Excerpt
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!...