Short Plays

Mine!!!

The Glimpse of Reality

A Tragedietta

Dramatis Personae

• Count Ferruccio

• Giulia

• Squarcio

• Sandro

The Glimpse of Reality

In the fifteenth century AD. Gloaming. An inn on the edge of an Italian lake. A stone cross with a pedestal of steps. A very old Friar sitting on the steps.

	The Angelus rings. The Friar prays and crosses himself. A girl ferries a boat to the shore and comes up the bank to the cross.
The Girl	Father: were you sent here by a boy from⁠—
The Friar	In a high, piping, but clear voice. I’m a very old man. Oh, very old. Old enough to be your great grandfather, my daughter. Oh, very very old.
The Girl	But were you sent here by a boy from⁠—
The Friar	Oh yes, yes, yes, yes, yes. Quite a boy, he was. Very young. And I’m very old. Oh, very very old, dear daughter.
The Girl	Are you a holy man?
The Friar	Ecstatically. Oh, very holy. Very, very, very, very holy.
The Girl	But have you your wits still about you, father? Can you absolve me from a great sin?
The Friar	Oh yes, yes, yes. A very great sin. I’m very old; but I’ve my wits about me. I’m one hundred and thirteen years old, by the grace of Our Lady; but I still remember all my Latin; and I can bind and loose; and I’m very very wise; for I’m old and have left far behind me the world, the flesh, and the devil. You see I am blind, daughter; but when a boy told me that there was a duty for me to do here, I came without a guide, straight to this spot, led by St. Barbara. She led me to this stone, daughter. It’s a comfortable stone to me: she has blessed it for me.
The Girl	It’s a cross, father.
The Friar	Piping rapturously. Oh blessed, blessed, ever blessed be my holy patroness for leading me to this sacred spot. Is there any building near this, daughter? The boy mentioned an inn.
The Girl	There is an inn, father, not twenty yards away. It’s kept by my father, Squarcio.
The Friar	And is there a barn where a very very old man may sleep and have a handful of peas for his supper?
The Girl	There is bed and board both for holy men who will take the guilt of our sins from us. Swear to me on the cross that you are a very holy man.
The Friar	I’ll do better than that, daughter. I’ll prove my holiness to you by a miracle.
The Girl	A miracle!
The Friar	A most miraculous miracle. A wonderful miracle! When I was only eighteen years of age I was already famous for my devoutness. When the hand of the blessed Saint Barbara, which was chopped off in the days when the church was persecuted, was found at Viterbo, I was selected by the Pope himself to carry it to Rome for that blessed lady’s festival there; and since that my hand has never grown old. It remains young and warm and plump whilst the rest of my body is withered almost to dust, and my voice is cracked and become the whistling you now hear.
The Girl	Is that true? Let me see. He takes her hand in his. She kneels and kisses it fervently. Oh, it’s true. You are a saint. Heaven has sent you in answer to my prayer.
The Friar	As soft as your neck, is it not? He caresses her neck.
The Girl	It thrills me: it is wonderful.
The Friar	It thrills me also, daughter. That, too, is a miracle at my age.
The Girl	Father⁠—
The Friar	Come closer, daughter. I’m very very old and very very very deaf: you must speak quite close to my ear if you speak low. She kneels with her breast against his arm and her chin on his shoulder. Good. Good. That’s better. Oh, I’m very very old.
The Girl	Father: I am about to commit a deadly sin.
The Friar	Do, my daughter. Do, do, do, do, do.
The Girl	Discouraged. Oh, you do not hear what I say.
The Friar	Not hear! Then come closer, daughter. Oh, much, much closer. Put your arm round my shoulders, and speak in my ear. Do not be ashamed, my daughter: I’m only a sack of old bones. You can hear them rattle. He shakes his shoulders and makes the beads of his rosary rattle at the same time. Listen to the old man’s bones rattling. Oh, take the old old man to heaven, Blessed Barbara.
The Girl	Your wits are wandering. Listen to me. Are you listening?
The Friar	Yes yes yes yes yes yes yes. Remember: whether I hear or not, I can absolve. All the better for you perhaps if I do not hear the worst. He! He! He! Well well. When my wits wander, squeeze my young hand; and the blessed Barbara will restore my faculties. She squeezes his hand vigorously. That’s right. Tha‑a‑a‑a‑ats right. Now I remember what I am and who you are. Proceed, my child.
The Girl	Father, I am to be married this year to a young fisherman.
The Friar	The devil you are, my dear.
The Girl	Squeezing his hand. Oh listen, listen; you are wandering again.
The Friar	That’s right: hold my hand tightly. I understand, I understand. This young fisherman is neither very beautiful nor very brave; but he is honest and devoted to you; and there is something about him different to all the other young men.
The Girl	You know him, then!
The Friar	No no no no no. I’m too old to remember people. But Saint Barbara tells me everything.
The Girl	Then you know why we can’t marry yet.
The Friar	He is too poor. His mother will not let him unless his bride has a dowry⁠—
The Girl	Interrupting him impetuously. Yes, yes: oh blessed be Saint Barbara for sending you to me! Thirty crowns⁠—thirty crowns from a poor girl like me: