"^

pA'^.fi'pj
mj^fe^:
.1^
^i h\ %*
4"
'

i:
^5"'
%<>
(
CONTEMPORARY ONE-ACT PLAYS
CONTEMPORARY ONE-ACT PLAYS
WITH OUTLINE STUDY OF THE ONE-ACT PLAY AND BIBLIOGRAPHIES
BY
B.
Professor and
ROLAND LEWIS
Department
of English in the University of
of the
Head
of the of "
Utah;
Author
The Technique
One-Act Play
"
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
NEW YORK
CHICAGO
BOSTON
COPTBIQHT, 1922, BT
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
Printed in the United States of America
The
plays in this book are fully protected by copyright and the professional and ama
teur stage rights are reserved by the authors. Applications for their use should
be
made
to the respective authors or publishers, as designated
lOAN STACK
Z a^.'
TO
THE MEN AND WOMEN
WHO
SO KINDLY HAVE PERMITTED
ME TO
REPRINT THESE ONE-ACT PLAYS
PREFACE
This collection of one-act plays appears because of an
creasingly large
in-
demand
for such a volume.
The
plays have
been selected and the Introduction prepared to meet the need
of the student or teacher
who
desires to acquaint himself with
the one-act play as a specific dramatic form.
The
plays included have been selected with this need in mind.
Accordingly, emphasis has been placed upK)n the wholesome and
uplifting rather than
upon the sordid and the
ultra-realistic.
The unduly
avoided.
sentimental, the strikingly melodramatic, and the
play of questionable moral problems, has been consciously
Comedies, tragedies,
farces,
and melodramas have
been included; but the chief concern has been that each play
should be good dramatic art.
The Dramatic Analysis and
which appears
in this
Construction of the One-Act Play,
in the Introduction, also
has been prepared for
the student or teacher.
This outline-analysis and the plays
if
volume are
sufficient material,
carefully
studied, for
an understanding and appreciation of the one-act play.
B.
Roland Lewis.
CONTENTS
Introduction
LIST OF PLAYS
The Twelve-Pound Look
Tradition
.
.
.
Sir Javies
M.
Barrie
17
George Middleton
43
61
The Exchange
Sam Average
Hyacinth Halvey
AUhea Thurston
Perq^ Mackaye
.
85
Lady Augusta Gregory
Eugene
Pillot
.
103
The Gazing Globe
The Boor
The Last Straw
Manikin and Minikin
.
139
155 175
Anion Tchekov
.
Bosworth Crocker
Alfred Kreymborg
197
White Dresses
Moonshine
Paul Greene
.
.
215
Arthur Hopkins
239
.
Modesty
Paul Hervieu
Jeannette
.
^55
The Deacon's Hat
Marks
Wolff
.
273
.
Where but
in
America
.... .... ....
ix
Oscar
M.
301 321
A Dollar
The Diabolical Circle The Far-Away Princess The Stronger
David Pinski
.
Beulah Bornstead
343
365
Hermann Sudermann
August Strindberg
.
393
X
CONTENTS
BIBLIOGRAPHIES
PACK
Collections of One-Act Plats
Lists of One-Act Plays
405 406
.
Bibliography of Reference on the One-Act Play
BlBLIOGIL^PHY on
408 409
HoW
TO PRODUCE Pl.\YS
CONTEMPORARY ONE-ACT PLAYS
INTRODUCTION
THE ONE-ACT PLAY AS A SPECIFIC DRAMATIC TYPE
The one-act play
It
is
is
with us and
is
asking for consideration.
challenging our attention whether
it is
we
will or no.
In both
Europe and America
actors, plaj'wrights,
one of the conspicuous factors in pres-
ent-day dramatic activity.
Theatre managers, stage designers,
its
and
professors in universities recognize
presence as a
vital force.
Professional theatre folk
and ama-
teurs especially are devoting zestful energy both to the writing
and to the producing of
this shorter
form of drama.
has achieved that
The one-act play
type.
It
is
claiming recognition as a specific dramatic
it
may
be said that, as an art form,
was once an embryo and an experiment; but few nowadays would care to hold that i
t has not developed into a specific and worthy literary
distinction.
The
short story, as every one knows,
form.
This shorter form of prose
fiction
it
was once apologetic,
its
and that not so many years ago; but
has come into
now
is
recognized as a distinct type of prose narrative.
own and The
its
one-act play, like the short story, also has
come
its
into
own.
the
No
longer
is it
wholly an experiment.
Indeed,
it is
succeeding
in high places.
The
one-act play
is
taking
place
among
significant types of dramatic
and
literary expression.
is
Artistically
and technically considered, the one-act play
distinctive dramatic
quite as
much a
problem as the longer play.
In writing
either, the
playwright aims so to handle his material
that he will get his central intent to his audience and will pro-
voke
their interest
and emotional response
3
thereto.
Both aim
4
INTRODUCTION
and dramatic
is
at a singleness of impression
eflFect;
both aim to be
a high order of
densed,
diflPerent
it
art.
Yet
since the one
shorter
and more conis
follows that the
dramaturgy
of the
one
somewhat
statue.
from that of the other, just as the technic of the
different
cameo
is
from the technic of the
it
full-sized
The
one-act play must, as
it
were, be presented at a "single set-
ting":
must
start quickly at the beginning with certain defi-
nite dramatic elements
cial
and pass rapidly and
halt or digression.
effectively to
a cruof
movement without
A careful analysis
any one
this fact.
of the plays in this
volume,
like
Anton Tchekov's The
story, has
Boor, or like Oscar
M.
Wolff's Where But in America, will reveal
The shorter form of drama, like the short a technical method characteristically
its own. It is a truth that the one-act play is well made or it
at
all.
is
nothing
A
careful analysis of Sir
James M. Barrie's The Twelve-
Pound Look, Paul Hervieu's Modesty, Althea Thurston's The
Exchange, will reveal that these representative one-act plays are
well
made and
is
are real bits of dramatic art.
A
good one-act
play
not a mere cheap mechanical tour deforce; mechanics and
it
artistry
has, of course,
but
it is
is
also a high order of art product.
A
delicately finished
cameo
quite as
much a work
of art as is
the larger statue; both have mechanics and design in their structure,
but those of the cameo are more deft and more highly spethan those of the statue
, because the work of the former
cialized
is
done under far more restricted conditions.
its
The
is
one-act play
at
best
is
cunningly wrought.
Naturally, the material of the one-act play
It deals with but a single situation.
a bit episodical.
in this
A study of the plays
volume
will reveal that
no whole
life's
story can be treated ade-
quately in the short play, and that no complexity of plot can be
employed.
Unlike the longer play, the shorter form of drama
shows not the whole
nificant
man
except by passing hintbut a
moment may be
interpreted
sig-
moment
or experience,
a significant character-trait.
However
vividly this chosen
and
INTRODUCTION
the one-act play must be vivid
imagination.
It
is
5
be
left
much
will still
to the
the aim of the one-act form to trace the
causal relations of but one circumstance so that the circumstance
may
ingly
be intensified.
The
writer of the one-act play deliberately
isolates so that
he
may throw
the strong flashlight more searchele-
on some one significant event, on some fundamental
of character,
ment
on some moving emotion.
He
presents in a
vigorous, compressed,
and suggestive way a
simplification
and
idealization of a particular part or aspect of
life.
Often he opens
but a momentary
significant that a
little vista of life, but it is so clear-cut and so w hole life is often reveale
d thereby. The student must not think that because the one-act play
it
deals with but one crisis or but one simplified situation,
is
therefore
weak and
inconsequential.
On the contrary,
it
since only
one event or situation can be emphasized,
writer
is
follows that the
obliged to choose the one determining crisis which
makes
or mars the supreme struggle of a soul, the one great change or
turning-point or end of a
life
history.
Often such moments are
the really vital material for
drama; nothing affords so much op-
portunity for striking analysis, for emotional stress, for the suggestion of a w
hole character sketched in the act of meeting
test.
its
The one-act play
its
is
a vital literary product.
To
segregate a
bit of significant experience
and to present a
finished picture of
aspects
and
effects; to dissect
a motive so searchingly and
skilfully that its
very roots are laid bare; to detach a single figure
its
from a dramatic sequence and portray the essence of
ter; to bring
charac-
a series of actions into the clear light of day in a
sudden and
brief human crisis; to tell a significant story briefly and with suggestion; to
portray the humor of a person or an
incident, or in a trice to reveal the touch of tragedy resting like
the finger of fate on an experience or on a character
these are
some
of the possibilities of the one-act play
when handled by a
master dramatist.
6
INTRODUCTION
THE PROPER APPROACH TO THE STUDY OF THE
ONE-ACT PLAY
To
read a one-act play merely to get
of
its
story
is
not
in itself
an exercise
to
any extraordinary value.
This sort of approach
any form
of literature does not require
much
appreciation of
literary art nor
much
intelligence.
its
Almost any normal-minded
little
person can read a play for
of
story with but
expenditure
mental
eflFort.
Proper appreciation of a one-act play requires
chief
more than a casual reading whose
getting the plot.
If the shorter
aim
is
no more than
form of drama
it
is
to be appreciated properly as a
must be approached from the point of view of its artistry and technic. This mean
s that the student should understand its organic construction and technic, just
as he should understand the organic construction and technic
real literary form,
of a short story, a ballad, or a perfect sonnet,
ciate
if
he
is
to appre-
them properly. The student should know what the dramatist intends to get across
the footlights to his audience, and should be able to detect how he accomplishes
the desired result. It must not be thought that the author urges a study of con
struction at the expense of the
human
values in a play.
contrary, such a study
is
but the means whereby the
On the human
values are
made
the more manifest.
Surely no one would argue
that the
able
is
less
one knows about the technic of music the better
Indeed,
it is
one to appreciate music.
limits,
not too
much
to
say that, within reasonable
one-act play
its
if
no one can
really appreciate a
one does not know at least the fundamentals of
dramatic organization.
fact,
In
students of the one-act play recognize in
its
construc-
tive regularity not a hindrance to its beauty
but a genuine power.
This but lends to
it
the charm of perfection.
if
The sonnet and the
their superior
cameo are admirable,
for
no other reason than
INTRODUCTION
workmanship.
its
7
The
one-act play does not lose by any reason of
is
technical requirements; indeed, this
one of
its
greatest
assets.
And
the student
who
will
take the pains to familiarize
himself with the organic construction of a typical one-act play
will
have gone a long way
in arriving at
a proper appreciation of
this shorter
form of drama.
DRA]VL\TIC ANALYSIS
AND CONSTRUCTION OF THE ONE-ACT PLAY
a work of literary art,
I.
The Theme of the One-Act Play
is
The
one-act play, like the short story,
and must be approached as such.
gleness of effect
Just like a painting or a
poem
or a fine public building, the one-act play aims at
making a 5m-
upon the reader or observer.
any other work
of art,
One does not judge
by the appearance
effect of the whole.
it
a statue, or a poem, or
of any
isolated part of
it,
but by the sum-total
is
The fundamental aim
of a one-act play
that
shall so present
a singleness of effect to the reader or to the assembled group
who
have gathered to witness a performance of
Thus, when a student reads a play
Tradition, he
is
it,
that the reader or
observer will be provoked to emotional response thereto.
like
George MiddIeton*s
life
made
to see
and
feel
that the
of a
daughter
has been handicapped and the longings of a mother smothered
because of the conventional narrowness of an otherwise loving
father.
This
This
is
is
the singleness of effect of the play; this
precisely
is its
theme.
reader or observer to
what the author of the play wished his see and feel. When one reads Bosworth
been
Crocker's The Last Straw, one feels that a reasonably good and
worthy man, because
neighbors.
of his sensitiveness to criticism, has
driven to despair and to a tragic end by the malicious gossip of
One's sense of pity at his misfortune
to do.
is
aroused.
effect is
This
is
what the author intended
This idea and
the theme of the play.
And when
the student reads Paul Her-
8
INTRODUCTION
woman, even though she may
This
is
vieu's Modesty, he feels that a
lead
herself into thinking she prefers brutal frankness, instinctively
likes affection
and even
is its
flattery.
the effect produced
by
the play; this
intent; this
is its
theme.
first
In approaching a one-act play, then, the very
tion should be to determine
considera-
what the purpose and intent of the play is to determine its theme. This demands
that the play be read through complete at one sitting and that no premature conc
lusions be drawn. Once the play is read, it is well to sub-

ject the play to certain leading questions.

What
has the author
intended that his reader or hearer shall understand, think, or
feel ^
What
.-^
is
the play about ?
AVhat
is its
object and purpose
is it
?
Is
it
a precept or an observation found
Is
it artificially
in life, or
a bit of
fancy
didactic
and moralizing?
it
fundamental element
Patriotism
?
.?
in
human
nature does
have to do
With what Love ?
:
Fear ?
Egotism and self-centredness ?
Sacrifice ?
Faithfulness
Or what ?
A
word
of warning should be given.
is
The student should not
of the play.
get the idea that by theme
meant the moral
A
good play
may
be thoroughly moral without
its
descending to
commonplace moralizing.
of morals, theories,
Good
plays concern themselves wuth
life
the presentation of the fundamentals of
rather than a creed
itself
and propagandas.
Art concerns
with
larger things than didactic
II.
and argumentative moralizing.
The Technic of the One-Act Play
satisfies himself as to
Once the student
seeing just
the singleness of effect
or theme of the play, he will do well to set himself to the task of
how
the dramatist has achieved this
is
effect.
He
should keep in mind that the playwright
a skilled workman;
that he has predetermined for himself just what he wishes his
audience to think,
feel,
or understand,
and has marshalled
all his
materials to that end.
The way by which he accomplishes
is
that
end
is
his technic.
Technic
but the practical method by
INTRODUCTION
which an
public.
artist
9
can most effectively convey his message to his
In a play the materials that the dramatist uses to this
plot, dialogue,
end are character,
skilled
will
and stage
in
direction.
If
he
is
he
will use these
elements
such a
way
that the result
be an
artistic whole,
a singleness of
effect,
an organized unit
that will exemplify and express his theme.
A.
The Characters
speaking,
in the One- Act Play. Generally drama grows out of character. Farce, melodrama,
and

extravaganza usually consist of situation rather than of character.

In any event, the student should avail himself of every
to understand the characters in the play under discussion.
means
His
his
real appreciation of the play will
be
in direct ratio
almost to
attention
understanding of the persons in the drama.
Any
given to this end will be energy well spent.
get into the very heart of the characters, as
The student should
it
were.
Circle,
Thus, Adonijah,
is
in
Beulah Bornstead's The Diabolical
a narrow, self-centred, Puritan egotist
who has
little
about his
personality to appeal to the romantic and vivacious Betty.
Lady
Sims, in Sir
James M.
is
Barrie's The Twelve-Pound Look,
woman who
independence
really
pathetic in her longing for
is a some human
in the presence of her self-centred
husband, "Sir'*
Harry
borg's
Sims.
And Manikin and Minikin,
in Alfred
Kreym-
Manikin and Minikin, are conventionalized puppets representing the light yet hal
f-serious bickerings, jealousies, and
quarrellings of
human
will
nature.
The student
deliberately
for
do well to characterize the dramatis personcB
and
specifically.
He
should not
in
now value
himself
working
fast; for things
done
a hurry usually lack depth.
He must
not be content with vague and thin generalities.
it
In
analyzing a character
might be well to apply some
is
specific
questions similar to the following: Just what
the elemental
?
human
tic?
quality in the character
?
Loving ?
Trusting
Egotis-
Superstitious?
?
Revengeful? Treacherous? Selfish? Dis?
contented
Optimistic
Romantic ?
Or what ?
How does the
10
INTRODUCTION
and
dislikes
?
dramatist characterize them:
spirit of likes
By action? By dialogue? By By racial trait ? By religion ? By
?
peculiarity of manner, speech, appearance
really dramatic
:
Are the characters
are they impelled to strong emotional reaction
upon each other and upon situation? Do they provoke one's dramatic sympathy ? Do
they make one feel their own point of
view and their own motives for conduct ?
B.
The Plot of the One- Act Play.
Plot
is

^Plot
and character
series of closely
are integrally interlinked.
not merely story taken from
in
every-day
life,
where seldom do events occur
a
following minor crucial
moments leading to a climax.
is
The dram-
atist so constructs his material that there
a sequential and
causal interplay of dramatic forces, ending in
or crucial moment.
Plot
may be
own
said to be the
some major crisis framework and
constructed story by which a dramatist exemplifies his theme.
It does not exist for its
end, but
is
one of the fundathe story
mental means whereby the playwright gets his singleness of
effect, or
theme, to his reader or hearer.
From
ma-
terial at his disposal
the playwright constructs his plot to this
very end.
Careful attention should be given to the plot.
The student
?
should question
it
carefully.
life ?
Do the plot materials seem to have
Or do they seem
to be invented
been taken from actual
Is the plot well suited to exemplifying the
theme ?
been
Reconstruct
Since the
the story out of which the plot
plot of a one-act play
is
may have
built.
highly simplified, determine whether
there are any complexities, any irrelevancies, any digressions.
Does the
1.
plot have a well-defined beginning, middle,
and end ?
The Beginning of the One- Act Play. ^Having but a relatively short time at its d
isposal, usually about thirty minutes and sel-

dom more
play
is
than forty-five minutes, the beginning of a one-act
It
is
very short.
characterized
is
by condensation, com-
pactness,
and brevity.
Seldom
the beginning more than a
is
half -page in length; often the play
got under
way
in
two or
INTRODUCTION
three speeches.
11
The student
been
will
do well to practise to the end
that he will recognize instantly
of a one-act play has
laid.
when the dramatic background
it
Whatever
else
may
characterize the beginning,
must be draof per-
matically effective.
ception by making
Instantly
it
must catch the powers
will develop.
them aware
of the initial situation out of
which the subsequent dramatic action
A
good be-
ginning makes one feel that suddenly he has come face to face
with a situation which cannot be solved without an interplay of
dramatic forces to a given
final result.
is
Thus, when one reads Althea Thurston's The Exchange, one
made suddenly to
their
feel
feel
that
human
if
beings are discontent w4th
shortcommgs and possessed
qualities,
and that they always
cases as
that they would be happier
they possessed something other
than what they have.
they come
in for
is
The Judge, who handles the
is
exchange,
disgusted with the vanities of
humankind, and
ready to clear his hands of the whole matter.
it is
Here
is
a situation;
the beginning of the play.
is
In the begin-
ning of Lady Gregory's Hyacinth Ilalvey one
to the realization that
brought suddenly
Hyacinth Halvey
instinctively rebels
against the highly colored and artificially created good
name
of
that has been unwittingly superimposed upon him.
tion,
This situa-
suddenly presented,
is
the beginning of the play.
Out
this initial situation the
subsequent dramatic action evolves.
Is the beginning too short?
initial
it
Too long?
Does
it
dramatic situation clear ?
How
is
has the playwright
make the made
?
clear
and
effective
?
Just where
the end of the beginning
Although the beginning and the subsequent plot development
are well blended together, so that there
is
no halting where the
beginning ends, usually one can detect where the one ends and
the other begins.
It
is
a good idea, for the purpose of develop-
ing a sense of the organic structure of the one-act play, to
draw
a
line across the
page of the play, just where the one ends and
the other begins.
12
INTRODUCTION
setting of the
?
The
play
is
a part of the beginning.
Fantastic or bizarre
?
Is the set-
ting realistic
Romantic ?
in
Are the deatmosphere
something
tails of stage design, properties,
and
especially the
and
color
scheme
it?
harmony with the tone
setting
is
of the play itself?
is it
Is the setting really
an organic part
of the play or
Note that the present tense, and person, third
apart from
2.
usually written in the
in italics.
The Middle of
is
the
One- Act Play.
The middle of a one-act
moment
or
of
play
concerned primarily with the main crucial
climax and the dramatic movement that from the beginning leads
up up
to
it.
A good play consists of a series
moment.
play exists
;
minor
is
crises leading
to a major crisis or crucial
It
for this crucial
moment that the
the crucial
is
it is
for this big scene precisely that
fails
the play has been written.
Indeed, the play succeeds or
as
moment
is
strongly dramatic or flabbily weak.
is
This
the part of the play that
strongest in dramatic tension,
strongest in emotional functioning.
A
study of Sir James
M.
Barrie's The Twelve-Pound
Look
shows that the crucial moment comes at the point where
"Sm"
Harry Sims in his self-centred egotism discovers that his wife's. Lady Sims's, h
eart-longing could easily be satisfied if she were
permitted no other freedom than merely operating a tj'pewriter.
In Althea Thurston's The Exchange the crucial moment comes
when
ill
the several characters,
who
unwittingly had exchanged one
for a worse one, find that they
can never re-exchange, and
that they must endure the torments and displeasure of the newly
acquired
ill
throughout
is
?
life.
Just where
consideration
the crucial
moment
or climax in the play under
crises that lead
Determine the several minor
Is the crucial
up
to the crucial
for
moment.
moment
delayed too long
good dramatic
is
efifect ?
Or
is it
reached too soon, so that the
play
it
too short and too sudden in reaching the climax ?
Does
make one feel plot movement ?
that some vital result has been attained in the
Is
it
characterized by strong situation and
by
INTRODUCTION
acter on situation
?
13
strong emotional reactions of character on character or of char-
For purposes
a one-act play,
of impressing a sense of the organic structure of
it is
a good plan to draw a horizontal line across
the page at the close of the crucial moment.
Keep
in
mind,
it
however, that the crucial
moment
is
not the
end
of the play as
appears on the printed page or as
3.
is
it is
acted on the stage.
of the one-act play
The End of
It
the
One-Act Play.
The end
often
an important consideration.
is
Too
it is
entirely lost sight
of.
the part that frequently
makes
is
or
mars a play.
When
The
the crucial
of the play
moment
is
or climax has been reached, the plot action
completed, but the play
not yet completed.
play needs yet to be rounded out into an artistic and dramatic
whole.
In
life
the actual
crisis in
human
in
affairs
is
not often our
chiefest interest,
after the crisis
but the reaction of characters immediately
Thus,
a play, the emotional re-
has occurred.
action of the characters on the crucial
less
moment and
the more or
sudden readjustment between characters after the crucial
presented.
is
moment must be
the one-act play
For
this
very purpose the end of
is
constructed.
The end
of
need very short
usually
even shorter than the beginning.
Usually the end
consists of but a speech or two, or
sometimes only of pantomime
that more effectively expresses the emotional reactions of the
characters on the crucial
moment than
dialogue.
Thus,
in Sir
end consists of
James M. Barrie's The Twelve-Pound Look, the but pantomime, in which "Sir" Harry
expresses
his emotional reaction
upon
his wife's longing for the
human
liberty that even the operating of a typewriter
her.
would provide
The end
of
Bosworth Crocker's The Last Straw comes imis
mediately after the pistol-shot
heard in the adjoining room
Fritz!
Fritz
!
and Mrs. Bauer's voice
is
heard: "Fritz!
didn't do
it,
Speak to
I
me
!
Look
it
at me, Fritz
!
!
You
know you
didn't do
Is the
" etc.
of the play
end
under consideration
in
terms of dialogue ?
14
In pantomime ? dramatic
C.
?
INTRODUCTION
Or both ?
Is
it
too long
? ?
Too
short ?
Is it
Is
it
conclusive and satisfying
Dialogue of the One-Act Play. Dialogue, like plot is another means whereby the t
heme of the play is got to the reader or audience. Good dramatic dialogue is
and characterization,
constructed to this very end.
bling, uncertain,
life.

It
is
not the commonplace, ram-
and
realistic
question and answer of every-day
is
Usually good dramatic dialogue
crisp, direct,
condensed.
It
is
the substance but not the form of ordinary conversation.
is
Its chiefest characteristic
spontaneity.
The
ideas
highest type of dramatic dialogue is that which expresses the
and emotions
of characters at the points of highest emotional
functioning.
in a play
is
It will readily be seen, then, that not all dialogue
necessarily dramatic.
In truth, the best dramatic
dialogue occurs in conjunction with the series of minor crises
and the crucial moment that go to make up the dramatic movement of the play. Oft
en there is much dialogue in a play that
essentially
is
not dramatic at
all. it is
In analyzing dramatic dialogue
the play
it
well to inquire whether in
serves (1) to express the ideas
and emotions
Is
it
of char-
acters at points of highest emotional functioning, (2) to
advance
Wit,
the plot,
direct,
(3) to
reveal character, or (4) what.
brief, clear,
spontaneous?
Or
is
it
careless,
loose,
insipid.'*
repartee.'*
Didactic, moralizing?
Satirical, cynical?
D.
Stage-Business and Stage-Direction in the One-Act
Play.
The stage-business and stage-direction, usually printed
an
essential part of a
in italics, of a play are
drama.
not be ignored
in either reading or staging
a play.
They must The novel or
and con-
short story generally uses narration and description to achieve
its
desired result; a play, on the contrary, uses dialogue
crete objective
eye.
pantomime that may be seen
readily with the
A
play
is
not a story narrated in chronological order of
a story so handled and so constructed that
It
is
events, but
it is
it
can
be acted on a stage by actors before an audience.
a series
INTRODUCTION
of
15
minor
crises leading to
a major
crisis,
presented to a reader or
to an audience
by
characters, dialogue,
and stage-business and
pantomimic action
pantomime.
direction.
For purposes
of indicating the
of the play, the dramatist resorts to stage-business
and stage-
Does the
stage-direction aid in
making
(4)
it
(1)
the dialogue, (2) the
plot, (3) the
dramatic action, or
?
the character more clear?
Does
it
shorten the play
effectively
Does
express idea, emotion, or situif it
ations
more
than could dialogue,
were used ?
is in,
And,
imtil
finally,
do not judge any play
until all the evidence
you have thoroughly mastered every
detail It
is
and have
fully
conceived the author's idea and purpose.
not a question
whether you would have selected such a theme or whether you
would have handled
but the point
to you.
is
it
in the
same way
in
which the author did;
his
does the author in his
way make
theme
clear
The author has conceived a dramatic problem in his The question is, oion mind an
d has set it forth in his own way. does he make you see his result and his metho
d ? Do you like the play ? Or do you not like it ? State your reason in either c
ase.
of the
Is
it
it
because of the author ?
Is it because
theme ?
Is
because of the technic
?
the way he gets his
own
likes
?
intent to his reader or audience
Is
it
because of your
Is
it
or dislikes; preconceived notions or prejudices
it
because of
the acting?
press
?
Of the staging or setting?
it
Does
uplift or de-
Does
provoke you to emotional functioning ?
old the thought
"Though
and
it
oft expressed,
'Tis his at last
who
says
best."
THE TWELVE-POUND LOOK
BY
SIR JAMES M. BARRIE
The Twelve-Poimd Look
ncr's Sons, the publisher in
is
reprinted
by permission
works of
Sir
of Charles Scrib-
America
of the
James M.
Barrie.
For permission to perform, address the publisher.
SIR JAMES M. BARRIE
tist of
James M. Barrie is rated as the foremost English dramathe day; and his plays, ta
ken together, make the most significant contribution to EngHsh drama since Sheri
dan. Practically his entire life has been given to the writing of novels and
Sir
plays,
cially for
many of the latter having their heroines conceived espeMaude Adams, one of Ameri
ca's greatest actresses. He was born in Kirriemuir, Scotland, in 18G0. He receiv
ed his
education at Dumfries and Edinburgh University. His first work in journalism and
letters was done at Nottingham, but soon he took up his work in London, where h
e now resides. Sir James M. Barrie's literary labors have been very fruitful. Hi
s The Professor's Love Story, The Little Minister, Quality Street, The Admirable
Crichton, Peter Pan, What Every Woman Knoics, and Alice Sit-hy-the-Fire are wel
l known to every one. In 191-1 there appeared a volume of one-act plays. Half Ho
urs, the most important of which is The Twelve-Pound Look. And in 1918 appeared
a volume. Echoes of the War, the most important one-act play therein being The O
ld Lady Shoivs Her Medals. Barrie is a great playwright because he is so thoroug
hly human. All the little whimsicalities, sentiments, little loves, and heartlon
gings of human beings are ever present in his plays. He is no reformer, no propa
gandist. He appeals to the emotions rather than to the intellect. He continues t
he romantic tradition in English drama and gives us plays that are wholesome, te
nder, and human. And with all this, he has the added saving grace of a most abso
rbing humor. While Barrie is not a devotee of the well-made play, his The Twelve
-Pound Look is one of the most nearly perfect one-act plays of contemporary dram
a. His interest in human personalities is not more manifest in any of his plays
than in Lady
Sims and "Sir"
Harry Sims
in this play.
CHARACTERS
"Sir" Harry Sims
Lady Sims
Kate
TOMBES
THE TWELVE-POUND LOOK*
// quite convenient {as they say about checks) you are to conceive
that the scene is laid in
is
your own house, and that
Harry Sims
a
trifle
you.
Perhaps
the ornamentation of the hou^e is
ostentatious, but if
rate
:
you
cavil at that
we
are willing to redecoSevis
you dont
get out of being
Harry
on a mere matter
city
of plush and dados.
It pleases us to
make him a
man,
what
but {rather than lose you) he can be turned with a scrape of the
pen
into a K.C., fashionable doctor. Secretary of State, or
will.
you
We
conceive
him
of a pleasant rotundity with a
thick red neck, but ice shall waive that point if
to be thin.
you know him
It is that
day in your career when everything
icent lorong just
when
everything seemed to be superlatively right.
In Harry's case
to
it
was a woman who did and
told
the mischief.
She came
him in
his great hour
him
she did not admire him.
again, but
Of course he turned her out of the house and was soon himself it spoiled the mor
ning for him. This is the subject and
quite enough too.
is to receive the
of the play,
Harry
honor of hiighthood in a few days, and we
discover
him in
the
it
Kensington
{or is
sumptuous ^'snuggery" of his home in Westminster?), rehearsing the ceremony
at
it all
with his wife.
occupation.
They have been
the
morning, a pleasing
for the last time,
is
Mrs. Sims
and
strictly as
{as
we may
call her
cw
it tcere,
a good-natured joke)
wearing her
presentation gown,
to
and personates
She
the august one
who
is
about
dub her
Harry knight.
is seated regally.
Her jewelled
She rmist
shoulders proclaim aloud her husband's generosity.
* Copyright, 1914,
by Charles Scribner's Sons.
21
All rights reserved.

22
be
SIR
JAMES BARRIE
yet she has
an extraordinarily proud and happy woman,
if there
a
drawn face and shrinking ways, as
her of
to
were some one near
the signal
whom
she is afraid.
She claps her hands, as
Harry.
He
the leg.
lie is
and with a graceful swerve of only partly in costume, the sword and the real
enters bowing,
stockings not having arrived yet.
is
With a gliding motion
that
only delayed while one leg makes
up on
the other, he reaches
his wife, and, going his lips.
on one knee,
raises her
hand superbly
to
She taps him on
:
the shoulder with
a paper-knife and
bows, and glides
says huskily
"Rise, Sir Harry."
He
to
rises,
about the room, going on his knees
ture,
various articles of furni-
and
scene,
rises from each a knight. It is a radiant domestic and Harry is as dignified as
if he knew that royalty
it
was rehearsing
Sir Harry.
at the other end.
[Complacently.]
Did that seem
all right,
eh?
Lady
Lady
Sims.
Sir Harry.
Sevis.
[Much relieved.] I think But was it dignified ?
Oh, very.
perfect.
And
it will
be
still
more
so
when you
have the sword.
Sir Harry.
the five
dip
The sword will lend moments [suiting the action
kiss
it
an
air.
There are really
to the
word]
the
glide
the
the
it's
the tap and you back out a knight.
[Kindly.]
It's short,
but
a very beautiful ceremony.
Anything you
can suggest?
Lady
Sims.
No
to
oh, no.
You
[Nervously, seeing
him
paiise to kiss
till
the tassel of
a cushion.]
don't think you have practised
you know what
would
do almost too well ?
blissful temper, but
[He ha^ been in a
try
such niggling criticism
any man.
Sm
Harry.
is
I
do not.
Don't talk nonsense.
I'm sorry, Harry.
*
'
Wait
till
your
opinion
asked
for.
Lady
Sims.
[Abashed.]
[A perfect butler
appears and presents a card.]
The Flora Typewriting Agency."
THE TWELVE-POUND LOOK
Sir Harry.
23
one.
Ah,
yes.
I telephoned
them
to send
some
A
woman, I suppose, Tombes ? ToMBES. Yes, Sir Harry. Sir Harry. Show her in here.
And, Tombes,
till
[lie
has very lately become a
stickler for etiquette.]
strictly speaking,
you know,
us.
I
am
not Sir Harry
Thursday.
sir,
Tombes.
do they ?
Beg pardon,
but
it is
such a satisfaction to
Sir Harry.
[Good-naturedly.]
Ah, they
like it down-stairs,
Tombes.
hutler departs
[Unbending.]
Especially the females, Sir Harry.
Sir Harry.
Exactly.
on his
for,
You can show her in, Tombes. [The mighty task.] You can tell the woman what
while I change.
she
is
wanted
Emmy,
and
tell
[He
is too
modest
to
boast about himself,
prefers to keep a ivife in the house for that
purpose.]
You can
her the sort of things about
me
that will
come better from you. [Smiling happily.] You heard what Tombes said: "Especially
the females." And he is right. Success! The women like it even better than the
men. And rightly. For they share. You share, Lady Sims. Not a woman will see tha
t gown without being sick with envy of it. I know them. Have all our lady friend
s in to see it. It will make them
ill
for a week.
[These sentiments carry
him
off light-heartedly,
and presently
a mere
typist^
the disturbing element is
shown
in.
taste,
She
is
dressed in
uncommonly good
and she
is
but at contemptibly
smxill expense,
carrying her typewriter in a
friendly way rather than as a badge of slavery, as of course it is. Her eye is c
lear ; and in odd contrast to Lady Sims,
she is self-reliant
and
serene.
Kate.
to.]
[Respectfully, but she should have waited to be
spoken
Good morning, madam. Lady Sims. [In her nervous way, and
little
scarcely noticing that ike
typist is a
too ready with her tongue.]
Good morning.
[As
a
first
impression she rather likes the woman, and the woman.

24
though
it is
SIR
JAMES BARRIE
Lady Sims
scarcely ivorth mentioning, rather likes her.
has a maid for buttoning and unbuttoning her, and probably another
for waiting on the maid, and she gazes with a
little
envy perhaps at
a
woman who
Kate.
does things for herself.]
Is that the typewriting
machine ?
[Who
it
is getting it to be.]
ready for
if
use.]
Yes.
to
[Not
*'
Yes,
madam,"' as
take this
ought
I suppose
I
am
it.
work here
I
may
off.
I get
on better without
[But the hat
I
[She is referring to her hat.
Lady
I
Sims.
Certainly.
is
already of.]
I
ought
to apologize for
my gown.
on.
is
am
to be presented this week,
and
was trying
it
[Her tone
not really apologetic.
She
is rather
clinging to
the glory of her
tain,
gown, wistfully, as
that
if
if not absolutely cer-
you know,
is
it is
a glory.
to say so.
best
Kate.
It
beautiful,
I
may presume
[She frankly admires
it.
She probably has a
that sort of thing.
and a
sec-
ond
best of her
own;
it
Lady
Sims.
[With a flush of pride in the gown.]
gives her courage.]
Yes,
it is
very
beautiful.
[The beauty of [The sort of
it is
Sit
down, please.
Kate.
case.]
woman who would
come
have sat
I suppose
I
some copying you want done ?
to this address,
particulars.
was
told to
down in any I got no but that was all.
Oh,
is
Lady
Sims.
[Almost with the humility of a servant.]
it is
it is
not work for me,
exactly copying.
for
my
husband, and what he needs
not
[Swelling, for she is
proud of Harey.]
He
wants a number of letters answered hundreds of them and telegrams of congratulat
ion. Kate. [As if it were all in the day*s work.] Yes ?

letters
Lady
Sims.
[Remembering that
Harry
expats every wife to do
her duty.]
My
husband
is
a remarkable man.
does not fall to
[on reflection]
He
tJie
is
about to
be knighted.
[Pause, but
Kate
floor.]
He
is
to be knighted for his services to

for his services.

[She is conscious that she is not doing
plain
it
Harry justice.]
He
can ex-
so
much
better than I can.
THE TWELVE-POUND LOOK
Kate.
[In her businesslike way.]
?
25
And
a hard
I
am
to
answer the
congratulations
Lady
Kate.
Sims.
[Afraid that
It
is
it
will be
task.]
Yes.
of.
[Blithely.]
work
I
have had some experience
[She proceeds to type.
Lady
I
Sims.
But you
can't begin
till
you know what he wants
it
to say.
Kate.
Only a specimen
Sims.
letter.
Won't
a new
be the usual thing.?
Is there
Lady
thing?
K.\TE.
[To
whom
this is
idea.]
a usual
Oh,
yes.
[She continues to type, and
gazes at her nimble fingers.
the useful one,
Lady
The
Sims, half-mesmerized,
useless
woman
tell
watches
and she
sighs, she could not
it
!
why.
delightful
Lady
KLA.TE.
Sims.
How
quickly you do
It
must be
to be able to do something,
[Thankfully.]
and to do
it is
it
well.
Yes,
delightful.
Lady
wants
Sims.
[Again remembering the source of all her greatness.]
But, excuse me, I don't think that will be any use.
My husband
case.
me
to explain to
you that
his
is
an exceptional
It
He
sur-
did not try to get this honor in any way.
prise to
was a complete
K1\TE.
him [Who
is
a practical
Kate and
no dealer in sarcasm.]
That
is
w^hat I hav^e written.
Lady Sims. [In whom sarcasm would how could you know ?
Kate.
I only guessed.
meet a dead wall.]
But
Lady
Kate.
Sims.
Is that the usual thing?
yes.
.?
Oh,
Sims.
I
Lady
Kate.
letters.
They don't try to get it don't know. That is what we
are told to say in the
[To her at present the only important thing about the
is that
letters
they are ten shillings the hundred.
Lady
Sims.
[Returning to surer ground.]
I should explain
26
that
SIR
my
husband
is
JAMES BARRIE
man who
cares for honors.
not a
So long as
he does his duty
Kate.
Yes, I have been putting that
in.
it
Lady Sims. Have you? But he particularly wants known that he would have declined
a title were it not
Ka.te.
I have got
it
to be
here.
Lady
Ka.te.
Sims.
What have you
it
got ?
al-
[Reading.]
"Indeed, I would have asked to be
lowed to
decline had
not been that I want to please
my wife."
was that ?
ask
qties-
Lady
Sims.
Is
[Heavily.]
it ?
But how could you know
it
Kate.
Lady
tions.]
Sims.
[WhOy
all
is
after all, is the
it
one with the right
?
to
Do
they
accept
for that reason
Kate.
That
Sims.
what we
are told to say in the letters.
It
is
Lady
Kate.
[Thoughtlessly.]
quite as
if
you knew
my
husband.
I assure you, I don't even
know
his
name.
Lady
Sims.
[Suddenly showing that she knows him.]
Oh, he
wouldn't
like that
it is
[And
here that
Harry
re-enters in his city garmentSy
looking so gay, feeling so jolly, that
we
bleed for him.
However, the annoying
Katherine
is to get
a shock
also.
Lady
Sims.
This
is
the lady, Harry.
Sir Harry.
[Shooting his cuffs.]
Yes, yes.
Good morning,
my
dear.
[Then they see each
wards.
other,
and
their
mouths open, but not for
After the first surprise
the situation, but
humor in
cloud.
Kate seems to find some Harry lowers like a thunderI
Lady
Sims.
[Who has
seen nothing.]
have been trying to
explain to her
Sir Harry.
Eh^what ?
attend to her.
goes, with
[He controls himself.]
Leave
it
to
me,
Emmy;
I'll
[Lady Sims
a dread fear thai somehow she has
vexed her lord, and then
Harry
attends to the intruder.
THE TWELVE-POUND LOOK
Sir Harry.
[With concentrated scorn.]
if
27
You
it's
!
Kate.
[As
agreeing u-ith him.]
Yes,
of
funny.
Sir Harry.
The shamelessness
it is
your daring to come here.
Kate.
you.
I
Believe me,
not
less
a surprise to
me
than
it is
to
was sent here
in the
ordinary
way
I
of business.
given only the number of the house.
was not
told
was the name.
I
!
Sir Harry.
[Withering
her.]
The ordinary way
of business
This
what you have fallen to a typist Kate. [Unicithered.] Think of it Sir Harry. Aft
er going through worse straits, I'll be bounds Kate. [With some grim memories.]
Much worse straits, SiR Harry. [Alas, laughing coarsely.] My congratulations I
is

K.\TE.
her abject.]
as any man would he, not to find What was that you called me, madam ? K1\TE. Isn
't it Harry ? On my soul, I almost forget. Sir Harry. It isn't Harry to you. My
name is Sims, if you
Sir Harry.
Thank you, Harry. [Who is annoyed,
Eh ?
please.
Kate.
you
see.
Yes, I had not forgotten that.
It
was
my name,
till
too,
Sir Harry.
[In his best manner.]
it.
It
was your name
you
forfeited the right to bear
Kate.
Exactly.
[Gloatiiig.]
it
Sir Harry.
I
was
furious to find
you
here,
but
on second thoughts
nature.]
pleases me.
[From
the depths of his
moral
There
is
a grim justice in this.
Tell
Kate.
Kate.
knight,
lation.
[Sympathetically.]
me ?
You have been made a
Sir Harry.
I I
Do you know what you were brought here to do ?
to answer the messages of congratu-
have just been learning.
and
was summoned
That's
Sir Harry.
it,
that's
it.
You come on
this
day as
my
servant
I,
Kate.
Sir Harry.
who might have been Lady Sims. And you are her typist instead.
And
she has
28
SIR
JAMES BARRIE
am
glad you saw her in her presenta-
four men-servants.
tion gown.
Oh, I
Kate.
I
wonder
if
she would let
me do
her washing, Sir
Harry ? Sir Harry.
[Her want of taste disgusts him.
[With dignity .]
You can go.
The mere thought
that only a few flights of stairs separates such as you from
my
innocent children
[He will never know why a new
light
.?
has come into her face.
Kate.
[Slowly.]
You have
children
Sir Harry.
[Inflated.]
Two.
is so
[He wonders why she
long in answering.
Kate.
Kate.
Harry ?
[Resorting to impertinence.]
Such a nice number.
Sir Harry.
[With an extra turn of the screw.]
Both boys.
like
Successful in everything.
Are they
you. Sir
Sir Harry.
[Expanding.]
They
are very like me.
Kate.
That's nice.
[Even on such a subject as this she can be ribald.
Sir Harry.
Will you please to go.
!
Kate.
Kate.
will accept
Heigho
What
is
shall I say to
affair of
my
employer ?
Sir Harry.
That
no
mine.
^\liat will
you say to Lady Sims ?
whatever I say, Lady Sims
Sir Harry.
I flatter myself that
without comment.
[She smiles, heaven knows why, unless her next remark ex-
plains
it.
Kate.
Kate.
Still
the same Harry.
Sir Harry.
What do you mean ?
in
Only that you have the old confidence
sex.
to
your pro-
found knowledge of the
Sir Harry.
her morals.]
[Beginning
think as
little
of her intellect as of
I suppose I
know my
wife.
Kate.
[Hopelessly dense.]
I suppose so.
I
was only remem-
THE TWELVE-POUND LOOK
bering that you used to think you
29
knew her
in the
days when I
was
tlie
lady.
[He
is
merely wasting his time on her, and he indilady
to retire worsted.]
cates the door.
She
is not sufficiently the
Well, good-by, Sir Harry.
Won't you
?
ring,
and the four men[But he hesitates.
arc here, there
it
servants will show
me
out
Sir Harry.
[In spite of himself.]
to get out of you.
As you
is
something
eagerly.]
I
want
[Wishing he could ask
less
Tell me,
[The strange
who was woman

the
it
man ?
now
that she has
been strange to him,
smiles
is evident
always
tolerantly.
Kate.
You
never found out ?
I could never be sure.
Sir Harry.
Kate. [Reflectively.] I thought that would worry you. Sir Harry. [Sneering.] It'
s plain that he soon left you. Kate.
Very soon.
Sir Harry.
As
I could
have told you.
Lisa.
[But
still
she surveys
him u^h
treat.]
the smile of
Monna
It
The badgered
man
has
to
en-
Who
was
he.^
was fourteen years ago, and cannot
Kate,
tell
matter to any of us now.
[It is his first
me who
he was ^
youthful moment, and perhaps because of that
she does not wish to hurt him.
Kate. Kate.
[Shaking a motherly head.]
I
Better not ask.
Sir Harry.
It
is
do ask.
Tell me.
tell
kinder not to
[Violently.]
it
you.
it
Sir Harry.
Then, by James,
Roche.'*
was one
of
my
It
own
pals.
W'as
Bernard
[She shakes her head.]
to
may have
Kate.
found
been some one
I
who comes
my
house
still.
think
not.
[Reflecting.]
Fourteen
years!
You
my letter that night when
[Impatient.]
it
you went home ?
Sir Harry.
Yes.
would be sure to see
I thought you was a room not unlike this, and the furniture was arranged in the
same attractive way. How it all comes back to me. Don't you see me, Harry, in ha
t and
I
Kate.
propped
against the decanters.
It
it
there.
30
SIR
JAMES BARRIE
and then
meet
no sound
in the
cloak, putting the letter there, taking a last look round,
stealing out into the night to
Sir Harry.
\Miom?
Hours
pass,
Kate.
Him.
room but the
tick-
tack of the clock, and then about midnight you return alone.
You
take
[Grnfflij.]
Sir Henry.
I wasn't alone.
Kate.
have
his face.]
[The picture spoiled.]
No? Oh.
it
[Plaintively.]
Here
I all these years I believe
been conceiving
wrongly.
[She studies
something interesting happened.
Sir Harry.
[Growling.]
Something confoundedly annoying.
me.
Kate.
[Coaxing.]
Do
tell
Sir Harry.
We
won't go into that.
AMio was the man.^
his wife bolted.
Surely a husband has a right to
know with whom
icith
it.
Kate.
[Who
is detestably
ready
her tongue.]
Surely the
wife has a right to
know how he took
her aid.]
tell
[The woman's love of
bargaining comes
to
A
fair
exchange.
You
tell
me
what happened, and I will Sir Harry. You will
[It is the first
you who he was.
well.
.^
Very
point on which they have agreed, and, forgetting
himself, he takes a place beside her on the fire-seat.
He
is
thinking only of what he
is
is to tell her,
but she, womanlike,
conscious of their proximity.
[Tastelessly.]
K.\te.
Quite like old times.
[He moves away
from her
indignantly.]
Go
on, Harry.
Sir H,\rry.
thing that
is to his
[Who has a manful shrinking from saying anydisadvantage.] Well, as you know, I w
as din-
ing at the club that night.
Kate.
was with
Yes.
Sir Harry.
us,
Jack
Lamb
drove
me home.
.^
Mabbett Green
them to come in Kate. Jack Lamb, Mabbett Green them. Jack was in Parliament.
and
I asked
for a few minutes. I think I
remember
THE TWELVE-POUND LOOK
Sir Harry.
31
into the
No, that was Mabbett.
[with
They came
it
house with
Ka-TE.
me and
sudden horror]
?
was
him ?
[Bewildered.]
\^^lo
Sir Harry.
KL\TE.
Mabbett.^
What ?
The man ?
man.?
[Understanding.]
Sir Harry.
Kate.
you
What
Oh, no.
I
thought
came into the house with you. Sir Harry. It might have been a blind. Kate. Well,
it wasn't. Go on. Sir Harry. They came in to finish a talk we had been havsaid
he
ing at the club.
KL\TE.
An
of
interesting talk, evidently.
Sir Harry.
elopement
her
The papers had been full that evening of the some countess woman w ith a fiddler
. What was
it
name ?
Does
matter
.'*
IZate.
Sir Harry.
No.
[Thus ends the countess.]
We
had been
discussing the thing
and
[he pulls
a wry face]
and I had been
rather
w arm
[With horrid
relish.]
Kate.
saying
it
I begin to see.
served the husband right, that the
You had been man who could not
one of your
fa-
look after his wife deserved to lose her.
vorite subjects.
It w^as
Oh, Harry, say
[Sourly.]
all
it
w^as that
Sir Harry.
It
may have been something like that.
clock.
Kate.
none
tell
And
the time the letter w^as there, waiting; and
of
you knew except the
[His face
is
Harry,
it is
sweet of you to
has used the
me.
not sweet.
The
illiterate
woman
But
I
wrong
adjective.]
I forget
what
I said precisely in the letter.
Sir Harry.
[Pulverizing her.]
So do
I.
it
have
it still.
Kate.
[Not pulverized.]
Do
let
me
it
see
again.
[She has observed his eye wandering to the desk.
Sir Harry.
You
are
welcome to
as a
gift.
32
SIR
[The fateful
JAMES BARRIE
a poor
little
letter,
dead thing,
is
brought to light
from a
locked drawer.
it.]
Kate.
crumple
[Talcing
it!
Yes, this
is
it.
Harry, how you did
[She reads, not without curiosity.]
for the last
"Dear husband
I
call
you that
time

I
am off.
I
am what you
call
making a bolt of it. I won't try to excuse myself nor to explain, for you would
not accept the excuses nor understand the explanation.
It will be a little shock to you, but only to
will
your pride;
what
astound you
is
that any
I
woman
could be such a fool as
to leave such a
man
as you.
am
taking nothing with
me
You
that
belongs to you.
May
you be very happy.
find out
Your
is.
ungrateful
will
Kate.
try,
P.S.
You need not try to
have
it
who he
but you won't succeed."
really for
[She folds the nasty
little
thing up.]
I
may
my
very
own ?
would
care
for
Sir Harry.
You
really
may.
If
Kate.
copy
?
[Impudently.]
you
a
typed
Sir Harry.
grandmother].
[In a voice with which he used to frighten his
None
of
your sauce!
[Wincing.]
1
had
to let
them
see
it
in the end.
KL^.TE.
I can picture Jack
Lamb
eating
it.
Sir Harry. Kate. That is all I was. Sir Harry. We searched for the two of you hi
gh and low. Kate. Private detectives ? Sir Harry. They couldn't get on the track
of you. Kate. [Smiling.] No ? Sir Harry. But at last the courts let me serve th
e papers by advertisement on a man unknown, and I got my freedom. Kate. So I saw
. It was the last I heard of you.
penniless parson's daughter.
A
Sir Harry.
[Each word a blow for
her.]
And
I married again
just as soon as ever I could.
ICate.
wife.
They say
that
is
always a compliment to the
first
THE TWELVE-POUND LOOK
Sir Harry.
KL\TE.
[Violently.]
let
33
I
showed them.
if
You soon
them
see that
one
woman was
a
fool,
you
still
had the pick
of the basket to choose from.
Sir Harry.
KLvTE.
By
James, I did.
to earth again.]
[Bringing him
But still, you wondered
who he
like
was.
I suspected their throats
Sir Harry.
everybody
even
my
jumping at
and crying: "It's you
pals. !"
I felt
Kate.
You had been
so admirable to me, an instinct told
you
that I was sure to choose another of the same.
Sir Harry.
I thought,
it
can't be money, so in perplexity.]
it
Some
dolly face.
[lie stares at her
must be looks. He must have
willing to give
had something wonderful about him to make you
up all that you had with me. Kate. [As if he was the stupid one.] Poor Harry. Si
r Harry. And it couldn't have been going on for
I
long, for
would have noticed the change
in you.
Kate.
Sir Harry.
Would you ? I knew you
so well.
You amazing man. Sir Harry. So who was he ? Out with it. Kate. You are determine
d to know ? Sir Harry. Your promise. You gave your
Kate.
Kate.
If I
word.
it
must

[She is the villain of the piece, but

mu^t
I
he conceded that in this matter she is reluctant to pain him.]
am
sorry I promised.
[Looking at him steadily.]
all.
There was no one,
Harry; no one at
Sir Harry. [Rising.] If you think you can play with
me
Katb.
I told
you that you wouldn't
like
it.
Sir Harry. [Rasping.] It is unbelievable. Kate. I suppose it is; but it is true.
Sir Harry. Your letter itself gives you the lie. Kate. That was intentional. I
saw that if the truth were known you might have a difficulty in getting your fre
edom; and
34
as I
also.
SIR
was getting mine
So
I wrote
it
JAMES BARRIE
seemed
fair
that you should have yours
my
good-by
in
words that would be taken to
I
mean what you thought they meant, and
back you
in
knew
the law would
your opinion.
[Trying
For the law,
like
you, Harry, has a
profound understanding of women.
Sir Harry.
to straighten himself.]
I don't believe
you yet. Kate.
haps that
the truth.
[Looking not unkindly into the soul of this man.]
is
Per-
the best
way
to take
it.
It
is less
unflattering than
her
life.]
But you were the only
one.
[Summing up
You
suflSced.
Sir Harry.
ICate.
year.
It
Then what mad impulse was no impulse, Harry. I had thought
it
out for a
Sir Harry. A year? [Dazed.] One would think to hear you that I hadn't been a goo
d husband to you. Kate. [With a sad smile.] You were a good husband according to
your lights.
Sir Harry.
[Stoutly.]
I think
so.
Kate.
thropist.
And
a moral man, and chatty, and quite the philan-
Sir Harry.
[On sure ground.]
All
women
envied you.
Kate.
Kate.
How
you loved me to be envied.
I swaddled
Sir Harry. Sir Harry.
you
in luxury.
[Making her
great revelation.]
That was
it.
[Blankly.]
What.^^
it is all over.]
Kate. [Who can beamed at me when
fat jewelry,
be serene because
How
in
you
I sat at the
head of your fat dinners
so fat.
my
surrounded by our fat friends.
[Aggrieved.]
issue.]
Sir Harry.
They weren't
Kate.
[A side
All except those
Have you
ever noticed, Harry, that
many
?
jewels
who were so thin. make women
it
either incredibly fat or incredibly thin
Sir Harry.
[Shouting.]
I
have not.
[Is
worth while to
THE TWELVE-POUND LOOK
argue with her any longer?]
ciety of the day.
35
We
had
all
the most interesting so-
It wasn't only business
men.
There were
Oh, the
hit
poli-
ticians, painters, writers
Kate.
while
Only the glorious, dazzling successes.
ate too
fat talk
we
much
about who had made a
and who was
slipping back, and what the noo house cost and the noo motor and the gold soup-p
lates, and who was to be the noo knight. Sir Harry. [Whoit will he observed is u
nanswerable from first Was anybody getting on better than me, and conseto last.]
quently you ?
Kate.
religion.
Consequently
me
!
Oh, Harry, you and your sublime
Sir Harry.
[Honest heart.]
My religion ?
I never
was one
to talk about religion, but
Kate.
Pooh, Harry, you don't even know what your religion
will
was and is and [And here is the
whatever he
is
be
till
the day of your expensive funeral.
lesson that life has taught her.]
in,
One's religion
is
is
most interested
[Quoting
and yours
Success.
Sir Harry.
it is
from
his
morning paper.]
Ambition
the last infirmity of noble minds.
EIate.
Noble minds
[At last grasping what she is talking about.]
Sir Harry.
You
are not saying that you left
me
because of
my
success
?
Kate.
Yes, that was
it.
it.
[And now she stands
revealed to him.]
I couldn't endure
If
a failure had come
now and then
but
your success was suffocating me.
[She is rigid with emotion.]
The passionate craving I had to be done with it, to find myself among people who
had not got on. Sir Harry. [With proper spirit.] There are plenty of them.
Kate.
There were none
[Clenching
in
our
set.
When
you I
they began to go
down-hill they rolled out of our sight.
Sir Harry.
of a million.
it.]
I
tell
am
worth a quarter
Kate.
[Unabashed.]
That
is
what you
are worth to yourself.
36
I'll tell
SIR
JAMES BARRIE
you what you are worth to me: exactly twelve pounds. my mind that I could launch
myself on the world alone if I first proved my mettle by earning twelve pounds;
and
For I made up
as soon as I
had earned
is
it
I left you.
Sir Harry.
[In the scales.]
Twelve pounds
If
!
Kate.
That
your value to a woman.
she can't
make
it
she has to stick to you.
Sir Harry.
[Remembering perhaps a rectory garden.]
You
valued
me
If only Kate. you had been a man, Harry. Sir Harry. A man ? What do you mean by
a man ? Kate. [Leaving the garden.] Haven't you heard of them ? They are somethi
ng fine; and every woman is loath to admit to
more than that when you married me. [Seeing it also.] Ah, I didn't know you then
.
at
herself that her
husband
is
not one.
When
she marries, even
though she has been a very trivial person, there is in her some vague stirring t
oward a worthy life, as well as a fear of her capacity for evil.
She knows her chance
is
lies in
him.
If there is
it,
somejoin
thing good in him, w^hat
good
in her finds
and they
forces against the baser parts.
So I didn't give
you up
willingly,
Harry.
I invented
all sorts of
theories to explain you.
Your
hardness I said it was a fine want of mawkishness. Your coarseness I said it goe
s with strength. Your contempt for the weak Your want of ideals was clear-sighte
dness. I called it virility. Oh, I tried to think them funny. of w^omen Your ign
oble views had only go; you to let I had But myself. save clung you to to I

the one quality, Harry, success; you had

it
so strong that
it
swal-
lowed
all
the others.
Sir Harry. [Not to he diverted from the main issue.] How did you earn that twelv
e pounds ? Kate. It took me nearly six montlis; but I earned it fairly.
[She presses her hand on the typewriter as lovingly as
many a woman
has
self.
'pressed
a
rose.]
I learned this.
I hired
it
and taught my-
I ^ot
some work through a
friend,
and with
my first twelve
THE TWELVE-POUND LOOK
pounds
I paid for
37
was
my
machine.
Then
I considered that I
free to go,
and
I went. All this going on in
!
Sir Harry.
my
house while you were
living in the lap of luxury
[She nods.]
By God, you
were de-
termined.
K.\TE.
[Briefly.]
By God,
I was.
Harry. [Staring.] How you must have hated me. Kate. [Smiling at the childish wor
d.] Not a bit after I saw that there was a way out. From that hour you amused me
, Harry; I was even sorry for you, for I saw that you couldn't help
Sm

yourself.
Success
is
just a fatal gift.
Sir Harry.
Oh, thank you.
Kate.
two
of
[
Thinking, dear friends in front, of you and
Yes, and some of your most successful friends
knew
if
me perhaps.] it. One or
them used
to look very sad at times, as
if
they thought
they might have come to something
they hadn't got on.
Sm
Harry.
live
crew you
among now
failed ?
it;
[Who has a horror of sacrilege.] The battered what are they but folk who have tr
ied

to succeed
and
Kate.
That's
they
try,
but they
fail.
Sir Harry.
And
always
will fail.
Kate.
of them.
Always.
Poor souls
I
say of them.
Poor soul
I never tire
they say of me.
Sir Harry.
It keeps us
human.
That
is
why
[Comprehensively.]
Bah
!
Kate, I
tell
you
I'll
be worth half a million yet.
I'm sure you will. You're getting stout, Harry. Harry. No, I'm not. Kate. What w
as the name of that fat old fellow who used
Kate.
Sm
lo
fall
asleep at our dinner-parties
If
?
you mean Sir William Crackley Kate. That was the man. Sir William was to me a pe
rfect picture of the grand success. He had got on so well that he was very, very
stout, and when he sat on a chair it was thus [her hands
Sir Harry.
38
SIR
JAMES BARRIE
if
meeting in front of her]
as
he were holding his success together.
That is what you are working for, Harry. and the half million about the same tim
e.
Sir Harry.
please to leave
You
will
have that
Will you
[Who has
surely been very patient.]
my house ?
But don't
in
let
Kate.
[Putting on her gloves, soiled things.]
us
part in anger.
How
do
j^ou think I
am
looking, Harry,
com-
pared to the
dull, inert thing
that used to
roll
round
your pad-
ded carriages ?
Sir Harry.
like.
[In masterly fashion.]
I forget
what you were
I'm very sure you never could have held a candle to the
present
Lady Sims.
That
is
Kate.
gown.
a picture of her,
his
is it
not ?
Sir Harry.
[Seizing
chance again.]
In her wedding-
Painted by an R.A.
[Wickedly.]
Kate. Kate.
part.]
A
knight.?
Sir Harry.
[Deceived.]
likes
Yes.
[Who
is
Lady Sims
face.
a piece of presumption on hel
Acknowledged ta
It
a very pretty
Sir Harry.
[With the pride of possession.]
be a beauty everywhere.
Kate.
chin.
There
is
a merry look
in
the eyes, and character in the
Sir Harry.
[Like
life
an
auctioneer.]
Noted
for her wit.
Kate.
first
All her
before her
when that was
painted.
It
is
a
spirituelle face too.
[Suddenly she turns on him with anger, for the
the play.]
and only time in
Oh, Harry, you brute
What.?
Sir Harry.
[Staggered.]
Eh.?
Kate. That dear creature, capable of becoming a noble wife and mother she is the
spiritless woman of no account that I

saw here a few minutes ago. I forgive you for myself, caped, but that poor lost
soul, oh, Harry, Harry.
for I es-
Sm
Harry.
[Waving her
to the door.]
I'll
thank you

