 | Uncle Tom's Cabin |  |
SCENE II
A Garden. Tom discovered, seated on a bank, with Eva on his knee—his button
holes are filled with flowers, and Eva is hanging a wreath around his neck. Music
at opening of scene. Enter St. Clare and Ophelia, observing.
Oh, Tom! you look so funny.
TOM:
(Sees St. Clare and puts Eva down.)
I begs pardon, mas'r, but the young
missis would do it. Look yer, I'm like the ox, mentioned in the good book, dress-
ed for the sacrifice.
ST. CLARE:
I say, what do you think, Pussy? Which do you like the best—to
live as they do at your uncle's, up in Vermont, or to have a house-full of ser-
vants, as we do?
EVA:
Oh! of course our way is the pleasantest.
ST. CLARE:
(Patting her head.)
Why so?
EVA:
Because it makes so many more round you to love, you know.
OPHELIA:
Now, that's just like Eva—just one of her odd speeches.
EVA:
Is it an odd speech, papa?
ST. CLARE:
Rather, as this world goes, Pussy. But where has my little Eva
been?
EVA:
Oh! I've been up in Tom's room, hearing him sing.
ST. CLARE:
Hearing Tom sing, hey?
EVA:
Oh, yes! he sings such beautiful things, about the new Jerusalem, and
bright angels, and the land of Canaan.
[Description: 916EAF. Page 090.]
I dare say; it's better than the opera, isn't it?
EVA:
Yes; and he's going to teach them to me.
ST. CLARE:
Singing lessons, hey? You are coming on.
EVA:
Yes, he sings for me, and I read to him in my Bible, and he explains
what it means. Come, Tom. (She takes his hand and they exit.)
ST. CLARE:
(Aside.)
Oh, Evangeline! Rightly named; hath not heaven made thee
an evangel to me?
OPHELIA:
How shiftless! How can you let her?
ST. CLARE:
Why not?
OPHELIA:
Why, I don't know; it seems so dreadful.
ST. CLARE:
You would think no harm in a child's caressing a large dog even
if he was black; but a creature that can think, reason and feel, and is immortal,
you shudder at. Confess it, cousin. I know the feeling among some of you Nor-
therners well enough. Not that there is a particle of virtue in our not having it,
but custom with us does what Christianity ought to do: obliterates the feelings
of personal prejudice. You loathe them as you would a snake or a toad, yet you
are indignant at their wrongs. You would not have them abused but you don't
want to have anything to do with them yourselves. Isn't that it?
OPHELIA:
Well, cousin, there may be some truth in this.
ST. CLARE:
What would the poor and lowly do without children? Your little
child is your only true democrat. Tom, now, is a hero to Eva; his stories are
wonders in her eyes; his songs and Methodist hymns are better than an opera,
and the traps and little bits of trash in his pockets a mine of jewels, and he the
most wonderful Tom that ever wore a black skin. This is one of the roses of Eden
that the Lord has dropped down expressly for the poor and lowly, who get few
enough of any other kind.
OPHELIA:
It's strange, cousin; one might almost think you was a professor, to
hear you talk.
ST. CLARE:
A professor?
OPHELIA:
Yes, a professor of religion.
ST. CLARE:
Not at all; not a professor as you town folks have it, and, what is
worse, I'm afraid, not a practicer, either.
OPHELIA:
What makes you talk so, then?
ST. CLARE:
Nothing is easier than talking. My forte lies in talking, and
yours, cousin, lies in doing. And speaking of that puts me in mind that I have
made a purchase for your department. There's the article now. Here, Topsy!
(Whistles.)
(Topsy runs on.)
Good gracious! what a heathenish, shiftless looking object! St.
Clare, what in the world have you brought that thing here for?
ST. CLARE:
For you to educate, to be sure, and train in the way she should
go. I thought she was rather a funny specimen in the Jim Crow line. Here, Top-
sy, give us a song, and show us some of your dancing. (Topsy sings a verse and
dances a breakdown.)
OPHELIA:
(Paralyzed.)
Well, of all things! If I ever saw the like!
ST. CLARE:
(Smothering a laugh.)
Topsy, this is your new mistress—I'm going
to give you up to her. See now that you behave yourself.
TOPSY:
Yes, mas'r.
[Description: 916EAF. Page 091.]
You're going to be good, Topsy, you understand?
TOPSY:
Oh, yes, mas'r.
OPHELIA:
Now, St. Clare, what upon earth is this for? Your house is so full
of these plagues now, that a body can't set down their foot without treading on
'em. I get up in the morning and find one asleep behind the door, and see one
black head poking out from under the table—one lying on the door mat, and
they are moping and mowing and grinning between all the railings, and tumbl-
ing over the kitchen floor! What on earth did you want to bring this one for?
