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THE CLIMBERS
A PLAY IN FOUR ACTS
By
CLYDE FITCH
NEW YORK
SAMUEL FRENCH
PUBLISHER
25 WEST 45th STREET
LONDON
SAMUEL FRENCH, LTD.
26 SOUTHAMPTON ST.
STRAND
Reprinted by permission of Little, Brown & Co.
COPYRIGHT, 1905,
BY LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY.
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
This play is fully protected by the copyright law, all requirements of
which have been complied with. In its present printed form it is
dedicated to the reading public only, and no performance of it, either
professional or amateur, may be given without the written permission of
the owner of the acting rights, who may be addressed in care of the
publishers, Little, Brown, and Company.
TO
CHARLES T. MATHEWS
IN GRATEFUL RECOGNITION OF HIS
TRUE FRIENDSHIP AND LOYAL ENTHUSIASM
FROM THE BEGINNING
C.F.
[Transcriber's Note: One character is listed as Dr. Steinart in the List
of Characters, but Dr. Steinhart in the body of the play.]
_THE CLIMBERS_
ACT I. IN LATE WINTER.
_At the Hunters'._
ACT II. THE FOLLOWING CHRISTMAS EVE.
_At the Sterlings'._
ACT III. CHRISTMAS DAY.
_At the Hermitage, by the Bronx River._
ACT IV. THE DAY AFTER CHRISTMAS.
_At the Sterlings'._
NEW YORK: TO-DAY
_THE PEOPLE IN THE PLAY_
RICHARD STERLING. EDWARD WARDEN. FREDERICK MASON. JOHNNY TROTTER.
GODESBY. DR. STEINART. RYDER. SERVANT _at the Hermitage._ JORDAN.
_Butler at the Sterlings'._ LEONARD. _Footman at the Sterlings'._ MASTER
STERLING. SERVANTS.
MRS. STERLING (_née Blanche Hunter_). MISS HUNTER. MRS. HUNTER. JESSICA
HUNTER. CLARA HUNTER. MISS GODESBY. MISS SILLERTON. TOMPSON. _Mrs.
Hunter's Maid._ MARIE. _Clara Hunter's Maid._
Originally produced at the Bijou Theatre, New York, January 21, 1901,
with the following cast:--
Richard Sterling Mr. Frank Worthing
Edward Warden Mr. Robert Edeson
Frederick Mason Mr. John Flood
Johnny Trotter Mr. Ferdinand Gottschalk
Dr. Steinart Mr. George C. Boniface
Godesby Mr. J.B. Sturges
Ryder Mr. Kinard
Servant at the Hermitage Mr. Henry Warwick
Jordan } Servants { Mr. Edward Moreland
Leonard } at the { Mr. Henry Stokes
A Footman } Hunters' { Mr. Frederick Wallace
Richard Sterling, Jr. Master Harry Wright
Mrs. Hunter Mrs. Madge Carr Cook
Mrs. Sterling (_née_ Blanche Hunter) Miss Amelia Bingham
Jessica Hunter Miss Maud Monroe
Clara Hunter Miss Minnie Dupree
Miss Hunter Miss Annie Irish
Miss Godesby Miss Clara Bloodgood
Miss Sillerton Miss Ysobel Haskins
Tompson } Maids at { Miss Lillian Eldredge
Marie } the Hunters' { Miss Florence Lloyd
Produced at the Comedy Theatre, London, September 5, 1903, with the
following cast:--
Richard Sterling Mr. Sydney Valentine
Edward Warden Mr. Reeves-Smith
Frederick Mason Mr. J.L. Mackay
Johnny Trotter Mr. G.M. Graham
Godesby Mr. Horace Pollock
Dr. Steinart Mr. Howard Sturges
Master Sterling Miss Maidie Andrews
Ryder Mr. Henry Howard
Jordan Mr. Elgar B. Payne
Leonard Mr. Littledale Power
Footman Mr. Rivers Bertram
Servant Mr. George Aubrey
Mrs. Sterling Miss Lily Hanbury
Miss Hunter Miss Kate Tyndall
Mrs. Hunter Miss Lottie Venne
Jessica Hunter Miss Alma Mara
Clara Hunter Mrs. Mouillot
Miss Sillerton Miss Florence Sinclair
Tompson Miss L. Crauford
Marie Miss Armstrong
Miss Godesby Miss Fannie Ward
ACT I
_A drawing-room at the Hunters', handsomely and artistically furnished.