If
THE TWELVE-POUND LOOK
ever there was a
39
in her
married
life,
that w
woman proud of her husband and happy oman is Lady Sims.
Kate.
Kate.
of
I wonder.
Sir Harry.
Then you needn't wonder.
If
it is
them
I was a husband my advice to I would often w atch my wife quietly to see whether
the
[Slowli/.]
all
twelve-pound look was not coming into her eyes.
Two boys, did
you
say,
and both
like
you ?
is
Sir Harry.
What
that to you
eyes].
?
Kate.
[With glistening
where there are two
dear, pretty girls
little girls
was only thinking that somewho, when they grow up the
I

to
who
are
all
meant
little
for the
men
that don't get
on
!
Well, good-by. Sir Harry.
Sir Harry.
feared.]
[Showing a
human
weakness^
it
is
he
Say first that you're Kate. For what.^
sorry.
Sir Harry.
That you
left
me.
Say you regret
it
bitterly.
You know you do. [She smiles and shakes her head. He is pettish. He makes a terr
ible announcement.] You have spoiled the
day for me.. Kate. [To hearten
a pin-prick, Harry.
of your
him.]
I
am
it is
sorry for that; but
it is
only
I suppose
a
is
little
jarring in the
triumph to find that there
one old friend
soon forget
it.
moment who does
not think you a success; but you
will
Who cares
what a typist thinks ? Sir Harry. [Heartened.] Nobody. A typist at eighteen shil
lings a week Kate. [Proudly.] Not a bit of it, Harry. I double that. Sm Harry. [
Neatly.] Magnificent!
[There
is
a timid knock
at the door.
Lady Sims. May I come in ? Sir Harry. [Rather appealingly
Kate.
I
.]
It
won't
tell.
She
is
afraid to
is Lady Sims. come into her husband's
room without knocking
40
SiK Harry.
SIR
She
is
JAMES BARRIE
not.
[Uxoriously.]
Come
in,
dearest.
the
[Dearest enters, carrying the sword.
She might have had
sense not to bring
it
in while this annoying person
is here.
Lady
Sims.
[Thinking she has brought her welcome with
her.]
Harry, the sword has come.
Sm
with
Harry.
Sims.
Lady
it.
[Who will dote on it presently.] Oh, But I thought you were so eager
at this.
all right.
to practise
{The person smiles
see if she
He
it
wishes he had not looked
to
was smiling.
Sib Harry.
[Sharply.]
Put
down.
as she lays the sword aside.
It
is
[Lady Sims flushes a
little
Kate.
sword,
if
[With her confounded courtesy.]
I
a beautiful
may
say
so.
Lady
Sims.
[Helped.]
Yes.
[The person thinks she can put him in the wrong, does she?
He'll
show
her.
Sir Harry.
[With one eye on Kate.]
is
Emmy,
the one thing
your neck needs
more
jewels.
Lady Sims. Sir Harry.
atelle to
[Faltering.]
More!
I'll
Some
[Kate
ropes of pearls.
see to
it.
It's
a bag-
me.
conceals her chagrin, so she had better be
shown
the door.
Kate.
He rings.] Thank you.
The person
I,
I won't detain
you any
longer, miss.
Lady Lady
Kate.
Sims.
Going already ?
You have been
very quick.
Sir Harry.
doesn't suit,
Emmy.
Good-by,
Sims. I'm sorry.
So
am
madam, but
it
can't be helped.
your ladyship
good-by,
Sir Harry.
[There is a suspicion of an impertinent courtesy, and she is
escorted off the premises by
is purified
Tombes.
Sir
The air of the room
notices
it
by her going.
Harry
at once.
Lady
Sims.
[Whose tendency
is to
say the ivrong thing.]
She
seemed such a capable woman.
THE TWELVE-POUND LOOK
Sir Harry.
[On his hearth.]
[Meekly.]
I don't like her style at
best.
all.
41
Lady
Sims.
Of course you know
[This
is the right
kind of woman.
Lord, how when I said I was to give you those ropes of pearls. Lady Sims. Did sh
e.'' I didn't notice. I suppose so. Sir Harry. [Frotvning.] Suppose ? Surely I k
now enough about women to know that. Lady Sims. Yes, oh yes. Sir Harry. [Odd tha
t so confident a man should ask this.] Emmy, I know you well, don't I I can read
you like a book, Sir Harry.
[Rather anxious for corroboration.]
she winced
.^
eh?
Lady Sims. Sir Harry.
[Nervously.]
Yes, Harry.
[Jovially, but with
is
an inquiring
eye.]
What a
different existence yours
from that poor lonely wretch's.
All
Lady
Sims.
Yes, but she has a very contented face.
Sm
Harry.
Sims.
[With a stamp of his foot.]
[Timidly.]
put on.
'WTiat.'*
Lady
Lady
alive.
I didn't say anything.
Sir Harry.
Sims.
It
[Snapping.]
One
w^ould think
you envied
her.
Envied ?
Oh, no
but I thought she looked so
Sir Harry.
[Curtly.]
was while she was working the machine. Alive That's no life. It is you that are
alive. I'm busy, Emmy. [He sits at his writing-table.
!
Lady
Sims.
[Dutifully.]
I'm sorry;
I'll
go, Harry.
[Incon-
sequentially.]
Are they very expensive ?
What.?^
Sir Harry.
Lady
Sims.
Those machines
him.
.''
[When
she has gone the possible
startles
The curtain hides him from
meaning of her question us, but we may
be sure that he
mil soon
you and
be bland again.
I, that there is
We
have a com-
fortable feeling,
nothing of
Harry
Sims in
us.
TRADITION
BY
GEORGE MIDDLETON
Tradition is reprinted by permission of the author and the publisher, Henry Holt
& Company, New York City. All rights reserved. For
permission to perform, address the author, in care of the publisher. The author
and publisher of this play have permitted this reprinting of copyrighted materia
l on the understanding that the play will be used only in classroom work. No oth
er use of the play is authorized, and permission for any other use must be secur
ed from the holder of the acting rights.
GEORGE MIDDLETON
George Middleton, one of the
ume
1902.
of one-act plays in America,
Jersey, 1880.
He
to write and publish a volwas born in Paterson, New was graduated from Columbia
University in
first
Since 1921 he has been literary editor of La Follettes Weekly, and, in addition,
has been a frequent contributor to magazines and reviews on dramatic and litera
ry subjects. During the last few years he has spent much of his time abroad. Geo
rge Middleton's chiefest interest has been in the one-act play. He has been an a
rdent champion of the shorter form of drama. Among his three volumes of one-act
plays are Embers
(including The Failures, The Gargoyle, In His House,
Madonna,
and The
Man
Masterful), Tradition (including
On
Bail, Their
Wife, Waiting, The Cheat of Pity, and Mothers), and Possession (including The Gr
ove, A Good Woman, The Black Tie, Circles,
Reason.
Other one-act plays are Criminals and The His longer plays are Nowadays and The
Road Together. IVIr. Middleton has lectured widely on the one-act play before co
lleges, in Little Theatres, and clubs. Perhaps his most notable article is The N
eglected One- Act Play, which appeared in The New York Dramatic Mirror in 1912.
Tradition is one of Mr. Middleton's best and most popular one-act plays; and it
most nearly conforms to the organic technic of the one-act play.
and The Unborn).
FIRST PERFORMANCE AT THE BERKELEY THEATER, NEW YORK CITY, JANUARY 24, 1913.
(Produced under the personal direction of Mr.
Frank Reicher.)
THE PEOPLE
George Ollivant
Emily,
his wife
.....
. .
.
Mr. George W. Wilson
Miss Alice Leigh
Mary,
his daughter^
an
actress
.
Miss Fola La Follette
TRADITION*
SCENE
A
:
The sitting-room
It is
at the
Ollivants' in a small town up-
State,
an evening
late in the spring.
simple room
is disclosed,
bearing the traces of another generation.
Old-fashioned icindow-doors at the right, overlooking the garden, open on a porc
h
ivay.
;
another door in hack opening on the hallleft,
A
large fireplace at the
now
concealed by an em-
broidered screen; the horsehair furniture, several terra-cotta
statuettes,
and a woodcut
or two on the walls create the subtle
atmosphere of the past.
There
is
a lamp on the
table,
and
another on a bracket by the door in back.
Moonlight
filters
through the window-doors.
The Ollivants are discovered
together.
Mary, a
rather plain
woman
of about twenty-five, with a suggestion of quick sensi-
bilities, is
standing, lost in thought, looking out into the garden.
quiet
Her mother, Emily, nearing fifty,
ner, is seated at the table
and subdued in manOccasionally she
trimming a
hat.
looks at Majiy, stops her work, glances at her husband, closes
her eyes as though tired, and then resumes.
The
silence con-
tinues for some time, broken only by the rattle of the town paper
which
life,
George Ollivant is reading.
and deep feeling.
it
He
is well
on in middle
with a strong, determined face not entirely without elements
of kindness
When
he finishes, he folds the
paper, puts
on
the table,
knocks the ashes carefully from his
pipe into his hand, and throws them behind the screen; takes
* Copyright, 1913,
by George Middleton.
47
All rights reserved.
48
GEORGE MIDDLETON
off his spectacles
and wipes them as
he, too, looks over
toward
his daughter,
after
still
gazing absently into the garden.
Finallyy
a
slight hesitation, he goes to her
is startled
and puts
his
arm about
her; she
but smiles sweetly.
Ollivant.
[Affectionately.]
Glad to be home again, Mary ?
is
Mary.
[Evasively.]
The garden
so pretty.
Ollivant.
Hasn't changed much, eh ?
Mary.
It
seems different; perhaps
I guess
it
it's
the night.
Ollivant.
isn't
up
to
its
usual standard.
Haven't
seen your mother there so often this spring.
Emily.
[Quietly.]
It's
This dry spell
is
not good for flowers.
Ollivant.
only the cultivated flowers that need care;
can't help thinking that
fields
when
to
I see the wild ones so
hardy
in
my
on the
hill.
[Turning
Emily and
patting her.]
?
Is there
any
of that spray mixture left, Emily, dear
Emily.
I haven't looked lately.
I'll
Ollivant.
daughter,
order some to-morrow.
[Taking up his pipe
again and looking for the tobacco.]
if
Think
it
would be a good
idea,
you'd spray those rosebushes every couple of weeks.
The bugs
Emily.
are a pest this spring.
Where's
my
it
tobacco
?
On
the mantel.
Ollivant.
Wish you would always leave
have things changed.
to the
on the table; you
know how
I hate to
[Ollivant goes
back
mantel, filling his pipe, and while his
is turned,
Mary
who
makes a quick questioning gesture
INIary ponders a
to her
mother,
sighs helplessly.
moment.
Mary.
INIary.
How's Ben been doing these two
Only once
years, father
?
Ollivant.
Hasn't your brother written you ?
^when I
left
home; he disapproved,
too.
Ollivant.
care of you,
Had
Mary.
an older brother's feeling of wanting to take
TRADITION
Mary.
and money
JVIary.
he.'
49
Yes; I know.
How's he doing ?
feet.
Ollivaj^t.
for
He's commencing to get on his
Takes time
isn't
any one to get started these days.
he's
still
But
in partnership
with Bert Taylor,
Ollivant.
in
Yes.
He'd have been somewhere
if
he'd worked
with
me
as I did with
my
father.
Things should be handed
down.
Offered him the chance, tried to
make him
take
it,
as
your mother knows; but that college chum
I've heard
nice enough
all
fellow,
turned
his
head another way. [Lighting his pipe
and
puffing slowly.]
It's best to
humor a young
have had us
fellow's ideas
if
he sticks them out, but I'd
like to
here together
The place is big enough even if he should want to marry. Your mother and I came
here, you know, when your grandfather
now.
was
still
alive.
Mary.
Emily.
Then Ben
[Quietly.]
isn't
making any money ?
Ollivant.
[Reluctantly.]
Not yet
to speak
pay
of.
But
he's promised to
his father back,
Mary.
^Iary.
I see.
[Thoughtfully.]
College and then
more help
to get started, because he's a
man.
He'll
in
Ollivant.
[Complacently.]
have to support a family
with him.
visit,
some
daj^; I've
had to keep that
have a
mind.
Mary.
Emily?
Emily.
I'd like to
real talk
Ollivant.
When
did his letter say he'd be coming for a
The fifteenth. Not till then ? That's too bad, Ollivant. Eh? Mary. [After exchan
ging a quick glance
Mary.
with her mother and
gaining courage.]
Father, I hope you didn't misunderstand
my
coming back ?
Ollivant.
Not
at
all.
We
all
make mistakes
especially
left
when
we're young.
Perhaps I was a bit hasty when you
50
GEORGE MIDDLETON
right.
if
home, but I knew you'd soon see I was
I didn't think
it
would take you two years
you'd have come sooner.
but perhaps
I told your
I'd written
you before
mother
I'd like to
make
it
easy for you to come home.
Mary.
ways
to
felt
Ollivant.
Mother suggested that you write me ? Well, I suppose you might put it that way,
I alshe thought I was a bit hard on you, but I'm not one
easily.
back down
Mary.
daughter.
Don't blame
me
then, father,
if
I
showed I was your
Ollivant.
back.
Let's forget
my
feeling;
but naturally I was set
going seriously until I
Mary.
Because you didn't take
leaving.
I couldn't get
girl
it
my my
was actually
Ollivant.
into
head then, and I can't
like this,
now, how any
would want to leave a home
where
you have everything. You don't know how lucky you are or maybe you have realized
it. Look about you and see what other girls have. Is it like this ? Trees, flow
ers, and a lake view that's the best in the county. Why, one can breathe here an
d even Every time I come back from a business trip it taste the air. makes a new
man of me. Ask your mother. Eh, Emily ? When I sit out there on the porch in th
e cool evenings it makes me feel at ease with the world to know that the place i
s viine and that Ben had to I've raised a family and can take care of them all.
go, I suppose
least,

it's
the
way with
all
sons; but I thought you, at
would stay
here, daughter, in this old house
where you were
born, where I was born, where
your early associations
Mary.
[Shuddering.]
I hate associations.
Ollivant.
get thai from.
[Eying
W^ell, I'd like to know where you Not from your mother and me. We like them,
her.]
don't we, Emily?
AVhy, your mother's hardly ever even
left
here
but you had to
Yes.
up and get
out.
to.
IVIary.
That's right, father; I had
TRADITION
Ollivant.
to
?
51
at her sharply. \
[He stops smoking and looks
Had
Who made
you
?
Mary.
IVIary.
[Reluctantly.]
It
was something
inside
me.
Ollivant. Ollivant.
[In spite of himself.]
Tush
it
that foolishness.
[Quicldy.]
Don't make
it
hard for us again.
I
made
hard,
Mary?
I
Because I objected to
"stage-struck"
your leaving your mother here alone ?
IVLuiY.
girl.
I
remember; you said
was a
foolish,
Ollivant.
Well, you're over that, aren't you
?
Mary. That's just where you are mistaken, father. [Slowly.] That's why I asked y
ou if you hadn't misunderstood my coming
back.
Then why did you come at all.? [Suspiciously.] Mary. I'm human; I wanted to see
you and mother, so I came when you generously wrote me. I'm not going to stay
Ollivant.
and spray the
Olliv.\nt.
effort.]
roses.
[He eyes her tensely and controls himself with an
So you are not going to stay with your mother and
[Affectionately.]
I'll
me ?
Mary.
and
come
see
you as often as
I can
Ollivant.
silent.]
and
?
make a
hotel of your home.^^
is
[IVIary is
Don't you see your mother
to be here
getting older
and needs
somebody
Emily.
[With a quiet assurance.]
I
have never been so well
Emily; can't I see
and contented.
Ollivant.
[Tenderly.]
I
know
?
better,
you're getting thinner and older
[Stopping her protests.]
Now,
me manage You know my
let
this, dear.
It's
a
girl's
place to stay at home.
feelings
about that.
Suppose anything should
happen to your mother, what would / do ?
Mary.
So
it's
not mother alone you are thinking of ?
Ollivant.
[Tersely.]
I'm thinking
of
your place at home
doing a woman's work.
I'm not proud of having
my
daugh-
52
GEORGE MIDDLETON
own
living as
ter off earning her
her.
though I couldn't support
Emily.
George
I thought
it
was only because I was on the stage. not the most heavenly place, is it ? A lot
of narrow-minded fools here in town thought I was crazy to You let you go; I kne
w how they felt; I grinned and bore it.
Mary.
Ollivant.
Well,
it's
were
my
daughter and I loved you, and I didn't want them to
think any less of you by their finding out you were leaving against
my
wish.
[Slowly, with comprehension.]
Mary.
That's what hurt you.
Ollivant.
Well, I blamed myself a bit for taking you to
plays and liking
IVIary.
them
myself.
People here will soon forget about
me and
I've
merely be
sorry for you.
Ollivant.
for
[Persuasively.]
Why, Mary.
made
it
easy
for
you
to stay.
I told every one
you were coming home
good.
They'll think
Mary.
father; but
me a fool if You meant what was [Tenderly.]
you had no right to say
I did
it
dear and good,
sorry.
that.
I'm
Ollivant.
senses.
because I thought you had come to your
Mary.
[Firmly.]
I never
saw so
clearly as I
do now.
Ollivant.
[Bluntly.]
failure.
Then you're stubborn
?
not to admit
Mary.
to me.
plain stubborn
Ben
sent
[Startled.]
Failure
Ollivant.
I
know what
the newspapers said;
them
Mary.
W^hich ones ?
Ollivant.
Why,
all of
them, I guess.
Did he send you the good ones.'' Ollivant. Were there any ? Mary. Oh, I see. So
Ben carefully picked out only those
Mary.
which would please you.
Ollivant.
[Sarcastically.]
Please
me ?
TRADITION
Mary.
you think
Yes; because you and he didn't want
53
because j'ou thought failure would bring
I'll
me to succeed; me home. But don't
me.
I'll
let
some cub reporter
settle things for
never come
home through failure Ollivant. [Kindly.] Ben and
never.
I only
want
to protect you,
Mary.
]VL\RY.
"Why do men always want
Yes; but you don't know
foolish, stage-struck girl,
in big letters.
"Well,
to protect
women ?
still
Ollivant.
Because we know the world.
ttzc.
Mary.
I'm only a
Father, you
think
and want flowers and men
and
my name
It isn't that.
Ollivant.
what
is it,
then ?
artist.
first.
Mary.
understand
didn't
Oh I want to
it;
be an
I don't suppose
I didn't, myself, at
it
I
you can was born with it, but
know what
So
was
till
that
first
time you took
me
to the
theatre.
Ollivant.
it
was
all
my
fault
?
Mary.
It isn't anybody's fault;
it's
just a fact.
I
knew from
create.
if
that day what I wanted to do.
I
wanted
to act
to
I I
don't care whether I play a leading lady or a scrub-woman,
can do
it
with truth and beauty.
Well, you haven't done
Ollivant.
much
of either,
have you
?
VThat have you got to show for our unhappiness?
What have
you got ahead
of
you ?
Mary.
Mary.
Nothing

definite.
Ollivant.
[Incredulously.]
Yet, you're going to keep at
it ?
Yes.
Ollivant.
Mary.
get there
?
I
What do you think of that, Emily ? am going to the city Monday.
[Persistently.]
Olliv.\nt.
But what
hunt a
will
you do when you
tramp the
streets,
Mary.
call at
What
I've done before:
job,
the oflSces, be snubbed and insulted
I get
by
office-boys
keep
at
it till
something to do.
54
GEORGE MIDDLETON
Ollfvant. Come, come, Mary; don't make me lose patience. Put your pride in your
pocket. You've had your fling. You've Give it all up and stay home here where yo
u tried and failed.
can be comfortable.
Mary. [With intense feeling.] Father, I can't give it up. It doesn't make any di
fference how they treat me, how many times I get my ''notice" and don't even mak
e good according to their
standards.
ing inside
I can't give
it
up.
on.
I simply can't. It keeps
It's there
gnaw-
me and
driving
me
always
there,
and
I
know if I keep at work I will succeed. I know it; I know it. [Mary throws hersel
f into the chair, much stirred. Emily's
eyes have eagerly followed her throughout this as though
responding sympathetically
silence,
y
but
Olliyant has
inside.
stood in
watching her apparently without comprehension.
Ollivant.
[Not without kindness.]
Something
Huh
!
Have you any clear idea what [Mary gives a short, hurt
Emily.
[Softly,
she's talking about,
Emily ?
window,
cry
and goes quickly
to the
looking out and controlling herself ivith an
effort.
as she looks at IVIary.]
I think I understand.
Ollivant.
I don't.
Something
inside.
it all
I never
had any-
thing like that bothering me.
What's
mean ?
Emily.
[Quietly.]
So many people use the same words, but
cannot understand each other.
Ollivant. Well, you seem to think it's mighty important Mary, whatever it is; bu
t it's too much for me. If you had something to show for it I wouldn't mind. But
you're just where you started and you might as well give up.
Emily.
George
OlLaVant.
but Ben does.
Now
He
I don't
says you're not
know much about the stage, Emily, made for an actress, Mary;
you haven't got a chance.
IVIary.
[Turning.]
Father!
failure isn't
Ollivant.
If
Can't you see your
like
your own fault?
you were a beauty
Helen Safford or some of those other
TRADITION
**
55
stars"
but you're not pretty, why, you're not even good-look-
ing
and
Mary. [With bitter vehemence]. Oh, don't go any further. I know all that. But I
don't care how I look off the stage if only I can grow beautiful on it. I'll cre
ate with so much inner power and beauty that people will forget how I look and o
nly see what I can do it; I have done it; I've made audiences I think and feel.
feel
and even got
my
''notice" because the stage-manager said I
was "too natural."
Helen Safford
what's she
Wait
till
?
A professional
You
think of
beauty with everything outside and nothing
in.
her eyes, her mouth, and her profile; but does she touch you so
you remember ?
good-looking
ten minutes
Safford
.'*
I
know
her work.
I get a chance to
play a scene with her
which they may give me because I'm not
forget she's on the stage the first
too,
if

I'll
make them
yes,
!
and you and Ben,
you'll
come.
Helen
she's
Huh
Why,
people will remember
me when
only a lithograph.
Ollivant.
Well, then,
why
haven't you had your chance ?
Mary. [QuicJdy.] Because most managers feel the way you and Ben do. And not havi
ng a lovely profile and a fashion-plate
figure stands
between
me and
a chance even to read a part,
let
alone play
it.
That's what eats the heart out of me, mother;
and makes me hate
grease paint.
my
face every time I sit
down
to put on the
Ollivant.
Well, don't blame
to
me
who
for that.
Mary.
[Going
her mother,
takes her hand.]
You can
laugh at me, father; you don't understand.
It's foolish to talk.
But, oh, mother,
Safford
why is such beauty given to women like Helen who have no inner need of it, and h
ere am I, with a real
wrapped up
in
creative gift,
a nondescript package which stands
.'*
between
me and
everything I want to do
I will
[With determination.]
But I
artist.
will
ultimately
make
good, in spite of
my
looks;
others have.
And what
I've suffered will
make me a
greater
56
Ollivant.
isn't
GEORGE MIDDLETON
[In a matter-of-fact tone.]
Are you sure
It's
all this
overconfidence and vanity?
I don't care
Mary.
working.
what you
call
it.
what keeps me
Ollivant.
[Quickly.]
?
Working?
But how can you work
life;
without an engagement
JVIary.
That
w the hard
part of our
waiting, waiting for
still
a chance to work.
But don't think
I don't dare.
I stand
when
I haven't
an engagement.
Ollivant.
That's
why
I
keep at
my
voice
work and dancing and
[Suddenly interrupting.]
Dancing and voice work
telling
when you have no engagements. Would you mind who is paying the bills ? Mary. [In
dignantly.] Father
Ollivant.
I think I
me
have the right to ask
that.
Mary.
Have you ?
I
Ollivant.
am
your father.
Mary. [With quiet dignity.] You thought you'd force me here at home to do as you
wished because you paid for my food and clothes; when you took that from me you
ceased to have that
right.
Don't forget since
or given
I left you've not helped
me
with
my
work
me
a penny.
. . .
No, Ollivant. [Suspiciously.] Mary. you went away from home ? Mary. No. Ollivant
. Or you met some man there and Mary. No. Ollivant. There is some man.
.
that's not
why
.
.
Mary.
Ollivant.
Why a ma?i ? Damn them;
[Calm.ly\
I
know them.
. .
.
[Breaking \
Good
God, Mary, dear, you haven't
?
Answer me, daughter.
no need
of that.
Mary.
No,
there's been
\He has heen violently shaken
tently, believes her,
at the thought, looks at her in-
and then continues in a subdued man-
TRADITION
Ollivant.
57
?
Then who helped you ?
could he help
Ben
Mary.
help
How
me ?
Are men the only ones who
best now.
women ?
[Quietly.]
Emily.
Tell limi,
Mary;
it's
Olliv-ajnt.
[Turning slowly
to her
in surprise.]
You know and
have kept
Emily.
ming.]
it
from
me ?
down
old
the hat she has been trimskill,
[Calmly, as she puis
I found I hadn't lost
my
though
it's
been a
good
ried,
many
little
years since I held a brush
I
since before we were marsell:
George.
had an idea I thought would
paper dolls
anything
with
hand-painted dresses on separate sheets; they were so
much
soft.
softer than the printed kind,
and children
like
I wrote to IMr. Aylwin

you remember
work.
he was so kind
when you
to
me
years before.
He had
called here once before
were away and asked after
such promise.
specialty,
my
He
used to think I had
He found an opportunity to use the dolls as a and when I explained he induced so
me other firms to
They pay me very well.
she went behind.
I
use
all I
can paint, too.
made enough
each month to help
Mary when
Ollivant.
[Incredulously.]
You
!
After you heard
me
say
when
she
left I
wouldn't give her a
cent.^*
Emily.
[Looking fondly at Mary.]
?
You were
keeping Ben,
weren't you
Ollivant. Emily.
took
But
that'sthat's
why we
different.
I didn't see
shouldn't help both our children.
Ollivant.
it?
[Perplexed by this he turns to
Mary.]
And you
;\L\ry.
Yes.
Ollivant.
You knew how
she got the
money ?
and
Mary.
you took
Emily.
Yes.
Ollivant.
it ?
Your mother working
herself sick for you,
I told
you I've never been so happy.
I couldn't bargain with
Mary,
had
[tiimply.]
what
it
I
felt.
I I
to study.
I'd
have taken anything, gotten
anywhere.
58
had to
your
live.
GEORGE MIDDLETON
You
didn't help me.
Ben and
I
both went against
I
will,
but you helped him because he was your son.
was
only your daughter.
[Ollivant eyes her and seems
to he struggling
with himself.
He
Ollivant.
to
is silent
a long while as they both watch him.
Finally
after several efforts he speaks with emotion.
Mary,
I
I didn't realize how much you meant
what might have happened
to
me
if
till

till
I thought of
you
without
if
my help. Would would you have stayed on in the city
[Firmly.]

your mother hadn't helped you ?

Yes, father; I would have stayed on.
[After a pause.]
all
Mary.
Ollivant.
stronger than
Then
I guess
what you
. .
feel is
.
your mother and I tried to teach you.
Are
you too proud to take help from me
now
?
Mary.
you back
daughter?
that.
[Simply.]
like
No, father;
till
I succeed.
Then
I'll
pay
Ben promised.
[Hurt.]
Oluvant.
It
You
don't think
it
was the money,
here.
would have cost to keep you
It wasn't
Mary.
his father.
No;
it
was your father speaking and
his father
and
[Looking away wistfully.]
And
perhaps I was speakbe heard.
ing for those before
me who
feeling
were
silent or couldn't
Ollivant.
[With
sincerity.]
I don't exactly understand that
of driving
any more than the
you spoke
you from home.
sisters.
But
I
do see what you mean about brothers and
girls are
You
seem to think boys and
the same.
But
they're not.
it,
Men and women
mother had
are different.
You may
not
know
but your
her.
foolish ideas like
you have when
I first
knew
I
She was poor and didn't have a mother to support
her,
and she
had to work
for a living.
She'd about given up
in the
when
met her
trying to work at night to feed herself
happy
she's
day while studying. But she was sensible; when a good man came along who could s
upport her she married him and settled down. Look how
been here with a home of her
own
that
is
a
home
TRADITION
with associations and children.
to-duy trying to paint pictures for a living?
of
59
Where would she be, struggling Why, there's lots
a family
men who can
paint pictures, and too few good wives for hard-
working, decent
men who want
will
which
you'll
is
God's law.
You'll find that out one of these days
she did.
Some day a man
?
and come and
you'll give yourself as
want
to
marry
him.
How could you if
[Quietly.]
you keep on with your work, going about
leave mother at times, don't you
.?
the country
Mary. Mary.
You
Ollivant.
I've got to.
may I. Ollivant. And the
So
children
?
Mary.
They'd have a share of
my
if
life.
Ollivant.
up.
A
mighty big share
if
Ask your mother
human, I tell you. you think they're easy coming and bringing
you're
Mary.
she to do
?
And now
Well,
they've
left her.
Dear mother, what has
if you ever get a husband with those ideas what a wife has to do. [He goes to he
r.] Mary, But your mother and I it isn't easy, all this you've been saying. are
left alone, and perhaps we have got different views than you. But if ever you do
see it our way, and give up or fail well, come
Ollivant.
of yours you'll see

I
back to
hard
us,
understand ?
[Going
for
to
Mary.
it
him and kissing
that.
him.]
I understand
was
you to say
And remember
how may come
it's
back a success.
Ollivant.
Yes.
I suppose they all think that;
keeps them going.
But some day, when you're
differently.
if
in love
what and
chil-
marry, you'll see
it all
Mary.
dren
?
Father, what
the
man
does not come
or the
answer
Ollivant.
Nonsense.
Why
[He halts as though unable
to
her.]
He'll come, never fear; they always do.
60
GEORGE MIDDLETON
I wonder.
Mart.
Ollivant.
[He goes affectionately
this.]
to
Emily, who has been
star-
ing before her during
Emily, dear.
No wonder the
flowers
have been neglected.
yourself.
derly.]
I'll
Well, you'll have time to spraj' those roses
[Kisses her ten!
get the spray mixture to-morrow.
Painting paper dolls with a change of clothes
When
feeling
I
might have been sending her the money without ever
it.
No more
of that, dear;
you don't have to now.
I shan't let
at.
you
[He
get tired and sick.
That's one thing I draw the line
pats her again, looks at his watch, and then goes slowly over to the
window-doors.]
Well,
it's
it
getting late.
will rain
I'll
lock up.
[Looking
up
at sky.]
Paper says
to-morrow.
Emily.
[Very quietly so only
Mary
can
hear.]
At the
father
is
art
school they said I had a lovely sense of color.
Your
so
kind; but he doesn't
know how much
I enjoyed painting again
even those paper
dolls.
Mary.
Emily.
[Comprehending in surprise.]
[Fearing
lest
Mother
hear.]
!
You,
too ?
Ollivant should
and eyes
[Ollivant Ollivant.
Good-night.
closes the doors
the
Sh women tJioughtfully.
Better fasten the other windows
when you come.
sit there together.
[He goes out slowly as mother and daughter
THE CURTAIN FALLS
THE EXCHANGE
BY
ALTHEA THURSTON
The Exchange is reprinted by permission of Althea Thurston. This play is one of
the farces written in the Course in Dramatic Composition (English 109) in the Un
iversity of Utah. For permission to perform, address B. Roland Lewis, Department
of English, University of Utah, Salt Lake City, Utah.
ALTHEA THURSTON
Althea Cooms-Thiirston, one of the promising writers of the younger set of Ameri
can dramatists, was born in Iowa, but soon moved with her parents to Colorado, w
here she spent her girlhood. She was educated in the public schools of Colorado
Springs and Denver. Her collegiate training was received in the University of Ut
ah, Salt Lake City. In 1902 she married Walter R. Thurston, a well-known enginee
r. At present she resides in Dallas, Texas.
Mrs. Thurston has travelled widely and has resided for periods Mexico City and H
avana, Cuba. She is an able linguist and has made a special study of her native
English tongue and of Spanish and French, all of which she uses fluently. From c
hildhood she has shown dramatic ability. Her dramatic composition has been more
or less directly associated with the courses in pla;y'writing and the history of
the drama which she completed in the University of Utah. Among her one-act play
s are When a Man's Hungry^ And the Devil Laughs, and The
of time in
Exchange. Mrs. Thurston has an aptitude for delicate and satirical farce. The Ex
change is an excellent example of farce-comedy in the contemporary one-act play.
CHARACTERS
Judge,
Imp,
the exchanger of miseries
office
hoy
to the
Judge
A A A
Poor
Vain
Man
Woman
Rich Citizen
THE EXCHANGE*
SCENE
The curtain and a
chair
rises
I
upon an
office scene.
it
Seemingly there
is
nothing
unusual about
hat-rack.
this office:
has
tables, chairs,
office is
a filing cabinet,
A
portion of the
railed off at the right.
sivivel-
Within
;
this enclosed space is
a commodious desk and
and
the filing cabinet stands against the icall.
This
railed-off portion of the office belongs, exclusively, to the
Here he
u>rite,
is
wont
to
spend
many
hours
sometimes
a
tall,
Judge.
read or
the
to
and again, perhaps, he
will just sit
is
and ponder upon
spare
vagaries of mankind.
The Judge
man
with
rather long gray hair, which shows'heneath the skull-cap that
he always icears.
When we first see
him, he
is
reading a
letter
and
evidently he is not pleased, for he is tapping with impatient
fingers
upon
his desk.
At
the left of the stage is a heavily curtained door ichich leads to
an
inner room.
At
centre rear is another door lohich evidently
it is
leads to the street, as
the
through this door that the
Poor
IVIan,
Vain Womax, and
the
Rich Citizen
will presently enter,
the
each upon his special quest.
street door,
The hat-rack stands near
soft black hat
and we glimpse a
and a long black
with papers and
overcoat hanging
upon
it.
Down
stage to the
left is
a fiat-topped desk,
littered
letters.
This desk has two large drawers, wherein a number of
It is at this
miscellaneous articles might be kept.
catch our first glimpse of Imp.
* Copyright, 1921.
desk that we
lie is busily writing in
a huge
All rights reserved.
65
66
ledger,
ALTHEA THURSTON
and he seems
to be
enjoying his work, for he
it
chiicJcles the
while.
Imp
is
a
little
rogue ; he looks
and
acts
it,
and we feel
that he has a Mephistophelian spirit.
tight-fitting
He
luears
a dark-green
little
uniform, trimmed with red braid.
His saucy
is ever
round cap
is
always cocked over one eye.
He
chuckling
impishly, and we feel that he is slyly gleeful over the weaknesses
of
mankind and
the difficulties that beset them.
Imp.
[Throws down his pen, chuckles, and half standing on the
rungs of his chair and balancing himself against his desk, surveys
the ledger.]
Your honor,
I've
all
the miseries listed to date and
a
fine lot there is to
choose from.
Everything from bunions to
old wives for exchange.
Judge.
[Scowls
and impatiently taps
the letter he is reading.^
Here
is
another one.
A woman
suspects her husband of a misis
alliance.
Wants
to catch him, but
so crippled with rheuma-
tism she can't get about.
for
Wants us
to exchange her rheumatism
something that won't interfere with either her walking or her
eyesight.
Imp.
lines.]
[Referring to the ledger
and running
his finger along the
liver that
We
have a defective heart or a lazy
we could
give her.
Judge.
not be
[Irritably tossing the letter over to Imp.]
She would
to
his
satisfied.
People never
are.
change their miseries, but never their
They always want vices. Each thinks
is
own
cross heavier than others
have to bear, but he
very will-
ing to
make
light of his
own weaknesses and
shortcomings.
I
He
tried
thinks they are not half so bad as his neighbor's.
for years to aid distressed
have
humanity, but I can't satisfy them.
I
am
growing tired of
it,
it all.
Imp.
I
People need a lesson and
going to
they're going to get
too.
am
[Knock
is
heard at the
street door.
desk and begins to write.
Judge sighs, turns to his Imp sweeps the litter of papers
and goes
to
on his desk into a drawer,
knock.
closes ledger,
answer
THE EXCHANGE
Imp.
67
Here comes another misery.
[Imp opens the door
shabbily dressed.
if
to
admit the
Poor Man, who
around
the
is
very
He
hesitates, looks
room as
he icere in the wrong place,
and then addresses Imp in
wiih a motion of his head.]
a loud whisper.
Poor
Is
IVIan.
?
[Indicating the
Judge
reply.]
that him
Imp.
[Whispering loudly his
[Still
Yes, that
is
his honor.
Poor Man.
ness.]
whispering and showing signs of nervous-
Do
I dare speak to
him ?
still
Imp.
[Enjoying the situation and
whispering.]
Yes, but
be careful what you say.
Poor Man.
ing,
throat.]
[Talxcs off his hat, approaches slowly to the rail-
and speaks humbly.]
Your honor,
I
Your honor,
I've a little favor
to ask
[Swalloivs hard, clears
of you.
?
Judge.
I've never
[Looking coldly at the
Poor Man.]
Well
Poor Man.
You see, your honor, I've been poor all my life. had much fun. I don't ask for a
lot of money, but
eat, drink,
I would like enough so that I could have some swell clothes, and
so that I could
know, I
just
and be merry with the boys.
You
want
to
have a good time.
Do you think you could
fix it for
me. Judge ?
[Gazes at
So you just want away your poverty ? I suppose you have no moral weakness you wa
nt to change, no defects in your character that you want to better ? Poor Man. [
Stammering and twirling his hat.] Why, w-hy.
Judge.
sternly for
him
a moment.]
to have a good time
?
Want me
to take
Judge, I
but then
I am not a bad man. Ofof course, I have my I've never committed any crimes. I guess
I stack up
faults,
pretty fair as
men
go.
I'm just awful
tired of being poor
and
never having any fun.
Couldn't you help
me out
Bring
on that point.
Judge ?
Judge.
[Sighs wearily
and turns to Imp.]
me the ledger.
[Imp gives him the ledger in which he has been writing.
Judge opens it, and then speaks sharply to the Poor Man.
68
Judge.
take
ALTHEA THURSTON
You
understand, do you,
give
away your poverty and
will
my good man, that if I you enough money for your
?
good time, you
have to accept another misery
Poor Man.
I'm
willing.
[Eagerly.]
Yes, your honor, that's
all
right.
Judge.
paralysis.
[Scanning
ledger.]
Very
well.
Let us
see.
Here
is
Poor Man.
very good time,
[Hesitatingly.]
if
Well, I
I
couldn't have a

if
I
was paralyzed.
I suppose not.
Judge.
eye?
[Shortly.]
No.
How
about a glass
Poor IMan.
anything.
[Anxiotisly.]
Please, your honor,
eyes.
I don't
if
I'm going
to miss
to have a good time I need
two good
want
Judge.
left his
[Wearily turning over the leaves of the
ledger.]
A man
wife here for exchange, perhaps you would like her.
[Shifting
Poor Man.
twirling his hat.]
from one foot
to the other
and nervously
I don't
Oh, Judge, oh, no, please, no.
want
anybody's old
cast-off wife.
Judge.
[Becoming exasperated.]
it.
Well, choose something, and
be quick about
Here
is
lumbago, gout, fatness, old age,
and
Imp.
[Interrupting,
and walking
qiiicJdy over to the railing.]
Excuse me, Judge, but maybe the gentleman would
digestion that
fallen arches.
like the in-
Mr. Potter
[Eagerly.]
left
when he took
old
IVIrs.
Pratt's
Poor Man.
fine
!
Indigestion?
Sure!
That
if
will
be
I won't
mind a
litUe thing like indigestion
I can get rid
of
my
poverty.
[Sternly.]
Judge.
worse as
Very
well.
Raise your right hand.
Re-
peat after me: "I
swear to accept indigestion for better or for
miseries, so help
my portion of the world's
[Solemnly.]
me God."
for
Poor Man.
"I swear to accept indigestion
better or for worse as
my portion of the world's miseries,
so help
me God."
THE EXCHANGE
Judge.
room.
[To Imp.]
G9
Show
this
gentleman to the changing-
[Poor
IVLajnt
follows Imp,
who conducts him
to the heavily
curtained door.
The Poor
as a
Man throws out his chest and
ccmie
swaggers a
bit,
into a fortune.
man might who had suddenly Imp swaggers along ivith him.
time, though.
I'll
Imp.
Won't you have a grand
get you a
menu card, so that you can be picking out your dinner. Poor IVIan. [Joyfully sla
pping Imp on the back.] Good
and
I'll
idea,
pick out a regular banquet.
[Pausing a moment before he passes through the curtains, he
smiles
and smacks
his lips in anticipation.
to Imp.]
Exit.
!
Judge.
[Speaks disgustedly
There you are
He's
perfectly satisfied with his morals.
acter.
Has no
defects in his char-
Just wants to have a good time.
[Sighs heavily
and turns back
to his writing.
laip nods his
head in agreement and chuckles
[The
street
slyly.
door opens slowly and the
Vain
Woman
stands
upon
the threshold.
posing
presumably she
it.
She does not enter
at once, but stands
desires to attract attention,
figure,
and
she is worthy of
rich
She has a superb
it.
and her
gowning enhances
Her fair face
reveals a shallow
vrettiness, but the wrinkles of age are beginning to leave
telltale lines
upon
its
smoothness.
As Imp
hurries forward
to the centre
to usher her in, she siveeps
grandly past him
of
the stage.
Imp
stops near the door, with his hands
on his
hips, staring after her, then takes a few steps in imitation
of her.
She turns around slowly and, sauntering over
to
the railing, coughs affectedly, a?id as the
Judge
rises
and
bows
curtly, she
speaks in a coaxing manner.
are very kind,
their troubles,
Vain Woman. Judge, I have heard that you and I have been told that you help peop
le out of
so I have a
little
favor to ask of you.
Judge.
[Coldly.]
Yes, I supposed so; go on.
Well, you
Vain Wosian.
[Archly.]
know
that I
am a famous
70
beauty; in
lovely.
fact,
ALTHEA THURSTON
both
my
face
and
my
form are considered very
[She turns around slowly that he
may
see for himself.]
Great and celebrated men have worshipped at
cannot
live
my feet.
I simply
without admiration.
It
is
my very life.
But, Judge
[plaintively], horrid
wrinkles are beginning to show in
my
face.
[Intensely.]
Oh, I would give anything, do anything, to have a
Please, oh, please, won't
smooth, youthful face once more.
take
give
away
these wrinkles [touching her face with her fingers]
in their stead.
you and
me
something
Judge.
satisfied
tiful as
[Looking directly at her and speaking coldly.]
Is
Are you
with yourself in other ways ?
your character as beau-
your face ?
Have you no
[Uncertainly.]
faults or weaknesses that
you
want exchanged ? Vain Woman.
mean.
I
Why,
I
don't know what you
woman and
lots better
am
just as
good as any other
than some I know.
ties,
I go to church,
and
I subscribe to the chari-
and I belong to the best
it's
clubs.
[Anxiously.]
Oh, please.
Judge,
these wrinkles that
make me so unhappy.
exchange them ?
Please take
You
don't want
me
to be unhappy, do
Won't you you ?
well, I'll
them away.
[Wearily looking over the
ledger.]
Judge.
see
Oh, very
what
I can
do
for you.
[To Imp.]
Fetch a chair for
this
lady.
[Imp gives her a chair and she
to his desk,
sits facing front.
Imp
returns
perches himself
upon
it
and watches
the
Vain
Woman
ledger.
interestedly.
Judge
turns over the leaves of the
Judge.
wrinkles.
I
have a goitre that I could exchange for your
[Protestingly, clasping her
Vain Woman.
Oh, heavens, no
!
hands
to her throat.]
That would ruin
my
beautiful throat.
See.
[Throwing back her fur and exposing her neck in a low-cut gown.]
I
have a lovely neck.
Judge.
[Imp makes an exaggerated attempt
to see.
[Glances coldly at her
and then scans
ledger again.]
Well,
how about hay-fever?
THE EXCHANGE
Vain Woman.
[Reproachfully.]
!
71
car-
Oh, Judge, how
you
suggest such a thing
Watery eyes and a red
is.
nose, the worst
it.
enemy
of
beauty there
I
simply couldn't think of
I
want
something that won't show.
Judge.
[Disgustedly turns to filing cabinet
and
to
looks through a
series of cards,
withdraws oney and turns hack
will
Vain Woman.]
Perhaps this
suit you.
[Refers to card.]
A woman
has
grown very
tired of her
husband and wants to exchange him for
some other burden. I accept a man that Vain Woman. [Indignantly.] What Certainly
not I prefer one some other woman doesn't want that some other woman does want.
Judge. [Irritated, puts the card back in its place, and turns
!
!
!
upon
the
Vain
Woman
crossly.]
I fear that I cannot please
you
and
I
do not have time to
[Interrupts
Imp.
and runs
over to the railing, speaking sooth-
ingly to the Judge.]
Excuse me, Judge, but maybe the lady
in
would
like deafness
it
exchange for her wrinkles.
won't show.
Deafness
wouldn't show, so
couldn't spoil her face or her elegant figure.
Judge.
[Wearily.]
No,
it
Deafness ought to
be a good thing for you.
Vain Woman. [Consideringly.] Why yes that might do. But well, it wouldn't show.
I've a notion to take it. [Pau^e The Judge stares at her she seems to consider a
nd meditate. coldly. Lmp grins impudently. She rises leisurely, sighs.] All

right.
I'll
accept
it.
Judge.
hand.]
[Sharply.]
Hold up your
right hand.
[She raises
Do you
swear to accept deafness for better or for worse,
as your portion of the world's miseries, so help
you God ?
Vain Woman.
Judge.
Imp.
ence.]
[Sweetly.]
Oh,
yes.
I do. Judge.
[To Imp.]
Show
the lady to the changing-room.
[Escorts her to the curtained door with rather
mock
deferall
No, deafness won't show at
all,
and
you'll
have 'em
crazy about you.
[Drav)s aside curtains for her to pass.]
Take
second booth to your right.
72
[Vain
ALTHEA THURSTON
Woman
stands posing a moment.
softly with her
She smiles radihands, then with
antly
and pats her cheeks
a long-drawn sigh of happiness, she
exits.
Imp bows low
and mockingly
heart.
after her vanishing
form, his hand on his
Judge.
trouble her
[Sarcastically.]
?
Do
!
her
faults
or
shortcomings
Not
sir;
at
all
Perfectly satisfied with herself, ex-
cept for a few wrinkles in her face.
Imp. Yes,
Vain
women
!
Bah
women have
queer notions.
[An imperative rap
at the street-door, immediately followed
by the rapper's abrupt entrance.
We
see
an important-
appearing personage.
His arrogant bearing and com-
manding pose
prompt
well groomed.
lead us to believe that he is accustomed to
It is the
attention.
Rich Citizen,
exceedingly
His manner
is lordly, but
he addresses the
Judge in a bored tone. When Imp scampers to meet him, Rich Citizen hands him his
hat and cane and turns Imp examines the hat and cane at once to the Judge.
the
critically,
hangs them on
the hat-rack,
and returns
to his
desk, where he again perches to watch the
Rich Citizen.
addressing the
Rich Citizen.
Judge,
[Lighting a cigarette.]
I
am
am
I not ?
[Shortly.]
Judge.
You
are.
Rich Citizen.
Well, Judge,
life
[Languidly,
between puffs of his cigarette.]
has become rather boresome, so I thought I
would drop
Judge.
in
[Wearily.]
and ask you to do me a small favor. Yes? We W^hat is your grievance?

Rich Citizen.
ance exactly.
very rich and
[Nonchalantly.]
see,
Oh, I wouldn't say grievit is
You
my
dear Judge,
this
way.
I
am
a
influential citizen,
a prominent member of society,
and
I
am
very
much sought
after.
Judge.
[Frigidly.]
Oh, indeed
Yes.
Rich Citizen.
[In a very bored manner.]
Women
run
THE EXCHANGE
after
73
me day and
I
night.
Ambitious mothers tlirow their marhead.
riageable daughters at
my
Men
seek
my
advice on
all
matters.
am
compelled to head this and that committee.
[Smokes languidly.
Judge.
den.
[Sharply.]
Well, go on.
Rich Citizen. Really, Judge, my prestige has become a burI would like to become
a I want to get away from it all. plain, ordinary man with an humble vocation, t
he humbler the
better, so that people will cease bothering
me.
all
Judge.
[Sarcastically.]
Is
your prestige
that troubles
Satisfied
you ?
Don't worry about your morals, I suppose.
[Coldly.]
request.'*
with your habits and character ?
Rich Citizen.
got to do with
What have my
[Scornfully.]
habits or morals
my
Certainly I
of
am
not
one of your saintly men.
live,
I live as a
man
my
I
station should
of
and
I think I
measure up very well with the best
like
them.
be
am simply a plain man
I
bored and I would
a change.
would
like to
with an humble
I'll
calling.
Judge.
[He looks
[Ironically.]
see
what we have
in
humble callings.
at the ledger, turning the leaves over slowly.]
We
have
several bartenders' vocations.
Rich Citizen.
about
all
[Wearily smoking.]
No.
Too manj^ people
the time, and too
much
noise.
Judge.
Well, here's a janitor's job open to you.
[Impatiently throwing
Rich Citizen.
ering at
away
his cigarette.l
No.
bick-
I don't like that, either.
Too
I
confining.
Too many people
you
all
the time.
want
to get out in the open,
away
from crowds.
Judge.
hopefully.]
[Sighing,
and turning
over the leaves of the ledger, then
Here's the very thing for you, then
postman
to get
in
a
rural district.
old
Rich Citizen. [Showing vexation.] No, women that want to gossip. I tell you,
no, no.
I
want
Too many away
74
from women.
ALTHEA THURSTON
Haven't you something peaceful and quiet; some-
thing that would take
me
out
in the quiet of the early
morning,
when the
Judge.
birds are singing?
[Closing ledger with a hang,
and
rising.]
Well, you're
I bid
too particular, and I have not time to bother with you.
you good
Imp.
after
[Slides from his desk,
runs
to railing,
and speaks
suavely.]
like the
Excuse me. Judge, but maybe the gentleman would
vocation of milkman.
That
is
early-morning work.
job here
And, you
old,
remember, a milkman
left his
when he took that
worn-out senator's position.
Judge. [Sharply, to Rich Citizen.] Well, how about it.^* Does a milkman's vocati
on suit you ? It's early-morning hours, fresh air, and no people about.
Rich Citizen.
quietness of
ders a
it is its
[Musingly.]
Well, the very simplicity and
charm.
It rather appeals to me.
I'll
[He pon-
moment]
Yes, by Jove,
take
it.
Judge.
[Sternly.]
Hold up your
in life, so help
right hand.
"Do you
sol-
emnly swear to accept,
for better or for worse, the vocation of
milkman as your lot Rich Citizen. I
Judge.
room.
Imp.
you God.?"
gentleman to the changingYes,
do.
[To Imp.]
Show
this
[While escorting him
life.
to the
curtained door.]
fresh milk,
sir,
you
will lead the simple
Fresh
air,
no people, just
Third
cows
and they can't
sir.
talk.
[Holding aside the curtains.]
booth,
Rich Citizen.
quietness.
[Musingly.]
The
no
use,
simple
life
peace
little
and
[Exit
to
Judge.
[In disgust]
It's
Imp.
They
some
all cling
their vices, but they are Very keen to change
cross or
condition that vexes
them
or think vexes them.
want something
differ-
Imp.
It's
strange that people always
ent from what they have.
THE EXCHANGE
[Imp ofens a drawer in his desk and takes out a hotth,
dently filled with tablets, which he holds up, shaking chuckling.
it
75
evi-
and
He
hunts in the drawer again, and this time
brings forth a huge ear-trumpet, which he chucklingly
places on his table beside the bottle of tablets.
Judge.
one to-day.
Imp.
Don't
I
let
any more
in,
Imp.
I can't stand another
am
going to write a letter and then go home.
sir.
All right,
I
Judge.
tion.
is
am
feeling very tired;
what
I really need
is
a vaca-
A
sea-trip
would put me
right.
By
the way, Imp, where
that transatlantic folder that I told you to get ?
[Imp picks up the folder from his desk and takes
it to
the
Judge, ivho studies
it
attentively.
Imp returns
over,
to his
own
desk, where he again looks in a drawer
and brings forth
a menu card, which he glances
vously.
grinning mischie-
[The former
Poor
Man
it
re-enters
from
the
changing -room,.
He
is well dressed,
and taking a
gloatingly.
well-filled wallet from his
pocket, he looks at
However, from time
to
time, a shade of annoyance passes over his face,
and he
to
puts his hand
to the pit of his
stomach.
Imp runs
meet
him, and hands him the
Imp.
menu
that he has been reading.
Here's a
menu from
the Gargoyle.
Say, you sure do
look swell
[Looking him over admiringly.
Former Poor Man.
now, eh
dinner.
!
[Grinning happily. ]
[Looking at menu.]
[Sits
Some class to me And you watch me pick out a real
First, I'll
down
at left front.]
have a
cocktail, then
[he

let's see

I'll
have
another cocktail.
Next, oysters, and
frowns and presses his hand
to the pit of his stamax^h,
keeping
up a massaging
breasts
motion]
green-turtle soup, sand dabschicken
re-enters from the changing -ro(mi.
[They become absorbed over the menu.
[The Vain
Woman
She
(?
now has a smooth face, and
she is looking at herself in
76
ALTHEA THURSTON
hand-glass, smiling
and touching her face and leans
so
questioningly.
delightedly.
it
She walks
over to the railing,
over
to the
Judge.
He
looks
up
Vain Woman.
not beautiful
?
[Smiling.]
Oh, I
am
happy
again.
Am I
Judge.
[Pityingly.]
You
are a vain, foolish
woman.
coyly.
[Since she is deaf, she does not hear his words, but thinks he
is
complimenting
her.
She smiles
at
him
Vain Woman.
charms.
Ah, Judge, you too are susceptible to
my
[The Judge, in great exasperation, puts away his papers,
thrusts the transatlantic folder in his pocket, hastily closes
his desk,
and hurries
to the hat-rack,
puts on his overcoat,
his soft
slips his skull-cap into his pocket
and puts on
black hat.
Then, with a shrug of his shoulders and a
slips quietly out.
wave of his hand indicative of disgust, he
{The Vain
Woman
saunters past the
Former Poor Man,
to
stops near him, posing,
and begins
put on her
gloves.
He
an
looks at her admiringly, then, getting to his feet,
elaborate but
makes
awkward bow.
Excuse me, lady, but I've had a big
I
join
Former Poor Man.
piece of luck to-day,
want to celebrate, so I am having a me and help me have a good time ? big dinner
. Won't you him blankly, and trying to fathom [Looking at Vain Woman. ^why, what
did you say ? Oh what he has said.]
and

Former Poor Man.

er
[Hesitating,
and a
bit surprised.]
Why
if if
I said that I had a big piece of luck to-day, and I am going dinner, and I just a
sked to celebrate. I am having a you wouldn't have dinner with me.
fine
Vain Woman.
[Still
looking blank
and a
little
confused, then
smiling archly and acting as though she had been hearing compliments, she speaks
affectedly.]
Really, do
you think so ?
[Looking
tells
down and smoothing that I am.
her dress.]
But, then, every one
me
THE EXCHANGE
what
77
help.]
Former Poor Man. [Puzzled, is her trouble, Nut ?
[Secretly gleeful.]
turns to
Imp for
Just
Imp.
write
it.
She
is
stone-deaf.
You had
better
Former Poor
INIan.
Never
!
No
deaf ones for me.
again.
[Turns away and consults
menu
Vain
Woman
poses and frequently looks in hand-glass to reassure herself.
[Former Rich Citizen
re-enters
from
the
changing -room.
He He
is
dressed in shabby overalls, jumper,
and an
old hat.
has a pipe in his mouth.
He
walks arrogantly over
to the Former Poor Man and addresses him. Former Rich Citizen. Give me a light.
Former Poor Man. [Trying to live up to his fine clothes and wallet full of money
, looks the Former Rich Citizen over snubSay, who do you think you are ? You lig
ht out, see ? bingly.]
Former Rich
Citizen.
[Very
much
surprised, stands nonI
plussed a moment.]
Well, upon
my word,
I
to the
[He stops short in his speech, walks haughtily over
railing, where he stands glowering at the
Former Poor
the
street
Man.
Imp.
I'll sell
The Former Poor
Man
starts for
door, but
Imp runs
after
him, waving the
bits.
bottle of tablets.
you these
for
two
is
Former Poor Man.
Imp.
[Grinning.]
What
that ?
Indigestion tablets.
a
Former Poor Man. [Puts his hand to his stomach and laughs Keep 'em; I don't need
'em. little lamely.]
[Vain
Woman fastens
Imp
her fur
and
and
starts for the street-door,
giving the
Former Rich Citizen
stops her
a snubbing look as she
passes him.
offers the ear-trumpet.
Imp.
You might need
the ear-trumpet
this; I'll sell it for
a dollar.
[She does not hear what he says, but she looks her scorn at
and walks proudly
out.
78
ALTHEA THURSTON
Citizen.
is
Former Rich
a watch.]
Imp.
[Fumbling
it?
at his pocket, as if to find
Boy, what time
I haven't
my
watch.
[Grinning mischievously.]
Time
it,
to milk the cows.
[The
Former Rich Citizen
starts angrily
toward Imp, then
evidently thinking better of
shrugs his shoulders and
stalks majestically to the street-door.
He
pauses with
it
partly open, turns as if to speak to Imp, drawing himself
up
haughtily
a
ludicrous figure in his shabby outfit

then he goes abruptly out,

slamming
the door.
[Imp doubles himself
falls.
up
in a paroxysm of glee as the curtain
SCENE
A fortnight
setting.
II
rises
has passed.
The curtain
is
upon
see
the
same
stage-
The Judge
not about, but
we
Imp
asleep in a
the street-
chair.
All seems quiet and serene.
But suddenly
door opens noisily, and the
the room.
is
Former Poor
Man
bursts into
He
is
panting, as though he had been running.
He
the
haggard and seems in great pain, for occasionally he moans.
looks wildly about the room,
He
and seeing Imp asleep in
roughly.
chair, he rushes to
him and shakes him
his eyes.
[Frantically.]
Imp
ivakes
slowly,
yawning and rubbing
Former Poor Man.
I
The Judge, where
is
he
?
must
Imp.
see
him at
once.
[Yawning.]
You're too early.
[Settles
He
isn't
to
down
yet.
himself
go to sleep again.
Former Poor Man.
hands
crazy.
live
?
[Walking the
floor,
and holding
his
to
his stomach.]
Don't go to sleep again.
I'm nearly
What
time does the Judge get here?
?
Where does he
Can't we send for him
[Indifferently.]
Imp.
Oh, he
for
is
liable to
come any minute
and then he may not come
an hour or two.
Former Poor Man.
[Pacing the floor, moaning and rubbing
THE EXCHANGE
hia stomach,]
79
It's
Oh, I can't stand
it
much
longer.
driving
me
wild, I tell you.
I do wish the Judge would come.
Imp.
[Getting
up from
his chair
and keeping
step with the
Former Poor Man.]
wanted was to
drink,
What's the matter ?
I thought all
you
Eat,
eat, drink,
and be merry.
[Frantically
!
Former Poor Man.
and be merry be
waving his arms.]
Everything I eat gives
gestion something awful; everything I
me indidrink gives it to me worse.
How
I
tell
can I be merry when I
you
this pain
is
driving
am in this torment all the time? me mad. I want to get rid of it
come
.''
quick.
Oh,
why
doesn't the Judge
Imp.
What's the Judge got to do with
[Pathetically.]
it?
Former Poor Man.
was not
stomach.
so bad, after
all;
to take back this indigestion and give
am going to beg him me back my poverty. It
I
not nearly so bad as this pain in
my
[The street-door opens slowly, and a sorrowful
woman
enters.
is
She
is
weeping
softly.
It is the
Vain Woman.
Gone
her posing
the railing,
and her proud manner.
She walks humbly
to
to
and not
seeing the
Judge, she turns
she here for?''
Imp.
The Former Poor
frowningly muttering
sits
Man
:
looks at the
Vain Woman,
Then he
"Whafs
I
down
at the left
and rocks back and forth in misery.
Vain Woman.
away,
Imp.
please.
[Tearfully.]
must
yet.
see
the
Judge right
[Languidly.]
He
isn't
down
You're too earl
Vain Woman.
portant, that I
once.
[Interrupting.]
Tell
am
in great distress
him that it is very imand that he must see me at
yet.
Imp.
[Loudly.]
I said that he
was not down
[Seeing that she does not understand, he takes a writing-pad
from
his desk, scribbles a few words,
it
and standing in front
of her, holds
up for
her to read.
80
ALTHEA THURSTON
[After reading.]
Vain Woman.
Oh, when
will
he be here?
so
Can't you get hun to come right away ?
[The
Oh, I
am
unhappy.
[She walks the floor in agitation.
Former Poor
Man grunts
in irritation and turns his
back on her.
Vain Woman. I cannot hear a word that is said to me. No one seems to want me aro
und, and I am not invited out any more. I have the feeling that people are makin
g fun of me instead of praising
[Getting hysterical]
my
I
beauty.
Oh,
it
is
dreadful to be deaf.
want the Judge
to take
away
this deaf-
ness.
I
would rather have
bad, too bad.''
my
wrinkles.
*'
[Imp shakes his head in pretended sympathy y saying
:
Too
[She misunderstands and cries out.
Vain Woman. want them back.
are
Has the Judge given away my wrinkles? I want my very own wrinkles, too. Wrinkles
[Beginning to sob.] I don't want to distinguished-looking.
I
be deaf any longer.
Imp.
[Running over
very bad.
to the
Former Poor Man.]
little ?
Say, this
lady
feels
Can't you cheer her up a
Former Poor Man.
his
own
misery, looks
up
[Who is still rocking back and forth vnth Cheer her up at Imp in disgust.]

!
Me?
What's the joke?
[The Vain
if
Woman
ivalks to the curtained door, looks in as
seeking something, then returns to a chair, where she
sits,
weeping
softly.
is
[A peculiar thumping
heard at the street-door.
The Forhoping
mer Poor
it is
Man jumps
Imp,
to his feet in expectancy,
the
Judge.
also,
stands waiting.
it
The door
did so with
in.
opens as though the person that opened
difficulty.
The Former Rich Citizen hobbles
is
He
is
ragged and dirty, and one foot
bandaged, which causes
him
to
use a crutch.
He
carries a large milk-can.
He
hobbles painfully to the centre of the stage.
The Former
THE EXCHANGE
Poor
sits
81
sits
Man
grunts with disappointment, and
down
again, rubbing
away
at his stomach.
The Vain
Woman
rather
with bowed head, silently weeping.
looks about, then addresses
The Former
Rich Citizen
husky
voice.
Imp in a
Former Rich
is
Citizen.
I wish to see the Judge at once.
It
most urgent.
Imp.
[With an ill-concealed smile.]
You
can't see the Judge
at once.
Former Rich
you
it
Citizen.
[Impatiently.]
Why
not?
I
told
was most urgent.
[Grinning openly.]
Imp.
Because he
isn't here.
He
hasn't
come
in yet.
What's your trouble ?
[Vehemently.] Trouble! Everything's
Former Rich Citizen.
the trouble! the cows have kicked me.
I can't stand
it.
I have been abused, insulted, overworked
even
proper
rest
[Looking down at his bandaged foot.]
it.
I won't stand
I
want back
my
place in the world, where I
and
sleep
and mingle with
am respected, and my kind.
to
where I can
[He hobbles
a chair and
sits
down
wearily.
Former Poor Man. [Getting up from his chair, walks over to the Former Rich Citiz
en, waggles his finger in his face and If you speaks fretfully.] What cause have
you to squeal so
.?
had indigestion
raise a holler.
like I
have
all
the time, you might be entitled to
Why,
I can't eat a thing without having the
most
awful pain right here [puts his hand
to the pit of his stomach],
and
when I take a drink, oh, heavens, it Former Rich Citizen. [Interrupting
sized trouble, there
contemptuously.]
If
You
I,
big baby, howling about the stomachache.
you had a man-
might be some excuse
for you.
Now
who
have been used to wealth and respect, have been subjected to
the most gruelling ordeals; why, in that dairy there were a million cows,
and they kicked me, and horned me, and
[Walks over
to
I
Vain Woman.
them, interrupting their talk.
82
and speaks in a
[sniff]
ALTHEA THURSTON
voice punctuated ivith sniffling sohs.\
Have-^
[Sniffy
either of
It
is
you gentlemen
[sniff]
ever been deaf?
sniff.]
a terrible thing
[sniff] for
a beautiful
woman
like I
am
[s?iiff]
to
have such an
affliction.
[Sniff, sniff, sniff.
[Former Rich Citizen shrugs his shoulders indifferently and limps to the other s
ide of the stage, where he sits.
Former Poor Man.
limply.]
[Stalks over to the railing, where he leans
Lord deliver
me from
a
sniffling
woman.
[Imp,
who
is
perched on his desk, chuckles wickedly at their
sufferings.
Vain
Woman
sinks dejectedly into the chair
vacated by the
Former Rich
Citizen.
{A knock
is
heard at the street-door.
The Former Poor
Man and the Former Rich Citizen start forward eagerly,
expecting the Judge.
Even
others rise, gets to her feet
from
to see
his desk and, pulling
little
Vain Woman, seeing the Imp hastily slides hopefully. down his tight little jacke
t and
the
little
cocking his round
cap a
more
over one eye, goes
letter
who knocks.
A
messenger hands him a
and
silently departs.
Imp.
[Importantly.]
Letter for
me from
the Judge.
Former Poor Man.
self.?
A
letter
!
Why
doesn't he
come him-
Former Rich
Imp.
[Grins at
Citizen.
Send
for him, boy.
Former Rich Citizen
is
in
an
insolent manner.]
Well, well, I wonder what the Judge
writing to
me
for.
It's
queer he would send
me
a
letter.
;
[He looks
the letter over carefully, both sides
it,
holds
it
up
to
the light, smells
shakes
it.
The two men and
the
woman
grow more and more nervous.
Former Poor Man.
sake,
[Extremely
irritated.]
For
goodness'
open
it
and read
it.
Former Rich
it.
Citizen.
Yes, yes, and don't be so long about
[Vain
Woman
simply stands pathetically and wails.
Imp
THE EXCHANGE
walks over
looks
letter
83
to his desk,
hunts for a knife, finally finds one;
over again, then slowly slits the envelope
and
They
draws out
letter,
which he reads
silently to himself.
are breathlessly waiting.
Imp
whistles softly to himself.
Imp.
Well,
what do you think
of that
Former Poor Man.
you
tell
[Excitedly.]
What
is
it
why
don't
us
?
Former Rich
floor.]
Citizen.
[Pounding with his crutch on the
like this.
Come, come, don't keep me waiting
[Reads
[Reads.]
letter
Imp.
it is.
again, silently, chuckling.]
All right.
Here
"My
dear Imp:
tried faithfully for years to aid distressed
lot of fools,
"I have
them.
humanity,
but they are an ungrateful
and I wash
my
hands of
and
I
When this letter am never coming
reaches you I will be on the high seas,
back.
So write 'Finis'
for the
in the big old
is
ledger of miseries,
and shut up shop,
Yours
in disgust.
Exchange
closed
forever.
The Judge."
The Vain
[They
all
stand dazed a moment.
Woman,
sens-
ing that something terrible has happened, rushes from one
to the other,
saying
" What is it ?
What has happened ?
"
Imp
gestion
all
gives her the letter to read.
Former Poor Man.
the rest of
[In a perfect frenzy.]
My God
!
Indi-
my
days.
Vain Woman.
[After reading letter collapses in a chair, hys-
terically sobbing out.]
Deaf, always deaf
!
Oh, what
This
shall I
do
!
Former Rich
Citizen.
[Leaning heavily on his crutch and
is
shaking his free hand, clenched in anger.]
an outrage.
I
am
rich
and have
influence,
and
I shall take steps to
to
[Imp laughs mockingly.
The
man
looks
down
at his milk-
spattered clothes, his bandaged foot, and, letting his crutch
84
ALTHEA THURSTON
jail to the floor, sinks dejectedly into
a chair, burying his
face in his hands.
[Imp dangles his keys and opens the street-door, as an invitation for
to start,
them
to go.
The Former Poor
Man is the first
Imp
offers
moving dazedly and breathing hard.
;
him
the bottle of indigestion tablets
the
man
grasps them
eagerly,
tipping Imp,
who
chuckles as he pockets the
money.
exits.
The Former Poor The Vain
Man
takes a tablet as he
Woman, bowed
Imp
it,
with sorrow, moves
slowly toward the door.
the ear-trumpet.
touches her
arm and
offers
She accepts
with a wild sob, tipping
Imp, who again chuckles a^ he pockets the money.
last
The
we
see of the
Vain Woman,
she is trying to hold the
ear-trumpet to her ear, and exits, sobbing.
The Former
Rich Citizen still sits Imp picks up hands.
at
in his chair, his head in his
the milk-can, and, tapping the
Tnan not too gently on the shoulder, thrusts the milk-can
him and makes a
significant gesture, indicative of

This
his
Way
Out.
takes
The
the
man
rises dejectedly, picks
up
crutch,
milk-can, and hobbles painfully
toward the door.
Imp doubles himself up in wild Meph-
istophelian glee as the
curtain falls
SAM AVERAGE
BY
PERCY MACKAYE
Sam Average is reprinted by special permission of Percy Mackaye. This play first
appeared in Yankee Fantasies, Duffield & Company, New York.
Special Notice
and no public reading
City.
No public or private performance of this play professional or amateur of it for m
oney may be given without the written
permission of the author and the payment of royalty. Persons who desire to obtai
n such permission should communicate direct with the author at his address. Harv
ard Club, 27 West 44th Street, New York
PERCY MACKAYE
Percy Mackaye, who was born in New York City in 1875, is one of the few American
s whose interest has been almost wholly in the theatre. As a lecturer, writer, a
nd champion of real art in drama, he lias had few if any equals. He inherited hi
s interest in drama from his father, Steele Mackaye, author of Hazel Kirke. He w
as educated at Harvard, where he studied under Professor George Pierce Baker, an
d at Leipzig. He has travelled extensively in Europe and at various times has re
sided in Rome, Switzerland, and London. In 1914 Dartmouth conferred upon him the
honorary Master of Arts degree. At present he holds a fellowship in dramatic li
terature in Miami University,
Oxford, Ohio.
Mr. Mackaye's efforts in the dramatic field have been varied. Masques, pageants,
operas, and plays are to his credit. The Canterbury Pilgrims, The Scarecrow, Je
anne D^Arc, Mater, AntiMatrimony, Sanctuary, Saint Louis Masque, and Caliban are
among his better-known works. In 1912 appeared his Yankee Fantasies, of which S
am Average and Gettysburg are the more noteworthy. In all of Mr. Mackaye's work
he possesses what many dramatists lack a definite ideal. He aims at an artistic
and literary effect. His Sam Average is a real contribution to American patrioti
c drama.

CHARACTERS
Andrew
Joel
Ellen
Sam Average
SAM AVERAGE*
An intrenchment
On
in Canada, near Niagara Falls, in the year 1814.
Night, shortly before dawn.
the right, the dull glow of
a smouldering wood fire ruddies the
earthen embankment, the low-stretched outline of which forms,
with darkness, the scenic background.
Near
the centre,
left,
against the dark, a flag with stars floats from
Us standard.
Beside the
fire,
Andrew,
is
reclined, gazes at
a small frame in his
it.
hand ; near him
a knapsack, with contents emptied beside
forth,
On
the
embankment, Joel, with a gun, paces back and
a
blanket thrown about his shoulders.
Joel.
[With a singing
call.]
Four
o'clock
!

^All's
well
the
[Jumping down from
fire.
the
embankment, he approaches
Andrew.
Joel.
By God,
[Looks
Joel, it's bitter.
coals.]
[Rubbing his hands over the
A mite
sharpish.
Andrew.
Joel.
up
eagerly.]
What ?
Oh!
[A pause.]
I
Cuts sharp, for Thanksgivin'.
[Sinks back, gloomily.]
Andrew.
meant
Joel.
wonI
dered you should agree with me.
You meant
.?
the weather.
[A pause again,
Well, Andy, what'd
Life.
you mean
Andrew.
Joel.
Shucks
[To himself.]
Andrew.
Living
All rights reserved.
* Copyright, 1912, 1921,
by Percy Mackaye.
89
90
Joel.
PERCY MACKAYE
[Sauntering over
left, listens.]
Hear a
?
rooster crow
?
Andrew.
Joel.
signal.
No.
What
are you doing
Tiltin' the flag
over crooked in the
dirt.
That's our
Andrew.
buried
it
Nothing could be more apj^opriate, unless we
it
buried
for us.
in the dirt
Joel.
She's to find us where the flag's turned down.
all right.
I fixed
's
that with the sergeant
The
rooster crowin'
her
watchword
Andrew.
better.
An
eagle screaming, Joel: that
would have been
ain't
[Rising.]
Ah
Andy!
'em.
[He laughs painfully.
Joel.
Hush
You'll
up,
The
it
nearest
low.
men
two rods
away.
Joel.
wake
Pitch
Andrew.
nel this end,
Don't be alarmed.
I'm coward enough.
'Course, though, there ain't
much
danger.
I'm
senti-
and the sergeant has the
the reg'lar thing.
tip at t'other.
Besides,
you may
call it
There's been two thousand
deserters already in this tuppenny-ha'penny war,
and none on
'em the worse
off.
When
a

well,
he ups and takes
man don't get his pay for nine months his vacation. Why not ? When Nell
cross over to
joins us, we'll hike
up the Niagara,
Tonawanda, and
take our breakfast in Buffalo.
By
that time the boys here will
be marchin' away tow^ard Lundy's Lane.
Andrew.
Joel.
[Walks back and forth,
?
shivering.]
I'm
afraid.
'Fraid
Bosh
Andrew.
Joel.
I'm afraid to face
Face what ?
Andrew.
Joel.
get you.^
Your
!
sister
We won't get caught. my wife.
knows
.f^
Nell
\Miy, ain't she comin' here just a-purpose to
Ain't you
Ain't there reason enough. Lord
made up your mind to light out home anyhow ? Andrew. Yes. That's just what she'l
l never
In her heart
as well as I
she'll
forgive
me for.
never think of
I'll
me
the same.
For she knows
what pledge
be breaking
what sacred pledge.
SAM AVERAGE
Joel.
91
What you mean ?
Andrew.
No
matter, no matter; this
to the fire
is
gush.
the contents
[He returns
and begins
to
fumble over
idly.
of his knapsack.
Joel watches him
One of her curls ? Andrew. [Looking at a lock of hair in the Some day they'll ba
by's, Httle Andy's.
Joel.
father
firelight.]
tell
No; the him how his
[He winces, and puts the lock away.
[Going toward the embankment.]
[Ties
Joel.
Listen
!
Andrew.
Joel.
up
the package, muttering.]
It's
Son
of a traitor
!
[Tiptoeing back.]
to his feet,
crowed
that's
her.
[Leaping
Andrew
stares
toward the embankment
to
it,
where the flag
his eyes
is
dipped ; then turns his back
his hands.
closing
and gripping
[After a pause, silently the figure of
a young
woman
emerges
from
the
dark and stands on the embankment.
ill
She
is
bareheaded and
clad.
[Joel touches
Andrew, who
down
to
turns and looks toward her.
Silently she steals
him and
they embrace.
Andrew.
Ellen.
My Nell
Nearly a year
Andrew.
Ellen.
Now,
at last
close,
Hold me
Andy.
Andrew.
Ellen.
You're better ?
Let's forget
just for now.
see
Is he grown much ? Grown ? You should could I do You see Andrew. I know, I know.
Andrew.
Ellen.
him
!
But
so
ill
!
What
.?
Ellen.
The money was
I know, dear.
all
gone.
They turned me out
at
the old place, and then
Andrew.
Ellen.
I got sewing, but
when the smallpox
92
PERCY MACKAYE
I
Andrew.
pack.
have
all
your
letters, Nell.
Come, help me to
Ellen.
Joel.
What
!
You're really decided
Hello, Sis
Joel; that
[Approaching.]
[Absently.]
to the
Ellen.
Ah,
you.^
[Eagerly y following
Andrew
Ellen.
I've
knapsack.]
But,
my
dear
off.
Andrew.
Just these few things, and we're
[Agitated.]
Wait, wait!
You
don't
know yet why
come instead of writing. Andrew. I can guess. Ellen. But you can't; that's tell
you something, and then

your own eyes, from yourself,

that you think
it is right.
I have to must know from that you wish to do this, Andrew;
!
what's so hard
[Sloivly.]
I
Andrew.
Ellen.
ness,
it's
it's
it's
[Gently.]
I guessed that. I
This
is
what
must
tell
you.
It's
not just the sick-
not only the baby, not the
money gone
and
all
that;

Andrew.
Ellen.
been insulted.
[Murmurs.]
It's
My
God
what
all
that brings
the
helplessness.
I've
Andy

[Her voice breaks.]

I
want a
protector.
Andrew.
dear
[Taking her in his arms, where she
sobs.]
There,
Ellen.
[With a low moan.]
I
You know.
we'll go.
Andrew.
Ellen.
right?
know.
Come, now;
[Her face lighting up.]
Oh
!
and you dare I
It's
Dare
Andrew. [Moving from her, I be damned by God and
Joel.
with a hoarse laugh.]
all his
angels?
Ha!
Dare? Come,
we're slow.
Time enough.
[Sinking upon Joel's knapsack 05 a seat, leans her
at
Ellen.
head on her hands, and looks strangely
Andrew.]
I'd better
have written, I'm
afraid.
SAM AVERAGE
Andrew.
way.
[Controlling his emotion.]
it all.
93
don't take
it
Now,
that
I've considered
Ellen.
[With deep
quiet.]
Blasphemously.''
Andrew.
Reasonably,
I
my
brave wife.
When
I enlisted, I
dreamed I was called to love and serve our country. But that dream is shattered.
This sordid war, this political murder, has not one single principle of humanit
y to
did so in a dream.
excuse
its
bloody
sacrilege.
It doesn't deserve
my
loyalty
our
loyalty.
Ellen.
Are you saying
this

for
my
sake?
What
of
"God
and
his angels".?
Andrew.
[Not looking at
her.]
If
we had a
if
just cause
cause of liberty like that in Seventy-six;
to serve one's country
meant to serve God and his angels then, yes; a man might put away wife and child
. He might say: "I will not be a husband, a father; I will be a patriot." But no
w like this tangled in a web of spiders caught in a grab-net of politicians and
you, you and our baby-boy, like this hell let in on our home no,

Coimtry be cursed
Ellen.
[Slowly.]
So, then,
when
little
Andy grows up
Andrew.
Ellen.
I
[Groaning.]
I say that the only thing
am
to tell
him
Tell
Andrew.
try,
sionately.]
[Defiantly.]
him
his father deserted his coun-
and thanked God
Here
it
!
for the chance.
[Looking about him pasthe flag
[He tears a part of
her.]
from
its
standard^
and reaches
toward
You're cold; put this round you.
about her shoulders,
[As he
is putting the strip of colored silk
a sound of fifes and fiutes, playing the merry march-strains of " Yankee Doodle.
'^
there rises, faint yet close by,
[At the same time there enters along the embankment, dimly,
enveloped in a great cloak, a
tall
Figure, which pauses
beside the standard of the torn flag, silhouetted against the
first pale streaks of the
dawn.
Ellen.
[Gazing at Andrew.]
What's the matter ?
94
PERCY MACKAYE
[Listening.]
Andrew.
Joel.
Who
He
are they
?
Where
is it ?
[Starts, alertly.]
hears something.
Andrew.
Ellen.
Joel.
Why
Andy
should they play before daybreak ?
[Whispers.]
to the
Ssh
!
Look out
!
We're spied on
[He points
back.
embankment.
Andrew and Ellen draw
and leaning on
The
it.]
Figxjre.
?
[Straightening the flag-standard,
Desartin'
Andrew.
watchword
[Puts
Ellen
behind him.]
Who's there
.^
The
The
Joel.
it*s
Figure.
God
!
save the smart folks
[To Andrew.]
He's on to us.
knife.]
Pickle
him
quiet, or
court martial
[Showing a long
it
Shall I give
him this ?
Andrew.
Ellen.
[Taking
from
him.]
No.
/
will.
[Seizing his arm.]
Andrew
Andrew.
Let
go.
[The Figure, descending into the intrenchment, approaches with face muffled. Joe
l draws Ellen away. Andrew
moves toward
The Figure slowly.
They meet and pause,
Andrew.
You're a spy
[With a quick flash,
pauses, staring.
Andrew raises the knife to strike, but The Figure, throwing up one arm to
ward
the blow, reveals
through
the parted cloak
a
glint
of stars in the firelight."^
told
The Figure. me to drop
Joel.
Steady, boys; I'm one of ye.
The
sergeant
round.
!
Oh, the sergeant
[Dropping the
That's
knife.]
all right,
then.
Andrew.
Who
are
you ?
.'
The Figure.
*
Who be /.^ My name, ye mean
My name's
face of the Figure are partly hidden by a beak-shaped Momentarily, however, when
his head is turned toward the fire, enough of the face is discernible to reveal
his narrow iron-gray beard, shaven upper lip, aquiline nose, and eyes that twin
kle in the dimness.
The head and
cowl.
SAM AVERAGE
Average
95
o'
Sam Average.
me.
Univarsal Sam, some
my
prophetic
friends calls
Andrew.
Joel.
What are you doing here now ? The Figure. Oh, tendin' to business.
Tendin' to other
folks' business,

eh ?
Ye-es; reckon
The Figure.
that
is
[With a toiwh of weariness.]
my
business.
Some
to
other folks
is
me.
Joel.
[Grimacing
Ellen.]
Cracked
You're a mite back'ard in
The
Figure.
[To Andrew.]
wages, ain't ye ?
Andrew.
Nine months.
What
fit,
of that.?
for.
The Figure.
and calc'lates
That's what I dropped round
like
Seems
suthin'
like
when a man's endoored and
he'll quit,
you have,
for his country,
he ought to be takin' a
little
hom'
for Thanksgivin'.
So I fetched round your pay.
!
Andrew.
Ellen.
My pay
You ?
eagerly.]
The Figure. The Figure.
Yes; I'm the paymaster.
[Coming forward,
Andy!
The money,
is it
.''
[Bows with a grave, old-fashioned
staieliness.]
Your sarvent, ma'am Andrew. [Sfealcinglow.] Keep back, Nell.
[T^o
The Figure.]
down
You you were The Figure.

saying
I were about to say how gold bein' scarce
to the Treasury, I fetched ye
tional I. O. U.'s, as ye
some
s'curities instead;
some na-
might say.
[He takes out an old jpowder[Pouring from the
horn, and rattles
it
quietly.]
That's them.
horn into his palm some glistening, golden grains.]
Here they
be.
Ellen.
Joel.
[Peering, with Joel.]
Gold,
Andy
!
!
[With a snigger.]
Gold
nothin'
It's
That's corn
just
Injun corn.
Ha
[Bowing
gravely.]
The Figure.
what
Joel.
the quality, ma'am,
counts, as ye might say.
[Behind his hand.]
His top-loft leaks
give'
The
Figure.
These here karnels, now, were
me down
96
PERCY MACKAYE
in
Plymouth way,
like I
Massachusetts, the fust Thanksgivin' seems
'Twa'n't long after the famine
can remember.
we had
his
thar.
Me
bein'
some hungry, the
red-folks fetched a hull-lot o'
this round,
with the compliments of their capting
what were
name now ?
Joel.
out.
Massasoit.
like
This here's the last handful on't
left.
Thought ye might
some, bein' Thanksgivin'.
[In a low voice, to Ellen.]
His screws are droppin'
Come and The Figure.
still
pack.
We've got
to
mark time and
skip.
[Without looking at Joel.]
Eight or ten min-
The sergeant said wait till ye hear his jew's-harp playin' of that new war tune.
The Star-Spangled Banner. Then ye' 11 know the coast's clear.
utes
to spare, boys.

Joel.
Gad, that's
pack,
right.
I
remember now.
knapsack, which they begin
to
tall
\He draws Ellen away
to the
Andrew
the cloak.
has never removed his eyes from the
form in
[Now, as
The Figure pours back
thmk I'd like some. Some o' what ?
the yellow grains from his
pahn
into the powder-horn, he speaks, hesitatingly,
Andrew. Andrew.
the horn.]
I

The Figure.
Those
my pay.
So.
The Figure.
Andrew.
of
[Cheerfully.]
Would ye?
[Handing him
Reckon
that's
enough ?
it.]
[Not taking
That's what I want to
make
sure

^first.
The Figure.
Andrew.
me,
sir.
Oh
!
So ye're
hesitatin'
Yes; but I want you to help
me
decide.
Pardon
ask your
You're a stranger, yet somehow I
in time.
feel I
may
help.
You've come just
S'posin'
The Figure.
wa'n't
it ?
Queer I should a-dropped round
jest
now,
knap-
we take a
the
turn.
[Together they walk toivard the embankment.
By
the
sack
Ellen ^nc?5
herself.]
little
frame.
Ellen.
[To
My picture
SAM AVERAGE
[She looks toioard
97
Joel,
lifting the
Andrew
to her.
affectionately.
knapsack, beckons
Joel.
There's more stuff over here.
[He goes
off,
right ;
Ellen follows him.
judgment
of
Andrew.
to be one
[To
The
sir.
Figure.]
I should like the
your experience,
I can't quite see your face, yet
you appear
who has had a great deal of experience. Why, consid'able some. Andrew. Did you h
appen to fight in the late war
The Figure.
pendence
.f*

for inde-
The Figure.
fight;
Happen
to.^^
[Laughing
quietly.]
N-no, not
was paymaster. Andrew. But you went through the war ? The Figure. Ye-es, oh, yes
; I went through
ye see
^I

it.
I took out
my
fust reg'lar papers
down
to Philadelphie, in '76, seems like
I
it
'twas the fourth day
Andrew.
true ?
Tell
o' July. But me: I've heard
was paymaster afore
Washington.
that.
said there were deserters
Is
it
even in those days, even from the
roll-call of
The Figure.
fire rollin'
True, boy ?
Have ye
ever watched a prairie-
toward ye, billowin' with flame and smoke, and seed
.?*
all
the midget cowerin' prairie-dogs scoot in' for their holes
Wall, that's the
way
I
watched Howe's army sweepin' crosst the
little patriots,
Jarsey marshes, and seed the desartin'
with their
chins over their shoulders, skedaddlin' home'ards.
Andrew.
What
the Americans
!
The
Figure.
All but a handful
on 'em
set
them
and
it
as weren't
canines, ye might say, but men.
They
a back-fire goin' at
fingers off,
Valley Forge.
Most on 'em burnt
white
frost,
their toes
lightin' on't thar in the
but they stuck
through and
did they
saved

wall, the prairie-dogs.

Andrew. But they those others. What reason give to God and their own souls for d
eserting The Figure. To who
.?
.?

98
PERCY MACKAYE
Andrew. To their consciences. What was their reason ? It must have been a noble
one in '76. Their reason then ; don't you I must know what reason real heroes ga
ve see, I must have it.
for their acts.
You were
there.
eh.?
You can
o'
tell
me.
ye, then.
is
The Figure.
market.
i^aZ heroes,
Look around
hero
To-
day's the heroic age, and the true brand
al'ays in the
Look around ye Andrew. What, here
of

in this
war
of jobsters, this petty
campaign
monstrous boodle 2
The Figure.
Andrew.
Thar we be
here are only a lot of cowardly half-men, like
Why,
me

Clovers of their
own
folks
their wives and babies at home.
But
real
They'll
in '76:
make
I
sacrifices for
them.
men
like
our fathers
they looked in the beautiful face of Liberty, and sacri-
ficed to her
as you be.
Our fathers, my boy, was jest as fond o' poetry They talked about the beautiful
face o' Liberty same's you; but when the hom'made eyes and cheeks of their
The Figure.
sweethearts and young uns took to cry in', they desarted their
beautiful goddess
and skun out hom'.
there were some Thar was some as didn't Those be the folks on my
Andrew.
But
The
Figure.
yes; and thar's some
as don't to-day.
a-here: I calc'late I wouldn't fetch
My talk ain't rhyme stuff, nor the
schoolma'am.
pay-roll. Why, look much on the beauty counter. Muse o' Grammar wa'n't my
Th'
stand.
ain't painter nor clay-sculptor
would
pictur'
me jest like I
give'
For the axe has hewed me, and the plough
has furrered; and the arnin' of gold by
my own
I
elbow-grease has
me
the shrewd eye at a bargain.
manure
my
crops this
side o' Jordan,
and as
arn
for t'other shore, I'd ruther
swap jokes
with the Lord than listen to his sarmons.
o'
And
yet for the likes
me,
jest for to
my
wages
ha, the many, many boys and
gals that's
gone to their grave-beds, and when I a-closed their
eyes, the love-light
was
shinin' thar.
SAM AVERAGE
Andrew. [Who
are
99
has listened with awe.]
What are you ? What
you ?
The Figure.
Andrew. Andrew.
I
Me ?
I'm the paymaster.
want
to serve
you

!
like those others.
The Figure. The
Figure.
Slow, slow, boy
for
Nobody
sarves me.
But they died
you
for

the others.
for
No, 'twa'n't
me; 'twas
him
as pays
the wages; the one as works through
I'm only the paymaster; kind of
ent sarvant.
the one higher up. obedia needful makeshift
me
his
to
is
Andrew.
[With increasing curiosity, seeks
peer in
The
sarve
Figure's face.]
But the one up higher
who
he ?
The Figure.
him, think,
if
[Turning his head away.]
Would ye
his face
ye heerd his voice ?
[Ardently, drawing closer.]
Andrew.
And saw
[Drawing his cowl lower and taking Andrew's arm.
The
Figure
together.
leads
him up on the embankment, where they stand
The
Figure.
Hark a-yonder
Is
it
Andrew. Andrew.
[Listening.]
thunder ?
?
The Figure.
The
[With awe,
Have ye
voice
!
forgot I
remember now
Niagara
stands
Andrew
still,
looks toward
The Figure, who
From far
shrouded and
facing the dawn.
a sound as of falling waters, and with that a deep murmv;rous voice, which seems
to issue from The Figure's
cowl.

off
comes
The
of
Voice.
I
am
the Voice that was heard of your fathers,
and your
fathers' fathers.
Mightier

^mightier, I shall
be heard
am the Million in whom the one is lost, and I am the One in whom the millions ar
e saved. Their ears shall be shut to my thunders, their eyes to my blinding star
s. In shallow
your sons.
I
streams they shall tap
coal
my
life-blood for gold.
With dregs
of
and
of copper they shall pollute
me.
In the mystery of
my
100
mountains
strike
PERCY MACKAYE
tliey shall assail
me;
in the
majesty of
my
forests,
me down;
One and
with engine and derrick and millstone, bind
me
me.
their slave.
Some
for a lust,
some
life;
for
a love, shall desert
one, for his own, shall
fall
away.
Yet one and
is
one and one
shall return to
me
for
the deserter and the de-
stroyer shall re-create me.
Primeval, their life-blood
mine.
My
pouring waters are passion,
I
my
lightnings are laughter of
man.
am
the
One
in
whom
^
the millions are saved, and I
am
the Million in
whom
the one
to
is lost.
Andrew.
him,
[Yearningly
Tue
Figxtri:.]
Your
face!
clings to
[The Figure turns
majestically away.
Andrew
Andrew.
Your
face
[In the shadow of the flag
stant.
The Figure
unmuffles for an in-
[Peering^ dazzled,
Andrew
the
staggers hack, with a low cry,
and, covering his eyes, falls upon the embankment.
[From away, [From
left,
thrumming
of a jew's-harp is heard,
playing " The Star-Spangled Banner."
the right enter
Joel and Ellen.
[Descending from the embankment.
apart.
The Figure
stands
Joel.
Well, Colonel Average, time's up.
[Seeing
Ellen.
!
Andrew's
prostrate form,
hastens to him.]
Andy What's happened ? Andrew. [Rising slowly.]
is
Come
here.
I'll
whisper
it.
[He leads her beside the embankment, beyond which the dawn
beginning
to redden.
Joel.
Nell.
Yonder's the sergeant's jew's-harp.
long, colonel.
That's our signal,
So
The Figure.
Andrew.
derstand ?
[Nodding.]
So long, sonny.
[Holding Ellen's hands, passionately.]
You un-
You
do ?
eyes.]
Ellen.
[Looking in his
I understand, dear.
SAM AVERAGE
[They kiss each Joel.
clear.
other.
101
[Calls low.]
Come, you married
Sneak.
turtles.
The
road's
Follow
me now.
[Carrying his knapsack, Joel climbs over the embankment
and disappears.
[The thrumming of the jew^s-harp continties.
[Ellen, taking the strip of
it to
silk flag from her shoulders, ties
the standard.
[Faintly.]
Andrew.
Ellen.
God
bless
[As they part hands.]
you Good-by
!
[The Figure has remounted the embankment, where the gray folds of his distincter
glow of the red dawn

in the
cloak,
hanging from his shoulders, resemble the half-closed wings
of
an
eagle, the
beaked cowl falling, as a kind of
it.
visor,
before his face, concealing
The
Figure.
Come,
to
little gal.
[Ellen goes
him, and hides her face in the great cloak.
it
As
she does so, he draws from
it to
a paper, writes on
it,
and
hands
Andrew,
all
with the powder-horn.
The Figure.
here's
By
and
the by, Andy, here's that s'curity.
Them
my
initials;
they're
what's needful.
Jest
file
this in the
right pigeonhole,
lip,
you'll
later,
draw your pay.
Keep your upper
boy.
I'll
meet ye
mebbe, at Lundy's Lane.
housekeep for your uncle
Andrew.
[Wistfully.]
You'll take her home.'^
she'll
The
till
Figure.
Yes; reckon
you get back; won't
ye, Nellie.'^
Come, don't
cry, little gal.
We'll soon git 'quainted.
called
'Tain't the fust time sweethearts has
me
Uncle.
ii,
[Flinging back his great cloak, he throws one wing of
his arm, about her shoulders, thv^ with half
its
with
reverse side
draping her with shining stripes and
action
his
stars.
By
own
figure is
made
partly visible

the
same
the legs
clad in the tight, instep-strapped troupers {blue
of the Napoleonic era.
and
white)
Holding the
girl gently to
him

102
PERCY MACKAYE
while her face turns hack toward
Andrew
he leads
her,
silhouetted against the sunrise, along the
embankment, and
disappears.
[Meantime, the thrumming twang of the Jew's -harp grows
sweeter, mellower,
modulated with harmonies
that, filling
now
the air with elusive strains of the
American warforms; then,
hymn, mingle with
the faint dawn-tivitterings of birds.
after
[Andrew
stares
silently
the departed
slowly coming
ground his
down into the intrenchment, lifts from the gun and ramrod, leans on the gun, and
read-
ing the paper in his hand by the growing light
mutters
makes a
^
"''"*
U.S.A.
fist,
[Smiling sternly, he crumples the paper in his
wad
of
it,
and rams
it
into his gun-ba/rrel.
HYACINTH HALVEY
BY
LADY AUGUSTA GREGORY
Hyacinth Ealvey
Sons,
is
reprinted
by
New York
City, publishers of
special permission of G. P. Putnam's Lady Gregory's work in America.
All rights reserved.
For permission to perform, address the publisher.
LADY AUGUSTA GREGORY
Lady Augusta Gregory, one
Irish dramatic
of the foremost figures in the
movement, was born at Roxborough, County Galway, Ireland, in 1859. "She was then
a young woman," says one who has described her in her early married life, "very
earnest, who divided her hair in the middle and wore it smooth on either side o
f a broad and handsome brow. Her eyes were
always
full of questions.
...
In her drawing-room were to be
met men of assured reputation in literature and politics, and there was always t
he best reading of the times upon her tables." Lady Gregory has devoted her enti
re life to the cause of Irish literature. In 1911 she visited the United States
and at a dinner given to her by The Outlook in New York City she said:
"I will not cease from mental strife Or let the sword fall from my hand Till we
have built Jerusalem In Ireland's fair and lovely land."

Lady Gregory, with William Butler Yeats and John Millington Synge, has been the
very life of the Irish drama. The literary association of these three has been h
ighly fruitful. She helped to found the Irish National Theatre Society, and for
a number of years has been the managing force of the celebrated Abbey Theatre in
Dublin. Lady Gregory's chief interest has been in peasant comedies and folk-pla
ys. Her Spreading the News, Hyacinth Halvey, The Rising of the Moon, The Workhou
se Ward, and The Travelling
Man
It
are w^ell-known contributions to contemporary drama.
is
a noteworthy fact that most of the plays of the Irish dramatic movement are one-
act plays. Much of Irish life lends itself admirably to one-act treatment. Hyaci
nth Halvey is one of Lady Gregory's best productions. This play contains a unive
rsal idea: reputation is in great measure a matter of "a password or an emotion.
" Hyacinth, having a good reputation thrust upon him, may do as he likes ^his go
od name clings to him not-

withstanding.
PERSONS
Hyacinth Halvey
James Quirke, a
butcher
telegraph boy
Fardy Farrell, a
Sergeant Garden
Mrs. Delane,
Miss Joyce,
postmistress at Cloon
the priest's housekeeper
HYACINTH HALVEY
SCENE:
Outside the post-ofice at the
at post-office door.
little
town of Cloon.
sitting
it,
Mrs.
Delane
Mr. Quirke
on a chair
at butcher's door.
A dead sheep hanging beside
Fardy Farrell
and a thrush
in a cage above.
playing on a mouth-organ.
Train-whistle heard.
Mrs. Delane.
There
Is
it
is
the four-o'clock train, Mr. Quirke.
Mr. Quirke.
rising ?
now, Mrs. Delane, and I not long after
in the night-time.
stags of
makes a man drowsy to be doing the haK of his work Going about the country, look
ing for little sheep, striving to knock a few shillings together. That
It
contract for the soldiers gives
me
a great deal to attend
It's
to.
Mrs. Delane. to be down ready
in the half-dark.
letters
I suppose so.
hard enough on myself
for the mail-car in the morning, sorting letters
It's often I
haven't time to look
who
are the
from
or the cards.
Mr. Quirke. It would be a pity you not to know any little news might be knocking
about. If you did not have information of what is going on, who should have it
? Was it you, ma'am,
was
telling
me
?
that the
new
sub-sanitary inspector would be
arriving to-day
Mrs. Delane.
was den
in that train.
To-day
it is
he
is
coming, and
it's
likely
he
There was a card about him to Sergeant Car-
this
morning.
Mr. Quirke.
he was.
A
young chap from Carrow they were saying
So he
one Hyacinth Halvey; and indeed
107
Mrs. Delane.
is,
if
108
all
LADY AUGUSTA GREGORY
is
that
said of
him
is
true, or
if
a quarter of
it is
true,
he will
be a credit to this town.
Mr. Quirke.
Mrs. Delane.
Gregan they were
Is that so
?
Testimonials he has by the score.
sent.
To Father
Registered they were coming and going.
telling
Would you
pounds ?
believe
me
you that they weighed up to three
in
Mr. Quirke.
Mrs. Delane.
there did.
There must be great bulk
It
is
them
job.
indeed.
no wonder he to get the
He must
have a great character, so
many
persons to write for him as what
Fardy.
that.
It
would be a great thing to have a character
Indeed, I
it,
like
Mrs. Delane.
you
Fardy.
If I
am
thinking
it
will
be long before
not here
will get the like of
Fardy
Farrell.
had the
like of that of
It's in
a character
it is
carrying messages I would be.
be, driving cars.
Noonan's Hotel I would
Mr. Quirke.
Mrs. Delane.
while after her.
Here
is
the priest's housekeeper coming.
is;
So she
and there
is
the sergeant a
little
[Enter Miss Joyce. Mrs. Delane. Good evening to you, Miss Joyce. What way Did he
get any ease from the cough ? is his reverence to-day ? Miss Joyce. He did not,
indeed, Mrs. Delane. He has it sticking to him yet. Smothering he is in the nig
ht-time. The most thing he comes short in is the voice. Mrs. Dela.ne. I am sorry
, now, to hear that. He should mind himself well. Miss Joyce. It's easy to say l
et him mind himself. WTiat do you say to him going to the meeting to-night ?
[Sergeant comes
in.
Miss Joyce.
Mrs. Delane.
It's for his reverence's
"Freeman"
I
am
come,
HYACINTH HALVEY
Mrs. Delane. Here eye on it to see was there
Sergeant.
[Holding
it is
109
an
ready.
I
was
I
just throwing
anj^ news.
Good
evening. Sergeant.
up a
placard.]
brought this notice,
Mrs. Delane, the announcement of the meeting to be held tonight in the court-hou
se.
to the window.
I
You might put
it
up here convenient
yourself ?
I
hope you are coming to
it
Mrs. Delane.
Sergeant.
meeting
I will come, and welcome.
would do more
than that for you. Sergeant.
And you, Mr. Quirke. Mr. Quirke. I'll come, to be sure.
is
I forget what's this the
about.
Sergeant.
classes.
The Department
of Agriculture
is
sending round
a lecturer in furtherance of the moral development of the rural
[Reads.]
"A lecture will be given this evening in Cloon
slides
Court-House, illustrated by magic-lantern
not be in
it;
"
Those
will
I
am
is
informed they were
all
broken
in the first jour-
ney, the railway
of the lecture
company taking them to be eggs. The subject "The Building of Character." Mrs. De
lane. Very nice, indeed. I knew a girl lost her
and she washed her
feet in a blessed well after,
character,
and
it
dried up on the minute.
Sergeant.
things of the
archdeacon being away.
The arrangements have all been left to me, the He knows I have a good intellect
for sort. But the loss of those slides puts a man out.
it is
The
thing people will not see
I
not likely
tableaux
it is
the thing they
will believe.
saw what they
call
standing pictures,
is
you know one time in Dundrum Mrs. Delane. Miss Joyce was saying Father Gregan
porting you.

sup-
Sergeant. I am accepting his assistance. No bigotry about me when there is a que
stion of the welfare of any fellow creatures. Orange and green
chair.
will
stand together to-night.
I,
myself,
and
the station-master on the one side, your parish priest in the
110
LADY AUGUSTA GREGORY
If his reverence
Miss Joyce.
would mind
no more
fit
me
he would not
quit the house to-night.
He
is
to go speak at
a
meeting than [pointing
that sheep.
to the
one hanging outside Quirke's door]
Sergeant.
I
am
willing to take the responsibility.
all,
He
will
have no speaking to do at
the lecturer a hearing.
unless
it
might be to bid them give
The
loss of those slides
annoyance to
me
and no time
for anything.
now is a great The lecturer will
be coming by the next train.
Miss Joyce. Who is this coming up the street, Mrs. Delane ? Mrs. Delane. I would
n't doubt it to be the new sub-sanitary inspector. Was I telling you of the weig
ht of the testimonials he got. Miss Joyce ?
Miss Joyce.
reverence.
Sure, I heard the curate reading
them
to his
He must
be a wonder for principles.
Mrs. Delane. Indeed, it is what I was saying to myself, he must be a very saintl
y young man. [Enter Hyacinth Halvey. He carries a small bag and
a large brown-paper parcel.
fully.
He
I
stops
and nods bashto the
Hyacinth.
post-office
Good evening
I suppose
to you.
was bid to come
Halvey.'^
Sergeant.
letter
you are Hyacinth was
writing.
I
had a
about you from the resident magistrate.
I heard he It
Hyacinth.
Sergeant.
was
my mother got a
friend he deals with to ask him.
He
It
gives
you a very high character.
all
Hyacinth.
ing
is
very kind of him, indeed, and he not knowthe neighbors were very friendly.
me
at
all.
But, indeed,
Anything any one could do to help
me
they did
it.
Mrs. Delane.
your parcel
?
I'll
engage
it is
the testimonials you have in
I
know
the wrapping-paper, but they grew in bulk
since I handled them.
Hyacinth.
Indeed, I was getting them to the
last.
There
HYACINTH HALVEY
was not one refused me.
good character
is
111
It
is
what
my
mother was saying, a
no burden.
Fardy.
I
would believe that, indeed.
Let us have a look at the testimonials.
parcel,
Sergeant.
[Hyacinth Halvey opens
envelopes fall out.
and a
large
number of
possesses
Sergeant.
the
fire of
[Opening and reading one by one.]
"
of the
"He
the Gael, the strength of the
stolidity of the
Norman, the
Poor
vigor of the
Dane, the
Saxon
Hyacinth.
wrote that.
It
was the chairman
Law
Guardians
"
Sergeant.
"A
magnificent example to old and young
of the
Hyacinth.
Club
That was the secretary
De Wet
Hurling
Sergeant.
"A
shining example of the value conferred
"
by an
eminently careful and high-class education
Hyacinth.
Sergeant.
tary career
That was the national schoolmaster. "Devoted to the highest ideals of his mother
land
is
to such an extent as "
compatible with a hitherto non-parliamen-
Hyacinth.
Sergeant.
That was the member
for
Carrow.
"A
The
splendid
exponent of the purity of the
Hyacinth.
Sergeant.
all
editor of the "
Carrow Champion."
for the efficient discharge of
"Admirably adapted
possible duties that
may
in future
be laid upon him
"
Hyacinth.
Sergeant.
benefit his
The new
station-master.
"A champion of every cause that can legitimately " Why, look here, my man, you fe
llow creatures
come
to our assistance to-night.
that.
are the very one to
Hyacinth.
doit?
I
would be glad to do
What way
can I
Sergeant.
weight
you
You are a newcomer your example would carry must stand up as a living proof of t
he beneficial

112
eflPect
LADY AUGUSTA GREGORY
of a high character,
it
moral
sure
fibre,
temperance
I
there
I
is
something about
**
here I
am

(Looks.)
am
sure I saw
unparalleled temperance" in
some place
Hyacinth.
Sergeant.
It
was
my
mother's cousin wrote that

am
no
drinker, but I haven't the pledge taken
You might take it for the purpose. Mr. Quirke. [Eagerly.] Here is an antitreatin
g button. was made a present of it by one of my customers I'll give it
I to

you [sticks it in Hyacinth's coat] and welcome. Sergeant. That is it. You can we
ar the button on the
platform
ample
or a bit of blue ribbonhundreds I know the boys from the Workhouse
I
will follow
your ex-
will
Hyacinth.
Sergeant.
am
in
no way wishful to be an example
read
extracts
I
will
from
of
the
testimonials.
"There he
is," I will say,
"an example
and
one
in early life
who
do.
by
I'll
his
own unaided
efforts
his high character has obtained a
profitable situation."
[Slaps his side.]
I
know what
I'll
engage a few corner-boys from Noonan's bar, just as they are,
greasy and sodden, to stand in a group
trast
there will be the con-
the sight
to
will deter others
way
do a tableau
that's the I knew I could turn out a success.
from a similar fate
'pocket.]
Hyacinth.
Sergeant.
I wouldn't like to be a contrast
[Puts testimonials in his
I will go
it
now
and ergagi those lads sixpence each, and well worth ing like an example for the
rural classes.
[Goes
off.

noth-
Hyacinth feebly
trying to detain him.
Mrs. Delane.
himself,
A very nice man, indeed. A little high up in
I'm not one that blames the
police.
maybe.
Sure they
indeed
it
have
is
their
own bread
to earn like every other one.
And
will,
often they will let a thing pass.
Mr. Quirke.
Miss Joyce.
Halvey ^
[Gloomily.]
Sometimes they
will
and more
times they will not.
And where
you be finding a
lodging,
Mr.
HYACINTH HALVEY
Hyacinth.
I
113
I don't
was going to ask that myself, ma*am.
I
know the town. Miss Joyce.
good
know
of a
good lodging, but
it.
it is
only a very
man would
be taken into
Mrs. Delane. Sure there could be no objection there to Mr. Halvey. There is no a
ppearance on him but what is good,
and the sergeant after taking him up the way he is doing. Miss Joyce. You will b
e near to the sergeant in the lodging
I speak of.
The house
is
convenient to the barracks.
Hyacinth.
[Doubtfully.]
To
it,
the barracks
?
Miss Joyce.
Alongside of
all.
and the barrack-yard behind.
And
that's not
It
is
opposite to the priest's house.
is it ?
Hyacinth.
Opposite,
Miss Joyce. clean room you
into
it
A
very respectable place, indeed, and a very
I
will get.
know
it
well.
The curate can
see
from
his
window.
Hyacinth.
Fardy.
Can he now ?
There was a good many, I
left it after.
am
thinking,
went
into
that lodging and
Miss Joyce.
dance.
[Sharply.]
It
If
is
a lodging you will never be
let
into or let stop in, Fardy.
they did go they were a good rid-
John Hart, the plumber, left it Miss Joyce. If he did it was because he dared no
t pass the police coming in, as he used, with a rabbit he was after snaring
in his
Fardy.
hand.
The schoolmaster himself left it. Miss Joyce. He needn't have left it if he hadn
't taken to card-playing. What way could you say your prayers, and shadows shuff
ling and dealing before you on the blind ? Hyacinth. I think maybe I'd best look
around a bit before
Fardy.
I'll
settle in a lodging
Miss Joyce.
the blind.
Not at all.
Fow won't be wanting
to pull
down
114
LADY AUGUSTA GREGORY
Mrs. Delane. It is not likely you will be snaring rabbits. Miss Joyce. Or bringi
ng in a bottle and taking an odd glass the way James Kelly did. Mrs. Delane. Or
writing threatening notices, and the police
taking a view of you from the rear.
Miss Joyce.
Hyacinth.
think.
Or going
I give
to roadside dances, or running after
good-for-nothing young
girls
you
my
word I'm not
so harmless as
you
Mrs. Delane.
Halvey.''
will
[Touching testimonials.]
Would you be putting a lie on these, Mr. I know well the way you
letters to
be spending the evenings, writing
your relations
Miss Joyce. Learning O'Growney's exercises Mrs. Delane. Sticking post-cards in a
n album
vent bazaar.
for the con-
Miss Joyce. Reading the "Catholic Young Man" Mrs. Dei^^ne. Playing the melodies
on a melodeon Miss Joyce. Looking at the pictures in the "Lives of the I'll hurr
y on and engage the room for you. Saints." Hyacinth. Wait. Wait a minute Miss Jo
yce. No trouble at all. I told you it was just opposite.
[Goes.
Mr. Quirke.
self for
I suppose I
If it
must go
up-stairs
and ready my-
the meeting.
wasn't for the contract I have for the
soldiers'
barracks and the sergeant's good word, I wouldn't go
[Goes into shop.
anear
it.
Mrs. Delane. I should be making myself ready, too. I must be in good time to see
you being made an example of, IMr. Halvey. It is I, myself, was the jfirst to s
ay it; you will be a
credit to the town.
[Goes.
Hyacinth.
Cloon.
[In a tone of agony.]
I wish I
had never seen
Fardy.
What
is
on you ?
Hyacinth.
I wish I
had never
left
Carrow.
I wish I
had
HYACINTH HALVEY
been drowned the
off.
115
I'd be better
first
day
I
thought of
it,
and
Fardy. What is it ails you ? Hyacinth. I wouldn't for the best pound ever I had
be
this place to-day.
in
Fardy.
I
I don't
know what you
left
are talking about.
if it
Hyacinth.
To have
Carrow,
was a poor
place,
where
had
my comrades,
and an odd
spree,
and a game
of cards
and
I'll
a coursing-match coming on, and I promised a new greyhound
from the city
be too
of Cork.
in.
I'll
die in this place, the
way I am.
much
closed
it
Fardy.
it?
Sure
mightn't be as bad as what you think.
tell
Hyacinth.
Fardy.
character
Will you
me, I ask you, what way can I undo
What
?
is it
you are wanting to undo ?
tell
Hyacinth.
Fardy.
Will you
me what way
can I get rid of
my
To
get rid of
it, is it ?
Hyacinth.
Fardy.
That
is
what
I said.
Aren't you after hearing
the great character they are after putting on
me ?
the world.
If I
That is a good thing to have. Hyacinth. It is not. It's the worst hadn't it, I w
ouldn't be like a prize mangold
person praising me.
in
at a show, with every
Fardy.
If I
had
If I
it,
I wouldn't be like a head in a barrel, with
every person making hits at me.
Hyacinth.
with
all
hadn't
it,
I wouldn't be shoved into a
room
the clergy watching
me and
the police in the back yard.
Fardy. If I had it, I wouldn't be but a message-carrier now, and a clapper scari
ng birds in the summer-time. Hyacinth. If I hadn't it, I wouldn't be wearing thi
s button and brought up for an example at the meeting. Fardy. [Whistles.] Maybe
you're not so, what those papers
make you out
to be
?
116
LADY AUGUSTA GREGORY
How
it
Hyacinth.
Was
there ever
world, unless
would I be what they make me out to be ? any person of that sort since the world
was a might be Saint Antony of Padua looking down
If it
is
from the chapel wall ?
like that I
was,
isn't it in
Mount
Melleray I would be, or with the
I be living in the world at
all,
friars at
Esker ?
^\hy would
or doing the world's
work ?
?
Fardy.
[Taking up parcel.]
lies in
Who
would think, now, there
would be so much
a small place like Carrow
it.
Hyacinth.
to
It
was
my mother's cousin did
He
said I
was
not reared for laboring
he gave me a new
suit
and bid me never
bors
come back again. I daren't go back to face him knew my mother had a long family
bad luck
the neighto

them the
day they gave me these. [Tears letters and scatters them.] I'm done with testimo
nials. They won't be here to bear witness
against me.
Fardy.
but
will
The sergeant thought them
before morning that
to be great.
Sure he has
the samples of them in his pocket.
There's not one in the town
know
you are the next thing
to
an
earthly saint.
Hyacinth.
[Stamping.]
I'll
stop their mouths.
I'll
I'll
show
I'll
them I can be commit some crime.
If I
a terror for badness.
do some injury.
I'll
The
tell
first
thing
it
I'll
do
I'll
go and get drunk.
never did
it
before
I'll
do
now.
get drunk
then
I'll
make an assault of blowmg out a
Fardy.
If
I
you
I'd think as little of taking a
life
as
candle.
for.
you get drunk you are done
I will break the law.
will
Sure that will
be held up after as an excuse for any breaking of the law.
Hyacinth.
it.
Drunk
or sober,
I'll
break
I'll
do something that
have no excuse.
^Miat would
you say is the worst crime that any man can do.? Fardy. I don't know. I heard th
e sergeant saj-ing one time it was to obstruct the police in the discharge of th
eir dutj' Hyacinth. That won't do. It's a patriot I would be then,
worse than before, with
my
picture in the weeklies.
It's
a red
HYACINTH HALVEY
crime I must commit that will
117
make
all
respectable people quit
minding me.
What can
what
I
do?
Search your mind now.
Fardy.
It's
I heard the old people saying there could
be no worse crime than to steal a sheep
Hyacinth.
will leave
I'll
steal a sheep
or a cowor a horse
leave you.
confess
if
that
me
the
Fardy.
I give
It's
way I was before. maybe in jail it will
Hyacinth.
you
I don't care

I'll

I'll tell
why
I did
it
my word I would as soon be picking oakum or breaking
same as that
chirrup
bird,
stones as to be perched in the daylight the
all
and
the town chirruping to
me
or bidding
me
Fardy. Fardy.
far to go.
There
Well,
is
reason in that, now.
will
Hyacinth.
Help me,
if it is
you
.^
to steal a sheep
you want, you haven't
Hyacinth.
sheep.
[Looking around wildly.]
Where
is it.^
I see
no
Fardy.
Fardy.
Look around you.
I see
Hyacinth.
Quirke's rack
no
living thing
but that thrush
Did
?
I say
it
was
living.?
What
is
that hanging on
Hyacinth.
Fardy.
It's [fingers
it]
a sheep, sure enough
it
Well,
what
ails
you that you can't bring
away ?
Hyacinth.
Fardy.
It's
a dead one
if it is ?
What matter
If it
Hyacinth.
Fardy.
drive
it ?
was
living I could drive
Is
it
it
before
me
You
could.
to your
it
own
lodging you would
Sure every one would take
to be a pet
you brought
from Carrow.
Hyacinth.
Fardy.
behind the bed.
I suppose they might.
in for
Miss Joyce sending
news
of
it
and
it
bleating
Hyacinth.
[Distracted.]
Stop
!
stop
118
LADY AUGUSTA GREGORY
[From
?
Mrs. Delane.
there,
upper
window.]
Fardy!
Are
you
Fardy
I
Farrell
Fardy,
am, ma'am.
[From window.]
Mrs. Delane.
Fardy.
undressed.
Look and
is,
tell
me
is
that
the telegraph I hear ticking ?
[Looking in at door.]
It
ma'am.
it,
Mrs. Delane.
Then botheration
I'm coming
! !
to
Wouldn't you say, now,
I'm coming
!
it's
!
to
and I not dressed or annoy me it is calling
[Disappears.
me down.
Fardy.
you.
alone.
If
She'll be coming out on Hurry Hurry on, now you are going to do it, do it, and i
f you are not, let it
Hyacinth.
Fardy.
with
it.
I'll
do
it
!
I'll
do
it I'll
[Lifting the sheep
on his back.]
give
you a hand
Hyacinth. [Goes a step or two and turns round.] You told me no place where I cou
ld hide it. Fardy. You needn't go far. There is the church beyond at
the side of the square.
there's nettles in
it.
Go round
to the ditch behind the wall
Hyacinth.
Fardy.
That'll do.
She's coming out
run
give
!
run
!
Hyacinth.
Fardy.
[Runs a step or
it
two.]
it
It's slipping
Hoist
up.
I'll
a hoist
[Halyey runs out. Mrs. Delane. [Calling out.] What are you doing, Fardy Is it id
ling you are ? Farrell ? Fardy. Waiting I am, ma'am, for the message Mrs. Del.\n
e. Never mind the message yet. Who said it
was
ready.?
[Going
to door.]
Go
ask for the loan of
no,
but
ask news of

Here,
now go
bring that bag of 'Mi. Halvey's to
the lodging Miss Joyce has taken
Fardy.
I will,
ma'am.
[Takes bag and goes out.
Mrs. Delane.
[Cmning out with a telegram in her hand.]
No-
HYACINTH HALVEY
body here ? Mr. Quirke
IVIr.
119
[Looks round and calls cautiously.]
!
Mr. Quirke
James Quirke
!
Quirke.
[Looking out of his upper window, with soapis it,
suddy face.]
What
Mrs. Delane ^
Mrs. Delane.
[Beckoning.]
I cannot
Come down
I'm not
if
here
till
I
tell
you.
Mr. Quirke. Mrs. Delane. Mr. Quirke. Mrs. Delane.
place
?
do
that.
fully shaved.
You'd come
Tell
it
you knew the news
I have.
to
me now.
I'm not so supple as I was.
in
Whisper now, have you an enemy
It's likely I
any
Mr. Quirke.
Mrs. Delane.
may have.
A man in business
this
I
was thinking you had one.
would you think that at
time more
Mr. Quirke.
Mrs. Delane.
you would know Mr. Quirke.
Why
If
than any other time ^
you could know what
is
in this
envelope
that,
James Quirke.
?
Is that so
And
what, now,
is
there in
it ^
Mrs. Delane.
Mr. Quirke.
Mrs. Delane.
Who do you think now is it addressed to ? How would I know that, and I not seein
g it
That
is
"^
true.
Well,
it
is
a message from
Dublin Castle to the sergeant of police
Mr. Quirke.
Mrs. Delane.
To
It
Sergeant Carden,
is.
is it ?
And
is it,^
it
concerns yourself.
Mr. Quirke.
bringing against
Myself,
What
accusation can they be
me?
I'm a peaceable man.
till
Mrs. Delane.
Wait
you hear.
Mr. Quirke.
case
Maybe
they think I was in that moonlighting
Mrs. Delane.
Mr. Quirke.
field
the neighboring cutting up a dead cow, that those never had a hand
I
in
That is not it was not in it I was but
it
in
Mrs. Delane.
You're out of
Mr. Quirke.
They had
their faces blackened.
There
is
no
man
can say I recognized them.
120
LADY AUGUSTA GREGORY
That's not what they're saying
I'll
Mrs. Delane.
IVIr.
Quirke.
swear I did not hear their voices or know
to do with that.
them if I did hear them. Mrs. Delane. I tell you it has nothing might be better
for you if it had.
It
Mr. Quirke.
Mrs. Delane.
is
What
It
is
is it,
so ?
an order to the sergeant, bidding him
suspicious
immediately to seize
all
meat
in
your house.
There
an
officer
coming down.
There are complaints from the Shan-
non Fort Barracks. Mr. Quirke. I'll engage it was that pork. Mrs. Delane. What a
iled it for them to find
fault ?
Mr. Quirke.
People are so hard to please nowadays, and I
recommended them to salt it. Mrs. Delane. They had a
vice.
right to
have minded your adbut that
Mr. Quirke.
it
There was nothing on that pig at
all
went mad on poor O' Grady that owned it. Mrs. Delane. So I heard, and went killi
ng all before it. Mr. Quirke. Sure it's only in the brain madness can be.
I
heard the doctor saying that.
Mrs. Delane.
He
it,
should know.
Mr. Quirke.
went to the
loss of
I give
you
my
it
word
I cut the
head
off
it.
I
throwing
to the eels in the river.
If
they
had salted the meat, as I advised them, what harm would it have done to any pers
on on earth ? Mrs. Delane. I hope no harm will come on poor Mrs.
Quirke and the family.
Mr. Quirke.
Mrs. Delane.
the sergeant.
Maybe it wasn't that but some other thing
Here
is
Fardy.
I
must send the message to
Well, Mr. Quirke, I'm glad I had the time to give
you a warning. Mr. Quirke.
I'm obliged to you, indeed.
You were always
very neighborly, Mrs. Delane.
Don't be too quick now sending
HYACINTH HALVEY
the message.
121
put away
There
is
just one article I
would
like to
out of the house before the sergeant will come.
[Enter
Fardy.
Mrs. Delane.
birds yet.
Here now, Fardy
that's not the way you're
think you were scaring
going to the barracks.
Any one would
office.
Put on your uniform.
goes into
[Fardy
Mrs. Delane.
geant of police.
You have
this
message to bring to the
;
ser-
Get your cap now
bring
it
it's
under the counter.
telegram.
It's
[Fardy reappears, and she
Fardy.
going.
I'll
gives
him
to
the station.
there
he
was
Mrs.
Delajste.
You
off.
will not,
but to the barracks.
It can
wait for him there.
[Fardy goes
Mr. Quirke
has appeared at door.
was indeed a very neighborly act, Mrs. Delane, and I'm obliged to you. There is
just one article to put
It
Mr. Quirke.
out of the way.
The sergeant may look about him then and
the premises on yesterday.
welcome.
It's well I cleared
A con-
signment to Birmingham I sent.
The Lord be
consumes ?
praised, isn't
England a
terrible country,
with
all it
Mrs. Delane. Indeed, you always treat the neighbors very decent, Mr. Quirke, not
asking them to buy from you. Mr. Quirke. Just one article. [Turns to rack.] Tha
t sheep I brought in last night. It was for a charity, indeed, I bought it from
the widow woman at Kiltartan Cross. ^Vhere would the poor make a profit out of t
heir dead meat without me Where now is it.'' Well, now, I could have swore that
that sheep was hanging there on the rack when I went in Mrs. Delane. You must ha
ve put it in some other place.
"^
Mr. Quirke.
not; there
is
[Going in and searching and coming out.\
for
I did
no other place
it, it is ?
me
to put
it.
Is
it
gone blind I
am, or
is it
not in
Mrs. Delane.
It's
not there now, anyway.
122
LADY AUGUSTA GREGORY
Didn't you take notice of
it
Mr. Quirke.
this
there, yourself,
morning ?
I
Mrs. Delane.
there now.
have
it
in
my
mind that
I did;
but
it's
not
Mr. Quirke.
.?
There was no one here could bring
it
away
.''
Mrs. Delane. Is it me, myself, you suspect of taking it, James Quirke Mr. Quirke
. Where is it at all ? It is certain it was not of It was dead, and very dead, t
he time I itself it walked away.
bought
cuses
it.
Mrs. Delane.
I
me
that I took his sheep.
!
have a pleasant neighbor, indeed, that acI wonder, indeed, you to say a
thing like that
I to steal your sheep or your rack or anything
!
that belongs to you or to your trade
I
Thank you, James Quirke.
quiet
am much
obliged to you, indeed.
Mr. Quirke.
Mrs. Delane.
Ah, be
quiet,
let
woman; be
tell
And
me
you, James Quirke, that I
would sooner starve and see every one belonging to me starve than to eat the siz
e of a thimble of any joint that ever was on
your rack or that ever
will
be on
it,
whatever the
soldiers
may
eat that have no other thing to get, or the English, that devour
all sorts,
or the poor ravenous people that's
down by the
sea
[She turns to go into shop.
Mr. Quirke.
[Stopping
her.]
Don't be talking
foolishness,
me now. woman. Who said you must sergeant The have come. message There must some
other message. have got some other Mrs. Delane. [Sulkily.] If there is any way
for a message to come that is quicker than to come by the wires, tell me what
Give heed to
it is,
took my meat ^
and
I'll
be obliged to you.
Mr. Quirke.
he was
sticking
The
sergeant was
notice.
up
here,
making an excuse
up that
AMiat was he doing here, I ask
you? Mrs. Delane.
How
would
I
know what brought him ?
HYACINTH HALVEY
Mr. Quirke.
It
Is
123
if
what he
did; he
made
as
to go
away
he turned back again and I shaving
he brought away the sheep
me
so.
he
will
have
it
for evidence against
[Interested.]
Mrs. Delane.
That might be
it
Mr. Quirke.
Mrs. Delane.
I would sooner
to have been
any other beast
nearly ever I had upon the rack.
Is that so
?
Mr. Quirke.
ago
I bade the
Widow Early
it ?
to kill
it
a fortaight

but she would not, she was that covetous

"What was on
Mrs. Delane.
Mr. Quirke.
ever was on
it, it
How
would I know what was on
it
it ?
Whatit
was the will of God put was, and shivering and refusing its share.
upon
it
wasted
like
Mrs. Delane.
The poor
Gone
It
is
thing.
Mr. Quirke.
of thread.
all
to nothing
wore away
a flock
It did not
weigh as much as a lamb of two months.
likely the inspector will bring it to
Mrs. Delane.
lin.?
Dub-
Mr. Quirke.
medicines
The
I
ribs of
it
streaky with the dint of patent
Mrs. Delane.
brought or
is it
wonder
is it
to the Petty Sessions you'll be
to the Assizes ?
defense.
Mr. Quirke. I'll speak up to them. I'll make my What can the army expect at fipp
ence a pound ?
Mrs. Delane.
It
is
likely there will
be no bail allowed ?
Mr. Quirke.
quality
Would they be wanting me to give them good meat out of my own pocket ? Is it to
encourage them
to fight the poor Indians and Africans they would have
It's the Anti-Enlisting Societies
me?
should pay the fine for me.
Mrs. Delane.
It's
not a fine will be put on you, I'm afraid.
will
It's five years in jail
you
be apt to be getting.
Well,
I'll
try and be a good neighbor to poor Mrs. Quirke.
[Mr. Quirke, who has been stamping up and down,
sits
lU
LADY AUGUSTA GREGORY
down and weeps.
side.
Halvey
comes in and stands on one
Mr. Quirke.
to rear five
Hadn't I heart-scalding enough
will
before, striving
weak children ? Mrs. Delane. I suppose they
be sent to the Industrial
Schools ?
Mr. Quirke. My poor wife Mrs. Delane. I'm afraid the workhouse Mr. Quirke. And s
he out in an ass-car at
ing
this
minute, help-
me
to follow
my
I
trade.
Mrs. Delane.
hope they
give
will
not arrest her along with you.
I'll
Mr. Quirke.
guilty
!
I'll
myself up to justice.
!
plead
I'll
be recommended to mercy
It
Mrs. Delane.
might be best
for you.
Mr. Quirke.
Who
would think so great a misfortune could
come upon a family through the bringing away of one sheep Hyacinth. [Coming forw
ard.] Let you make yourself easy. It's easy to say let you make yourself Mr. Qui
rke. Easy
!
easy.
Hyacinth.
I can
tell
you where
it is.
Mr. Quirke. Where what is? Hyacinth. The sheep you are fretting after. Mr. Quirk
e. Wliat do you know about it.? Hyacinth. I know everything about it. Mr. Quirke
. I suppose the sergeant told you ?
Hyacinth. Hyacinth.
He
told
me
nothing.
Mr. Quirke.
Mr. Quirke.
Hyacinth.
Hyacinth.
the nettles
it is.
I suppose the whole
town knows
it ?
it,
so
?
No No
one knows
it,
as yet.
And
the sergeant didn't see
it
one saw
or brought
it
it
away but
all ?
myself.
Mr. Quirke.
Where
Look
did you put
at
In the ditch behind the church wall.
at the
In among
way they have me
stung.
[Holds Old hands.
HYACINTH HALVEY
Mr. Quirke.
town.
125
In the ditch
!
The
best hiding-place in the
Hyacinth. I never thought it would bring such great trouble upon you. You can't
say, anyway, I did not tell you. Mr. Quirke. You, yourself, that brought it away
and that I suppose it was coming in the train you got informahid it
!
tion about the message to the police.
Hyacinth.
said as
Mr. Quirke.
if
me ? am as glad to hear what you it was the Lord telling me I'd be in heaven thi
s minute.
^Nhat now do you say to
Say!
I say I
Hyacinth.
What are you Mr. Quirke. Do, is it.^^
Hyacinth.
I suppose
Tell
!
going to do to
me ?
Any
earthly
[Grcisps his hand.]
thing you w^ould wish
me to do,
you
It's I
I will do
it.
will tell
Mr. Quirke.
It
is
that will
tell
when
all is quiet.
I will give you the good
name through
the town
Hyacinth.
I don't well understand.
Mr. Quirke. me!
Hyacinth.
[Embracing him.]
The man
that preserved
That preserved you ?
Mr. Quirke. That kept me from ruin Hyacinth. From ruin ? Mr. Quirke. That saved
me from disgrace Hyacinth. [To Mrs. Delane.] What is he Mr. Quirke. From the ins
pector Hyacinth. What is he talking about ? Mr. Quirke. From the magistrates
Hyacinth.
Hyacinth.
!
saying at
all ?
He
Is
is
making some mistake.
the Winter Assizes
?
Mr. Quirke.
From
he out of his wits
Five years in
jail
Mr. Quirke.
Hyacinth.
Hyacinth.
Hasn't he the queer talk ?
Mr. Quirke.
The
loss of the contract
Are
my own
wits gone astray
?
126
LADY AUGUSTA GREGORY
What way can
I
tell
Mr. QumKE.
Hyacinth.
I repay you
?
[Slwuting.]
you
I took the sheep
!
Mr.
]VIr.
Quirkje.
You
The
it
did,
God reward you
it
Hyacinth.
Hyacinth.
Hyacinth.
I stole
away with
Quirke.
blessing of the poor
on you
I put
out of sight
blessing of
Mr. Quirke.
I
The
my
five children
may
as well say nothing
Mrs. Delane.
Let you be quiet now, Quirke.
Here's the
sergeant coming to search the shop)
[Sergeant comes
arranges his
in.
Querke
leaves go of
Halvey, who
hxit, etc.
!
Sergeant.
The dept. tment to blazes Delane. What is it is putting you out ? Mrs.
Sergeant.
To go
to the train to
meet the
to get a message through the guard that he
lecturer, and there was unavoidably de-
tained in the South, holding an inquest on the remains of a drake.
Mrs. Delane.
Sergeant.
The
lecturer,
is it ?
To be
sure.
What
else
would I be talkmg
of
.^^
The
lecturer has failed me,
and where
am
I to go looking for
a
person that I would think fitting to take his place ?
Mrs. Delane.
Sergeant.
Isn't
it
And
that's all?
And you
didn't get
any
message but the one ?
Is that all
?
I
am surprised
at you,
J\Irs.
Delane.
enough to upset a man, within three-quarters
?
of
an hour
of the time of the meeting
find a
Wliere, I would ask you,
am
I to
man
that has education enough and wit enough and char?
acter
enough to put up speaking on the platform on the minute
Quirke.
]VIr.
[Jumps
up.]
It
is I,
myself, will
tell
you
that.
You Mr. Quirke. [Slapping Halvey on
Sergeant.
Sergeant.
the back.]
all
Look
at here.
There
is
not one word was said in
before
those papers
there could
about
this j'oung
man
you but
it is
true.
And
be no good thing said of him that would be too good for him.
HYACINTH HALVEY
Sergeant.
It
127
might not be a bad
idea.

Mr. Quirke. Whatever the paper said about him, Sergeant, It has come to my knowl
edge by chance I can say more again. man has saved a young town that to this cam
e since he that

whole family from destruction.

Sergeant.
classes
That
is
much
to his credit
helping
the rural
Mr. Quirke.
sods of turf
A
family and a long family, big and
little, like
and they depending on aon one that might be
to dark trouble at this minute
if it
on
his
way
was not
for his
assistance.
wittiest,
Believe me, he
is
the most sensible man, and the
of the poor that
and the kindest, and the best helper
ever stood before you in this square.
Is not that so,
Mrs.
Delane ?
Mrs. Delane.
might be that he
is
It
is
true, indeed.
Where he
gets his wisit
dom and his wit and
Sergeant.
question.
his information
from I don't know, unless
gifted
from above.
Well, Mrs. Delane, I think
will
we have
settled that
Mr. Halvey, you
be the speaker at the meeting.
The
lecturer sent these notes
you
can lengthen them into a
speech.
You can
call to
the people of Cloon to stand out, to
I
begin the building of their character.
saw a
lecturer
do
it
one
time at Dundrum.
Daniel," he said
"Come up
here," he said;
"Dare
to be a
Hyacinth.
Sergeant.
hand.]
I can't
I won't
I will conduct
[Looking at papers and thrusting them into his
will find it quite easy.
You
you to the
platform
settled.
these papers before you and a
[Turns
to go.]
glass of water
that's
Follow
me on
goes.]
to the court-house in
first
^I
half
an hour
a telegram
lane.
I must go to the barracks heard there was Mrs. De back as he Don't be
[Calls
late,
Mind, Quirke, you promised to come.
Well,
it's
Mrs. Delane.
tling myself
time for
me
to
make an end
of set-
and, indeed, Mr. Quirke, you'd best do the same.
128
LADY AUGUSTA GREGORY
[Rubbing his cheek.]
I suppose so. I
Mr. Quirke.
had best
Well,
keep on good terms with him for the present.
[Turns.]
now, I had a great escape
[Both go in as
this day.
Fardy
reappears, whistling.
w^orld
of
it
Hyacinth. [Sitting down.] I don't know in the has come upon the world that the h
alf of the people
.'
what
should
be cracked
Fardy.
Weren't you found out yet ?
Hyacinth.
Found
out,
is it ?
I don't
know what you mean
by being found out. Fardy. Didn't he miss the sheep ? Hyacinth, He did, and I to
ld him it was
at these
?
I took
it
and what
happened I declare to goodness I don't know
Fardy.
Papers

Will you look

[Holds out notes.
!
Are they more testimonials ?
are
Hyacinth.
They
what
is
worse.
[Gives
a hoarse laugh.]
in
Will you come and see me on the platform these and I speaking giving out advice. [
Fardy
didn't
in this
my
hand
whistles.]
Why
that
you
tell
me, the time you advised
me to steal a sheep,
town
it
would qualify a
on
?
man
to go preaching,
and the
priest in the chair looking
Fardy. The time I took a few apples that had fallen oflf a They welted me stall,
they did not ask me to hold a meeting.
well.
Hyacinth.
see them.
[Looking round.]
I wish I
!
I'd be better off
I would take apples if I could had broke my neck before I left Carrow, and I wis
h I had got six months the time I was
caught setting snares
I wish I had robbed a church.
it
Fardy.
Would a Protestant church do ?
I suppose
Hyacinth.
Fardy.
way,
if
wouldn't be so great a
sin.
it.
It's likely
the sergeant would think worse of
it's
Anyis
you want to rob one,
[Getting up.]
the Protestant church
the
handiest.
Hyacinth.
Show me what way
to
do
it.?
HYACINTH HALVEY
Fardy.
[Pointing.]
129
I
was going around
it
a few minutes ago,
to see might there be e'er a dog scenting the sheep,
and
I noticed
the window being out.
Hyacinth.
Fardy.
the
distiller
Out, out and out.?
It was,
where they are putting colored
glass in
it
for
Hyacinth.
Fardy.
to get in
Every good.
What good does that do me ? You could go in by that window
hoist.
if
you
is
had some person to give you a
it
Whatever
riches there
then, you'll get them.
if
Hyacinth. I don't want riches. I'll give you all I will find you will come and h
oist me. Fardy. Here is Miss Joyce coming to bring you to your lodgSure I brough
t your bag to it, the time you were away ing.
Hyacinth.
[They go
with the sheep
Run
off.
!
Run
Enter Miss Joyce.
;
Miss Joyce. Are you here, Mrs. Delane ? Where, can you tell me, is Mr. Halvey ?
Mrs. Delane. [Coming out dressed.] It's likely he is gone on to the court-house.
Did you hear he is to be in the chair and to make an address to the meeting ? M
iss Joyce. He is getting on fast. His reverence says he
will
be a good help in the parish.
Who would
think, now, there
would be such a godly young man
[Enter
in a little place like
Carrow
Sergeant
in a hurry, with telegram.
Sergeant.
W^hat time did this telegram arrive, Mrs. Delane ?
Mrs. Delane. I couldn't be rightly sure. Sergeant. But sure it's marked on it, u
nless the clock I have is gone wrong. Sergeant. It is marked on it. And I have t
he time I got it marked on my own watch. Mrs. Delane. Well, now, I wonder none o
f the police would
have followed you with
little
it
from the barracks
and they with so
to do
130
LADY AUGUSTA GREGORY
[Looking in at Quirke's shop.]
is
Sergeant.
Well, I
am
sorry
to do what I have to do, but duty
duty.
]Mr.
[He ransacks shop.
IVIrs.
Delajste looks on.
Quirke
puts his head out of window.
Mr. Quirke.
Is there
What
is
that going on inside?
[No answer.]
any one
inside, I
ask?
[No answer.]
It
must be that
Quirke.
dog
of
Tannian's
wait
It
till
I get at him.
Mrs. Delane.
is
Sergeant Garden, Mr.
for
He
out,
would seem to be looking
makes another
something
[Mr. Quirke appears in shop.
dive, taking
Sergeant
etc.
conies
up
sacks,
Mr. Quirke.
geant
I'm greatly afraid I
am
just out of meat, Ser-
and I'm sorry now to disoblige you, and you not being
me
I should think not, indeed.
in the habit of dealing with
Sergeant.
Mr. Quirke.
Sergeant.
I
Looking
for a tender little bit of lamb, I sup?
pose you are, for Mrs. Garden and the youngsters
am
not.
Mr. Quirke. If I had it now, I'd be proud to offer it to you, and make no charge
. I'll be killing a good kid to-morrow.
Mrs. Garden might fancy a bit of
it
Sergeant.
I have
had orders
to search your establishment
for unwholesome meat, and I am come here to do it. Mr. Quirke. [Sitting doimi wi
th a smile.] Is that so?
isn't it a
Well,
wonder the schemers does be
It
is
in the world.
Sergeant.
it will fall
not the first time there have been complaints.
Well,
it is
Mr. Quirke.
Sergeant.
could find, and
I
I suppose not.
on
their
own head
at the last
have found nothing so
not in it?
far.
Mr. Quirke.
it
I suppose not, indeed.
What
is
there
you
Sergeant. Have you no meat at all upon the premises ? Mr. Quirke. I have, iudeed
, a nice barrel of bacon. Sergeant. What way did it die ?
HYACINTH HALVEY
Mr. Quirke.
can
it is.
131
Ameri-
It
would be hard
for
me
to say that.
How
?
would I know what way they do be
Machinery, I suppose, they have
killing the
pigs out there
steam-hamliving
mers
Sergeant.
Is there nothing else here at all
?
Mr. Quirke.
above
in the cage.
I give
you
my
word, there
is
no meat,
or dead, in this place, but yourself and myself and that bird
Sergeant.
ing.
Well, I
must
tell
the inspector I could find noth-
But mind
yom*self for the future.
Mr. Quirke.
Sergeant.
[Enter Fardy.
Thank you, Sergeant. He stops short.
I will
do that.
pose ?
It was you delayed that message to me, I supYou'd best mend your ways or I'll ha
ve something to say [Seizes and shakes him. to you. Fardy. That's the way every
one does be faulting me.
[Whimpers.
[The Sergeant gives him another shake.
falls out of his pocket.
A
!
half-crown
Where, now, Miss Joyce. [Picking it up.] A half-a-crown did you get that much, F
ardy ? Fardy. Where did I get it, is it ? Miss Joyce. I'll engage it was in no h
onest way you got it. Fardy. I picked it up in the street Miss Joyce. If you did
, why didn't you bring it to the sergeant or to his reverence ?
Mrs. Delane.
loss of
it.
And some poor
I'd best bring
it
person, maybe, being at the
Miss Joyce.
me, Fardy,
till
to his reverence.
it.
Come
it
with
he
will question
you about
I
Fardy.
It
was not altogether
There, now!
in the street I
found
it
Miss Joyce.
knew you got
toss I
in
no good
way
!
Tell me, now.
It
Fardy.
was playing pitch and
won
it
132
LADY AUGUSTA GREGORY
like of you,
Miss Joyce. And who would play for half-crowns with the Fardy Farrell ? Who was
it, now ? Fardy. It was a stranger Did you see Miss Joyce. Do you hear that ? A
stranger

!
e'er
a stranger in this town, Mrs. Delane, or Sergeant Garden, or
Mr. Quirke?
Mr. Quirke.
SERGEAJ>fT.
Not a
one.
There was no stranger here.
Mrs. Delane.
knowing
it.
There could not be one here without
me
Fardy.
erence.
I
tell
you there was.
Miss Joyce.
Sergeant.
Come
on, then,
and
tell
who was he
to his rev-
[Taking other arm.]
it,
Or to the bench.
Fardy. Fardy.
Fardy.
Fardy.
I did get
I
tell
you, from a stranger.
?
Sergeant. Sergeant.
Where
Bring
is
he, so
He's in some place
not
far
away.
me
to him.
here.
it
He'll be
coming
Sergeant.
Sergeant.
Tell
me
the truth and
will
be better for you.
[Weeping.]
Let
me
[Letting go.]
Now^who
go and I
will.
it
did you get
to-day,
from.^
Fardy.
All.
From
that young chap
came
Mr. Halvey.
Mr. Halvey
[Indignantly.]
\\Tiat
Mr. Quirke.
young
ruffian,
are
you saying, you
you ?
Hyacinth Halvey to be playing pitch and
toss with the like of
you
did say
Fardy.
I didn't say that.
Miss Joyce.
You
!
it.
You
said
it
now.
Mr. Quirke.
Hyacinth Halvey!
The
best
man
that ever
came into this town Miss Joyce. Well, what
lies
he has
Mr. Quirke. It's my belief the half-crown is a bad one. Maybe it's to pass it of
iF it was given to him. There were tinkers
HYACINTH HALVEY
in the
it.]
133
No, indeed,
town at the tune of the fair. Give it here to me. [Bites it's sound enough. Here
, Sergeant, it's best
it.
for
you take
[Gives
it to
Sergeant, who examines
it.
Can it be ? Can it be what I think it to be ? Quirke. What is it ? What do you t
ake it to be ? Mr. Sergeant. It is, it is. I know it. I know this halfSergeant.
crown
Mr. Quirke.
Sergeant.
church for the
I
That
is
a queer thing, now.
well.
know
it
I
have been handling
it
in the
last
twelvemonth
?
Mr. Quirke.
Sergeant.
It
Is that so
is
we hand round in the Sunday morning. I know it by the dint on the Queen's temple
s and the crooked scratch imder her
the nest-egg half-crown
collection-plate every
nose.
Mr. Quirke.
Sergeant.
the church.
[Examining
is
it.]
So there
is,
too.
This
a bad business.
It has been stolen
from
All.
Oh!
Oh!
Oh!
Sergeant.
[Seizing Fardy.]
You have robbed
I never did
it.
the church
Fardy.
[Terrified.]
I
tell
you
Sergeant.
I have the proof of
!
Fardy.
Say what you like I never put a foot Sergeant. How did you get this, so ? Miss J
oyce. I suppose from the stranger f
I suppose
it
in it
Mrs. Delane.
you,
was Hyacinth Halvey gave
it
to
now ?
It
Fardy.
was
so.
it
Sergeant.
I suppose
was he robbed the church ?
Fardy.
You will not believe me if I say it. Mr. Quirke. Oh the young vagabond Let me ge
t at him Mrs. Delane. Here he is himself now [Hyacinth comes in. Fardy releases
himself and creeps
[(S065.]
! !
behind him.
134
LADY AUGUSTA GREGORY
the
Mrs. Delane. It is time you to come, Mr. Halvey, and shut mouth of this young sc
hemer.
of you,
Miss Joyce. I would like you to hear what he says Mr. Halvey. Pitch and toss, he
says.
Mr. Quirke.
Mrs. Delane.
Sergeant.
Fardy.
Robbery, he says.
Robbery
of a church.
He
has had a bad
name
long enough.
Let him
go to a reformatory now.
[Clinging to Hyacinth.]
Save me, save
of living;
I'll
me
!
I'm a
if
poor boy trying to knock out a
I go to a reformatory.
way
be destroyed
[Kneels and clings to Hyacinth's knees.
Hyacinth. I'll save you easy enough. Fardy. Don't let me be jailed
Hyacinth. I am going to tell them. Fardy. I'm a poor orphan
Hyacinth.
Fardy. Fardy.
I'll
Will you let
get no
me
speak ?
in the
more chance
world
Hyacinth.
Sure I'm trying to free you
It will be tasked to
me
always.
?
Hyacinth.
Fardy. Fardy.
Fardy.
Be
quiet, can't
you
Don't you desert
me
Hyacinth.
Will you be silent ?
it
Take
Tell
I
on yourself.
if
Hyacinth.
Hyacinth.
Fardy.
I will
you'll let
it.
me.
them you did
am
going to do that.
it
Tell
them
!
was you got
I will
in at the
window.
Hyacinth.
Fardy.
I will
it
I'll
Say
was you robbed the box.
say
it
!
Hyacinth.
Fardy.
I'll
!
say
it
It being open
Hyacinth.
Fardy.
Of
Let
all
me
tell, let
me
tell.
that was in
it.
HYACINTH HALVEY
Hyacinth.
Fakdy.
I'll tell
135
them
that.
And gave
it
to me.
Hyacinth.
Sergeant.
me.
[Putting
hand on
speak ?
his
mouth and
drO>gging
him
wp.]
Will you stop and let
me
We
can't be wasting time.
Give him here to
Hyacinth.
Sergeant.
I can't do that.
[Seizing him.]
He must
be
let alone.
He'll be let alone in the lock-up.
Hyacinth.
Sergeant.
He must
I'll let
not be brought there.
no
man
him
get
off.
him
oflF.
Hyacinth.
Sergeant.
I will get
You
will
not
Hyacinth.
Sergeant.
I will.
Hyacinth.
Sergeant.
Hyacinth.
Sergeant.
Hyacinth.
Sergeant.
think to buy him off ? buy him off with my own confession. And what will that be
? It was I robbed the church. That is likely indeed Let him go, and take me. I
tell you I did it. It would take witnesses to prove that.
I will
Do you
Hyacinth.
Fardy.
[Pointing to Fardy.]
He
will
be witness.
Oh, Mr. Halvey, I would not wish to do that.
will
Get
me
off
and I
say nothing.
Hyacinth.
court.
Sure you must.
You
will
be put on oath in the
Fardy.
I will not!
I will not!
All the world
knows
all
I don't
understand the nature of an oath
Mr. Quirke.
Mrs. Delane.
[Coming forward.]
Is it blind
ye
.?
are
"^
What
Is
it
are
you talking about
all
Mr. Quirke.
Miss Joyce.
fools
ye
are
?
Speak
for yourself.
Mr. Quirke. Is it idiots ye all are ? Sergeant. Mind who you're talking to. Mr.
Quirke. [Seizing Hyacinth's hands.]
Can't you see?
136
LADY AUGUSTA GREGORY
Where
?
Can't you hear ?
seen in this town
are your wits
?
Was
ever such a thing
Mrs. Delane.
Say out what you have to
say.
Mr. Quirke.
Mrs. Delane.
a
walking saint he
so.
is
!
Maybe
The
Mr. Quirke.
martyrs
at
!
preserver of the poor
!
Talk
is
!
of the holy
They
are nothing at all to
is
what he
going
!
Will you look
him
!
To
!
save that poor boy he
is
To
!
take the blame
on himself he
is
going
!
To
say he, himself, did the robbery he
is
going
!
Before the magistrate he
the blame on his
!
going
!
To
jail
he
is
go-
ing
his
Takmg
own head
Putting the sin on
!
own shoulders
Letting on to have done a robbery
Telling
!
a
lie
that
it
may
be forgiven him
to
all.
his
own
injury
Doing
all that, I tell
you, to save the character of a miserable slack
lad, that rose in poverty.
[Murmur
of admiration from
Mr. Quirke.
Sergeant.
us
all
Now, what do you say ?
Mr. Halvey, you have given
[Pressing his hand.]
a lesson.
To
please you, I will
make no information
I will put
against the boy.
[Shakes him and helps him up.]
back
the half-crown in the poor-box next Sunday.
[To Fardt.]
What have you
Fardy.
against you
to say to your benefactor
?
I'm obliged to you, Mr. Halvey.
I'll
You behaved
let
very
decent to me, very decent indeed.
if
never
a word be said
I will
I live to be a
hundred years.
tell
Sergeant.
it
[Wiping eyes with a blue handkerchief.]
It will be a great
I'll tell it
at the meeting.
encouragement to them to
to the priest
build
up
their character.
and he taking
the chair
Hyacinth.
should be.
Oh, stop,
will
you
It's
Mr. Quirke.
The
chair.
in
the
chair
he,
himself,
It's in
a chair we
will
put him now.
It's to chair
him through the streets we will. Sure he'll be an example [Seizes Halvey and a b
lessing to the whole of the town.
HYACINTH HALVEY
and
seats
137
Here,
him in
chair.]
Now,
Sergeant, give a hand.
Fardy.
[They
all lift the
chair with
Mk. Quirke.
Come
along
!
cheers for Hyacinth Halvey
Halvey in it, wildly protesting. now to the court-house. Three Hip hip hoora
! !
[Cheers heard in the distance as the curtain drops.
THE GAZING GLOBE
BY
EUGENE PILLOT
by special permission ol Eugene Pillot. by the author. This play is protected by
copyright and must not be used without the permission of and payment of royalty
to Eugene Pillot, who may be reached through The 47 WorkThe Gazing Globe
is
reprinted
All rights are retained
shop, Cambridge, Massachusetts.
EUGENE PILLOT
Eugene
of one-act plays,
cated in University of Texas, at Cornell University, and at Harvard University.
While at Harvard, he participated in the activities
of
one of the well-known contemporary writers was born in Houston, Texas. He was ed
uthe New York School of Fine and Applied Arts, at the
Pillot,
The 47 Workshop.
Mr.
Pillot's one-act plaj's are
always characterized by ex-
and well-sustained technic. Among his best-known one-act plays are The Gazing Gl
obe, Two Crooks and a Lady, Telephone Number One (a prize play). Hunger, and My
Lady Dreams. Mr. Pillot's plays have been produced frequently in schools and Lit
tle Theatres of America. The Gazing Globe originally appeared in The Stratford J
ournal, and was first produced by the Boston Community Players, February 26, 192
0, with the following cast: Zama, Rosalie Manning; Ohano, Beulah Auerbach; and N
uo, Eugene Pillot. The Gazing Globe has unusually sustained tone and dramatic
cellent
suspense.
CHARACTERS
Zama
Ohano
Nijo
THE GAZING GLOBE*
SCENE A
:
soft cream-colored
room, bare walled and unfurnished
except for dull-blue grass mats
on
the floor
and
brilliant
cushions.
In
the centre of rear wall is
it,
a
great circular
window
with a dais before
so that
it
may
be used as
a doorway.
A
gathered shade of soft blue silk covers the opening of the win-
dow.
PLACE: An island TIME: Not so long
in a southern sea.
ago.
[The curtain rises on an empty
vant
stage.
Zama, an
old ser-
woman
dressed in dull purples
and
grays, hurries in
from
Zama.
the right.
She stops
at centre stage
and glances
about searchingly, then calls in a weazen voice.
Ohano
Ohano
it
!
Where do you
drawn shade
starts to raise
be, child
?
[Listens, looks about, sees
at the rear,
and sighs
as she goes to
and
it.
[As the shade
rolls
out of sight
cliff
we
see through the
open win-
dow a
green.
bit
of quaint
garden that overlooks a sea of
the
left,
The rocks are higher on
near the win-
dow, where a purple-pink vine in full blossom has started
to climb.
At
centre, stone steps lead
that holds
afternoon
down to the sea. up to a slender stone pedestal a gazing globe, now a brilliant
gold in the late sunlight. Ohano, with hands clasped round
At
the right the rocks slope
it.
the globe, is gazing at
twenties, beautiful
She
is
a
woman
of the early
and gowned in a flowing kimono-like robe of green with embroideries of white and
blue.
*
Copyright, 1919, by The Stratford Journal.
143
144
EUGENE PILLOT
[In a chiding, motherly way.]
!
Zama.
Ohano,
my
child,
you
How many times be I must not be so much at that evil ball not telling you it is
an enchanted ball ? Ohano. Yes, Zama, I hope it is enchanted. I've tried every o
ther means to gain the way to my heart's desire and they've

all failed
me.
The
story these islanders have
gazing globe
may
be but a
myth
but
if it
woven round this shows me the way to
shows
my
freedom, I shall not have looked at
it
in vain.
Zama.
only the
Be you forgetting, way to destruction
!
child, 'tis said that evil ball
Ohano.
any
Yes, these island people will create any myth, go
length, to keep one thinking, living in their
narrow way.
You own
are destined for evil
if
you try
to follow the urge of your
heart
oh, yes, I know.
But your
Nijo
heart, child, should only be wanting the love
Zama.
of Nijo.
Ohano.
help
I
am
hoping that he
wull
be big enough to
lover has been away so long But to-day he be coming back I came think I saw his
boat Ohano. Nijo's boat ? Where ?
me but my
Zama.

to tell
you I
Zama.
It be near the edge of the island just
where
Ohano.
Zama.
I
Why
came
didn't
to
you
tell
me
before
?
but I be forgetting when I see you at that
Perhaps we can see him land
[They climb
!
evil ball again.
Ohano.
[All eagerness.]
from here on the rocks
come, Zama, I hear the sound of voices
to
down near
the sea
come!
is
the
highest rock.]
Look, Zama, the boat
against the shore
there
Already there
in the green
water
Zama.
It
do seem to be
so.
!
[Peers toward right.
Ohano. And there is Nijo Zama. Where, where, child ? Ohano. There see, he's just
coming ashore

oh,
Nijo!
THE GAZING GLOBE
And
look,
145
have done
look
Zama, look what the people crowdmg round him
!
Zama.
What?
My
poor eyes be yet uncertain.
What do
Flame
they be doing to your lover?
greet
Ohano. They have put upon him the Robe him with the highest honor of the island.
of

to
So they be. The robe they say the gods themselves when time did first begin. Nij
o must come back a great warrior now a great warrior Ohano. Oh, how wonderful to
return from the wars like that Zama, I want to I must go out into the world and
do
Zajvia.
did wear

great things too, like Nijo.

Zama.
Nijo be coming back, child.
is it
That do be enough.
Look, what
that glitters so in the sun ?
are giving something to
Ohano.
Why, they
my
red god
it
something that's long as a serpent
in admiration before him.
moon

see,
he holds
out
Just what can
it
be ?
Zama.
sword
In faith I do believe they have given your hero

Ohano.
Zama.
they do.
A
marvellous sword
look,
its
jewels flash with the
shifting lights,
warm
as the colored rifts of sunset
his greatness,
Such gems do be a tribute to
Ohano,
Ohano.
such tribute
How
gladly would I have the
!
way
I seek without
how willingly
this
Zama.
And now
Nijo,
See, he
!
the crowd do be parting
he leaves the boat
!
and he looks
way, Ohano
he looks
!
Ohano.
Zama.
my
red wonder of the world
his steed
mounts
he waves to you
It
is
Ohano. Nijo Nijo Zama. And now he rides oflF to come to you here. we be waiting
inside for him when he brings back
better

his love to
his
promised bride.
[As they enter room.]
Ohano.
Ah, Zama, he must bring
me
146
EUGENE PILLOT
more than love this time much more. Yes, your little Ohano must have more in her
life to-day than just love and Nijo must show her the way to that realm where s
he may stretch her soul

and
live!
The love of so great a man do be enough for any woman, child. Ohano. Oh, no oh,
no Zama. But it do be; and evil will fall, I know, if you do be asking more than
love Ohano. But I tell you, Nijo's love is not enough. I must
Zama.

!
have a bigger, greater thing
Zajvia.
!
The gods do know of none that be more than love. Ohano. But there must be, else
why would I feel the rush
its
of
pulse within
my
veins
?
Why would my whole being cry out
I
for action
and the glory
of doing big things in the lands across
the sea?
Why,
?
tell
me why,
would
feel
those things
if
they
were not so
Zama.
It be not for
me to say, child;
It
but I do be thinking you
thing so well.
moon
red
!
at that evil ball too much.
It be not wise to
If that
do make your sight grow
know an enchanted
Ohano.
gazing globe in the garden would only show
heart's desire,
me
the
way
its
to
my
how
gladly would I be the vic-
tim of
enchantment
Nijo's kiss do be your enchantment, child.
Zama.
of his lips
One touch
and you do be forgetting
If Nijo's kiss
all else.
Ohano.
me, I want
this
life.
can make
me
forget this fever within
else in all of
his kiss as I shall
never want anything
I
want
it
!
[Approaching horse's hoofs are heard from
off right.
!
Zama.
Listen
the horse
to the
!
Ohano, your lover do be coming
Already
.''
Ohano.
Zama.
[Running
window.]
the
He must have
in
taken the short
way through
cliffs.
Ah,
?
child,
do you not be excited as a bird
a storm-
wind's blow
THE GAZING GLOBE
Ohano.
[Superbly, as she leans against window.]
147
Yes, I await
my
hero
Zama.
He's stopped, child
!
He do
be here
!
At
last
he
comes back to
my
little
Ohano
!
!
Ohano.
My
Oh
hope comes
!
[With outstretched arms
to right.]
MyNijo!!
[She had impulsively started to greet
Nuo,
but suddenly
shrinks back.
Zama.
^\Tiat
do be wrong
Ohano.
He's so different
the
[Nuo appears at He is a tall,
what? so changedoh, here he ssh window, where he pauses for a moment. a handsome, bru
nette man, scarcely
is
thirty
well-knit southern island type, wearing a flowing robe of
flame, with a flaring collar of old-gold brocade.
hat completes the costume.
A
peaked
hilt
A
curved sword, with a
thickly studded vnth large jewels
at his belt.
and incased in gold, hangs
He
seems worldly weary and sad as he ad-
vances into the room.
Ohano.
Nijo
[Unimpassioned.]
[Eagerly.]
Nuo.
Ohano.
Ohano.
You have come back
Nuo.
Ohano.
Yes
and the season of the heat has been gracious to
your health, I hope ?
Yes
and yours, Nijo
am
glad
here shares
?
Nuo.
Ohano.
spring.
The same.
Oh, I
glad as tree-blossoms
my
Ah, Zama.
for the kiss of
And Zama
welcome, don't you ?
Nuo.
Zama.
[Recognizing Zama.]
[Boiving before him.]
us.
The gods do be kind
to bring
back a hero to
Nuo.
Za]ma.
Thank
you.
Now
it
I
do be going
for refreshments for
your weari[Exits right.
ness; great
must be
after so long a voyage.
148
EUGENE PILLOT
Shall
Ohano.
Nijo.
we not
sit
here ?
As you will. [Ohano and Nuo
facing each other.
sit
upon mats near
the
window^
'partly
Ohano.
They
they gave you a sword at the boat.
Oh, yes.
here
Nuo.
Ohano.
[Wearily.]
Even from up
[Without
we could
it is
see
its
jewels flash.
Nuo.
Ohano.
interest.]
it
Yes,
cunningly conceived.
How
wonderful
If
must
be.
Perhaps
I may see
it.?
Nuo.
[Still wearily.]
you so
desire.
it
it
[Uiibuckles sword
and holds
before himself for her to
examine.
She leans over
admiringly, touching the
jeivels as she
speaks of them.
!
Ohano.
Magnificent
Rubies and emeralds and sapphires
!
And here are moonstones and diamonds. How you must prize it. Nuo. [Wearily.] Of
course, one must. Ohano. And the very people who tried to stop you from
going across the sea to win your glory have given
it
to you.
way of the Ohano. Show me the way to Nuo. And why.'*
Nuo.
That
is
the
world.
glory, Nijo.
Ohano.
I
would travel
it
too.
?
Nuo.
Ohano.
You
a simple island maiden
I've
is
I'm not simple.
Nuo.
Ohano. work now
But there
glory in
grown beyond the people here. the work women must do at home.
And
I have done
my
share of
it.
I
want bigger
out
But
I
in the world.
Nuo.
Ohano.
the simple tasks must be done.
sick unto death of doing them But you can't go into the battles of the are an is
land woman. Ohano. This last war has made all women free.
am
Nuo.
world.
You
If the other
island
women
cling to the everlasting tradition that
let
woman
I shall
should not go beyond her native hearth,
them
cling.
THE GAZING GLOBE
reach the summit of things and
things in the world
!
149
know
the glory of doing big
NiJO.
But you
it?
sheltered, protected
all
your
life
how can
by
you do
Ohano.
That's what troubles me.
But you were
fettered
this island life
and you broke through the bars
Ohano,
I
of convention.
How
you.
did you do it?
[Sadly.]
NiJO.
would not
spoil
your
life
by
telling
Ohano. now? Oh,
in this
Spoil it?
What do you
island
life.
think
is
happening to
it
Nijo, can't you understand I'm stagnating
dying
commonplace
Nijo.
I thought that about myself, too,
when
I started
my
climb to glory; but scarcely a
the loneliness of great heights.
moon had
passed before I realized
Ohano.
wish
Nijo.
[Tigerishly.]
all
Are you trying to turn
me from my
of
to have
the island's glory for yourself ?
No, but only the valley people enjoy the sublimity
[Scornfully.]
a mountain.
Ohano.
Nijo.
Ha
lost their perspective.
Those who reach the top have
[Sublimely.]
All they see are the lonely tops of other mountains.
Ohano.
Nijo.
But they've had the joy
of the climb
sea.
!
And worth what no more

than the mist of the

Ohano.
for myself!
spirit
Do
you think that
satisfies
I only
want you
to tell
me ? I want to find out me the way to use this
!
that boils within
my blood,
thirsts for action
Nijo.
That
I never will.
Ohano. Oh, what shall I do ? I've even implored the sun and the moon [Looks towa
rd sea.] Now I must listen to my
!
dreams
globe
!
my
Look
dreams that cry and cry: "Look
in the gazing globe
I'll
!
in the gazing
It will
show you the way
it
!"
And
if it
ever does,
take that path no matter where
leads.
Nijo.
My
journey only
made me want
to
come back
to the
150
EUGENE PILLOT
haven of your love, Ohano. The amber cup of glory left me athirst to be wrapped
in the mantle of your boundless love and warmed with the glow of your heart.
OiiANO.
to
[Surprised.]
Your journey has
really led
you back
me ?
NiJO.
[Sadly.]
You're
my
only hope.
I've been as
mad
for
you as the sea
for the moonlight.
Ohano. [Disturbed.] But you had fire and impulse when you went away; and now wel
l, you do still yearn for me? NiJO. [Quietly, without passion.] The hope for you
r love has

been the
earth
light of
my
brain, changing
from
life
to dream,
from
to star.
Ohano.
tells
My
is
thirst for glory has
been that way; but
If love
Zama
me
it
as nothing in the kiss of love.
has that
power, I
NiJO.
am
At
willing to forget all else.
last
Kiss me, Nijo
the sun flames to
my
lips will press yours, as
it
an immortal moment when
stantly gives
meets the sky.
[Kneeling opposite each other, their lips meet.
Ohano
in-
a piercing scream and
recoils
from him.
Oh, oh,
Nijo sinks into a heap. Ohano. [Rising and turning toward the sea,
oh!
weeping.]
Zama.
[Rushing in from
right.]
What
is
it.?
What
is
it,
Ohano ? Ohano.
Zama.
[Still
weeping.]
it
Oh
ooh.
Ohano ?
kiss
What do
be,
my
little
Ohano. [Turning.] His kiss Zama. Yes ? Ohano. Cold as white marble Zama. Cold as
white marble ? Ohano. Oh, Nijo, why do you
Nijo.
all
Nijo's
cold
I
kiss
me
like
a thing of stone ?
[As he looks up,
pitifully.]
Into that kiss I tried to put
years.
the love I've thought these
many
Ohano.
The
love you've thought?
THE GAZING GLOBE
NiJO.
[Despondently.]
151
it
Yes, I've only thought
?
!
thought
it
Ohano.
NiJO.
thinks.
But your heart
[Rising.]
My
my
heart feels no more
Only
my
head
Zama.
NiJO.
You
love no
more ?
head,
it
Only with
seems.
I see things, knowfeel
things, understand things;
but I no longer
it all
anything.
love of
life
And
and
my
thirst for glory has
done

killed
my
turned
my
very kiss to stone.
Oh,
glory,
why do men
give the
essence of their lives to
you
you who

last
no longer than the
glow of gold above the place of sunset
Ohano.
everything
NiJO.
[Swperhly.]
Because glory gives you the world
It takes everything
away
strips
you
and leaves you
common
soldier
in position.
nothing to believe.
here,
Oh, I could have become a
marching shoulder to shoulder with the island men going
out to war
but noI must be a great warrior, a hero
what
I
Had
know now, how gladly would I have gone as one of the thousands who are known as
just soldiers. They are the ones who know the tlu-ob of life and love Ohano. You
bring back such a message to me? You who
I knov.-n then

have climbed and climbed to heights

gazing globe
till
I
have believed you to
be as constant in your quest as the light that shines upon the
.^
NiJO.
Ialight.?
disks of
follow.
Ohano. Whj'- not.^ I've always likened your feet unto the two luminaries, lighti
ng the way for all the world to
[Looks at gazing globe, which
is noio
tell
a hall of gold against
I vras wrong.
the black sea
and
sky.]
And
nov,^
you
me
Perfol-
haps the
low.
light
upon the gazing globe
light
?
itself is
the only one to
NiJO.
ing globe
I
a
Why, Ohano,
if
I'm anything, I'm a gaz-
Ohano.
What do you mean
you a gazing globe
.?
152
NiJO.
EUGENE PILLOT
That without I'm
globe.
[Scornfully.]
all fair, all
wonderful
but within
I'm empty as a gazing
Ohano.
NiJO.
But a gazing globe shows men the way
see into
it.
to their heart's desire.
It reflects to
men what they
it
So does
glory.
Ohano.
NiJO.
I can't believe that
now.
me
!
Behold what
It filled
has done to
Already as a child I
it
gazed at that globe, longing to grasp the glory of which
symbol.
was a
me
!
with a red madness, surged with an un-
bearable music, giving
for the
me a riotous pain
I
!
Oh,
it
made ma drunk
wine of glory
I
Ohano.
NiJO.
know
!
know
!
Now
you
talk as the
man
I
thought you were.
I'm not a man.
I'm dead.
But you have known the glory of life. Shall I never know the way to it ? [Appeal
ingly, to the globe.] The way the way is what I seek Zama. Look not so upon the
evil ball, child. It do be enchanted for one thousand years [Ohano moves nearer
the globe.]
Ohano.

