The artist; a drama without words

The Artist

:\ DRAMA VVITHOiri' WORDS

Henry L. Mencken

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^e cArtist

PS

Copyright, igog, by

xne Bokemian Publisking Comt>uiy

Copyright, igi2, by

Henry L. Mencken

The Four Seas Press
Boston, Mass., U.S.A.

A Great Pianist

A Janitor

Six Mtisical Critics

A Married Woman

A Virgin

Sixteen-hundred and fofiy-ihree

Other Women
Six Other Men
TIME
A December Afternoon
PLACE
A City of the
United States m%. ll^'^SSSS

crT^OTE

During the action of the play not a word is
uttered aloud. All the speeches of the charac-
ters are supposed to be unspoken meditations.

A large, gloomy hall, with many rows of
uncushioned, uncomfortable seats, de-
signed, it would seem, by some one mis-
informed as to the average width of the
normal human pelvis. A number of
busts of celebrated composers, once white,
but now a dirty gray, stand in niches
along the walls. At one end of the hall
there is a bare, uncarpeted stage, with
nothing on it save a grand piano and a
chair. It is raining outside, and, as
hundreds of people come crowding in,
the air is laden with the w,ingled scefits
of umbrellas, raincoats, goloshes^ cos-
metics, perfumery and wet hair.

At eight mijiutes past four, the Janitor, after
smoothing his hair with his hands a?id
putting on a pair of detachable cuffs, e-
merges from the ivings and crosses the

mi

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stage, his shoes squeaking hideously at
each step. Arriving at the piano, he
opens it with solemn slowness. The job
seems so absurdly trivial, even to so
mean an understanding ^ that he can't
refrain from glorifying it with a bit of
hocus-pocus. This takes the form of a
careful adjustment of a mysterious some-
thing within the instrument. He
reaches in, pauses a moment as if in
doubt^ reaches in again, and then per-
mits a faint smile of conscious sapience
and efficiency to illuminate his face.
All of this accomplished, he tiptoes back
to the wingSy his shoes again squeaking,

THE JANITOR
cSNow all of them people think I'm the
professor's tuner.

[ The thought gives him such delight thaf^
for a moment, his brain is numbed.
Then he proceeds. ]

I guess them tuners make pretty good
[121

* ts^e cArtist *

money. I wish I could get the hang of
the trick. It looks eas/^.

[,By this time he has disappeared in the
wings and the stage is again a des-
ert. Two or three women ^ far back
in the hall, start a half -hearted hand-
clapping. It dies out at once. The
noise of rustling programmes and
shuffling feet succeeds it. ]

FOUR HUNDRED OF THE WOMEN
Oh, I do certainly hope he plays that
lovely Valse Poup6e as an encore ! They
say he does it better than Bloomfield-Zei-
sleP.

ONE OF THE CRITICS
I hope the animal doesn't pull any en-
core numbers that I don't recognize. cAU
of these people will buy the paper to-
morrow morning just to find out what
they have heard. It's infernally embar-
rassing to have to ask the manager. The
1131

* f^e cArtist *

public expects a musical critic to be a sort
of walking thematic catalogue. The pub-
lic is an ass.

THE SIX OTHER MEN

Oh, Lord! ^A^at a way to spend an
afternoon !

A HUNDRED OF THE WOMEN

I wonder if he's as handsome as Pade-
rewski.

ANOTHER HUNDRED OF THE WOMEN

I wonder if he's as gentlemanly as Josef
Hofmann.

STILL ANOTHER HUNDRED WOMEN

I wonder if he's as fascinating as De
Pachmann.

YET OTHER HUNDREDS

I wonder if he has dark eyes. You ne-
ver can tell by those awful photographs in
the newspapers.

I14J

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HALF A DOZEN WOMEN
I wonder if he can really play the piano.

THE CRITIC AFORESAID
What a hell of a long wait ! These rot-
ten piano-thumping immigrants deserve a
hard call-down. But what's the use ?
The piano manufacfturers bring them over
here to wallop their pianos— and the pi-
ano manufacSlurers are not afraid to ad-
vertise. If you knock them too hard you
have a nasty business-office row on your
hands.

ONE OF THE MEN

If they allowed smoking, it wouldn't be
so bad.

