PS
3529
N5
B4
1921
MAIN
PC-NRLF
B M 1DD
BEYOND THE
HORIZON
By
EUGENE O'NEILL
v
PUBLISHED FOR
THE DRAMATISTS PLAY SERVICE
by
RANDOM HOUSE - NEW YORK
PRICE 75 CENTS
•;?.
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GEORGE S. KAUFMAN
JOHN HOWARD LAWSON
HOWARD LINDSAY
ALBERT MALTZ
KENYON NU HOI SON
CLIFFORD ODETS
EDWARD CHILDS CARPENTER
EUGENE O'NEILL
FHILIP BARRY
ELMER RICE
ROBERT E. SHERWOOD
WALTER PRICHARD EATON
JOHN WEXLET
GEORGE ABBOTT
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RACHEL CROTHERS
MARTIN FLAVIN
SI SAN GLASPELL
JOHN GOLDEN
ARTHUR HOPKINS
AUSTIN STRONG
6 EAST 39TH STREET, NEW YORK CITY
BEYOND THE
HORIZON
By
EUGENE O'NEILL
PUBLISHED FOR
THE DRAMATISTS PLAY SERVICE
by
RANDOM HOUSE NEW YORK
Copyright, 1921, by Eugene O'Neill
CAUTION: Professionals and amateurs are hereby warned that
Beyond the Horizon, being fully protected under the copyright
laws of the United States of America, the British Empire,
including the Dominion of Canada, and all other countries of
the copyright union, is subject to a royalty. All rights, includ
ing professional, amateur, motion picture, recitation, public
reading, radio broadcasting, and the rights of translation into
foreign languages, are strictly reserved. In its present form
this play is dedicated to the reading public only. All in
quiries regarding this play should be addressed to Richard J.
Madden Play Company, at 1501 Broadway, New York, N. Y.
The non-professional acting rights of Beyond the Horizon are
controlled exclusively by the Dramatists Play Service, Inc.,
6 East 39th Street, New York, N. Y., without whose per
mission in writing no performance of it may be made.
Manufactured in the United States of America
/v/5 Q
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MA/A/
CHARACTERS
JAMES MAYO, a farmer
KATE MAYO, fci* wz'/e
CAPTAIN DICK SCOTT, of Jfce fcar/c Sunda, /ter brother
ANDREW MAYO
_. ,, ^^ow* of JAMES MAYO
ROBERT MAYO
RUTH ATKINS
MRS. ATKINS, her widowed mother
MARY
BEN, a farm hand
DOCTOR FAWCETT
ACT I
SCENE I: The Road. Sunset of a day in Spring.
SCENE II: The Farm House The same night.
ACT II
(Three years later)
SCENE I: The Farm House. Noon of a Summer day.
SCENE II: The top of a hill on the farm overlooking the sea.
The following day.
ACT III
(Five years later)
SCENE I: The Farm House. Dawn of a day in late Fall.
SCENE II: The Road. Sunrise.
BEYOND THE HORIZON
ACT ONE
BEYOND THE HORIZON
ACT ONE
SCENE ONE
A section of country highway. The road runs diagonally
from the left, forward, to the right, rear, and can be seen in
the distance winding toward the horizon like a pale ribbon
between the low, rolling hills with their freshly plowed fields
clearly divided from each other, checkerboard fashion, by the
lines of stone walls and rough snake fences.
The forward triangle cut off by the road is a section of a
field from the dark earth of which myriad bright-green blades
of fall-sown rye are sprouting. A straggling line of piled
rocks, too low to be called a wall, separates this field from
the road.
To the reai of the road is a ditch with a sloping, grassy
bank on the far side. From the center of this an old, gnarled
apple tree, just budding into leaf, strains its twisted branches
heavenwards, black against thi, pallor of distance. A snake-
fence sidles from left to right along the top of the bank, pass
ing beneath the apple tree.
The hushed twilight of a day in May is just beginning. The
horizon hills are still rimmed by a faint line of flame, and the
sky above them glows with the crimson flush of the sunset.
This fades gradually as the action of the scene progresses.
At the rise of the curtain, ROBERT MAYO is discovered sitting
15
16 PLAYS OF EUGENE O'NEILL
on the fence. He is a tall, slender young man of twenty-three.
There is a touch of the poet about him expressed in his high
forehead and wide, dark eyes. His features are delicate and
refined, leaning to "weakness in the mouth and chin. He is
dressed in gray corduroy trousers pushed into high laced boots,
and a blue flannel shirt with a bright colored tie. He is read
ing a book by the fading sunset light. He shuts this, keeping
a finger in to mark the place, and turns his head toward the
horizon, gazing out over the fields and hills. His lips move as
if he were reciting something to himself.
His brother ANDREW comes along the road from the right,
returning from his work in the fields. He is twenty-seven years
old, an opposite type to ROBERT — husky, sun-bronzed, hand
some in a large-featured, manly fashion — a son of the soil,
intelligent in a shrewd way, but with nothing of the intellectual
about him. He wears overalls, leather boots, a gray flannel
shirt open at the neck, and a soft, mud-stained hat pushed back
on his head. He stops to talk to ROBERT, leaning on the hoe
he carries.
ANDREW, (seeing ROBERT has not noticed his presence — in
a loud shout) Hey there ! (ROBERT turns with a start. Seeing
who it is, he smiles) Gosh, you do take the prize for day
dreaming! And I see you've toted one of the old books along
with you. (He crosses the ditch and sits on the fence near
his brother) What is it this time — poetry, I'll bet. (He
reaches for the book) Let me see.
ROBERT, (handing it to him rather reluctantly) Look out
you don't get it full of dirt.
ANDREW, (glancing at his hands) That isn't dirt — it's
BEYOND THE HORIZON 17
good clean earth. {He turns over the pages. His eyes read
something and he gives an exclamation of disgust) Hump !
{With a provoking grin at his brother he reads aloud in a dole
ful, sing-song voice) "I have loved wind and light and the
bright sea. But holy and most sacred night, not as I love
and have loved thee." (He hands the book back) Here ! Take
it and bury it. I suppose it's that year in college gave you
a liking for that kind of stuff. I'm darn glad I stopped at
High School, or maybe I'd been crazy too. (He grins and
slaps ROBERT on the back affectionately) Imagine me reading
poetry and plowing at the same time ! The team'd run away,
I'll bet.
ROBERT, (laughing) Or picture me plowing.
ANDREW. You should have gone back to college last fall, like
I know you wanted to. You're fitted for that sort of thing —
just as I ain't.
ROBERT. You know why I didn't go back, Andy. Pa didn't
like the idea, even if he didn't say so; and I know he wanted
the money to use improving the farm. And besides, I'm not
keen on being a student, just because you see me reading books
all the time. What I want to do now is keep on moving so
that I won't take root in any one place.
ANDREW. Well, the trip you're leaving on tomorrow will
keep you moving all right. (At this mention of the trip they
both fall silent. There is a pause. Finally ANDREW goes on,
awkwardly, attempting to speak casually) Uncle says you'll
be gone three years.
ROBERT. About that, he figures.
ANDREW, (moodily) That's a long time.
ROBERT. Not so long when you come to consider it. You
18 PLAYS OF EUGENE O'NEILL
know the Sunda sails around the Horn for Yokohama first,
and that's a long voyage on a sailing ship; and if we go to
any of the other places Uncle Dick mentions — India, or Aus
tralia, or South Africa, or South America — they'll be long
voyages, too.
ANDREW. You can have all those foreign parts for all of
me. (After a pause) Ma's going to miss you a lot, Rob.
ROBERT. Yes — and I'll miss her.
ANDREW. And Pa ain't feeling none too happy to have you
go — though he's been trying not to show it.
ROBERT. I can see how he feels.
ANDREW. And you can bet that I'm not giving any cheers
about it. (He puts one hand on the fence near ROBERT).
ROBERT, (putting one hand on top of ANDREW'S with a
gesture almost of shyness) I know that, too, Andy.
ANDREW. I'll miss you as much as anybody, I guess. You
see, you and I ain't like most brothers — always fighting and
separated a lot of the time, while we've always been together
— just the two of us. It's different with us. That's why
it hits so hard, I guess.
ROBERT, (with feeling) It's just as hard for me, Andy —
believe that! I hate to leave you and the old folks — but —
I feel I've got to. There's something calling me (He
points to the horizon) Oh, I can't just explain it to you, Andy.
ANDREW. No need to, Rob. (Angry at himself) Hell!
You want to go — that's all there is to it; and I wouldn't
have you miss this chance for the world.
ROBERT. It's fine of you to feel that way, Andy.
ANDREW. Huh! I'd be a nice son-of-a-gun if I didn't,
wouldn't I? When I know how you need this sea trip to
BEYOND THE HORIZON 19
make a new man of you — in the body, I mean — and give you
your full health back.
ROBERT, (a trifle impatiently) All of you seem to keep
harping on my health. You were so used to seeing me lying
around the house in the old days that you never will get over
the notion that I'm a chronic invalid. You don't realize how
I've bucked up in the past few years. If I had no other
excuse for going on Uncle Dick's ship but just my health, I'd
stay right here and start in plowing.
ANDREW. Can't be done. Farming ain't your nature. There's
all the difference shown in just the way us two feel about the
farm. You — well, you like the home part of it, I expect;
but as a place to work and grow things, you hate it. Ain't
that right?
ROBERT. Yes, I suppose it is. For you it's different. You're
a Mayo through and through. You're wedded to the soil,
You're as much a product of it as an ear of corn is, or a tree.
Father is the same. This farm is his life-work, and he's happy
in knowing that another Mayo, inspired by the same love, will
take up the work where he leaves off. I can understand your
attitude, and Pa's; and I think it's wonderful and sincere.
But I — well, I'm not made that way.
ANDREW. No, you ain't ; but when it comes to understand
ing, I guess I realize that you've got your own angle of look
ing at things.
ROBERT, {musingly) I wonder if you do, really.
ANDREW, {confidently) Sure I do. You've seen a bit of
the world, enough to make the farm seem small, and you've
got the itch to see it all.
ROBERT. It's more than that, Andy.
20 PLAYS OF EUGENE O'NEILL
ANDREW. Oh, of course. I know you're going to learn navi
gation, and all about a ship, so's you can be an officer. That's
natural, too. There's fair pay in it, I expect, when you con
sider that you've always got a home and grub thrown in; and
if you're set on traveling, you can go anywhere you're a mind
to without paying fare.
ROBERT. (with a smile that is half sad) It's more than
that, Andy.
ANDREW. Sure it is. There's always a chance of a good thing
coming your way in some of those foreign ports or other. I've
heard there 'are great opportunities for a young fellow with
his eyes open in some of those new countries that are just
being opened up. (Jovially) I'll bet that's what you've been
turning over in your mind under all your quietness ! (He slaps
his brother on the back with a laugh) Well, if you get to be
a millionaire all of a sudden, call 'round once in a while and
I'll pass the plate to you. We could use a lot of money right
here on the farm without hurting it any.
ROBERT, (forced to laugh) I've never considered that prac
tical side of it for a minute, Andy.
ANDREW. Well, you ought to.
ROBERT. No, I oughtn't. (Pointing to the horizon — dreamily)
Supposing I was to tell you that it's just Beauty that's call
ing me, the beauty of the far off and unknown, the mystery
and spell of the East which lures me in the books I've read, the
need of the freedom of great wide spaces, the joy of wan
dering on and on — in quest of the secret which is hidden over
there, beyond the horizon? Suppose I told you that was the
one and only reason for my going?
ANDREW. I should say you were nutty.
BEYOND THE HORIZON 21
ROBERT, (frowning) Don't, Andy. I'm serious.
ANDREW. Then you might as well stay here, because we've
got all you're looking for right on this farm. There's wide
space enough, Lord knows; and you can have all the sea you
want by walking a mile down to the beach; and there's plenty
of horizon to look at, and beauty enough for anyone, except
in the winter. (He grins) As for the mystery and spell,
I haven't met 'em yet, but they're probably lying around some-
wheres. I'll have you understand this is a first class farm
with all the fixings. (He laughs).
ROBERT, (joining in the laughter in spite of himself) It's
no use talking to you, you chump !
ANDREW. You'd better not say anything to Uncle Dick
about spells and things when you're on the ship. He'll likely
chuck you overboard for a Jonah. (He jumps down from fence)
I'd better run along. I've got to wash up some as long as
Ruth's Ma is coming over for supper.
ROBERT, (pointedly — almost bitterly) And Ruth.
ANDREW, (confused — looking everywhere except at ROBERT —
trying to appear unconcerned) Yes, Ruth'll be staying too.
Well, I better hustle, I guess, and (He steps over the
ditch to the road while he is talking).
ROBERT, (who appears to be fighting some strong inward
emotion — impulsively) Wait a minute, Andy! (He jumps
down from the fence) There is something I want to (He
stops abruptly, biting his lips, his face coloring).
ANDREW, (facing him; half-defiantly) Yes?
ROBERT, (confusedly) No never mind it doesn't
matter, it was nothing.
ANDREW, (after a pause, during which he stares fixedly at
22 PLAYS OF EUGENE O'NEILL
ROBERT'S averted face) Maybe I can guess what you were
going to say but I guess you're right not to talk about
it. (He pulls ROBERT'S hand from his side and grips it tensely;
the two brothers stand looking into each other's eyes for a
minute) We can't help those things, Rob. (1'e turns away,
suddenly releasing ROBERT'S hand) You'll be coming along
shortly, won't you ?
ROBERT, (dully) Yes.
ANDREW. See you later, then. (He walks off down the
road to the left. ROBERT stares after him for a moment; then
climbs to the fence rail again, and looks out over the hills, an
expression of deep grief on his face. After a moment or so,
RUTH enters hurriedly from the left. She is a healthy, blonde,
out-of-door girl of twenty, with a graceful, slender fgure. Her
face, though inclined to roundness, is undeniably pretty, its
large eyes of a deep blue set off strikingly by the sun-bronzed
complexion. Her small, regular features are marked by a
certain strength — an underlying, stubborn fixity of purpose hid
den In the frankly-appealing charm of her fresh youth fulness.
She wears a simple ^hlt^dress but no hat).
RUTH, (seeing him) Hello, Rob!
ROBERT, (startled) Hello, Ruth !
RUTH, (jumps the ditch and perches on the fence beside
him) I was looking for you.
ROBERT, (pointedly) Andy just left here.
RUTH. I know. I met him on the road a second ago. He
told me you were here. (Tenderly playful) I wasn't look
ing for Andy, Smarty, if that's what you mean. I was looking
for you.
ROBERT. Because I'm going away tomorrow?
BEYOND THE HORIZON 23
RUTH. Because your mother was anxious to have you come
home and asked me to look for you. I just wheeled Ma over
to your house.
ROBERT, (perfunctorily) How is your mother?
RUTH, (a shadow coming over her face) She's about the
same. She never seems to get any better or any worse. Oh,
Rob, I do wish she'd try to make the best of things that can't
be helped.
ROBERT. Has she been nagging at you again?
RUTH, (nods her headf and then breaks forth rebelliously)
She never stops nagging. No matter what I do for her she
finds fault. If only Pa was still living (She stops as if
ashamed of her outburst) I suppose I shouldn't complain
this way. (She sighs) Poor Ma, Lord knows it's hard enough
for her. I suppose it's natural to be cross when you're not
able ever to walk a step. Oh, I'd like to be going away some
place — like you !
ROBERT. It's hard to stay — and equally hard to go, some
times.
RUTH. There! If I'm not the stupid body! I swore I
wasn't going to speak about your trip — until after you'd gone;
and there I go, first thing!
ROBERT. Why didn't you want to speak of it?
RUTH. Because I didn't want to spoil this last night you're
here. Oh, Rob, I'm going to — we're all going to miss you so
awfully. Your mother is going around looking as if she'd burst
out crying any minute. You ought to know how I feel. Andy
and you and I — why it seems as if we'd always been together.
ROBERT, (with a wry attempt at a smile) You and Andy
24 PLAYS OF EUGENE O'NEILL
will still have each other. It'll be harder for me without
anyone.
RUTH. But you'll have new sights and new people to take
your mind off; while we'll be here with the old, familiar place
to remind us every minute of the day. It's a shame you're
going — just at this time, in spring, when everything is get
ting so nice. (With a sigh) I oughtn't to talk that way when
I know going's the best thing for you. You're bound to find
all sorts of opportunities to get on, your father says.
ROBERT, (heatedly) I don't give a damn about that! I
wouldn't take a voyage across the road for the best opportu
nity in the world of the kind Pa thinks of. (Pie smiles at his
own irritation) Excuse me, Ruth, for getting worked up over
it; but Andy gave me an overdose of the practical considera
tions.
RUTH, (slowly, puzzled) Well, then, if it isn't (With
sudden intensity) Oh, Rob, why do you want to go?
ROBERT, (turning to her quickly, in surprise — slowly) Why
do you ask that, Ruth?
RUTH, (dropping her eyes before his searching glance) Be
cause (Lamely) It seems such a shame.
ROBERT, (insistently) Why?
RUTH. Oh, because — everything.
ROBERT. I could hardly back out now, even if I wanted to.
And I'll be forgotten before you know it.
RUTH, (indignantly) You won't ! I'll never forget
(She stops and turns away to hide her confusion).
ROBERT, (softly) Will you promise me that?
RUTH, (evasively) Of course. It's mean of you to think
that any of us would forget so easily.
BEYOND THE HORIZON 25
ROBERT, (disappointedly} Oh!
RUTH, (with an attempt at lightness) But you haven't told
me your reason for leaving yet?
ROBERT, (moodily) I doubt if you'll understand. It's dif
ficult to explain, even to myself. Either you feel it, or you
don't. I can remember being conscious of it first when I was
only a kid — you haven't forgotten what a sickly specimen I
was then, in those days, have you?
RUTH, (with a shudder) Let's not think about them.
ROBERT. You'll have to, to understand. Well, in those days,
when Ma was fixing meals, she used to get me out of the way
by pushing my chair to the west window and telling me to look
out and be quiet. That wasn't hard. I guess I was always
quiet.
RUTH, (compassionately) Yes, you always were — and you
suffering so much, too !
ROBERT, (musingly) So I used to stare out over the fields
to the hills, out there — (He points to the horizon) and some
how after a time I'd forget any pain I was in, and start
dreaming. I knew the sea was over beyond those hills, — the
folks had told me — and I used to wonder what the sea was
like, and try to form a picture of it in my mind. (With a
smile) There was all the mystery in the world to me then
about that — far-off sea — and there still is ! It called to me
then just as it does now. (After a slight pause) And other
times my eyes would follow this road, winding off into the
distance, toward the hills, as if it, too, was searching for the
sea. And I'd promise myself that when I grew up and was
strong, I'd follow that road, and it and I would find the sea
26 PLAYS OF EUGENE O'NEILL
together. (With a smile) You see, my making this trip is
only keeping that promise of long ago.
RUTH (charmed by his low, musical voice telling the dreams
of his childhood) Yes, I see.
ROBERT. Those were the only happy moments of my life
then, dreaming there at the window. I liked to be all alone
— those times. I got to know all the different kinds of sun
sets by heart. And all those sunsets took place over there —
(He points) beyond the horizon. So gradually I came to be
lieve that all the wonders of the world happened on the other
side of those hills. There was the home of the good fairies
who performed beautiful miracles. I believed in fairies then.
(With a smile) Perhaps I still do believe in them. Anyway,
in those days they were real enough, and sometimes I could
actually hear them calling to me to come out and play with
them, dance with them down the road in the dusk in a game
of hide-and-seek to find out where the sun was hiding himself.
They sang their little songs to me, songs that told of all the
wonderful things they had in their home on the other side of
the hills; and they promised to show me all of them, if I'd
only come, come ! But I couldn't come then, and I used to
cry sometimes and Ma would think I was in pain. (He breaks
off suddenly with a laugh) That's why I'm going now, I
suppose. For I can still hear them calling. But the horizon
is as far away and as luring as ever. (He turns to her —
softly) Do you understand now, Ruth?
RUTH, (spellbound, in a whisper) Yes.
ROBERT. You feel it then?
RUTH. Yes, yes, I do! (Unconsciously she snuggles close
against his side. His arm steals about her as if he were not
BEYOND THE HORIZON 27
aware of the action} Oh, Rob, how could I help feeling it?
You tell things so beautifully!
ROBERT, {suddenly realizing that his arm is around her,
and that her head is resting on his shoulder, gently takes his
arm away. RUTH, brought back to herself, is overcome with
confusion} So now you know why I'm going. It's for that
reason — that and one other.
