783 - Dark Rosaleen

Quiet, Please - Air Date - 03-13-1949 -

Episode Transcript

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A journey into the round of thestreet, and CALLI find I hope you
will enjoy the champlain that it willtrill you a little and kill you a
little. So settle back, geta good grip on your nerve. Where
are we going? You will findout when we get there. Quiet Please,

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Quiet Please. The American broad CastingCompany presents Quiet Please, which is

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written and directed by Willis Cooper andwhich features Ernest Chapel. Quiet Pleased for
today is called Dark Rose the Lane. There was a time when I loved

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the rain at night in the streetsof New York. But that is a
time long gone, And I rememberthe wet dark of a march evening only
dimly now, and I find Ihave no desire now to return to it.
Nor there was a time when Iloved it. I remember the night
I thought was to be my lastnight on this earth, and the streets
were wet with a bitter rain ofa waning winter that night. And I

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remember the sounds of New York thatnight. I remember the sound of tires
on the asphalt, like the longdrawn out sound of striking a kitchen match.
I remember the skirl of whistles inthe subject or any and bellow of
the subway. I remember the hornssounding wetly in the north and south traffic
on sixth Avenue, and the emptyecho of voices between the buildings on forty

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fourth Street. I remember the unperturbedtraffic lights red and green beacons in the
cold rain. And there was ared glow in the sky from Times Square
behind me, and lonely yellow windowsdim above me in the murk, where
other lonely souls toiled the night away. And now I gaze on ragged rocks,

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drenched in the spin drift of thesea, and beyond them landred.
The wholesome green hills lie peaceful onthe breast of the land, and the
sound of the pipe comes sweetly acrossthe domes to me. And here the
rain is a living thing, agreat gray beast that comes from the sea
of fling its fury against the raggedrocks, and hasten inlandt to the hills

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as the dark men who first cameto these shores so many years ago.
Thus have the remembrances at the placethat was once my home faded away.
And it is only when the IDEsof March return that I sit here on
the shore above the furious waters,and remember the spires of the cathedral closed

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about with the towering buildings of thecity. And here again the clamor of
the carry pipes above the searching windsof the avenue. And now I think
of the men that marched to thegreater glory of Polypatrick on his day in
the morning, and the banners thatwave above the gay paraders fly from me

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in my heart, for I havefound dark roys of na. It was
such a weary time ago that Isat in that room in New York and
heard those fatal words that sullen nightof Friday the thirteenth. Her very memory

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is blurred now, but I rememberthem. The door opened, and Arnold
closed it again quietly, and stoodfor a moment silently against it. I
remember how he did not look atme, how he stood there a moment
in the thick, sick room silence. I remember I could not rise from

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my chair, even when his voicetrod on the silence of that ghastly place,
and I knew what he was saying, but his voice seemed to come
from a long way off, andhis face was unclear, and the pouchs
began to beat in my temples,and it was a dreadful truth to beat
up on my head. I wouldnot believe what he was saying, Elizabeth.

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I would not acknowledge it, Elizabethstre both and I said to myself
dead, And I said, Iwill not believe it. Dead. And
there was silence again. And inthe silence I heard a little small sound,
and at last I knew it wasmy own voice, and the keening

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of the women in the father roomrose above her own voice. For many
hours after I was alone, andthere was no light. There are small
comfort in speaking to you of thehereafter. At this time, Wayne,
let me alone. There is somecomfort, perhaps to remember that her last

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hours were peaceful, there was nopain, and she died in her sleep,
unknowing next Saturday was to be ourwedding day. I am sorry for
you, Wayne, I am beyondsorry. It will pass. Time is
a great healer, Wayne, Timewill I will not heal these wound's time
nor anything. This is the endof my life. You mustn't talk that

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way. Side, And I wasa fool to think it was the beginning.
I know how you feel, Wayne, you know how I feel.
How can you know you didn't loveElizabeth. You knew her, and she
was another woman, another patient tostand over and to give medicine too,
and to let die as you lether die. Wayne, I didn't mean

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that, Arnold. You did allyou could. But she died. Elizabeth
died. Oh no, no,no, no, Wayne, you mustn't.
Shall I tell you about Elizabeth?Shall I tell you of a dark
haired of her flung wild in thewind of a summer's afternoon, when we

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stood on the hill together. ShallI speak of her laughter like minted gold,
and a long morning light beside thesea? Did you know her blue
eyes and a candle flame at midnightin the old high House where the road
turns. I have held her handsin mine and marveled at her voice in