ANOTHER MAN

I wonder if that woman across the
aisle—

\_The Great Pianist bounces upon the stage
so suddenly that he is bowing in the
1151

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center before any one thinks to ap-
plaud. He makes three stiff bows.
At the second the applause begins,
swelling at ance to a roar. He steps
up to the piano, bows three times
more, a nd then sits down . He hunch-
es his shoulders, reaches for the pedals
with his feet, spreads out his hands
and waits for the clapper-clawing to
cease. He is an undersized, paunchy
East German^ with hair the color of
wet hay, and an extremely pallid com-
plexion. Talcum powder hides the
fa5l that his nose is shiny and some-
what pink. His eyebrows are care-
fully pencilled and there are artificial
shadows under his eyes. His face is
absolutely expressionless J\

THE VIRGIN
Oh!

THE MARRIED WOMEN

Oh!

116]

* W^e c/^rtist *

THE OTHER WOMEN

Oh ! How dreadfully handsome !

THE VIRGIN
Oh, such eyes ! Such depth ! How he
must have suffered ! I'd like to hear him
play the Prelude in D-flat major. It would
drive you crazy !

THE MARRIED WOMAN

How he could play the Moonlight — or
the Appassionata !

A HUNDRED OTHER WOMEN

I certainly do hope he plays some Schu-
mann.

OTHER WOMEN

What beautiful hands ! I could kiss
them 1

\_The great Pianist^ throTving back his
head, strikes the massive opening
chords of a Beethoven sonata. There
[17]

is a sudden hush and each note is
heard clearly. The tempo of the first
movement, which begins after a
grand pause, is allegro con brio, and
the first subject is given out in a
sparkling cascade of sound. But de-
spite the buoyancy of the music, there
is an unmistakable undercurrent of
melancholy in the playing . The aud'
ience doesn't fail to notice it. 2

THE VIRGIN
Oh, perfec5t ! I could love him ! Pad-
erewski played it like a barn dance. W^hat
poetry he puts into it ! I can ape a soldier
lover marching off to war . . . and thro-wing
kisses to his sweetheart . . .

ONE OF THE CRITICS

The ass is dragging it. Doesn't con brio

mean — well, what the devil does it mean ?

I forget. I must look it up before I write

the notice. Somehow, brio suggests

[18]

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cheese. Anyhow, Pachmann plays it a
damn sight faster. It's safe to say Ma/,
at all events.

THE MARRIED WOMAN

Oh, I could listen to that sonata all day!
The poetry he puts into it— even into the
allegro ! Just think what the andante will
be ! I like music to be sad.

ANOTHER WOMAN

What a sob he gets into it I

MANY OTHER WOMEN
How exquisite !

THE GREAT PIANIST
\^Gathering himself together for the difficult
development section.^

That American beer will be the death
of me ! I wonder what they put into it to
give it that gassy taste. And the so-called
German beer they sell over here— good

[19]

» ^S^e c/5rtist *

Lord ! Even Bremen would be ashamed
of it. In Munchen the police would take
a hand.

\_Aiming for the first and second Cs above
the staff, he accidentally strikes the C
sharps instead and has to transpose
three measures to get back into the key.
The effeSl is harrowing, and he gives
his audience a swift glance of appre-
hension^

TWO HUNDRED AND FIFTY WOMEN

What new beauties he gets out of it !

A MAN

He can tickle the ivories, all right, all
right!

A CRITIC

^Vell, at any rate, he doesn't try to imi-
tate Paderewski.

120]

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THE GREAT PIANIST

\_Relieved by the non-appearajice of the hisses
he expelled, '\

Well, it's lucky for me that I'm not in
Leipzig today ! But in Leipzig an artist
runs no risks: the beer is pure. The
authorities see to that. The worst enemy
of technique is biliousness, and biliousness
is sure to follow bad beer.

\^He gets to the coda at last and takes it at a
somewhat livelier pace. ^

THE VIRGIN
How I envy the woman he loves ! How
it would thrill me to feel his arms about
me— to be drawn closer, closer, closer I
I would give up the whole world ! ^A^at
are conventions, prejudices, legal forms,
morality, after all ? Vanities I Love is be-
yond and above them all— aoid art is love !
I think I must be a pagan.
[21]

^ ^e cArtist ^

THE GREAT PIANIST

And the herring ! Good God, what her-
ring ! These infernal cAmericans —

THE VIRGIN
Really, I am quite indecent ! I should
blush, I suppose. But love is never a-
shamed — How people misunderstand
me!