ST. CLARE:
For you to educate—didn't I tell you? You're always preaching
about educating, I thought I would make you a present of a fresh caught
specimen, and let you try your hand on her and bring her up in the way she
should go.
OPHELIA:
I don't want her, I am sure; I have more to do with 'em now than
I want to.
ST. CLARE:
That's you Christians, all over. You'll get up a society, and get
some poor missionary to spend all his days among just such heathen; but let me
see one of you that would take one into your house with you, and take the labor
of their conversion upon yourselves.
OPHELIA:
Well, I didn't think of it in that light. It might be a real mis-
sionary work. Well, I'll do what I can. (Advances to Topsy.)
She's dreadful dirty
and shiftless! How old are you, Topsy?
TOPSY:
Dunno, missis.
OPHELIA:
How shiftless! Don't know how old you are? Didn't anybody ever
tell you? Who was your mother?
TOPSY:
(Grinning.)
Never had none.
OPHELIA:
Never had any mother? What do you mean? Where was you
born?
TOPSY:
Never was born.
OPHELIA:
You musn't answer me in that way. I'm not playing with you.
Tell me where you was born, and who your father and mother were?
TOPSY:
Never was born, tell you; never had no father, nor mother, nor
nothin'. I war raised by a speculator, with lots of others. Old Aunt Sue used to
take car on us.
ST. CLARE:
She speaks the truth, cousin. Speculators buy them up cheap,
when they are little, and get them raised for the market.
OPHELIA:
How long have you lived with your master and mistress?
TOPSY:
Dunno, missis.
OPHELIA:
How shiftless! Is it a year, or more, or less?
TOPSY:
Dunno, missis.
ST. CLARE:
She does not know what a year is; she don't even know her own
age.
OPHELIA:
Have you ever heard anything about heaven, Topsy? (Topsy looks
bewildered and grins.)
Do you know who made you?
TOPSY:
Nobody, as I knows on, he, he, he! I spect I growed. Don't think
nobody never made me.
OPHELIA:
The shiftless heathen! What can you do? What did you do for
your master and mistress?
TOPSY:
Fetch water—and wash dishes—and rub knives—and wait on
folks—and dance breakdowns.
OPHELIA:
I shall break down, I'm afraid, in trying to make anything of
[Description: 916EAF. Page 092.]
ST. CLARE:
You find virgin soil there, cousin; put in your own ideas—you
won't find many to pull up. (Exit, laughing.)
OPHELIA:
(Takes out her handkerchief. A pair of gloves falls. Topsy picks
them up slyly and puts them in her sleeve.)
Follow me, you benighted innocent!
TOPSY:
Yes, missis.
(As Ophelia turns her back to her, she seizes the end of the ribbon she wears around
her waist, and twitches it off. Ophelia turns and sees her as she is putting it in her
other sleeve. Ophelia takes ribbon from her.)
What's this? You naughty, wicked girl, you've been stealing
this?
TOPSY:
Laws! why, that ar's missis' ribbon, a'nt it? How could it got
caught in my sleeve?
OPHELIA:
Topsy, you naughty girl, don't you tell me a lie—you stole that
ribbon!
TOPSY:
Missis, I declare for't, I didn't—never seed it till dis yer blessed
minnit.
OPHELIA:
Topsy, don't you know it's wicked to tell lies?
TOPSY:
I never tells no lies, missis; it's just de truth I've been telling now
and nothing else.
OPHELIA:
Topsy, I shall have to whip you, if you tell lies so.
TOPSY:
Laws missis, if you's to whip all day, couldn't say no other way. I
never seed dat ar—it must a got caught in my sleeve.(Blubbers.)
OPHELIA:
(Seizes her by the shoulders.)
Don't you tell me that again, you
barefaced fibber! (Shakes her. The gloves fall on stage.)
There you, my gloves
too—you outrageous young heathen! (Picks them up.)
Will you tell me, now,
you didn't steal the ribbon?
TOPSY:
No, missis; stole de gloves, but didn't steal de ribbon. It was
permiskus.
OPHELIA:
Why, you young reprobate!
TOPSY:
Yes—I's knows I's wicked!
OPHELIA:
Then you know you ought to be punished. (Boxes her ears.)
What do you think of that?
TOPSY:
He, he, he! De Lord, missus; dat wouldn't kill a 'skeeter. (Runs off
laughing, Ophelia follows indignantly.)
| Uncle Tom's Cabin | |