RUTH. You've another? Then you must tell me that, too.
ROBERT, (looking at her searchingly. She drops her eyes
before his gaze} I wonder if I ought to ! You'll promise not
to be angry — whatever it is?
RUTH, {softly, her face still averted} Yes, I promise.
ROBERT, {simply} I love you. That's the other reason.
RUTH, (hiding her face in her hands} Oh, Rob!
ROBERT. I wasn't going to tell you, but I feel I have to. It
can't matter now that I'm going so far away, and for so
long — perhaps forever. I've loved you all these years, but
the realization never came 'til I agreed to go away with Uncle
Dick. Then I thought of leaving you, and the pain of that
thought revealed to me in a flash — that I loved you, had loved
you as long as I could remember. {He gently pulls one of
RUTH'S hands away from her face} You mustn't mind my
telling you this, Ruth. I realize how impossible it all is —
and I understand; for the revelation of my own love seemed
to open my eyes to the love of others. I saw Andy's love for
you — and I knew that you must love him.
RUTH, {breaking out stormily} I don't ! I don't love Andy !
I don't! (ROBERT stares at her in stupid astonishment. RUTH
weeps hysterically} Whatever — put such a fool notion into —
into your head? (She suddenly throws her arms about his neck
28 PLAYS OF EUGENE O'NEILL
and hides her head on his shoulder} Oh, Rob ! Don't go
away! Please! You mustn't, now! You can't! I won't let
you! It'd break my — my heart !
ROBERT. (The expression of stupid bewilderment giving way
to one of overwhelming joy. He presses her close to him —
slowly and tenderly} Do you mean that — that you love me?
RUTH, (sobbing} Yes, yes — of course I do — what d'you
s'pose? (She lifts up her head and looks into his eyes with
a tremulous smile} You stupid thing! (He kisses her} I've
loved you right along.
ROBERT, (mystified} But you and Andy were always to
gether !
RUTH. Because you never seemed to want to go any place
with me. You were always reading an old book, and not pay
ing any attention to me. I was too proud to let you see I
cared because I thought the year you had away to college
had made you stuck-up, and you thought yourself too educated
to waste any time on me.
ROBERT, (kissing her} And I was thinking (With a
laugh} What fools we've both been!
RUTH, (overcome by a sudden fear} You won't go away
on the trip, will you, Rob? You'll tell them you can't go on
account of me, won't you? You can't go now! You can't!
ROBERT, (bewildered} Perhaps — you can come too.
RUTH. Oh, Rob, don't be so foolish. You know I can't.
Who'd take care of ma? Don't you see I couldn't go — on her
account? (She clings to him imploringly} Please don't go —
not now. Tell them you've decided not to. They won't mind.
I know your mother and father '11 be glad. They'll all be. They
don't want you to go so far away from them. Please, Rob!
BEYOND THE HORIZON 29
We'll be so happy here together where it's natural and we know
things. Please tell me you won't go!
ROBERT, {face tr face with a definite, final decision, betrays
the conflict going on within him) But — Ruth — I — Uncle
Dick
RUTH. He won't mind when he knows it's for your happiness
to stay. How could he? (As ROBERT remains silent she bursts
into sobs again) Oh, Rob! And you said — you loved me!
ROBERT, (conquered by this appeal — an irrevocable decision
in his voice) I won't go, Ruth. I promise you. There ! Don't
cry ! (He presses her to him, stroking her hair tenderly. After
a pause he speaks with happy hopefulness) Perhaps after all
Andy was right — righter than he knew — when he said I could
find all the things I was seeking for here, at home on the farm.
I think love must have been the secret — the secret that called
to me from over the world's rim — the secret beyond every
horizon; and when I did not come, it came to me. (He clasps
RUTH to him fiercely) Oh, Ruth, our love is sweeter than any
distant dream! (He kisses her passionately and steps to the
ground, lifting RUTH in his arms and carrying her to the road
where he puts her down).
RUTH, (with a happy laugh) My, but you're strong!-*"
ROBERT. Come ! We'll go and tell them at once.
RUTH, (dismayed) Oh, no, don't, Rob, not 'til after I've
gone. There'd be bound to be such a scene with them all
together.
ROBERT, (kissing her — gayly) As you like — little Miss Com
mon Sense !
RUTH. Let's go, then. (She takts his hand, and they start
30 PLAYS OF EUGENE O'NEILL
to go off left. ROBERT suddenly stops and turns as though for
a last look at the hills and the dying sunset flush).
ROBERT, (looking upward and pointing) See! The first
star. (He bends down and kisses her tenderly) Our star!
RUTH, (in a soft murmur) Yes. Our very own star. (They
stand for a moment looking up at it, their arms around each
other. Then RUTH takes his hand again and starts to lead him
away) Come, Rob, let's go. (His eyes are fixed again on the
horizon as he half turns to follow her. RUTH urges) We'll be
late for supper, Rob.
ROBERT, (shakes his head impatiently , as though he were
throwing off some disturbing thought — with a laugh) All right.
We'll run then. Come on! (They run off laughing as
(The Curtain Falls)
ACT ONE
SCENE Two
The sitting room of the Mayo farm house about nine
o'clock the same night. On the left, two windows looking out
on the fields. Against the wall between the windows, an old-
fashioned walnut desk. In the left corner, rear, a sideboard
with a mirror. In the rear wall to the right of the sideboard^
a window looking out on the road. Next to the window a door
leading out into the yard. Farther right, a black horse-hair
sofa, and another door opening on a bedroom. In the corner,
a straight-backed chair. In the right wall, near the middle, an
open doorway leading to the kitchen. Farther forward a double-
heater stove with coal scuttle, etc. In the center of the newly
carpeted floor, an oak dining-room table with a red cover. In
the center of the table, a large oil reading lamp. Four chairs,
three rockers with crocheted tidies on their backs, and one
straight-backed, are placed about the table. The walls are
papered a dark red with a scrolly-figured pattern.
Everything in the room is clean, well-kept, and in its exact
place, yet there is no suggestion of primness about the whole.
Rather the atmosphere is one of the orderly comfort of a simple,
hard-earned prosperity, enjoyed and maintained by the family
as a unit.
JAMES MAYO, his wife, her brother, CAPTAIN DICK SCOTT, and
ANDREW are discovered. MAYO is his son ANDREW over again
in body and face — an ANDREW sixty-five years old with a shortt
31
32 PLAYS OF EUGENE O'NEILL
square, white beard. MRS. MAYO is a slight, round-faced, rather
prim-looking woman of fifty-fve who had once been a school
teacher. The labors of a farmer's wife have bent but not broken
her, and she retains a certain refinement of movement and ex
pression foreign to the MAYO part of the family. Whatever of
resemblance ROBERT has to his parents may be traced to her.
Her brother, the CAPTAIN, is short and stocky, with a weather-
beaten, jovial face and a white mustache — a typical old salt,
loud of voice and given to gesture. He is fifty-eight years old.
JAMES MAYO sits in front of the table. He wears spectacles,
and a farm journal which he has been reading lies in his lap.
THE CAPTAIN leans forward from a chair in the rear, his hands
on the table in front of him. ANDREW is tilted back on the
straight-backed chair to the left, his chin sunk forward on his
chest, staring at the carpet, preoccupied and frowning.
As the Curtain rises the CAPTAIN is just finishing the relation
of some sea episode. The others are pretending an interest
which is belied by the absent-minded expressions on their faces.
THE CAPTAIN, (chuckling) And that mission woman, she
hails me on the dock as I was acomin' ashore, and she says —
with her silly face all screwed up serious as judgment — "Cap
tain," she says, "would you be so kind as to tell me where the
sea-gulls sleeps at nights?" Blow me if them warn't her exact
words ! (He slaps the table with the palm of his hands and
laughs loudly. The others force smiles} Ain't that just like a
fool woman's question? And I looks at her serious as I could,
"Ma'm," says I, "I couldn't rightly answer that question. I ain't
never seed a sea-gull in his bunk yet. The next time I hears one
snorin'," I says, "I'll make a note of where he's turned in, and
BEYOND THE HORIZON 33
write you a letter 'bout it." And then she calls me a fool real
spiteful and tacks away from me quick, (tie laughs again up
roariously} So I got rid of her that way. (The others smile
but immediately relapse into expressions of gloom again}.
MRS. MAYO. (absent-mindedly — feeling that she has to say
something) But when it comes to that, where do sea-gulls sleep,
Dick?
SCOTT, (slapping the table) Ho! Ho! Listen to her, James.
'Nother one! Well, if that don't beat all hell — 'scuse me for
cussin', Kate.
MAYO, (with a twinkle in his eyes) They unhitch their
wings, Katey, and spreads 'em out on a wave for a bed.
SCOTT. And then they tells the fish to whistle to 'em when
it's time to turn out. Ho ! Ho !
MRS. MAYO, (with a forced smile) You men folks are too
smart to live, aren't you? (She resumes her knitting. MAYO
pretends to read his paper; ANDREW stares at the floor).
SCOTT. (looks from one to the other of them with a puzzled
air. Finally he is unable to bear the thick silence a minute
longer, and blurts out) : You folks look as if you was settin'
up with a corpse. (With exaggerated concern) God A'mighty,
there ain't anyone dead, be there?
MAYO, (sharply) Don't play the dunce, Dick! You know
as well as we do there ain't no great cause to be feelin' chipper.
SCOTT, (argumentatively) And there ain't no cause to be
wearin' mourning, either, I can make out.
MRS. MAYO, (indignantly) How can you talk that way,
Dick Scott, when you're taking our Robbie away from us, in
tfie middle of the night, you might say, just to get on that old
34 PLAYS OF EUGENE O'NEILL
boat of yours on time! I think you might wait until morning
when he's had his breakfast.
SCOTT, (appealing to the others hopelessly) Ain't that a
woman's way o' seein' things for you? God A'mighty, Kate,
I can't give orders to the tide that it's got to be high just when
it suits me to have it. I ain't gettin' no fun out o' missin' sleep
and leavin' here at six bells myself. (Protestingly) And the
Sunda ain't an old ship — leastways, not very old — and she's
good's she ever was.
MRS. MAYO, (her lips trembling) I wish Robbie weren't
going.
MAYO, (looking at her over his glasses — consolingly) There,
Katey !
MRS. MAYO, (rebelliously) Well, I do wish he wasn't!
SCOTT. You shouldn't be taking it so hard, 's far as I kin
see. This vige'll make a man of him. I'll see to it he learns
how to navigate, 'n' study for a mate's c'tificate right off — and
it'll give him a trade for the rest of his life, if he wants to travel.
MRS. MAYO. But I don't want him to travel all his life.
You've got to see he comes home when this trip is over. Then
he'll be all well, and he'll want to — to marry — (ANDREW sits
forward in his chair with an abrupt movement) — and settle down
right here. (She stares down at the knitting in her lap — after
a pause) I never realized how hard it was going to be for me
to have Robbie go — or I wouldn't have considered it a minute.
SCOTT. It ain't no good goin' on that way, Kate, now it's
all settled.
MRS. MAYO, (on the verge of tears) It's all right for you
to talk. You've never had any children. You don't know
BEYOND THE HORIZON 35
what it means to be parted from them — and Robbie my youngest,
too. (ANDREW frowns and fidgets in his chair).
ANDREW, (suddenly turning to them) There's one thing
none of you seem to take into consideration — that Rob wants
to go. He's dead set on it. He's been dreaming over this trip
ever since it was first talked about. It wouldn't be fair to him
not to have him go. (A sudden uneasiness seems to strike him)
At least, not if he still feels the same way about it he did
when he was talking to me this evening.
MAYO, (with an air of decision) Andy's right, Katey. That
ends all argyment, you can see that. (Looking at his big silver
watch) Wonder what's happened to Robert? He's been gone
long enough to wheel the widder to home, certain. He can't
be out dreamin' at the stars his last night.
MRS. MAYO, (a bit reproachfully) Why didn't you wheel
Mrs. Atkins back tonight, Andy ? You usually do when she and
Ruth come over.
ANDREW, (avoiding her eyes) I thought maybe Robert
wanted to tonight. He offered to go right away when they
were leaving.
MRS. MAYO. He only wanted to be polite.
ANDREW, (gets to his feet) Well, he'll be right back, 1
guess. (He turns to his father) Gue^s I'll go take a look
at the black cow, Pa — see if she's ailing any.
MAYO. Yes — better had, son. (ANDREW goes into the kitchen
on the right).
SCOTT, (as he goes out — in a low tone) There's the boy
that would make a good, strong sea-farin' man — if he'd a mind to.
MAYO, (sharply) Don't you put no such fool notions in
Andy's head, Dick — or you 'n' me's goin' to fall out. (Then he
36 PLAYS OF EUGENE O'NEILL
smiles') You couldn't tempt him, no ways. Andy's a Mayo
bred in the bone, and he's a born farmer, and a damn good one,
too. He'll live and die right here on this farm, like I expect to.
(With proud confidence) And he'll make this one of the slick
est, best-payin' farms in the state, too, afore he gits through!
SCOTT. Seems to me it's a pretty slick place right now.
MAYO, (shaking his head) It's too small. We need more
land to make it amount to much, and we ain't got the capital
to buy it. (ANDREW enters from the kitchen. His hat is on,
and he carries a lighted lantern in his hand. He goes to the
door in the rear leading out).
ANDREW, (opens the door and pauses) Anything else you
can think of to be done, Pa ?
MAYO. No, nothin' I know of. (ANDREW goes out, shutting
the door}.
MRS. MAYO, (after a pause} What's come over Andy tonight,
I wonder? He acts so strange.
MAYO. He does seem sort o' glum and out of sorts. It's
'count o' Robert leavin', I s'pose. (To SCOTT) Dick, you
wouldn't believe how them boys o' mine sticks together. They
ain't like most brothers. They've been thick as thieves all their
lives, with nary a quarrel I kin remember.
SCOTT. No need to tell me that. I can see how they take
to each other.
MRS. MAYO, (pursuing her train of thought} Did you notice,
James, how queer everyone was at supper? Robert seemed
stirred up about something; and Ruth was so flustered and
giggly; and Andy sat there dumb, looking as if he'd lost his
best friend; and all of them only nibbled at their food.
BEYOND THE HORIZON 37
MAYO. Guess they was all thinkin' about tomorrow, same
as us.
MRS. MAYO, (shaking her head) No. I'm afraid somethin's
happened — somethin' else.
MAYO. You mean — 'bout Ruth?
MRS. MAYO. Yes.
MAYO, (after a pause — frowning) I hope her and Andy
ain't had a serious fallin'-out. I always sorter hoped they'd
hitch up together sooner or later. What d'you say, Dick? Don't
you think them two'd pair up well?
SCOTT, (nodding his head approvingly) A sweet, whole
some couple they'd make.
MAYO. It'd be a good thing for Andy in more ways than
one. I ain't what you'd call calculatin' generally, and I b'lieve
in lettin' young folks run their affairs to suit themselves; but
there's advantages for both o' them in this match you can't
overlook in reason. The Atkins farm is right next to ourn.
Jined together they'd make a jim-dandy of a place, with plenty
o' room to work in. And bein' a widder with only a daughter,
and laid up all the time to boot, Mrs. Atkins can't do nothin'
with the place as it ought to be done. She needs a man, a
first-class farmer, to take hold o' things; and Andy's just the one.
MRS. MAYO, (abruptly) I don't think Ruth loves Andy.
MAYO. You don't? Well, maybe a woman's eyes is sharper
in such things, but — they're always together. And if she don't
love him now, she'll likely come around to it in time. (As MRS.
MAYO shakes her head) You seem mighty fixed in your opinion,
Katey. How d'you know ?
MRS. MAYO. It's just — what I feel.
MAYO, (a light breaking over him) You don't mean to say
38 PLAYS OF EUGENE O'NEILL
— (MRS. MAYO nods. MAYO chuckles scornfully) Shucks ! I'm
losin' my respect for your eyesight, Katey. Why, Robert ain't
got no time for Ruth, 'cept as a friend !
MRS. MAYO, (warningly) Sss-h-h ! (The door from the yard
opens, and ROBERT enters. He is smiling happily, and humming
a song to himself, but as he comes into the room an undercurrent
of nervous uneasiness manifests itself in his bearing).
MAYO. So here you be at last! (ROBERT comes forward and
sits on ANDY'S chair. MAYO smiles slyly at his wife) What
have you been doin' all this time — countin' the stars to see if
they all come out right and proper?
ROBERT. There's only one I'll ever look for any more, Pa.
MAYO, (reproachfully) You might've even not wasted time
lookin' for that one — your last night.
MRS. MAYO, (as if she were speaking to a child) You ought
to have worn your coat a sharp night like this, Robbie.
SCOTT, (disgustedly) God A'mighty, Kate, you treat Rob
ert as if he was one year old !
MRS. MAYO, (notices ROBERT'S nervous uneasiness) You
look all worked up over something, Robbie. What is it?
ROBERT, (swallowing hard, looks quickly from one to the
other of them — then begins determinedly) Yes, there is some
thing — something I must tell you — all of you. (As he begins
to talk ANDREW enters quietly from the rear, closing the door
behind him, and setting the lighted lantern on the floor. He
remains standing by the door, his arms folded, listening to
ROBERT with a repressed expression of pain on his face. ROBERT
is so much taken up with what he is going to say that he does
not notice ANDREW'S presence.) Something I discovered only this
evening — very beautiful and wonderful — something I did not
BEYOND THE HORIZON 39
take into consideration previously because I hadn't dared to
hope that such happiness could ever come to me. (Appealingly)
You must all remember that fact, won't you ?
MAYO, (frowning) Let's get to the point, son.
ROBERT, (with a trace of defiance) Well, the point is this,
Pa: I'm not going — I mean — I can't go tomorrow with Uncle
Dick — or at any future time, either.
MRS. MAYO, (with a sharp sigh of joyful relief) Oh, Robbie,
I'm so glad !
MAYO, (astounded) You ain't serious, be you, Robert? (Se
verely) Seems to me it's a pretty late hour in the day for you
to be upscttin' all your plans so sudden !
ROBERT. I asked you to remember that until this evening I
didn't know myself. I had never dared to dream —
MAYO, (irritably) What is this foolishness you're talkin' of?
ROBERT, (flushing) Ruth told me this evening that — she
loved me. It was after I'd confessed I loved her. I told her
I hadn't been conscious of my love until after the trip had
been arranged, and I realized it would mean — leaving her.
That was the truth. I didn't know until then. (As if justifying
himself to the others) I hadn't intended telling her anything
but — suddenly — I felt I must. I didn't think it would matter,
because I was going away. And I thought she loved — someone
else. (Slowly — his eyes shining) And then she cried and said
it was I she'd loved all the time, but I hadn't seen it.
MRS. MAYO, (rushes over and throws her arms about him)
I knew it! I was just telling your father when you came in —
and, Oh, Robbie, I'm so happy you're not going!
ROBERT, (kissing her) I knew you'd be glad, Ma.
MAYO, (bewilderedly) Well, I'll be damned ! You do beat
40 PLAYS OF EUGENE O'NEILL
all for gettin' folks' minds all tangled up, Robert. And Ruth
too ! Whatever got into her of a sudden ? Why, I was
thinkin'
MRS. MAYO, (hurriedly — in a tone of warning) Never mind
what you were thinking, James. It wouldn't be any use telling
us that now. (Meaningly) And what you were hoping for
turns out just the same almost, doesn't it?
MAYO, (thoughtfully — beginning to see this side of the argu
ment) Yes; I suppose you're right, Katey. (Scratching his
head in puzzlement) But how it ever come about! It do beat^
anything ever I heard. (Finally he gets up with a sheepish
grin and walks over to ROBERT) We're glad you ain't goin',
your Ma and I, for we'd have missed you terrible, that's certain
and sure ; and we're glad you've found happiness. Ruth's a fine
girl and'll make a good wife to you.
ROBERT, (much moved) Thank you, Pa. (He grips his
father's hand in his).
ANDREW, (his face tense and drawn comes forward and holds
out his hand, forcing a smile) I guess it's my turn to offer
congratulations, isn't it?
ROBERT, (with a startled cry when his brother appears before
him so suddenly) Andy! (Confused) Why — I — I didn't see
you. Were you here when
ANDREW. I heard everything you said ; and here's wishing you
every happiness, you and Ruth. You both deserve the best
there is. .
ROBERT, (taking his hand) Thanks, Andy, it's fine of you
to (His voice dies away as he sees the pain in ANDREW'S
eyes).