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the gloaming. And Elizabeth has saidshe loves me. And you say to
me, you must not. Whatis there left for me without Elizabeth?
How shall I live without her?I will not live without her. No,
you can't hold me here, NaldWayne. Listen. And the streets

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were wet, and the streets weredark, and the sounds of New York
I still remember, for what manis there? Could not remember his last
day on earth. I heard themuted drawer of the town, and the
dark, hurrying figures of people werein my consciousness too. But it was
the night to care for earthly things. And the cold rain descended, and

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the sodden streets gave back the echowetley of my aimless footsteps. Say to
me, man, if you haveever loved, and remember the black emptiness
of your own heart, if yourmind was ever crossed with the thought of
losing forever that dear one of yours, Say to me, woman sitting there,

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what you would have done in yourown bright youth, if the skinny
hand of death had snatched your loveraway? Are you too? Look at
your wife, your man, Woman, look at your husband. Should the
curtain of death descend between the twoof you, what would your first thought
be? Would you not say,first in your grief, death take me

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too? And so it was withme that bitter, bitter night, and
I sought the arms of death,even as you would do. Through the

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oily ripples of the ebbing tide,still finger the timbers of the ancient peers
along the river. There's the mournfulsound of the fog born haunt your dreams
of a rainy night in March whenthe rain and the fog conspired to teach
us what blackness there was once inall the earth. Do all the sad
boats still ply across the bay inthe night, and all the people on

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them huddle into the lighted places andthink uneasily of what lies deep in the
waters below. I stood there atthe side of the water, and there
I made my peace with the citythat lay behind the swirling f in the
rain, the tall backdrop against whichI played my final scene. And presently,

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as I stood composing myself, thinkingsad last thoughts, all but forgetting
lost Elizabeth, in the grandeur ofmy own final gesture, presently a figure
came away from the shadows and walkedslowly toward me, And I, like
an actor who has lost his cue, paused irresolutely on the rain soaked edge
of the duck. And when hecame closer, I turned impatiently, and

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my footing was insecure, and thewedd in the dark, and I all
but fell into the swirl below.Have a care, man, let me
be. You have fallen into theone. Let's go of me. The
tide being at the ebb, youwould have struggled in vain and there'd be
no one about to hear. You'rechoking and screaming in the dark. You'll
be drowned. Do you see?Will you let me alone? Come away
from the water's edge, man,it's not safe away from me. Bounding

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yourself in the river will not bringElizabeth? What did you? Who are
you? Don't pull so you'll fallow? What do you want? I want
you to come with me. Ihaven't done anything. You were going to
drown yourself? Is it any ofyour business? Come with me, Wayne,

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Come on with me. How doyou know my name? I know
your name, Wayne, and Iknew Elizabeth. Come with me. You're
a policeman. No, no,I'm not a policeman. You sat You
knew Elizabeth. Come with me?Hi, where well, wherever it is?

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It's better than the watery death?Son? No, son, I'm
an older man than you, andI tell you it's no good. Not
older than I. Oh, yesI am Wayne. You knew Elizabeth.
Elizabeth wouldn't want you to do this. Elizabeth. Elizabeth wants you to live,
Wayne, to live? What's thereto live for? Why? Will

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you come with me? Then?And maybe I'll show you. I cannot
say now what there's a compulsion thatled me to follow his steps down the
dock side and out to the endof the wharf in the darkness. I

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cannot say, but I am gladthis day that I hated his words and
the soaking cold rain along the dockside in the dark, to a ladder
at the end. And he pausedand took my arm again and pointed down.
You were not afraid of the watera moment ago away. And I

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looked at him, and in thegloom it seemed that I could see the
glow of a little lantern at theend of the dock. So he stood
between me and the light. Downthe ladder to the boat. Ladder was
wet and clammy to my hands,and I could hear the wooden runs creak
beneath my weight. I did notknow why I followed him, for I
could see no boat in the waterbelow. But I have spoken of a

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compulsion, And though he spoke quietlyenough in the night, I followed him.
Will you sit in the stern,then, Wayne, while I roll?
And now was there ever such ascene the bereaved man, the lorn

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lover, the grief stricken man aboutto take his own life for a lost
love and foiled at it by anotherstranger in the dark, and setting off
in a cockle shell of a charticlein the windy waters of our march to
night with the same total stranger.I said to him where are we going?

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And I could feel that he wassmiling, although he didn't answer.
I said again, do you knowwhere you're going? For a young man
that was about to take his ownlife a few minutes ago, you show
over much concern we'll be run downby a boat. We will not,
but if we do, you willdrown and die. And is that not

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what you want? Well? Iyou want to choose your own way of
dying? Is that it? Whereare we going? You're forgetting Elizabeth in
your concern for yourself. Why I'venot forgotten Elizabeth? Do not forget her
way in for if you forget her? What do not forget her? Where

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are we? What do you care? Well? I be silent and think
of Elizabeth. And the waves rosehigher and higher, and the wind came
down about my years, and weseemed to be going faster and ever faster
through the night, and always thesilent man sat over against me in the

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little boat, and though the wavesgrew mountain high in the wild night,
Still he plied his oars, andstill he traveled on upon the face of
the deep, when all there wasno light to be seen in the flying
scud, all but smotted me.And I grew desperately cold in the open
woods, And again I asked him, where are we going? Are you

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still? And my thoughts would notcompose, And at last I fell into
a kind of restless sleep, coldand wet, entirely unhappy. They're in
the boat along upon the ocean,And through my sleep we seemed to hear

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strange music and the voice of mycompanion in the boat, when I was
poetry in his nights out of theglowing west, as the sun was dying
behind them, up from the sea, And the nights by the light of
the moon, dark with the boats, and dark with the men, in

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the darkness, seeking the shore ofthe sea, as they chatted their song
in the night, seeking the shanvan Bok, the undying sorrowful mother,
seeking the shan Ban book on theshore where the Shannon descends. Stretch out

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your arms, oh shan Ban Book, stand on the headlands, and show
us the way weep for your sons. Oh, sorrowful Mother, the black
boats are sailing, bring us theday. And when I opened my eyes,

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the first rays of the sun spedacross the waters to me, and
the broad land lay before us.And I was a great lazy river that
came down of the hills, anda fresh wind was blowing out our backs.
And we rushed along, and Icalmed my eyes, and I asked
my companion, in amazement, whereare we? And he smiled and shook
his head and did not answer.And the shore drew nearer and nearer.

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And I remember the poetry in mydreams, and I leaned over to him,
and I said, answer me.You haven't asked me anything yet.
Way, I said, where arewe? You'll know in a moment.
And what is the Shahn von Volk? Asked rather? Who is the Shahn
van Volk? Who is she?Why? Way? And she has many
names, But the name we knowbest is the sorrowful Mother, the weeping

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one who does not always weep forgrief, but sometimes for joy. Who
are she has many names? Andof all the women of all the world,
she is the fairest my son,and she is the one that the
fear bags, the very dark mensang to us. They sailed their black
boats across the sea from beyond thesecond Sun. I heard you in my

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dreams. I think I spoke ofthem. I spoke of the song they
sang, And it may be Ieven sang it, as she and I
are old, old friends. TheSean von Vote and I. And what
is this place we're coming to ourselves? Or have you forgotten Elizabeth and all
your curiosity? Then I've not forgottenElizabeth. Where are you taking me?

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Why to a certain place? Wayne, Wayne, shamous column of fair I
don't understand, you will. Andhe shook his head and laid on the
oars again. And the little blackboat headed toward the mouth of the Great
Gentle River, and there grew higherland on either side, and the green
hills stretched away beyond. And Isaw a woman standing on the beach at

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the estuary as we drew closer,And for a moment my heart leaped in
me, for her hair was darklike Elizabeth's, and she had the figure
that I remembered so well. Andthen I knew sharp despair again, for
Elizabeth was dead. But I thinkmy companion must have seen the gathering tears

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in my eyes, for he spokevery gently. You remember Elizabeth again.
I have not forgotten Elizabeth. Iwill not forget Elizabeth. That is well,
my son. But tell me whatis this place? Look about you?
And we were in the very mouthof the river, and the blue

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of the sea had turned out toa kind of golden green from the silk
that the river brings down from thehills far beyond. And I looked in
the low hills stretched away as faras I could see, and the sun
shone on a scene of peace,and I fancied I could hear birds singing,
and you'd know where you are.Then wagh in Aboo where look on

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your left hand that is clear,and on your right is the land of
ken May this is not a beautifulsight, then in the morning it is
that I've always loved it. Andwe drew nearer to the shore, and
I looked on the shore and thewoman was standing there by the water side,
and she was dressed in a green, flowing gown, and her hair
was dark like I've heard is thewing of a raven. And her face

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was peaceful to look upon, nowravaged with tears. And I looked from
her to my companion in the boat, and he spoke to me, that
is the shan van Volt. Andthe keel of the little boat grated to

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the shore. And I stood up, and the woman spoke to me,
and her voice was like my mother'svoice as I remembered it, although the
words she spoke were in a strangetongue file. And she took my hand,
and I stepped out of the boat. And she turned to my companion,
and see it the file that youPenny, been away over a long

