University of Virginia Library

INTERLUDE

Music, in which blend strains associated with University revels and
dancing.

(The amphitheatre grows bright again. The door of the banquet hall
opens, loosing a hum of general talk and laughter and the clink of
silver upon china. Jefferson comes out resting his hand affectionately
upon Cabell's shoulder.)
JEFFERSON

Whether to ask remission of our debt or funds for the library? The
latter, oh, surely, my friend, the latter. Were we to stop building now and
open our doors, we should fully satisfy the common sort of mind. And so
we should then be forced to proceed forever upon that low level.

CABELL

I have said we must never again ask money for building—but it is my
chief happiness to please you, in the little time I have left.

JEFFERSON
(Starting away from him.)

The little time?

CABELL

I am quite unable to stand for reëlection.

JEFFERSON

Desert now your holy labors! Think—one life you have. Can you
spend it better? The host of young in the years ahead depend for the freedom
of their souls upon our sacrifice of time, health, even life—(His voice
breaks, but he tries to go on.)
If you continue not firm-breasted, how shall
I without vigor of body or mind—

CABELL
(Stopping him.)

It is not in my nature to resist such an appeal.

JEFFERSON
(Again dropping his hand on Cabell's shoulder.)

My friend, my friend! —You will announce your candidacy?

CABELL

In the next issue of the Enquirer.

VOTER
(Coming up to them from the lawn.)

The talk I mentioned to you, Mr. Jefferson, has reached a head to-day.
The people gathered here are very dissatisfied. When they come together
again to see Lafayette come out, you should speak to them, explain this
rumor—

CABELL
(Frigidly.)

A rumor, sir?

VOTER

That these fancy capitals are an utter failure.

CABELL

More gossip, sir.

JEFFERSON

Gently, my friend. We are physicians unenviably prescribing a
draught nauseous to the public. (Turning to the voter.)
You are correct in
supposing us to have made mistakes, but we prefer to make no speeches. I

have found in a long life that the approbation of the public denied in the
beginning will surely follow right action in the end. Time dissipates these
mists of prejudice. We are building for those who are to come after us.
They will know whether we have builded well or ill. It is from posterity
that we expect remuneration (extending his hand toward the far boundaries of
the lawn)
, and I fear not the appeal. (The voter goes off as he came.)
It is
true, Mr. Cabell. Our Italian artist to-day spoiled this stone. (He turns
in greeting to Madison and Monroe as they come out of the banquet hall.)
Your
feasting with Lafayette has been interrupted, sirs, by the claims of your
office as Visitors of the University. Your rector needs advice. Signor Raggi
has decided, after all, that Corinthian capitals can never be faithfully carved
from such coarse stone. Shall we in the absence of our colleagues, the other
Visitors, arrest his work?

MONROE

By all means.

MADISON

Pay his passage back to Leghorn if need be. He is hardly more popular
than useful.

JEFFERSON

And the capitals? (The other men are silent, waiting for him to go on.)

We shall still have to get capitals. (He takes the notebook from his pocket and,
consulting it, speaks in deliberate, matter-of-fact tones.)
I have made computations.
Capitals are relatively cheap in Italy. They understand there
doing these things more expeditiously than we. We can have at a reasonable
figure—less than we have already spent in experiment—capitals of
flawless marble.

MADISON

Marble!

CABELL

And imported! Consider the legislature, Mr. Jefferson.

MONROE

Think how delays goad the public impatience.

JEFFERSON
(As if he has not heard.)

These colonnades will shelter the visions of unnumbered hosts, young
Lockes, Newtons, even Lafayettes brave for right. Here the fledgling poet
shall sense the law of austere beauty which Homer knew, and boy Ciceros
learn to strip their raw fancies from the chaste, compelling truth—

(He breaks off. There is a little silence, and then Madison taking a
step forward speaks to Cabell and Monroe.)

MADISON

Thomas Jefferson is the father of the University of Virginia. It is the
very shadow of his great self. He alone can know how its spirit must be
bodied forth. Let us not deny him one stone.

MONROE

Jefferson, you must decide.

(He seizes Jefferson's hand and wrings it warmly. The others follow
his example and go at once back toward the banquet hall.)

JEFFERSON

But your advice—I need your advice—your help—

CABELL

You are an infinitely better judge than we.

(They go in. Jefferson stands alone staring down at the rejected stone,
his notebook still in his hand. Brockenbrough comes up from the
lawn.)

