livers and cavier! Don't we have anything else?"
" We have mushrooms."
"Oh, I could never eat mushrooms!"
" We have mushrooms."
"Oh, I could never eat mushrooms!"
Read
September 16, 2021*Waiting for Godot war flashbacks* thanks, i hate it
February 4, 2023
Clever
March 10, 2025
Subtle Pacifism.
🖊 Though this one act stage play did not really interest me all that much, it was only because of the stiffness of the dialogue. In other words, the sentiment and purpose of this pacifist play is so-so, and the presentation is weak and a touch strange. But Edna St. Vincent Millay was a strange bird.
📕Published – 1920.
જ⁀🟢 ℙ𝕣𝕠𝕛𝕖𝕔𝕥 𝔾𝕦𝕥𝕖𝕟𝕓𝕖𝕣𝕘 .
જ⁀🔵𝕀𝕟𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕟𝕖𝕥 𝔸𝕣𝕔𝕙𝕚𝕧𝕖 .
જ⁀🟣 Kindle.
༺ ༅ ✬ ༅ ༻ ༺ ༅ ✬ ༅ ༻
Excerpts of note:
༒ The set:
༒ Opening lines:
My ratings for this work:
Plot: ★★☆☆☆
Content: ★★☆☆☆
Grammar: ★★☆☆☆
Writing style: ★★☆☆☆
Ease of reading: ★★☆☆☆
My recommendation: ★★☆☆☆
My total rating for this work: ★★☆☆☆ (2.0)
🖊 Though this one act stage play did not really interest me all that much, it was only because of the stiffness of the dialogue. In other words, the sentiment and purpose of this pacifist play is so-so, and the presentation is weak and a touch strange. But Edna St. Vincent Millay was a strange bird.
📕Published – 1920.
જ⁀🟢 ℙ𝕣𝕠𝕛𝕖𝕔𝕥 𝔾𝕦𝕥𝕖𝕟𝕓𝕖𝕣𝕘 .
જ⁀🔵𝕀𝕟𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕟𝕖𝕥 𝔸𝕣𝕔𝕙𝕚𝕧𝕖 .
જ⁀🟣 Kindle.
༺ ༅ ✬ ༅ ༻ ༺ ༅ ✬ ༅ ༻
Excerpts of note:
༒ The set:
🔻 The curtain rises on a stage set for a Harlequinade, a merry black and white interior. Directly behind the footlights, and running parallel with them, is a long table, covered with a gay black and white cloth, on which is spread a banquet. At the opposite ends of this table, seated on delicate thin-legged chairs with high backs, are Pierrot and Columbine, dressed according to the tradition, excepting that Pierrot is in lilac, and Columbine in pink. They are dining.
༒ Opening lines:
🔺 COLUMBINE: Pierrot, a macaroon! I cannot live without a macaroon!
PIERROT: My only love, You are so intense! . . . Is it Tuesday, Columbine?— I'll kiss you if it's Tuesday.
COLUMBINE: It is Wednesday, If you must know . . . . Is this my artichoke, Or yours?
My ratings for this work:
Plot: ★★☆☆☆
Content: ★★☆☆☆
Grammar: ★★☆☆☆
Writing style: ★★☆☆☆
Ease of reading: ★★☆☆☆
My recommendation: ★★☆☆☆
My total rating for this work: ★★☆☆☆ (2.0)
December 5, 2010
The first scene begins and all of a sudden the actors from scene two come on stage and demand to do scene two. After scene two is done, scene one begins again. This play is about scene two. You must suffer through scene one to get to the story.
Scene two is about best friends who when put into a "made up situation" can actually become different people with deadly consequences. It is such a short play that if I write more about it my comments would be longer than the play itself.
I read this play twice and am glad I did.
Scene two is about best friends who when put into a "made up situation" can actually become different people with deadly consequences. It is such a short play that if I write more about it my comments would be longer than the play itself.
I read this play twice and am glad I did.
February 15, 2015
Very historically aware and subtly so, Aria Da Capo draws on everything from Sidney to Shakespeare, from early 19th century Harlequinades to an anticipation of the Godotesque couple that hangs around doing nothing - and all this in one act. The wall in particular made me think of the wall in A Midsummer Night's Dream, which also appears in a play within a play where the actors have a tendency to forget their lines. Millay turns the story on its head, though, and I believe that's entirely why this play works so well.
Displaying 1 - 16 of 16 reviews