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pay, And I said, Patrick, Patrick, And when I turned to
look at him again, he hadvanished from my sight. And I turned
back to the lovely woman who hadgreeted me, and she was smiling me.
Welcome home, vain shame is calumo fion no. I thought perhaps

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that I had come to those aislesof the blest that are spoken of in
the old old books. And Ithought perhaps this place was heaven, for
it was very fair, and Ithought in my heart for a moment,
perhaps I shall find Elizabeth here,For I was not sure what this place
was, and it seemed that theheaven I had heard of could not possibly
be fairer. And I may sayto this day that as yet I have

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had no foretaste, no view ofHeaven yet vouchsafed to me. Yet,
if Heaven shall be fairer than thisland set down in a shining sea,
then it will be heaven. Indeed. And in the long days which were
the days of spring, I wantedby myself along the shore, and the

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sun was good, and the seawas endless, And when the night came
there were the stars, and thenight breeze was sweet. And then the
thoughts of Elizabeth came back again tohaunt me, and always my wonder grew.
Had I indeed taken my life?And was this the Allusian field?

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Was this the limbo for unjudged souls? Was I dead myself and wandering till
a judgment day? It is atrue land, Wayne, Feel the grass
beneath your feet. How I canhave founded the waves and be sure it
is all real? I'm lost.You weep for your lost Elizabeth. Now

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I shall never cease to weep forher, Sean Vanbo. A day'll come,
Wayne, no day for me.A day comes when grief is forgotten.
When you know dark Rosaline? No, who is dark Rose? They?
Who are you? Who who isPatrick? We would none of us

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live safe for Padrick. Padrick broughtthe word to us. Padrick came from
the lands far beyond yonder sea,and Padrick brought the cross to us.
All here, here's a young man. Padrick led us all from the dark
mysteries of the Pagan Hills. Andit was Padrick's hand that has kept us
safe for all these years of ourlife. I have not always been fair

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wing this place is not always beingfair. Great dragons breathing fire, and
dire serpents were in the hills tillPadrick vanished, And I have found much
to weep for. Wherefore they calledme the sorrowful Mother the shan Van book.

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But as Patrick says in the theselatter days, I do not always
weak. For then tell me SeanVandeford. I was about to die for
the love of a lost one Iknow. Is she here? Is Elizabeth

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here? Dark Rosalie is here?And then when I looked up at her
from the ground, there was anotherwoman standing where she had stood. And
this one was young and fair,and her hair was dark, and her

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eyes were blue, and she smiledupon me, and for a moment my
heart stopped, for she spoke inElizabeth's voice he had Milly filed to my
love, and I sprang to myfeet, and my voice shook as I
took her hand in mine, forthe hand was the hand of my lost
love, Elizabeth. I am Rosalie, dark Rosily, Elizabeth, my loss

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Elizabeth. You look on me andyou find in me whatever love you have
lost. I will be in yourheart forever, and you will never cease
to love me. I am darkRosaline, and you will die for me
if the time comes, my lover, as so many have died for love

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of me before. I will neverdie. I live forever, and you
are mine. You will be faithfulto me forever. Who are you?
Who are? I am called DarkRosaleene, and sometime I am called sham

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van Bolt. But I have anothername. I am called Erin, and
by that name am I loved inevery quarter of the globe. It is
my heart that you hear in thenight. It is my kisses that the
soft breathe of mid day brings toyou. In me is Elizabeth and Helen,

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and the blood of Martha sings inmy vein. And I am every
woman every man of Erin has everloved. You are my lost love.
You are I am Dark Rosaline andHoly Patrick. Here my vow when the

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sun rises up on the day thatas yours, whether I want the sands
of the desert, or whether Ishall sail at seven seas, whether I
prosper, or whether I beg inthe streets, whether I be living nor
I die, I swear I willremember Dark Rosaline to her eternal. The

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title of today's Quiet Please story isDark Rosaleene. It was written and directed
by Willis Cooper. The man whospoke to you was Ernest Chappell. Alpatrick
was played by Ed Latimer. TheAora Thatcher was the shan Bon Boat lac

(29:00):
Rosaline was played by Cerita Bauer,and Mark Forbs played Arnold. As usual.
Music for Quiet Please used by AlbertBerman. Now off for a word
about next week's Quiet Please. Hereis my very good friend, and I
write a director Willis Cooper, Bill, thank you for listening to Quiet Please.

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Next week my story is called theSmell of High Winds, and so
until next week at the same time, I am quietly yours, Ernest Chapel