ANDREW, (giving his brother's hand a final grip) Good luck
BEYOND THE HORIZON
to you both ! (He turns away and goes back to the rear where
he bends over the lantern, fumbling with it to hide his emotion
from the others).
MRS. MAYO, (to the CAPTAIN, who ha* been too flabbergasted
by ROBERT'S decision to say a word) What's the matter, Dick?
Aren't you going to congratulate Robbie?
SCOTT, (embarrassed) Of course I be! (He gets to his
feet and shakes ROBERT'S hand, muttering a rogue) Luck to
you, boy. (He stands beside ROBERT as if he wanted to say
something more but doesn't know how to go about it).
ROBERT. Thanks, Uncle Dick.
SCOTT. So you're not acomin' on the Sunda with me? (His
voice indicates disbelief).
ROBERT. I can't, Uncle — not now. I wouldn't miss it for
anything else in the world under any other circumstances. (He
sighs unconsciously) But you see I've found — a bigger dream.
(Then with joyous high spirits) I want you all to understand
one thing — I'm not going to be a loafer on your hands any
longer. This means the beginning of a new life for me in every
way. I'm going to settle right down and take a real interest
in the farm, and do my share. I'll prove to you, Pa, that I'm
as good a Mayo as you are — or Andy, when I want to be.
MAYO, (kindly but skeptically) That's the right spirit, Rob
ert. Ain't none of us doubts your willin'ness, but you ain't
never learned —
ROBERT. Then I'm going to start learning right away, and
you'll teach me, won't you?
MAYO, (mollifyingly) Of course I will, boy, and be glad
to, only you'd best go easy at first.
SCOTT, (who has listened to this conversation in mingled
PLAYS OF EUGENE O'NEILL
consternation and amazement) You don't mean to tell me you're
goin' to let him stay, do you, James?
MAYO. Why, things bein' as they be, Robert's free to do as
he's a mind to.
MRS. MAYO. Let him! The very idea!
SCOTT, (more and more ruffled) Then all I got to say is,
you're a soft, weak-willed critter to be permittin' a boy — and
women, too — to be layin' your course for you wherever they
damn pleases.
MAYO, (slyly amused) It's just the same with me as 'twas
with you, Dick. You can't order the tides on the seas to suit
you, and I ain't pretendin' I can reg'late love for young folks.
SCOTT, (scornfully) Love! They ain't old enough to know
love when they sight it! Love! I'm ashamed of you, Robert,
to go lettin' a little huggin' and kissin' in the dark spile your
chances to make a man out o' yourself. It ain't common sense —
no siree, it ain't — not by a hell of a sight ! (He pounds the
table with his fists in exasperation).
MRS. MAYO, (laughing provokingly at her brother) A fine
one you are to be talking about love, Dick — an old cranky
bachelor like you. Goodness sakes !
SCOTT, (exasperated by their joking) I've never been a
damn fool like most, if that's what you're steerin' at.
MRS. MAYO, (tauntingly) Sour grapes, aren't they, Dick?
(She laughs. ROBERT and his father chuckle. SCOTT sputters
with annoyance) Good gracious, Dick, you do act silly, flying
into a temper over nothing.
SCOTT, (indignantly) Nothin' ! You talk as if I wasn't con
cerned nohow in this here business. Seems to me I've got a
right to have my say. Ain't I made all arrangements with the
BEYOND THE HORIZON 43
owners and stocked up with some special grub all on Robert's
account ?
ROBERT. You've been fine, Uncle Dick; and I appreciate it.
Truly.
MAYO. 'Course; we all does, Dick.
SCOTT, (unplacated) I've been countin' sure on havin' Robert
for company on this vige — to sorta talk to and show things
to, and teach, kinda, and I got my mind so set on havin' him
I'm goin' to be double lonesome this vige. (He pounds on the
table, attempting to cover up this confession of weakness)
Darn all this silly lovin' business, anyway. (Irritably) But all
this talk ain't tellin' me what I'm to do with that sta'b'd cabin
I fixed up. It's all painted white, an' a bran new mattress
on the bunk, 'n' new sheets 'n' blankets V things. And Chips
built in a book-case so's Robert could take his books along —
with a slidin' bar fixed across't it, mind, so's they couldn't fall
out no matter how she rolled. (With excited consternation)
What d'you suppose my officers is goin' to think when there's
no one comes aboard to occupy that sta'b'd cabin? And the
men what did the work on it — what'll they think? (He shakes
his finger indignantly) They're liable as not to suspicion it
was a -woman I'd planned to ship along, and that she gave me the
go-by at the last moment ! (He wipes his perspiring brow in
anguish at this thought). Gawd A'mighty ! They're only lookin'
to have the laugh on me for something like that. They're liable
to b'lieve anything, those fellers is !
MAYO, (with a wink) Then there's nothing to it but for
you to get right out and hunt up a wife somewheres for that
spick 'n' span cabin. She'll have to be a pretty one, too, to
match it. (He looks at his watch with exaggerated concern)
You ain't got much time to find her, Dick.
44 PLAYS OF EUGENE O'NEILL
SCOTT, (as the others smile — sulkily) You kin go to thunder,
Jim Mayo!
ANDREW, (comes forward from where he has been standing
by the doorf rear, brooding. His face is set in a look of grim
determination) You needn't worry about that spare cabin, Uncle
Dick, if you've a mind to take me in Robert's place.
ROBERT, (turning to him quickly) Andy! (He sees at once
the fixed resolve in his brother's eyesf and realizes immediately
the reason for it — in consternation) Andy, you mustn't!
ANDREW. You've made your decision, Rob, and now I've
made mine. You're out of this, remember.
ROBERT, (hurt by his brother's tone) But Andy
ANDREW. Don't interfere, Rob — that's all I ask. (Turning
to his uncle) You haven't answered my question, Uncle Dick.
SCOTT, (clearing his throat, with an uneasy side glance at
JAMES MAYO who is staring at his elder son as if he thought he
had suddenly gone mad) O' course, I'd be glad to have you,
Andy.
ANDREW. It's settled then. I can pack the little I want to
take in a few minutes.
MRS. MAYO. Don't be a fool, Dick. Andy's only joking you.
SCOTT, (disgruntedly) It's hard to tell who's jokin' and
who's not in this house.
ANDREW, (firmly) I'm not joking, Uncle Dick (As SCOTT
looks at him uncertainly) You needn't be afraid I'll go back
on my word.
ROBERT, (hurt by the insinuation he feels in ANDREW'S tone)
Andy! That isn't fair!
MAYO, (frowning) Seems to me this ain't no subject to joke
over — not for Andy.
ANDREW, (facing his father) I agree with you, Pa, and I
BEYOND THE HORIZON 45
tell you airain, once and for all, that I've made up my mind to go.
MAYO. (dumbfounded — unable to doubt the determination in
ANDREW'S voice — helplessly) But why, son? Why?
ANDREW, (evasively) I've always wanted to go.
ROBERT. Andy !
ANDREW, (half angrily) You shut up, Rob! (Turning to
his father again) I didn't ever mention it because as long as
Rob was going I knew it was no use; but now Rob's staying
on here, there isn't any reason for me not to go.
MAYO, (breathing hard) No reason? Can you stand there
and say that to me, Andrew?
MRS. MAYO, (hastily — seeing the gathering storm) He
doesn't mean a word of it, James.
MAYO, (making a gesture to her to keep silence) Let me
talk, Katey. (In a more kindly tone) What's come over you
so sudden, Andy? You know's well as I do that it wouldn't
be fair o' you to run off at a moment's notice right now when
we're up to our necks in hard work.
ANDREW, (avoiding his eyes) Rob'll hold his end up as soon
as he learns.
MAYO. Robert was never cut out for a farmer, and you was.
ANDREW. You can easily get a man to do my work.
MAYO, (restraining his anger with an effort) It sounds
strange to hear you, Andy, that I always thought had good
sense, talkin' crazy like that (Scornfully) Get a man to take
your place! You ain't been workin' here for no hire, Andy,
that you kin give me your notice to quit like you've done. The
farm is your'n as well as mine. You've always worked on it
with that understanding; and what you're sayin' you intend doin'
is just skulkin' out o' your rightful responsibility.
ANDREW, (looking at the floor — simply) I'm sorry, Pa.
46 PLAYS OF EUGENE O'NEILL
(After a slight pause") It's no use talking any more about it.
MRS. MAYO, (in relief) There ! I knew Andy'd come to his
senses !
ANDREW. Don't get the wrong idea, Ma. I'm not backing out.
MAYO. You mean you're goin' in spite of — everythin'?
ANDREW. Yes. I'm going. I've got to. (He looks at his
father defiantly) I feel I oughn't to miss this chance to go out
into the world and see things, and — I want to go.
MAYO, (with bitter scorn) So — you want to go out into the
world and see thin's ! (His voice raised and quivering with
anger) I never thought I'd live to see the day when a son o'
mine 'd look me in the face and tell a bare-faced lie ! (Bursting
out) You're a liar, Andy Mayo, and a mean one to boot !
MRS. MAYO. James !
ROBERT. Pa !
SCOTT. Steady there, Jim!
MAYO, (waving their protests aside) He is and he knows it.
ANDREW, (his face flushed) I won't argue with you, Pa.
You can think as badly of me as you like.
MAYO, (shaking his finger at ANDY, in a cold rage) You
know I'm speakin' truth — that's why you're afraid to argy !
You lie when you say you want to go 'way — and see thin's !
You ain't got no likin' in the world to go. I've watched you
grow up, and I know your ways, and they're my ways. You're
runnin' against your own nature, and you're goin' to be a'mighty
sorry for it if you do. 'S if I didn't know your real reason
for runnin' away! And runnin' away's the only words to fit
it. You're runnin' away 'cause you're put out and riled 'cause
your own brother's got Ruth 'stead o' you, and
ANDREW, (his face crimson — tensely) Stop, Pa! I won't
stand hearing that — not even from you!
BEYOND THE HORIZON 47
MRS. MAYO, (rushing to ANDY and putting her arms about
him protectingly) Don't mind him, Andy dear. He don't mean
a word he's saying! (ROBERT stands rigidly, his hands clenched,
his face contracted by pain. SCOTT sits dumbfounded and open-
mouthed. ANDREW soothes his mother who is on the verge of
tears).
MAYO, (in angry triumph) It's the truth, Andy Mayo! And
you ought to be bowed in shame to think of it!
ROBERT, (protestingly) Pa!
MRS. MAYO, (coming from ANDREW to his father; puts her
hands on his shoulders as though to try and push him back in
the chair from which he has risen) Won't you be still, James?
Please won't you?
MAYO, (looking at ANDREW over his wife's shoulder — stub
bornly) The truth — God's truth !
MRS. MAYO. Sh-h-h ! (She tries to put a finger across his
lips, but he twists his head away).
ANDREW, (who has regained control over himself) You're
wrong, Pa, it isn't truth. (JVith defiant assertiveness) I don't
love Ruth. I never loved her, and the thought of such a thing
never entered my head.
MAYO, (with an angry snort of disbelief) Hump ! You're
pilin' lie on lie!
ANDREW, (losing his temper — bitterly) I suppose it'd be
hard for you to explain anyone's wanting to leave this blessed
farm except for some outside reason like that. But I'm sick
and tired of it — whether you want to believe me or not — and
that's why I'm glad to get a chance to move on.
ROBERT. Andy ! Don't ! You're only making it worse.
ANDREW, (sulkily) I don't care. I've done my share of
work here. I've earned my right to quit when I want to.
48 PLAYS OF EUGENE O'NEILL
(Suddenly overcome with anger and grief; with rising intensity)
I'm sick and tired of the whole damn business. I hate the
farm and every inch of ground in it. I'm sick of digging in the
dirt and sweating in the sun like a slave without getting a word
of thanks for it. (Tears of rage starting to his eyes — hoarsely)
I'm through, through for good and all ; and if Uncle Dick won't
take me on his ship, I'll find another. I'll get away somewhere,
somehow.
MRS. MAYO, (in a frightened voice) Don't you answer him,
James. He doesn't know what he's saying. Don't say a word to
him 'til he's in his right senses again. Please James, don't
MAYO, (pushes her away from him; his face is drawn and
pale with the violence of his passion. He glares at ANDREW a*
if he hated him) You dare to — you dare to speak like that
to me? You talk like that 'bout this farm — the Mayo farm —
where you was born — you — you (He clenches his fist above
his head and advances threateningly on ANDREW) You damned
whelp !
MRS. MAYO, (with a shriek) James! (She covers her face
with her hands and sinks weakly into MAYO'S chair. ANDREW
remains standing motionless , his face pale and set).
SCOTT, (starting to his feet and stretching his arms across
the table toward MAYO) Easy there, Jim !
ROBERT, (throwing himself between father and brother)
Stop ! Are you mad ?
MAYO, (grabs ROBERT'S arm and pushes him aside — then
stands for a moment gasping for breath before ANDREW. He
points to the door with a shaking finger) Yes — go! — go! —
You're no son o' mine — no son o' mine! You can go to hell if
BEYOND THE HORIZON 49
you want to! Don't let me find you here — in the mornin' —
or — or — I'll throw you out!
ROBERT. Pa! For God's sake! (MRS. MAYO bursts into noisy
sobbing).
MAYO, (he gulps convulsively and glares at ANDREW) You
go — tomorrow mornin' — and by God — don't come back — don't
dare come back — by God, not while I'm livin' — or I'll — I'll
(He shakes over his muttered threat and strides toward the door
rear, right).
MRS. MAYO, (rising and throwing her arms around him —
hysterically) James! James! Where are you going?
MAYO, (incoherently) I'm goin' — to bed, Katey. It's late,
Katey — it's late. (He goes out).
MRS. MAYO, (following him, pleading hysterically) James!
Take back what you've said to Andy. James! (She follows
him out. ROBERT and the CAPTAIN stare after them with horri
fied eyes. ANDREW stands rigidly looking straight in front of
him, his fists clenched at his sides).
SCOTT, (the first to find his voice — with an explosive sigh)
Well, if he ain't the devil himself when he's roused! You
oughtn't to have talked to him that way, Andy 'bout the damn
farm, knowin' how touchy he is about it. (With another sigh)
Well, you won't mind what he's said in anger. He'll be sorry
for it when he's calmed down a bit.
ANDREW, (in a dead voice) You don't know him. (De
fiantly) What's said is said and can't be unsaid; and I've
chosen.
ROBERT, (with violent protest) Andy! You can't go! This
is all so stupid — and terrible !
ANDREW, (coldly) I'll talk to you in a minute, Rob. (Crushed
50 PLAYS OF EUGENE O'NEILL
by his brother's attitude ROBERT sinks down into a chair, holding
his head in his hands}.
SCOTT, (comes and slaps ANDREW on the back) I'm damned
glad you're shippin' on, Andy. I like your spirit, and the way
you spoke up to him. (Lowering his voice to a cautious whisper)
The sea's the place for a young feller like you that isn't half
dead 'n' alive. (He gives ANDY a final approving slap) You
V me '11 get along like twins, see if we don't. I'm goin' aloft
to turn in. Don't forget to pack your dunnage. And git some
sleep, if you kin. We'll want to sneak out extra early b'fore
they're up. It'll do away with more argyments. Robert can
drive us down to the town, and bring back the team. (He goes
to the door in the rear, left) Well, good night.
ANDREW. Good night. (SCOTT goes out. The two brothers
remain silent for a moment. Then ANDREW comes over to his
brother and puts a hand on his back. He speaks in a low voice,
full of feeling) Buck up, Rob. It ain't any use crying over
spilt milk; and it'll all turn out for the best — let's hope. It
couldn't be helped — what's happened.
ROBERT, (wildly) But it's a lie, Andy, a lie !
ANDREW. Of course it's a lie. You know it and I know it, —
but that's all ought to know it.
ROBERT. Pa'll never forgive you. Oh, the whole affair is so
senseless — and tragic. Why did you think you must go away?
ANDREW. You know better than to ask that. You know
why. (Fiercely) I can wish you and Ruth all the good luck
in the world, and I do, and I mean it; but you can't expect
me to stay around here and watch you two together, day after
day — and me alone. I couldn't stand it — not after all the plans
BEYOND THE HORIZON 51
I'd made to happen on this place thinking (his voice
breaks) thinking she cared for me.
ROBERT, (putting a hand on his brother's arm) God ! It's
horrible ! I feel so guilty — to think that I should be the cause
of your suffering, after we've been such pals all our live**. If I
could have foreseen what'd happen, I swear to you I'd have
never said a word to Ruth. I swear I wouldn't have, Andy!
ANDREW. I know you wouldn't; and that would've been worse,
for Ruth would've suffered then. (He pats his brother's shoul
der) It's best as it is. It had to be, and I've got to stand
the gaff, that's all. Pa'll see how I felt — after a time. (At
ROBERT shakes his head) — and if he don't — well, it can't be
helped.
ROBERT. But think of Ma ! God, Andy, you can't go ! You
can't!
ANDREW, (fiercely) I've got to go — to get away! I've
got to, I tell you. I'd go crazy here, bein' reminded every
second of the day what a fool I'd made of myself. I've got
to get away and try and forget, if I can. And I'd hate the
farm if I stayed, hate it for bringin' things back. I couldn't
take interest in the work any more, work with no purpose in
sight. Can't you see what a hell it'd be? You love her too,
Rob. Put yourself in my place, and remember I haven't
stopped loving her, and couldn't if I was to stay. Would that
be fair to you or to her? Put yourself in my place. (He
shakes his brother fiercely by the shoulder) What'd you do
then? Tell me the truth! You love her. What'd you do?
ROBERT. (chokingly) I'd — I'd go, Andy! (He buries his
face in his hands with a shuddering sob) God!
ANDREW, (seeming to relax suddenly all over his body — in
52 PLAYS OF EUGENE O'NEILL
a low, steady voice) Then you know why I got to go; and
there's nothing more to be said.
ROBERT, (in a frenzy of rebellion) Why did this have to
happen to us? It's damnable! (He looks about him wildly, as
if his vengeance were seeking the responsible fate).
ANDREW, (soothingly — again putting his hands on his
brother's shoulder) It's no use fussing any more, Rob. It's
done. (Forcing a smile) I guess Ruth's got a right to have
who she likes. She made a good choice — and God bless her
for it !
ROBERT. Andy! Oh, I wish I could tell you half I feel
of how fine you are !
ANDREW. (interrupting him quickly) Shut up ! Let's go to
bed. I've got to be up long before sun-up. You, too, if you're
going to drive us down.
ROBERT. Yes. Yes.
ANDREW, (turning down the lamp) And I've got to pack
yet. (He yawns with utter weariness) I'm as tired as if I'd
been plowing twenty-four hours at a stretch. (Dully) I feel
— dead. (ROBERT covers his face again with his hands. ANDREW
shakes his head as if to get rid of his thoughts, and continues
with a poor attempt at cheery briskness) I'm going to douse
the light. Come on. (He slaps his brother on the back. ROBERT
does not move. ANDREW bends over and blows out the lamp.
His voice comes from the darkness) Don't sit there mourning,
Rob. It'll all come out in the wash. Come on and get some
sleep. Everything'll turn out all right in the end. (ROBERT
can be heard stumbling to his feet, and the dark figures of the
two brothers can be seen groping their way toward the doorway
in the rear as
(The Curtain Falls)
BEYOND THE HORIZON
ACT TWO
ACT TWO
SCENE ONE
Same as Act One, Scene Two. Sitting room of the farm
house about half past twelve in the afternoon of a hot,
sun-baked day in mid-summer, three years later. All the win
dows are open, but no breeze stirs the soiled white curtains.
A patched screen door is in the rear. Through it the yard can
be seen, its small stretch of lawn divided by the dirt path lead
ing to the door from the gate in the white picket fence which
borders the road.
The room has changed, not so much in its outward appear
ance as in its general atmosphere. Little significant details
give evidence of carelessness, of inefficiency, of an industry
gone to seed. The chairs appear shabby from lack of paint;
the table cover is spotted and askew; holes show in the cur
tains; a child's doll, with one arm gone, lies under the table; a
hoe stands in a corner; a man's coat is flung on the couch in the
rear; the desk is cluttered up with odds and ends; a number
of books are piled carelessly on the sideboard. The noon
enervation of the sultry, scorching day seems to have penetrated
indoors, causing even inanimate objects to wear an aspect of
despondent exhaustion.