BROCKENBROUGH

You saw the Visitors?

JEFFERSON

Yes.

BROCKENBROUGH

About Raggi, I mean.

JEFFERSON

About Raggi? Yes.

BROCKENBROUGH

What did they decide, sir? Is he to go on spoiling good material?

JEFFERSON

No. Oh, no. We must have no more good material spoiled, Mr.
Brockenbrough. (His abstraction is so deep that he seems not to notice Brockenbrough's
restless shifting of position.)
We must stop Raggi from spoiling
good material. They were clear about that.

BROCKENBROUGH

And the capitals? How shall we finish the columns?

JEFFERSON

They told me to decide—but I am very tired—It would take a long
time to bring capitals from Italy, Mr. Brockenbrough.

BROCKENBROUGH

A good many months, I should suppose, and a clumsy job at best.
Even after they are dumped off at New York, they would have to be got to
Richmond, and, after that, long, tedious hauls by batteaux and wagons.
It would delay us indefinitely.

JEFFERSON

Months and months.

BROCKENBROUGH
(With sudden sympathy.)

Why worry now, sir? You've had a long day. You can discharge
Raggi to-morrow—and then think about the capitals.

JEFFERSON

To-morrow. I will decide to-morrow.

(Brockenbrough goes off hat in hand. From the banquet hall comes
Lafayette.)

LAFAYETTE

Jefferson. My friend.

JEFFERSON

Lafayette, Lafayette, the years press sensibly on our shoulders. How
long since your shield covered this neighborhood from the ravages of Cornwallis!
How long since you brought your band of patriots to my house in
Paris to wish a constitution! History has turned many chapters since then,
of Robespierre, Barras, Bonaparte and the Bourbons.

LAFAYETTE

Many chapters indeed, Jefferson.

JEFFERSON
(Walking away, head bowed.)

Replete with intrigue, dark with death.

LAFAYETTE
(Following.)

But on every page the bright recurrent phrase.

JEFFERSON

The bright phrase?

LAFAYETTE

You ask! You who in young manhood wrote, all men are free; and now
in the ripeness of age make them this material pledge. (His gesture includes
the buildings and lawn.)

JEFFERSON

Freedom.

LAFAYETTE

A fair flag for the young crusaders to be nurtured here.

(The chief marshal comes out of the banquet hall and looks about him.
Lafayette, at the far end of the terrace, presses Jefferson's two hands
in silence and joins the marshal. They go back into the banquet hall.)

JEFFERSON

Young Lafayettes brave for truth.

(A shadowy figure slips in and kneels beside the rejected stone. Then
comes Socrates, hands behind him, face lifted, intent upon absorbing
reverie. Back of him is Phædrus with shield and spear. They are
almost upon the kneeling youth when Phædrus, seeing him, lays his
hand upon Socrates' arm.)

SOCRATES

What, Lysis! Still at the altar of truth? (As Lysis lifts grief-stricken
eyes, his tone of raillery softens into tender reproach.)
Ah, my son, you grieve.

PHÆDRUS
(In a low tone.)

Because I am ordered to the frontier and you are to be tried, Lysis is
sure I shall be killed and you condemned.

SOCRATES

Lysis, I was condemned to die from the hour of my birth. My judges
can but fix the time of my setting forth. Look, is tranquil sleep a boon or a
curse?

LYSIS
(Rising and never taking his eyes from Socrates' face.)

A boon, of course.

SOCRATES

Or if, as some say, we live on after death, would not Phædrus joyfully
go to meet the heroes of old—Palamedes and Ajax, the son of Telamon?
Think, Lysis, what could he not learn of Orpheus or of Homer.

LYSIS
(Lifting his arms, as though they were winged and he would take flight.)

Truth itself.

PHÆDRUS

And how they would tell it!

Greek Dancing at the Pageant

SOCRATES

You see. The hour is neither here nor there. Would not you yourself,
Lysis, who are yet young, this moment gladly die, if you so might lighten,
a little, men's load of tyranny and error?

LYSIS

Gladly—Oh!

