is settled?
DAUGHTER. Oh yes, I think so.
FIDDLER. It is the best life. (TO DAUGHTER) Play something.
[As the DAUGHTER goes to the spinet, the SINGER goes out.]
(They play. When it is over, the DAUGHTER turns round and looks at the FIDDLER, and sighs.)
DAUGHTER. That is all you want? Just you and your fiddle and the open road?
FIDDLER. It is the best life.
[The TALKER appears at the window.]
TALKER. Aha! what did I hear? Did I hear our loquacious Fiddler perorating upon Life? "Life," quoth she, with much argument and circumstantial matter; "Life," she continued, making her points singly and one by one, thus keeping the business in its true perspective; "Life is--"(Lamely) Well, what is life?
FIDDLER. When do we start, Johannes?
[The DAUGHTER goes out.]
TALKER. Are you so eager to be gone?
FIDDLER. We have been here eight days.
TALKER. Eight days! And Troy was besieged for eleven years! Eight days! Why, I could talk for eight days without taking breath, and I am by nature a glum, silent man. Nay, nay, say not to me "Eight days." Eight days will not make a man grow old or a woman lose her beauty. (The MOTHER comes into the room.) Or a woman lose her beauty--Madame, I kiss your hands. Were I of less girth I would flit through the window and fall upon my knees at your feet. (The FIDDLER with a shrug goes out.) As it is, I shall enter by the door in the usual way. I have your permission?
MOTHER (smiling). You asked my permission a week ago. You do not need to ask it now.
TALKER (still at the window). It has been a happy week. The week has liked me well.
MOTHER. You take the road again this afternoon. Your plan still holds?
TALKER (with a sigh). They say so, lady.
MOTHER. Who say so? Is not Master Johannes the master of his company? Who say so?
TALKER. The birds. I held converse with a cuckoo-bird this morning. "Cuckoo," he said--in this manner (he imitates it on his pipe)-- meaning, as I gathered, "O fool!" I bowed low to him, and "Pardon, bird," said I,--"but I would have you tell me why I am a fool." He answered thus in parables--"Cuckoo."
MOTHER. And what did _that_ mean?
TALKER (sighing). It meant, "There's no fool like an old fool."
(She looks away. He waits a little, then sighs again and leaves the window, entering a moment later by the door.)
MOTHER (looking up). Well, Sir?
TALKER. Madame, I am a man of good family, although--although I quarrelled with my good family. I left them many years ago and took to the road. I have seen something of the world since then, but I think I must always have had at the back of my mind some dim picture of what a home was--some ancient memory, perhaps. That memory has been very strong within me these last days.
MOTHER. You have liked my home, Master Johannes?
TALKER. I have liked it well. (He takes out his pipe and plays a melancholy "Cuckoo.") Well, well--we start this afternoon.
MOTHER. You want my daughter?
TALKER (sadly). Not your daughter, Madame.
MOTHER. What is it you want? Are you so backward in asking? It is not like the Master Johannes who came to my house eight days ago.
TALKER (taking his courage in his hands). Madame, though I have wandered about the world, I have saved some pennies in my time. A few trifling coins--enough for middle-age. Since I have had the great honour of knowing you--(He breaks of as the voice of the SINGER to full song is heard approaching.) Oh, God bless that poor young fool! Madame, I entreat you--
MOTHER (rising and moving hastily away). Another time, dear Johannes--(she smiles very fondly at him as she goes out)--another time you must tell me--all.
(The TALKER stares after her, hardly believing. Then, with an air of solemn happiness, he takes out his pipe and dances carefully but cheerfully round the room, piping to himself. The SINGER comes in singing merrily, He joins the TALKER at the end of the room, turns round with hint and trips up and down the room with him, one singing and the other piping.)
TALKER. Friend, we are gay.
SINGER. Very, very gay, Master Johannes. (They turn round and go up and down the room as before.)
TALKER. Something is stirring our middle-aged blood. I feel years younger.
SINGER. I have only just been born.
TALKER (with a wave of the hand): Shall we take another turn?
SINGER. At your pleasure. (They go up and down as before.)
TALKER (looking at the other anxiously out of the corners of his eyes). What do you think has happened to us?
SINGER (with a similar look). I--I wonder.
TALKER (nervously). I suppose the fact that we are going off this afternoon--the joy of returning to our old gay life is--is affecting us?
SINGER. I--I suppose so. (Without enthusiasm) Yes, that must be it.
TALKER. This cauliflower existence, this settled life which even the least enterprising cabbage would find monotonous, we have had more than enough of it, my friend.
SINGER. Yes. (He sighs deeply.) I sigh to think how we have wasted these eight days.
TALKER. Ah! (He sighs still more deeply.) However, Heaven be praised, we are for the road this afternoon.
SINGER (gloomily). Heaven be praised! It is a grand life.
TALKER (carelessly). Of course, if you came to me and said, "Johannes," you said, "I left my home in a fit of melancholy five months agone; the melancholy is cured, I will return home again"-- why, I would say, "God bless you, Master Duke; go your way." Well, I can understand such a thing happening to a man of your age, not born to the wandering as I am.
SINGER. Bless you, Johannes, you are a true gentleman.
TALKER (airily). Say no more, say no more.
SINGER. But I cannot accept this