A place is set at the end of the table, left, for someone's din
ner. Through the open door to the kitchen comes the clatter
of dishes being washed, interrupted at intervals by a woman's
irritated voice and the peevish whining of a child.
55
56 PLAYS OF EUGENE O'NEILL
At the rise of the curtain MRS. MAYO and MRS. ATKINS are
discovered sitting facing each other, MRS. MAYO to the rear,
MRS. ATKINS to the right of the table. MRS. MAYO'S face has lost
all character, disintegrated, become a weak mask wearing a
helpless, doleful expression of being constantly on the verge
of comfortless tears. She speaks in an uncertain voice, with
out assertiveness, as if all power of willing had deserted her.
MRS. ATKINS is in her wheel chair. She is a thin, pale-faced,
unintelligent looking woman of about forty-eight, with h^rd,
bright eyes. A victim of partial paralysis for many years, con
demned to be pushed from day to day of her life in a wheel
chair, she has developed the selfish, irritable nature of the
chronic invalid. Both women are dressed in black. MRS. ATKINS
knits nervously as she talks. A ball of unused yarn, with needles
stuck through it, lies on the table before MRS. MAYO.
MRS. ATKINS, (with a disapproving giance at the place set
on the table) Robert's late for his dinner again, as usual. I
don't see why Ruth puts up with it, and I've told her so.
Many's the time I've said to her "It's about time you put a
stop to his nonsense. Does he suppose you're runnm' a hotel
— with no one to help with things?" But she don't pay no
attention. She's as bad as he is, a'most — thinks she knows
better than an old, sick body like me.
MRS. MAYO, (dully) Robbie's always late for things. He
can't help it, Sarah.
MRS. ATKINS, (with a snort) Can't help it! How you do
go on, Kate, findin' excuses for him! Anybody can help any
thing they've a mind to — as long as they've got health, and
BEYOND THE HORIZON 57
ain't rendered helpless like me — (She adds as a pious after
thought) — through the will of God.
MRS. MAYO. Robbie can't.
MRS. ATKINS. Can't! It do make me mad, Kate Mayo, to see
folks that God gave all the use of their limbs to potterin'
round and wastin' time doin' everything the wrong way—
and me powerless to help and at their mercy, you might say.
And it ain't that I haven't pointed the right way to 'em. I've
talked to Robert thousands of times and told him how thinu^
ought to be done. You know that, Kate Mayo. But d'you
•/pose he takes any notice of what I say? Or Ruth, either —
my own daughter? No, they think I'm a crazy, cranky old
woman, half dead a'ready, and the sooner I'm in the grave and
out o' their way the better it'd suit them.
MRS. MAYO. You mustn't talk that way, Sarah. They're not
as wicked as that. And you've got years and years before you.
MRS. ATKINS. You're like the rest, Kate. You don't know
how near the end I am. Well, at least I can go to my eternal
rest with a clear conscience. I've done all a body could do
to avert ruin from this house. On their heads be it!
MRS. MAYO, (with hopeless indifference) Things might be
worse. Robert never had any experience in farming. You can't
expect him to learn in a day.
MRS. ATKINS, (snappily) He's had three years to learn,
and he's gettin' worse 'stead of better. Not on'y your place
but mine too is driftin' to rack and ruin, and I can't do nothin'
to prevent.
MRS. MAYO, (with a spark of assertiveness) You can't say
but Robbie works hard, Sarah.
58 PLAYS OF EUGENE O'NEILL
MRS. ATKINS. What good's workin' hard if it don't accom
plish anything I'd like to know?
MRS. MAYO. Robbie's had bad luck against him.
MRS. ATKINS. Say what you've a mind to, Kate, the proof
of the puddin's in the eatin'; and you can't deny that things
have been goin' from bad to worse ever since your husband died
two years back.
MRS. MAYO, (wiping tears from her eyes with her handker
chief) It was God's will that he should be taken.
MRS. ATKINS, (triumphantly) It was God's punishment on
James Mayo for the blasphemin' and denyin' of God he done
all his sinful life! (MRS. MAYO begins to weep softly) There,
Kate, I shouldn't be remindin' you, I know. He's at peace, poor
man, and forgiven, let's pray.
MRS. MAYO, (wiping her eyes — simply) James was a good
man.
MRS. ATKINS, (ignoring this remark) What I was sayin' was
that since Robert's been in charge things've been goin' down
hill steady. You don't know how bad they are. Robert don't
let on to you what's happenin'; and you'd never see it your
self if 'twas under your nose. But, thank the Lord, Ruth
still comes to me once in a while for advice when she's worried
near out of her senses by his goin's-on. Do you know what
she told me last night? But I forgot, she said not to tell you
— still I think you've got a right to know, and it's my duty
not to let such things go on behind your back.
MRS. MAYO, (wearily) You can tell me if you want to.
MRS. ATKINS, (bending over toward her — in a low voi*
Ruth was almost crazy about it. Robert told her he'd have to
mortgage the farm — said he didn't know how he'd pull through
BEYOND THE HORIZON 59
'til harvest without it, and he can't get money any other way.
(She straightens up — indignantly) Now what do you think
of your Robert?
MRS. MAYO, (resignedly) If it has to be
MRS. ATKINS. You don't mean to say you're goin' to sign
away your farm, Kate Mayo — after me warnin' you?
MRS. MAYO. — I'll do what Robbie says is needful.
MRS. ATKINS, (holding up her hands) Well, of all the fool
ishness! — well, it's your farm, not mine, and I've nothin' more
to say.
MRS. MAYO. Maybe Robbie'll manage till Andy gets back
and sees to things. It can't be long now.
MRS. ATKINS (with keen interest) Ruth says Andy ought
to turn up any day. When does Robert figger he'll get here?
MRS. MAYO. He says he can't calculate exactly on account
o' the Sunda being a sail boat. Last letter he got was from
England, the day they were sailing for home. That was over
a month ago, and Robbie thinks they're overdue now.
MRS. ATKINS. We can give praise to God then that he'll be
back in the nick o' time. He ought to be tired of travelin'
and anxious to get home and settle down to work again.
MRS. MAYO. Andy has been working. He's head officer on
Dick's boat, he wrote Robbie. You know that.
MRS. ATKINS. That foolin' on ships is all right for a spell,
but he must be right sick of it by this.
MRS. MAYO, (musingly) I wonder if he's changed much.
He used to be so fine-looking and strong. (With a sigh) Three
years ! It seems more like three hundred. (Her eyes filling
— piteously) Oh, if James could only have lived "til he came
back — and forgiven him!
60 PLAYS OF EUGENE O'NEILL
MRS. ATKINS. He never would have — not James Mayo!
Didn't he keep his heart hardened against him till the last in
spite of all you and Robert did to soften him?
MRS. MAYO, (with a feeble flash of anger'} Don't you dare
say that ! (Brokenly) Oh, I know deep down in his heart he
forgave Andy, though he was too stubborn ever to own up to
it. It was that brought on his death — breaking his heart just
on account of his stubborn pride. (She wipes her eyes with her
handkerchief and sobs).
MRS. ATKINS, (piously) It was the will of God. (The whin
ing crying of the child sounds from the kitchen. MRS. ATKINS
frowns irritably) Drat that young one ! Seems as if she cries
all the time on purpose to set a body's nerves on edge.
MRS. MAYO, (wiping her eyes) It's the heat upsets her.
Mary doesn't feel any too well these days, poor little child !
MRS. ATKINS. She gets it right from her Pa — bein' sickly all
the time. You can't deny Robert was always ailin' as a child.
(She sighs heavily) It was a crazy mistake for them two to get
married. I argyed against it at the time, but Ruth was so
spelled with Robert's wild poetry notions she wouldn't listen
to sense. Andy was the one would have been the match for
her.
MRS. MAYO. I've often thought since it might have been
better the other way. But Ruth and Robbie seem happy enough
together.
MRS. ATKINS. At any rate it was God's work — and His will
be done. (The two women sit in silence for a moment. RUTH
enters from the kitchen, carrying in her arms her two year old
daughter, MARY, a pretty but sickly and cenemic looking child
with a tear-stained face. RUTH has aged appreciably. Her
BEYOND THE HORIZON 61
face ha* lost its youth and freshness. There is a trace in her
expression of something hard and spiteful. She sits in the
rocker in front of the table and sighs wearily. She wears a
gingham dress with a soiled apron tied around her waist).
RUTH. Land sakes, if this isn't a scorcher ! That kitchen's
like a furnace. Phew! (She pushes the damp hair back from
her forehead).
MRS. MAYO. Why didn't you call me to help with the dishes?
RUTH, (shortly) No. The heat in there'd kill you.
MARY, (sees the doll under the table and struggles on her
mother's lap) Dolly, Mama! Dolly!
RUTH, (pulling her back) It's time for your nap. You
can't play with Dolly now.
MARY, (commencing to cry whiningly) Dolly!
MRS. ATKINS, (irritably) Can't you keep that child still?
Her racket's enough to split a body's ears. Put her down and
let her play with the doll if it'll quiet her.
RUTH, (lifting MARY to the floor) There ! I hope you'll
be satisfied and keep still. (MARY sits down on the floor before
the table and plays with the doll in silence. RUTH glances at
the place set on the table) It's a wonder Rob wouldn't try to
get to meals on time once in a while.
MRS. MAYO, (dully) Something must have gone wrong
again.
RUTH, (wearily) I s'pose so. Something's always going
wrong these days, it looks like.
MRS. ATKINS, (snappily) It wouldn't if you possessed a
bit of spunk. The idea of you permittin' him to come in to
meals at all hours — and you doin' the work! I never heard
of such a thin'. You're too easy goin', that's the trouble.
62 PLAYS OF EUGENE O'NEILL
RUTH. Do stop your nagging at me, Ma! I'm sick of
hearing you. I'll do as I please about it; and thank you for
not interfering. (She wipes her moist forehead — wearily)
Phew! It's too hot to argue. Let's talk of something pleasant.
(Curiously) Didn't I hear you speaking about Andy a while
ago?
MRS. MAYO. We were wondering when he'd get home.
RUTH, (brightening) Rob says any day now he's liable
to drop in and surprise us — him and the Captain. It'll cer
tainly look natural to see him around the farm again.
MRS. ATKINS. Let's hope the farm'll look more natural, too,
when he's had a hand at it. The way thin's are now !
RUTH, (irritably) Will you stop harping on that, Ma?
We all know things aren't as they might be. What's the good
of your complaining all the time?
MRS. ATKINS. There, Kate Mayo! Ain't that just what I
told you? I can't say a word of advice to my own daughter
even, she's that stubborn and self-willed.
RUTH, (putting her hands over her ears — in exasperation)
For goodness sakes, Ma !
MRS. MAYO, (dully) Never mind. Andy'll fix everything
when he comes.
RUTH, (hopefully) Oh, yes, If know he will. He always did
know just the right thing ought to be done. (With weary
vexation) It's a shame for him to come home and have to start
in with things in such a topsy-turvy.
MRS. MAYO. Andy'll manage.
RUTH, (sighing) I s'pose it isn't Rob's fault things go
wrong with him.
MRS. ATKINS, (scornfully) Hump ! (She fans herself
BEYOND THE HORIZON 63
nervously) Land o' Goshen, but it's bakin' in here! Let's
go out in under the trees in back where there's a breath of
fresh air. Come, Kate. (MRS. MAYO gets up obediently and
starts to wheel the invalid's chair toward the screen door)
You better come too, Ruth. It'll do you good. Learn him a
lesson and let him get his own dinner. Don't be such a fool.
RUTH, (going and holding the screen door open for them —
listlessly) He wouldn't mind. He doesn't eat much. But I
can't go anyway. I've got to put baby to bed.
MRS. ATKINS. Let's go, Kate. I'm boilin' in here. (MRS.
MAYO "wheels her out and off left, RUTH comes back and sits
down in her chair).
RUTH, (mechanically) Come and let me take off your shoes
and stockings, Mary, that's a good girl. You've got to take
your nap now. (The child continues to play as if she hadn't
heard, absorbed in her doll. An eager expression comes over
RUTH'S tired face. She glances toward the door furtively —
then gets up and goes to the desk. Her movements indicate
a guilty fear of discovery. She takes a letter from a pigeon
hole and retreats swiftly to her chair with it. She opens the
envelope and reads the letter with great interest, a flush of
excitement coming to her cheeks. ROBERT walks up the path
and opens the screen door quietly and comes into the room.
He, too, has aged. His shoulders are stooped as if under too
great a burden. His eyes are dull and lifeless, his face burned
by the sun and unshaven for days. Streaks of sweat have
smudged the layer of dust on his cheeks. His lips drawn down
at the corners, give him a hopeless, resigned expression. The
three years have accentuated the weakness of his mouth and
64 PLAYS OF EUGENE O'NEILL
chin. He is dressed in overalls, laced boots, and a flannel
shirt open at the neck).
ROBERT, (throwing his hat over on the sofa — with a great
sigh of exhaustion) Phew! The sun's hot today! (RUTH is
startled. At first she makes an instinctive motion as if to hide
the letter in her bosom. She immediately thinks better of this
and sits with the letter in her hands looking at him with defiant
eyes. He bends down and kisses her).
RUTH, (feeling of her cheek — irritably) Why don't you
shave? You look awful.
ROBERT, (indifferently) I forgot — and it's too much trouble
this weather.
MARY, (throwing aside her doll, runs to him with a happy
cry) Dada ! Dada !
ROBERT, (swinging her up above his head — lovingly) And
how's this little girl of mine this hot day, eh?
MARY, (screeching happily) Dada! Dada!
RUTH, (in annoyance) Don't do that to her! You know
it's time for her nap and you'll get her all waked up; then
I'll be the one that'll have to sit beside her till she falls asleep.
ROBERT, (sitting down in the chair on the left of table and
cuddling MARY on his lap) You needn't bother. I'll put her
to bed.
RUTH, (shortly) You've got to get back to your work, I
s'pose.
ROBERT, (with a sigh) Yes, I was forgetting. (He glances
at the open letter on RUTH'S lap) Reading Andy's letter again?
I should think you'd know it by heart by this time.
RUTH, (coloring as if she'd been accused of something —
BEYOND THE HORIZON 65
defiantly) I've got a right to read it, haven't I? He says it's
meant for all of us.
ROBERT, (with a trace of irritation) Right? Don't be so
silly. There's no question of right. I was only saying that you
must know all that's in it after so many readings.
RUTH. Well, I don't. (She puts the letter on the table and
gets wearily to her feet) I s'pose you'll be wanting your din
ner now.
ROBERT, (listlessly) I don't care. I'm not hungry.
RUTH. And here I been keeping it hot for you !
ROBERT, (irritably) Oh, all right then. Bring it in ana
I'll try to eat.
RUTH. I've got to get her to bed first. (She goes to lift
MARY off his lap) Come, dear. It's after time and you can
hardly keep your eyes open now.
MARV. (crying) No, no! (Appealing to her father) Dada!
No!
RUTH, (accusingly to ROBERT) There ! Now see what
you've done! I told you not to —
ROBERT, (shortly) Let her alone, then. She's all right
where she is. She'll fall asleep on my lap in a minute if you'll
stop bothering her.
RUTH, (hotly) She'll not do any such thing! She's got
to learn to mind me ! (Shaking her finger at MARY) You
naughty child ! Will you come with Mama when she tells you
for your own good?
MARY, (clinging to her father) No, Dada!
RUTH, (losing her temper) A good spanking's what you
need, my young lady — and you'll get one from me if you don'*,
mind better, d'you hear? (MARY starts to whimper frightenedly).
66 PLAYS OF EUGENE O'NEILL
ROBERT, (with sudden anger) Leave her alone ! How often
have I told you not to threaten her with whipping? I won't
have it. (Soothing the wailing MARY) There! There, little
girl ! Baby mustn't cry. Dada won't like you if you do.
Dada'll hold you and you must promise to go to sleep like
a good little girl. Will you when Dada asks you?
MARY, (cuddling up to him) Yes, Dada.
RUTH, (looking at them, her pale face set and drawn) A
fine one you are to he telling folks how to do things ! (She
bites her lips. Husband and wife look into each other's eyes
with something akin to hatred in their expressions; then RUTH
turns away with a shrug of affected indifference) All right,
take care of her then, if you think it's so easy. (She walks
away into the kitchen).
ROBERT, (smoothing MARY'S hair — tenderly) We'll show
Mama you're a good little girl, won't we?
MARY, (crooning drowsily) Dada, Dada.
ROBERT. Let's see: Does your mother take off your shoes
and stockings before your nap?
MARY, (nodding with half-shut eyes) Yes, Dada.
ROBERT, (taking off her shoes and stockings) We'll show
Mama we know how to do those things, won't we? There's
one old shoe off — and there's the other old shoe — and here's
one old stocking — and there's the other old stocking. There
we are, all nice and cool and comfy. (He bends down and
kisses her) And now will you promise to go right to sleep if
Dada takes you to bed? (MARY nods sleepily) That's the
good little girl. (He gathers her up in his arms carefully
and carries her into the bedroom. His voice can be heard
faintly as he lulls the child to sleep. RUTH comes out of the
BEYOND THE HORIZON 67
kitchen and gets the plate from the table. She hears the voice
from the room and tiptoes to the door to look in. Then she
starts for the kitchen but stands for a moment thinking, a look
of ill-concealed jealousy on her face. At a noise from inside
she hurriedly disappears into the kitchen. A moment later
ROBERT re-enters. He comes forward and picks up the shoes
and stockings which he shoves carelessly under the table. Then,
seeing no one about, he goes to the sideboard and selects a
book. Coming back to his chair, he sits down and immediately
becomes absorbed in reading. RTTH returns from the kitchen
bringing his plate heaped with food, and a cup of tea. She
sets those before him and sits down in her former place.
ROBERT continues to read, oblivious to the food on the table).
RUTH, (after watching him irritably for a moment) For
heaven's sakes, put down that old book! Don't you see your
dinner's petting cold?
ROBERT, (closing his book) Excuse me, Ruth. I didn't
notice. (He picks up his knife and fork and begins to eat
gingerly, without appetite).
RUTH. I should think you might have some feeling for me,
Rob, and not always be late for meals. If you think it's fun
sweltering in that oven of a kitchen to keep things warm for
you, you're mistaken.
ROBERT. I'm sorry, Ruth, really I am. Something crops up
every day to delay me. I mean to be here on time.
RUTH, (with a sigh) Mean-tos don't count.
ROBERT, (with a conciliating smile) Then punish me, Ruth.
Let the food get cold and don't bother about me.
RUTH. I'd have to wait just the same to wash up after
you.
68 PLAYS OF EUGENE O'NEILL
ROBERT. But I can wash up.
RUTH. A nice mess there'd be then!
ROBERT, (with an attempt at lightness) The food is lucky
to be able to get cold this weather. (As RUTH doesn't answer
or smile he opens his book and resumes his reading^ -forcing
himself to take a mouthful of food every now and then. RUTH
stares at him in annoyance}.
RUTH. And besides, you've got your own work that's got to
be done.
ROBERT, (absent-mindedly, without taking his eyes from the
book) Yes, of course.
RUTH, (spitefully) Work you'll never get done by reading
books all the time.
ROBERT, (shutting the book with a snap) Why do you
persist in nagging at me for getting pleasure out of reading?
Is it because (He checks himself abruptly).
RUTH, (coloring) Because I'm too stupid to understand
them, I s'posc you were going to say.
ROBERT, (shame-facedly) No — no. (In exasperation) Why
do you goad me into saying things I don't mean? Haven't
I got my share of troubles trying to work this cursed farm
without your adding to them? You know how hard I've tried
to keep things going in spite of bad luck
RUTH, (scornfully) Bad luck!
ROBERT. And my own very apparent unfitness for the job,
I was going to add; but you can't deny there's been bad
luck to it, too. Why don't you '-ake things into consideration?
Why can't we pull together? We used to. I know it's hard
on you also. Then why can't we help each other instead of
hindering?
BEYOND THE HORIZON
RUTH, (sullenly) I do the best I know how.
ROBERT, (gets up and puts his hand on her shoulder) I
know you do. But let's both of us try to do better. We can
both improve. Say a word of encouragement once in a while
when things go wrong, even if it is my fault. You know the
odds I've been up against since Pa died. I'm not a farmer.
I've never claimed to be one. But there's nothing else I can
do under the circumstances, and I've got to pull things through
somehow. With your help, I can do it. With you against
me (He shrugs his shoulders. There is a pause. Then he
bends dorm and kisses her hair — with an attempt at cheerful
ness) So you promise that; and I'll promise to be here when
the clock strikes — and anything else you tell me to. Is it a
bargain ?
RUTH, (dully) I s'pose so. (They are interrupted by the
sound of a loud knock at the kitchen door) There's someone
at the kitchen door. (She hurries out. A moment later she
reappears) It's Ben.
ROBERT, (frowning) What's the trouble now, I wonder?
(In a loud voice) Come on in here, Ben. (BEN slouches in
from the kitchen. He is a hulking, awkward young fellow with
a heavy, stupid face and shifty, cunning eyes. He is dressed
in overalls, boots, etc., and wears a broad-brimmed hat of coarse
straw pushed back on his head) Well. Ben, what's the matter?
BEN. (draii'lingly) The mowin' machine's bust.
ROBERT. Why, that can't be. The man fixed it only last
week
BEN. It's bust just the same.
ROBERT. And can't vou fix it?
70 PLAYS OF EUGENE O'NEILL
BEN. No. Don't know what's the matter with the goll-
darned thing. 'Twon't work, anyhow.
ROBERT, (getting up and going for his hat) Wait a minute
and I'll go look it over. There can't be much the matter
with it.
BEN. (impudently) Don't make no diff rence t' me whether
there be or not. I'm quittin*.
ROBERT, (anxiously) You don't mean you're throwing up
your job here?
BEN. That's what ! My month's up today and I want what's
owin' t' me.
ROBERT. But why are you quitting now, Ben, when you
know I've so much work on hand? I'll have a hard time getting
another man at such short notice.
BEN. That's for you to figger. I'm quittin'.
ROBERT. But what's your reason? You haven't any com
plaint to make about the way you've been treated, have you?
BEN. No. 'Tain't that. (Shaking his finger) Look-a-here.
I'm sick o' being made fun at, that's what; an' I got a job up
to Timms' place; an' I'm quittin' here.
ROBERT. Being made fun of? I don't understand you.
Who's making fun of you?
BEN. They all do. When I drive down with the milk in
the mornin' they all laughs and jokes at me — that boy up
to Harris' and the new feller up to Slocum's, and Bill Evans
down to Meade's, and all the rest on 'em.
ROBERT. That's a queer reason for leaving me flat. Won't
they laugh at you just the same when you're working for
Timms?
BEN. They wouldn't dare to. Timms is the best farm here-
BEYOND THE HORIZON 71
abouts. They was laughin' at me for workin' for you, that's
what! "How're things up to the Mayo place?" they hollers
every mornin'. "What's Robert doin' now — pasturin' the cattle
in the cornlot? Is he seasonin' his hay with rain this year,
same as last?" they shouts. "Or is he inventin' some 'lectrical
milkin' engine to fool them dry cows o' his into givin' hard
cider?" (Very much ruffled) That's like they talks; and I
ain't goin' to put up with it no longer. Everyone's always
knowed me as a first-class hand hereabouts, and I ain't wantin'
'em to get no different notion. So I'm quittin' you. And I
wants what's comin' to me.
ROBERT, (coldly) Oh, if that's the case, you can go to the
devil. You'll get your money tomorrow when I get back from
town — not before !
BEN. (turning to doorway to kitchen) That suits me. (As
he goes out he speaks back over his shoulder) And see that
I do get it, or there'll be trouble. (He disappears and the slam
ming of the kitchen door is heard).
ROBERT, (as RUTH comes from where she has been standing
by the doorway and sits down dejectedly in her old place)
The stupid damn fool! And now what about the haying? That's
an example of what I'm up against. No one can say I'm re
sponsible for that.
RUTH. He wouldn't dare act that way with anyone else!
(Spitefully, with a glance at ANDREW'S letter on the table) It's
lucky Andy's coming back.
ROBERT, (without resentment) Yes, Andy '11 see the right
thing to do in a jiffy. (With an affectionate smile) I wonder
if the old chump's changed much? He doesn't seem to from
his letters, does he? (Shaking his head) But just the same
72 PLAYS OF EUGENE O'NEILL
I doubt if he'll want to settle down to a hum-drum farm life,
after all he's been through.
RUTH, {resentfully) Andy's not like you. He likes the
farm.
ROBERT, (immersed in his own thoughts — enthusiastically)
Gad, the things he's seen and experienced ! Think of the places
he's been! All the wonderful far places I used to dream
about! God, how I envy him! What a trip! (He springs to
his feet and instinctively goes to the window and stares out at
the horizon).
RUTH, (bitterly) I s'pose you're sorry now you didn't go?
ROBERT, (too occupied with his own thoughts to hear her —
vindictively) Oh, those cursed hills out there that I used to
think promised me so much ! How I've grown to hate the sight
of them! They're like the walls of a narrow prison yard
shutting me in from all the freedom and wonder of life ! (He
turns back to the room with a gesture of loathing) Sometimes
I think if it wasn't for you, Ruth, and — (his voice softening) —
little Mary, I'd chuck everything up and walk down the road
with just one desire in my heart — to put the whole rim of the
world between me and those hills, and be able to breathe freely
once more! (He sinks down into his chair and smiles with
bitter self -scorn) There I go dreaming again— -my old fool
dreams.
RUTH, (in a low, repressed voice — her eyes smoldering)
You're not the only one!
ROBERT, (buried in his own thoughts — bitterly) And Andy,
who's had the chance — what has he got out of it? His let
ters read like the diary of a — of a farmer! "We're in Singa
pore now. It's a dirty hole of a place and hotter than hell.
BEYOND THE HORIZON 73
Two of the crew are down with fever and we're short-handed
on the work. I'll be damn glad when we sail again, although
tacking back and forth in these blistering seas is a rotten job
too!" (Scornfully) That's about the way he summed up his
impressions of the East.
RUTH, (her repressed voice trembling) You needn't make
fun of Andy.
ROBERT. ,When I think — but what's the use? You know
I wasn't making fun of Andy personally, but his attitude toward
things is
RUTH, (her eyes flashing — bursting into uncontrollable rage)
You was too making fun of him ! And I ain't going to stand
for it! You ought to be ashamed of yourself! (ROBERT stares
at her in amazement. She continues furiously) A fine one to
talk about anyone else — after the way you've ruined everything
with your lazy loafing ! — and the stupid way you do things !
ROBERT, (angrily) Stop that kind of talk, do you hear?
RUTH. You findin' fault — with your own brother who's ten
times the man you ever was or ever will be! You're jealous,
that's what ! Jealous because he's made a man of himself, while
you're nothing but a — but a (She stutters incoherently ,
overcome by rage).
ROBERT. Ruth ! Ruth ! You'll be sorry for talking like that.
RUTH. I won't! I won't never be sorry! I'm only saying
what I've been thinking for years.
ROBERT, (aghast) Ruth! You can't mean that!
RUTH. What do you think — living with a man like you —
having to suffer all the time because you've never been man
enough to work and do things like other people. But no!
You never own up to that. You think you're so much better
74 PLAYS OF EUGENE O'NEILL
than other folks, with your college education, where you never
learned a thing, and always reading your stupid books instead
of working. I s'pose you think I ought to be proud to be your
wife — a poor, ignorant thing like me! (Fiercely) But I'm not.
I hate it! I hate the sight of you. Oh, if I'd only known!
If I hadn't been such a fool to listen to your cheap, silly,
poetry talk that you learned out of books ! If I could have
seen how you were in your true self — like you are now — I'd
have killed myself before I'd have married you! I was sorry
for it before we'd been together a month. I knew what you
were really like — when it was too late.
ROBERT, (his voice raised loudly) And now — I'm finding
out what you're really like — what a — a creature I've been living
with. (With a harsh laugh) God! It wasn't that I haven't
guessed how mean and small you are — but I've kept on telling
myself that I must be wrong — like a fool ! — like a damned
fool!
RUTH. You were saying you'd go out on the road if it wasn't
for me. Well, you can go, and the sooner the better ! I don't
care ! I'll be glad to get rid of you ! The farm'll be better off
too. There's been a curse on it ever since you took hold.
So go ! Go and be a tramp like you've always wanted. It's
all you're good for. I can get along without you, don't you
worry. (Exulting fiercely) Andy's coming back, don't forget
that ! He'll attend to things like they should be. He'll show
what a man can do! I don't need you. Andy's coming!
ROBERT, (they are both standing. ROBERT grabs her by the
shoulders and glares into her eyes) What do you mean? (He
shakes her violently) What are you thinking of? What's in
your evil mind, you — you (His voice is a harsh shout).
BEYOND THE HORIZON 75
RUTH, (in a defiant scream) Yes I do mean it! I'd say
it if you was to kill me ! I do love Andy. I do ! I do ! I
always loved him. (Exultantly) And he loves me! He loves
me ! I know he does. He always did ! And you know he
did, too ! So go ! Go if you want to !
ROBERT, (throwing her away from him. She staggers back
against the table — thickly) You — you slut! (He stands glar
ing at her as she leans back, supporting herself by the table,
gasping for breath. A loud frightened whimper sounds from
the awakened child in the bedroom. It continues. The man
and woman stand looking at one another in horror , the extent
of their terrible quarrel suddenly brought home to them. A
pause. The noise of a horse and carriage comes from the road
before the house. The two, suddenly struck by the same premo
nition, listen to it breathlessly, as to a sound heard in a dream.
It stops. They hear ANDY'S voice from the road shouting a long
hail— "Ahoy there!")
RUTH, (with a strangled cry of joy) Andy! Andy! (She
rushes and grabs the knob of the screen door, about to fling it
open).
ROBERT, (in a voice of command that forces obedience)
Stop! (He goes to the door and gently pushes the trembling
RUTH away from it. The child's crying rises to a louder pitch)
I'll meet Andy. You better go in to Mary, Ruth. (She looks
at him defiantly for a moment, but there is something in his
eyes that makes her turn and walk slowly into the bedroom).
ANDY'S VOICE, (in a louder shout) Ahoy there, Rob!
ROBERT, (in an answering shout of forced cheeriness) Hello,
Andy ! (He opens the door and walks out a*
(The Curtain Falls)
ACT TWO
SCENE Two
The top of a hill on the farm. It is about eleven o'clock the
next morning. The day is hot and cloudless. In the distance
the sea can be seen.
The top of the hill slopes downward slightly toward the left.
A big boulder stands in the center toward the rear. Further
right, a large oak tree. The faint trace of a path leading up
ward to it from the left foreground can be detected through
the bleached, sun-scorched grass.
ROBERT is discovered sitting on the boulder, his chin resting
on his hands, staring out toward the horizon seaward. His face
is pale and haggard, his expression one of utter despondency.
MARY i* sitting on the grass near him in the shade, playing with
her doll, singing happily to herself. Presently she casts a
curious glance at her father, and, propping her doll up against
the tree, comes over and clambers to his side.
MARY, {pulling at his hand — solicitously} Dada sick?
ROBERT, (looking at her with a forced smile) No, dear.
Why?
MARY. Play wif Mary.
ROBERT, (gently) No, dear, not today. Dada doesn't feel
like playing today.
MARY, (protestingly) Yes, Dada!
ROBERT. No, dear. Dada does feel sick — a little. He's got
a bad headache.
76
BEYOND THE HORIZON 77
MARY. Mary see. (He bend* his head. She pats his hair)
Bad head.
ROBERT, (kissing her — with a smile) There! It's better
now, dear, thank you. (She cuddles up close against him. There
is a pause during which each of them looks out seaward) Finally
ROBERT turns to her tenderly) Would you like Dada to go
away? — far, far away?
MARY, (tearfully) No! No! No, Dada, no!
ROBERT. Don't you like Uncle Andy — the man that came
yesterday — not the old man with the white mustache — the other?
MARY. Mary loves Dada.
ROBERT, (with fierce determination) He won't go away,
baby. He was only joking. He couldn't leave his little Mary.
(He presses the child in his arms).
MARY, (with an exclamation of pain) Oh! Hurt!
ROBERT. I'm sorry, little girl. (He lifts her down to the
grass) Go play with Dolly, that's a good girl; and be careful
to keep in the shade. (She reluctantly leaves him and takes
up her doll again. A moment later she points down the hill to
the lit).
MARY. Mans, Dada.
ROBERT, (looking that way) It's your Uncle Andy. (A
moment later ANDREW comes up from the left, whistling cheer
fully. He has changed but little in appearance, except for
the fact that his face has been deeply bronzed by his yeart in
the tropics; but there is a decided change in his manner. The
old easy-going good-nature seems to have been partly lost in a
breezy, business-like briskness of voice and gesture. There if
an authoritative note in his speech as though he were accus
tomed to give orders and have them obeyed as a matter of
78 PLAYS OF EUGENE O'NEILL
course. He is dressed in the simple blue uniform and cap of
a merchant ship's officer).
ANDREW. Here you are, eh?
ROBERT. Hello, Andy.
ANDREW, (going over to MARY) And who's this young lady
I find you all alone with, eh? Who's this pretty young lady?
(He tickles the laughingf squirming MARY, then lifts her up at
arm's length over his head) Upsy — daisy! (He sets her down
on the ground again) And there you are! (He walks over
and sits down on the boulder beside ROBERT who moves to one
side to make room for him) Ruth told me I'd probably find
you up top-side here; but I'd have guessed it, anyway. (He
digs his brother in the ribs affectionately) Still up to your
old tricks, you old beggar ! I can remember how you used to
come up here to mope and dream in the old days.
ROBERT, (with a smile) I come up here now because it's
the coolest place on the farm. I've given up dreaming.
ANDREW, (grinning) I don't believe it. You can't have
changed that much. (After a pause — with boyish enthusiasm)
Say, it sure brings back old times to be up here with you having
a chin all by our lonesomes again. I feel great being back
home.
ROBERT. It's great for us to have you back.
ANDREW, (after a pause — meaningly) I've been looking
over the old place with Ruth. Things don't seem to be
ROBERT, (his face flushing — interrupts his brother shortly)
Never mind the damn farm! Let's talk about something in
teresting. This is the first chance I've had to have a word
with you alone. Tell me about your trip.
ANDREW. Why, I thought I told you everything in my letters.
BEYOND THE HORIZON 79
ROBERT, (smiling) Your letters were — sketchy, to say the
least.
ANDREW. Oh, I know I'm no author. You needn't be afraid
of hurting my feelings. I'd rather go through a typhoon again
than write a letter.
ROBERT, (with eager interest) Then you were through a
typhoon ?
ANDREW. Yes — in the China sea. Had to run before it
under bare poles for two days. I thought we were bound
down for Davy Jones, sure. Never dreamed waves could get
so big or the wind blow so hard. If it hadn't been for Uncle
Dick being such a good skipper we'd have gone to the sharks,
all of us. As it was we came out minus a main top-mast and
had to beat back to Hong-Kong for repairs. But I must have
written you all this.
ROBERT. You never mentioned it.
ANDREW. Well, there was so much dirty work getting things
ship-shape again I must have forgotten about it.
ROBERT. (looking at ANDREW — marveling) Forget a ty
phoon? (u'ith a trace of scorn) You're a strange combina
tion, Andy. And is what you've told me all you remembei
about it?
ANDREW. Oh, I could give you your bellyful of details if
I wanted to turn loose on you. It was all-wool-and-a-yard-
wide-Hell, I'll tell you. You ought to have been there. I
remember thinking about you at the worst of it, and saying to
myself: "This'd cure Rob of them ideas of his about the beau
tiful sea, if he could see it." And it would have too, you bet!
(He nods emphatically}.
80 PLAYS OF EUGENE O'NEILL
ROBERT, (dryly) The sea doesn't seem to have impressed
you very favorably.
ANDREW. I should say it didn't ! I'll never set foot on a
ship again if I can help it — except to carry me some place I
can't get to by train.
ROBERT. But you studied to become an officer !
ANDREW. Had to do something or I'd gone mad. The days
were like years. (He laughs) And as for the East you used
to rave about — well, you ought to see it, and smell it! One
walk down one of their filthy narrow streets with the tropic
sun beating on it would sicken you for life with the "wonder
and mystery" you used to dream of.
ROBERT, (shrinking from his brother with a glance of aver
sion) So all you found in the East was a stench?
ANDREW. A stench ! Ten thousand of them !
ROBERT. But you did like some of the places, judging from
your letters — Sydney, Buenos Aires
ANDREW. Yes, Sydney's a good town. (Enthusiastically)
But Buenos Aires — there's the place for you. Argentine's a
country where a fellow has a chance to make good. You're
right I like it. And I'll tell you, Rob, that's right where I'm
going just as soon as I've seen you folks a while and can get
a ship. I can get a berth as second officer, and I'll jump the
ship when I get there. I'll need every cent of the wages
Uncle's paid me to get a start at something in B. A.
ROBERT, (staring at his brother — slowly) So you're not
going to stay on the farm?
ANDREW. Why sure not! Did you think I was? There
wouldn't be any sense. One of us is enough to run this little
place.
BEYOND THE HORIZON 81
ROBERT. I suppose it does seem small to you now.
ANDREW, (not noticing the sarcasm in ROBERT'S foee)
You've no idea, Rob, what a splendid place Argentine is. I
had a letter from a marine insurance chap that I'd made
friends with in Hong-Kong to his brother, who's in the grain
business in Buenos Aires. He took quite a fancy to me, and
what's more important, he offered me a job if I'd come back
there. I'd have taken it on the spot, only I couldn't leave
Uncle Dick in the lurch, and I'd promised you folks to come
home. But I'm going back there, you bet, and then you watch
me get on! (He slaps ROBERT on the back) But don't you
think it's a big chance, Rob?
ROBERT. It's fine — for you, Andy.
ANDREW. We call this a farm — but you ought to hear about
the farms down there — ten square miles where we've got an
acre. It's a new country where big things arc opening u\j
—and I want to get in on something big before I die. I'm
no fool when it comes to farming, and I know something about
grain. I've been reading up a lot on it, too, lately. (He
notices ROBERT'S absent-minded expression and laughs) Wake
up, you old poetry book worm, you! I know my talking about
business makes you want to choke me, doesn't it?
ROBERT, (with an embarrassed smile) No, Andy, I — I just
happened to think of something else. (Frowning) There've
been lots of times lately that I've wished I had some of your
faculty for business.
ANDREW, (soberly) There's something I want to talk about,
Rob, — the farm. You don't mind, do you?
ROBERT. No.
ANDREW. I walked over it this morning with Ruth — and
82 PLAYS OF EUGENE O'NEILL
she told me about things (Evasively) I could see the
place had run down; but you mustn't blame yourself. When
luck's against anyone
ROBERT. Don't, Andy ! It is my fault. You know it as
well as I do. The best I've ever done was to make ends
meet.
ANDREW, (after a pause) I've got over a thousand saved,
and you can have that.
ROBERT, (firmly) No. You need that for your start in
Buenos Aires.
ANDREW. I don't. I can
ROBERT, (determinedly) No, Andy! Once and for all, no!
I won't hear of it!
ANDREW, (protestingly) You obstinate old son of a gun !
ROBERT. Oh, everything'll be on a sound footing after harvest.
Don't worry about it.
ANDREW, (doubtfully) Maybe. (After a pause) It's too
bad Pa couldn't have lived to see things through. (With feel
ing) It cut me up a lot — hearing he was dead. He never
— softened up, did he — about me, I mean?
ROBERT. He never understood, that's a kinder way of put
ting it. He does now.
ANDREW, (after a pause) You've forgotten all about what
— caused me to go, haven't you, Rob? (ROBERT nods but keeps
his face averted) I was a slushier damn fool in those days
than you were. But it was an act of Providence I did go-
It opened my eyes to how I'd been fooling myself. Why;
I'd forgotten all about — that — before I'd been at sea six
months.
BEYOND THE HORIZON
ROBERT, (turns and looks into ANDREW'S eyes searchingly)
You're speaking of — Ruth?
ANDREW, (confused) Yes. I didn't want you to get false
notions in your head, or I wouldn't say anything. (Looking
ROBERT squarely in the eyes) I'm telling you the truth when
I say I'd forgotten long ago. It don't sound well for me,
getting over things so easy, but I guess it never really amounted
to more than a kid idea I was letting rule me. I'm certain now
I never was in love — I was getting fun out of thinking I was
— and being a hero to myself. (He heaves a great sigh of
relief) There! Gosh, I'm glad that's off my chest. I've
been feeling sort of awkward ever since I've been home, think
ing of what you two might think. (A trace of appeal in his
voice) You've got it all straight now, haven't you, Rob?
ROBERT, (in a low voice) Yes, Andy.
ANDREW. And I'll tell Ruth, too, if I can get up the nerve.
She must feel kind of funny having me round — after what used
to be — and not knowing how I feel about it.
ROBERT, (slowly) Perhaps — for her sake — you'd better
not tell her.
ANDREW. For her sake? Oh, you mean she wouldn't want
to be reminded of my foolishness? Still, I think it'd be worse
if—
ROBERT, (breaking out — in an agonized voice) Do as you
please, Andy; but for God's sake, let's not talk about it! (There
is a pause. ANDREW stares at ROBERT in hurt stupefaction.
ROBERT continues after a moment in a voice which he vainly
attempts to keep calm) Excuse me, Andy. This rotten head
ache has my nerves shot to pieces.
84 PLAYS OF EUGENE O'NEILL
ANDREW, (mumbling) It's all right, Rob — long as you're
not sore at me.
ROBERT. Where did Uncle Dick disappear to this morning?
ANDREW. He went down to the port to see to things on the
Sunda. He said he didn't know exactly when he'd be back.
I'll have to go down and tend to the ship when he comes. That's
why I dressed up in these togs.
MARY, (pointing down the hill to the left) See ! Mama !
Mama ! (She struggles to her feet. RUTH appears at left. She
is dressed in white, shows she has been fixing up. She look*
pretty, flushed and full of life).
MARY, (running to her mother) Mama !
RUTH, (kissing her) Hello, dear! (She walks toward the
rock and addresses ROBERT coldly) Jake wants to see you about
something. He finished working where he was. He's waiting
for you at the road.
ROBERT, (getting up — wearily) I'll go down right away.
(As he looks at RUTH, noting her changed appearance, his face
darkens with pain).
RUTH. And take Mary with you, please. (To MARY) Go
with Dada, that's a good girl. Grandma has your dinner most
ready for you.
ROBERT, (shortly) Come, Mary!
MARY, (taking his hand and dancing happily beside him)
Dada! Dada! (They go down the hill to the left. RUTH
looks after them for a moment, frowning — then turns to ANDY
with a smile) I'm going to sit down. Come on, Andy. It'll
be like old times. (She jumps lightly to the top of the rock
<ind sits down) It's so fine and cool up here after the house.
BEYOND THE HORIZON 85
ANDREW, (half-sitting on the side of the boulder) Yes.
It's great.
RUTH. I've taken a holiday in honor of your arrival. (Laugh
ing excitedly) I feel so free I'd like to have wings and fly
over the sea. You're a man. You can't know how awful and
stupid it is — cooking and washing dishes all the time.
ANDREW, (making a wry face) I can guess.
RUTH. Besides, your mother just insisted on getting your
first dinner to home, she's that happy at having you back.
You'd think I was planning to poison you the flurried way she
shooed me out of the kitchen.
ANDREW. That's just like Ma, bless her!
RUTH. She's missed you terrible. We all have. And you
can't deny the farm has, after what I showed you and told you
when we was looking over the place this morning.
ANDREW, (with a frown) Things are run down, that's a
fact ! It's too darn hard on poor old Rob.
RUTH, (scornfully) It's his own fault. He never takes
any interest in things.
ANDREW, (reprovingly) You can't blame him. He wasn't
born for it; but I know he's done his best for your sake and
the old folks and the little girl.
RUTH, (indifferently) Yes, I suppose he has. (Gayly) But
thank the Lord, all those days are over now. The "hard luck"
Rob's always blaming won't last long when you take hold,
Andy. All the farm's ever needed was someone with the
knack of looking ahead and preparing for what's going to
happen.
ANDREW. Yes, Rob hasn't got that. He's frank to own up
to that himself. I'm going to try and hire a good man for
86 PLAYS OF EUGENE O'NEILL
him — an experienced farmer — to work the place on a salary
and percentage. That'll take it off of Rob's hands, and he
needn't be worrying himself to death any more. He looks all
worn out, Ruth. He ought to be careful.
RUTH, {absent-mindedly) Yes, I s'pose. (Her mind is
filed with premonitions by the first part of his statement)
Why do you want to hire a man to oversee things? Seems as if
now that you're back it wouldn't be needful.
ANDREW. Oh, of course I'll attend to everything while I'm
here. I mean after I'm gone.
RUTH, (as if she couldn't believe her ears) Gone !
ANDREW. Yes. When I leave for the Argentine again.
RUTH, (aghast) You're going away to sea !
ANDREW. Not to sea, no; I'm through with the sea for good
as a job. I'm going down to Buenos Aires to get in the grain
business.
RUTH. But — that's far off — isn't it?
ANDREW, (easily) Six thousand miles more or less. It's
quite a trip. (With enthusiasm) I've got a peach of a chance
down there, Ruth. Ask Rob if I haven't. I've just been telling
him all about it.
RUTH, (a flush of anger coming over her face) And didn't
he try to stop you from going?
ANDREW, (in surprise) No, of course not. Why?
RUTH, (slowly and vindictively) That's just like him—
not to.
ANDREW, (resentfully) Rob's too good a chum to try and
stop me when he knows I'm set on a thing. And he could
see just as soon's I told him what a good chance it was.
RUTH, (dazedly) And you're bound on going?
BEYOND THE HORIZON 87
ANDREW. Sure thing. Oh, I don't mean right off. I'll have
to wait for a ship sailing there for quite a while, likely. Any
way, I want to stay to home and visit with you folks a spell
before I go.
RUTH, (dumbly) I s'pose. (With sudden anguish) Oh,
Andy, you can't go ! You can't. Why we've all thought —
we've all been hoping and praying you was coming home to
stay, to settle down on the farm and see to things. You
mustn't go ! Think of how your Ma'll take on if you go —
and how the farm'll be ruined if you leave it to Rob to look
after. You can see that.
ANDREW, (frowning) Rob hasn't done so bad. When I
get a man to direct things the farm'll be safe enough.
RUTH, (insistently) But your Ma — think of her.
ANDREW. She's used to me being away. She won't object
when she knows it's best for her and all of us for me to go.
You ask Rob. In a couple of years down there I'll make my
pile, see if I don't; and then I'll come back and settle down
and turn this farm into the crackiest place in the whole state.
In the meantime, I can help you both from down there.
(Earnestly) I tell you, Ruth, I'm going to make good right
from the minute I land, if working hard and a determination
to get on can do it ; and I know they can ! (Excitedly — in a
rather boastful tone) I tell you, I feel ripe for bigger things
than settling down here. The trip did that for me, anyway.
It showed me the world is a larger proposition than ever I
thought it was in the old days. I couldn't be content any more
stuck here like a fly in molasses. It all seems trifling, some
how. You ought to be able to understand what I feel.
RUTH, (dully) Yes — I s'pose I ought. (After a pause — a
88 PLAYS OF EUGENE O'NEILL
sudden suspicion forming in her mind) What did Rob tell you
—-about me?
ANDREW. Tell? About you? Why, nothing.
RUTH, (staring at him intensely) Are you telling me the
truth, Andy Mayo? Didn't he say — I (She stops con
fusedly).
ANDREW, (surprised) No, he didn't mention you, I can
remember. Why? What made you think he did?
RUTH, (wringing her hands) Oh, I wish I could tell if
you're lying or not !
ANDREW, (indignantly) What're you talking about? I
didn't used to lie to you, did I? And what in the name of
God is there to lie for?
RUTH, (still unconvinced) Are you sure — will you swear —
it isn't the reason (She lowers her eyes and half turns
away from him) The same reason that made you go last time
that's driving you away again? 'Cause if it is — I was going to
say — you mustn't go — on that account. (Her voice sinks to a
tremulous, tender whisper as she finishes).
ANDREW, (confused — forces a laugh) Oh, is that what
you're driving at? Well, you needn't worry about that no
more (Soberly) I don't blame you, Ruth, feeling em
barrassed having me around again, after the way I played
the dumb fool about going away last time.
RUTH, (her hope crushed — with a gasp of pain) Oh, Andy !
ANDREW, (misunderstanding) I know I oughtn't to talk
about such foolishness to you. Still I figure it's better to get
it out of my system so's we three can be together same's years
ago, and not be worried thinking one of us might have the
wrong notion
BEYOND THE HORIZON 89
RUTH. Andy! Please! Don't!
ANDREW. Let me finish now that I've started. It'll help
clear things up. I don't want you to think once a fool always
a fool, and be upset all the time I'm here on my fool account.
I want you to believe I put all that silly nonsense back of me
a long time ago — and now — it seems — well — as if you'd always
been my sister, that's what, Ruth.
RUTH, (at the end of her endurance — laughing hysterically)
For God's sake, Andy — won't you please stop talking! (She
again hides her face in her hands, her bowed shoulders trem
bling).
ANDREW, (ruefully) Seem's if I put my foot in it whenever
I open my mouth today. Rob shut me up with almost the same
words when I tried speaking to him about it.
RUTH, (fiercely) You told him — what you've told me?
ANDREW, (astounded) Why sure ! Why not ?
RUTH, (shuddering) Oh, my God !
ANDREW, (alarmed) Why? Shouldn't I have?
RUTH, (hysterically) Oh, I don't care what you do ! I
don't care ! Leave me alone ! (ANDREW gets up and walks
down the hill to the left, embarrassed, hurt, and greatly puzzled
by her behavior).
ANDREW, (after a pause — pointing down the hill) Hello!
Here they come back — and the Captain's with them. How'd
he come to get back so soon, I wonder? That means I've got
to hustle down to the port and get on board. Rob's got the
baby with him. (He comes back to the boulder. RUTH keeps
her face averted from him) Gosh, I never saw a father so
tied up in a kid as Rob is! He just watches every move she
makes. And I don't blame him. You both got a right to feel
90 PLAYS OF EUGENE O'NEILL
proud of her. She's surely a little winner. {He glances at
RUTH to see if this very obvious attempt to get back in her good
graces is having any effect} I can see the likeness to Rob
standing out all over her, can't you? But there's no denying
she's your young one, either. There's something about her
eyes
RUTH, (piteously} Oh, Andy, I've a headache! I don't
want to talk! Leave me alone, won't you please?
ANDREW, (stands staring at her for a moment — then walks
away saying in a hurt tone} : Everybody hereabouts seems to
be on edge today. I begin to feel as if I'm not wanted around.
(He stands near the path, left, kicking at the grass with the toe
of his shoe. A moment later CAPTAIN DICK SCOTT enters, fol
lowed by ROBERT carrying MARY. The CAPTAIN seems scarcely
to have changed at all from the jovial, booming person he was
three years before. He wears a uniform similar to ANDREW'S.
He is puffing and breathless from his climb and mops wildly at
his perspiring countenance. ROBERT casts a quick glance at
ANDREW, noticing the latter's discomfited look, and then turns
his eyes on RUTH who, at their approach, has moved so her back
is toward them, her chin resting on her hands as she stares out
seaward} .
MARY. Mama ! Mama ! (ROBERT puts her down and she
runs to her mother. RUTH turns and grabs her up in her arms
with a sudden fierce tenderness, quickly turning away again
from the others. During the following scene she keeps MARY
in her arms}.
SCOTT, (wheezily} Phew ! I got great news for you, Andy.
Let me get my wind first. Phew ! God A'mighty, mountin'
this damned hill is worser'n goin' aloft to the skys'l yard in a
BEYOND THE HORIZON 91
blow. I got to lay to a while. (He sits down on the grass,
mopping his face).
ANDREW. I didn't look for you this soon, Uncle.
SCOTT. I didn't figger it, neither; but I run across a bit o'
news down to the Seamen's Home made me 'bout ship and set
all sail back here to find you.
ANDREW, (eagerly) What is it, Uncle?
SCOTT. Passin' by the Home I thought I'd drop in an' let
'em know I'd be lackin' a mate next trip count o' your leavin'.
Their man in charge o' the shippin' asked after you 'special
curious. "Do you think he'd consider a berth as Second on a
steamer, Captain?" he asks. I was goin' to say no when I
thinks o' you wantin' to get back down south to the Plate
agen; so I asks him: "What is she and where's she bound?"
"She's the El Paso, a brand new tramp," he says, "and she's
bound for Buenos Aires."
ANDREW, (his eyes lighting up — excitedly) Gosh, that is
luck! When does she sail?
SCOTT. Tomorrow mornin'. I didn't know if you'd want to
ship away agen so quick an' I told him so. "Tell him I'll hold
the berth open for him until late this afternoon," he says. So
there you be, an' you can make your own choice.
ANDREW. I'd like to take it. There may not be another ship
for Buenos Aires with a vacancy in months. (His eyes roving
from ROBERT to RUTH and back again — uncertainly) Still —
damn it all — tomorrow morning is soon. I wish she wasn't
leaving for a week or so. That'd give me a chance — it seems
hard to go right away again when I've just got home. And
yet it's a chance in a thousand (Appealing to ROBERT)
What do you think, Rob? What would you do?
92 PLAYS OF EUGENE O'NEILL
ROBERT, (forcing a smile) He who hesitates, you know.
(Frowning') It's a piece of good luck thrown in your way —
and — I think you owe it to yourself to jump at it. But don't
ask me to decide for you.
RUTH, (turning to look at ANDREW — in a tone of fierce re
sentment) Yes, go, Andy! (She turns quickly away again.
There is a moment of embarrassed silence).
ANDREW, (thoughtfully) Yes, I guess I will. It'll be the
best thing for all of us in the end, don't you think so, Rob?
(ROBERT nods but remains silent).
SCOTT, (getting to his feet) Then, that's settled.
ANDREW, (now that he has definitely made a decision his
voice rings with hopeful strength and energy) Yes, I'll take
the berth. The sooner I go the sooner I'll be back, that's a
certainty; and I won't come back with empty hands next time.
You bet I won't !
SCOTT. You ain't got so much time, Andy. To make sure
you'd best leave here soon's you kin. I got to get right back
aboard. You'd best come with me.
ANDREW. I'll go to the house and repack my bag right away.
ROBERT, (quietly) You'll both be here for dinner, won't
you?
ANDREW, (worriedly) I don't know. Will there be time?
What time is it now, I wonder?
ROBERT, (reproachfully) Ma's been getting dinner espe
cially for you, Andy.
ANDREW, (flushing — shamefacedly) Hell ! And I was for
getting ! Of course I'll stay for dinner if I missed every damned
ship in the world. (He turns to the CAPTAIN — briskly) Come
on, Uncle. Walk down with me to the house and you can tell
BEYOND THE HORIZON 93
me more about this berth on the way. I've got to pack before
dinner. (He and the CAPTAIN start down to the left. ANDREW
calls back over his shoulder) You're coming soon, aren't you,
Rob?
ROBERT. Yes. I'll be right down. (ANDREW and the CAP
TAIN leave. RUTH puts MARY on the ground and hides her face
in her hands. Her shoulders shake as if she were sobbing.
ROBERT stares at her with a grim, somber expression. MARY
walks backward toward ROBERT, her wondering eyes fixed on her
mother).
MARY, (her voice vaguely frightened , taking her father's
hand) Dada, Mama's cryin', Dada.
ROBERT, (bending down and stroking her hair — in a voice
he endeavors to keep from being harsh) No, she isn't, little
girl. The sun hurts her eyes, that's all. Aren't you beginning
to feel hungry, Mary?
MARY, (decidedly) Yes, Dada.
ROBERT, (meaningly) It must be your dinner time now.
RUTH, (in a muffled voice) I'm coming, Mary. (She wipes
her eyes quickly and, without looking at ROBERT, comes and
takes MARY'S hand — in a dead voice) Come on and I'll get your
dinner for you. (She walks out left, her eyes fixed on the
ground, the skipping MARY tugging at her hand. ROBERT waits
a moment for them to get ahead and then slowly follows as
(The Curtain Falls)
BEYOND THE HORIZON
ACT THREE
ACT THREE
SCENE ONE
Same as Act Two, Scene One — The sitting room of the farm
house about six o'clock in the morning of a day toward the end
of October -five years later. It is not yet dawn, but as the
action progresses the darkness outside the windows gradually
fades to gray.
The room, seen by the light of the shadeless oil lamp with a
smoky chimney which stands on the table, presents an appear
ance of decay, of dissolution. The curtains at the windows are
torn and dirty and one of them is missing. The closed desk is
gray with accumulated dust as if it had not been used in years.
Blotches of dampness disfigure the wall paper. Threadbare
trails, leading to the kitchen and outer doors, show in the faded
carpet. The top of the coverless table is stained with the im
prints of hot dishes and spilt food. The rung of one rocker has
been clumsily mended with a piece of plain board. A brown
coating of rust covers the unblocked stove. A pile of wood is
stacked up carelessly against the wall by the stove.
The whole atmosphere of the room, contrasted with that of
former years, is one of an habitual poverty too hopelessly re
signed to be any longer ashamed or even conscious of itself.
At the rise of the curtain RUTH is discovered sitting by the
stove, with hands outstretched to the warmth as if the air in the
room were damp and cold. A heavy shawl is wrapped about
her shoulders, half-concealing her dress of deep mourning. She
97
98 PLAYS OF EUGENE O'NEILL
has aged horribly. Her pale, deeply lined face has the stony
lack of expression of one to whom nothing more can ever happen,
whose capacity for emotion has been exhausted. When she
speaks her voice is without timbre, low and monotonous. The
negligent disorder of her dress, the slovenly arrangement of
her hair, now streaked with gray, her muddied shoes run down
at the heel, give full evidence of the apathy in which she lives.
Her mother is asleep in her wheel chair beside the stove to
ward the rear, wrapped up in a blanket.
There is a sound from the open bedroom door in the rear as
if someone were getting out of bed. RUTH turns in that direction
with a look of dull annoyance. A moment later ROBERT appears
in the doorway, leaning weakly against it for support. His hair
is long and unkempt, his face and body emaciated. There are
bright patches of crimson over his cheek bones and his eyes are
burning with fever. He is dressed in corduroy pants, a flannel
shirt, and wears worn carpet slippers on his bare feet.
RUTH, (dully) S-s-s-h- ! Ma's asleep.
ROBERT, (speaking with an effort) I won't wake her. (He
walks weakly to a rocker by the side of the table and sinks down
in it exhausted).
RUTH, (staring at the stove) You better come near the fire
where it's warm.
ROBERT. No. I'm burning up now.
RUTH. That's the fever. You know the doctor told you not
to get up and move round.
ROBERT, (irritably) That old fossil ! He doesn't know any
thing. Go to bed and stay there — that's his only prescription.
RUTH, (indifferently) How are you feeling now?
BEYOND THE HORIZON 99
ROBERT, (buoyantly) Better! Much better than I've felt
in ages. Really I'm fine now — only very weak. It's the turn
ing point, I guess. From now on I'll pick up so quick I'll
surprise you — and no thanks to that old fool of a country quack,
either.
RUTH. He's always tended to us.
ROBERT. Always helped us to die, you mean! He "tended"
to Pa and Ma and — (hi* voice breaks) — and to — Mary.
RUTH, (dully) He did the best he knew, I s'pose. (After
a pause) Well, Andy's bringing a specialist with him when he
comes. That ought to suit you.
ROBERT, (bitterly) Is that why you're waiting up all night?
RUTH. Yes.
ROBERT. For Andy?
RUTH, (without a trace of feeling) Somebody had got to.
It's only right for someone to meet him after he's been gone
five years.
ROBERT, (with bitter mockery) Five years! It's a long
time.
RUTH. Yes.
ROBERT, (meaningly) To wait!
RUTH, (indifferently) It's past now.
ROBERT. Yes, it's past. (After a pause) Have you got his
two telegrams with you? (RUTH nods) Let me see them, will
you? My head was so full of fever when they came I couldn't
make head or tail to them. (Hastily) But I'm feeling fine
now. Let me read them again. (RUTH takes them from the
bosom of her dress and hands them to him).
RUTH. Here. The first one's on top.
ROBERT, (opening it) New York. "Just landed from
100 PLAYS OF EUGENE O'NEILL
steamer. Have important business to wind up here. Will be
home as soon as deal is completed." (He smiles bitterly) Busi
ness first was always Andy's motto (He reads) "Hope you
are all well. Andy." (He repeats ironically) "Hope you are
all well!"
RUTH, (dully) He couldn't know you'd been took sick till
I answered that and told him.
ROBERT, (contritely) Of course he couldn't. I'm a fool.
I'm touchy about nothing lately. Just what did you say in
your reply?
RUTH, (inconsequentially) I had to send it collect.
ROBERT, (irritably) What did you say was the matter with
me?
RUTH. I wrote you had lung trouble.