!
!
Go
not so near, child
!
Evil will
I, if it
fall
and you
me
the
will
be enslaved
!
Ohano.
Zama.
her.
WTiat care
shows
way ?
to the globe.
[Hands outstretched
[Appealingly
to
Nuo.]
Sir, I
pray you do be stopping
ball ;
She do be always gazing at that golden
its
and slowly
it
it
do be drawing her within
enchanted
ball
enchanted grasp.
And
do be an
Nuo.
thought.
life's
Perhaps there's more to
It claimed
its
enchantment than I
it's
me
for a victim
and now
freezing her
warmth to the falseness of Orient pearl. Ohano. [Murmuring to the globe.] The wa
y the way? I must have the way Nuo. [Swiftly drawing his sword.] I will not show
you but

!
I'll
save you
!
[Starts
toward the gazing globe.
Zama.
[Barring his path.]
Nijo,
sir,
what do you be doing ?
THE GAZING GLOBE
NiJO. [With a flourish of his sword.]
freezes another heart
153
I kill the thing that
Zama.
NiJO.
That do mean ruin
!
It be
an enchanted
ball
!
[Brushing past Zama.]
It will enchant
no longer
Ohano.
NiJO.
No
!
No, Nijo
steps.]
[Running up pedestal
Yes
!
[With a might!/ blow he strikes the gazing globe with his
sword.
right,
Frightened,
Ohano
shrinks to one side, facing
as a thunder-like crash follows the blow, and pieces
of the globe tumble to the ground

all
but one piece that
off stage
to the bit
remains upon the pedestal.
right shines
Then from a moon
a straight golden path across the sea
of gazing globe on the pedestal.
Ohano.
the
[Triumphantly.]
The moon
way
!
From
the gazing globe
The way At the golden path to the moon
!
last
of glory.
Now
I
am
free
[Rushes wildly
down
the moonlight path to the sea.
Zama.
Nijo.
Stop her
No,
it is
better to let her go.
into the sea.
It
is
Zama.
her
!
But the path do lead
[Restraining Zama.]
death
!
Stop
[Starts forward.
Nijo.
the only
No
!
In death her soul has found
way
CURTAIN
THE BOOR
BY
ANTON TCHEKOV
is reprinted by special permission of Barrett H. Clark and Samuel French, publis
her. New York City. All rights reserved. For permission to perform, address Samu
el French, 28-30 West 38th Street,
The Boor
of
New York
City.
ANTON TCHEKOV
Anton Tchekov, considered the foremost of contemporary Russian dramatists, was b
orn in 1860 at Taganrog, Russia. In 1880 he was graduated from the Medical Schoo
l of the UniverIll health soon compelled him to abandon his sity of Moscow. In 1
904, practice of medicine, and in 1887 he sought the south. the year of the succ
essful appearance of his Cherry Orchard, he died in a village of the Black Fores
t in Germany. As a dramatist, Tchekov has with deliberate intent cast off much o
f the conventionalities of dramatic technic. In his longer plays especially, lik
e The Sea Gull, Uncle Vanya, and Cherry Orchard, he somewhat avoids obvious stru
ggles, timeworn commonplaces, well-prepared climaxes, and seeks rather His to sp
read out a panoramic canvas for our contemplation. It is his interest chief aim
is to show us humanity as he sees it. in humanity that gives him so high rank as
a dramatist. His one-act plays, a form of drama unusually apt for certain intim
ate aspects of Russian peasant life, are more regular in Among the five or six t
heir technic than his longer plays. shorter plays that Tchekov wrote. The Boor a
nd A Marriage Proposal are his best. In these plays he shows the lighter side of
Russian country life, infusing some of the spirit of the great Gogol into his b
road and somewhat farcical character portrayals. With rare good grace, in these
plays he appears to be asking us to throw aside our restraint and laugh with him
at the stupidity and naivete, as well as good-heartedness. of the Russian peopl
e he knew so well. The Boor is a remarkably well-constructed one-act play, and i
s probably the finest one-act play of the Russian school of drama.
PERSONS IN THE PLAY
Helena Ivanovna Popov,
estite
a young widow, mistress of a country
Grigoiji Stepanovitch Smirnov, proprietor of a country estate
LuKA.
servant of
Mrs. Popov
A
gardener.
A
coachman.
Several
workmen
THE BOOR
TIME:
The
:
'present
SCENE A
well-furnished reception-room in
is discovered
Mrs. Popov's home,
upon a
Mrs, Popov
in deep mourning, sitting
sofa, gazing steadfastly at
a photograph.
Luka is also present.
LuKA.
It isn't right,
ma'am.
life;
You're wearing yourself out
The
maid and the cook have gone looking for berries; everything
is
that breathes
enjoying
even the cat knows how to be
happy

slips about the courtyard and catches birds

but you
a cloister.
hide yourself here in the house as though
you were
in
Yes, truly, by actual reckoning you haven't
left this
house for a
should I?
whole year.
Mrs. Popov.
My life
is
over.
And I He lies
shall
never leave
it
why
in his grave,
and
I
have buried myself
within these four walls.
We
are both dead.
!
Luka.
it
There you are again
It's
too awful to listen to, so
it
is!
Nikolai Michailovitch
is
dead;
was the
will of the
Lord, and the Lord has given him eternal peace.
grieved over
stop.
it
You have
it's
!
and that ought to be enough.
Now
time to
My wife weep and wear mourning forever died a few years ago. I grieved for her.
I wept a whole month and then it was over. Must one be forever singing lamentaTh
at would be more than your husband was worth tions ?
One
can't

[He
sighs.]
You have
forgotten
all
your neighbors.
live
You
don't
go out and you receive no one.
like the spiders,
We
you'll pardon me
see.
and the good
light of
day we never
All the
livery
is
eaten by the mice
!
as though there weren't any more
is full
nice people in the world
But the whole neighborhood
159
of
160
gentlefolk.
ANTON TCHEKOV
The regiment is stationed in Riblov officers simEvery Friday e One can't see eno
ugh of them and military music every day. Oh, my dear, dear ma'am,
! !

ply beautiful
ball,
young and pretty
as
you
are,
if
you'd only
let
your
spirits live

Beauty can't last forever. When ten short years are over, you'll be glad enough
to go out a bit and meet the officers and then

it'll
be too
late.
Mrs.
lai
Popov.
[Resolutely.]
Please
don't
speak
of
these
things again.
You know
only seems
very well that since the death of Niko-
Michailovitch
it
I live, but
my life is absolutely nothing to me. You think Do you understand ? Oh, that his
so.
see
departed soul
to you; he
faithful,
may
how
I love
him
!
I know,
cruel,
it's
no secret
was often unjust toward me,
shall
and
he wasn't
the
but I
be faithful to the grave and prove to him
he'll find
how I can
as I
love.
There, in the Beyond,
me
same
was LuKA.
until his death.
What
is
the use of
all
these words,
much
rather go walking in the garden or order
visit
when you'd so Tobby or Welikan
?
harnessed to the trap, and
the neighbors
Mrs. Popov. [Weeping.] LuKA. Madam, dear nadam, what
Oh
is
it?
In Heaven's
name! Mrs. Popov.
He
loved
Tobby
so!
to the Kortschagins or the Ylassovs.
He always drove him What a wonderful horse-
man
with
he was
all his
!
How
!
fine
he looked when he pulled at the reins
might
Tobby, Tobby
give him an extra measure
of oats to-day
LuKA.
[A
Yes, ma'am.
bell
rings loudly.
[Shiidders.]
Mrs. Popov.
no one.
What's
that.?
I
am
at
home
to
[He goes out, centre. LuKA. Yes, ma'am. Mrs. Popov. [Gazing at ike photograph.]
You shall see, NikMy love will die only with me olai, how I can love and forgive
!
THE BOOR
161
[She smiles through her
when
tears.]
my
And
poor heart stops beating.
aren't
you ashamed?
I have been a good, true
shall
wife; I
have imprisoned myself and I
remain true until
death, and you
youyou're not ashamed of yourself, my dear
quarrelled with me, left
monster
!
You
me
alone for weeks
[LuKA
LuKA.
ing
enters in great excitement.
is
Oh, ma'am, some one
asking for you, insists on see-
you
Mrs. Popov.
I receive
You
told
him that
since
my
husband's death
no
one.''
it is
LuKA.
matter.
I said so, but he won't listen; he says
a pressing
Mrs. Popov.
LuKA.
I told
I receive
no one
!
him
that,
but he's a wild man; he swore and
he's in the dining-room
pushed himself into the room;
now.
Mrs. Popov.
pudent
!
[Excitedly.]
Good.
Show him
in.
The im-
[LuKA goes out, centre. Mrs. Popov. What a bore people are! What can they want w
ith me ? Why do they disturb my peace [She sighs.] Yes, it is clear I must enter
a convent. [Meditatively.] Yes, a
.'*
convent.
[Smirnov
Smirnov.
You're an ass
enters, followed
by Luka.
[To Luka.]
!
Fool,
[Discovering
you make too much noise! Mrs. Popov politely.] Madam, I

have the honor to introduce myself: Lieutenant

lery, retired,
in the Artil!
country gentleman, Grigori Stepanovitch Smirnov
I'm compelled to bother you about an exceedingly important
matter.
Mrs. Popov.
wish ?
[Without offering her hand.]
What
is
it
you
Your deceased husband, with whom I had the left me two notes amounting to about
twelve hundred roubles. Inasmuch as I have to pay the interest
Smirnov.
honor to be acquainted,
162
ANTON TCHEKOV
like to
to-morrow on a loan from the Agrarian Bank, I should
request,
madam,
that you pay
me
the
money
for
to-day.
Mrs. Popov. Twelve hundred band indebted to you ?
Smirnov.
and
what was
my
hus-
He bought
oats from me.
Mrs. Popov. [With a sigh, to Luka.] Don't forget to give Tobby an extra measure
of oats. [Luka goes out. Mrs. Popov. [To Smirnov.] If Nikolai Michailovitch is i
ndebted to you, I shall, of course, pay you, but I am sorry, I havea't the money
to-day. To-morrow my manager will return from the city and I shall notify him t
o pay you what is due you,
but
until then I
it is
cannot satisfy your request.
Furthermore, to-
day
I
just seven
months
since the death of
my
husband, and
am
not in a
Smirnov.
mood to discuss money matters. And I am in the mood to fly up
if
the chimney with
my
feet in the air
I can't lay
hands on that interest to-morreceive
row.
They'll seize
my
estate
after
!
Mrs. Popov.
money.
Smirnov.
need
it
Day
to-morrow you
will
the
I don't need the
money day
after
to-morrow; I
to-day.
Mrs. Popov.
Smirnov.
I'm sorry I can't pay you to-day.
I can't wait until
And
day
if
after to-morrow.
it.?
Mrs. Popov.
Smirnov.
Smirnov. Smirnov.
But what can I do So you can't pay ?
I cannot.
!
I haven't
Mrs. Popov.
Hm
Is that
last.
?
your
last
word ?
Mrs. Popov.
My
Absolutely
Mrs. Popov.
Smirnov.
expect
Absolutely.
Thank
you.
all
[He shrugs his shoulders.]
that.
me
to stand for
The
toll-gatherer just
I
And they now met
me
in the
road and asked
me why
was always worrying.
THE BOOR
Why,
feel
163
I need
left
in
Heaven's name, shouldn't I worry?
money, I
the knife at
my throat.
called
!
Yesterday morning I
my house
!
in the early
dawn and
on
all
my
debtors.
If
even one of
I worked the skin off my fingers The them had paid his debt devil knows in what
sort of Jew-inn I slept; in a room with a And now at last I come here, seventy v
ersts barrel of brandy from home, hope for a little money, and all you give me i
s moods
!
!
Why
shouldn't I worry
I
?
Mrs. Popov.
Smirnov.
you.
thought I made
it
plain to
you that
my manto see
ager will return from town, and then you will get your money.
I did not
come
to see the manager; I
came
What
the devil
pardon the languagedo I care for your
sir,
manager ? Mrs. Popov.
such manners.
Really,
I
am
not used to such language or
further.
I shan't listen to
you any
to
[She goes out,
left.
Smirnov.
What can one
husband died
say
!
that
?
Moods
!
Seven
interest
months
or not?
since her
Do
I have to
pay the
I repeat the question,
have I to pay the
interest or
not?
devil with
I to
The husband is dead and all that; the manager is the travelling somewhere. Now,
tell me, what am him do ? Shall I run away from my creditors in a balloon ? Or
!

knock
my
head against a stone wall ?
If I call
on Grusdev he
chooses to be "not at home," Iroschevitch has simply hidden
himself, I
have quarrelled with Kurzin and came near throwing
window, Masutov
of
is ill
!
him out
fcioods
!
of the
and
this
woman
!
has
Not one
them
will
pay up
And
I allow
all
because I've
spoiled them, because
I'm an old whiner, dish-rag
I'm too
to play
tender-hearted with them.
But wait
!
nobody
tricks with me, the devil with 'em
all
!
I'll
stay here and not
budge
until she
pays
!
Brr
!
How
ill
angry I am, how terribly
[He calls
angry I
am
!
Every tendon
!
is
trembling with anger, and I can
!
hardly breathe
I'm even growing
out.]
Servant
[LuKA
enters.
164
ANTON TCHEKOV
What
is it
LuKA.
you wish?
or water
it
!
Smirnov.
that?
Bring
me Kvas
[Luka
?
goes out.]
Well,
is
what can we do ?
She hasn't
on hand
What
sort of logic
A
fellow stands with the knife at his throat, he needs
is
money, he
man's
on the point of hanging himself, and she won't pay
isn't in
because she
logic
!
the
That's
it
mood to discuss money why I never liked to talk
Brr
!
matters.
to
Wo-
why I dislike doing
affair
now.
women, and I would rather sit on a powder barrel
than talk with a woman.
has
I'm getting cold
yell for help
!
as ice; this
made me
!
so angry.
I need only to see such a romantic
creature from a distance to get so angry that I have cramps in
the calves
It's
enough to make one
water.]
[Enter
Luka.
Luka.
All right,
[Hands him
Madam is iU and is not receiving.
goes out.]
Ill
Smirnov.
it
March
!
[Luka
and
isn't receiving
I'll
!
isn't necessary.
I won't receive, either!
If you're
ill
sit
here and stay until you bring that money.
I'll sit
a week,
here a week.
is
If
you're
ill
a year,
I'll sit
here a year.
As
Heaven
with
dimples
my witness, I'll get the money. You don't disturb me your mourning or with your d
imples. We know these
!
[lie calls out the
window.]
I
Simon, unharness
!
We
Tell
aren't going to leave right away.
am going to stay here.
some
It's
them
in the stable to give the horses
oats.
The
Stop
!
left
I'll
horse
has twisted the bridle again.
[Imitating him.]
show
you how.
heat,
Stop
!
[Leaves
window.]
awful.
Unbearable
no money, didn't sleep
last night
and now
mourning-
dresses with moods.
My
head aches; perhaps I ought to have
drinl^.
a drink.
Ye-s, I
must have a
wish ?
[Calling.]
Servant
Luka.
sits
What do you
and
Smirnov.
doicn
Something to drink
looks at his clothes.]
!
[Luka
Ugh, a
goes out.
fine figure
!
SaiiRNOV
No
use
denying that.
Dust, dirty boots, unwashed, uncombed, straw
on
my vestthe lady probably took me for a highwayman.
It
[He
yawns.]
was a
little
impolite to
come
into a receptioti-room
THE BOOR
with such clothes.
guest.
165
I'm not here as a
for
Oh,
well,
no harm done.
there
is
I'm a
creditor.
And
no special costume
creditors.
LuKA. [Entering with glass.] You take great Smirnov. [Angrily.] What ?
liberty, sir.
LuKA.
I
II just
Whom
are you talking to
?
Smirnov.
Keep
quiet.
!
LuKA.
[Angrily.]
Nice mess
!
This fellow won't leave [He goes
out.
SivnRNOV.
Lord,
how angry
!
I
am
!
Angry enough
ill
!
to throw
mud
at the whole world
I even feel
Servant
eyes.
[Mrs. Popov comes in with downcast
Mrs. Popov. Sir, in my solitude I have become unaccustomed to the human voice an
d I cannot stand the sound of loud
talking.
I beg you, please to cease disturbing
my
rest.
Smirnov.
Pay me
my money
you once,
and
I'll
leave.
Mrs. Popov.
morrow.
Smirnov.
but to-day.
I told
plainly, in
your native tongue,
that I haven't the
money
at hand; wait until
day
after to-
And
If
I also
had the honor
of informing
you
in
your
native tongue that I need the money, not day after to-morrow,
you don't pay me to-day
I shall
have to hang
myself to-morrow.
Mrs. Popov.
Smirnov.
not?
IVIrs.
But what can
I
do
if
I haven't the
money ?
You're
So you are not going to pay immediately ?
I cannot.
I'll sit
Popov.
Smirnov.
iown.]
Then
here until I get the money.
Excellent
!
[He
sits
You will pay day after to-morrow ?
[Jumps
not.^^
Here I
do I
stay until day after to-morrow.
up.]
I ask you,
have to pay that interest to-morrow or
Or do you think
This
is
I'm joking ?
Mrs. Popov.
a stable.
Sir,
I beg of you, don't scream
!
not
166
Smirnov.
ANTON TCHEKOV
I'm not talking about
stables,
I'm asking you
whether I have to pay that interest to-morrow or not?
Mrs. Popov.
Smirnov.
gar person
You have no
idea
how
to treat a lady.
Oh, yes, I have.
Mrs. Popov.
!
No, you have
not.
You
are an ill-bred, vul-
Respectable people don't speak so to ladies.
Smirnov.
to
How remarkable
!
!
How do you want one to speak
Madame,
je
you ?
In French, perhaps
vous prie
!
Pardon
me
for having disturbed you.
!
What
beautiful weather
!
we
are
having to-day
And how
Not
at
this
mourning becomes you
I think
[He makes a low bow with viock ceremony.
Mrs. Popov.
Smirnov.
don't understand
all
funny
!
it
vulgar
[Imitating
her.]
Not
at
all
funnj'
vulgar!
I
company of ladies. Mad-t am, in the course of my life I have seen more women tha
n you have sparrows. Three times have I fought duels for women, twelve I jilted
and nine jilted me. There was a time when I played the fool, used honeyed langua
ge, bowed and scraped. I
to behave in the
loved, suffered, sighed to the
how
moon, melted
in love's torments.
I loved passionately, I loved to madness, loved in every key,
chattered like a magpie on emancipation, sacrificed half
my
for-
tune in the tender passion, until now the devil knows I've had
enough
of
it.
around by the nose no more.
est sighs
Your obedient servant Enough
!
will let
you lead him
Black eyes, passionate
eyes, coral lips, dimples in cheeks, moonlight whispers, soft,
modI
for
all
that,
madam,
I wouldn't
pay a kopeck
!
am
not speaking of present company, but of
women
in general;
from the
tiniest to the greatest,
they are conceited, hypocritical,
chattering, odious, deceitful from top to toe; vain, petty, cruel
with a maddening logic and
please excuse
[he strikes his forehead] in this respect,
is
my
frankness, but one sparrow
worth ten of the
one sees one of
is
aforementioned petticoat-philosophers.
When
the romantic creatures before him he imagines he
looking at
some holy
being, so wonderful that
its
one breath could dissolve
THE BOOR
him
in
167
if
a sea of a thousand charms and delights; but
one looks
[He
seizes
into the soul

it's
nothing but a
it
common
crocodile.
the arm-chair
and breaks
in two.]
But the worst
of all
is
that
this crocodile imagines
it
it is
a masterpiece of creation, and that
has a monopoly on
if
all
the tender passions.
is
May
the devil
hang me upside down
there
anything to love about a
woman
!
knows is how to complain and shed If the man suffers and makes sacrifices she sw
ings her tears. train about and tries to lead him by the nose. You have the misf
ortune to be a woman, and naturally you know woman's nature; tell me on your hon
or, have you ever in your life seen a woman who was really true and faithful ? N
ever Only the old and the deformed are true and faithful. It's easier to find a
cat with horns or a white woodcock, than a faithful woman. Mrs. Popov. But allow
me to ask, who is true and faithful in love ? The man, perhaps ?
she
is
When
in love, all she
!
Smirnov.
Yes, indeed
!
The man
!
!
Mrs. Popov.
The man
[She
!
laughs
sarcastically.]
is
The
man
true
and
faithful in love
Well, that
something new
[Bitterly.]
How can you make such a statement ? Men true and
So long as we have gone thus
the
far,
faithful
!
I
may
as well say
best; I
that of
all
men
I
have known,
all
my
husband was the
loved him passionately with
woman may
tune,
love; I gave
my soul, as only a young, sensible him my youth, my happiness, my forhim like a
heathen.
my life.
I worshipped
And what hapway.
pened.?
This best of
men
betrayed
me
in every possible
After his death I found his desk
filled
with love-letters.
While
he was alive he
think about
ence,
it
left
^he
me
alone for months
made love to other women in my very preshe wasted my money and made fun of my fe
elings and in

it is
horrible even to

him and was true to him. And more than that: he is dead and I am still true to h
im. I have buried myself within these four walls and I shall wear this mourning
to my grave.
spite of everything I trusted
168
Smirnov.
ANTON TCHEKOV
Mourning "\^Tiat on As if I didn't know why you wore black domino and why you bu
ried yourself within these
[Laughing disrespectfully.]
!
earth do you take
this
me
for?
four walls.
Such a secret
!
So romantic
!
Some knight
will
pass the castle, gaze up at the windows, and think to himself:
"Here dwells the mysterious Tamara who,
band, has buried herself within four walls."
the art
for love of her hus-
Oh, I understand
Mrs. Popov. [Springing vp.] What.'^ \\Tiat do you mean by saying such things to
me.^^ Smirnov. You have buried yourself alive, but meanwhile you
have not forgotten to powder your nose
!
Mrs. Popov.
Smirnov.
Allow
How
dare j^ou speak so
?
Don't scream at me, please; I'm not the manager.
I
me to call things by their right names.
am not a woman,
So please don't
and
I
am accustomed to speak out what I think.
I'm not screaming.
It
is
scream.
Mrs. Popov.
ing.
you who are scream-
Please leave me, I beg of you.
Smirnov.
IVIrs.
Pay me
my money and
I'll
leave.
Popov.
I won't give
you the money.
give
do.
Smirnov.
kopeck
You won't?
!
You won't
Mrs. Popov.
!
I don't care
what you
me my money? You won't get
a
Leave me
Smirnov.
As
it.
I haven't the pleasure of being either your hus-
band or your
I can't
fiance, please don't
make a
scene.
[He
sits
down.]
stand
Mrs. Popov.
Smirnov.
Smirnov.
[Breathing hard.]
You
are going to
sit
down ?
I already have.
Mrs. Popov.
Kindly leave the house
Give
me
the money.
Mrs. Popov.
Leave
i
I don't care to speak with
impudent men.
[PauM.]
You
aren't going
?
Smirnov.
No.
THE BOOR
Mrs. Popov.
Smirnov.
169
No?
No.
[She rings the bell, Mrs. Popov. Very well. [Enter Luka. Mrs. Popov. Luka, show
the gentleman out. Luka. [Going to Smirnov.] Sir, why don't you leave when you a
re ordered ? What do you want ? Smirnov. [Jumping up.] Whom do you think you are
talking to ? I'll grind you to powder. [He drops Luka. [Puts his hand to his he
art.] Good Lord Oh, I'm ill; I can't breathe into a chair.] Mrs. Popov. Where is
Dascha.^* [Calling.] Dascha! Pe[She rings. Dascha lageja I'm ill Water Luka. Th
ey're all gone Get out Mrs. Popov. [To Smirnov.] Leave Smirnov. Kindly be a litt
le more polite Mrs. Popov. [Striking her fists and stamping her feet.] You
! !
!
!
!
!
are vulgar
!
You're a boor
!
A
?
monster
Smirnov.
Smirnov.
right
What
did you say
Mrs. Popov.
I said
you were a boor, a monster!
Permit
[Steps toward her quickly.]
me
to ask
what
.^^
you have to insult me ? Mrs. Popov. What of it
.^
Do you think I am afraid of you
Smirnov.
you!
And you
think that because you are a romantic
creature you can insult
me without being punished ?
!
I challenge
Luka.
Merciful Heaven
Water
fists
Smirnov.
neck I
We'll have a duel.
Mrs. Popov.
steer's
Do
you think because you have big
and a
am
afraid of
you ?
insult
Smirnov.
tion because
I allow
no one to
to cry
me, and I make no excep-
you are a woman, one
[Trying
is
of the
"weaker sex"
!
Mrs. Popov.
Smirnov.
It
him down.]
Boor, boor, boor
the old superstition
high time to do
away with
170
that
there
limit
JVIrs.
it is
is
ANTON TCHEKOV
only the
man who
is
forced to give satisfaction.
all things.
If
equity at
all let
there be equity in
There's a
Popov.
You
wish to fight a duel
?
Very
well.
Smirnov.
bring them.
it will
Immediately.
Mrs. Popov.
Immediately.
My
husband had
pistols.
I'll
[She hurries away, then turns.]
Oh, what a pleasure
be to put a bullet in your impudent head.
shoot her down!
The
devil take
you
!
[She goes out.
I'll
Smirnov.
mental
3'
I'm no
is
fiedgling,
!
no
senti-
oung puppy.
Oh,
sir.
For me there
no weaker sex
LuKA.
ready, and
[Falls to his knees.]
Have mercy on me, an
old man, and go away.
You have
attention.]
frightened
me
to death al-
now you
w^ant to fight a duel.
Smirnov.
emancipation.
her
[Paying no
A
duel.
That's equity,
equal.
I'll
That way the
sexes are
made
shoot
down
as a matter of principle.
[Imitating her.]
What
can a person say to
such a w^oman?
put a bullet
in
your impudent head."
the
"The devil take you. I'll What can one say to that ?
She was angry, her eyes blazed, she accepted the challenge.
On
my
honor,
it's
first
time in
my
life
that I ever saw such a
woman. LuKA. woman.
LuKA.
Oh,
sir.
Go away.
is
Go away
I can understand her.
fire,
Smirnov.
That
a woman.
A
!
real
No
shilly-shallying,
but
powder, and noise
It
would be a pity to shoot a
[Weeping.]
woman
sir,
like that.
Oh,
go away.
[Enter
Mrs. Popov.
Mrs. Popov. Here are the pistols. But before we have our show me how to shoot. I
have never had a pistol in my hand before I'll go and LuKA. God be merciful and
have pity upon us get the gardener and the coachman. Why lias this horror come
duel, please
!
to
ufi ?
[He goes
out.
THE BOOR
Smienov.
ent kinds.
[Looking at the
pistols.]
171
see, there are differ-
You
There are special duelling
pistols,
with cap and
ball.
But
tols
!
these are revolvers, Smith
&
Wesson, with ejectors;
fine pisis
!
A
pair like that cost at least ninety roubles.
[Aside.]
This
the
way
real
to hold a revolver.
Those
eyes, those eyes
A
woman
Like this ?
Yes, that way.
Mrs. Popov.
Smirnov.
Then you
pull the
little.
hammer back
Just stretch
so
then you aim

put your head back a

your arm out, please.
like that,
So
then press your finger on the thing
The
chief thing
is
and that
is all.
this: don't get ex-
cited, don't
hurry your aim, and take care that your hand
It isn't well to shoot inside; let's go into the
doesn't tremble.
Mrs. Popov.
garden.
Smirnov.
the
air.
Yes.
I'll tell
you now, I
am
going to shoot into
Mrs. Popov.
Smirnov.
dear
That
is
too
much
!
Because
because.
are afraid.
That's
Yes.
Why ? my
business.
Mrs. Popov.
sir,
You
!
A-h-h-h.
No, no,
my
no flinching
Please follow me.
I won't rest until I've
made a
hole in that head I hate so much.
Are you afraid ?
Smirnov.
Smirnov.
Yes, I'm afraid.
Mrs. Popov. Mrs. Popov.
Smirnov.
hat
You
are lying.
Why
won't you fight ?
you.
Because
becauseI
!
like
[With an angry laugh.]
You
like
me!
He
dares to say he likes
me
[She points to the door.]
Go.
table, takes his
[Laying the revolver silently on the
and
starts.
At
the door he stops
a moment, gazing
Listen
!
at her sistill
lently,
then he approaches her, hesitating.]
Are you
angry ?
I was
mad as the devil,
voice.]
but please understand
me
how
can I express myself ?
[He raises his
money ?
[Grasps the
The thing is like this such things are Now, is it my fault that you owe me back
of the chair which breaks.] The devil
y

172
ANTON TCHEKOV
furniture
knows what breakable
you have
!
!
I like
you
!
Do
you understand ? I I'm almost in love I hate you. Mrs. Popov. Leave What a woman
I never Smirnov. Lord
!
! !

in
my
life
one
in
like her.
I'm
lost,
ruined
!
I've been caught like a
met mouse
a trap.
Mrs. Popov.
Smirnov.
Go, or
I'll
shoot.
Shoot!
You have no
velvet
if
idea
what happiness
Consider
it
it
would be to die
revolver in this
in sight of those beautiful eyes, to die
from the
little
hand
!
I'm
mad
!
and
decide immediately, for
other again.
I go now,
we
shall
never see each
Decide
speakI am a noble, a respectable man,
.^
have an income of ten thousand, can shoot a coin thrown into the air. I own some
fine horses. Will you be my wife
Mrs. Popov.
Smirxov.
vant
[Swings the revolver angrily.]
I'll
shoot
Ser-
My
!
mind
is
not clear
I can't understand.
any young man.
I love
water
I have fallen in love like
cries with pain.]
[He
takes her
hand and she
you
!
[He
kneels.]
you as I have never loved before. Twelve women I jilted, nine jilted me, but not
one of them all have I loved as I love you. I am conquered, lost; I lie at your
feet like a fool and beg for
I love
your hand.
in love; I
Shame and
disgrace
for
!
For
five years I
haven't been
thanked the Lord
it,
and now
I
am
caught, like a
carriage tongue in another carriage. or no
?
I beg for your
hand
!
Yes
door.
Will you
?

Good
!
[He
gels
up and
goes quickly
to the
Mrs. Popov.
Smirnov.
ment.
if
Wait a moment
Well
?
[Stopping.]
Mrs. Popov.
Nothing.
You may
I hate you.
!
go.
No, go on, go on.
Or
But no; don't
^wait
a mo-
go.
Oh,
[She throws the revolver you knew how angry I was, how angry [She anon to the ch
air.] My finger is swollen from this thing.
grily tears her handkerchief.]
\Miat are you standing there
for.'*
Get out
THE BOOR
Smirnov.
Farewell
173
Mrs. Popov. Yes, go. [Cries out.] Why are you going.? Don't come too near, Oh, h
ow angry I am Wait no, go don't come too near er come no nearer.

!
!
!

Smirnov.
got a
[Approaching
her.]
Fall in lov^e like a schoolboy, throw myself
chill
!
How angry I am with myself on my knees. I've
This
is
[Strongly.]
I love you.
fine

all
I needed
To-morrow I have to pay my interest, the [He takes her in hay harvest has begun,
and then you appear
was to
fall in love.
!
his arms.]
I can never forgive myself.
you
Mrs. Popov. you this
Go away
is
!
Take your hands
ofiF
me
!
I hate
kiss.

[A long
[Enter
Luka
with an axe, the gardener with a rake, the
pitchfork,
coachman with a
and workmen with
poles.
Luka.
[Staring at the pair.]
Merciful heavens
[A long pause.
Mrs. Popov. [Dropping her eyes.] that Tobby isn't to have any oats.
CURTAIN
Tell
them
in the stable
THE LAST STRAW
BY
BOSWORTH CROCKER
All rights reserved.
by special permission of Bosworth Crocker. For permission to perform, address th
e author, care Society of American Dramatists and Composers, 148 West 45th Stree
t,
The Last Straw
Is
reprinted
New York
City.
BOSWORTH CROCKER
land.
Bosworth Crocker was born March 2, 1882, in Surrey, EngWhile still a child he wa
s brought to the United States. He lives in New York City and may be reached in
care of the Society of American Dramatists and Composers, 148 West 45th
Street.
In addition to Pawns of War and Stone Walls, he has written a number of one-act
plays, The Dog, The First Time, The Cost of a Hat, The Hour Before, The Baby Car
riage, and The Last Straw. The Last Straw, produced by the Washington Square Pla
yers in New York City, is an excellent one-act tragedy, based upon the psycholog
ical law of suggestion.
CAST
Friedrich Bauer, janitor of
the
Bryn Maior
MiENE,
Karl,
his vnfe
elder son, aged ten
Fritzi, younger son, aged seven
Jim Lane, a grocer boy
THE LAST STRAW*
TIME:
The present day.
:
SCENE
The basement of a
large apartment-house in
New
York
City.
SCENE:
Mawr.
The kitchen of the Bauer flat in the basement of the Bryn A window at the side g
ives on an area and shows the
the houses across the street.
to
walk above and
Opposite the
the outer door,
windows
is
a door
an inner room.
Through
in the centre of the back wall, a dumb-waiier and whistles to
tenants can be seen.
A
broken milk-bottle
lies
in a puddle of
milk on the cement floor in front of the dumb-waiter.
right of the outer door, a telephone ; gas-range
To
the
on which
there
are flat-irons heating
the outer door is
Schiller.
and
vegetables cooking.
it
To
the left of
an
old sideboard; over
hangs a picture of
little to
it.
Near
the centre of the room,
a
the right,
stands a kitchen table with four chairs around
Ironing-
board
of
is
placed between the kitchen table and the sink, a basket
clothes
dampened
under
it.
A
large calendar
on
the wall.
An
and
alarm-clock on the windoiv-sill.
Time : a
little
before
noon.
The telephone rings ; Mrs. Bauer
it.
leaves her ironing
goes to answer
Mrs. Bauer.
the transmitter.]
I'll tell
No, Mr. Bauer's out
yet.
[She listens through
Thank you, Mrs. Mohler.
comes
in
[Another pause.]
him
just so soon he
yes, ma'am.
Grocer boy rushes
his basket, goes
[Mrs.
Bauer
goes back to her ironing.
into basement, whistling; he puts
down
up to Mrs. Bauer's door and Lane. Say where's the boss ?
looks in.

* Copyright, 1914,
by Bosworth Crocker.
179
All rights reserved.
180
Mrs.
BOSWORTH CROCKER Bauer. He'll be home soon, I hope Jim.
Nothin'.
.
What
you want ?
[He stands looking at her with growing sympathy.
Lane.
wet.
. .
Got a rag 'round here
.?
Dumb-waiter's
all
Lot
of groceries for Sawyers.
Mrs. Bauer.
Lane.
[Without
lifting her eyes,
mechanically hands
him a mop which hangs
beside the door.]
Here.
What's the matter.?
[Dully.]
Mrs. Bauer.
Lane.
Lane.
Huh?
Oh, I know.
[Significantly.]
Mrs. Bauer. What you know ? About the boss. [Mrs. Bauer Heard your friends acros
s the street talkin'. ;Mrs. Bauer. [Bitterly.] Friends!
Lane.
Rotten trick to play on the boss,
that old maid up to get him pinched.
looks
distressed.]
all
right, puttin*
Mrs. Bauer. [Absently.] Was she an old maid ? Lane. The cruel ty-to-animals woma
n over there [waves his hand] regular old crank. Nies* put her up to it all righ
t. Mrs. Bauer. I guess it was his old woman. Nies ain't so bad. She's the one. B
ecause my two boys dress up a little on

Sunday, she don't

like
it.
Lane.
Yes, she's sore because the boys told her the boss
kicks their dog.
Mrs. Bauer.
He
don't do nothin' of the sort
'way from the garbage-pails
that's
He
it'd

jus' drives it
all.
We
coulda had that
dog took up long ago
he's so easy
he
they ain't got no
it
;
license.
But
Fritz
jus'
takes
out chasin' the dog and hollerin'.
Lane.
That
ain't
no way.
then
ought to make the dog holler
keep out of here.
^good and hardonce
Mrs. Bauer. Don't you go to talkin' like that 'round my man. Look at all this tr
ouble we're in on account of a stray cat. Lane. I better get busy. They'll be ca
llin' up the store in
* Pronounced niece.
THE LAST STRAW
a minute.
like her
181
in that slop, she'd send
That woman's the limit. them down
.
.
.
Send up the groceries
High-toned people
again.
ought to keep maids.
the lower shelf of the dumb-waiter, then looks
[He mops out
at the broken bottle
and
the puddle of
milk inquiringly.
him.]
I'll
Mrs. Bauer.
that up.
I forgot
[Taking the
mop away from
clean

in all this trouble.

Lane.
WTiose
mUk ?
Mrs. Bauer. The Mohlers'. That's how it all happened. Somebody upset their milk
on the dumb-waiter and the cat was on the shelf lickin' it up; my man, not notic
in', starts the waiter up and the cat tries to jump out; the bottle rolls off an
d breaks. The cat was hurt awful caught in the shaft. I don't see how

it
coulda run after that, but
it
did
into that
woman

right into the

it fell
street, right
^Fritz after
it.
Then
over.
"You
did
that.?" she says to Fritz.
"Yes," he says, "I did that."
He
didn't say no more, jus'
went
off,
and then
after a while they
came for him and Lane. Brace up; they
[Comes into kitchen.
the cat
[She begins to cry softly.
ain't goin' to
do anything to him.
!
.
.
.
Hesitatingly.]
Say
.
.
.
He
didn't kick
did he
?
Mrs. Bauer.
Lane.
Who
said so?
Mrs. Nies
says she saw him from her window.
to herself.]
Mrs. Bauer.
Fritz
is
[As though
I dunno.
[Excitedly.]
to herself.]
Of course he didn't kick that
cat.
[Again, as though
it
so quick-tempered he mighta kicked
'fore
he knew
Fritz
is
what he was about.
except himself.
No
one'd ever
know how good
unless they lived with him.
He
never hurt no one and nothing
Lane.
dinner
Oh, I'm on to the boss.
If
I never
mind
his hollerin'.
Mrs. Bauer.
you get a chance, bring me some butter
I'll
for

^a
pound.
All right.
Lane.
utes,
run over with
it in
ten or fifteen minin the
soon as I get rid of these orders out here
wagon.
182
BOSWORTH CROCKER
That'll do.
[She moves about apathetically, lays the cloth on the kitchen
table
Mrs. Bauer.
and begins
to set
it.
Lane
goes to the dumb-waiter,
whistles
up
the tube, puts the basket of groceries
on the
shelf of the dumb-waiter, pulls rope
and sends waiter up.
Boys from
yell.
Mrs. Bauer
street
continues to set the table.
the
suddenly swoop into the basement and
Chorus of Boys' Voices.
the cat
Who
killed the cat
!
A\Tio killed
Lane. [Letting show you, you
the rope go
and making a
dive for the boys.]
I'll
[They rush out, Mrs.
Bauer
stands despairingly in the
doorway shaking her clasped hands.
Mrs. Bauer.
Lane.
if
Those are Nies's boys.
!
Regular toughs
it.
Call the cop
and have 'em pinched
they don't stop
Mrs. Bauer. If my man hears them you know be more trouble. Lane. The boss ought
to make it hot for them. Mrs. Bauer. Such trouble
Lane.
[Starts to go.]

there'll
Well
luck to the boss.
Mrs. Bauer. There ain't no such thing as luck for us. Lane. Aw, come on. Mrs. Ba
uer. Everything's against us. First Fritz's mother Then we We named the baby aft
er her ^Trude. dies. That finished Fritz. After that he began this hollost Trude
. And now this here trouble just when things lerin' business. was goin' half-way
s decent for the first time. [She pushes past him and goes to her ironing. Lane.
[Shakes his head sympathetically and takes up his basket.] A pound, you said ?
Mrs. Bauer. Yes. Lane. All right. [He starts off and then rushes back.] Here's
. .
.

.
.
.

the boss comin', Mrs. Bauer.

[Rushes off again.
THE LAST STRAW
Lane's Voice. [Cheerfully.] Hello, there Bauer's Voice. [Dull and strained.] Hel
lo [Bauer comes in. His naturally bright blue
183
eyes are tired
lost all vigor
and
and
face.
lustreless; his strong frame
seems
utter
to
have
alertness ; there is
a look of
despondency on his
Mrs. Bauer. [Closing the door after him.] They let you off ? Bauer. [With a hard
little laugh.] Yes, they let me off they

let
me
off
with a
fine all right.
Mrs. Bauer. [Aghast.] They think you did it then. Bauer. [Harshly.] The judge fi
ned me, I tell you. Mrs. Bauer. [Unable to express her poignant sympathy.]
Fined you
! . . .
Oh, Fritz
!
[She lays her hand on his shoulder.
Bauer.
[Roughly, to keep himself from going
to pieces.]
That
slop out there ain't cleaned
up
yet.
Mrs. Bauer. I've been so worried. Bauer. [With sudden desperation.] I
you.
can't stand
it,
I
tell
Mrs. Bauer. Well, it's all over now, Fritz. Bauer. Yes, it's all over it's all u
p with me. Mrs. Bauer. Fritz Bauer. That's one sure thing. Mrs. Bauer. You ought
n't to give up like this. Bauer. [Pounding on the table.] I tell you I can't hol
d up
.
.
.
my
head again.
Mrs. Bauer. Whj^ Fritz ? Bauer. They've made me out guilty. The judge fined me.
Fined me, Miene How is that ? Can a man stand for that ? The woman said I told h
er myself right out that I did it. Mrs. Bauer. The woman that had you [he winces
as she
!

hesitates]
took
?
Bauer. Damned Mrs. Bauer. [Putting her hand over his mouth.]
Hush,
Fritz.
184
Bauer.
the job.
ferin'
BOSWORTH CROCKER
Why
will I
hush, Miene
?
She said
I
was proud
of
[Passionately raising his voice.]
The damned
your
inter-
Mrs. Bauer.
Don't
holler, Fritz.
It's
hollerin' that's
made
lerin'
!
all this
trouble.
Bauer.
.
.
[Penetrated hy her words more
.
and more.]
My
holit.
[The telephone rings ; she answers

Mrs. Bauer. Yes, Mrs. Mohler, he's come in now. Yes. Won't after dinner do ? All
right. ^Thank you, Mrs. Mohler. [She hangs up the receiver.] Mrs. Mohler wants
you to fix her

sink right after dinner.

Bauer. I'm not goin' to do smy more fixin' around here. Mrs. Bauer. You hold on
to yourself, Fritz; that's no way to talk; Mrs. Mohler's a nice woman.
Bauer.
pause.]
eh.'*
I don't
!
want
to see
no more nice women.
hollerin'.
[After
a
Hollerin'
that's what's the matter with me
it all
hollerin',
Well, I've took
out in
j^ou
Mrs. Bauer.
feelings.
They hear
and they think you've got no
Bauer.
[In utter
amazement
at the irony of the situation.]
it.
And
I was goin' after the
damned
cat to take care of
Mrs. Bauer. W^hy didn't you tell the judge all about it ? Bauer. They got me rat
tled among them. The lady was so soft and pleasant "He must be made to understan
d, your

honor," she said to the judge, "that

too, just as well as
dumb
animals has
feelin's,
human beings"
Me, Miene
made
!
to under-
stand that
throat.
!
I couldn't say nothin'.
My voice just stuck in my
You oughta
Mrs. Bauer.
Bauer.
What's the matter with you
it all
spoke up and told the judge just how
I said to myself
:
happened.
I'll
go home and put a bullet through
Ach, Fritz, Fritz
my
head
that's the best thing for me now.
[With impatient unbelief.]
J
Mrs. Bauer.
[Clatter of feet.
THE LAST STRAW
Chorus of Voices.
[At the outer door.]
185
killed the cat
Who
Who
killed the cat
[Bauer jumps up, pale and shaken with strange pushes him gently back into his ch
air, opens
steps out for a
rage ; she
the door,
moment, then comes in and
leaves the door
open behind
her.
.
.
Bauer.
all
You
see.'^
.
Even the
kids
.
.
.
I'm disgraced
over the place.
Mrs. Bauer. So long as you didn't hurt the cat Bauer. What's the difference ? Ev
erybody believes Mrs. Bauer. No, they don't, Fritz.
it.
Bauer. You can't fool me, Miene. I see it in their eyes. They looked away from m
e when I was comin' 'round the corner. Some of them kinder smiled like [passes h
is hand over his head]. Even the cop says to me on the way over, yesterday: "Don
't you
put your foot
in it
it all
thought I did
right.
any more'u you have to." Everybody believes
You
it.
see.?
He
lieve
Mrs. Bauer. [Putting towels away.] Well, then it. The agent don't believe it.
.
let
them be-
.
.
Bauer.
Bauer.
.
. .
I dunno.
He'da paid
my
jBne
anyhow.
Mrs. Bauer.
He
gave you a good name.
[With indignant derision.]
He gave me a good name
!
Haven't I always kept
this place all right since
we been
here.'*
Afterward he said to me: "I'm surprised at
this busi-
ness, Bauer, very
I told
him
it
much surprised." That shows what he thinks. ain't true, I didn't mean to hurt it
. I saw by his
W^ell,
eyes he didn't believe me.
Mrs. Bauer.
Bauer.
don't you worry any more now.
Hollerin'
[To himself.]
Mrs. Bauer.
it
[Shuts the door.]
Well, now, holler a
little if
does you good.
Bauer.
Nothin's goin' to do
me
it
good.
Mrs. Bauer.
You
just put
out of your mind.
[The
tele-
186
phone
rings.
BOSWORTH CROCKER
She answers
He'll be
it.]
Yes, but he can't
come now, Mrs.
McAllister.
up
this afternoon.
[She hangs up the receiver, Bauer. And I ain't goin' this afternoon nowhere. Mrs
. Bauer. It's Mrs. McAllister. Somethin's wrong with

her refrigerator
the water won't run
off,
she says.
Bauer. They can clean out their own drain -pipes. Mrs. Bauer. You go to work and
get your mind
here business.
off this
Bauer.
[Staring straight ahead of him.]
I ain't goin' 'round
among
the people in this house
.
...
to
have them lookin' at
me
.
.
disgraced like this.
IVIrs.
Bauer.
You want
to hold
up your head and act as
if
nothm's happened.
Bauer.
took
off
Nobody spoke
to
me
at the dumb-waiter
when
I
the garbage and paper this morning.
Mrs. Mohler
al-
ways says, something pleasant. Mrs. Bauer. You just think that because you're al
l upset. [The telephone rings ; she goes to it and listens.] Yes, ma'am, I'll Mr
s. McAllister thinks she Fritz, have you any fine wire ? see. might try and fix
the drain w ith it till you come up.

Bauer. I got no wire. Mrs. Bauer. ]VIr. Bauer'll

McAllister.
[Impatiently.]
his dinner.
fix it
right
. .
after dinner,
Mrs.
He
can't find the wire this minute
soon's he eats
hat.
Bauer. [Doggedly.] You'll see. Mrs. Bauer. [Soothingly.] Come now,
.
Fritz, give
me your
[She takes his hat from him.
Voices IN the Street.
killed the cat
!
[Receding from the front area.]
Who
Who
killed the cat
[Bauer rushes toward the windoio in a fury of excitement. Bauer. [Shouting at th
e top of his voice.] Verdammte loafers
Schweine
Mrs. Bauer.
[Goes
up
to
him.]
Fritz
!
Fritz
!
THE LAST STRAW
187
Bauer. [Collapses and drops into chair.] You hear 'em. Mrs. Bauer. Don't pay no
attention, then they'll get tired. Bauer. Miene, we must go away. I can't stand
it here no
longer.
IVIrs.
Bauer.
But
.
. .
there's not such another
good
place, Fritz
and the movin'
Bauer. I say I can't stand it. Mrs. Bauer. [Desperately.] It ... it would be sam
e any other place. Bauer. Just the same ? Mrs. Bauer. Yes, something'd go wrong
anyhow. Bauer. You think I'm a regular Jonah.
[He shakes his head repeatedly in the
wholly embracing her point of view.
just the
affirmative, as
though
Mrs. Bauer.
hollerin' 'round
Folks don't get to know you. They hear you and they think you beat the children
and kick
the dogs and cats.
Bauer. Do I ever lick the children when they don't need it ? Mrs, Bauer. Not Fri
tzi. Bauer. You want to spoil Karl. I just touch him with the
strap once, a
little

like this [illustrates with

hell.
a gesture] to scare
him, and he howls like
Mrs. Bauer.
Bauer.
Yes, and then he don't
mind you no more beit
cause he knows you don't
[To himself.]
. .
mean
it.
That's the
.
way
goes
... a man's
Fritz,
if
own
wife and children
Mrs. Bauer.
[Attending
to the
dinner.
Irritably.]
you would clean that up out there and Mrs. Carroll wants her waste-basket. You m
usta forgot to send it up again. Bauer. All right.
[He goes out and
leaves the door open.

She stands her flat-

iron on the ledge of the range to cool
and puts her ironingmilk on the cemerd
hoard away, watching him at the dumb-waiter while he
picks
up
the glass arid cleans
up
the
188
floor.
BOSWORTH CROCKER
He
disappears for a moment, then he comes in
again, goes to a drawer
'polish.
and
takes out rags
and a
bottle
of
Mrs. Bauer.
Bauer.
That's
so.
[Pushing the clothes-basket out of the way.]
This ain't cleanin' day, Fritz.
[Dully,
putting
the
polish
back
into
the
drawer.]
Mrs. Bauer.
[Comforting him.]
fix
You've got to eat a good
that sink for Mrs. Mohler
dinner and then go up-stairs and
and the drain for Mrs. McAllister. Bauer. [In a tense voice.] I tell you I
I
tell
can't stand
it.
.
.
.
you, Miene.
.
.
.
Mrs. Bauer. What now, Fritz ? Bauer. People laugh in my face. [Nods in the direc
tion of Frazer's boy standin' on the stoop calls his dog away the street.] when
it runs up to me like it always does. Mrs. Bauer. Dogs know better'n men who's g
ood to them. Bauer. He acted like he thought I'd kick it. Mrs. Bauer. You've got
all kinds of foolishness in your You sent up Carroll's basket ? head now. Bauer
. No. [She checks herself. Mrs. Bauer. Well [He gets up. Bauer. All right. setti
n' right beside the other dumb-waiter. Bauer. It's Mrs.
.
.
.
[He goes
out.]
Oh, Gott
! Oh, Gott !Oh, Gott
Fritzi
is crying.
[Enter K1\rl
and Fritzi.
Mrs. Bauer.
Karl.
Fritzi.
[Running
to them.]
What's the matter ?
[She hushes them
and
carefully closes the door.
The boys make fun of us; they mock us. They mock us "Miau! Miau!" they

cry,
and
then they go
like this
[Fritzi imitates kicking and breaks out crying afresh.
Mrs. Bauer.
hear.
Hush,
Fritzi,
you mustn't
let
your father
THE LAST STRAW
Fritzi.
EIajrl.
189
He'd make them shut up.
I don't
want
to go to school this afternoon.
[He doubles his fists.
Mrs. Bauer.
undertone.]
[Turning on him fiercely.]
talk that
?
Why
not?
[In
an
You
way
before your
little
brother.
Have you no
Fritzi.
sense
[Beginning
to
whimper.]
I d-d-d-on't
want
to go to
school this afternoon.
Mrs. Bauer. own business.
You
just go 'long to school
and mind your
Karl and
Fritzi.
[Together.]
But the
to
boys.
.
.
.
Mrs. Bauer.
attention.
They
ain't
a-goin'
keep
it
up
forever.
Don't you answer them.
Just go 'long together and pay no
Karl.
Fritzi.
fresher.
Then they
get fresher
and
fresher.
[Echoing Karl.]
Yes, then they get fresher and
[Mrs.
Bauer
begins to take
up
the dinner.
The sound of
footfalls just outside the door is heard.
Mrs. Bauer.
for
Go on now, hang up your
tell
caps and get ready
your dinners.
Fritzi.
I'm going to
my
papa.
Fritzi,
all
[Goes to inner door.
Mrs. Bauer.
tell
For God's sake,
shut up.
You mustn't
no one.
Papa'd be disgraced
over.
Karl. [Coming up to her.] Mrs. Bauer. Hush! Karl. Why disgraced ?
Disgraced ?
Mrs. Bauer.
in the world.
Because there's
liars,
low-down, snoopin'
liars
Who's lied, mama ? Mrs. Bauer. The janitress
Karl.
EIarl.
Fritzi.
across the street.
Mrs. Nies ?
[Calling out.]
Henny Nies
is
a tough.
Mrs. Bauer.
[Looking toward the outer door anxiously and
190
BOSWORTH CROCKER
I give you somethin',
hollerin'
shaking her head threateningly at Fritzi.]
if
you don't stop
out like that.
Who'd she lie to ? Mrs. Bauer. Never mind.
Karl.
begin to eat.
Go
'long
now.
It's
time you
What'd she lie about ? Mrs. Bauer. [Warningly.] S-s-sh! Papa'll be comin' in now
in a minute. Karl. It was Henny Nies set the gang on to us. I coulda licked the
m all if I hadn't had to take care of Fritzi. Mrs. Bauer. You'll get a lickin' a
ll right if you don't keep away from Henny Nies. Karl. Well if they call me name
s and say my father's
Karl.

.
been to the station-house for
killing
a cat
.
,?
Miau! Miau Miau! Mrs. Bauer. Hold your mouth.
Fritzl
!
Fritzi.
[Sioaggering.]
My father never was
in jail
was he,
Fritzi.
mama ?
Karl.
Course not.
[To Fritzi.]
Mrs. Bauer.
Go, wash your hands,
door of the inner room.
. .
[She steers
him
to the
He
exits.
Mrs. Bauer. [Distressed.] Karl Karl. [Turning to his mother.] Was he, mama? IVIr
s. Bauer. Papa don't act like he used to. Sometimes I wonder what's come over hi
m. Of course it's enough to ruin any man's temper, all the trouble we've had. Ch
orus of Voices. [From the area by the window.] Wlio
.
killed the cat
!
Who
killed the cat
clattering
[Sound of feet
Fritzi.
up
the area steps.
Fritzi rushes
in, flourishing
a
revolver.
I shoot them,
mama.
it
Mrs. Bauer.
Papa's pistol
again and
!
[Grabbing the revolver.]
[She examines
carefully.]
Mein Gott! Fritzi! You ever touch that
[She menaces him.
I'll
.
.
.
THE LAST STRAW
Fritzi.
IVIrs.
191
[Sulkily.]
I'll
save up
my money
and buy me one.
I see
Bauer.
[Smiling a
little to herself.]
you buyin'
at
one. Fritzi.
[In a loud voice
!
[Carries revolver into inner room.
and as though shooting
Karl.]
Bang
!
Bang Bang [Karl strikes at
Fritzi; Fritzi dodges.
re-enters.]
Karl.
is
[To his mother as she
Trouble with Fritzi
face this min-
he don't mind
me any more. Mrs. Bauer. You wash your dirty hands and
ute
d'you hear me,

Fritzi
Fritzi.
[Looking at his hands.]
That's ink-stains.
I got the
highest
N-i-e-s
mark in spelling to-day. Henny Nies, a bum.
Capital H-e-n-n-y, capital
[Mrs.
Bauer makes
down
?
a rush at him, and he runs back into
the inner room.
Karl.
[Sitting
beside the table.]
Do we
have to go to
school this afternoon
Mrs. Bauer. You have to do what you always do. Karl. Can't we stay home? Mrs. Ba
uer. [Fiercely.] Why.? Why.? Karl. [Sheepishly.] I ain't feelin' well. Mrs. Baue
r. Karlchen schdm dich Karl. Till the boys forget. Mrs. Bauer. Papa'd know somet
hin' was wrong
.
. . ! . .
.
.
.
.
right
away.
That'd be the end.
You mustn't
act as
if
anything was
different
from always.
Karl. [Indignantly.] Sayin' my father's been to jail Mrs. Bauer. Karl. Karl. Pap
a'd make them stop. Mrs. Bauer. [Panic-stricken.] Karl, don't you tell papa
.
.
.
nothing.
Karl.
Not tell papa ? Mrs. Bauer. No. Karl. Why not tell papa ?
192
BOSWORTH CROCKER
Mrs. Bauer. Because Karl. Yes, mama? Mrs. Bauer. Because he was arrested yesterd
ay. Karl. [Shocked.] What for, mama ? Why was he Mrs. Bauer. For nothing. ... It
was all a lie. Karl. Well what was it, mama ? Mrs. Bauer. The cat got hurt in t
he dumb-waiter papa didn't mean to then they saw papa chasin' it then it died. K
arl. Why did papa chase it ? Mrs. Bauer. To see how it hurt itself. Karl. Whose
cat ? Mrs. Bauer. The stray cat. Is Blacky dead.? Karl. The little black cat Mrs
. Bauer. Yes, he died on the sidewalk. Karl. Where was we ? Mrs. Bauer. You was
at school. Karl. Papa didn't want us to keep Blacky. Mrs. Bauer. So many cats an
d dogs around.

.?
.
.
.
Fritzi.
[Wailing at the door.]
S-s-h
!
Blacky was
did papa
my
cat.
Mrs. Bauer.
Fritzi.
What do you know about Blacky ?
I was listening.
Why
kill
Blacky ?
Mrs. Bauer.
Fritzi.
Hush
was papa took
Fritzi
!
Why
to jail
.''
Mrs. Bauer.
Fritzi.
If
papa was
to hear
.
.
.
[Mrs.
[Sidling
up
to
Karl.]
Miau
!
Bauer Miau
tell
goes out.
Karl.
Fritzi.
You
shut up that.
Didn't
mama
you?
I'll
When I'm
Nies.
a
man I'm
going to get arrested.
shoot
Henny
Karl.
Karl.
Nies.
Fritzi.
[Contemptuously.]
Yes, you'll do a lot of shooting.
[Fritzi punches ICarl in back.
[Striking at Fritzi.]
You're as big a tough as
Henny
[Proud of
this alleged likeness.]
I'm going to be a
THE LAST STRAW
man just like my father;
Karl.
Karl.
Fritzi.
I'll
19S
holler
[With conviction.]
and make them stand around. What you need is a good licking.
goes to
it.
[Telephone rings ;
Karl
No, ma'am, we're
[Sits
just going to eat
now.
down
told
beside the table.]
Blacky was a nice cat;
she purred just like a steam-engine.
Karl.
Fritzi.
Mama
Papa
you not
to bring her in.
said I could.
[There
is the
sound of footfalls.
Bauer and
his wife
come
in and close the door behind them.
Mrs. Bauer.
dren.
[Putting the dinner on the table.]
Sit
Come,
chil-
[To Bauer.]
down,
Fritz.
[She serves the dinner.
chair
Karl pulls Fritzi out of his father*s
into his
and pushes him
own ;
then he takes his place
next to his mother.
Mrs. Bauer.
Bauer.
[To Bauer, who
sits
looking at his food.]
Eat
somethin', Friedrich.
I can't eat nothin'.
[She sits down,
I'm
full
up
to here.
throat.
[He touches his
Mrs. Bauer. If you haven't done you let it worry you so ?
[Children are absorbed in eating.
nothin' wrong,
why do
Fritzi.
[Suddenly.]
Gee, didn't Blacky like liver
Bauer and Karl look at him warningly. Mrs. Bauer. [Fiercely.] You eat your dinne
r.
[Mrs.
Bauer.
Fritzi.
[Affectionately,
laying his
hand on Fritzi's arm.]
I'm going to have a
There
Fritzi.
[Points toward the inner room.]
gun, too,
when I'm a man. [Bavbr follows Fritzi's gesture and falls to musing.
is
a look of brooding misery on his face.
warningly
Karl
nudges
Fritzi
and
watches
his
father furtively.
Bauer
Mrs. Bauer.
sits motionless, staring straight
ahead of him.
coflFee.
[To Bauer.]
Now
drink your
194
BOSWORTH CROCKER
Don't you
see,
Bauer.
makes
no one.
it
Miene, don't you see ?
.
.
.
Nothing
right
now; no one believes me
no one beheves me
Mrs. Bauer. What do you care, if you didn't do it ? Bauer. I care like hell. Mrs
. Bauer. [With a searching look at her hushand.] Fritzi, when you go on like thi
s, people won't believe you didn't do it. [She fixes him with a You ought to act
like you don't care beseeching glance.] If you didn't do it. [Bauer looks at hi
s wife as though a hidden meaning to her
. . .
words had suddenly
bitten into his
mind.
can't stand that.
. . .
Bauer.
I've
[As though
.
to himself.]
.
A man
. .
gone hungry
.
I've
been in the hospital
.
I've
worked when I couldn't stand up hardly.
Mrs. Bauer.
Fritz, while
it's
[Coaxingly.]
Drink your
coffee,
drink
it
now,
hot.
the cup.
swallow a little coffee and then puts down Bauer. I've never asked favors of no
man. Mrs. Bauer. Well, an' if you did
[He
tries to
.
.
.
Bauer. I've always kept my good name Mrs. Bauer. If a man hasn't done no thin' w
rong
. .
.
it
don't
matter.
Just go ahead like always
If

if
Bauer. [Muttering.] Mrs. Bauer. [To the
to go to school.

if
boys.]
Get your caps now,
it's
time
[Karl
Fritzi.
gets up, parses
to
behind his father and beckons
to
Fritzi
follow him.
seat.]
[Keeping his
[Suddenly
Do we
Why,
have to go to school ?
Bauer.
Fritzi.
alert.]
what's the matter ?
The boys Mrs. Bauer. [Breaking
[Looking
in.]
Fritzi
[The boys go into the inner room.
Bauer
collapses again.
Mrs. Bauer.
didn't
at
him
strangely.]
Fritzi

if
you
THE LAST STRAW
Bauer.
pause.
to speak.
195
[A
I can't prove nothing
is silent
sits
and no one believes me.
!
She
under his
gaze.]
She
vnth averted face.
No one [He waits for her He sinks into a dull misery.
The expression in his eyes changes from beseeching to despair as her
silence continue,
and he
cries out hoarsely.]
No
life
one
!
Even
if
you
kill
a cat-what's a cat against a man's
IVIrs.
Bauer,
it ?
[Tensely, her eyes fastened on his.]
But you
didn't kill
[A
pay^se.
Mrs. Bauer. Did you ?
[Bauer
his wife.
[In a low, appealing voice.]
Did you,
and
Fritz.'*
gets
up
slowly.
He
stands very
still
stares at
Karl's Voice.
Mama,
Fritzi's fooling
with papa's gun.
[Both children ru^h into the room.
Karl.
wants to
You
kill
oughtai lock
it
up.
Mrs. Bauer.
[To Fritzi.]
himself
that's what.
!
Bad boy Go on
!
[To Karl.]
to school.
Fritzi
[Boys run past area.
Voices.
Who
killed the cat
Who
killed the cat
[At the sound of the voices the boys start back.
Instinctively
Mrs. Bauer
around
at
lays a protecting
hand on
each.
She looks
her husband with a sudden anxiety which she
tries to conceal
from
the children,
who whisper
together.
Bauer
Mrs. Bauer.
out.]
rises heavily to his feet
and walks
staggeringly
toward the inner room.
[In a worried tone, as she pushes the children
Go on
to school.
[At the threshold of the inner room
Bauer
stops, half turns
back with distorted features, and then hurries in.
door slams behind him.
The
Mrs. Bauer
closes the outer
door, turns, takes a step as though to follow
tates,
Bauer,
hesi'
then crosses to the kitchen table
and
starts to clear
196
BOSWORTH CROCKER
up
the dishes.
The report of a
Terror-stricken,
revolver
sounds from the
rushes in.
!
inner room.
Mrs. Bauer
!
Mrs. Bauer's Voice.
at me, Fritz
!
Fritz
it,
.
!
Fritz
!
Speak to me
Look
it
You
bell.
didn't do
Fritz
.
I
know you
didn't do
[Sound of low sobbing.
.
After a
few seconds
the tele-
phone
...
It rings continuously while the
Curtain
slowly falls.
MANIKIN AND MINIKIN
(A Bisque-Play)
BY
ALFRED KREYMBORG
Manikin and Minikin is reprinted by special permission of Alfre<J Kreymborg. All
rights reserved. For permission to perform, address Norman Lee Swartout, Summit
, New Jersey.
ALFRED KREYMBORG
verse rhythmical drama, was born in He founded and edited The Globe while
Alfred Kreymborg, one of the foremost advocates of freeNew York City, 1883.
it
was
in existence;
and
under
anthology of imagist verse (Ezra Pound's Collection, 1914). In July. 1915, he fo
unded Others, a Magazine of the New Verse, and The Other Players in March, 1918,
an organization devoted exclusively to American
its
auspices issued the
first
plays in poetic form. At present Mr. Kreymborg is in Italy, launching a new inte
rnational magazine, The Broom.
in both poetry and drama. has edited several anthologies of free verse, and has
published his own free verse as Mushrooms and The Blood of Things. His volume of
plays, all in free rhythmical verse, is Plays for Poem Mimes. The most popular
plays in this volume are Lima Beans, and Manikin and Minikin. Manikin and Miniki
n aptly exemplifies Mr. Kreymborg's idea of rhythmical, pantomimic drama. It is
a semi-puppet play in which there are dancing automatons to an accompaniment of
rhythmic lines in place of music. Mr. Kreymborg is a skilled musician and he com
poses his lines with musical rhythm in mind. His lines should be read accordingl
y.
Mr. Kreymborg has been active
He

MANIKIN AND MINIKIN

(A
BISQUE-PLAY)
The
wall-
Seen through an oval frame, one of the walls of a parlor.
paper
is
a conventionalized pattern.
Only
the shelf of the
man-
telpiece shows.
At each end,
seated on pedestals turned slightly
away from one
another, two aristocratic bisque figures, a boy
in delicate cerise and a girl in cornflower blue. join in a grotesque silhouette
.
Their shadows
In
the centre, the
an ancient
and
clock
whose
voices.
tick acts as the
metronome for
sound of
their high
Presently the mouths of the figures open
shut,
after the
mode of ordinary
conversation.
She.
Manikin
Minikin
?
He.
She.
That
fool of
a servant has done
it
again.
more than a fool. She. a meddlesome busybody He. a brittle-fingered noddy She. W
hich way are you looking ? What do you see ? He. The everlasting armchair,
He.
I should say, she's
!
the everlasting tiger-skin, the everlasting yellow, green, and purple books,
the everlasting portrait of milord
She.
Oh, these Yankees
!
And I see
the everlasting rattan rocker,
the everlasting samovar,
the everlasting noisy piano,
the everlasting portrait of milady
He.
Simpering spectacle
201
202
She.
ALFRED KREYMBORG
What
that
is,
does she want, always dusting ?
He.
She.
I should say
I'd consider the thought
lie
You'd consider a oh. Manikin
you're trying to defend her
He.
She.
I'm not defending her
You're trying to
He.
She.
I'm not trying to
Then, what are you trying to
Well, I'd venture to say,
if
He.
She.
she'd only stay
away some mornin g
That's what I say in
my
dreams
!
He.
She.
She and her broom
Her
everlasting
broom
He.
She.
She wouldn't be sweeping
Every
corner, every cranny, every crevice
He.
She.
And And
the dust wouldn't
move
rise,
Wouldn't crawl, wouldn't
cover us
all
wouldn't
fly-
He.
She.
over
Like a spider-web
ugh
life
He.
She.
Everlasting dust has been most of our
Everlasting years and years of dust
He.
She.
You on your lovely blue gown And you on j^our manly pink cloak.
If she didn't sweep,
He.
She.
we wouldn't need
dusting
Nor need taking down, I should say With her stupid, clumsy hands She. Her crooke
d, monkey paws He. And we wouldn't need putting back She. I with my back to you
He. I with my back to you.
He.
She.
It's
been hours, days, weeks
MANIKIN AND MINIKIN
by the sound of that everlastmg clockand the coming of day and the going since I
saw you last
He.
What's the use of the sun
with
its
203
of
day
butterfly wings of light
what's the use of a sun
if
made
to see
by
I can't see
you
!
She.
Manikin
Minikin ?
He.
She.
Say that again
!
He.
She.
Why
I
should I say
it
again
don't you know?
know, but sometimes I doubt
do you, what do you doubt.?
it
He.
She.
Why
Please say
again
!
He.
She.
What's the use of a sun What's the use of a sun ? That was made to see by
He.
She.
That was made
If I can't see
to see
by ?
He.
She.
you
Oh, Manikin
Minikin ?
If
He.
She.
you hadn't said that again,
doubt would have
filled
my
He.
She.
a balloon.
?
Your doubt
which doubt, what doubt
move
unless
And
although I can't move,
although I can't
somebody shoves me,
isn't here,
one of these days when the sun
I would have slipped over the edge
of this everlasting shelf
He.
She.
Minikin
And
fallen to that everlasting floor
into so
many
fragments,
!
they'd never paste Minikin together again
He.
Minikin, Minikin
204
She.
ALFRED KREYMBORG
They'd have to
set another here
!
He.
She.
some Minikin, I'm assured Why do you chatter so, prattle
Because of
that I
so ?
my
doubt
because I'm as positive as I
sit
am
here with
my
knees in a knot
that that
human
her
creature
loves you.
He.
She.
Loves
me ?
And you
Minikin
He.
She.
When
I'm
I
she takes us
down
she holds you
much
longer.
He.
She.
Minikin
sufficiently feminine
and certainly old enough
and
my
see,
hundred and seventy years
I can feel
I can
by her manner of touching me and her flicking me with her mop
the creature hates
me
what she would
!
she'd like to drop me, that's
He.
She.
Minikin
Don't you venture defending her
Booby
you don't know
how
live
women
!
When I'm
I can note
in the right position
she fondles you,
pets you like a parrot with her finger-tip,
blows a pinch of dust from your eye with her softest breath,
holds you off at arm's length
and
fixes
you with her spider
look,
actually holds you against her cheek
her rose-tinted cheek
before she releases you
!
If she didn't turn us apart so often.
MANIKIN AND MINIKIN
I wouldn't charge her with insinuation;
205
but now I know she loves you
she's as jealous as I
am
power
and poor dead
me
in her live
Manikin ?
He.
She.
Minikin ?
If
you could
see
me
the
way you
see her
But I see you see you always see only you She. If you could see me the way you s
ee her,
He.
you'd
still
love me,
you'd love
me
the
way you do her
!
Who made me what I am ? Who dreamed me in motionless clay ?
He.
She.
Minikin ?
Manikin ?
Will you listen to
He.
She.
me ?
No!
Will you listen to
He.
She.
me ?
me ?
No.
Will you listen to
He.
She.
Yes.
I love
He.
She.
you
No!
I've always loved
He.
She.
you