The woodwork and furniture are in the period of Louis XVI. The walls and
furniture are covered with yellow brocade, and the curtains are of the
same golden material. At the back are two large windows which give out
on Fifth Avenue, opposite the Park, the trees of which are seen across
the way. At Left is a double doorway, leading into the hall. At Right,
opposite, is a door which leads to other rooms, and thence to other
parts of the house. In the centre, at back, between the two windows, is
the fireplace; on the mantel are two vases and a clock in dark blue
ormolu. There is a white and gold piano on the Right side of the room.
The room suggests much wealth, and that it has been done by a
professional decorator; the personal note of taste is lacking._
_It is four o'clock in the afternoon. The shades of the windows are
drawn down. There are rows and rows of camp-chairs filling the entire
room._
_The curtain rises slowly. After a moment,_ JORDAN, _the butler, and_
LEONARD, _a footman, enter from the Left and begin to gather together
and carry out the camp-chairs. They do this with very serious faces, and
take great pains to step softly and to make no noise. They enter a
second time for more chairs._
JORDAN. [_Whispers to_ LEONARD.] When are they coming for the chairs?
LEONARD. [_Whispers back._] To-night. Say, it was fine, wasn't it!
JORDAN. Grand!
[_They go out with the chairs and immediately reënter for more. They are
followed in this time by a lady's maid,_ TOMPSON; _she is not a young
woman. As she crosses the room she stoops and picks up a faded flower
which has fallen from some emblem. She goes to the window at Right, and
peeps out. She turns around and looks at the others. They all speak in
subdued voices._
TOMPSON. Jordan, what do you think--can we raise the shades now?
JORDAN. Yes, of course--after they've left the house it's all over as
far as we here are concerned.
[_She raises both shades._
TOMPSON. Phew! what an odor of flowers!
[_She opens one of the windows a little._
[MARIE, _a young, pretty, French woman, enters from the Right._
MARIE. Will I help you?
TOMPSON. Just with this table, thank you, Marie. [_They begin to
rearrange the room, putting it in its normal condition. They replace the
table and put back the ornaments upon it._] Poor Mr. Hunter, and him so
fond of mince pie. I shall never forget how that man ate mince pie.
[_She sighs lugubriously and continues her labor with the room._
LEONARD. I hope as how it's not going to make any difference with us.
JORDAN. [_Pompously._] Of course not; wasn't Mr. Hunter a millionnaire?
TOMPSON. Some millionnaires I've known turned out poor as Job's turkey
in their coffins!
MARIE. What you say? You tink we shall 'ave some of madame's or ze young
ladies' dresses?
TOMPSON. [_Hopefully._] Perhaps.
MARIE. I 'ave already made my choice. I like ze pale pink of Mees
Jessie.
LEONARD. Sh! I heard a carridge.
TOMPSON. Then they're coming back.
[MARIE _quickly goes out Right._
JORDAN. [_To_ LEONARD, _hurriedly, as he quickly goes out Left._] Take
them last two chairs!
[LEONARD, _with the chairs, follows_ JORDAN _out Left._ TOMPSON _hastily
puts back a last arm-chair to its usual position in the room and goes
out Right._ MRS. HUNTER _enters Left, followed by her three daughters_,
BLANCHE, JESSICA, _and_ CLARA, _and_ MASTER STERLING, _who is a small,
attractive child, five years of age. All are in the deepest conventional
mourning,_ MRS. HUNTER _in widow's weeds and_ CLARA _with a heavy, black
chiffon veil; the_ BOY _is also dressed in conventional mourning. As
soon as they enter, all four women lift their veils._ MRS. HUNTER _is a
well-preserved woman, with a pretty, rather foolish, and somewhat
querulous face. Her figure is the latest mode._ BLANCHE STERLING, _her
oldest daughter, is her antithesis,--a handsome, dignified woman, young,
sincere, and showing, in her attitude to the others and in her own point
of view, the warmth of a true, evenly-balanced nature._ JESSICA _is a
typical second child,--nice, good, self-effacing, sympathetic,
unspoiled._ CLARA _is her opposite,--spoiled, petulant, pretty, pert,
and selfish._
MRS. HUNTER. [_With a long sigh._] Oh, I am so glad to be back home and
the whole thing over without a hitch!