ROBERT, (flying into a petty temper) You are a fool ! How
often have I explained to you that it's pleurisy is the matter
with me. You can't seem to get it in your head that the pleura
is outside the lungs, not in them!
RUTH, (callously) I only wrote what Doctor Smith told me.
ROBERT, (angrily) He's a damned ignoramus !
RUTH, (dully) Makes no difference. I had to tell Andy
something, didn't I?
ROBERT, (after a pausef opening the other telegram) He
sent this last evening. Let's see. (He reads) "Leave for
home on midnight train. Just received your wire. Am bringing
specialist to see Rob. Will motor to farm from Port." (He
calculates) What time is it now?
RUTH. Round six, must be.
ROBERT. He ought to be here soon. I'm glad he's bringing
BEYOND THE HORIZON 101
a doctor who knows something. A specialist will tell you in a
second that there's nothing the matter with my lungs.
RUTH, (stolidly) You've been coughing an awful lot lately.
ROBERT, (irritably) What nonsense ! For God's sake,
haven't you ever had a bad cold yourself? (RUTH stares at the
stove in silence. ROBERT fidgets in his chair. There is a pause.
Finally ROBERT'S eyes are fixed on the sleeping MRS. ATKINS)
Your mother is lucky to be able to sleep so soundly.
RUTH. Ma's tired. She's been sitting up with me most of the
night.
ROBERT, (mockingly) Is she waiting for Andy, too? (There
is a pause. ROBERT sighs) I couldn't get to sleep to save my
soul. I counted ten million sheep if I counted one. No use !
I gave up trying finally and just laid there in the dark think
ing. (He pauses, then continues in a tone of tender sympathy)
I was thinking about you, Ruth — of how hard these last years
must have been for you. (Appealingly) I'm sorry, Ruth.
RUTH, (in a dead voice) I don't know. They're past now.
They were hard on all of us.
ROBERT. Yes; on all of us but Andy. (With a flash of sick
jealousy) Andy's made a big success of himself — the kind he
wanted. (Mockingly) And now he's coming home to let us
admire his greatness. (Frowning — irritably) What am I talk
ing about? My brain must be sick, too. (After a pause) Yes,
these years have been terrible for both of us. (His voice is
lowered to a trembling whisper) Especially the last eight
months since Mary — died. (He forces back a sob with a con
vulsive shudder — then breaks out in a passionate agony) Our
last hope of happiness! I could curse God from the bottom
of my soul — if there was a God! (He is racked by a violent
102 PLAYS OF EUGENE O'NEILL
jit of coughing and hurriedly puts his handkerchief to his lips).
RUTH, (without looking at him) Mary's better off — being
dead.
ROBERT, (gloomily) We'd all be better off for that matter.
(With a sudden exasperation) You tell that mother of yours
she's got to stop saying that Mary's death was due to a weak con
stitution inherited from me. (On the verge of tears of weakness)
It's got to stop,, I tell you!
RUTH, (sharply) S-h-h ! You'll wake her; and then she'll
nag at me — not you.
ROBERT, (coughs and lies back in his chair weakly — a pause)
It's all because your mother's down on me for not begging
Andy for help.
RUTH, (resentfully) You might have. He's got plenty.
ROBERT. How can you of all people think of taking money
from him?
RUTH, (dully) I don't see the harm. He's your own
brother.
ROBERT, (shrugging his shoulders) What's the use of talk
ing to you? Well, I couldn't. (Proudly) And I've managed
to keep things going, thank God. You can't deny that without
help I've succeeded in (He breaks off with a bitter laugh)
My God, what am I boasting of? Debts to this one and that,
taxes, interest unpaid ! I'm a fool ! (He lies back in his chair
closing his eyes for a moment, then speaks in a low voice)
I'll be frank, Ruth. I've been an utter failure, and I've
dragged you with me. I couldn't blame you in all justice — for
hating me.
RUTH, (without feeling) I don't hate you. It's been my
fault too, I s'pose.
BEYOND THE HORIZON 103
ROBERT. No. You couldn't help loving — Andy.
RUTH, (dully) I don't love anyone.
ROBERT, (waving her remark aside) You needn't deny it.
It doesn't matter. (After a pause — with a tender smile) Do
you know Ruth, what I've been dreaming back there in the
dark? (With a short laugh) I was planning our future when
I get well. (He looks at her with appealing eyes as if afraid
she will sneer at him. Her expression does not change. She
stares at the stove. His voice takes on a note of eagerness)
After all, why shouldn't we have a future? We're young yet.
If we can only shake off the curse of this farm!_ It's the farm
that's ruined our lives, damn it! And now that Andy's coming
back — I'm going to sink my foolish pride, Ruth! I'll borrow
the money from him to give us a good start in the city. We'll
go where people live instead of stagnating, and start all over
again. (Confidently} I won't be the failure there that I've
been here, Ruth. You won't need to be ashamed of me there.
I'll prove to you the reading I've done can be put to some use.
(Vaguely) I'll write, or something of that sort. Tve always
wanted to write. (Pleadingly) You'll want to do that, won't
you, Ruth?
RUTH, (dully) There's Ma.
ROBERT. She can come with us.
RUTH. She wouldn't.
ROBERT, (angrily) So that's your answer! (He trembles
with violent passion. His voice is so strange that RUTH turns
to look at him in alarm) You're lying, Ruth! Your mother's
just an excuse. You want to stay here. You think that because
Andy's coming back that— - (He chokes and has an attack of
coughing).
104 PLAYS OF EUGENE O'NEILL
RUTH, (getting up — in a frightened voice) What's the mat
ter? (She goes to him) I'll go with you, Rob. Stop that
coughing for goodness' sake ! It's awful bad for you. (She
soothes him in dull tones) I'll go with you to the city — soon's
you're well again. Honest I will, Rob, I promise ! (ROB lies
back and closes his eyes. She stands looking down at him
anxiously) Do you feel better now?
ROBERT. Yes. (RUTH goes back to her chair. After a pause
he opens his eyes and sits up in his chair. His face is flushed
and happy) Then you will go, Ruth?
RUTH. Yes.
ROBERT, (excitedly) We'll make a new start, Ruth — just
you and I. Life owes us some happiness after what we've been
through. (Vehemently) It must! Otherwise our suffering
would be meaningless — and that is unthinkable.
RUTH, (worried by his excitement) Yes, yes, of course,
Rob, but you mustn't
ROBERT. Oh, don't be afraid. I feel completely well, really
I do — now that I can hope again. Oh if you knew how glorious
it feels to have something to look forward to! Can't you feel
the thrill of it, too — the vision of a new life opening up after
all the horrible years?
RUTH. Yes, yes, but do be —
ROBERT. Nonsense! I won't be careful. I'm getting back
all my strength. (He gets lightly to his feet) See! I feel
light as a feather. (He walks to her chair and bends down to
kiss her smilingly) One kiss — the first in years, isn't it? — to
greet the dawn of a new life together.
RUTH, (submitting to his kiss — worriedly) Sit down, Rob,
for goodness' sake !
BEYOND THE HORIZON 105
ROBERT, (with tender obstinacy — stroking her hair) I won't
sit down. You're silly to worry. (He rests one hand on the
back of her chair) Listen. All our suffering has been a test
through which we had to pass to prove ourselves worthy of a
finer realization. (Exultingly) And we did pass through it!
It hasn't broken us ! And now the dream is to come true !
Don't you see?
RUTH, (looking at him with frightened eyes as if she thought
he had gone mad) Yes,, Rob, I see; but won't you go back
to bed now and rest?
ROBERT. No. I'm going to see the sun rise. It's an augury
of good fortune. (He goes quickly to the window in the rear
left, and pushing the curtains aside, stands looking out. RUTH
springs to her feet and comes quickly to the table, left, where
she remains watching ROBERT in a tense, expectant attitude. As
he peers out his body seems gradually to sag, to grow limp and
tired. His voice is mournful as he speaks) No sun yet. It
isn't time. All I can see is the black rim of the damned hills
outlined against a creeping grayness. (He turns around; letting
the curtains fall back, stretching a hand out to the wall to sup
port himself. His false strength of a moment has evaporated
leaving his face drawn and hollow-eyed. He makes a pitiful
attempt to smile) That's not a very happy augury, is it? But
the sun'll come — soon. (He sways weakly), i
RUTH, (hurrying to his side and supporting him) Please
go to bed, won't you, Rob? You don't want to be all wore out
when the specialist comes, do you?
ROBERT. (quickly) No. That's right. He mustn't think
I'm sicker than I am. And I feel as if I could sleep now —
(Cheerfully) — a good, sound, restful sleep.
106 PLAYS OF EUGENE O'NEILL
RUTH, (helping him to the bedroom door) That's what you
need most. (They go inside. A moment later she reappears
calling back) I'll shut this door so's you'll be quiet. (She
closes the door and goes quickly to her mother and shakes her
by the shoulder) Ma ! Ma ! Wake up !
MRS. ATKINS, (coming out of her sleep with a start) Glory
be! What's the matter with you?
RUTH. It was Rob. He's just been talking to me out here.
I put him back to bed. (Now that she is sure her mother is
awake her fear passes and she relapses into dull indifference.
She sits down in her chair and stares at the stove — dully) He
acted — funny; and his eyes looked so — so wild like.
MRS. ATKINS, (with asperity) And is that all you woke
me out of a sound sleep for, and scared me near out of my wits?
RUTH. I was afraid. He talked so crazy. I couldn't quiet
him. I didn't want to be alone with him that way. Lord
knows what he might do.
MRS. ATKINS, (scornfully) Humph! A help I'd be to you
and me not able to move a step ! Why didn't you run and get
Jake?
RUTH, (dully) Jake isn't here. He quit last night. He
hasn't been paid in three months.
MRS. ATKINS, (indignantly) I can't blame him. What de
cent person'd want to work on a place like this? (With sudden
exasperation) Oh, I wish you'd never married that man!
RUTH, (wearily) You oughtn't to talk about him now when
he's sick in his bed.
MRS. ATKINS, (working herself into a fit of rage) You know
very well, Ruth Mayo, if it wasn't for me helpin' you on the
sly out of my savin's, you'd both been in the poor house — and
BEYOND THE HORIZON 107
all 'count of his pigheaded pride in not lettin' Andy know the
state thin's were in. A nice thin' for me to have to support
him out of what I'd saved for my last days — and me an invalid
with no one to look to!
RUTH. Andy '11 pay you back, Ma. I can tell him so's Rob'll
never know.
MRS. ATKINS, (with a snort) What'd Rob think you and
him was livin' on, I'd like to know?
RUTH, (dully} He didn't think about it, I s'pose. (After
a slight pause} He said he'd made up his mind to ask Andy
for help when he comes. (As a clock in the kitchen strikes six)
Six o'clock. Andy ought to get here directly.
MRS. ATKINS. D'you think this special doctor '11 do Rob any
good?
RUTH, (hopelessly) I don't know. (The two women re
main silent for a time staring dejectedly at the stove).
MRS. ATKINS, (shivering irritably) For goodness' sake put
some wood on that fire. I'm most freezin' !
RUTH, (pointing to the door in the rear) Don't talk so
loud. Let him sleep if he can. (She gets wearily from the
chair and puts a few pieces of wood in the stove) This is the
last of the wood. I don't know who'll cut more now that Jake's
left. (She sighs and walks to the window in the rear, left, pulls
the curtains aside, and looks out} It's getting gray out. (She
comes back to tke stove) Looks like it'd be a nice day. (She
stretches out her hands to warm them) Must've been a heavy
frost last night. We're paying for the spell of warm weather
we've been having. (The throbbing whine of a motor sounds
from the distance outside).
108 PLAYS OF EUGENE O'NEILL
MRS. ATKINS, (sharply) S-h-h ! Listen ! Ain't that an auto
I hear?
RUTH, (without interest) Yes. It's Andy, I s'pose.
MRS. ATKINS, (with nervous irritation) Don't sit there like
a silly goose. Look at the state of this room! What '11 this
strange doctor think of us? Look at that lamp chimney all
smoke! Gracious sakes, Ruth
RUTH, (indifferently) I've got a lamp all cleaned up in the
kitchen.
MRS. ATKINS, (peremptorily) Wheel me in there this min
ute. I don't want him to see me looking a sight. I'll lay
down in the room the other side. You don't need me now and
I'm dead for sleep. (RUTH wheels her mother off right. The
noise of the motor grows louder and finally ceases as the car
stops on the road before the farmhouse. RUTH returns from the
kitchen with a lighted lamp in her hand which she sets on the
table beside the other. The sound of footsteps on the path
is heard — then a sharp rap on the door. RUTH goes and opens
it. ANDREW enters, followed by DOCTOR FAWCETT carrying a
small black bag. ANDREW has changed greatly. His face seems
to have grown highstrung, hardened by the look of decisiveness
which comes from being constantly under a strain where judg
ments on the spur of the moment are compelled to be aceurate.
His eyes are keener and more alert. There is even a suggestion
of ruthless cunning about them. At present, however, his ex
pression is one of tense anxiety. DOCTOR FAWCETT is a short,
dark, middle-aged man with a Vandyke beard. He wears
glasses).
RUTH. Hello, Andy! I've been waiting
ANDREW, (kissing her hastily) I got here as soon as I could.
BEYOND THE HORIZON 109
(He throws off his cap and heavy overcoat on the table, intro
ducing RUTH and the DOCTOR as he does so. He is dressed in an
expensive business suit and appears stouter) My sister-in-law,
Mrs. Mayo — Doctor Fawcett. (They bow to each other silently.
ANDREW casts a quick glance about the room) Where's Rob?
RUTH, (pointing) In there.
ANDREW. I'll take your coat and hat, Doctor. (As he helps
the DOCTOR with his things) Is he very bad, Ruth?
RUTH, (dully) He's been getting weaker.
ANDREW. Damn ! This way, Doctor. Bring the lamp, Ruth.
(He goes into the bedroom, followed by the DOCTOR and RUTH
carrying the clean lamp. RUTH reappears almost immediately
closing the door behind her, and goes slowly to the outside door,
which she opens, and stands in the doorway looking out. The
sound of ANDREW'S and ROBERT'S voices comes from the bedroom.
A moment later ANDREW re-enters, closing the door softly. He
comes forward and sinks down in the rocker on the right of
table, leaning his head on his hand. His face is drawn in a
shocked expression of great grief. He sighs heavily, staring
mournfully in front of him. RUTH turns and stands watching him.
Then she shuts the door and returns to her chair by the stove,
turning it so she can face him).
ANDREW, (glancing up quickly — in a harsh voice) How long
has this been going on ?
RUTH. You mean — how long has he been sick?
ANDREW, (shortly) Of course! What else?
RUTH. It was last summer he had a bad spell first, but he's
been ailin' ever since Mary died — eight months ago.
ANDREW, (harshly) Why didn't you let me know — cable
me? Do you want him to die, all of you? I'm damned if it
110 PLAYS OF EUGENE O'NEILL
doesn't look that way ! (H is voice breaking) Poor old chap !
To be sick in this out-of-the-way hole without anyone to attend
to him but a country quack ! It's a damned shame !
RUTH, (dully) I wanted to send you word once, but he
only got mad when I told him. He was too proud to ask any
thing, he said.
ANDREW. Proud? To ask me? (He jumps to his feet and
paces nervously back and forth) I can't understand the way
you've acted. Didn't you see how sick he was getting? Couldn't
you realize — why, I nearly dropped in my tracks when I saw
him! He looks — (He shudders) — terrible! (With fierce scorn)
I suppose you're so used to the idea of his being delicate that
you took his sickness as a matter of course. God, if I'd only
known !
RUTH, (without emotion) A letter takes so long to get
where you were — and we couldn't afford to telegraph. We
owed everyone already, and I couldn't ask Ma. She'd been
giving me money out of her savings till she hadn't much left.
Don't say anything to Rob about it. I never told him. He'd
only be mad at me if he knew. But I had to, because — God
knows how we'd have got on if I hadn't.
ANDREW. You mean to say (His eyes seem to take in
the poverty-stricken appearance of the room for the first time)
You sent that telegram to me collect. Was it because
(RUTH nods silently. ANDREW pounds on the table with his
fist) Good God! And all this time I've been — why I've had
everything! (He sits down in his chair and pulls it close to
RUTH'S — impulsively) But — I can't get it through my head.
Why? Why? What has happened? How did it ever come
about? Tell me!
BEYOND THE HORIZON 111
RUTH, (dully) There's nothing much to tell. Things kept
getting worse, that's all — and Rob didn't seem to care. He
never took any interest since way back when your Ma died.
After that he got men to take charge, and they nearly all
cheated him — he couldn't tell — and left one after another. Then
after Mary died he didn't pay no heed to anything any more —
just stayed indoors and took to reading books again. So J
had to ask Ma if she wouldn't help us some.
ANDREW, (surprised and horrified) Why, damn it, this is
frightful ! Rob must be mad not to have let me know. Too
proud to ask help of me! What's the matter with him in God's
name? (A sudder,, horrible suspicion entering his mind) Ruth!
Tell me the truth. His mind hasn't gone back on him, has it?
RUTH, (dully) I don't know. Mary's dying broke him up
terrible — but he's used to her being gone by this, I s'pose.
ANDREW, (looking at her queerly) Do you mean to say
you're used to it?
RUTH, (in a dead tone) There's a time comes — when you
don't mind any more — anything.
ANDREW, (looks at her fixedly for a moment — with great
pity) I'm sorry, Ruth — if I seemed to blame you. I didn't
realize — The sight of Rob lying in bed there, so gone to
pieces — it made me furious at everyone. Forgive me, Ruth.
RUTH. There's nothing to forgive. It doesn't matter.
ANDREW, (springing to his feet again and pacing up and
down) Thank God I came back before it was too late. This
doctor will know exactly what to do. That's the first thing
to think of. WThen Rob's on his feet again we can get the
farm working on a sound basis once more. I'll see to that —
before I leave.
112 PLAYS OF EUGENE O'NEILL
RUTH. You're going away again?
ANDREW. I've got tO.
RUTH. You wrote Rob you was coming back to stay this
time.
ANDREW. I expected to — until I got to New York. Then
C learned certain facts that make it necessary. (With a short
laugh) To be candid, Ruth, I'm not the rich man you've prob
ably been led to believe by my letters — not now. I was when
I wrote them. I made money hand over fist as long as I
stuck to legitimate trading; but I wasn't content with that.
I wanted it to come easier, so like all the rest of the idiots, I
tried speculation. Oh, I won all right ! Several times I've
been almost a millionaire — on paper — and then come down to
earth again with a bump. Finally the strain was too much. I
got disgusted with myself and made up my mind to get out
and come home and forget it and really live again. (He gives
a harsh laugh) And now comes the funny part. The day
before the steamer sailed I saw what I thought was a chance
to become a millionaire again. (He snaps his fingers) That
easy! I plunged. Then, before things broke, I left — I was
so confident I couldn't be wrong. But when I landed in New
York — I wired you I had business to wind up, didn't I? Well,
it was the business that wound me up ! (He smiles grimly , pac
ing up and down, his hands in his pockets).
RUTH, (dully) You found — you'd lost everything?
ANDREW, (sitting down again) Practically. (He takes a
cigar from his pocket, bites the end off, and lights it) Oh, I
don't mean I'm dead broke. I've saved ten thousand from the
wreckage, maybe twenty. But that's a poor showing for five
years' hard work. That's why I'll have to go back. (Confi-
BEYOND THE HORIZON 113
dently) I can make it up in a year or so down there — and I
don't need but a shoestring to start with. (A weary expression
comes over his face and he sighs heavily) I wish I didn't have
to. I'm sick of it all.
RUTH. It's too bad — things seem to go wrong so.
ANDREW, (shaking off his depression — briskly) They might
be much worse. There's enough left to fix the farm O. K.
before I go. I won't leave 'til Rob's on his feet again. In
the meantime I'll make things fly around here. (With satis
faction) I need a rest, and the kind of rest I need is hard
work in the open — just like I used to do in the old days. (Stop
ping abruptly and lowering his voice cautiously) Not a word
to Rob about my losing money ! Remember that, Ruth ! You
can see why. If he's grown so touchy he'd never accept a cent
if he thought I was hard up; see?
RUTH. Yes, Andy. (After a pause, during which ANDREW
puffs at his cigar abstractedly , his mind evidently busy with
plans for the futurer the bedroom door is opened and DOCTOR
FAWCETT enters, carrying a bag. He closes the door quietly
behind him and comes forward, a grave expression on his face.