THE MARRIED WOMAN

I wonder if he's faithful. The chances
are against it. I never heard of a man
^vho ^vas.

[,An agreeable melancholy overcomes her and
she gives herself up to the mood with-
out further thought^

THE GREAT PIANIST

I wonder what ever became of that girl

in Dresden. Every time I think of her,

she suggests pleasant thoughts— good

beer, a fine band, gemuethlichkeit, I must

[22]

* ^e c^rtist ««•

have been in love with her— not much, of
course, but just enough to make things
pleasant. And not a single letter from her !
I suppose she thinks I'm starving to death
over here— or tuning pianos. W^ell, when
I get back with the money there'll be a
shock for her. A shock— but not a
pfennig!

THE MARRIED WOMAN
\_Her emotional coma ended. ^

Still, you can hardly blame him. There
must be a good deal of temptation for a
great artist. All of these frumps here
would—

THE VIRGIN
Ah, how dolorous, how^ exquisite is
love! How small the world would seem
if—

THE MARRIED WOMAN

Of course you could hardly call such old
scarecrows temptations. But still—
1231

* ^e cArtist *

[ The Great Pianist comes to the last measure
of the coda— a passage of almost
Haydnesque clarity and spirit. As
he strikes the broad chord of the tonic
there comes a roar of applause. He
arises, moves a step or two down the
stage, and makes a series of low bows,
his hands to his heart. ~\

THE GREAT PIANIST
\_Bo7ving.'\ I wonder why the American
w^omen always wear raincoats to piano re-
citals. Even when the sun is shining
brightly, one sees hundreds of them.
W^hat a disagreeable smell they give to
the hall. [_More applause and more bows.~\
An American audience always smells of
rubber and lilies-of-the-valley. How dif-
ferent in London I There an audience al-
ways smells of soap. In Paris it reminds
you of sachet bags— and lingerie.
[ The applause ceases and he returns to the
piano ^
And now comes that damned adagio,
[24]

* ^e cArtist *

[.As he begins to play, a deathlike silence
falls upon the hall.'\

ONE OF THE CRITICS
\A^at rotten pedaling !

ANOTHER CRITIC
A touch like a xylophone player, but he
knows how to use his feet. That suggests
a good line for the notice— * 'he plays bet-
ter with his feet than w^ith his hands,"
or something like that. I'll have to think
it over and polish it up.

ONE OF THE OTHER MEN

Now comes some more of that awful
classical stuff.

THE VIRGIN
Suppose he can't speak English? But
that wouldn't matter. Nothing matters.
Love is beyond and above —
I25J

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SIX HUNDRED WOMEN

Oh, how beautiful !

THE MARRIED WOMAN

Perfect I

THE DEAN OF THE CRITICS
[Sinking quickly into the slumber which
always overtakes him during the
adagio^

C-c-c-c-c-c-c-c-c-c-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h!

THE YOUNGEST CRITIC

There is that old fraud asleep again.
And tomorrow he'll print half a column of
vapid reminiscence and call it criticism.
It's a wonder his paper stands for him.
Because he once heard Liszt, he seems to
be a privileged charac5ter.

THE GREAT PIANIST
That plump girl over on the left is
not so bad. As for the rest, I beg to be
[26]

^ ^5e c>^rtist it^

excused. The American women have no
more shape than so many matches. They
are too tall and too thin. I like a nice
rubbery armful— like that Dresden girl.
Or that harpist in Moscow— the girl with
the Pilsner hair. Let me see, what was
her name? Oh, Fritzi, to be sure— but
her last name? Schmidt? Kraus? Meyer?
I'll have to try to think of it, and send her
a postcard.

THE MARRIED WOMAN

What delicious flutelike tones !

ONE OF THE WOMEN
If Beethoven could only be here to hear
it! He would cry for very joy! Maybe
he does hear it. Who knows ? I believe
he does. I am sure he does.