[_She sinks with a great sigh of relief into a big chair._
BLANCHE. [_Takes her son to_ MRS. HUNTER.] Kiss grandmother good-by, and
then Leonard will take you home.
MRS. HUNTER. Good-by, dear. Be a good boy. Don't eat too much candy.
[_Kisses him carelessly._
MASTER STERLING. Good-by. [_Runs towards the door Left, shouting
happily._] Leonard! Leonard!
MRS. HUNTER. [_Tearfully._] My dears, it was a great success! Everybody
was there!
[_The three younger women stand and look about the room, as if it were
strange to them--as if it were empty. There is a moment's silence._
BLANCHE. [_Tenderly._] Mother, why don't you take off your bonnet?
MRS. HUNTER. Take it off for me; it _will_ be a great relief.
BLANCHE. Help me, Jess.
MRS. HUNTER. [_Irritably._] Yes, _do_ something, Jessie. You've
mortified me terribly to-day! That child hasn't shed a tear. People'll
think you didn't love your father. [_The two are taking off_ MRS.
HUNTER'S _bonnet._ MRS. HUNTER _waits for an answer from_ JESSICA; _none
comes._] I never saw any one so heartless! [_Tearful again._] And her
father adored her. _She_ was one of the things we quarrelled _most_
about!
[_Over_ MRS. HUNTER'S _head_ BLANCHE _exchanges a sympathetic look with_
JESSICA _to show she understands._
CLARA. I'm sure _I've_ cried enough. I've cried buckets.
[_She goes to_ MRS. HUNTER _as_ BLANCHE _and_ JESSICA _take away the
bonnet and veil and put them on the piano._
MRS. HUNTER. [_Kissing Clara._] Yes, dear, you are your mother's own
child. And _you_ lose the most by it, too.
[_Leaning against the side of her mother's chair, with one arm about her
mother._
CLARA. Yes, indeed, instead of coming out next month, and having a
perfectly lovely winter, I'll have to mope the whole season, and, if I
don't look out, be a wallflower without ever having been a bud!
MRS. HUNTER. [_Half amused but feeling_ CLARA'S _remark is perhaps not
quite the right thing._] Sh--
[_During_ CLARA'S _speech above,_ BLANCHE _has taken_ JESSICA _in her
arms a moment and kissed her tenderly, slowly. They rejoin_ MRS. HUNTER,
BLANCHE _wiping her eyes,_ JESSICA _still tearless._
CLARA. And think of all the clothes we brought home from Paris last
month!
MRS. HUNTER. My dear, don't think of clothes--think of your poor father!
That street dress of mine will dye very well, and we'll give the rest to
your aunt and cousins.
BLANCHE. Mother, don't you want to go upstairs?
JESSICA. [_Sincerely moved._] Yes, I hate this room now.
MRS. HUNTER. [_Rising._] Hate this room! When we've just had it done!
Louis Kinge!
BLANCHE. Louis _Quinze_, dear! She means the associations now, mother.
MRS. HUNTER. Oh, yes, but that's weak and foolish, Jessie. No,
Blanche--[_Sitting again._]--I'm too exhausted to move. Ring for tea.
[BLANCHE _rings the bell beside the mantel._
CLARA. [_Crossing to piano, forgets and starts to play a music-hall
song, but_ MRS. HUNTER _stops her._] Oh, yes, tea! I'm starved!
MRS. HUNTER. Clara, darling! As if you could be hungry at such a time!
[JORDAN _enters Left._
BLANCHE. Tea, Jordan.
JORDAN. Yes, madam.
[_He goes out Left._
MRS. HUNTER. Girls, everybody in town was there! I'm sure even your
father himself couldn't have complained.
BLANCHE. Mother!
MRS. HUNTER. Well, you know he always found fault with my _parties_
being too mixed. He wouldn't realize I couldn't throw over all my old
set when I married into his,--not that I ever acknowledged I was your
father's inferior. I consider my family was just as good as his, only we
were _Presbyterians_!
BLANCHE. Mother, dear, take off your gloves.
MRS. HUNTER. I thought I had. [_Crying._] I'm so heartbroken I don't
know what I'm doing.