No.
He.
She.
You doubt
Yes
that.?
He.
She.
You doubt
Yes.
that ?
He.
You doubt
that?
206
She.
ALFRED KREYMBORG
No.
You've always loved
me
yes
but you don't love
me now
no
not since that rose-face encountered your glance
no.
He.
She.
Minikin
If I
if
could
move about
the
way
she can
I
had
feet
dainty white feet which could twinkle and twirl
I'd

dance you so prettily

you'd think
if
me
a sun butterfly
I could let dov/n
it's
my
hair
and prove you
if
longer than larch hair

I could raise
my
black brows
or shrug
like
if
my
narrow shoulders,
a queen or a countess
I could turn
my
head,
tilt
my
head,
this
way and
that, like a
swan
ogle
till
my
eyes, like a peacock,
you'd marvel,
they're green, nay, violet, nay, yellow, nay, gold
if
I could
move, only move
of
just the
moment
see
it's
an inch
I could be
!
you would
It's
what
a change,
a change,
!
you men ask
of
women
He.
She.
a
change ?
You're eye-sick, heart-sick
of seeing the
same
foolish porcelain thing,
a hundred years old,
a hundred and
fifty,
and
sixty,
and seventy
MANIKIN AND MINIKIN
I don't
207
know how
old I
am
!
!
He.
Not an
exhalation older than I
not an inhalation younger
Minikin
She.
?
Manikin ?
Will you listen to
He.
She.
me ?
me ?
me ?
No No
!
He.
She.
Will you listen to
!
He.
She.
Will you listen to
Yes.
I don't love that creature
He.
She.
You You
Yes
if
if
do.
He.
She.
I can't love that creature
can.
He.
She.
Will you listen to
me ?
you'll tell
you'll
prove
me me
dust
so
my
last particle of
the tiniest speck of a molecule
the merest electron
He.
She.
Are you
listening
?
Yes
He.
To
I
begin with
I dislike, suspect, deplore
had best
say, feel compassion called
for
what
is
humanity
or the animate, as opposed to the inanimate-
She.
You
say
say that so wisely
you're such a philosopher
it
again
is
He.
That which
able to
move
can never be steadfast, you understand ?
208
ALFRED KREYMBORG
Let us consider the creature at hand
to
whom you
have referred
with an undue excess of admiration
adulterated with an undue excess of envy
She.
Say that again
!
He.
To
begin with
I can only see part of her at once.
She moves into
she
she moves out of
is
my vision my vision;
wayward.
doomed
to be
She.
Yes, but that which you see of her
Is ugly,
He.
commonplace, unsightly.
?
Her
It's
face a rose-face
veined with blood and the skin of
it
wrinkles-
her eyes are ever so near to a hen's
her movements,
if
one would pay such a gait with regard
is
her gait her hair
unspeakably ungainly
She.
Her
hair
?
He.
Luckily I've never seen
I dare say
it
it
down
in the dark,
like tangled
comes down
when
She.
it
looks,
most assuredly,
beautiful,
weeds.
Again, Manikin, that dulcet phrase
He.
She.
Even were she
she were never so beautiful as thou
Now
you're a poet. Manikin
!
He.
Even were she
and the
like like
so beautiful as thou
lending her your eyes,
exquisite head which holds
them
a cup two last beads of wine, a stone two last drops of rain,
green, nay, violet, nay, yellow, nay, gold
She.
Faster,
Manikin
MANIKIN AND MINIKIN
He.
I can't, Minikin
!
209
Words were never given
to phrase such a one as
to
man
you are
inanimate symbols
can never embrace, embody, hold
the animate dream that you are
I
must
cease.
She.
Manikin
He.
She.
And even were
Stay beautiful
she so beautiful as thou,
she couldn't stay beautiful.
?
He.
Humans change
That
is
with each going moment.
a gray-haired platitude.
Just as I can see that creature
only when she touches
my
vision,
so I could only see her once, were she beautiful
at best, twice or thrice
you're
more precious than when you came
pathos penetrates
still
!
She.
And you
He.
Human
deeper
life,
when one determines
their inner
as we've pondered their outer.
Their inner changes far more desperately.
She.
How
so,
wise Manikin
?
He.
They have what philosophy terms moods, and moods are more pervious to modulation
than pools to
idle breezes.
These people
I love you.
may
say, to begin with

This
may
be true, I'm assured
I love you.
when we say, But they can only say,
as true as I love you,
so long as the
mood
breathes.
210
ALFRED KREYMBORG
so long as the breezes blow,
so long as water remains wet.
They
they
are honest
mean what they say
passionately, tenaciously, tragically
but when the mood languishes,
they have to say,
if it
be they are honest
I do not love you.
Or they have
I love you, to
to say,
somebody
else.
She.
To somebody
Now, you and
else ?
He.
I
we've said that to each other
we've had to say
for
it
a hundred and seventy years
we'll
and
She.
have to say
it
always.
He.
She.
Say always again The life of an animate
Say always again
Always
He.
The
is
life
of an animate
a procession of deaths
with but a secret sorrowing candle,
guttering lower and lower,
on the path to the grave
the
is
life
of
an inanimate
things are.
as serenely enduring
all still
as
She.
Still things.?
He.
Recall our childhood in the English
ere
museum-
we were moved,
Yankee salon
from place to place,
to this dreadful
MANIKIN AND MINIKIN
do you remember that little old Greek tanagra
of the girl with a head like a bud--
211
that
little
old
Roman
medallion
of the girl with a head like a
She.
Manikin, Manikin
were they so beautiful as I
did you love them, too
why do
He.
3^ou bring
them back ?
They were not so I spoke of them
well,
beautiful as thou
recalled, designated
them
because they were ages old
and
She.
He.
And and ? And we might
and
live as long as
!
they
as they did and do
I hinted their existence
because they're not so beautiful as thou,
so that
by contrast and deduction
say
She.
He.
She.
And deduction ? You know what I'd
But say
it
again
!
He.
She.
I love you.
Manikin ?
Mmikm.?^
He.
She.
Then even though that creature has turned us
apart,
can you see
me ?
seen
He.
She.
I can see you.
Even though you haven't
for hours, days,
me
weeks
with your dear blue eyes
you can
see
me
with your hidden ones ?
212
He.
She.
ALFRED KREYMBORG
I can see you.
Even though you
are
still,
and calm, and smooth,
and lovely outside you aren't
still
and calm
inside
?
and smooth and lovely
He.
She.
Lovely, yes
but not
still
and calm and smooth
are you looking ?
Which way
I see you.
What do you
see
?
He.
She.
I look at you.
And
oh,
if
that fool of a servant
Manikin
suppose she should break the future
our great, happy centuries ahead by dropping me, throwing me down ?
He.
She.
I should take an immediate step
off this everlasting shelf
He.
She.
But you cannot move The good wind would give me a blow
!
Now
you're a punster
!
And what would your
He.
She.
fragments do ?
did.
They would do what Manikin
did.
Say that again He. They'd do what Manikin She. Manikin ?
.
.
.
He.
She.
Minikin?
Shall I
Tell
tell
you something ?
He.
She.
me
something.
listening
?
Are you
He.
She.
With
my
inner ears.
I wasn't jealous of that
woman
He.
She.
You
weren't jealous ?
I wanted to hear you talk
He.
You wanted
to hear
me
talk
?
MANIKIN AND MINIKIN
She.
213
You
talk so wonderfully
He.
She.
Do
He.
She.
indeed ? What a booby I am And I wanted to hear you say You cheat, you idler, yo
u
I,
Woman
Dissembler
He.
She.
Manikin ?
Minikin
?
He.
She.
Everlastingly
Everlastingly.
?
He.
She.
Say
it
again
He.
She.
I refuse
You
Well
refuse ?
He.
She.
Well.?
He.
You have
I'll
ears outside
your head
say that for you
they'll
but
She.
never hear
ears hear
what your other
Say
it
down one
outside
of the ears
my
head ?
He.
She.
I refuse.
You
refuse
?
He.
She.
Leave
me
alone.
Manikin ?
I can't say
it
He.
She.
Manikin
[The clock goes on ticking for a moment.
strike the hour. Its
mellow chimes
CURTAIN
WHITE DRESSES
(A Tragedy of Negro Life)
BY
PAUL GREENE
White Dresses is reprinted by special permission of Professor Frederick H. Koch.
Copyrighted by the CaroUna Playmakers, Inc., Chapel Hill, North Carolina. For p
ermission to produce, address Frederick H. Koch, director.
PAUL GREENE
Paul Greene, one of the most promising of the University of North Carolina Playm
akers, was born in 1894 on a farm near Lillington, North Carolina. He has receiv
ed his education at Buies Creek Academy and at the University of North Carolina,
from which he received his bachelor's degree in 1921. He saw
service with the A. E. F. in France, with the 105th United States
Engineers. In addition to White Dresses, Mr. Greene has written a number of one-
act plays: The Last of the Lowries (to be included in a forthcoming volume of Ca
rolina Folk-Plays, published by Henry Holt & Company), The Miser, The Old Man of
Edenton, The
Lord's Will, Wreck P'int, Granny Boling (in The Drama for August-September, 1921
). The first three plays named above
were produced originally by the Carolina Playmakers at Chapel
HiU. White Dresses is an excellent example of folk-play of North Carolina. This
play was written in English 31, the course in dramatic composition at the Univer
sity of North Carolina conducted by Professor Frederick H. Koch. " The Aim of th
e Carolina Playmakers," says Professor Koch, "is to build up a genuinely native
drama, a fresh expression of the folk-life in North Carolina, drawn from the ric
h background of local tradition and from the vigorous new life of the present da
y. In these simple plays we hope to contribute something of lasting value in the
making of a new folk-theatre and a new folk-literature." Out of the many confli
cts of American life, past and present, Mr. Greene sees possibilities for a grea
t native drama. White Dresses presents a fundamental aspect of the race problem
in America.
CHARACTERS
Candace McLean, an
old negro
girl,
woman. Mart's aunt
niece of
Mary McLean,
Henry Morgan,
a quadroon
Candace
Jim Matthews, Mary's
lover
the landlord,
a white
man
WHITE DRESSES
TIME:
The evening
:
before
is laid
ChriHmas, 1900.
in a negro cabin, the
SCENE
and
In
The scene
home
of
Candacb
Mary McLean,
in eastern North Carolina.
the right corner of the
room
i^
a rough bed covered with a ragged
counterpane.
In
the centre at the rear is
an old bureau with a
to the outside.
cracked mirror,
to the left
of
it
a door opening
In
the left wall is
a window with red curtains.
A
hang
large chest
the family
stands near the front on this side,
clothes, several
and above
it
ragged dresses, an old bonnet, and a cape.
is
At
sev-
the right,
is
toward the front,
a fireplace, in which a small fire
burning.
Above and at
the sides of the fireplace
hang
eral pots
and pans, neatly arranged. and a
Above
these is
a mxintel,
covered with a lambrequin of dingy red crape paper.
mxintel are bottles
clock.
On
the
A
picture of '"'Daniel in the
Lions Den'' hangs above
tcith
the mantel.
The walls are covered
illustratioTis
newspapers,
to
which are pinned several
clipped
centre
from popular magazines. A rough table is in the A lamp loithout a chimney is on
it. Sevof the room.
eral chairs are about the room.
A
rocking-chair with a rag
is
pillow in
it
stands near the fire.
the whole room.
There
an
air of cleanliness
and poverty about
The rising of
burning dimly.
the curtain discloses the
empty room.
The
fire is
Aunt Candace
enters at the rear, carrying
several sticks of firewood
stick,
under one arm.
She walks with a
is
and
is
bent with rheumatism..
its
She
dressed in a slat
bonnet, which hides her face in
shadow, brogan shoes, a
19
220
maris ragged
She mumbles
PAUL GREENE
coat,
a checkered apron, a dark-colored
puts the wood on the
dress.
in.
to herself
and shakes her head as she comes
fire,
With great
difficulty she
and then
takes the poker
and examines some
potatoes that are cooking
in the ashes.
her lip.
She takes out her snuff-box and puts snuff in
she does this her bonnet
is
As
the firelight her features are discernible
sunken
pushed back, and in
eyes, high
cheek-bones,
and
big, fiat nose.
Upon
her forehead she wears
a pair of steel-rimmed spectacles. She sits down in a rocking-chair, now and the
n putting her hand
her head,
to
and groaning as
if in pain.
She turns and looks
expectantly toward the door.
the chest
tor.
After a
moment
she hobbles to
on the right and takes out an old red crocheted fascinait
Skivering she uyraps
around her neck and stands lookout a
little
ing
to
down
in the chest.
it,
She
lifts
black box
and starts
unfasten
when
the door suddenly opens
and
Mart
McLean
ccnnes in.
chest,
Aunt Candace
puts the box hastily
back into the
and
hurries to the fire.
Mary McLean
has a
''turn'''
of collards in one
the collards the bed.
arm and a paper
the fioor near the
is
bundle in the other.
She lays
on
window and puts her shawl on
fine dark hair, neatly done up.
She
a quadroon
girl about eighteen years old, with
an
oval face
is
and a mass of
dress is piti-
There
something in her
hearing tlmt suggests a sort of refinement.
fully shabby, her shoes ragged.
lines of
Her
this
But even
cannot hide the
is pretty.
an almost
perfect figure.
For a negro she
As
she comes
up
to the fire her
pinched lips and the tired ex-
pression on her face are plainly visible.
Only her eyes betray
any signs of
excitement.
Aunt Candace.
two hours.
Honey,
I's
been a-waitin' foh you de
off.
las'
My
haid's been
bad
Chile,
whah you been?
bill.
Miss Mawgin must a had a pow'ful washin' up at de big house.
[JVLvRY opens her
hand and shows her a five-dollar
WHITE DRESSES
Aunt Candace.
Mary.
spareribs,
221
De Lawd
help
my
life,
chile
An' look here what Mr. Henry sent you,
too.
[She
undoes the bundle, revealing several cooked sweet potatoes, sausages,
and some
boiled ham.]
He
said as 'twas Cliristmas
time he sent you this with the collards there.
[She points toward the collards at the window.
Aunt Canplaces
it
dace pays
face.
little
attention to the
to
food as
Mary
in her lap, but continues
look straight into
Mary's
The
girl starts to give her the
money, but she pushes
her away.
Aunt Candace.
Whah'd you
git
it.''
[Excitedly.]
Whah'd you
ain't never
git dat,
honey
.f*
Mr. Henry
been dat kind
befo'.
Dey ain't no past Christmas times he was so free wid 'is money. He ain't de kind
o' man foh dat. An' he a-havin' 'is washin'
done on Christmas Eve.
[Her look
is direct
and
.''
troubled.]
Chile,
Mr. Hugh didn't give you dat money, did he
Mary. [Still looking in the fire.] Aunty, I ain't said Mr. Henry sent you this m
oney. Yes'm, Mr. Hugh sent it to you. I done some washin' for him. I washed his
socks and some
shirts
pure
me
silk
they was.
[She smiles at the remembrance.]
An'
he
he give
the
money
an' tole
me
to give
it
to
you
said
takes
wished he could give you somethin' more.
[She hands the
quickly.
money
to
Aunt Candace, who
!
it
Aunt Candace. Help my soul an' body De boy said dat 'is soul He ain't fo'got 'is
ol' aunty, even if he ain't been to see 'er since he come back from school way
out yander. De Lawd bless 'im Alius was a good boy, an' he ain't changed since h
e growed up nuther. When I useter nuss 'im he'd never whimper, no suh. Bring me
de tin box, honey. An' don't noBless
!
!
tice
what
I's
been sayin'.
I spects
I's
too perticler 'bout you.
I dunno.
[Mary
goes to the bureau
it,
and
gets
a tin box. lamp.
She puts the
money in
returns
it,
and
lights the
Aunt Can-
2
DACB
PAUL GREENE
take* off her bonnet
and hangs
it
behind her on the
rocking-chair.
Then she begins
to eat greedily,
now and
and
beat-
then licking the grease off her fingers.
utters
Suddenly she
to
a low scream, putting her hands
to
her head
rocking
and fro.
She grasps her
stick
and begins
ing about her as if striking at something, crying out in a
loud
voice.
Aunt Candace.
Ah-hah,
I'll
git
you
!
I'll
git
you
rest easy,
[Mary goes to her and pats her on the cheek. Mary. It's your poor head, ain't it
, aunty ? You
I'll
take care of you.
[She continues to rub her cheek
and forehead
until the spell passes.]
It's goin' to
Set
still till
I git in a turn of light-wood.
like
be a terrible cold night an* looks a moment
snow.
begins
[After
Aunt Candace
quiets
down and
eating again.
Mary
goes out
and brings in an armful
She takes a
'
of wood, which she throws into the box.
tle
bot-
and spoon from
the mantel,
and
starts to
pour out some
medicine.
Aunt Candace.
ain't
in dat.
I's better
now, honey.
Put
. . .
it
back up.
I
gwine take none now.
D'ain't no use
d'ain't
no use
I ain't long foh dis world, ain't long.
I's
done
my
las*
washin' an' choppin' an' weighed up
ain't
my
las'
cotton.
Medicine
no mo' good.
You're alius talkin'
like that,
Mary.
aunty.
You're goin'
to live to be a hundred.
An'
this
medicine
it,
Aunt Candace.
gwine be long.
suh, I don't
I's
I ain't gwine take
I say.
No, suh,
ain't
done
deef.
I's ol' an'
hipshot now.
I's
No,
want no medicine.
puts the
bottle
[Childishly.]
got a taste o'
dese heah spareribs an' sausages, an' I ain't gwine take no medicine.
[Mary
and spoon back on
the
mantel and
sits
down.
Aunt Candace
ain't said
stops eating
and
looks at
like
Mary's dream[Excitedly.]
ing face.]
Honey, what makes you look
dat?
Mr. Henry
... he
ain't said
no mo' 'bout us havin'
to leave, has he ?
WHITE DRESSES
. . .
223
no'm, he Mart. [Looking up confusedly.] No'm, he ... he said to-day that he'd 'b
out decided to let us stay right on as long as we please. Aunt Candace. Huh, wha
t's dat ? Mary. He said it might be so we could stay right on as long as we plea
se. Aunt Candace. [Joyously.] Thank de Lawd Thank de Lawd I knowed he's gwine do
it. I knowed. But I's been
said
! !
pow'ful feared, chile, he's gwine run us
off.
An* he
ain't
never
Mr. Hugh's Thank de Lawd,
liked
takin'
I's
up foh
us.
But now I
bones rat
c'n rest in peace.
gwine rest
my
stay
till
dey
calls
foh
me up
yander.
[Stopping.]
Mary.
[hesitating]
Yes'm, I et up at Mr. Henry's.
he said 'twas a shame for
whah I loves to Has you et ? Mr. Hugh
.
.
.
me
to
come
off
without
eatin' nothin' an' so I et.
[Aunt Candace becomes absorbed in her eating. Mart goes to the chest, opens it,
and takes out a faded cloak and
puts
it
on.
Then she goes
to the
bureau, takes out a piece
hair.
of white ribbon,
and
ties it
on her
For a moment
She goes
to the
she looks at her reflection in the mirror.
chest
and stands looking down in
to close
it.
it.
She makes a move-
ment
The
lid falls with
a bang.
Aunt Can-
dace turns quickly around. Aunt Candace. What you want, de li'l box, is you
.?
gal
?
You
ain't botherin*
Mary.
little.
[Coming back
to the fire.]
it
Botherin' that box
.
!
Lord,
no, I don't worry about
no more
.
.
I'm just dressin* up a
Aunt Candace.
dere.
Ah-hah, but you better not be messin*
you.
'round de chist too much.
I done
tol'
You quit puttin' you' clothes in What you dressin' up foh? Is Jim
it
comin* round to-night?
[She wraps
the
up
the
remainder of her supper and puts
in
chimney corner.
224
PAUL GREENE
[Not noticing the question.]
Mary.
Aunty, don't I look a
little bit like
a white person ?
[Taking out her snuff-box.]
Aunt Candace.
dat?
Huh, what's
Mary.
You's
jes'
I don't look like a
common
nigger,
do I ?
Aunt Candace.
Lawd
bless you, chile, you's purty,
folks.
you
is,
as purty as
any white
You's lak yo'
mammy
what's dead an' gone.
'ceptin' you's whiter.
Yessuh, you's her very spit an' image,
[Lowering her
voice.]
Yes, suh, 'ceptin*
you's whiter.
[They both look in the fire.]
it ?
'Bout time foh Jim
to be comin', ain't
Mary. Yes'm, he'll be comin', I tin' away from him an' his guitar. Aunt Candace.
What you got
better nigger'n Jim.
reckon.
They
ain't
no
git-
agin
Jim.^^
Dey
ain't
it's
no
He's gwine treat you white, an'
I's
time
you's gittin' married.
done nussin'
my fust chile
[Pausing.]
at yo' age,
my
li'l
Tom
'twas.
Useter sing to 'im.
jes'
Useter sing
jes'
to 'im de sweetest kin' o' chunes,
lak you, honey,
lak
you.
He's done daid an' gone
do'.
All
my babies is. DeMarslet
ter he call an' tuck 'em.
An' 'druther'n
'em labor an' sweat
below, he gi'n 'em a harp an' crown up dere.
Tuck
my
ol'
man
from
'is toil
an' trouble, too, an' I's left
do', ain't
heah alone now.
[Her voice
Ain't
gwine be long
silence.
gwine be long.
trails off into
All
is quiet save
for the ticking of the clock.
Aunt CanI told
I's o*
dace
brushes her hand across her facCy as if breaking the spell of
her revery.]
Yessuh, I wants you to git married, honey.
you, an' told you.
lak to nuss yo'
ol'
li'l
We's lived long enough by ourselves.
uns an' sing to 'em
fo'
I go.
Mind me
de
times.
Mary.
ever was.
clothes
!
[Lost in abstraction, apparently has not been listening.]
Aunty, you ought to see him now.
He's better to
me
than he
finest
He's as kind as he can be.
An' he wears the
ain't
[She stares in the fire.
Aunt Candace.
Dat he
do.
Dey
no
'sputin' of
it.
I
WHITE DRESSES
alius said he's
ain't
225
An' dey
de best-lookin' nigger
in
de country.
nobody kinder'n Jim.
like
No, suh.
Maey.
wash
nigger.
An' to-day he said 'twas a pity I had to work an'
a slave for a
acts like
livin'.
He
don' treat
me
like I
was a
.
.
He
I
I'm white
folks.
Aunty, you reckon
.
Aunt Candace.
ishment.]
[Gazing at her with a troubled look of astonit.
better nigger'n
waitin' an'
.
knows it, honey, I knows Jim an' I wants you
. .
Course dey ain't no
to
marry Jim.
'bout
He's a-
Mary.
Jim ?
[Vehemently.]
I
ain't
talkin'
Jim.
What's
her
He ain't nothin'. Aunt Candace. [Guessing at the truth, half rises from seat.] W
hat you mean ? Huh What you talkin' 'bout ?
!
Mary. Mary.
Wish
I's
[Wearily sitting down.]
Jes' talkin' ?
Nothin', aunty,
Chile
. . .
jes' talkin'.
. .
Aunt Candace.
Aunt Candace.
I's
chile
.
Aunty, did you ever wish you was white ?
[Troubled.]
white
?
Lawdy, no
I's
!
What
Laws a mercy Huh White I want to be white foh ?
!
!
born a nigger, an'
o'
gwine die a nigger.
I ain't one to tear
up de work
change
it.
de Lawd.
in
He made me
yo' haid,
an' I ain't gwine try to
[Sadly.]
What's
chile.''
Po' thing,
. . .
don't do dat.
Yo' po'
mammy
useter talk lak dat
ain't
one
'er
reason she ain't
nuther.
shakes
Chile,
livin' to-day.
An' I
Oh,
done prayin' foh
you
git
such notions
ra't out'n yo' haid.
[She
her
head,
groaning.]
Lawdy
!
Lawdy
!
[Then^
stick
screaming, she puts her hands to her head.
She grasps her
and
begins striking about her, shrieking.]
Dey's after
me
!
Dey's
do'
after
me
!
[She continues beating around her.]
Open de
Open de do' [Mary
puts her arms around her and
tries to soothe her, but
she breaks
away from
her, fighting with her stick.
Then
Mary
Mary.
runs and opens the door, and
Aunt Candace
drives the
imaginary
devils out.
They're gone now, they're gone.
228
PAUL GREENE
[She closes the door
and
leads her back to her seat.
Aunt
spell
Candace
sits
down, mumbling and groaning.
The
passes and the toild look dies
from her face.
had another
spell, ain't
Aunt Candace.
I,
[Looking up.]
I's
honey?
Mart.
Yes'm, but you're
all
right now.
[She pours out some medicine
and
gives
it
to her.
Aunt Candace.
'em, chile; I's
ol'
Some dese days
I's
gwine be carried
off
by
an' po'ly, ol' an' po'ly now.
Dem
debbils
gwine
git
me
yit.
[She mumbles.
ain't,
Mary.
No, they
is
aunty.
I ain't goin' to let 'em.
[There
a knock at the door, and stamping of feet.
Aunt Candace.
Mary.
ming of
[Jim
What's dat ?
Nothin'.
Somebody
at the door.
[The low struma
in
!
guitar is heard.]
That's Jim.
Come
Matthews enters.
old,
He
is
a young negro about twenty-
two years
and as
blnck as his African ancestors.
He
carries a guitar slung over his shoulders, wears
an old
derby hat, tan shirt with a dark
the coat of
tie,
well-worn blue suit,
shoes, slashed
which comes
to his knees,
and tan
along the sides to
he pulls off his
teeth.
make room for his feet. As he comes in hat and smiles genially, showing his whit
e
he might call himself a spo't.
With
better clothes
Jim.
Good
?
even', ladies.
[He lays his derby on the bed.
chair.]
Aunt Candace.
he say
[Turning around in her
What
does
Mary.
I's
He
says good evenin'.
Aunt Candace.
smiles complacently.]
Ah-hsih
!
Good
even', Jim.
Take a
seat.
sho glad you come.
Mary's been
talkin' 'bout you.
[He
We's sho glad you come.
[He takes a seat between
Jim.
Aunt Candace and Mary.
all.
Yes'm.
An'
I's
sho glad to be wid you
I's alius
glad to be wid de ladies.
Aunt Candace.
What's he say ?
WHITE DRESSES
Jim.
[Louder.]
I's
227
glad to be wid you
all.
Aunt C and ace.
Ah-hah!
[Jim pulU out a large checkered
handkerchit^ from his breast-pocket, wipes his forehead, and then
flips the dust from his shoes.
He folds
?
it
carefully
and puts
it
ha^k
in his pocket.]
Jim.
Any
news, Jim
'tall.
No'm, none
said
Any wid you
No,
. .
.
.''
Aunt Candace.
Henry done
Jim.
. .
Hah?
.
nothin'
'tall,
'ceptin*
Mr.
said
[Here she groans sharply and puts her hand
to
her head.
What's that
Still
she's sayin'
?
[As
ues groaning.]
havin'
them
spells,
Aunt Candace continis she, Miss Mary ?
Aunt Candace.
now.
She
Mary.
Yes, she has 'em about every night.
if to
[Making a movement as
stops
go
to
and
stares in the fire.
Aunt Candace.
chillun go
Ne' min' me.
cou'tin'.
I's
I's all right
An' you
on wid yo'
gwine peel
my
'taters.
[Raking the potatoes from the ashes, she begins peeling them.
Then she
corner.
takes a piece of sausage from the package in the
Jim smiles sheepishly and strums his guitar once
or twice.
He
moves his chair nearer
still
to
Mary.
She
moves mechanically from him,
Jim.
gazing in the fire.
'ceedin'
Er
.
.
.
Miss Mary, you's lookin'
I's
snatchin'
wid dat white ribbon an' new cloak.
I's
glad to see you thought
comin' 'round.
Yes'm, I
tells all
de gals you got 'em beat a
to him.]
mile.
[He
stops.
Mary
all,
pays no attention
ain't seed
From
ol'
here
slam to France an' back, I
dat's
no gals lak you.
Yes'm,
road
I
what
I tells 'em
an' I oughta know, kaze I's an
nigger.
I's
seen de world, I has.
But
. .
I's tired of 'tall, an'
. .
.
wants to
stops
settle
down
.
.
.
an'
.
you knows me
[He
and fidgets in
his chair, struma his guitar, feels of his necktie y
takes Old his handkerchief
and wipes
his forehead.]
Miss Mary,
Is...
Mary.
here.
Jim, I done
tol'
you, you needn't
I ain't goin'
I ain't lovin'
you.
come messin' 'round to marry ^nobody,

never
2!28
PAUL GREENE
[Taken aback.]
jas'
Jim.
Now, Miss Mary
It's
I's
.
.
.
er
.
.
.
honey,
I
knows
how you
feels.
kaze I been a rounder, but you'll
is.
hadder forgive me.
An'
gwine 'form, I
I's
quit
all
dem
it.
tother gals, near 'bout broke dey hearts, but I hadder do
Dey's only one foh me, you know.
To-day
.
I's talkin' to
dat
young
feller,
Mary.
Jim.
Hugh Mawgin, an' Hugh what! What you sayin', Jim Matthews
. .
!
Mr.
Hugh, you mean.
[Hurriedly.]
Yes'm, I said *'Mr. Hugh."
Didn't you
hear me, Miss
Mary ?
to
Mary.
Jim.
.
.
.
What'd you say
him }
I told 'im I's callin' 'round here *casionaIly, an' he said
. .
he
.
Mary.
Jim.
.
.
.
[Looking straight at Jim.]
He
said
what
.'*
He
er
. .
axed
.
me
.
if
.
I's a-courtin', an'
I told 'im I
mought
marry
be
.
Mary.
you.?
Go
on;
tell
me.
Did he say
I ought to
Jim.
zactly
[Eagerly.]
Yes'm
.
.
.
[Mary
gasps.]
No'm, not
ez-
...
o'
He
said as
how
it
was a pity you had nobody to
An' I tuck
take care
you, an' had to work so hard lak a slave every day.
it.
An' he said you's most too purty an' good to do
from
work.
'is
me, an'
meant he thought you's good enough foh wanted me to take care o' you, so's you w
ouldn't hadder
talk dat he
Mary.
Jim.
Oh!
.
.
.
Yes, I reckon
so.
[She is silent.
He's a eddicated boy, an' he knows.
Dey
teaches 'im
how
sees
to
know everything out yander
worf, he does.
. . .
at dat college place.
He
all
my
Co'se I ain't braggin', but de gals
says.
do say
oh,
you know what dey
oh, I'd
Mary.
[Jumping up from her
. . . . .
chair.]
.
Jim Matthews, you
sayin', gal ?
think I'd marry a
Aunt Candace.
[Turning around.]
What's you
WHITE DRESSES
Mart.
Xskin'
[Sittin'
229
.
down.]
piece.
Oh, aunty
!
I
.
.
I
.
.
.
was just For the
Jim to play a
[To Jiai in a lower
.
.
.
voice.]
Lord's sake play somethin'
[She hides her face in her apron.
Aunt Candace.
Jim.
Ah-hah.
.
.
.
Play us a piece on yo' box,
[Jim, at a loss as to the
meaning of Mary's
tears, but feeling
that they are
somehow a further proof of
his
power with
the ladies, smiles knowingly, tunes his guitar,
and begins
strumming a chord.
After playing a few bars, he starts
singing in a clear voice, with "Ohs'' and
in.
"Ahs" thrown
Jm.
Oh, whah you gwine,
my lover ?
lover ?
Gwine on down de road. Oh, whah you gwine, my Gwine on down de road. (Ba^s) Gwin
e on
.
.
.
.
.
.
gwine on down de road.
She th'owed her arms aroun' An' cast
Said,
me
lover.'*'*
me silver an' gold. "Whah you gwine, my
road.
!
Gwine on down de
(Bass)
Oh,
Lawd
.
Gwine
.
.
... Oh, Lawd on down
. . .
.
.
.
de
.
.
.
road.
[Mary
Jim.
ioii*t
still
leans forward, with her face in her hands.
Jim
stops playing
and speaks
softly.
Miss Mary, I's sho' sorry I made you want you to cry 'bout me lak dat
.
.
cry.
Honey, I
.
[She remains silent.
ters
He
smiles in self-gratulation, but utbenefit.
a mournful sigh for her
Pulling his guitar
it
further
up on
and
his lap, he takes out his pocket-knife, fits
between his fingers in imitation of the Hawaiians, clears
his throat
strikes another chord.
Aunt Candace.
[Noticing
the
silence,
looks
at
Mary.]
2S0
PAUL GREENE
What's de trouble, chile?
I'm tickled
What's de trouble wid you, gal?
Oh, Lawdy
me
!
[Passing her hand across her forehead.
Mary.
at Jim.
[Raising her head.]
Nothin', nothin'.
[To Jim.]
Go
on, play her piece about the hearse.
Play
it
Jim.
[Strums his guitar, tunes
it,
and
begins.]
Hearse done carried somebody to de graveyard.
Lawd, Lawd,
I
know my time know my time
ain't long.
Hearse done carried somebody to de graveyard.
I
ain't long.
[He sings louder, syncopating with his feet.]
Preacher keeps a-preachin' an' people keep a-dyin*.
Lawd,
I
know my time
begins
ain't long.
[Aunt Candace
ing.
swaying rhythmically with the
mv^ic, clapping her hands, and
now and
then exclaim-
Aunt Candace.
[She
Jesus
!
Lawdy,
While
my Lawd
and
on Mary, unob-
and Jim begin
the refrain.
to
sing alternately, she the first verse
this is going
Jim
served, goes to the
window, pulls open the curtain and
looks out, stretching her clenched hands above her head.
She turns
to the mirror,
smooths back her heavy hair,
it
shakes her head, snatches off the ribbon and throws
the floor.
bed.
on
Then she
the
pulls off her cloak
the ribbon
and lays
it
it
on the
She picks up
and puts
in the bureau.
Meanwhile
music has continued.
coflSn.
Hammer
Jim.
keep ringin' on somebody's
Lawd, I know
my
time ain't long.
[They repeat these
lines.
roll
Aunt Candace.
ment.
Jim.
Gwine
'em up lak leaves
in
de judg-
Lawd,
I
know my time
from
ain't long.
[After these lines have been repeated, Jim, noticing
Mary's
absence
his side, stops
and
looks around.
Aunt
Candace
keeps on singing a verse or two.
She stops and
WHITE DRESSES
looks around, sees
spair.
231
Mary
standing in an attitude of de-
Jim speaks.
Miss Mary Aunt Candace. What
Jim.
is it,
lionej^ ?
[There is a stamping of feet outside.
Mary raises
She runs
to
her head
with an expectant look on her face.
to the
door
and opens
a
it.
Her expression changes
one of disapenters.
pointment and fear as
Henry Morgan
He
is
man
of powerful build, about fifty years old, rough
and
overbearing.
his face.
A
week's growth of grizzled beard darkens
He
wears a felt hat, long black overcoat, ripped
at the pockets
and buttoned up
In
his
to his chin, big laced boots
and yarn
mittens.
hand he
carries a package,
which he throws contemptuously on the bed.
his hat on.
He
keeps
Mary
closes the door
and stands with her
back to
it,
clasping the latch-string.
Aunt C and ace and
one of
servile respect,
Jim
offer their seats.
Jim's look
is
that of
Aunt Candace one
of troubled expectancy.
Morgan.
a-courtin', eh
[In a booming voice.]
?
Dad burn
you, Jim.
Still
Set down, Candace.
[Querulously.]
to the centre
I ain't goin't to stay long.
Aunt Candace.
Mary.
[Coming
to set down.
What's he say ?
of the room.]
He
.
.
says for you
He
ain't goin' to stay long.
.
Aunt Candace. [Sitting down.] Ah-hah Lawdy Morgan. [Coming closer to Aunt Candac
e.]
tin' 'long
Oh, Lawdy!
How
you
get-
now, Candace ?
Po'ly, po'ly,
Aunt Candace.
longer
Mr. Mawgin.
Ain't got
much
down Morgan.
here, ain't
much
longer.
[Laughing.]
ain't half as
Aw
bad
come
off as
on, Candace, cut out your
foolin'.
You
you make
out.
[Jim moves
If
his chair to the corner
and
sits
down.]
I understand you.
you'd
git
up from there
Aunt Candace.
work you'd be well in a week. Oh, Lawd, Mr. Mawgin, I sho' is po'ly I
an' go to
!
hopes you'll never have to
suffer lak
me.
^2S2
PAUL GREENE
[Mumbling, she shakes her head, rocks
to
and fro
icithout
taking her feet from the floor, punctuating her movements
by tapping with her
at the package.
stick.
Morgax
I
sees ^NLiry looking
MoRG.o:.
an' caught
it.
That's for Mary.
was comin' down
this
way
up with John.
He
said he
it,
An' so I took an' brought
it,
was comin' here to bring though he acted sort of queer
[IVIaby starts
gal.
about
Hke he didn't want
me
even to save him a long walk.
Wonder what
toicard the bed.]
that nigger can be gi^nn' you.
Xo, you
ain't goin' to see
first.
it
now,
We
got
a
little
?
business to 'tend to
Did you
I
?
tell
Candace what I
do
not
said
Mart.
to-night.
Mr. Morgan, how could
L'h-huh
an*
.
.
.
I couldn't
it,
Morg-JlX.
come down here
ain't
... I knowed it. Knowed I'd make sure of it. Durn me, you been
What's the trouble,
I gal
?
better
cnnn',
you
?
[His voice softens.]
Maj^y.
Jni.
Xothin', nothin'.
?
...
I been tickled at Jim.
Tickled at Jim
Aunt Caxdace.
Morgan.
and begins
then
!^L\RY.]
nin',
What
does he say
?
[Turning
to her.]
Keep
quiet, can't you,
Candace;
silent
I got a little business with
Mary.
[Aunt Candace becomes
She half
starts
icatching the package.
from her
chair,
to
settles back,
staring hard at the bundle.
Morgan
speaks
You
ain't
?
been cryin' about what I told you this eve-
have you
M-AJiY.
Xo,
wan't.
sir.
I
was
tickled at Jim.
It
wan't nothin',
honest
it
MoRG-A^'.
Well, go on lyin'
I
if
you want
. .
to.
M.uiY.
Mr. Morgan,
was
jes'
.
Morgan.
to do about
Xo
matter.
said
?
[Brusquely.]
Well, what you goin'
what I
[He looks
at her squarely.
Jem watches
them both
tcith
open mouth.
7ioic
Aunt
and
C-a:nt>ace keeps staring at the
if
bundle on the bed, and
then glancing around to see
any
WHITE DRESSES
one
is vxitching her.
233
She
is oblivious
of the conversation.
it?
if
Mary
mind
stands with bowed head.]
Well,
what about
o'
I've done told
you you got to get out at the first [Jim straightens to marry Jim.
the year
you
ain't a
up.]
At
least
you've got to
marry somebody that can come here and work. I told you to Why didn't you tell he
r like I tell Candace to look out for it.
said
?
Mary. know it.
I couldn't
do
it.
It'd kill her to leave here.
You
it.
She's been good to
me
all
my
life.
Oh, I can't do
[Aunt Candace up
the
stealthily slips across the
room and picks
package from the bed, unseen by any one but Jim.
Morgan. Can't do it.'^ Well, what you want me to do.'^ You ain't earned Lose mon
ey on you till the end of time
!
enough to keep you
dace got down, an'
in clothes for the last three years since
. . .
Can-
[A
terrible cry rings out.
Aunt Candace
dress
stands by the
bed,
holding a
white
up
before her.
Morgan
looks perplexed.
Suddenly he
starts
back in astonish-
ment.
Mary.
mine
[Starting forward.]
It's
for
me
!
[Joyously.]
It's
Morgan.
,
.
.
[Catching
!
Mary
by the arm.]
!
Heigh
Don't you move, gal
What what Wait a minute
!

is
it.'^
[He pulls her back.
Aunt Candace
on
Oh,
it.
looks at
Morgan.
it
Gradually he lowers his head.
Aunt Candace.
knowed
it.
I's
a-feared
I
knowed
and
...
li'l
I
[She throws the dress back on the bed
hobbles to
the fire, groaning.]
Oh, Lawdy
!
Lawdy
!
My po'
gal
My po'
li'l
gal
[She rocks to
shoulder,
and fro.
to
Morgan's
!
hxind falls
from IVIary's
I
and she runs
it
to the bed.
IVLiRY.
He
sent
me
He
sent
it
to
me
!
knowed he
wouldn't forget.
[She hugs the dress to her.
to her.]
Morgan.
[Turning
Well, and
what
nigger's send-
234
ing
PAUL GREENE
you presents now
?
[With suspicion fully aroused.]
"WTio
give you that,
Mary
!
Mart. He did Morgan. [Sternly.] Who ? An' I don't care if you Mary. [Impetuously
.] It was him do know it Morgan. Who ? You don't mean Mary. I do too an' Morgan.
God a'mighty, my ... it can't be so. [Mary goes to the window and holds the dre
ss in front of her. Mary. It is, too. Mr. Hugh sent it to me. [Morgan
! .
.
.

.
.
.
groans.]
He
told
me
to-day he's sorry for me.
it.
I loiowed he'd
remember me; I knowed
An', after
all,
I ain't been workin'
if
.
the whole year for nothin'.
He's got a heart
!
Morgan.
What in the devil I wonder [Aunt Candace still looks in the fire.
nobody else Lord
. . !
ain't.
For a moment
Morgan stands lost in abstraction, then he speaks fiercely.
Morgan.
I say.
to her.
Mary, put them damned things up.
her.
Put 'em up,
the dress
[He goes toward
She shrinks back, holding
it
He
snatches
it
from her and throws
on
the bed, then he
the tears
pushes her out in the middle of the floor.
her eyes with her apron.]
settle it right here
She wipes
from
You
listen here, gal.
We're goin' to
You're goin' to
and now, once and
for
all.
marry Jim ?
IVIary.
can't!
die.
I won't!
Mr. Morgan ... oh ... I can't marry him. I Let me stay. Don't drive her out; she
'll
I'll
I'll
I'll
work,
. . .
hoe an' wash, day an' night.
I'll
do any-
thing,
Morgan.
[Fiercely.]
You've
I
tole
me
that a thousand times,
an' you've got to say one or the other right now.
Right now
be
all right.
Do
you hear!
Marry Jim,
he'll
tell
you, and
.
.
it'll
He's smart and
take care of you
.
I'd rather die. Mary. I can't do it, I tell you. I can't Look at him. He's black
Look at me. Ain't I almost white
!
.^
WHITE DRESSES
and
do
I hate him. I can't
235
marry no
nigger.
Oh, don't make
me
it.
Morgan.
ryin*.!^
White
!
What's that got to do with your mar. .
Ain't you a
.?
tell
You
don't think you can marry a
to-night.
white man, do you.^
I've been after
I
you you've got to decide
two years and,
gal,
you now
for
you've got to
doit!
Mary.
Oh, Lord
!
Don't make
. . .
me do
it
!
I hate him.
I ain't black.
Morgan. [Desperately.] Candace Mary. [Clutching at his arm.] Don't
[Aunt Candace
still
tell
her.
I ain't goin'
to see her drove out in the cold from her home.
looks in the fire.
Don't
Jim
sits
tell her.
lost
in
amazement, idly strumming his guitar.
Morgan. Well ? Mary. [Looking wildly around, as if seeking help.] Oh! Morgan. [W
iping his face.] Gal, I don't want to be too hard on you. But use common sense.
I've been good to you. They ain't another man in the county that would have kept
you I'm for the last three years, an' losin' money on you every year. done of i
t, gal, I'm done. Marry Jim. Mary. He wouldn't let you do it if he was here. He
. .
.
wouldn't.
Morgan. 'Who ? Who you talkin' about ? Mary. Mr. Hugh, your boy. He's got feelin
's, he
he was here
. .
has.
If
.
Morgan.
see
?
[Hoarsely.]
I
know
it.
I
know
.
it.
.
Don't you
Oh, Mary,
He's
tell
all
I got.
I can't run the risk of his
.
I can't
you.
For God's sake, marry Jim.
!
Can't you see?
a week, an' I'm
gets
You've got to marry him
goin' to settle
it
Hugh's gone
off for
before he ever gets back.
And when he
if
back, you and Candace will be clean out of this country,
you
take
don't marry Jim.
you
in,
They ain't nobody and keep you like I have.
else 'round here will
236
.
PAUL GREENE
.
where's he gone ? Mary. Where Morgan. He's gone to see his gal. The one he's goi
ng marry. And by God, you've got to marry Jim. Mary. [Half sobbing.] They ain't
no use tryin' to change
.
to
it.
I've tried
and
I'll
tried,
but they ain't no use.
I'll
I jus' as well do
it.
Yes, yes,
marry him.
marry him.
I'll
They
raise
ain't
no way
I'll
to be white.
I got to be a nigger.
an' hoe an'
marry him,
yes.
marry him, an' work
to go through
it all
like
to be white an' can't.
more children me, maybe other children that'll want They ain't nobody can help m
e. But wash an'
He's a nigger an'
. . .
look at him.
.
.
[Pointing to Jim.]
too.
yes
.
I'm a nigger
[She throws her arms out, letting them fall at her side.
Morgan.
you and Jim
more.
[Almost gently.]
All right,
Mary
.
.
.
I'll
send for
the preacher and
the license in the
morning and have him marry
right here.
You
needn't think about leavin' any
live here as long as
And you and Jim can
Jim ?
[Uncertainly.]
'specially.
you
please.
Is that all right,
Jim.
Yes-suh, yes-suh, Mr.
Mawgin
!
An' I
are
thanks you
Morgan.
for 3"ou.
[Going
up
to
Aunt Candace,]
Mary and Jim
It'll
going to be married to-morrow, Candace.
be a lucky day
[She makes no answer, but continues her trancelike stare
in the
fire.
Morgan
it.]
comes
to
Mary
and
offers his
hand.
She
fails to see
Child,
what
.
I've
.
had to do to-night has hurt me
Good-night, Mary.
at the floor, then goes out
a whole lot worse'n you.
.
[He stands a moment looking
quietly.
Jim. [Coming
I's
up
to
Mary.]
.
.
Miss Mary, don't look lak dat.
in
gwine do better,
I's
.
her apron.]
Honey,
I's sho'
[Mary keeps her head muffled gwine make you a good man.
In
foot
[Mary pays no
attention to him.
his embarrassment he
strums his guitar, clears his throat, props his
up on
a chair rung, and begins singing in a low
voice.]
WHITE DRESSES
Jim.
237
Lyin' in the
jail
house,
. . .
A-peepin' th'ough de bars.
UNT Candace.
black box, gal.
[Waking from her
reverie.]
Bring
me
de
li'l
Bring
me
de box
!
[Mary
de box
drops her apron and
!
siares dully at the floor.]
Bring
me
[Half-screaming.]
Bring
up.
me
de box, I say!
goes to the chest
[Trembling and groaning, she stands
Mary
and brings her
it.]
the black box.
I's
Aunt
you de
de time
Candace
drops her stick and clutches
li'l
gwine
tell
if
secret o' dis
box.
it's
Yo'
come.
mammy
told
me
to tell
you
ever come, an'
befo' us.
She seed trouble an' our
mammy
and
[She takes a key^ tied by a string around her neck,
unlocks the box, pulling out a V)rinkled white dress, yellowed with
age, of the style of the last generation.
Jim
sits
down, overcome
with astonishment, staring at the old
woman
with open mouth.]
Look heah, chile. I's gwine tell you now. Nineteen yeahs ago come dis Christmas
dey's a white man gi'n your mammy dis
heah, an' dat white
nuther.
holds
it
man
is kixi
to you, an' he don't live fur off
Gimme
dat dress dere on de bed.
[Mary
gets
it
it,
and
but
tightly to her breast.
it.]
Aunt Candace
dat dress
snatches at
Mary
clings to
Gimme
Mary. It's mine Aunt Candace. Gimme
Hobbling
!
[She jerks the dress
from Mary.
to the fireplace, she lays both
of them carefully on the
flames. Jim makes a movement as if to save them, but she waves him back with her
stick.] Git back, nigger Git back Dis night I's gwine wipe out some o' de trace
s o' sin. [Mary sits in
!
!
her chair, sobbing. her
As
the dresses
burn
I
Aunt Candace
knows
comes
to
and
lays her
hand upon her
head.]
yo' feelin's, chile.
in.
But
yo's got to smother 'em in.
Yo's got to smother 'em
curtain
MOONSHINE
BY
ARTHUR HOPKINS
Moonshine is reprinted by special permission of Arthur Hopkins, Plymouth Theatre
, New York City. All rights reserved. For permission to
perform, address the author.
ARTHUR HOPKINS
Arthur Hopkins, one of the well-known men of the practical was born in Cleveland
, Ohio, in 1878. He completed his academic training at Western Reserve Universit
y, Cleveland, Ohio. At present he is the manager of Plymouth
theatre of to-day,
Theatre, New York City. Mr. Hopkins's entire life has been given to the theatre,
which In the midst of his various activities as a manis his hobby. ager he has
found time to do some dramatic writing. Among his one-act plays are Thunder God,
Broadway Love, and Moonshine, which appeared in the Theatre Acts Magazine for J
anuary,
1919.
Moonshine
is
of the reaction of character
an excellent play of situation that has grown out on character.
CHARACTERS
Luke Hazy, Moonshiner
A
Reventje Officer
MOONSHINE
SCENE: Hut
Carolina.
of a moonshiner in the mountain wilds of North
Door back
left.
Window back
left
right centre.
Old
table,
deal table right centre.
Kitchen chair at either side of
corner.
is
not close to
it.
Old cupboard in
Rude
stone fire-
-place left side.
On
back wall near door
tree.
a rough pencil
sketch of a
man
hanging from a
is
At
rise of curtain
a commotion
heard outside of hut.
Luke.
to
[Off stage.]
. .
It's all right,
boys
.
.
.
Jist leave
him
me
.
Git in there, Mister Revenue.
city attire, without hat, clothes
[Revenue, a Northerner in
dusty, is pushed through doorway.
Luke, a lanky,
ill-
dressed Southerner, following, closes door.
Revenue's
hands are
tied behind him.
Luke.
You must excuse
the boys for makin' a demonstration
over you. Mister Revenue, but you see they don't come across
you fellers very frequent, and they alius gits excited. Revenue. I appreciate th
at I'm welcome. Luke. 'Deed you is, and I'm just agoin' to untie your hands long
nuff f er you to take a sociable drink. [Goes to stranger, feels in all pockets
for weapons.] Reckon yer travellin' peaceable. {Unties hands.] Won't yer sit do
wn ? Revenue. [Drawing over chair and sitting.] Thank you.
[Rubs wrists
to get
back circulation.]
Luke.
[Going over to cupboard and taking out jug.]
o'
Yessa,
Mister, the boys ain't seen one
you
fellers fer
near two years.
Began
to think
you wus
goin' to neglect us.
I
wus hopin' you
might be Jim Dunn.
Have a
drink ?
243
244
ARTHUR HOPKINS
[Starts slightly
at
Revenue.
mention of Jim Dunn.]
No,
com-
thank you, your make is too strong for me. Luke. It hain't no luck to drink alon
e when you
pany.
Better have some.
git
Revenue.
Luke.
Very
well,
my
friend, I suffer willingly.
[Drinks a
little
and
chokes.
[Draining cup.]
I reckon ye
all
don't like the flavor
of liquor that hain't been stamped.
Revenue. It's not so bad. Luke. The last Revenue that
sit in
that chair got drunk on
my
make.
Revenue. That wouldn't be diflScult. Luke. No, but it wuz awkward. Revenue. Why
? Luke. I had to wait till he sobered up before I give him his ticker. I didn't
feel like sendin' him to heaven drunk. He'd a found it awkward climbin' that gol
den ladder. Revenue. Thoughtful executioner. Luke. So you see mebbe you kin dela
y things a little by
dallyin' with the licker.
Revenue.
puts
it
[Picking
up
cup, getting
it
as far as his lips, slowly
down.]
The
price
is
too great.
ain't
Luke.
I'm mighty sorry you
Jim Dunn.
But
I reckon
you ain't. You don't answer his likeness. Revenue. Who's Jim Dunn ? Luke. You ou
ght to know who Jim Dunn
about the worst one of your revenue
parts.
is.
He's just
critters that ever hit these
He's got four of the boys in
See that ?
jail.
We
got a
little
recep-
tion all ready for him.
[Pointing to sketch on back wall.
Revenue. [Looking at sketch.] Luke. That's Jim Dunn. Revenue. [Rising, examining
like any one.
Yes.
picture.]
Doesn't look
much
MOONSHINE
'im.
245
like
Luke. Well, that's what Jim Dunn 'II look I'm mighty sorry you hain't Jim Dunn.
Revenue. I'm sorry to disappoint you.
[Turning
to
when we
git
Luke.
right.
all.
cupboard and
filling pipe.]
Oh,
it's
all
I reckon one Revenue's about as good as another, after
Revenue. Are you sure I'm a revenue officer ? Luke. [Rising.] Well, since we ket
ched ye climin' trees an' snoopin' round the stills, I reckon we won't take no c
hances that you hain't. Revenue. Oh. Luke. Say, mebbe you'd like a seggar. Here'
s one I been savin' fer quite a spell back, thinkin' mebbe I'd have company [Bri
ngs out dried-up cigar, hands it to him. some day. Revenue. No, thank you. Luke.
It hain't no luck to smoke alone when ye got company. [Striking match and holdi
ng it to Revenue.] Ye better smoke. [Revenue bites off end and mouth is filled w
ith dust, spits out dust.
Luke
holds match to cigar.
With
difficulty
Revenue
lights
it.]
That's as good a five-cent cigar as ye can git in Henderson.
Revenue.
table.]
[After two puffs,
makes wry
face, throws cigar on
You make death
Luke's
very easy. Mister.
Luke.
feel as
my name.
Yer kin
call
me Luke.
Make you
though you had a friend near you at the end
Luke Hazy.
Revenue. [Starting as though interested, rising.] Not the Luke Hazy that cleaned
out the Crosby family ? Luke. [Startled.] How'd you hear about it ? Revenue. He
ar about it ? Why, your name's been in every newspaper in the United States. Eve
ry time you killed another
Crosby the whole feud was told
your picture
in the
all
over again.
Why,
I've seen
papers twenty times.
Luke. Hain't never had one took. Revenue. That don't stop them from you ever rea
d the newspapers ?
printing
it.
Don't
246
ARTHUR HOPKINS
Luke. Me read? I hain't read nothin' fer thirty years. Reckon I couldn't read tw
o lines in a hour. Revenue. You've missed a lot of information about yourself.
Luke.
How many
Crosbys did they say I
killed
?
Revenue.
the twelfth.
I think the last report said you had just removed
Luke.
It's
a
lie
!
I only killed six
.
.
.
that's all they
growed up.
wuz
I'm
a-w^aitin' fer
one now that's only thirteen.
a-Iookin' fer me.
Revenue. When '11 he be ripe ? Luke. Jes as soon as he comes
Revenue. Will he come ? Luke. He'll come if he's a Crosby. Revenue. A brave fami
ly ? Luke. They don't make 'em any braver
rate folks
if
they'd
be
first-
they wuzn't Crosbys.
Revenue. If you feel that way why did you start fighting them ? Luke. I never st
arted no fight. My granddad had some
misunderstandin' with their granddad.
it
I don't
know
jes
what
see
wuz about, but
through.
I reckon
my
granddad wuz
right,
and
I'll
it
Revenue. You must think a lot of your grandfather. Luke. Never seen 'im, but it
ain't no luck goin' agin yer own kin. Won't ye have a drink ? Revenue. No no tha
nk you. Luke. Well, Mr. Revenue, I reckon we might as well have

this over.
Revenue.
Luke.
What ?
and I can't be put
to the
Well, you won't get drunk,
trouble o' havin'
somebody guard you.
this eve-
Revenue.
That'll not be necessary.
Luke. Oh, I know yer like this yer place now, but nin' you might take it into ye
r head to walk out.
MOONSHINE
Revenue.
Luke,
if
U7
make me.
I'll
not walk out unless you
I'll let
Tain't like
yer,
but I wouldn't blame yer none
yu tried. Revexue. But I'll not. Luke. [Ruing.] Say, Mistah Revenue, know what 3
^ou're up against ?
I
wonder
if
you
Revenue. What do you mean ? Luke. I mean I gotta kill you. Revenue. [Rising, pau
ses.] Well, that lets me out. Luke. W^hat do yu mean ? Revenue. I mean that I've
been trying to commit suicide for the last two months, but I haven't had the ne
rve. Luke. [Startled.] Suicide ? Revenue. Yes. Now that you're willing to kill m
e, the
problem
is
solved.
fer.''
Luke. Why, what d'ye want to commit suicide Revenue. I just want to stop living,
that's all. Luke. Well, yu must have a reason.
Revenue.
get out of
it.
No
?
special reason
I find
life
dull
and
I'd like to
Luke.
Dull
I hate to go to bedI hate to get up I can't drink liquorI find people either maliciou
s or dull I see by the fate of my acquaintances, both
Revenue.
Yes
don't care for food
men and women,
erence
that love
is
a farce.
I have seen
fame and
pref-
come
to those
who
least deserved
them, while the whole
world kicked and cuffed the worthy ones.
gets the
The
craftier
schemer
is
most money and
committed;
glory, while the fair-minded dealer
humiliated in the bankruptcy court.
In the name of the law
of religion every vice
is
every crime
is
in the
name
is
indulged; in the
pant.
name
of education greatest ignorance
ram-
Luke.
out.
I don't git all of that, but I reckon you're
some put
248
ARTHUR HOPKINS
I am.
Revenue.
it's
The
it
world's a failure
.
.
.
what's more,
a farce.
I don't like
but I can't change
it.
.
it,
so I'm just ach-
ing for a chance to get out of
.
.
[Approaching Luke.]
And
you,
my
dear friend, are going to present
me
the oppor-
tunity.
Luke.
get killed.
Yes, I reckon you'll get your wish now.
Reveistue.
Good ...
if
you only knew how
you
kill yerself ?
I've tried to
Luke.
Well,
why
didn't
Revenue. I was afraid. Luke. Afreed o' what hurtin' yourself.? Revenue. No, afra
id of the consequences. Luke. Whad d'ye mean ? Revenue. Do you believe in anothe
r life after this one ? Luke. I kan't say ez I ever give it much thought. Revenu
e. Well, don't because if you do you'll never

kill
another Crosby
.
.
.
not even a revenue
officer.
Luke. 'Tain't that bad, is it ? Revenue. Worse. Twenty times head crazy to die a
nd then as my
I've
had a revolver to
my

finger pressed the trigger

I'd get a terrible dread
terrors
a dread that I was plunging into worse
If killing
than
this
world ever knew.
if it's
were the end
it
would be easy, but what
worse
?
only the beginning of something
Well, you gotta take some chances. Revenue. I'll not take that one. You know, Mr
. Luke, life was given to us by some one who probably never intended that we sho
uld take it, and that some one has something ready for people who destroy his pr
operty. That's what frightens me. Luke. You do too much worryin' to be a regular
suicide. Revenue. Yes, I do. That's why I changed my plan. Luke. What plan ?
Luke.
Revejtue.
My plan for dying.
Luke.
Oh, then you didn't give up the idea ?
MOONSHINE
going to
249
to die, but
Revenue. No, indeed I'm still determined make some one else responsible.
Luke.