(Far off a trumpet sounds and then the tread of marching feet. A
company of youths with shields and spears passes along and Phædrus
silently joins them. Lysis, lifting his arms high above his head, leaps
down the steps to dance upon the grass. He dances, not the freedom of
nature but the blood-bought liberty of peoples, to music which is martial
and splendid. Socrates watches him and then goes away, stopping
once or twice to look back at him. Dancers in deep blue come in. The
recurrent poses of their dance suggest a frieze or the pediment of some
Greek temple. When their dance is ended Lysis rushes up the steps
and pauses there, arms uplifted as though he would actually take flight.
Again there are trumpets. He drops his arms and marches away at
the head of the martial company.)
(The doors of the banquet hall are thrown open, and there floats forth a
confusion of talk and the scraping of chairs. The flag-bearer comes
out, but, finding himself a little premature, halts suddenly and stands
looking back almost hidden by the mingled folds of the two flags. The
nearly level light throws a long diagonal shadow across the terrace,
enveloping Jefferson. Lafayette comes out. He pauses once at the
very spot where Lysis stood a moment earlier, and the sunlight falls
startlingly upon him and the mingled flags behind him. The banqueters
coming out in confusion fill the terrace, and crowds on the
lawn press near the steps. A fragment of cheering struggles up, but
clamor drowns it. Lafayette goes down the steps with his staff, folowed
by the local dignitaries; and the people push in behind them.
Jefferson is left alone. From the shadow on the lawn pass workmen
homeward bound singing softly:)
(Jefferson hurries after them along the terrace, calling.)

JEFFERSON

Gorman, oh, Gorman!

GORMAN

Yes, Mr. Jefferson?

JEFFERSON

Has Signor Raggi gone?

GORMAN

No, Mr. Jefferson.

(Jefferson has stopped in the light; and its glow falls full upon his face
turned toward Gorman down on the lawn.)

JEFFERSON

Then send him to me.

(Gorman goes back. There is a light, deepening to brilliance, and the
sound of flutes in processional drawing nearer and nearer. A girl
comes out and dances, and after her Athenian maidens bearing green
palm fronds. They dance on the grass and then sweep the rejected
stone and the steps with their branches. The flutes are at hand, and
the players appear. After them come other groups in sacred processional:
high-born maidens carrying aloft painted jars of oil and golden
vases of wine; old men with olive-boughs; athletes wearing coronals
of victory; and attendants of the temple, some with long garlands of
flowers for the altar and some with trays and baskets of sacrificial
loaves and fruit. From the slopes above the amphitheatre come the
host of Athenian youths in ordered march filling the lawn in great
semicircles. They carry unlighted torches. At last the priestess of
Athena walks slowly forth to stand beside the stone. An attendant
brings her the lustral bowl. She bathes her hands. Attendants offer
fagots. She kindles a fire and prays.)

PRIESTESS

Cleanse us of error, great daughter of Jove.

(As the fire leaps into flame, Lysis draws near in the last measures of
the Moth-dance. The priestess gives a torch into his hand. He runs
down and kindles the torch in the hands of a youth near the steps.
The light travels from hand to hand until the whole lawn is ablaze with
torches. The youths sing:)
(Still singing, carrying torches aloft, led by Lysis, they march up the
steps and through the central doorway of the building. Group by
group, the worshipers follow. The priestess, when they have all gone,
pours a perfumed libation on the fire, quenching the flame, and herself
follows. The last sound of the recessional is the echo of flutes.)
(A group of workmen passes. Jefferson hurries toward them into the
light, but then he pauses, waiting. Another group passes. Then
come Gorman and Raggi.)

RAGGI
(Cap in hand, below the steps.)

You wanted me, signor?

(Gorman goes on by.)

JEFFERSON

Yes, Raggi. I have decided.

CORNELIA
(Coming out of the shrubs at the other side of the steps.)

Are you never coming?

JEFFERSON

Ah, my child, is Wild Air impatient?

CORNELIA

Wild Air! Why, dear, Wild Air belonged to White House days. I can
hardly remember him. Don't you know—you ride Eagle now.

JEFFERSON

Yes, yes, Eagle, Old Eagle. (He straightens himself. The sunset light
deepens in color upon his face.)
Raggi, I have decided. You shall be our
agent to buy capitals in Italy.

RAGGI

In Italy. Of marble, signor? It is so firm to the chisel.

CORNELIA
(Softly, hands to her breast.)

Marble of Carrara?

JEFFERSON

White marble from the quarries of Carrara.

(Raggi goes off, and Cornelia turns away. Jefferson comes down the
steps to the lawn, his shadow yet a moment lying in the last path of
light.)