[_Taking off her gloves._
[BLANCHE _and_ CLARA _comfort their mother._
JESSICA. Here's the tea--
[JORDAN _and_ LEONARD _enter with large, silver tray, with tea, cups,
and thin bread-and-butter sandwiches. They place them on small tea-table
which_ JESSICA _arranges for them._
MRS. HUNTER. I'm afraid I can't touch it.
[_Taking her place behind tea-table and biting eagerly into a sandwich._
JESSICA. [_Dryly._] Try.
[BLANCHE _pours tea for them all, which they take in turn._
MRS. HUNTER. [_Eating._] One thing I was furious about,--did you see the
Witherspoons _here_ at the house?
CLARA. _I_ did.
MRS. HUNTER. The idea! When I've never called on them. They are the
worst social pushers I've ever known.
[_She takes another sandwich._
CLARA. Trying to make people think they are on our visiting list! Using
even a funeral to get in!
MRS. HUNTER. But I _was_ glad the Worthings were here, and I thought it
_sweet_ of old Mr. Dormer to go even to the cemetery. [_Voice breaks a
little._] He never goes to balls any more, and, they say, catches cold
at the slightest change of temperature.
[_She takes a third sandwich._
BLANCHE. A great many people loved father.
MRS. HUNTER. [_Irritably._] They ought to've. It was really foolish the
way he was always doing something for somebody! How good these
sandwiches are! [_Spoken very plaintively._
JESSICA. Shall we have to economize now, mother?
MRS. HUNTER. Of course not; how dare you suggest such an injustice to
your _father_, and _before_ the flowers are withered on his grave!
[_Again becoming tearful._
[JORDAN _enters Left with a small silver tray, heaping full of letters._
Has the new writing paper come?
BLANCHE. [_Who takes the letters and looks through them, giving some to
her mother._] Yes.
[BLANCHE _reads a letter, and passes it to_ JESSICA.
MRS. HUNTER. Is the black border broad enough? They said it was the
thing.
CLARA. If you had it any broader, you'd have to get white ink to write
with!
MRS. HUNTER. [_Sweetly._] Don't be impertinent, darling!
[_Reading another letter._
[_Enter_ MISS RUTH HUNTER. _She is an unmarried woman between thirty and
forty years of age, handsome, distinguished; an aristocrat, without any
pretensions; simple, unaffected, and direct in her effort to do
kindnesses where they are not absolutely undeserved. She enters the room
as if she carried with her an atmosphere of pure ozone. This affects all
those in it. She is dressed in deep mourning and wears a thick chiffon
veil, which she removes as she enters._
RUTH. Oh! you're having tea!
[_Glad that they are._
MRS. HUNTER. [_Taking a second cup._] I thought the children _ought_ to.
RUTH. Of course they ought and so ought you, if you haven't.
MRS. HUNTER. Oh, I've _trifled_ with something.
JESSICA. Sit here, Aunt Ruth.
BLANCHE. Will you have a cup, Aunt Ruth?
RUTH. Yes, dear, I'm feeling _very_ hungry.
[_Sitting on the sofa beside_ JESSICA _and pressing her hand as she does
so._
MRS. HUNTER. Hungry! _How can you!_
RUTH. Because I'm not a _hypocrite_!
MRS. HUNTER. [_Whimpering._] I suppose that's a slur at me!
RUTH. If the slipper fits! But I confess I haven't eaten much for
several days; I couldn't touch anything this morning, and I begin to
feel exhausted; I must have food and, thank Heaven, I want it. Thank
you.
[_To_ BLANCHE, _taking the cup from her._
MRS. HUNTER. I think it's awful, Ruth, and I feel I have a right to say
it--I think you owed it to my feelings to have worn a long veil; people
will think you didn't love your brother.
RUTH. [_Dryly._] Will they? Let them! You know as well as I do that
George loathed the very idea of crêpe and all display of mourning.
MRS. HUNTER. [_Feeling out of her element, changes the subject._] You
stayed behind?
RUTH. Yes. I wanted to be the last there. [_Her voice chokes; she tries
to control herself._] Ah! you see my nerves are all gone to pieces. I
_won't_ cry any more!
MRS. HUNTER. I don't see how you could bear it--staying; but you never
had any heart, Ruth.
RUTH. [_Mechanically, biting her lips hard to keep the tears back._]
Haven't I?
MRS. HUNTER. My darling husband always felt that defect in you.
RUTH. George?
MRS. HUNTER. He resented your treatment of me, and often said so.