I'm
Oh so you
sir.
hain't willing to
pay
fer yer
own
funeral
music ?
else
Revenue. No, must buy the
killed, I
I'll
furnish the passenger, but
some one
ticket.
You
see,
when
I finally decided I'd
be
immediately exposed myself to every danger I knew.
Luke.
How ?
In a thousand ways.
. .
Revenue.
Luke. No.
.
[Paiise.]
Did you
ever see an automobile ?
Revenue.
York?
Luke.
No.
don't stay on tracks.
They go faster than steam Did you ever hear of
engines,
and they
Fifth Avenue,
New
Revenue. Fifth Avenue is jammed with automobiles, eight deep all day long. Peopl
e being killed every day. I crossed Fifth Avenue a thousand times a day, every d
ay for weeks, never once trying to get out of the way, and always praying I'd be
hit.
Luke.
And
couldn't
yu
git hit ?
Revenue.
[In disgiist.]
No.
Automobiles only hit people
[Pause.]
who
try to get out of the way.
When
that failed, I
roll
frequented the lowest dives on the Bowery, flashing a
of
money and wearing diamonds, hoping they'd kill me for them. They stole the money
and diamonds, but never touched me.
Luke.
Couldn't you pick a
fight.?
Revenue.
believe that a
I'm coming to
that.
You know up North they
South for calling another
man
can be killed
in the
man
a
liar.
Luke.
That's right.
It
is,
Revenue.
Luke.
is
it?
Well, I've called
to tell
men
liars
it.
from
Washington to Atlanta, and I'm here
you about
They must a took
pity on ye.
250
ARTHUR HOPKINS
Revexue. Do you know Two Gun Jake that keeps the dive down in Henderson ? Luke.
I should think I do. Jake's killed enough of
.
.
.
'em.
Revenue. He's a bad man, ain't he ? Luke. He's no trifler. Revenue. I wound up i
n Jake's place two nights
tending to be drunk.
ago, pre-
Jake was cursing niggers.
Luke.
He's alius doin' that.
Revenue.
nounced that
.
.
So I elbowed
I
my way
up
to the bar
and anblood
was an expert
in the discovery of nigger
.
could
tell
a nigger
?
who was
63-64ths white.
Luke.
Ye
kin
can't, but I made them believe it. I then them over and tell them if they had an
y nigger blood in them. A few of them sneaked away, but the rest stood for it. I
passed them all until I got to Two Gun Jake. I examined his eyeballs, looked at
his finger-nails, and said, "You're
Revenue.
No, I
offered to look
a nigger."
Luke. An' what did Jake do ? Revenue. He turned pale, took me into the back room
. He said: "Honest to God, mister, can ye see nigger blood in me.'" I said: "Yes
." "There's no mistake about it.^" "Not a bit," I answered. "Good God," he said,
"I always suspected it.'* Then he pulled out his gun Luke. Eh ... eh? Revenue.
And shot himself. Luke. Jake shot hisself Is he dead Revenue. I don't know I was
too disgusted to wait. I
.' !
.
.
.

wandered around
scrambled around
sat
until
in the
I
thought of you moonshiners
until I
.
.
.
mountains
found your
still.
I
on it and waited until you boys showed up, and here I am, and j'ou're going to k
ill me. Luke. [Pause.] Ah, so ye want us to do yer killin' fer ye, do ye ?
MOONSHINE
Revenue.
as well give
it
251
time I
You're
up.
my
last
hope.
If I fail this
may
Luke.
cartridges
[Takes out revolver, turns sidewise and secretly removes
from chamber.
Rises.]
What wuz
that noise
?
[Lays revolver on table and steps outside of door.
looks at revolver, apparently without interest.
Revenue
[Luke
cautiously enters doorway
and
expresses surprise at
to secure revolver.
seeing
Revenue making no
attempt
Feigning excitement, goes
to table,
picks
up gun.
Luke.
I reckon I'm gettin' careless, leavin' a gun layin'
around here that-a-way.
Reventje.
Yes.
Didn't you see
it ?
Luke.
Well,
why
didn't ye grab
it ?
Revenue. What for ? Luke. To git the drop on me. Revenue. Can't you understand w
hat
mister ?
I don't
I've been telling you,
want the drop on you.
if
truth.
Luke. Well, doggone Thought I'd just
I don't believe yer
tellin'
me
the
see
what ye'd
do.
Ye
see, I
emptied
it first.
[Opens up gun.
Revenue. That wasn't necessary. Luke. Well, I reckon ye better git along out o'
Revenue. You don't mean you're weakening ?
Luke.
ferin'.
here, mister.
I ain't got
no
call to
it
do your
killin' fer
you.
If
ye
hain't sport
enough to do
yerself, I
reckon ye kin go on suf-
Revenue.
But
I told
murder more or
less
you why I don't want to do it. One means nothing to you. You don't care
anything about the hereafter.
Luke. Mebbe I don't, but there ain't no use my takin' any more chances than I ha
ve to. And what's more, mister, from what you been tellin' me I reckon there's a
charm on you, and
I ain't goin' to take
no chances goin' agin charms.
to go
Revenue. So you're going Luke. Yes. siree.
back on
me ?
252
ARTHUR HOPKINS
Well,
till
Revenue.
ing.
I'll
maybe some
of the other boys will be will-
wait
they come.
ain't goin'
Luke.
The other boys
to see you.
!
You're a
leavin' this yer place right
now
now
It won't
do no good.
You may
as well go peaceable; ye ain't got no right to expect
us to bear yer burdens.
Revenue.
Luke.
Damn
it all
!
I've spoiled
it
again.
to go on livin'.
I reckon
you better make up yer mind
Revenue. That looks like the only way out. Luke. Come on, I'll let you ride my h
orse to town. It's the only one we got, so yu can leave it at Two Gun Jake's, an
d one o' the boys'll go git it, or I reckon I'll go over myself and see if Jake
made a job of it. Revenue. I suppose it's no use arguing with you. Luke. Not a b
it. Come on, you. Revenue. Well, I'd like to leave my address so if you ever com
e to New York you can look me up. Luke. 'Tain't likely I'll ever come to New Yor
k. Revenue. Well, I'll leave it, anyhow. Have you a piece
of paper
?
Luke. Paper what you write on ? Never had none, mister. Revenue. [Looking about
room, sees Jim Dunn's picture on If you don't mind, I'll put it on wall, goes to
it, takes it down.]
the back of Jim Dunn's picture.
to print.]
I'll
[Placing picture on table, begins
it'll
print
if
it
for you, so
be easy to read.
My ad-
dress
is
here, so
you change your mind you can send
Luke.
'Tain't likely
come on.
takes
it.]
[Both go to doorway
Luke
up
for
me.
extends hand.
. .
.
Revenue
Good-by, mister
cheer
there's the horse.
Revenue. Good-by. [Shaking Luke's hand. Luke. Don't be so glum, mister. Lemme he
ar you laff jist onct before yu go. [Revenue begins to laugh weakly.] Aw, come o
n, laff out with it hearty. [Revenue laughs louder.]
Heartier
yit.
MOONSHINE
[Revenue
is
253 and is heard laughdown in the distance,
now shouting
his laughter,
ing until hoof-beats of his horse die
[Luke watches for a moment, then returns to table takes a drink picks up picture
turns it around several times

before getting
it
right
then begins
"J"
"/"
to study.
In attempt-
ing to
make
out the
name he
slowly traces in the air with then mutters "J-J-J,*
letter
his index finger a capital
then describes a
letter
mutters ''I-I-I,'' then a
''M''muttering ''M-M-M, J-I-MJ-I-MJIM." In the same way describes and mutters D-U-N
-N. By God [He rushes to corner, grabs Luke. Jim Dunn shot-gun, runs to doorway,
raises gun in direction stranger has gone looks intently then slowly lets gun f
all to his side, and scans the
! !

puts gun in corner

distance with his
hand shadowing
seats himself
!
his eyes

steps inside
!
at table.]
Jim Dunn
slowly and he
begged
me
to kill 'im
MODESTY
BY
PAUL HERVIEU
Modesty
is
reprinted
by
special permission of Barrett
translator of the play from the French,
and
of
H. Clark, the Samuel French, publisher,
New York
dress
City.
All rights reserved.
For permission to perform, adStreet,
Samuel French, 28-30 West 38th
New York
City.
PAUL HERVIEU
Paul Hervieu, one of the foremost of contemporary French dramatists, was born in
1857 at Neuilly, near Paris. Although he prepared for the bar, having passed th
e examination at twenty,
and practised his profession for a few years, he soon set to writing short stori
es and novels which appeared in the early eighties. The Nippers, in 1890, establ
ished his reputation as a dramatist. The remainder of his life was given to writ
ing for the stage. In
1900 he was elected to the French Academy.
15, 1915.
He
died October
In addition to The Nippers, Hervieu's best-known long plays
are The Passing of the Torch, The Labyrinth, and Knoio Thyself. Modesty is his w
ell-known one-act play. In subtlety of technic and in delicacy of touch it is on
e of the finest examples of
French one-act plays.
noteworthy.
Its
humor and
light, graceful satire
are
PERSONS IN THE PLAY
Hexriette
Jacques
Albert
MODESTY
TIME: The SCENE: A
desk.
present.
drawing-room.
Entrance, C; sofa, chairs^ loriting-
JACQVBS and Henribtte enter C, from dinner.
ball costume,
HenThey
RiETTE in
Jacques
in evening dress.
come down C.
Henriette.
Jacques.
What is it ? You can easily
Is
it
so terribly embarrassing
?
guess.
Henriette.
Jacques.
are cousins.
You're so long-winded.
You make me weary
come to the point.
I'll
risk all at
a stroke
I
am
Oh,
unmarried, you
My dear Henriette, we a widow. Will you
And now
you're going to be
will
you be
of
my
wife ?
Henriette.
?
my
dear Jacques, what are you thinking
!
We
were such good friends
angry.
Jacques.
Why ?
Because I'm not going to give you the sort ot
don't
like.
Henriette.
answer you'd
Jacques.
You
you don't think I'd make a good husyou
?
band ? Henriette.
Jacques.
Frankly, no.
I don't please
Henriette.
Jacques.
the fault of
As a cousin you
are charming; as a husband
you
would be quite impossible.
What have you
against
me?
for.
Henriette.
Nothing that you're to blame
character; thai forces
259
It
is
merely
my
me
to refuse you.
260
Jacques.
change
PAUL HERVIEU
But
I can't see
why you
?
Henriette.
is
[With an air of great importance.]
A
great
re-
taking place in the hearts of us
women.
We
have
solved henceforward not to be treated as dolls, but as creatures
of reason.
As
for
me, I
am most
unfortunate, for nobody ever
did anything but flatter me.
isfied,
I have always been too self-sat-
too
Jacques.
You have always been
It's
the most charming of
women, the most Henriette. Stop!
that's
exactly that sort of exaggeration
I
begun to make
me
so unsure of myself.
want you
to
understand once for
thermore,
it is
all,
Jacques, I have a conscience, and, furI have taken some im-
beginning to develop.
portant resolutions.
Jacques.
moral and
What
do you
mean ?
Henriette.
I have resolved to better myself, to raise
my
intellectual standards,
and to do that I must be
guided, criticised
Jacques.
But you already
[Annoyed.]
sits
possess every imaginable quality
You
are charitable, cultured, refined
Henriette.
Please
[Turns away and
on
settee.
Jacques
addresses her
from behind
Jacques.
chair.
You
are discreet, witty
The same old compliments! Everybody tells me that. I want to be preached to, con
tradicted, scolded Jacques. You could never stand that. Henriette. Yes, I could.
I should be happy to profit by
Henriette.
the criticism.
It
would
inspire
me.
Jacques.
criticise
I'd like to see the
man who
I trust
has the audacity to
you to your face
Henriette.
Jacques.
It
That
is
enough!
you are aware that
you are not the person
fit
to exercise this influence over
me ?
How
could I ?
Everything about you pleases me.
can never be otherwise.
MODESTY
Henriette.
shall
261
How
interesting
!
That's the very reason I reuntil I
jected your proposal.
I sha'n't
marry
am
certain that I
not be continually pestered with compliments and flattery
and submission.
mistakes.
The man who marries me
shall
make
it
his
business to remind
me
of
my
shortcomings, to correct
all
my
He must give me the assurance that I am continually
And this husband have you found him already ? What ? Oh, who knows ?
Perhaps
Really
it's
bettering myself.
Jacques. Jacques. Jacques.
Jacques.
Henriette.
Henriette.
Henriette.

Perhaps
it is
Albert what of
?
it ?
You want me to speak frankly ? Of course. Henriette. Then you wouldn't be annoye
d

if
I said some-
thing nice about Albert ?
[Jacques brings down
c. chair
which
is
by desk, facing
Henriette.
Jacques.
Jacques.
Jacques.
Why,
he's
!
your friend
too,
Henriette.
Henriette.
Oh
So you,
have a good opinion of him ?
of
Certainly.
Well,
what would you say
to be fair.]
[Trying
I'd trust
him ? him with money
I've never heard he
Henriette.
Jacques.
was a thief. But in other ways ?
I believe
[Still conscientious.]
him
to be
somewhat
somewhat
Henriette.
Jacques.
Wilful
?
Headstrong ?
Umuncultured, let us say.
As you
like
Henriette.
severe at times
but
for
my
part, I find that that
air of his inspires absolute confidence.
He knows how
to be
Jacques.
brute force.
rhinoceros,
You're mistaken about that; that's only simple
Go
all
to the
Zoo the
:
ostrich, the
effect
boa constrictor, the
produce the same
on you as your Albert
262
Henriette.
priate
PAUL HERVIEU
My
Albert
?
My
Albert ?
Oh, I don't appro-
him so quickly as
[Jacques
all that.
His qualifications as censor
are not yet entirely demonstrated.
rises
and approaches Henriette, who maintains
this nonsense
an
Jacques.
air of cold dignity.
For heaven's sake, Henriette, stop
Henbiette.
Jacques.
What nonsense? Tell me you are only
playing with me.
!
That you
jealous
!
only wanted to put
my
love to the test
To make me
Stop
it,
To
torture
me
!
You have
succeeded.
for heaven's
sake
Henriette.
scription of the
My dear friend, I'm very sorry for you.
husband I want, and I
I wish
I could help you, but I cannot.
I have given you a perfect de-
am
heart-broken that you
bear so remote a resemblance to him.
Jacques. Jacques.
Only promise you
It
is
will
think over your decision.
Henriette.
Henriette.
tell
better to stop right now.
Don't send
shall
me away
you
like this.
Don't
I have only to
I might give
false hopes.
you that I
never consent to be the wife of a
man who
cannot be the severest of censors.
Jacques.
[Kneeling.]
I beg
you
!
Henriette.
Jacques.
No, no, no, Jacques
!
Spare
me
that.
[A
tele-
phone rings in the next room.]
There's the 'phone
Don't go
rises hastily
[Henriette
Henriette.
if
and
goes to door.
Jacques
tries
for a movient
I
to stop her.
I find 3^ou here
must go. Go away, when I come back.
I
tell
you.
I'll
be furious
Jacques.
Henriette
Henriette.
Jacques.
[Exit.]
[Coming down L.
to table.]
Not now
!
Please,
Jacques.
I can't leave
it
that way.
I
am
the husband
who
MODESTY
will
63
is
make her happy.
[Enter
But how?
That
the question.
[Pause.]
Ah, Albert
Albebt.
He
shakes hands
?
icilh
Jacques.
Albert.
Jacques.
How
are you, rival
[Gravely.]
My friend,
we
are
no longer
rivals.
Albert.
Jacques.
to
How's that?
I hav^e just
had a talk with Henriette; she refuses
marry
either one of us.
Albert.
Jacques.
[Both
Did she mention me ?
Casually.
sit
down, Albert on
did she say ?
sofa,
Jacques on
chair near
it,
Albert.
Jacques.
What
Oh, I wouldn't repeat
I must know.
well,
it; it
wouldn't be friendly.
Albert.
Jacques.
then she said that you had not sucVery nor had to find the way to her heart. Betw
een you I ceeded
pher who detests
and me, we've got a high-minded woman to deal with, a philosoIt seems you have b
een in the habit flattery.
of paying her compliments
Albert.
Jacques.
I never
pay compliments. Whatever you did, she didn't
like
It.
Moreover
since you want the whole truthyou seem to her a bitridiculous.
Albert.
Jacques.
Pardon ?
She wants a husband
Evidently, you haven't
The very word: ridiculous. who will act as a sort of conscience pilot.
appealed to her in that capacity.
Albert.
Jacques.
ity.
I'll
Sometimes I used to be rather sharp with her
You
did
it
too daintily, perhaps; you lacked severof scowled
wager you smiled, instead
that would have
to get her,
been
fatal
Albert.
Jacques.
I don't understand.
Henriette
is
a singular
woman;
you
264
have to
Tell her
tell
PAUL HERVIEU
her that you don't like her
her pride demands
I
it.
all
her bad qualities, straight from the shoulder.
[Feeling himself equal to the task.]
!
Albert.
about that
Jacques.
pose ?
Don't worry
love to
[Rises
and walks
about.]
know women
be told things straight out.
I'm not the
man
for that; nor are you, I sup-
Albert.
done
No?
Jacques, I'm awfully obliged to you; you've
me
a good turn
Jacques.
Don't mention
it
Albert.
Jacques.
You want to do
[Devotedly.]
me
one more favor ?
!
Anj^thing you like
Albert.
Promise
this ?
me
you'll never let Henriette
know
that
you
told
me
Jacques.
I promise; but why.?
Albert.
toward her
Jacques.
You know
is
she has to understand that
my
behavior
in character.
Natural, you
it
see.
Oh, you're going at
I am.
strenuously.
Albert.
Jacques.
Your
decision honors you.
Albert.
Let's not have Henriette find us together.
Would
you mind disappearing ? Jacques. With pleasure.
[Jacques
rises.
I'll
look in later and get the news,
Albert.
Jacques.
Thanks, Jacques.
Good-by, Albert.
[Exits after shaking
hands cordially with Albert.
Albert assumes a rather severe attitude.] How are you ? [Pau^e.] Have you seen J
acques ? Albert. [With a determined air.] No, Henriette. Thank God!
Henriette.
[Re-entering as
Henriette.
Albert.
Why ?
it
Because
pains
me
to see
men
in
your presence
whom you
care nothing for.
MODESTY
Henriette.
[Delighted.]
^65
You
don't like that ?
[Sitting
down on
sofa.
Albert. Albert. Albert.
heaps.
No, I
don't.
And
I'd like to
tell
you
?
Henriette. Hexriette.
About
Heaps
my
relations with Jacques
Oh, he's not the only one.
of others, I suppose
sofa.]
?
[Sits
on chair near
You
suppose correctly;
Henriette.
Albert.
Really ?
You are a coquette. Henriette. You think so ?
Albert.
Albert.
that!
I
am
positive.
Henriette. Henriette.
Albert.
imagine
I suppose I displease
you
in other
ways, too ?
In a great
many
other ways.
[Really delighted.]
How
confidently
you say
So much the worse
if
you don't
like it
Henriette.
fectly adorable.
Quite the contrary,
please
my
dear Albert; you can't
It's per-
how you
It
me when you
little
talk like that.
Albert.
haps
makes very
difference to
me
whether I
please you or not.
it is
I speak according to
my temperament. Pwthat.
a bit authoritative, but I can't help
Henriette.
Albert.
You
Oh,
are superb.
Oh, no.
if
I'm just myself.
Henriette.
Albert.
say, but
I'll
you were only the
I haven't the slightest idea
what you were about to
guarantee that there's not a more inflexible temper
than mine
in Paris.
Henriette.
in
I can easily believe
it.
[Pause.]
Now
tell
me
what way you think I'm
[Sitting
coquettish.
attitude.
it.
on edge of sofa in an interested
Albert
takes out cigarette, lights
and smokes
266
Albert.
tre, to
PAUL HERVIEU
That's easy; for instance, when you go to the thea-
a reception, to the races.
in dozens; those
As soon
don't
as
you arrive the men
to be
flock
about
who
know you come
introduced.
You're the talking-stock of society.
if
Now
I should
be greatly obliged
this notoriety
?
you would
tell
me
to
what you attribute
it
Henriette.
fact that I
[Modestly.]
Well, I should attribute
to the
amagreeable, and
There are
pleasant
less so.
Albert.
force
many women no
all her
Henriette.
[Summoning up
I
modesty
to reply.]
You
you
me
to recognize the fact
Albert.
And
know many women
fully as pleasant as
who
that
don't flaunt their favors in the face of everybody; they pre-
serve
some semblance
of dignity, a certain air of aloof distinction
it
would do you no harm to acquire.
[With a gratitude that
is
Henriette.
I
conscious of
to
its
hounds.]
sofa.]
Thanks, thanks so much.
[Drawing hack
a corner of the
am
deeply obliged to j'ou
Albert.
rously.
Not
at
all.
Henriette.
Albert.
In the future I shall try to behave more deco-
Another thing
[The
first signs of
Henriette.
impatience begin
.'^
to
appear.]
What ?
Another thing to
criticise
Albert.
A
thousand
!
[Setiling himself comfortably.
Henriette.
Albert.
Well, hurry up.
rid yourself of
You must
I
your excessive and ridicu-
lous school-girl sentimentality.
Henriette.
wonder just on what you base your statement.
Would you
Albert.
oblige
me
so far as to explain that
?
remember one day in the country you were in tears because a poor little mouse ha
d fallen into the claws of a wretched cat; two minutes later you were sobbing be
W^ith pleasure. I
cause the poor cat choked
in
swallowing the wretched
little
mouse.
MODESTY
Heneiette.
Is
it
267
That was only
my
kindness to
dumb
animals.
wrong
to be kind to
dumb
of
animals ?
[She is about to rise ivhen
Albert
stops her with a gesture.
if it
Albert.
That would be
no consequence,
weren't that
in the
you were
of so contradictory a nature that
you engage
emptiest, most frivolous conversations, the most
Henriette.
[Slightly disdainful.]
Ah, you are going too
I
far
!
You make me doubt your power
only in noble and high things
of analysis.
am
interested
Albert.
turn,
it's
And
yet as soon as the conversation takes a serious
appalling to see you; you
yawn and
look bored to ex-
tinction.
Henriette.
Albert.
unfortunate
There you are right
see
partly.
Yes, I have that
You
Henriette.
[Sharp and even antagonistic]
gift of
understaniiing things before people have fin-
ished explaining them.
While the others are waiting
for the
explanation, I can't wait, and I fly on miles ahead
Albert. Hm that sounds probable; I sha'n't say anything more about that just now
. But while I'm on the subject, I have more than once noticed that you are guilt
y of the worst vice

woman
ever possessed
Henriette.
Albert. Albert.
fault,
And
what,
if
you please ?
Vanity.
I vain
?
Henriette.
you twist
Oh, you're going too far
!
[Unruffled.]
it
Every time I tell you a Not a word round to your own advantage. Whereas you
and gathering her
are rude
!
are really worse
Henriette.
fault with
[Rising
skirts about her with
virtuous indignation.]
You
I suppose
you would
find
me
if
I considered myself
more
polite than the person
whom
I
have the honor to address ?
I hope you don't intend that remark as personal.
I certainly do.
Albert.
Henriette.
268
PAUL HERVIEU
[She crosses to the other side of the stage
and
sits doion.
Albert
Albert. Albert.
rises
and goes up
!
to her.
Henriette
No
!
[Laughing.]
I see your trick.
Hexriette.
What do you mean ? You can't deceive me by
pretending to be angry.
You wanted to see whether I could withstand your temper. Let us now proceed to t
he next chapter: your manner of dressing.
Hexriette.
[Now
really outraged.]
My manner of dressing ?
her.
You
dare
[Henriette
Albert.
Albert.
crosses L. Fronts
Albert following
Yes, that will be enough for to-day
Henriette. Henriette.
to think
And
then you'll begin again to-morrow
Yes.
to you while you insult
And do you think for one minute that me to my face ? You are the
to that
!
I'll
listen
vain one,
you can come
You
are the frivolous one, you
are the
Albert.
[Slightly perturbed.]
I'll
Be
careful
what you say
tell
!
Henriette.
take care of that.
Let
me
you that you
are a detestable cynic.
You
are disgustingly personal; always
dwelling on details, on the least
much as calling me a fool ? You would be if you didn't read your morning paper r
egularly; so regularly that I know in adAlbert.
Which
is
as
Henriette.
Just about.
vance exactly what you are going to say to
me
during the day.
Albert.
Why not call me
That would
a parrot ?
you, for you don't speak as
gets clouded, a parrot
Henriette.
has at least the
flatter
well as a parrot; a parrot's
memory never
common
politeness to
teeth.]
Albert.
der
[Between his
I won't stand for this.
I
won-
how you
fool.
could have endured
me
so long
if
you thought
me
such a
Henriette.
Albert.
I believed
you harmless.
Are you aware that you have wounded
me
cruelly ?
MODESTY
Henriette.
269
we had
this discussion
You have wounded me. Thank heaven, though, Now I'll know how to conduct myself
!
toward you
in the future.
Albert.
time
!
Thank heaven
for tlie
same thing
!
It
was high
I grieve to think that only last night I
had
full}^
made
show
up my mind to ask you to be my wife Henriette. My dear friend, if you ever do
so, I shall
you the door immediately. [Enter Jacques hurriedly.
protection.
Henriette runs
?
to
him as for
Jacques.
What's
all this
noise
What's the matter ?
to our pleasant
Henriette.
Albert.
Jacques.
tle t#te-a-tete.
Oh, Jacques
!
I'm so glad you've come.
lit-
Just in time
You put an end
But what's happened ?
W^ell,
it
Henriette.
Albert.
monsieur here
No,
was mademoiselle who
take
[Henriette and Albert each
and bring him down-stage C.
shifting
an arm of Jacques
attention is constantly
His
from one
to
the
other, as they address
him in
turn.
Henriette.
Albert.
Jacques.
bert,
Just think, Jacques
Jacques, she had the audacity to
Henriette.
Stop
!
I'm going to
tell
him
first
You're both too excited to explain anything.
Al-
you take a little stroll and cool off. Albert. [Retreating toward the door.] Cha
rmed.
Henriette.
Jacques.
Then
both.]
I can
draw a
I'll fix
free breath.
[To Albert.]
[To
up things while you're away.
in.
Albert.
Jacques.
I won't give
will I.
Henriette.
Albert.
Neither
Tut, tut
Good-day, mademoiselle.
Henriette.
Good-day.
270
Jacques.
[Exit
PAUL HERVIEU
Good-day, Albert.
Albert.
Henriette.
Jacques.
Thank
[Sits
goodness, we're rid of him
Tell
!
[Sympathetically.]
me
all
about
it.
Henriette.
to
down on
sofa, inviting
Jacques by a
to
gesture
do the same.
lie sits beside her.]
That man invented the most
abominable things about me;
Jacques.
criticised
me
my
me
face
He
did
It
Henriette.
about
it.
was so ridiculous
makes
sick to think
Jacques.
My
dear Henriette, don't think about
it.
Albert
must have behaved like a brute to make you so angry. Henriette. Yes, don't you t
hink so? You think I'm
right
?
Jacques.
[Loyally.]
Of course I do.
Henriette.
Jacques.
[At her ease once more.]
You encourage me,
Jacques.
When
is
I saw you were angry I said to myself at
right."
?
once: "Henriette
Henriette.
Jacques.
Really
it
I said
because I knew you were by nature peace-
loving and considerate
Henriette.
Jacques.
[With profound conviction.]
Well, I think that's
the least that could be said of me.
In any event, you are always tactful, you
al-
ways Henriette.
Jacques.
be wrong.
You know me, Jacques
!
I flatter myself.
I felt instinctively
you couldn't
You have always been
so admirably poised, so un-
failingly considerate.
Henriette.
ever lose
[With perfect simplicity.]
Frankly now, do I
are always
my
temper with you ?
[In good faith.]
Jacques.
Never.
With me you
patient, gracious,
modest
MODESTY
Hbnriette.
suffer
271
while ago, I
But
I
remember, a
little
made you
storm
Jacques.
Yes, I was unhappy.
But
"if after every
comes such a calm"
Henriette.
Jacques.
It
was
all
my
fault.
You understand me; you
are truly a friend.
Nothing more ?
hut standing
[Rising,
near her.
Henriette
hliishingly
looks
down
at her shoe.
Henriette.
Jacques.
Jacques.
Oh
sincerely.
Prove that you mean that
Henriette.
Henriette,
it.
What
hav^e I to
do ?
[Same business.
Place your future in ray hands; marry me. [With downcast
eyes.]
I
was just thinking about
[Same business, but with repressed joy.
Jacques.
[About
to
embrace
her.]
Ah
is still present,
Henriette.
Wait
[Complete metamorphosis.
Her joy
but
it
has taken on a playful, serio-comic aspect.
putting her
Rising and
hand in
his.
Jacques.
W^hy do you hesitate ?
Jacques, do you
Henriette.
long ago
?
remember what I
told
you not
Jacques.
Yes.
Henriette.
Jacques.
I
In spite of that, are you quite sure that I
am
not vain or coquettish ?
am
certain.
Henriette.
Jacques.
Jacques.
You
are also firmly resolved to be
my
moral
guide, critic, helper.?
[Stolid as ever.]
I
am.
Henriette.
I
make one
it.
condition.
Name
Henriette.
Jacques.
On your word
of
honor ?
Tell me.
On my word
of honor.
272
Henriette.
time you find
PAUL HERVIEU
Will 3^ou swear to
tell
me, without pity, every
me
at fault
?
Swear.
Jacques. Jacques.
I swear.
Henriette.
Then you have
my
promise.
[As they embrace.]
Dearest
CURTAIN
THE DEACON'S HAT
BY
JEANNETTE MARKS
The Deacon s Eat is reprinted by special arrangement with Miss JeanMarks and wit
h Little, Brown and Company, Boston, the publisher of Three Welsh Plays, from wh
ich this play is taken. All rights reserved. For permission to perform address t
he author in care of the pubUsher.
nette
JEANNETTE MARKS
Jeannette Marks, well-known essayist, poet, and playwright, in 1875 at Chattanoo
ga, Tennessee, but spent her early life in Philadelphia, where her father, the l
ate William Dennis Marks, was professor of dynamics in the University of Pennsyl
vania and president of the Edison Electric Light Company. She attended school in
Dresden, and in 1900 was graduated from Wellesley College. She obtained her mas
ter's degree from Wellesley 1903. Her graduate studies were continued at the Bod
leian Library and at the British Museum. Since 1901 she has been on the staff of
the English Department at Mount Holyoke College, South Hadley, Massachusetts. H
er chief courses are Nineteenth Century Poetry and Play-writing. Miss Marks's mt
erest in Welsh life is the result of her hiking several summers among the Welsh
hills and valleys. She became intimately acquainted with Welsh peasant life. It
is said that Edward Knobloch, well-known dramatist, on one of her homeward voyag
es from one of her summer outings W^ales, pointed out to Miss Marks the dramatic
possibilities of the material she had thus acquired. Three Welsh Plays was the
result. Two of these plays, without the author's knowledge, were entered in 1911
for the Welsh National Theatre prize contest. To her credit, the plays won the
prize. The complete volume appeared
was born
m
m
m
1917.
The Deacon's Hat
of Wales.
is
a
fine
study of the
life
of the
common
folk
CHARACTERS
Deacon Roberts,
a
stout, oldish
Welshman
Hugh
Williams, an
Gegin
earnest,
visionary young
man who owns
Y
Neli Williams, Mrs. Jones,
soap
the
his capable wife
Wash, a
stout,
kindly
woman who
latest
wishes to buy
Mrs. Jenkins,
the
Midwife,
after
pins for her
to
baby
Tom Morris,
to
the Sheep,
who comes
buy tobacco and remains
pray
THE DEACON'S HAT*
SCENE: A
:
little
shop called
Y
Gegin {The Kitchen), in Bala^
North Wales.
TIME Monday morning at half-past
To
the right is the counter of
eleven.
Y Gegin,
set out
with a bountiful sup-
ply of groceries; behind the counter are grocery -stocked shelves.
Upon
the counter is a good-sized enamel-ware bowl filled with
herring pickled in brine
and
leek, also
a basket of fresh eggs,
a half dozen loaves
a jar of pickles, some packages of
codfish,
of bread, a big round cheese, several pounds of butter
wrapped
in print paper,
etc., etc.
To At
the left are
a cheerful glowing fire and
ingle.
the back center is
a door; between the door and the fire stands a
grandfather's clock with a shining brass face.
clock
Between the
and
the door, back centre, is
a small tridarn [Welsh
dresser]
and a
chair.
From
the rafters
etc.
hang flitches of bacon,
either side of the firestreet.
it
hams, bunches of onions, herbs,
On
place are latticed windows, showing a glimpse of the Before the fire
tall,
is
a small, round, three-legged table; beside
a
straight-backed chair.
the table
Between
and
left is
a door which
is the
entrance to
Y Gegin
and from which, on a metal
elbow, dangles a large
bell.
At
rise of curtain
Hugh Williams
vest,
enters at back centre, absorbed in
reading a volume of Welsh theological essays.
in a brightly striped
He
is
dressed
a
short,
heavy cloth coat, cut away in
front and with lapels trimmed unth brass buttons, swallowtails
* Copyright, 1917,
by
Little,
Brown & Co.
277
All rights reserved.
278
JEANNETTE MARKS
behind, also trimmed with brass buttons, stock
his neck,
,
wound around
and
tight trousers
down
to his boot-tops.
Neli Williams, his wife, a comehj, capable young woman, busy
with her knitting every instant she talks,
costume, a scarlet cloak, and a
her
tall is
clad in her market
black Welsh beaver.
Over
arm
is
an immense
basket.
Neli.
[Commandingly.]
[Still
Hughie, put down that book
!
is
Hugh. his own
Neli.
going on reading.]
!
Haven't
I just said a
man
master, whatever
Hughie, ye're to mind the shop while I'm gone
[Patiently.]
Hugh.
Neli.
Yiss, yiss.
I don't think ye hear a
Yiss, I hear every
word
I
am
sayin' whatever.
Hugh.
Neli.
word
ye're sayin'.
What
is it,
then
?
Hugh.
whatever
Neli.
[Weakly.]
'Tis all
about
aboutthethe weather
Ye've not heard a word, an' ye're plannin' to read
[A
that book from cover to cover, I can see.
Hugh.
Neli.
little
too quickly.]
Nay,
I
have no plans
.
.
.
[He tucks book away in back coat pocket
over-hastily.
Hugh
[Weakly.]
Hugh.
Neli.
sellin'
Nay,
I have
no plans whatever
ie !
[Reproachfully.]
Hugh
if
'Twould be the end of
anythin' to anybody
that book
!
I leave ye with a
book whatever
Give
me
Hugh.
Neli.
[Obstinately.]
Nay,
!
I'll
no read the book.
I say a
Give
me
that book
little.]
Hugh.
ter
[Rising a
Nay.
man
is
his
cwn masIs
whatever
[Finding the book hidden in his coat-tail pocket.]
Neli.
Well,
I'll
he
?
no leave ye with any masterful temptations
Ye've no cause to take
this
to be
read in'.
Hugh.
book away from me.
THE DEACON'S HAT
Neli.
erts's
79
Deacon Robof
[Opens book and starts with
delight.]
'Tis
new book on "The Flamin' Wickedness
her interest.]
Babylon."
Where did ye get it ? Hugh. [Reassured by
morning.
He
it
lent
it
to
me
this
Neli.
[Resolutely.]
Well, I will take
!
away from ye
this
noon
till
I
am home
[Sulkily.]
again whatever
Sellin'
Hugh.
Neli.
groceries
is
not salvation.
so.
They
sold groceries in Babylon;
Deacon Roberts says
as
[Looking at book with ill-disguised eagerness.] I dunno anybody ever found salva
tion by givin' away all he had for 'Tis certain Deacon Roberts has not followed
that nothin'
!
way.
Hugh.
Neli.
indeed
[Still sulkily.]
A man
is
his
own
master, I say.
Is he
?
[Absent-mindedly, her nose in the book.]
Well,
Hugh.
Neli.
[Crossly.]
Aye, he
is.
[Pointedly.]
An' I was not
plannin' to give
away
the book whatever.
little
[Closing volume with a
hastily.]
sigh, as for stolen delights,
and speaking
groceries
An' I
am
not talkin' about acceptin*
all
books, but about butter an' eggs an' cheese an'
the other
Hugh.
NsLi.
Aje,
ye'll
get no blessin' from such worldliness.
[Absent-mindedly.]
Maybe
not, but ye will get a din-
ner from that unblessed worldliness an' find no fault, I'm
thinkin'.
[Her hand lingering on the book, which she opens.]
!
But
such wonderful theology
standin' of sin
!
An' such eloquence
of
ye, Neli, there's
!
Such an under!
Such glowin' pictures
!
Babylon
Hugh.
ish has
Aye, hot
I
tell
no man
in the par-
such a
gift of
eloquence as Deacon Roberts or such theye'll
ology.
In
all
Wales
not find stronger theology than
to
tell
his.
Neli.
in which
Ye have no need
to
me
?
that
!
[Looking for a place
hide the book until she returns.]
Have
I not
I not a deep
an' proper admiration for theology
Have
had one min-
280
ister an' five
JEANNETTE MARKS
deacons an' a revivalist
in
my family,
to say nothin'
at
all of
one composer of hymns ?
Yiss, yiss.
Hugh.
Neli.
Aye,
'tis
a celebrated family.
I
am
no
say in' any thin' against your family.
Then what ?
[Pleadingly.]
souls.
it
Hugh.
Deacon Roberts has great
fire
with
which to save
wickedness.
We're needin' that book on Babylon's
back to me, Neli
[Looks at husband.]
Give
Neli.
Oh, aye!
I'm not sayin' but
j^our kin.
it!
that ye are wicked, Hugh, an' needin' these essays, for ye have
no ministers and deacons and hymn composers among
Hugh.
smoke
talks.]
[Triumphantly.]
Aye,
aye,
till
that's
it!
That's
An' the more need have I to read
of
my
nostrils are full of the
of Babjdon.
[Absent-mindedly tucking book away on shelf as she
Neli.
Aye, but there has been some smoke about Deacon
Roberts's reputation which has
come from some
fire
less far
away than Babylon. Hugh. What smoke ?
Neli.
[Evasively.]
Well, I
am
thinkin' about
my eggs which
in that
vanished one week ago to-day.
There was no one
mornin*
for her
but Deacon Roberts.
soap an' gone before I
Mrs. Jones the
filled
Wash had come
that basket with eggs.
standing on tiptoe and craning
!
Hugh.
Neli.
ever ?
[Watching her
covertly,
his neck as she stows
[Slyly.]
away book.] Yiss, yiss Ask Deacon Roberts if cats
If cats steal eggs,
if
steal eggs
what-
Hugh.
Neli.
[Repeating.]
cats steal eggs.
Aye, not
if
eggs steal cats.
Yiss, yiss,
ye'Il
if
Hugh.
Neli.
'Tis
if
[Craning neck.]
eggs steal cats
it
!
Hugh
iel
Now
never get
correct again!
cats steal eggs.
[Sulkily.]
Hugh.
starin'
Well, I'm no carin' about cats with heaven
me
in the face.
THE DEACON'S HAT
[Neli turns about
szviftly
281
with the quick, sudden motions
characteristic of her,
and
at
Hugh
shrinks into himself.
She shakes her finger
Neli.
him and
goes over to kiss him.
Hughie, lad, ye're not to touch the book while I
am
gone to market.
Hugh.
Neli.
Nay, nay, certainly not
And
ye're to be
on the lookout
for
Mrs. Jones the
Wash,
an'
for
Mrs. Jenkins the Midwife
Jane Elin has a new baby,
Here
is
it'll
be needin' somethin'.
[Pointing to counter.]
everythin' plainly marked.
anythin'.
Ye're no to undersell or give
away
D'ye hear.
Aye, I hear
Hugh.
Neli.
An' remember where the tobacco
Morris the Sheep comes
in.
is,
for this
is
the
day
Tom
Hugh.
Neli.
Aye,
in the glass jar.
Good-by.
I will return soon.
Hugh.
[Indifferently.]
Good-by.
centre.
[Neli Neli.
readin'
leaves
by door at back
Immediaiely
Hugh
no
steals
toward the shelves where she hid the book.
[Thrusting
head back
in.]
Mind, Hughie
shelves
lad,
nay, not even any theology
[Stepping quickly
Hugh.
rotlike.]
away from
and repeating par-
Nay, nay, no
readin',
no sermons, not even any the-
ology
!
Neli.
An' no salvation
till
I
come back
and
is
[She smiles, withdraws head,
gone.
Hugh
starts
forward, collides clumsily with the counter in his eagerness, knocks the basket
of eggs with his elbow, upsetting
it.
Several eggs break.
He
shakes his head ruefully at
the counter.
the
mess and as ruefully at
it
He finds
book
and hugs
greedily to him.
Hugh.
[Mournfully.]
Look at
sellin'
this!
What
!
did I say but
that there was no salvation
see those eggs
!
groceries
If
Neli could but
[He goes behind counter and
gets out
a box of
282
eggs,
JEANNETTE MARKS
from which he
a
refills the basket.
The broken eggs he
leaves
untouched upon the
seats himself by
floor.
He
opens his volume of sermons and
little
three-legged table near the fire.
He
and
sighs in
happy
quietly.
anticipation.
Hearing a
slight noise, he looks suspiciously
at door, gets up, tiptoes across floor to street door,
locks
it
An
expression of triumph overspreads his face.]
will
Da,
if
customers come, they
I can read on
!
think no one
is
at
home whatever,
to
an'
[He seats himself at
its
little
three-legged table, opens
volume, smooths over
pages lovingly, and begins
read slowly
and
halting over syllables.]
The smoke
filled
of Ba-by-lon
was hot
scorchin' hot.
An' 'twas
with Ba-ba-ba-baal stones, slimy
an' scorchin' hot also
[There
is the
sound of feet coming up
the door-knob.
the
shop
steps, followed
by a hand trying
his sermons,
face.
up from an expression of innocent triumph on his
looks
is tried
Hugh
The door-knob
again, the door rattled.
[Then some one rings the shop door -bell.
Mrs. Jones the Wash.
ha ve ye any soap ?
[Calling.]
Mrs. Williams,
mum,
[No answer.
Calling.]
Mrs. Williams
Mrs. Williams!
[Hugh nods approvingly and lifts his volume to read. Mrs. Jones the Wash. Where
are they all whatever.^
will just look in at the
flattened against the
I
window.
[.4 large,
kindly face
is
anxiously
window.
At
that
Hugh
drops in consterna-
tion under the three-legged table.]
Uch, what's that shadow skipthe groceries.
pin'
under the table ?
No doubt a rat after
Williams
!
Mrs.
Williams,
mum, Mrs.
Well, indeed, they're out.
fist,
[She pounds once more on the door with a heavy
rings,
and then
Neli.
goes.
Suddenly
appears.
the door back centre opens,
and
Neli VfiLLiAMS
[She does not see
Hugh
?
and peers around for him.]
the table.
What
is all
that bell-ringing about
[Hugh crawls out from und^ Hugh. Hush, she's gone
THE DEACON'S HAT
Neli.
[Amazed, and tvhispering
[Rising and putting
to herself.]
83
table
!
Under the
to
Hugh.
keep
silent.]
up
his
hand as a sign for her
to
Nay, 'twas Mrs. Jones the Wash come
w^ell,
buy her
soap whatever
Neli.
HuGPi.
Aye,
why
didn't she
come
in
whatever
.?
[Whispering.]
I locked the door, Neli, so I could fin-
ish readin' those essays
whatever!
An' then she looked
in at
the window, an' I had to get under the table.
Neli.
an' after
liams,
[Indignantly.]
all
Locked the door against a customer,
!
I said
!
An' crawled under a table
Hugh
Wil-
your wits are goin' quite on the dov/nfall
[In a whisper.]
Hugh.
Neli.
Aye, but Neli, those essays
an'
I
thought ye had gone to market.
I had started, but I
came back
for
my
purse.
Put
down that book Hugh. Aye,
Neli.
earth
is
but, Neli
[Angrily.]
3,fuch less of heaven an'
what
I need in a
husband
tomer; very
where.
like
Mrs. Jones the
much more of Ye have sent away a cusWash after soap will go else!
Hugh.
Neli.
Aye, but Neli
.
.
.
[Steps are heard approaching.
Get up Some one is coming. [Hugh gets up very unwillingly. Hugh. [Whispering sti
ll.] Aye, but Neli Neli. [Angrily.] Put down that book, I say
!
.
.
.
!
[She crunches
over
some
eggshells.]
Eggs ?
Broken ?
Aye Neli,
Hugh.
Neli.
gether
eggs
[Putting
.
down
.
hook.]
my
elbow an* the
eggs in Babylon
.
[Sarcastically.]
Aye, I see beasts in Babylon here to-
doleful
creatures smearin' one an' sixpence worth of
floor.
all
over the
eggs.]
An' a half-dozen eggs gone
last
week.
[Wiping up
An' I'm to suppose Babylon had something
to do with that half-dozen eggs, too.?
They were put
in the
284
JEANNETTE MARKS
Wash had
left
basket after Mrs. Jones the
whatever, an' before
Deacon Roberts came. Hugh. Neh, I did not say
Neli.
[Still angrily.]
Well, indeed, unlock that door
Hugh.
Neli.
[Going to unlock door.]
But, Neli
.
.
.
Not a word Your mind has gone quite on the downfall lockin' doors against your o
wn bread and butter an' soap. Hugh. [Unlocking door sullenly.] But, Neli, salvat
ion an'
[Disappearing through door back
centre.]

soap
.
.
.
Neli.
[Snappily.]
Salvation an' soap are as thick as thieves.
Hugh.
Neli.
But, Neli, a
Yiss, I see he
man
is
!
is
his
own
master.
[Neli goes
out,
slamming door
noisily.
Hugh. Dear anwyl, she seems angry [Hugh opens street door left just as Neli
kitchen, by door back centre.
the door
goes out through
Hugh
has unlocked.
and goes
stout
over to counter in a
Deacon Roberts enters He looks at Hugh, smiles businesslike way. He is a
coat,
man, dressed in a black broadcloth cutaway
a drab
vest,
tight trousers,
high collar
and
stock, woollen
gloves,
tall
a muffler wound about his neck and face, and a
hat.
Welsh beaver
Under
counter,
his
arm
he carries a book.
Deacon Roberts.
gloves, putting
[Speaking affectionately, pulling off his
down book on
and beginning eagerly
to
touch the various groceries.]
lad.?
Essays on Bab^don to-day, Hughie
Hugh.
[Looking about for
Neli and speaking fretfidly
muffler.]
.]
Nay.
if
Deacon Roberts.
ye had been
[Unwinding his
I have.
Ye
look as
in spiritual struggle.
Hugh.
[Drearily.]
Deacon Roberts.
Well, indeed, Hughie,
'tis
neither the
angel nor the archfiend here now, nor for
me any
!
struggle except
well, I
the struggle to both live an' eat well
ho
ho an' eat
!
say
THE DEACON'S HAT
285

In Bala.
[Laughs
in
jovially.]
Ho
!
ho
!
not bad, Hughie lad

live
an eat
Bala
Hugh.
[Patiently.]
With that
[Umvinding
I
muffler around your head,
deacon, ye are enough to frighten the devil out of Babylon.
Deacon Roberts.
jdss,
last
lap of muffler.]
Yiss,
if
Hughie
lad.
But
dunno but
.ye will
understand better
I call mj'self, let us say the angel with the sickle
ho
!
ho
!
not
the angel of
fire,
Hughie, but the angel with the sharp sickle
[Sudden change
gatherin' the clusters of the vines of the earth.
of subject.]
Where
is
Neli ?
I
Hugh.
fine
[Vacantly.]
dunno
An'
lad,

yiss, yiss, at
market.
Deacon Roberts.
day
for
[Chuckling.]
!
Dear, dear, at market

marketing
my
essays on the Flamin' Wickedare
they.'^
ness of Babylon,
Hughie
yet.
how
Have ye
finished
them ? Hugh.
Nay, not
Deacon Roberts.
Pickles
yiss,
[Looking over counter, touching one article
it.]
Pickled herrin' grand but wet dear me, Neli'san' good Butter from Hafod-yPorth swe
et as honey [He picks up a pat of and
after another as he mentions
! !
butter
sniffs
it,
drawing in his breath loudly.
the butter.
He
smiles with delight
and lays
down
it
He
takes off his hat
and dusts
it
out inside.
He
puts his hat back on his head, smiles, chuckles, picks
thoughtfully with two fingers, smells
it
up butter, taps and puts down the pat
lingeringly.
He
ing from
it to
on
to codfish.]
Neli Williajms's bread, glancthe butter.] Bread Dear me [His eyes glance America
n codfish [picks up package and smacks
lifts
up a
loaf of
!
!
his lips loudly], dear anwyl, with potatoes
[reads]
"Gloucester."
[Reaches out and touches eggs affectionately.]
fresh,
Eggs
are
they
Hugh.?
I dunno.
Hugh. [Dreamily.] They might be
!
But
fresh
.?
I broke
some
of them.
[Looks at floor.
Deacon Roberts.
Hugh.
I dunno.
Were they
286
JEANNETTE MARKS
[Sharply.]
Deacon Roberts.
Hugh.
'em
[Troubled.]
Dunno ?
About
eggs ?
[Picks
Neli's hens laid them.
I see, Neli's hens laid 'em, an'
!
up
egg.
Deacon Roberts.
!
you broke
and turn-
Admirable arrangement
[Putting
down
the egg
ing toward the cheesey speaks on impatiently.]
Well, indeed then,
were the hens fresh ?
Hugh.
[More
cheerful.]
Yiss, I think.
Last week the bas-
ket was grand an'
full of fresh eggs,
but they disappeared, aye,
did they go to
they did indeed.
Deacon Roberts.
Hugh.
have
proves
[Injured.]
if
[Starts.]
Where
?
How
can I say ?
I was here, an' I would
told her
I
had
seen,
but I did not whatever.
Neli re-
me
for too great attention to visions an' too little to the
groceries.
Deacon Roberts.
married
life
!
[Chuckling.]
Aye, Hughie
lad,
such
is
Let a
I
man marry
his thoughts or a wife, for
he
cannot have both.
have chosen
my
thoughts.
Hugh.
without
But the
cat
[Briskly.]
Deacon Roberts.
risk.
Aye, a
man
can keep a cac
Hugh. Nay, nay, I mean the cat took 'em. I dunno. That's [Hugh clutches his head
, trying to recall something.] Uch, Neli told me to remember to ask ye if ye tho
ught that's it
it

!
eggs could steal a cat whatever.
Deacon Roberts.
Hugh.
[Troubled.]
[Puzzled.]
Eggs
steal
a cat ?
.?
Deacon Roberts. Hugh.] Cats ? What
Hugh.
about cats with heaven
Nay, nay, cats steal an egg and looking suspiciously [Startled
cats
?
at
[With solemnity.]
starin'
Aye, but I told Neli I'm no carin'
me
in the face.
Deacon Roberts,
Hughie
lad, the-
those essays are grand an' wonderful.
Deacon Roberts.
ology
is
[Relieved.]
Yiss, yiss
!
a means to salvation an' sometimes to other ends, too.
But
there's
no money
in theology.
[Sighs.]
And
a
man must
THE DEACON'S HAT
live
!
287
[Points to corroded dish of pickled herring, sniffing greedily.]
Dear people, what
beautiful herrin'
!
[Wipes moisture away from
dish, holding
it,
comers of his mouth and picks up a fish from Pickled? ping, by tail.]
drip-
Hugh.
[Looking at corroded dish.]
[Shortly.]
Tuppence.
to-day.
Deacon Roberts.
Hugh.
sentence
Dear
[Eyeing dish dreamily.]
I duniio.
Neli
Deacon Roberts.
and pointing
[Eyes glittering, cutting straight through
to cheese.]
Cheese ?
Hugh.
lifts
A
shillin',
I'm
thinkin'.
shillin',
Deacon Roberts.
knife
A
Hugh.?
[Deacon Roberts
The
leaf
it
and drops
it
lightly
on edge of
cheese.
pares
off he picks
up and
thrusts into his mouth, greedily
pushing hi the
crumbs.
Then he pauses and
said,
looks slyly at
Hugh.]
Was
it six-
pence ye
Hugh ?
Yiss,
Hugh.
[Gazing toward the fire and the volume of essays.]
sixpence, I think.
Deacon Roberts.
Hugh.
animation.]
[Sighing.]
[Sarcastically.]
Still
too dear,
Hugh
I dunno,
it
might be dear.
fell
[With m/yre
Deacon, when Babylon
Deacon Roberts.
speaks decisively.]
hat,
[Wipes his mouth and, interrupting Hugh,
cheese.
No
[He removes his
tall
Welsh beaver
to the shelves,
mops
off his bald white head, and, pointing
up
begins to dust oui inside of hatband again, but with a deliberate air
of preparation.]
What
to
is
that up there, Hughie lad
?
Hugh.
forefinger.]
[Trying
follow the direction of the big red wavering
Nay, nay, Come, come, brush the smoke of In a minute I must be goin* burnin' Bab
ylon from your eyes
[Giving his hat a final wipe.]
!
Ye mean Deacon Roberts.
that ?
ABC In-fants' Food, I think.
!
not for me, Hughie lad
back to
my
study, whatever.
An' I have need of food
[Hugh takes a chair and mounts it. The Deacon looks at Hugh's back, puts his han
d down on the counter, and picks up an egg from the basket. He holds it to the l
ight
and
squints through
it to
see whether
it is
fresh.
Then he
288
turns
it
JEANNETTE MARKS
lovingly over in his fat palm,
slides
it
makes a dexterous
backward motion and
into his coat-tail pocket.
This he follows with two more eggs for same coat-tail and
three for other

in all half a dozen.

to tin.]
Hugh.
egg.]
[Dreamily pointing
Is
it
Yankee corn ?
above
ox tongue ?
Deacon Roberts.
Nay, nay, not
[To Hugh's back, and slipping in second
that,
Hughie
lad, that tin
tin.]
Hugh.
[Absent-mindedly touching
Is
it
Deacon Roberts. Ox tongue, lad ? up.]
Hugh.
m-m-milk ?
milk,
[Slipping in third egg and not even looking
Nay, nothin' so
large as that.
[Dreamily reaching up higher.]
Yiss, that's
American condensed
egg.]
what
it is.
Deacon Roberts.
Hughie ?
[Slipping
in
fourth
Condensed
Back
to infants' food again.
Hugh.
[Stretching
up almost
to his full length
and holding down
?
tin with tips of long ivhite finger.]
Kippert herrin'
Is
it
that ?
little
Deacon Roberts.
further up,
if
[Slipping in fifth egg.]
Nay, nay, a
reading.]
you
please.
still
Hugh.
[Gasping, but
reaching
Is
it
up and
Uto
U-to-pi-an Tinned Sausage.
that ?
Deacon Roberts.
ity
[Slipping in sixth egg with an air of final-
and triumph, and
Ye've no
lifting his hat from the counter.]
Nay, nay,
not that, Hughie lad.
I want ?
Why
Did
do ye not begin by askin'
whatever.
I not ask ye
me what
gift for sellin' groceries
?
Hugh.
[Surprised.]
Deacon Roberts. Nay. Hugh. What would Neli
forgive me.
say whatever?
She would never
Deacon Roberts.
lad.
[Amiably.]
Well, I forgive ye,
Hughie
relishes
'Tis
a relish I'm needin'
[Relieved.]
Hugh.
on that
I must
tell
Well, indeed, a relish
[Reaches
!
We have
shelf above, I think.
up
but pauses helplessly.]
Neli that these shelves are not straight.
[Dizzy and clinging to the shelves y his back to the
Deacon.
THE DEACON'S HAT
Deacon Roberts.
print paper.]
Is
it
289
wrapped in
[Picking
up a pound
of butter
up there ?
fast whatever.
Hugh.
I
No, I think, an' the shelves are not
Neli.
must
tell
bottle ju^t
above
They go up hke wings. [Trying to him.] Was it Enghsh or American ?
[Putting the
reach to a
Deacon Roberts.
his hat on his head.]
pound
of butter in his hat
and
American, Hughie
is
lad.
[At that instant there
a noise from the inner kitchen^ and
the door.
cross.
Neli Williams opens
and
their glances meet
The Deacon
turns,
and
Each understands per-
fectly
what
the
other has
seen.
Neli Williams has
off her
thrown
hat.
off her red cloak
is
and taken
Welsh beaver
She
dressed in a short full skirt, white stockings,
tight bodice, fichu, short
clogs
on her feet, a striped apron,
sleeves,
and white cap on dark
hair.
Neli.
[Slowly.]
Uch!
The deacon has what he came
Nay, Neli arm flung
for
whatever
Hugh.
[Turning
to contradict his wife.]
off,

