University of Virginia Library

THE NEXT EVENING

PRISCILLA is sitting alone, lost in revery, before the fireplace. It is almost as if she had not moved since the evening before.
A knock, and the door opens to admit JOHN ALDEN, nonchalant, disillusioned, and twenty-one.
JOHN:

Good evening. Hope I don't bother you.

PRISCILLA:

The only people who bother me are women who tell me I'm beautiful and men who don't.

JOHN:

Not a very brilliant epigram—but still—yes, you are beautiful.

PRISCILLA:

Of course, if it's an effort for you to say—

JOHN:

Nothing is worthwhile without effort.

PRISCILLA:

Sounds like Miles Standish; many things I do without effort are worthwhile; I am beautiful without the slightest effort.

JOHN:

Yes, you're right. I could kiss you without any effort—and that would be worthwhile— perhaps.

PRISCILLA:

Kissing me would prove nothing. I kiss as casually as I breathe.

JOHN:

And if you didn't breathe—or kiss —you would die.

PRISCILLA:

Any woman would.

JOHN:

Then you are like other women. How unfortunate.

PRISCILLA:

I am like no woman you ever knew.

JOHN:

You arouse my curiosity.

PRISCILLA:

Curiosity killed a cat.

JOHN:

A cat may look at a—Queen.

PRISCILLA:

And a Queen keeps cats for her amusement. They purr so delightfully when she pets them.

JOHN:

I never learned to purr; it must be amusing—for the Queen.

PRISCILLA:

Let me teach you. I'm starting a new class tonight.

JOHN:

I'm afraid I couldn't afford to pay the tuition.

PRISCILLA:

For a few exceptionally meritorious pupils, various scholarships and fellowships have been provided.

JOHN:

By whom? Old graduates?

PRISCILLA:

NO—the institution has been endowed by God—

JOHN:

With exceptional beauty—I'm afraid I'm going to kiss you. NOW.

(They kiss.)
(Ten minutes pass.)
PRISCILLA:

Stop smiling in that inane way.

JOHN:

I just happened to think of something awfully funny. You know the reason why I came over here tonight?

PRISCILLA:

To see me. I wondered why you hadn't come months ago.

JOHN:

No. It's really awfully funny—but I came here tonight because Miles Standish made me promise this morning to ask you to marry him. Miles is an awfully good egg, really Priscilla.

PRISCILLA:

Speak for yourself, John.

(They kiss.)
PRISCILLA:

Again.

JOHN:

Again—and again. Oh Lord, I'm gone.

(An hour later JOHN leaves. As the door closes behind him PRISCILLA sinks back into her chair before the fireplace; an hour passes, and she does not move; her aunt returns from the Bradfords' and after a few ineffectual attempts at conversation goes to bed alone; the candles gutter, flicker, and die out; the room is filled

A QUIET EVENING IN PLYMOUTH
"Priscilla: Speak for yourself, John.
(They kiss.)
Priscilla: Again.
John: Again—and again. Oh, Lord, I'm gone!
(An hour later John leaves.)"

[Description: Priscilla sits on John's lap on a wooden bench before a fire. They are embracing. Black and white illustration by Herb Roth. ]

with moonlight, softly stealing through the silken skein of sacred silence. Once more the clock chimes forth the hour— the hour of fluted peace, of dead desire and epic love. Oh not for aye, Endymion, mayst thou unfold the purple panoply of priceless years. She sleeps— PRISCILLA sleeps—and down the palimpsest of age-old passion the lyres of night breathe forth their poignant praise. She sleeps—eternal Helen—in the moonlight of a thousand years; immortal symbol of immortal aeons, flower of the gods transplanted on a foreign shore, infinitely rare, infinitely erotic.[1]