[ T/ie Great Pianist reaches the end of the
adagio, and there is another burst of
applause, which awakens the Dean of
the Critics.^

[271

* ^e cArtist *

THE DEAN OF THE CRITICS

Oh, piffle! Compared to Gottschalk,
the man is an amateur. Let him go back
to the conservatory for a couple of years.

ONE OF THE MEN

[Looking at his programme . ]

Next comes the shirt-so. I hope it has
some tune in it.

THE VIRGIN
The adagio is love's agony, but the
scherzo is love triumphant. ^Vhat beauti-
ful eyes he has ! And how pale he is !

THE GREAT PIANIST
[^Resuming his grim toil^

Well, there's half of it over. But this
scherzo is ticklish business. That horrible
evening in Prague— v^ill I ever forget it?
Those hisses — and the papers next day !
[281

^ ^5e c^rtist ^

ONE OF THE MEN
Go it, professor! That's the best
you've done yet !

ONE OF THE CRITICS

Too fast !

ANOTHER CRITIC

Too slow !

A YOUNG GIRL
My, but ain't the professor just full of
talent !

THE GREAT PIANIST

Well, so far no accident.

[,He negotiates a difficult passage, and plays
it triumphaiitly , but at some expendi-
ture of cold perspiration . ]

What a hellish way for a man to make
a living !

129)

«^ W^e c>ZIrtist ^

THE VIRGIN
"What passion he puts into it ! His soul
is in his finger tips.

A CRITIC
A human pianola !

THE GREAT PIANIST
This scherzo always fetches the women.
I can hear them draw long breaths. That
plump girl is getting pale. Well, why
shouldn't she ? I suppose I'm about the
best pianist she has ever heard— or ever
will hear. ^A^hat people can see in that
Hambourg fellow I never could imagine.
In Chopin, Schumann, Grieg, you might
fairly say he's pretty good. But it takes
an ajiist to play Beethoven.

\_He rattles on to the end of the scherzo and
there is more applause. Then he dashes
into the finale^

[301

nF ^5e o^rtist ^

THE DEAN OF THE CRITICS

Too loud! Too loud! It sounds like
an ash-cart going down an alleys. But
\vhat can you expec5t ? Piano playing is a
lost art. Paderewski ruined it.

THE GREAT PIANIST
I ought to clear 200,000 marks by this
towniie. If it weren't for those thieving
agents and hotel-keepers, I'd make 300,000.
Just think of it— twenty-four marks a day
for a room ! That's the way these Ame-
ricans treat a visiting artist ! The country
is worse than Bulgaria. I was treated
better at Bucharest. V^ell, it won't last
forever. As soon as I get enough of their
money they'll see me no more. Vienna
is the place to settle down. A nice studio
at 50 marks a month— and the life of a
gentleman. "What was the name of that
red-cheeked little girl in the cafe on the
Franzjosefstrasse— that girl with the gold
tooth and the silk stockings ? I'll have to
look her up.

[311

* X^e cArtist *

THE VIRGIN
"What an artist I V/hat a master ! What
a—

THE MARRIED WOMAN

Has he really suffered, or is it just in-
tuition ?

THE GREAT PIANIST
No, marriage is a waste of money. Let
the other fellow marry her.

[_He approaches the closing measures of the
finale.^

And now for a breathing spell and a swal-
low of beer. American beer ! Bah ! But
it's better than nothing. The Americans
drink water. Cattle I Animals ! Ach, Muen-
chen, wie bist du so schoen!

\_As he concludes there is a whirlwind of
applause and he is forced to bow a-
gain and again. Finally, he is per-
[32]

mitted to retire, and the audience pre-
pares to spend the short intermission
in whispering , gru7iting, wrigglifig ,
scraping its feet, rattling its pro-
grammes and gaping at hats. The
Six Musical Critics and Six Other
Men, their lips parched and their eyes
staring, gallop for the door. As the
Great Piayiist comes from the stage,
the Janitor meets him, with a large
glass of beer. He seizes it eagerly
and downs it at a gulp.^

THE JANITOR
My, but them professors can put the
stuff a\vay I

PS MencKen, Henry Louis

3525 The artist

Ei!,3A8
1912

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