“You ask it, of course.” from the play, “His Luck” Jean, in mourning, and Vera, her friend, are talking over tea. Jean’s husband is a musician and artist. Very tempestuous, Paul seemed to look for an opportunity not to play. After his death, Jean finds solace in their room, living with memories. Ideal for adult females ranging from 30-49. 1-2 Mins.
Written By: Horace Holley
JEAN:
You ask it, of course. You have the right. Sometimes I ask it, too, why Paul never succeeded. While we were struggling along, the things that held him back seemed only details. Only now do I see them as a whole. In the first place, Paul never aimed directly at success. He was all-round. If it had been merely a question of exploiting his talent, sticking to the one idea day in, day out, never letting an opportunity slip by of meeting the right people and getting to the right places … that would have been easy. He had tremendous energy. I used to grudge his interest in other things. I hated to see him lose the chances and let them be snapped up by littler men. He seemed to waste himself, right and left, prodigally. But it wasn’t that, it wasn’t waste. It was all as much a part of him as his music. He detested the stupidity of wealth and poverty, he rebelled against laws that aren’t laws, but only interests enforced by authority, he fought against the sheer deadness of prejudice. How he hated all that! And why not? You see, Vera, he was sensitive to it not only as a thinker, but as a musician, too. It was all a part of the discord, and what I used to think his wasting himself was really an effort to create a larger harmony. He used to say that the beauty of music is only the image of beauty in life, and that life must come first. He couldn’t endure discords anywhere. Paul despised the musicians who scream at a flatted f but hunger for the flesh pots after the performance. No, he was never that. And people resented it. The very people who ought to have understood.
