天边外（英文剧本）-奥尼尔.doc

1Beyond the HorizonTO AGNESNEW YORK: BONI & LIVERIGHT: 1920Act IScene 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. CHARACTERSJAMES MAYO, a farmer KATE MAYO, his wife CAPTAIN DICK SCOTT, of the bark "Sunda," her brother ANDREW MAYO and ROBERT MAYO, sons of James Mayo RUTH ATKINS, MRS. ATKINS, her widowed mother MARY, BEN, a farm hand DOCTOR FAWCETT. (The "right" and "left" of the stage directions are the audience’s.)Act I Scene ISCENE—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 rear 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 the pallor of distance. A snake-fence sidles from left to right along the top of the bank, passing 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.2At the rise of the curtain, ROBERT MAYO is discovered sitting 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 grey corduroy trousers pushed into high laced boots, and a blue flannel shirt with a bright colored tie. He is reading 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, handsome 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 grey 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. Want to bust your eyesight reading in this light?ROBERT—[Glancing at the book in his hand with a rather shamefaced air.] I wasn't reading—just then, Andy.ANDREW—No, but you have been. Shucks, you never will get any sense, Rob. [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.] Yes, it's poetry. Look out you don't get it full of dirt.ANDREW—[Glancing at his hands.] That isn't dirt—it's good clean earth; but I'll be careful of the old thing. I just wanted to take a peep at it. [He turns over the pages.]ROBERT—[Slyly.] Better look out for your eyesight, Andy.ANDREW—Huh! If reading this stuff was the only way to get blind, I'd see forever. [His eyes read something and he gives an exclamation of disgust.] Hump! [With a provoking grin at his brother he reads aloud in a doleful, 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. Give me a good magazine any time.ROBERT—[With a trace of irritation.] The Farm Journal?ANDREW—Sure; anything sensible. I suppose it's that year in college gave you a liking for that kind of stuff. I'm darn glad I stopped with 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. That'd be worse.ANDREW—[Seriously.] Pa was right never to sick you onto the farm. You surely were never cut out for a farmer, tha。