RUTH. [_Very quietly, but with determination._] Please be careful. Don't
talk to me like this about my brother, Florence--or you'll make me say
something I shall be sorry for.
MRS. HUNTER. I don't care! It wore on him, the way you treated me. I put
up with it for his sake, but it helped undermine his health.
RUTH. Florence, stop!
MRS. HUNTER. [_In foolish anger, the resentment of years bursting out._]
I _won't_ stop! I'm alone now, and the least you can do is to see that
people who've fought shy of me take me up and give me my due. You've
been a cruel, selfish sister-in-law, and your own brother saw and hated
you for it!
BLANCHE. _Mother!_
RUTH. [_Outraged._] Send your daughters out of the room; I wish to
answer you alone.
MRS. HUNTER. [_Frightened._] No! what you have to say to me I prefer my
children to hear!
[CLARA _comes over to her mother and puts her arm about her._
RUTH. I can't remain quiet any longer. George--[_She almost breaks down,
but she controls herself._] This funeral is enough, with its show and
worldliness! I don't believe there was a soul in the church you didn't
see! Look at your handkerchief! Real grief isn't measured by the width
of a black border. I'm ashamed of you, Florence! I never liked you very
much, although I tried to for your husband's sake, but now I'm even more
ashamed of you. My dear brother is gone, and there need be no further
bond between us, but I want you to understand the true reason why, from
to-day, I keep away from you. This funeral was revolting to me!--a show
spectacle, a social function, and for _him_ who you know _hated_ the
very thing. [_She stops a moment to control her tears and her anger._] I
saw the reporters there, and I heard your message to them, and I
contradicted it. I begged them not to use your information, and they
were gentlemen and promised me not to. You are, and always have been, a
silly, frivolous woman. I don't doubt you loved your husband as much as
you could any man, but it wasn't enough for me; he was worth being
adored by the best and noblest woman in the world. I've stood by all
these years, trying with my love and silent sympathy to be some comfort
to him--but I saw the disappointment and disillusionment eat away the
very _hope_ of happiness out of his heart. I tried to help him by
helping you in your foolish ambitions, doing what I could to give my
brother's wife the social position _his name_ entitled her to!
MRS. HUNTER. That's not true; I've had to fight it out all alone!
RUTH. It was not my fault if my best friends found you intolerable; _I_
couldn't blame them. Well, now it's over! George is at rest, please God.
You are a rich woman to do what you please. Go, and do it! and Heaven
forgive you for ruining my brother's life! I'm sorry to have said all
this before your children. Blanche, you know how dearly I love you, and
I hope you have forgiven me by now for my opposition to your marriage.
BLANCHE. Of course I've forgiven you, but you were always unjust to
Dick.
RUTH. Yes; I didn't like your husband then, and I didn't believe in him,
but I like him better now. And I am going to put all my affairs in his
hands. I couldn't show--surely--a better proof of confidence and liking
than that: to trust him as I did--your father. I hope I shall see much
of you and Jessica. As for you, Clara, I must be honest--
CLARA. [_Interrupting her._] Oh, I know you've always hated me! The
presents you gave the other girls were always twice as nice as I got!
MRS. HUNTER. [_Sympathetically._] Come here, darling.
[CLARA _goes and puts her arms about her mother's neck._
RUTH. You are your mother's own child, Clara, and I never could pretend
anything I didn't feel. [_She turns to_ BLANCHE _and_ JESSICA, _who
stand side by side._] You two are all I have left in the world of my
brother. [_She kisses them, and lets the tears come, this time without
struggling._] Take pity on your old-maid aunt and come and see me, won't
you, _often_--[_Trying to smile away her tears._] And now good-by!
JESSICA AND RUTH. [_Taking her hands._] Good-by.
[RUTH _looks about the room to say good-by to it; she cries and
hurriedly begins pulling down her veil, and starts to go out as_ JORDAN
_enters Left and announces "Mr. Mason!"_
[MRS. HUNTER _fluffs her hair a little and hopes she looks becoming._
[MASON _is a typical New Yorker, well built, well preserved, dignified,
and good-looking,--a solid man in every sense of the word._
MASON. [_Meeting_ RUTH, _shakes hands with her._] Miss Hunter.
RUTH. I am just going, Mr. Mason.
MASON. You must stay. I sent word to your house this morning to meet me
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