ANDREW springs out of his chair).
ANDREW. Ah, Doctor ! (He pushes a chair between his own
and HUTU'S) Won't you have a chair?
FAWCETT. (glancing at his watch) I must catch the nine
o'clock back to the city. It's imperative. I have only a mo
ment. (Sitting down and clearing his throat — in a perfunctory,
impersonal voice) The case of your brother, Mr. Mayo, is
(He stops and glances at RUTH and says meaningly to ANDREW)
Perhaps it would be better if you and I
RUTH, (with dogged resentment) I know what you mean,
114 PLAYS OF EUGENE O'NEILL
Doctor. (Dully) Don't be afraid I can't stand it. I'm used
to bearing trouble by this; and I can guess what you've found
out. (She hesitates for a moment — then continues in a monot
onous voice) Rob's going to die.
ANDREW, (angrily) Ruth !
FAWCETT. (raising his hand as if to command silence) I
am afraid my diagnosis of your brother's condition forces me
to the same conclusion as Mrs. Mayo's.
ANDREW, (groaning) But, Doctor, surely
FAWCETT. (calmly) Your brother hasn't long to live —
perhaps a few days, perhaps only a few hours. It's a marvel
that he's alive at this moment. My examination revealed
that both of his lungs are terribly affected.
ANDREW, (brokenly) Good God! (RUTH keeps her eyes
fixed on her lap in a trance-like stare).
FAWCETT. I am sorry I have to tell you this. If there was
anything that could be done
ANDREW. There isn't anything?
V "V FAWCETT. (shaking his head) It's too late. Six months
aS° tnere might have
ANDREW, (in anguish) But if we were to take him to the
mountains — or to Arizona — or
5-' FAWCETT. That mighTTiave prolonged his life six months
ago. (ANDREW groans) But now (He shrugs his shoul
ders significantly).
ANDREW, (appalled by a sudden thought) Good heavens,
you haven't told him this, have you, Doctor?
FAWCETT. No. I lied to him. I said a change of cli
mate (He looks at his watch again nervously) I must
leave you. (He gets up).
BEYOND THE HORIZON 115
ANDREW, (getting to his feet — insistently} But there must
still be some chance
FAWCETT. (as if he were reassuring a child) There is al
ways that last chance — the miracle. (He puts on his hat and
coat — bowing to RUTH) Good-by, Mrs. Mayo.
RUTH, (without raising her eyes — dully) Good-by.
ANDREW, (mechanically) I'll walk to the car with you,
Doctor. (They go out of the door. RUTH sits motionlessly.
The motor is heard starting and the noise gradually recedes into
the distance. ANDREW re-enters and sits down in his chairt
holding his head in his hands) Ruth! (She lifts her eyes to
his) Hadn't we better go in and see him? God! I'm afraid
to! I know he'll read it in my face. (The bedroom door is
noiselessly opened and ROBERT appears in the doorway. His
cheeks are flushed with fever, and his eyes appear unusually
large and brilliant. ANDREW continues with a groan) It can't
be, Ruth. It can't be as hopeless as he said. There's always
a fighting chance. We'll take Rob to Arizona. He's got to get
well. There must be a chance!
ROBERT, (in a gentle tone) Why must there, Andy? (RUTH
turns and stares at him with terrified eyes).
ANDREW, (whirling around) Rob ! (Scoldingly) What are
you doing out of bed? (He gets up and goes to him) Get
right back now and obey the Doc, or you're going to get a
licking from me!
ROBERT, (ignoring these remarks) Help me over to the
chair, please, Andy.
ANDREW. Like hell I will ! You're going right back to bed,
that's where you're going, and stay there! (He takes hold of
ROBERT'S arm).
116 PLAYS OF EUGENE O'NEILL
ROBERT, (mockingly} Stay there 'til I die, eh, Andy?
(Coldly} Don't behave like a child. I'm sick of lying down.
I'll be more rested sitting up. (As ANDREW hesitates — vio
lently} I swear I'll get out of bed every time you put me
there. You'll have to sit on my chest, and that wouldn't help
my health any. Come on, Andy. Don't play the fool. I want
to talk to you, and I'm going to. (With a grim smile} A
dying man has some rights, hasn't he?
ANDREW, (with a shudder} Don't talk that way, for God's
sake ! I'll only let you sit down if you'll promise that. Re
member. (He helps ROBERT to the chair between his own and
RUTH'S) Easy now ! There you are ! Wait, and I'll get a
pillow for you. (He goes into the bedroom. ROBERT looks
at RUTH who shrinks away from him in terror. ROBERT smiles
bitterly. ANDREW comes back with the pillow which he places
behind ROBERT'S back) How's that?
ROBERT, (with an affectionate smile) Fine! Thank you!
(As ANDREW sits down} Listen, Andy. You've asked me not
to talk — and I won't after I've made my position clear. (Slowly}
In the first place I know I'm dying. (RUTH bows her head
and covers her face with her hands. She remains like this all
during the scene between the two brothers}.
ANDREW. Rob ! That isn't so !
ROBERT, (wearily} It is so! Don't lie to me. After
Ruth put me to bed before you came, I saw it clearly for the
first time. (Bitterly) I'd been making plans for our future —
Ruth's and mine — so it came hard at first — the realization.
Then when the doctor examined me, I knew — although he tried
to lie about it. And then to make sure I listened at the door
to what he told you. So don't mock me with fairy tales about
BEYOND THE HORIZON 117
Arizona, or any such rot as that. Because I'm dying is no
reason you should treat me as an imbecile or a coward. Now
that I'm sure what's happening I can say Kismet to it with
all my heart. It was only the silly uncertainty that hurt.
(There is a pause. ANDREW looks around in impotent anguish,
not knowing what to say. ROBERT regards him with an af
fectionate smile}.
ANDREW, (-finally blurts out) It isn't foolish. You have
got a chance. If you heard all the Doctor said that ought
to prove it to you.
ROBERT. Oh, you mean when he spoke of the miracle?
(Dryly) I don't believe in miracles — in my case. Besides, I
know more than any doctor on earth could know — because I feel
what's coming. (Dismissing the subject) But we've agreed
not to talk of it. Tell me about yourself, Andy. That's what
I'm interested in. Your letters were too brief and far apart to
be illuminating.
ANDREW. I meant to write oftener.
ROBERT, (with a faint trace of irony) I judge from them
you've accomplished all you set out to do five years ago?
ANDREW. That isn't much to boast of.
ROBERT, (surprised) Have you really, honestly reached that
conclusion?
ANDREW. Well, it doesn't seem to amount to much now.
ROBERT. But you're rich, aren't you?
ANDREW, (with a quick glance at RUTH) Yes, I s'pose so.
ROBERT. I'm glad. You can do to the farm all I've undone.
But what did you do down there? Tell me. You went in the
grain business with that friend of yours?
ANDREW. Yes. After two years I had a share in it. I sold
118 PLAYS OF EUGENE O'NEILL
out last year. (He is answering ROBERT'S questions with great
reluctance}.
ROBERT. And then?
ANDREW. I went in on my own.
ROBERT. Still in grain?
ANDREW. Yes.
ROBERT. What's the matter? You look as if I were accusing
you of something.
ANDREW. I'm proud enough of the first four years. It's
after that I'm not boasting of. I took to speculating.
ROBERT. In wheat?
ANDREW. Yes.
ROBERT. And you made money — gambling?
ANDREW. Yes.
ROBERT, (thoughtfully) I've been wondering what the great
change was in you. (After a pause) You — a farmer — to
gamble in a wheat pit with scraps of paper. There's a spiritual
significance in that picture, Andy. (He smiles bitterly) I'm
a failure, and Ruth's another — but we can both justly lay
some of the blame for our stumbling on God. But you're the
deepest-dyed failure of the three, Andy. You've spent eight
years running away from yourself. Do you see what I mean?
You used to be a creator when you loved the farm. You and
life were in harmonious partnership. And now (He
stops as if seeking vainly for words) My brain is muddled.
But part of what I mean is that your gambling with the thing
you used to love to create proves how far astray So you'll
be punished. You'll have to suffer to win back (His voice
A grows weaker and he sighs wearily) It's no use. I can't say
Iit. (He lies back and closes his eyeSj breathing pantingly).
bJfrtsL (uv^#*-
BEYOND THE HORIZON 119
ANDREW, (slowly) I think I know what you're driving at,
Rob — and it's true, I guess. (ROBERT smiles gratefully and
stretches out his hand, which ANDREW takes in his).
ROBERT. I want you to promise me to do one thing, Andy,
after
ANDREW. I'll promise anything, as God is my Judge !
ROBERT. Remember, Andy, Ruth has suffered double her
share. (His voice faltering with weakness) Only through
contact with suffering, Andy, will you — awaken. Listen. You
must marry Ruth — afterwards.
RUTH, (with a cry) Rob ! (ROBERT lies back, his eyes
closed, gasping heavily for breath).
ANDREW, (making signs to her to humor him — gently)
You're tired out, Rob. You better lie down and rest a while,
don't you think? We can talk later on.
ROBERT, (with a mocking smile) Later on ! You always
were an optimist, Andy! (He sighs with exhaustion) Yes, I'll
go and rest a while. (As ANDREW comes to help him) It must
be near sunrise, isn't it?
ANDREW. It's after six.
ROBERT. (As ANDREW helps him into the bedroom) Shut
the door, Andy. I want to be alone. (ANDREW reappears and
shuts the door softly. He comes and sits down on his chair
again, supporting his head on his hands. His face is drawn
with the intensity of his dry-eyed anguish).
RUTH, (glancing at him — fearfully) He's out of his mind
now, isn't he?
ANDREW. He may be a little delirious. The fever would
do that. {With impotent rage) God, what a shame! And
120 PLAYS OF EUGENE O'NEILL
there's nothing we can do but sit and — wait ! {He springs
from his chair and walks to the stove).
RUTH, (dully) He was talking — wild — like he used to —
only this time it sounded — unnatural, don't you think?
ANDREW. I don't know. The things he said to me had truth
in them — even if he did talk them way up in the air, like he
always sees things. Still (He glances down at RUTH
keenly) Why do you suppose he wanted us to promise we'd
(Confusedly) You know what he said.
RUTH, (dully) His mind was wandering, I s'pose.
ANDREW, (with conviction) No — there was something back
of it.
RUTH. He wanted to make sure I'd be all right — after he'd
gone, I expect.
ANDREW. No, it wasn't that. He knows very well I'd nat
urally look after you without — anything like that.
RUTH. He might be thinking of — something happened five
years back, the time you came home from the trip.
ANDREW. What happened? What do you mean?
RUTH, (dully) We had a fight.
ANDREW. A fight? What has that to do with me?
RUTH. It was about you — in a way.
ANDREW, (amazed) About me?
RUTH. Yes, mostly. You see I'd found out I'd made a mis
take about Rob soon after we were married — when it was too
late.
ANDREW. Mistake? (Slowly) You mean — you found out
you didn't love Rob?
RUTH. Yes.
ANDREW. Good God!
BEYOND THE HORIZON 121
RUTH. And then I thought that when Mary came it'd be
different, and I'd love him; but it didn't happen that way.
And I couldn't bear with his blundering and book-reading —
and I grew to hate him, almost.
ANDREW. Ruth !
RUTH. I couldn't help it. No woman could. It had to be
because I loved someone else, I'd found out. (She sighs
wearily) It can't do no harm to tell you now — when it's all
past and gone — and dead. You were the one I really loved —
only I didn't come to the knowledge of it 'til too late.
ANDREW, (stunned) Ruth ! Do you know what you're say
ing?
RUTH. It was true — then. (With sudden fierceness) How
could I help it? No woman could.
ANDREW. Then — you loved me — that time I came home?
RUTH, (doggedly) I'd known your real reason for leaving
home the first time — everybody knew it — and for three years
I'd been thinking—
ANDREW. That I loved you?
RUTH. Yes. Then that day on the hill you laughed about
what a fool you'd been for loving me once — and I knew it
was all over.
ANDREW. Good God, but I never thought — (He stops,
shuddering at his remembrance) And did Rob —
RUTH. That was what I'd started to tell. We'd had a
fight just before you came and I got crazy mad — and I told
him all I've told you.
ANDREW, (gaping at her speechlessly for a moment) You
told Rob — you loved me?
RUTH. Yes.
122 PLAYS OF EUGENE O'NEILL
ANDREW, (shrinking away from her in horror) You — you
— you mad fool, you ! How could you do such a thing ?
RUTH. I couldn't help it. I'd got to the end of bearing
things — without talking.
ANDREW. Then Rob must have known every moment I
stayed here ! And yet he never said or showed — God, how
he must have suffered! Didn't you know how much he loved
you?
RUTH, (dully) Yes. I knew he liked me.
ANDREW. Liked you! What kind of a woman are you?
Couldn't you have kept silent? Did you have to torture him?
No wonder he's dying! And you've lived together for five
years with this between you?
RUTH. We've lived in the same house.
ANDREW. Does he still think
RUTH. I don't know. We've never spoke a word about it
since that day. Maybe, from the way he went on, he s'poses
I care for you yet.
ANDREW. But you don't. It's outrageous. It's stupid! You
don't love me !
RUTH, (slowly) I wouldn't know how to feel love, even if
I tried, any more.
ANDREW, (brutally) And I don't love you, that's sure!
(He sinks into his chair, his head between his hands) It's
damnable such a thing should be between Rob and me. Why,
I love Rob bettcr'n anybody in the world and always did.
There isn't a thing on God's green earth I wouldn't have done
to keep trouble away from him. And I have to be the very
one — it's damnable! How am I going to face him again?
What can I say to him now? (He groans with anguished
BEYOND THE HORIZON 123
rage. After a pause) He asked me to promise — what am I
going to do?
RUTH. You can promise — so's it'll ease his mind — and not
mean anything.
ANDREW. What? Lie to him now — when he's dying? (De
terminedly} No! It's you who'll have to do the lying, since
it must be done. You've got a chance now to undo some of
alljthe sufferfaf YfflTYfi brought on Rob, fio in to him ! Tell
him you never loved me — it was all a mistake. Tell him you
only said so because you were mad and didn't know what you
were saying! Tell him something, anything, that'll bring him
peace !
RUTH, (dully} He wouldn't believe me.
ANDREW, (furiously) You've got to make him believe you,
do you hear? You've got to — now — hurry — you never know
when it may be too late. (As she hesitates — imploringly)
For God's sake, Ruth! Don't you see you owe it to him?
You'll never forgive yourself if you don't.
RUTH, (dully) I'll go. (She gets wearily to her feet and
walks slowly toward the bedroom) But it won't do any good.
(ANDREW'S eyes are fixed on her anxiously. She opens the door
and steps inside the room. She remains standing there for a
minute. Then she calls in a frightened voice) Rob ! Where
are you? (Then she hurries back, trembling with fright)
Andy ! Andy ! He's gone !
ANDREW, (misunderstanding her — his face pale with dread)
He's not
RUTH, (interrupting him — hysterically) He's gone ! The
bed's empty. The window's wide open. He must have crawled
out into the yard !
124 PLAYS OF EUGENE O'NEILL
ANDREW, (springing to his feet. He rushes into the bed
room and returns immediately with an expression of alarmed
amazement on his face) Come! He can't have gone far!
(Grabbing his hat he takes RUTH'S arm and shoves her toward
the door) Come on! (Opening the door) Let's hope to
God (The door closes behind them, cutting off his words
as
(The Curtain Falls)
ACT THREE
SCENE Two
Same as Act One, Scene One — A section of country high
way. The sky to the east is already alight with bright
color and a thin, quivering line of flame is spreading slowly
along the horizon rim of the dark hills. The roadside, how
ever, is still steeped in the grayness of the dawn, shadowy and
vague. The field in the foreground has a wild uncultivated
appearance as if it had been allowed to remain fallow the
preceding summer. Parts of the snake-fence in the rear have
been broken down. The apple tree is leafless and seems dead.
ROBERT staggers weakly in from the left. He stumbles into
the ditch and lies there for a moment; then crawls with a great
effort to the top of the bank where he can see the sun rise, and
collapses weakly. RUTH and ANDREW come hurriedly along the
road from the left.
ANDREW, (stopping and looking about him) There he is!
I knew it ! I knew we'd find him here.
ROBERT, (trying to raise himself to a sitting position as they
hasten to his side — with a wan smile) I thought I'd given
you the slip.
ANDREW, (with kindly bullying) Well you didn't, you old
scoundrel, and we're going to take you right back where you
belong — in bed. (He makes a motion to lift ROBERT).
125
126 PLAYS OF EUGENE O'NEILL
ROBERT. Don't, Andy. Don't, I tell you!
ANDREW. You're in pain?
ROBERT, (simply) No. I'm dying. (He falls back weakly.
RUTH sinks down beside him with a sob and pillows his head
on her lap. ANDREW stands looking down at him helplessly.
ROBERT moves his head restlessly on RUTH'S lap) I couldn't
stand it back there in the room. It seemed as if all my life
• — I'd been cooped in a room. So I thought I'd try to end as
I might have — if I'd had the courage — alone — in a ditch by
Oi
the open road — watching the sun rise.
ANDREW. Rob ! Don't talk. You're wasting your strength.
Rest a while and then we'll carry you
ROBERT. Still hoping, Andy? Don't. I know. (There is
a pause during which he breathes heavily, straining his eyes
toward the horizon) The sun comes so slowly. (With an
ironical smile) The doctor told me to go to the far-off places
— and I'd be cured. He was right. That was always the
cure for me. It's too late — for this life — but (He has a
fit of coughing which racks his body).
ANDREW, (with a hoarse sob) Rob ! (He clenches his fists
in an impotent rage against Fate) God ! God ! (RUTH sobs
brokenly and wipes ROBERT'S lips with her handkerchief).
ROBERT, (in a voice which is suddenly ringing with the
happiness of hope) You mustn't feel sorry for me. Don't
you see I'm happy at last — free — free ! — freed from the farm
— free to wander on and on — eternally ! (He raises himself
on his elbow, his face radiant, and points to the horizon) Look!
Isn't it beautiful beyond the hills? I can hear the old voices
calling me to come (Exultantly) And this time I'm go-
ing! It isn't the end. It's a free beginning — the start of my
BEYOND THE HORIZON 127
voyage ! I've won to my trip — the right of release — beyond
the horizon ! Oh, you ought to be glad — glad — for my sake !
(He collapses weakly} Andy! (ANDREW bends down to him)
Remember Ruth
ANDREW. I'll take care of her, I swear to you, Rob !
ROBERT. Ruth has suffered — remember, Andy — only through
sacrifice — the secret beyond there (He suddenly raises
himself with his last remaining strength and points to the horizon
where the edge of the sun's disc is rising from the rim of the
hills) The sun ! (H e remains with his eyes fixed on it for a
moment. A rattling noise throbs from his throat. He mumbles)
Remember! (And falls back and is still. RUTH gives a cry
of horror and springs to her feet, shuddering, her hands over
her eyes. ANDREW bends on one knee beside the body, placing
a hand over ROBERT'S heart, then he kisses his brother rev
erentially on the forehead and stands up).
ANDREW, (facing RUTH, the body between them — in a dead
voice) He's dead. (JVith a sudden burst of fury) God damn
you, you never told him !
RUTH, (piteously) He was so happy without my lying to
him.
ANDREW, (pointing to the body — trembling with the violence
of his rage) This is your doing, you damn woman, you coward,
you murderessl_
RUTH, (sobbing) Don't, Andy ! I couldn't help it — and
he knew how I'd suffered, too. He told you — to remember.
ANDREW, (stares at her for a moment, his rage ebbing away,
an expression of deep pity gradually coming over his face.
Then he glances down at his brother and speaks brokenly in a
compassionate voice) Forgive me. Ruth — for his sake — and
128 PLAYS OF EUGENE O'NEILL
I'll remember (RUTH lets her hands fall from her face
and looks at him uncomprehendingly. He lifts his eyes to hers
and forces out falteringly) I — you — we've both made a mess
of things ! We must try to help each other — and — in time —
we'll come to know what's right (Desperately) And per
haps we (But RUTH, if she is aware of his words, gives
no sign. She remains silent, gazing at him dully with the sad
humility of exhaustion, her mind already sinking back into that
spent calm beyond the further troubling of any hope).
(The Curtain Falls)
The Plays by
EUGENE O'NEILL
in this series are:
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BEYOND THE HORIZON 75c.
WHERE THE CROSS Is MADE 35c.
IN THE ZONE 35c.
ILE . 35c.
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