[Los-
ing his balance on chair, tumbles
.
and, with
out to
save himself, strikes dish of pickled herring.
fly
The herring and brine
the bowl
in every direction, spraying the
Deacon and Hughie;
floor.
spins madly, dipping and revolving on the
For a few seconds
nothing
is
audible except the bowl revolving on the flagstones
and
Hughie
Achoo
!
picking himself
up and
to
sneezing behind the counter.]
!
Achoo
!
Dear me, Neli
Achoo
Neli.
[Going quickly
husband and beginning
to
wipe brine
from husband's forehead and cheeks ; at the same time has her back to the Deacon
and forming soundless letters with her lips, she jerks her head toward the Deac
on.] B-U-T-T-E-R
!
Hugh.
hurt
[Drearily.]
Better.?
Aye, I'm better.
It did not
me
whatever.
Neli. [Jerking head backwards toward Deacon Roberts, and again forming letters w
ith lips.] B-U-T-T-E-R Hugh. What, water ? Nay, I don't want any water.
!
290
JEANNETTE MARKS
[Coughing,
ill
Deacon Roberts.
jriciously at howl that
at ease
and glancing sus~
has come
to rest
near his
leg.]
Ahem
on.
!
'Tis
cold here, Mrs. Williams,
mum,
an' I
must be movin'
Neli.
[Savagely to
Deacon.]
Stay where ye are whatever
to
Deacon Roberts.
hy a woman.]
'tis
[Unaccustomed
being spoken to this
way
Well, indeed,
go.
mum,
I could stay, but
I'm thinkin'
cold an'
I'd better
Neli.
[Again savagely.]
Nay, stay
!
Stay for
for what ye
Then she goes
came
for
whatever
at the
[Neli looks challengingly
behind his ears.
Deacon.
on wiping brine carefully from husband's hair and from
The
Deacon
coughs and pushes howl
away with
then,
the toe of his boot.
Deacon Roberts. mum.
Neli.
[To Hugh.]
[Sneezing.]
[Smiling.]
'Tis unnecessary to
remain
What
did he get
!
.?
Hugh.
N
n
Achoo nothin'
interest, looking at the floor.]
is
Deacon Roberts.
Well, indeed
[With sudden
Neli.
[Suspiciously.]
What
it?
[He reaches down with
difficulty to
a small thick puddle on
the floor just beneath his left coat-tail.
He aims
a red
forefinger at
it,
lifts
himself,
and sucks fingertip.
on
the counter he
Deacon Roberts.
'tis
[Smiling.]
!
Ahem, Mrs. Williams, mum,
the basket
excellent herrin' brine
[From
picks
up an
egg,
which he
tosses lightly
and
replaces in basket.]
A
beautiful fresh egg, Mrs. Williams,
mum.
I
must be
steppin'
homewards.
Hugh.
wringing
tellin'
it
[Struggling to speak just as
Neli
reaches his nose,
vigorously as she wipes
fell
!
it.]
Aye, but Neli, I was just
ye when I
!
that I could not find the deacon's relish
och, achoo
achoo
Deacon Roberts,
[With finality,
tossing
the
egg
in
air,
THE DEACON'S HAT
catching
it
291
and putting
it
back in basket.]
Well, indeed,
mum,
I
must be
steppin'
homewards now.
on
fire
[Nei.i's glance rests
burning on other side of room.
She puts down wet
cloth.
She turns squarely on the
Please to go to
Deacon.
Neli.
the
fire
What
an' wait
!
is
your haste, Mr. Roberts.^
I can find the relish.
[Hastily.]
Deacon Roberts.
need any more
Neli.
Nay, nay, mum.
I have
no

[Coughs.]
Excellent herrin' brine.
[Goes toward door.
[To Hugh.]
!
Take him
to the
fire,
Hugh.
'Tis a cold
day whatever
[Insinuatingly to
Deacon.]
Have ye a
reason
Mr. Roberts ? Deacon Roberts. [Going.] Nay, nay, mum, none at all But, I must no
t trouble ye. 'Tis too much to ask, an' I have
for wantin' to go,
no time
Neli.
Roberts,
to spare an'
and not without acerbity.] Indeed, Mr. what we can is our profit. [To Hugh, who
obediently takes Deacon by arm and pulls him toward fire.] Take him to the fire,
lad. [To Deacon.] What kmd of a relish was it, did ye say, Mr. Roberts ? Deacon
Roberts. [Having a tug of war with Hugh.] 'Tis an Indian relish, mum, but I can
not wait.
[Interrupting
sellin'
Hugh.
Telish,
[Pulling harder.]
American, ye
said.
Deacon Roberts.
that
is.
[Hastily.]
Yiss, yiss,
American Indian
Neli.
Tut,
'tis
our specialty, these American Indian relishes
Sit
We
ing.
have
several.
down by
the
fire
while I look
them up.
[Wickedly.]
As ye
said,
Mr. Roberts,
'tis
cold here this morn-
Deacon Roberts.
ye.
There, Hughie lad, I must not trouble
'Tis ten
[Looks at
clock.]
minutes before twelve, an'
my
dinner will be ready at twelve.
[Pulls harder.
Neli.
[To Hugh.]
Keep him hj
the
fire,
lad.
292
JEANNETTE MARKS
There, Hughie lad,
let
Deacon Roberts.
[But
me
go
Hugh
holds on,
and
the
Deacon's
coat begins to
come
off-
Neli.
I think
[Sarcastically.] will

The relish American Indian, ye make your dinner taste find and grand
!

said,
Deacon Roberts.
hind he
is
[Finding that without leaving his coat hehe glowers at
unable
to go,
Hugh and
speaks
siveethj to
Nell]
'Tis
a beautiful clock, Mrs. Williams,
mum.
But
I
haven't five minutes to spare.
Nell
hat.]
[Keeping a sharp lookout on the rim of the Deacon's
Well, indeed, I can find the relish in just one minute.
left.
An' ye'U have abundance of time
Deacon Roberts.
of indifference.]
'Tis
[Trapped, and gazing at clock ivithfine air
a clever, shinin' lookin' clock whatever,
Mrs. Williams,
Neli.
of the relish,
mum.
recollection of the
Have ye any
name
of the
maker
Mr. Roberts ? Deacon Roberts. [Putting
and one
his
hands behind him anxiously
and parting
his freighted coat-tails with care ; then, revolving, prelarge, well-set, bright
-colored
it,
senting his hack
fire.]
patch to the
Naj^ I have forgotten
Mrs. Williams,
it.
mum.
upon
is
Neli.
chair.
Too bad, but I'm
this
sure to find
[She mounts
enters
moment the shop Mrs. Jones the Wash,
At
Welsh
flannel,
door-bell rings violently,
and there
She
very fat
and
very jolly.
dressed in short skirt, very full, clogs on her feet, a bodice
striped
a shabby kerchief, a cap on her
turns her head a
if
made of head, and
over this a shawl.
Neli
little.]
Aye, Mrs. Jones
the Wash, in a minute,
you
please.
Sit
down
until I find
Deacon Roberts's relish whatever. Mrs. Jones the Wash. [Sits down on
centre
chair by door back
Yiss, yiss,
and folds her hands
I've
over her stomach.]
mum,
no
thank you.
one was
in.
come
for soap.
I
came once
before, but
Nell
Too bad Mrs. Jones the Wash.
An' I looked
in at the
window
an*
THE DEACON'S HAT
saw nothin' but a skippin' shadow looked like a any rats, Mrs. Williams, mum, do
ye think ?
Neli.
rat.
293
Have ye
Have
I
any
rats
?
Well, indeed,
'tis
that I'm wantin'
to know, Mrs. Jones the
Wash
Well, I
Mrs. Jones the Wash.
eatin' the
came back,
for the
water
is
soap to-day as
!
if
'twere sweets
aye,
'tis
a very meltin'
[Laughs.
day
for soap
Deacon Roberts.
Wash.
'Tis
sweet to be clean, Mrs. Jones the
Mrs. Jones the Wash.
Roberts, there has
an'
[Laughing.]
Yiss,
yiss.
Deacon
many
a chapel been built out of a washtub,
many a prayer risen up from the suds Deacon Roberts. [Solemnly.] Aye, Mrs.
holy work, washin'
is
Jones the Wash,
'tis
very holy work.
Mrs. Jones the Wash. [Touched.] Yiss, yiss, I thank ye. Deacon Roberts. Deacon R
oberts. Well, I must be steppin' homeward now. Neli. [Firmly.] Nay, Mr. Roberts,
I am searchin' on the Ye act as if shelf where I think that American Indian rel
ish is. ye had some cause to hurry, Mr. Roberts. Wait a moment, if
you
please.
Deacon Roberts. Well, Jones the Wash waitin'
[To Mrs. Jones.] Mrs. Jones the Wash. Nay, mum, no haste at all.
indeed, but I
am
?
keepin' Mrs.
Neli.
Ye
I
are in no haste
[Thoroughly comfortable and happy.]
am
havin' a rest, an'
'tis
grand
an'
warm
here whatever.
[Maliciously
to
Neli.
Deacon.]
Does
it feel
hot by the
fire ?
Deacon Roberts.
[Experiencing
novel
sensations
on
the
crown of his bald head.] Mrs. Williams, mum, 'tis hot in Y Gegin, but as with Ll
anycil Churchyard, Y Gegin is only the portal to
a hotter an' a bigger place where scorchin' flames burn forever
an' forever.
full."
Proverbs
saith,
"Hell an' destruction are never
What, then,
shall
be the fate of
women who have no
wis-
dom, Mrs. Williams,
mum ?
294
Neli.
JEANNETTE MARKS
[Searching for
relish.]
Aye, what?
Well, indeed, the
men must know.
Mrs. Jones the Wash. [Nodding her head appreciatively ot Such eloquence, Mr. Wil
liams Aye, who in chapel has such grand theology as Deacon Roberts
Hugh.]
!
[She sighs.
ris
The
hell
rings violently again,
THE Sheep
is
enters.
etc.
herd's cloak,
etc.,
and Tom MorHe is dressed in gaiters, a shej)He carries a crook in his hand.
half-foolish look.
He
Neli.
in an' sit
a grizzle-haired, rosy-faced old man, raw-boned,
strong,
and awkward, with a half-earnest,
Aye,
[Looking around.]
Tom
Morris the Sheep, come
relish for
down.
I
am
lookin' out
an American Indian
the deacon.
Tom Morris the
a
little
Sheep.
Yiss,
mum.
I
am wantin' to buy
hillsides
tobacco,
mum.
'Tis lonely
upon the
with the
sheep, whatever.
liams,
Deacon Roberts. [Hastily.] I must go now, Mrs. mum, an' ye can wait on Tom Morri
s. Tom Morris the Sheep. Nay, nay, Mr. Roberts, sir,
no
haste.
Wil-
there
is
Neli.
please.
[To
Tom Morris.]
Sit
down
there
by the door,
if
you
[Tom Morris
centre.
seats himself
on other side of door by back
Tom Morris the
lock to
JVirs.
Sheep.
Yiss,
mum.
[Touches his fore-
Mrs. Jones the Wash.]
A
grand day for the clothes,
Jones,
mum.
Yiss, yiss, an' as I
!
Mrs. Jones the Wash.
'tis
was
just sayin*
a meitin' day for the soap
[Significantly.]
!
Neli.
An' perhaps
'tis
a meitin' day for
somethin' besides soap
[She looks at
Deacon.
Hugh.
[Earnestly.]
Yiss, yiss, for souls, meitin' for souls, I
the book
am
hopin'.
[Picking
to
up
from
the
little
three-legged table,
and speaking
ground
the
Deacon.]
They
are enlargin' the burial
!
in Llanycil
Churchyard
achoo
achoo
!
THE DEACON'S HAT
Deacon Roberts.
They're only enlargin'
[Slyly
hell,
all.
295
fire.]
moving a step away from
lad, an' in that place
Hughie
[He
they
always make room for
casts
a stabbing look at Neli.
true,
for all
Mrs. Jones the Wash. [Nodding head.] True, [Chuckling.] But 'twould be a grand p
lace
!
room
to dry the
clothes in
Deacon Roberts.
paved with words
[Severely.]
Mrs.
Jones,
mum,
hell
is
of lightness.
Hugh. [Looking up from book, his face expressing delight.] Deacon Roberts, I hav
e searched for the place of hell, but one book sayeth one thing, an' another ano
ther. Where is hell ? Tom Morris the Sheep. Aye, where is hell ?
[The
bell
rings violently.
All start except Neli.
enters.
Mrs.
Jenkins the Midwife
white-haired,
She
is
an old woman,
and
iviih
a commanding, someivhat disagree-
able expression on her face.
She wears a cloak and black
stick.
Welsh beaver and walks with a
Neli.
Yiss, yiss,
Mrs. Jenkins the Midwife, I
Sit
am
just lookin'
out a relish for the Deacon.
down by
the
fire,
please.
of
Mrs. Jenkins the Midwife. Aye, mum, I've come fire.]
Neli.
Is it Jane Elin's baby ? Mrs. Jenkins the Midwife.
[Seating herself on other side
for pins;
I'm
in
no haste,
mum.
Aye, Jane
Elin's, an' 'tis
my
sixth
hundredth
birth.
Hugh. We're discussing the place of hell, Mrs. Jenkins, mum. Mrs. Jenkins the Mi
dwife. Well, indeed, I have seen the
place of hell six hundred times then.
[Coughs and nods her head
up and down
with us here.
over stick.]
Heaven
an' hell
I'm thinkin' we have
Tell us
Hugh.
place of
hell.
Nay, nay, how could that be ? Deacon Roberts.
[Nodding.]
where
is
the
[All listen with the most intense interest.
Deacon Roberts.
Aye,
the
place
of
hell
[stopping suddenly, a terrified look on his face, as the butter slides
296
JEANNETTE MARKS
it off,
against the forward rim of his hat, almost knocking
then going
on with neck rigid and head
that place
straight up] to
me

their
way
is
dark an' slippery;
is
known where is they go down into
is
the depths, an' their soul
melted because of trouble.
Neli.
[Pausing
sceptically.]
Aye,
'tis
my
idea of hell what-
ever with souls meltin',
Mr. Roberts
Tell us
Hugh.
querulous.]
quickly.]
[Tense with expectation.]
where
is
that place
!
Deacon Roberts.
Yiss, jdss.
[Neck
rigid,
head unmoved,
and
voice
[Putting his
believe that
it
hand up and
letting it
?
down
Ahem
!
Ye
rains in Bala
Hugh. [Eyes on Deacon, in childlike faith.] I do. Mrs. Jenkins the Midwife. Yiss
, yiss, before
every birth whatever
an' after
Mrs. Jones the Wash.
than I that
the
it
Yiss, yiss,
?
who would know
it
better
rains in Bala
Tom Morris the
hills
Sheep.
Aye, amen,
rains in
Bala upon
an' in the valleys.
Deacon Roberts.
Ye
believe that
it
can rain
in
Bala both
when the moon is full an' when 'tis new ? Hugh. [Earnestly.] I do. Mrs. Jones th
e Wash. [Wearily.] Yiss, any time. Tom Morris the Sheep. Aj^e, all the time. Mrs
. Jenkins the Midwife. Yiss, yiss, it rains ever
forever
an'
Neli.
[Forgetting the relish search.]
all
Well, indeed,
times.
to Neli.]
'tis
true
it
can rain in Bala at any time an' at
Deacon Roberts.
that Tomen-y-Bala
is
[Paying no attention
Ye
believe
Ararat ?
Hugh.
whisper.]
[Clutching his book more tightly
Yiss.
'tis true.
and speaking in a
Mrs. Jones the Wash. Aye, Mrs. Jenkins the Midwife.
Ararat.
Yiss,
the
Hill
of
Bala
is
Tom Morris the
it
Sheep.
Yiss, I
have driven the
slieep
over
whatever more than a hundred times.
THE DEACON'S HAT
Neli.
297
[Both hands on counter, leaning forwardy listening to
words.]
Deacon's
Aye, Charles-y-Bala said
so.
Deacon Roberts. [Still ignoring Neli and lowsring his coatYe believe, good peopl
e, that the Druids called tails carefully.] Noah "Tegid," an' that those who wer
e saved were cast up on
Tomen-y-Bala ?
Hugh.
IVIrs.
'tis
Amen,
I do
Jenkins the Midwife.
[Nodding her old head.]
Aye,
true.
Mrs. Jones the Wash. Tom Morris the Sheep.
Yiss, yiss.
Amen,
'tis so.
Deacon Roberts.
[Moving a few steps away from the
to heady
JtrCy
standing sidewise, and lifting hand
checking
it
in midair.]
An' ye know that Bala has been a
lake.?
lake, an'
Bala
will
become a
Hugh. Amen,
Neli.
I do
Yiss,
yiss
'tis
[Assenting for the first time.]
true
that
is.
Mrs. Jones the Wash.
Dear anwyl,
Deacon Roberts.
Hell
is
[With warning gesture toward window.]
all
out there
movin' beneath Bala Lake to meet
Baal stones.
ye
!
at their
will
comin'.
fall
[Raises his voice suddenly.]
Red-hot Baal stones
!
upon your heads
Howl ye
[Shouting loudly.]
Meltin' stones smellin' of the bullocks.
[Clasping his hands together desperately.]
Howl, ye sinners
Scorchin' hot
oHowl
jams
like
it
ye
!
howl
Oo
[The Deacon's hat sumysy and he
as if stirring
!
down more tightly on his head. Unclasping his hands and up the contents of a pud
ding-dish.] 'Round an' round this Howl, ye sinners, howl [All moan and sway to a
nd fro except Neli.
[Sceptically.]
Neli.
What
is
there to
fear.?*
Mrs. Jenkins the Midwife.
there not to fear ?
[Groaning.]
Nay, but what
is
Mrs. Jones the Wash. Aye, outermost darkness, Och! Tom Morris the Sheep. Have me
rcy
Och!
298
JEANNETTE MARKS
[Shouting again.]
off
Deacon Roberts.
your eyes
twinkling.]
!
Get ready and
!
Lift
up
[Welsh beaver almost falls
is set straight
in a
Beg
is
for
mercy before the stones
of darkness
burn
is
thee, an' there fixed
no water to cool thy tongue, an' a great gulf
between thee an' those who might help thee
[Spellbound by the
Yiss, yiss,
Neli.
ous
Deacon's
true,
'tis
eloquence
and now
!
oblivi-
to hat, etc.]
'tis
very true
[She steps
down from
chair
and places hands on
counter.
Deacon Roberts.
her.]
[His face convulsed, shouting directly at
hell fire ?
Sister, hast
thou two eyes to be cast into
Neli.
[Terrified
?
and swept along by
his eloquejice.]
Two
eyes
to be burned
[All lower their heads, groaning
and rocking
to
and fro.
Deacon Roberts.
with sudden violence.]
in
[The butter trickling doion his face, yelling
Hell
!
is
here an' now.
!
Here
in Bala, here
!
Y Gegin,
[All
here with us
together.
Howl ye
Howl, ye sinners
moan
Hugh. [Whispering.] Uch, here Mrs. Jenkins the Midwife. Yiss, Mrs. Jones the Was
h. Yiss. Tom Morris the Sheep. [Terrified.]
Neli.
[Whispering.]
here!
Aye.
!
Amen
!
Yiss
Here
in
Y
Gegin
Deacon Roberts.
vapors
!
[Clapping his hands
to his face.]
Stones
of Baal, stones of darkness, slimy with ooze, red-hot ooze, thick
Howl
ye, howl,
ye sinners
!
[All
moan and
groan.
Takes a glance at
neck
clock, passes
hand
over face
and runs on madly,
rigid, eyes staring, fat red cheeks
is
turning to purple.]
not midnight,
the hour of hell;
its
sun never sets
!
Midday, But who
knows when comes that hour of hell ? Neli. [Taking hands from counter and crossi
ng them as she whispers.] Who knows ? All. [Groaning.] Who knows ? Hugh. [Voice
quavering and lifting his Wehh essays.] Who knows ? Deacon Roberts. [Big yellow
drops pouring down his face.
THE DEACON'S HAT
his voice full of anguish.]
299
hell.
I will
Is
tell
ye when
is
the hour of
?
[He points
to the clock.]
one the hour of
hell
Nay.
Six.'
Two ?
Nay.
yet.
.'*
Nay.
Seven?
Eight ?
Three ?
but
'tis
No, not
not.
three.
Five.'*
Four ?
Four might be the hour
indeed.
of hell,
Nor
five,
Is seven the hour, the awful hour.? Is eight the
is
Nay, not
hour
[The
an hour bright as
Deacon
this bright
hour
Nay, eight
'points
not.
shouts in a mighty voice
'Tis comin'
!
and
with a red finger at the clock.]
'Tis comin', I
!
say
!
Howl
lift
!
ye,
howl
!
Only one minute more
!
Sinners, sin-
ners,
up your eyes
Cry
for
mercy
!
[All groan.]
'twill
!
Cry
for
mercy
hell
!
When
the clock strikes twelve,
!
be the hour of
!
Fix your eyes upon the clock
'Tis strikin'.
[All
ten
!
The
stroke
!
Watch Count The hour is here
!
Lis-
dropped on
their knees
and turned toward
the clock
their hacks to the street door, are awaiting the
awful stroke.
The hook has fallen from Hugh's hands.
are clenched.
Neli's hands
Mrs. Jenkins the Midwife is nodding her old head. Mrs. Jones the W^ash on her kn
ees, her face upturned to the clock, is rubbing up and down her thighs, as if at
the business of washing. Tom Morris THE Sheep is prostrate and making a strange
buzzing
sound between his
piece whir
lips.
The
ivheels of the clever old time-
and
turn.
:
Then in
the silent
noonday
the
harsh striking begins
One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six,
Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten, Eleven, Twelve.
Deacon Roberts.
voice.]
[Yelling suddenly in a loud
!
and
terrible
!
Hell
let
loose
Howl ye
rises
!
Howl, ye sinners
The
[All
cover their eyes.
the grate flutters,
All groan or moan.
clock ticks, the flame in
heavily.]
Neli's bosom
and falls
Lest worse
happen
to ye, sin
no more
!
[The
Deacon
looks at them all quietly.
blessing, smiles
Then he
lifts
his
hands in sign of
and vanishes
silently
terstill
through street door.
ror.
All remain stationary in their
Nothing happens.
But
at last
Neli fearfully,
lifts
spellbound by the
Dkacon's
eloquence,
her eyes to
300
JEANNETTE MARKS
the clock.
fire
Then cautiously she turns a
little
toward the
and
!
the place of
Deacon Roberts.
The Dea-
Neli.
con
is
Uch
[She stands on her feet and cries out.]
gone
[Raising his eyes.]
Hugh.
Neli.
he dead
Uch, what
is it ?
Babylon
Is
Babylon nothing
!
[She wrings her hands.
[Groaning.]
Mrs. Jenkins the Midwife.
?
he dead
?
Is
Neli.
[With sudden plunge toward the door.]
!
Uch, ye old
hypocrite, ye villain
an'
Uch,
my
butter an'
my
eggs,
my
butter
my
eggs
[Neli throws open the door and slams
pursues the
it to
after her as she
Deacon
out into the bright
midday sunshine.
Mrs. Jenkins the Midwife. Well, indeed, what is it.' Has she been taken ? Mrs. J
ones the Wash. [Getting up heavily.] Such movin' eloquence A saintly man is Deac
on Roberts Tom Morris the Sheep. Aye, a saintly man is Deacon
! !
Roberts
Hugh.
[Picking
up
his hook
and speaking
hell
slowly.]
Aye,
it
elo-
quence that knoweth the place of
eth Bala whatever
even better than
know-
a treat
Mrs. Jenkins the Midwife. [Very businesslike.] Aye, 'twas But where's my pins no
w ? a rare treat Mrs. Jones the Wash. [Very businesslike.] Yiss, yiss, 'twas a g
rand an' fine treat. But I'm wantin' my soap now. Tom Morris the Sheep. Have ye
any tobacco, Hughie

!
lad?
curtain
WHERE BUT
IN AMERICA
BY
OSCAR M. WOLFF
Where But In America is reprinted by special permission of the author and of the
Smart Set Magazine, in which this play was first printed. For permission to per
form address the author at Room 1211, 105 Monroe
Street, Chicago, Illinois.
OSCAR M. WOLFF
Oscar M. Wolff was born July 13, 1876. After graduation from Cornell University
he completed his law course in the UniIn addition to his interest in law, which
he versity of Chicago. has practised and taught, he has done considerable writin
g and editing. He has published a legal text-book, and his articles on legal sub
jects have appeared both in law journals and in magaDuring the war he was connec
ted with zines of general interest. the United States Food ^Administration at Wa
shington. At present he lives in Chicago, Illinois. In addition to some stories,
he has written several one-act plays: Where But in America^ The Claim for Exemp
tion, and The
Money -Lenders.
Where But in America is an excellent play of situation, as well as a delicate sa
tire on a certain aspect of American social life.
CAST
Mrs. Espenhatne
IVIr.
Espenhatne
Hilda
WHERE BUT
SCENE
:
IN AMERICA*
The Espenhayne dining-room.
rises
The curtain
ing
on
the
Espenhayne dining-room.
There
is
It is furnished
with modest taste and refinement.
to the living-room,
a door,
left,
centre, lead-
and a swinging
door,
leading to the
kitchen.
The
table is set,
and Robert and Mollie Espenhayne are
discov-
ered at their evening meal.
They are educated, well-bred young
a pleasing, energetic business
Americans.
of thirty ;
Robert Mollie an
is
man
The
attractive
woman
of twenty-five.
bouillon cups are before them as the curtain rises.
Bob.
Mollie, I heard from the
Kenilworth.
He wants
and
it
to
sell
the house.
man who owns that house He won't rent.
That house was too
in the
in
Mollie.
from the
I really don't care. Bob.
far
station,
had only one sleeping-porch, and you
bedrooms.
But,
know
I
want white-enamelled woodwork
Bob, I've been terribly stupid
Bob.
How
so,
Mollie ?
the Russells
Mollie.
Park
built.
You remember
moved
to Highland
last spring ?
Bob.
Yes;
Ed
Russell rented a house that had just been
Mollie.
sell
A
perfectly darling little house
!
And Fanny Rusput up a house
she says that
once told
me
that the
will
man who
M.
305
built
it will
for
any one who
*
take a five-year lease.
Wolff.
And
Copyright, 1917, by Oscar
All rights reserved.
303
the
OSCAR
man
is
M.
WOLFF
very competent and they are simply delighted with
their place.
Bob.
Why
don't
we
it
get in touch with the
man ?
It
MoLLiE.
Wasn't
stupid of
this
me
not to think about it?
just flashed into
my mind
morning, and I sat down at once
and sent a special-delivery
to
tell
me
Bob.
or
letter to Fanny Russell. I asked her name at once, and where we can find him. Yo
u ought to have an answer by to-morrow Good
his
!
Thursday and
MoLLiE.
we'll
go up north and have a talk with him on
Saturday.
Wouldn't it be wonderful if Fanny Russell says every detail what we want Even th
e garage; they use it of theu- house is perfect. Bob. [Interrupting.] Mollie, th
at's the one thing I'm afraid I've said repeatedly that I of about the North Sho
re plan. don't want to buy a car for another year or tv/o. But here you
[With enthusiasm.]
!
he'd build just
are, talking
about a garage already.
what I was saying. playroom for the If we had a garage we could do the same thin
g. children. Bob. Well, let's keep temptation behind us and not even If we move
up north it must talk to the man about a garage.
Mollie.
didn't let
finish
But you
me
The
Russells have fitted
up
their garage as a
be on an economy basis for a few years; just a half-way step be-
tween the apartment and the house we used to plan.
mustn't get your heart set on a
car.
You
Mollie.
I haven't even thought of one, dear.
[Bob and
Mollie
at the
have
now
both finished the bouillon course
to
and lay down
their spoons.
Reaching out her hand
touch the table button,
and
same
time leaning across the table
and speaking
!
very im-
pressively.]
Bob, I'm about to ring for Hilda
of
it ?
Bob.
What
well,
and with a touch of impatience.] You what of it. I don't want Hilda to hear us s
ay one word about moving away from the South Side
Mollie.
[Decidedly
know very
WHERE BUT
Bob.
[Proiesting.]
IN
AMERICA
307
But Mollie
and holding her finger
Shs
is
MoLLiE.
[Interrupting hurriedly
to her
lips in warning.]
Psst
[The next instant
Hilda
enters, left.
a
tall,
blonde
is
Swedish
pretty
girl,
about twenty-five years old.
herself well
She
very
and
carries
and
looks particularly
charming in a maid's
dress, with white collars
and
cuffs
and a dainty
is
waitress's apron.
Every detail of her dress
immacidate.
Mollie.
[Speaking the instant that
very rapidly all the time that
she speaks IMollie watches
pretends to be addressing.] partner.
It
Hilda appears and talking Hilda remains in the room. While Hilda rather than Rob
ert, whom she In the last game Gert Jones was my
I'll
was frame apiece and I dealt and I bid one no trump.
I had a very
weak no trump.
admit
that,
but I didn't want
them
to win the rubber.
Mrs. Stone bid two spades and Gert Mrs. Stone played two spades, doubled,
Jones doubled her.
Mrs. Green passed and I simply couldn't
go to three of anything.
and she them the rubber.
no trump.
[As
made them.
Of
course, that put
them out and gave
foolish double of
I think that
it
was a very
Gert Jones, and then she said
was
my
fault,
because I bid one
Mollie
begins her flow of words
Bob first
looks at her
in open-mouthed astonishment.
Then as he gradually
her closely in
comprehends that Mollie
he too turns his eyes to
her
is
merely talking against time
Hilda and watches
table.
movements around the
Meamchile PIilda
to
moves quietly and quickly and pays no attention
thing except the work she has in hand.
any-
She
carries
a
small serving-tray, and, as
takes the bouillon cups
Mollie
speaks,
Hilda
first
carving-knife
before
exits
from the table, then brings the and fork from the sideboard and places them
then, with the
Robert, and
empty bouillon cups,
left.
Bob and Mollie
are both watching
Hilda as
308
OSCAR
she goes out.
her,
M.
WOLFF
the door swings shut behind
The instant
MoLLiE
relaxes with a sigh,
and Robert leans across
the table to speak.
Bob.
Mollie,
why
not be sensible about this thing
if
talk with Hilda
and
find out
she will
Mollie.
cious.
That's just like a
man
!
Have a move north with us. Then we might not find
!
a house to please us and Hilda would be
dissatisfied
and suspi-
She might even
leave.
[Thoughtfully.]
Of course, I
must speak to her before we sign a lease, because I really don't know what I'd d
o if Hilda refused to leave the South side. [More But there, we won't think abou
t the disagreeable cheerfully.]
things until everything
is
settled.
Bob.
Psst!
That's good American doctrine.
Mollie.
[Wamingly and again touching her
enters,
finger to her lips.]
[Hilda
left,
carrying the meat plates, with a heavy
napkin under them.
Mollie.
last
[Immediately resuming
her monologue.]
I think
rained
all
my last year's
times.
it;
hat
will
do very
nicely.
You know it
summer and
I really only wore the hat a half a dozen
I can
Perhaps not that often.
ribbons,
make a few changes on
it will
put on some new
nicely for another year.
you know, and You remember that
do very
hat, don't you,
dear ?
[Bob starts to answer, but Mollie rushes right on. Of course you do, you remembe
r you said it was so becoming. That's another reason why I want to wear it this
summer.
[Hilda, meanwhile, puts the plates on the table in front of
Bob, and goes
Bob.
out, left.
Mollie
at once stops speaking.
[Holding his Jmnds over the plates as over a fire and rub-
bing them together in genial warmth.]
Ah, the good hot plates
She never forgets them.
She
is
a gem, Mollie.
If
Mollie.
[In great self-satisfaction.]
you are
finally conlittle
vinced of that, after three years, I wish you would be a
bit
AVHERE BUT IN AMERICA
more
room.
careful
309
in the
what you say the next time Hilda comes
Bob.
[In open-mouthed astonishment]
What
we
are
MoLLiE.
Bob.
It's
Well, I don't
want Hilda
to think
making
plans behind her back.
[Reflectively.]
"A man's home is his castle."
who
first
[Pauses.]
very evident that the Englishman
said that didn't
keep any servants.
[Telephone
bell
rings off stage.
Answer that, Bob. Bob. Won't Hilda answer it MoLLiE. [Standing up quickly and sp
eaking impatiently.] Very well, I shall answer it myself. I can't ask Hilda to r
un to
MoLLiE.
.'^
the telephone while she
is
serving the meal.
All right
!
Bob.
[Sullenly, as he gets up.]
exits, centre.
left,
All right
at the
[Bob
As
to
he does so
Hilda appears
it,
door,
hurrying
answer the telephone.
will
MoLLiE.
Mr. Espenhayne
answer
Hilda.
[Hilda makes
draws
dishes
left,
the slightest possible
bow of acquiescence, withvegetable
and in a moment reappears with
She
is
and small
side dishes, which she puts before
Mrs.
re-
Espenhayne.
enters, centre.
arranging these when
Bob
Bob.
Hilda.
eet now.
Somebody
for you, Hilda.
[Surprised.]
For me.^
Oh!
But
I cannot answer
Please ask the party to call later.
excellent English, but with
[Hilda speaks
accent.
some Swedish
is the
The noticeable feature of her speech
pre-
cision
and
great care with which she enunciates every
syllable.
MoLLiE.
party you
Just take the
will call
number
yourself, Hilda,
and
tell
the
back after dinner.
Hilda.
Thank you. Messes Aispenhayne.
exits, centre.
[Hilda
Bob
stands watching Hilda, as she
310
OSCAR
leaves the room,
M.
WOLFF
looks at
and then turns and
Mollie
with
a bewildered expression.
Bob.
[Standing at his chair.]
But
I
thought Hilda couldn't
be running to the telephone while she serves the dinner ?
Mollie.
diflPerent,
But
see.
this call
is
for Hilda, herself.
That's quite
you
Bob.
[Sits
[Slowly
and
thoughtfully.]
Oh, yes
!
Of course; I see!
down
in his chair.]
That
is
I don't quite see
it is ?
Mollie.
[Bob
[Immediately leaning across the table and speaking
in a cautious whisper.]
Do
you know who
closes his lips very tightly
and nods yes in a
very
important manner.
Mollie.
Bob.
hiding,
[In the
same whisper and very
impatiently.]
Who.^
is
[Looking around the room as
if to see if
any one
in
and then putting
his
hand
to his
mouth and exaggerating
the whisper.]
The
Terrible Swede.
Mollie.
to
[In her ordinary tone
and
very
much
exasperated.]
Kobert, I've told you a hundred times that you shouldn't refer
tothe man
Bob.
in that
way.
And
If I
if
I've told
his
name.
knew
you a hundred times to ask Hilda his name I'd announce him with as much cereOh,
don't try to be funny
of
mony
as
he were the Swedish Ambassador.
[Disgusted.]
!
Mollie.
Bob.
him.
Suppose
some day Hilda hears you speak
him
in that
manner ?
of
You know
that's mild
compared
to
what you think
Suppose some day Hilda learns what you think of him ?
Mollie.
for the
course, I dread the time
him and you know it. Of when she marries him, but I wouldn't world have her thin
k that we speak disrespectfully of
I think very well of
her or her friends.
Bob.
"A
man's home
is
his castle."
is
[Mollie's only answer
a gesture of impaiience.
to
Mollie
and Bob
Both
sit
sit
back in their chairs
await Hilda's return.
with fingers interlaced, hands resting on the edge
WHERE BUT
A
long pause.
IN
AMERICA
Sll
oj the table in the attitude of school children at attention,
uneasily.
hastily
Mollie unclasps her hands and shifts Robert does the same. Mollie, seeing this,
His
rest-
resumes her former attitude of quiet waiting.
however, grows increasingly restless.
Robert,
lessness
makes Mollie nervous and she watches Robert,
is
and when he
glass.
not observing her she darts quick, anxious
glances at the door, centre.
Bob
drains and
refills
his
Mollie.
shifts or
[She has been watching
Robert and
every time he
moves she unconsciously does the same, and finally she
I don't understand this at
all
!
breaks out nervously.]
Isn't to-
day Tuesday ? Bob. What of it ? Mollie. He usually
see her on Saturdays.
calls
up on Wednesdays and comes
to
Bob.
And
takes her to the theatre on Thursdays and to
lie's
dances on Sundays.
{Another long pause
then Bob begins
still hot.
merely extending his
to
line of attack.
to
experiment
learn
whether the plates are
He
gijigerly touches the
It
edges of the upper plate in two or three places.
safe to handle.
seems
plates
He
a
takes hold of upper
and lower
boldly, muttering,
as he does so,
clatter
"Cold as
"
Drops
Shakes
is
the plates with
and a smothered
oath.
his fingers
and blows on them.
Meanwhile Mollie
sitting very rigid, regarding
Bob
with a fixed stare and
beating a vigorous tattoo on the tablecloth with her fingers.
Bob
and
catches her eye
refills
and cringes under her gaze.
He drains
the ceiling
his glass.
He
studies the walls
still
and
of the room, meanwhile
steals
nursing his fingers.
Bob
a sidelong glance
at
Mollie.
She
is still
it
staring
at him.
He
turns to his water goblet.
Picks
up and
holds
it to
the light.
He
rolls the
stem between his fingers,
Reciting slowly
squinting at the light through the water.
as he continues
to
gaze at the
light.
312
Bob.
night
OSCAR
Starlight!
M.
WOLFF
Will Hilda talk to
Starbright!
him
all
MoLLiE.
[In utter disgust]
Oh, stop that singing.
[Bob puts down
the glass.
his glass, thsn drinks the water
and
refills
lie then turns his attention to the silverware
and
cutlery before him.
He
it
examines
it criticalhj,
then
at-
lays a teaspoon carefully on the cloth before him,
and
tempts the trick of picking
up with
the first finger in the
howl and the thumb at the point of the handle.
After one
or two attempts the spoon shoots on the floor, far behind
him.
MoLLiE jumps
to
at the noise.
Bob
turns sloicly
and
back
looks at the spoon with
an injured
air, then
turns
MoLLiE
with a
silly,
vacuous smile.
He now lays
all the
remaining cutlery in a straight row before him.
Bob.
[Slowly counting the cutlery
and
silver,
back and forth.]
Eeny, meeny, miney, mo.
idea comes to him.
Catch a

[Stops suddenly as
an
Gazes thoughtfully at
then begins to count over again.]
MoLLiE/or a moment, Eeny, meeny, miney, mo;
holler, she
Hilda's talking to her beau.
If
we
may
go.
Eeny,
mee
MoLLiE.
Bob,
if
[Interrupting
all
and exasperated
to the verge of tears.]
!
you don't stop
[Puts her
!
that nonsense, I shall scream
[In
a
very tense tone.]
I believe
I'm going to have one of
to her forehead.]
my
it;
sick
headaches
feel it
!
hand
I
know
I can
coming on
Bob. [In a soothing tone.] Hunger, my dear, hunger When you have a good warm mea
l you'll feel better. MoLLiE. [In despair.] What do you suppose I ought to do ?
Bob. Go out in the kitchen and fry a couple of eggs. Hilda MoLLiE. Oh be serious
I'm at my wits' end
!
!
!
!
never did anything
like this before.
Bob.
a
living,
[Suddenly quite serious.]
What
does that fellow do for
anyhow ?
MoLLiE.
How
should I
know ?
WHERE BUT
Bob.
IN
?
AMERICA
me
313
Didn't you ever ask Hilda
Certainly not.
MoLLiE.
business;
Hilda doesn't ask
affairs.'
about your
why
should I pry into her
Bob.
States.
[Taking out his cigarette case and lighting a
cigarette.]
Mollie, I see you're strong for the Constitution of the United
Mollie.
Bob.
hand.]
[Suspiciously.]
What do you mean by
says:
that.?
The Constitution
all
"Whereas
it
is
a self-evident
truth that
men
are born equal"

!
[With a wave of the
Hilda and you, and the Terrible Swede and I and
[Interrupting.]
Mollie.
Bob, you're such a heathen I
That's
not in the Constitution.
That's in the Bible
is,
Bob. Well, wherever it what a personage Hilda is.
until this evening I never realized
Mollie.
what's right
You can make
!
fun of
me
all
you
please,
but I know
Your remarks don't
thoughtfully
influence
me
in the least
not
in the least
Bob.
[Murmurs
All I
and
feelingly.]
.'^
[Abruptly.]
Why don't they get married
know
is
How Do you know
true!
that
.^^
Mollie.
is
that they are waiting until his business
entirely successful, so that Hilda won't
have to work.
Bob.
Well, the Swedes are pretty careful of their money.
are Hilda has a neat
[Hesitating
little
The chances
Mollie.
worries
into the
nest-egg laid by.
and
doubtfully.]
That's one thing that
me
a
little.
I think Hilda puts
business.
money
tell
intointo
that this girl
find out
young man's
Bob.
gives her
[Indignantly.]
Do
he
you mean to
or
me
money
to that fellow
and you don't try to
a
thing about
him ?
Who
is
what he does ?
I suppose she
supports the loafer.
Mollie.
[With dignity.]
He's not a
loafer.
I've seen
him
I
and I've talked with him, and I know he's a gentleman. Bob. Mollie, I'm getting
tired of all that kind of drivel.
314
believe nowadaj's
OSCAR
women
M.
WOLFF
more thought to
give a good deal
pleasing their maids than they do to pleasing their husbands.
MoLLiE.
leave you
fully]
[Demurely.]
Well, you know, Bob, your maid can
much
easier than she's
your husband can
harder to replace.
[pauses thought-
and I'm sure
much
up.]
Bob.
on
[Very angry, looking at his watch, throwing his napkin
the table
and standing
fifteen
Mollie, our dinner has been inter-
rupted for
minutes while Hilda entertains her [with sarIf
casm] gentleman friend.
you won't stop
to
it,
I will.
[Steps toward the door, centre.
Mollie.
[Sternly,
pointing
Bob's
chair.]
Robert,
sit
down
[Bob pauses, momentarily, and
centre,
at the instant
Hilda
entersy
meeting Bob, face
to face.
Both are
startled.
Bob,
iable.
m
a surly mamier, icalks hack
to his place at the
Hii^b a follows, excited and eager.
Bob
sits
down
and Hilda stands for a moment
one
to the other
at the table, smiling from
and
evidently anxious to say something.
Bob and Mollie
at
are severe
and unfriendly.
They gaze
Hilda
coldly.
Sloivly PIilda's enthusiasm cools,
and
she becomes again the impassive servant.
Hilda.
Aixcuse me, Meeses Aispenhayne, I
in.
am
very sorry.
left.
I bring the dinner right
[Hilda exits
Bob.
It's all
nonsense.
[Touches the plates again, but this
time even more cautiously than before.
entirely safe to handle.]
This time he finds they are
These plates are stone cold now.
meat
platter.
[Hilda
enters, left, ivith
Places
it
before
Bob.
He
Mollie.
not answer.
serves the
meat and Mollie
starts to serve the vege-
tables.
Hilda hands Mollie
?
her meat plate.
Vegetables
[Bob
is chetving
on his meat and does
Mollie
softly,
looks at
him
inquiringly.
[Still
But
his eyes are
on his
plate.
Repeating.]
Vegetables }
breath.]
no answer from
Bob.
Very
under her
H'mm.
and then
dishes out
[Mollie helps
herself to vegetables
a
WHERE BUT
dish beside
IN
AMERICA
who
315
portion which she hands to Hilda,
in turn places the
Bob.
Wheii both are served Hilda stands
of the table.
for a
moment back
She clasps and unclasps
to her she slouiy
her hands in a nervous manner, seems about to speak, but
as
Bob and Mollie pay
reluctantly turns,
no attention
exits
left.
and
and
Mollie
takes one
or two bites of the meat
and then
gives
a quick glance at
Bob.
He
is
busy chewing at his meat, and
knife
Mollie
to the
quietly lays
vegetables.
down her
and fork and turns
Bob.
lieve
?
[Chewing desperately on his meat.]
Tenderloin, I be-
Mollie.
Bob.
[Sweetly.]
Yes, dear.
back.]
[Imitating
Mollie a moment
bites.]
H'mm
!
[He takes
one or two more hard
Mollie, I have an idea.
Mollie.
Bob.
I'm
relieved.
we
when you hear it. When name from Fanny Russell, we'll tell him that instead of a
garage, which we don't need, he can build a Then while Hilda special telephone
booth off the kitchen.
[Savagely.]
Yes, you will be
get that builder's
serves the dinner
[Bob
Hilda.
stops short, as
to the table.
Hilda
bursts in abruptly,
left,
and
comes
Aixcuse me, Meeses Aispenhayne, I
[Anxiously.]
[Explosively.]
am
so excited,
?
Mollie.
Hilda.
quist he say
Is
anything wrong, Hilda
Meeses Aispenhayne, Meester Leendknives
move to Highland Park. [Bob and Mollie simultaneously drop their forks and look
at Hilda in astonishment and
you want
to
and
wonder.
Mollie.
Bob.
Hilda.
What.?
Who?
[Repeats very rapidly.]
Meester Leendquist, he say
at
you look for house on North Shore Utterly overcome at Hilda's knowledge and Moll
ie.
[
a
loss
316
for
OSCAR
!
M.
WOLFF
Shore ?
words of denial.]
We move to the North
How ridic[Turns
to
ulous
Hilda, where did you get such an idea?
Robert.]
Robert, did you ever hear anything so laughable?
[She forces a strained laugh.]
looking at
Ha Ha Ha
!
!
!
[Robert has been
answer, gulps, swalafter waiting
Hilda
in
dumb
wonder.
At Mollie's question he
starts to
turns to her in startled surprise.
He
lows hard, and then coughs violently.
Very sharply,
a moment for
Bob
to
answer.]
Robert Espenhayne,
will
you
stop that coughing and answer
me
Egh
!
!
Bob.
[Between coughs, and drinking a glass of water.]
Egh
!
Excuse me
!
Something, eh
to
egh
!
stuck in
my
throat.
MoLLiE.
[Turning
Hilda.]
move
north, Hilda, but not
now
!
Some day we might want Oh, no, not now
to
Bob.
Hilda.
Who
told
you
that,
Hilda ?
Meester Leendquist.
[Puzzled.]
MoLLiE.
Hilda.
speak to
embarrassed.]
Who
is
Mr. Lindquist.?
[Surprised.]
Meester Leendquist

[Pauses, a
trifle
Meester Leendquist ees young
telephone.
man who
just
me on
He come
to see
me
every Saturday.
Bob.
Bob.]
Oh, Mr. Lindquist, thetheTer
[Interrupting frantically,
MoLLiE.
and waving her hands
at
Yes, yes, of course.
catches himself just in time
relief,
You know Mr. and Mollie settles

Lindquist
back
zvith
!
[Bob
a sigh of
did
then turns to
Hilda with a puzzled air.]
But where
Mr.
Lindquist get such an idea ?
tell heem so. [Now e?itirely beivildered.] What Mrs. Russell ? Hilda. Meeses Rus
sell your friend. Mollie. [More and more at sea.] Mrs. Edwin Russell, who comes
to see me every now and then ?
Hilda.
Mrs. Russell
Mollie.

Hilda.
Yes.
Mollie.
to the
and why should she
But how does Mrs. Russell know Mr. Lindquist tell Mr. Lindquist that we expected
to move
North Shore ?
WHERE BUT
Hilda.
IN
lie
AMERICA
317
Meester Leendquist,
build Meeses Russell's house.
That
he
ees hees business.
He
build houses on
North Shore and
at
sell
them and rent them. [Bob and Mollie look at each der and astonishment as the
their brains.
other
and
Hilda
in won-
situation slowly filters into
A
long pause.]
Bob.
every
quist, the 3"oung
You mean that Mr. Lindman who comes to see you every every now and then is the s
ame man who put up the Russell
[In awe
and astonishment.]

house ?
Hilda.
Yes, Meester Aispenhayne.
[Slowly.]
Bob.
lie]
And when Mrs. Espenhayne
[jerks his
[points to
Mol-
wrote to Mrs. Russell [jerks his thumb
to indicate the north],
Mrs. Russell told Mr. Lindquist
direction]
thumb in opposite
[Points to Hilda.
and Mr. Lindquist telephoned
Yes, Meester Aispenhayne.
to
you ?
[Nodding.
Hilda.
Bob.
at
[Very thoughtfully and slowly.]
H'mm
!
[Then slowly
jest
resuming his meal and speaking in mock seriousness, in subtle
Mollie, and imitating her
tone of a
moment
or two back.]
But
to the
of course,
you understand, Hilda, we don't want to move
!
North Shore now
Hilda.
Oh, no, not now
crestfallen.]
[Somewhat
[Reflectively.]
Yes, Meester Aispenhayne.
if
Bob.
houses,
But, of course,
Yes,
Mr. Lindquist builds
Yes, Meester
we might
look.
we might
look.
Hilda.
[In growing confidence
and enthusiasm.]
Aispenhayne, and he build such beautiful houses and so cheap.
He do
Hees father was carpenter and he so much heemself. work hees way through Uneever
sity of Mennesota and study architecture and then he go to Uneeversity of Eeleno
is and study
now he been in business for heemself And oh, Meeses Aispenhayne, you must see he
es own home You will love eet, eet ees so beautiful. A little house, far back fr
om the road. You can hardly see eet for the
landscape gardening and
sex years.
!
318
trees
OSCAR
M.
WOLFF
roses
around
and the shrubs, and een the summer the Eet is just like the picture book eet.
grow
all
MoLLiE.
or
[In the most perfunctory tone, utterly without interest
enthusiasm.]
to
How
charming
!
[Pauses
thoughtfully,
if
then
turns
Hilda, anxiously.]
Then
I suppose, Hilda,
we should
decide to
move up
to the
Hilda.
[Hesitatingly.]
North Shore you would go with us ? Yes, Meeses Aispenhayne. [Pauses.]
you thees spring Meester Leendquist
Meester Leendquist's business
to the
But
I theenk I
must
tell
and I aixpect
ees very good.
other.]
to get married.
[With a quick smile and a glance from one
I
You know,
am
partner with heem.
I put
all
my
money een Meester
Leendquist's business too.
at each other in complete resignation
[MoLLiE and Bob gaze
and surrender. Bob.
[Quite seriously after a long pause.]
will
Hilda, I don't
know
whether we
move north
or not, but the next time
to introduce
Mr. LindI'd like
like that.
quist comes here I
want you
me
to him.
to
know him.
Hilda.
You ought
to be very
proud of a
man
[Radiant with pleasure.]
Thank you, Meester
Ais-
penhayne.
MoLLiE. Yes, indeed, Hilda, Mr. Espenhayne has often said what a fine .young man
Mr. Lindquist seems to be. We want to meet him, and Mr. Espenhayne and I will t
alk about the house, and then we will speak to Mr. Lindquist. [Then weakly.] Of
course, we didn't expect to move north for a long time, but, of course, if you e
xpect to get married, and Mr. Lindquist builds
houses
[Her voice dies out.
Loiig pause.
Hilda.
quist.
Thank you, Meeses Aispenhayne,
at the table
I
tell
Mr. Leend-
[Hilda stands
a moment longer, then slowly turns
Bob and Mollie ivatch her left. and as she moves away from the table Bob turns t
o Mollis. At this moment Hilda stops, turns suddenly
and moves toward
door,
and
returns to the table.
WHERE BUT
Hilda.
IN
AMERICA
319
Oh, Meeses Aispenhayne, I forget one theeng
MoLLiE.
Hilda.
What now, Hilda ?
Meester Leendquist say eef you and Meester Aispento look at property
hayne want
on North Shore, I
shall let
heem
know and he meet you
at station weeth hees automobile.
CURTAIN
A DOLLAR
BY
DAVID PINSKI
A
B.
Dollar
is
reprinted
by
special permission of
W. Huebsch, New York
City, the publisher of
All Plays, from which this play is taken. mission to perform address the publish
er.
David Pinski and of David Pinski's Ten For perrights reserved.
DAVID PINSKI
David Pinski, perhaps the most notable dramatist of the Yiddish Theatre, was bor
n of Jewish parentage April 5, 1872, in Mohilev, on the Dnieper, White Russia. B
ecause his parents had rabbinical aspirations for him he was well educated in He
brew
studies (Bible
and Talmud) by
his fourteenth year,
when
he moved to Moscow, where he was further trained in classical and secular studie
s. In 1891 he planned to study medicine in Vienna, but soon returned to Warsaw,
where he began his literary work as a short-story writer. In 189G he took up the
study of philosophy and literature, and in 1899 wrote his first plays. In 1899
he came to New York City, where he is now editor of the Jewish daily. Die Zeit.
In 1911 he revisited Germany to see a production of his well-known comedy, The T
reas-
by Max Reinhart. Mr. Pinski is zealous in his interests in literature, drama, so
cialism, and Zionism. Drama is to him an interpretation of life, and a guide and
leader, as were the words of the old poets and prophets. "The dramatic techniqu
e," says he, "changes
ure,
One
with each plot, as each plot brings with it its own technique. thing, however, m
ust be common to all the different forms of the dramatic technique avoidance of
tediousness." Mr. Pinski has written a goodly number of plays, most of which are
on Yiddish themes. Forgotten Souls, The Stranger^ Sufferings, The Treasure, The
PJionograph, and A Dollar may be mentioned. Most of his plays have been produce
d many times; The Stranger played the third season in IMoscow. "I wrote A Dollar
," says he, "in the summer of 1913, when I was hard pressed financially. I relie
ved myself of my feelings by a hearty laugh at the almighty dollar and the race
for it. Just as I did many summers before, m 1906, when I entertained myself by
ridiculing the mad money joy in the bigger comedy.

The Treasure."
PERSONS
The Characters
are given in the order of their appearance.
The Comedian The Villain The Tragedian
Actor who
plays
"Old Man"
role
The Heroine The Ingenue
Actress who plays "Old
Woman"
role
The Stranger
A DOLLAR
A
cross-roads at the edge of a forest.
One road extends from
bordered with grass.
to
left
to right ; the other crosses the first diagonally,
disappearing
into the forest.
The roadside
is
On
the
right, at the crossing, stands
a sign-post,
which are nailed
two hoards, giving directions and distances.
The afternoon of a summer day. players enters from the left.
A
troupe of stranded strolling
They are ragged and weary.
valise in each hand, fol-
The Comedian walks first, holding a
ivrapped in bed-sheets.
lowed by the Villain carrying over his arms two huge bundles
Immediately behind these the Tragecarrying together a large, heavy
dian and
trunk.
the
"Old Man"
Comedian.
actors.]
[Stepping toward the sign-post, reading the direc-
tions on the boards,
and explaining
[pointing to right
is
to
the
approaching fellow-
That way
and
This
stvinging the valise to
indicate the direction]
is
thirty miles.
way
[pointing to
left]
forty-five
and
is
that
way
it
is
thirty-six.
Now
choose for
yourself the
town that
you'll never reach to-day.
The nearest
way
for us
back to where we came from, whence we were
escorted with the most splendid catcalls that ever crowned our
histrionic successes.
Villain.
[Exhausted.]
?
Who
will lend
me
a hand to wipe off
my
perspiration
It has a nasty
way
of streaming into
my
mouth.
Comedian.
tion water a
Stand on your head, then, and
fruitful soil.
let
your perspira-
more
Villain.
Oh
325
326
DAVID PINSKI
[He drops his arms,
the bundles fall
down.
He
then sinks
down
and
onto one of them
and wipes
off the perspiration,
moving his hand wearily over his face.
the
The Tragedian
"Old Man" approach
the post
and read
the
signs.
Tragedian.
hopeless
!
[In a deep, dramatic voice.]
It's hopeless
!
It's
[He
[Lets go his
lets
go his end of the trunk.
"Old Man."
stop.
end of
the trunk.]
Mm.
Another
a tragico-
[Tragedian
sits
himself
down on
the trunk in
heroic pose, knees wide apart, right elbow on right knee,
left
hand on
left leg,
head
slightly bent
toward the
right.
Comedian puts down the valises and rolls a cigarette. The "Old IVIan" also sits
down upon the trunk, head
sunk upon his
Villain.
breast.
!
Thirty miles to the nearest town
It's
Thirty miles
Comedian.
an outrage how far people move their towns
away from
Villain.
us.
We
won't strike a town until the day after toThat's luck for you
There's yet a
morrow.
Comedian.
Villain.
ing
!
Kurrah
!
!
day-after-to-moiTow for us.
And
the old
women
are
still
far behind us.
Crawl-
"Old Man."
Comedian.
with votes for
Villain.
It
They want
the vote and they can't even walk.
We won't give them votes, that's settled. Down
women
seems the devil himself can't take you
tired.
!
Neither
your tongue nor your feet ever get
Sit
You get on my nerves.
moment. I'm going back there to the lady of my heart. I'll meet her and fetch he
r hither in my arms. [He spits on his hands, turns up his sleeves, and strides r
apfor a
down and shut up
Comedian.
Me ? Haha
!
idly off toward the
left.
Villain.
Clown
A
DOLLAR
327
"Old Man.'* How can he laugh and play his pranks even now? We haven't a cent to
our souls, our supply of food is
running low and our shoes are dilapidated.
Tragedian.
[With an outburst.]
is
Stop
it
!
No
reckoning
The number
is
of our sins
great
and the
tale of
our misfortunes
even greater.
is left
Holy Father!
Our
flasks are
empty; I'd give
a
what
of our soles [displaying his ragged shoes] for just
smell of whiskey.
[From
the left is
heard the laughter of a woman.
Enter the
Comedian
carrying in his arms the
Heroine, who has
satchel in both
her hands around his neck
and holds a
hands behind his back.
Comedian.
down,
feet,
[Letting his burden
down upon
the grass.]
Sit
my
love,
and
the
rest up.
We
go no further to-day.
your tender
!
little feet
first
must ache you.
How
Your unhappy that
makes me
mobile.
At
opportunity I shall buy you an auto-
Heroine.
Comedian.
[Enter
in the meantime you may carry me oftener. The beast of burden hears and obeys. t
he Ingenue and the "Old Woman," each carrying
And
a small
satchel.
Ingenue.
Villain.
[Weary and pouting.]
Ah!
us.
No
one carried m^.
[She sits on the grass to the right of the
Heroine.
We have only one ass with [Comedian stretches himself out at
and emits
the bray of
the feet of the
a donkey.
Heroine "Old Woman" sits
down on
the grass to the left of the
Heroine.
"Old Woman." And "Old Man." No, we
Comedian.
over toward the
are
we
to pass the night here.?
shall stop at
like
"Hotel Neverwas.**
[Turning
Don't you
our night's lodgings.?
See, the
"Old Woman."]
in.
bed
is
broad and wide,
and
a
certainly without vermin.
Just feel the high grass.
Such
soft
bed you never slept
And you
stars,
shall
have a cover em-
broidered with the
moon and
a cover such as no royal
bride ever possessed.
328
DAVID PINSKI
You're laughing, and I
feel like crying.
"Old Woman."
Comedian.
spired
Crying.^
You
its
should be ashamed of the sun
which favors you with
!
setting splendor.
Look, and be
in-
V1LL.A.1N.
Yes, look and expire.
Comedian.
Look, and shout with ecstasy Look, and burst
starts sobbing.
"Old Man."
[Ingenue
Tragedian
Ingenue.]
laughs
hoavili/.
!
Comedian.
crying
?
[Turning over
to the
What
You
are
Aren't you ashamed of yourself ?
Ingenue.
I'm sad.
[Sniffling.]
it
!
"Old Woman."
Heroine.
Stop
I can't stand
it
any
longer.
Or
I'll
start bawling, too.
[Comedian springs
to his
knees a7id looks quickly from one
woman
Villain.
to the other.
!
Haha
Cheer them up, clown
!
Comedian.
voice.]
[Jumps up abruptly without
it
!
the aid of his hands.]
Ladies and gentlemen, I have
[In a measured
it
and singing
Ladies and gentlemen, I have
Heroine.
What have you ?
Cheerfulness.
Comedian.
Villain.
Go bury
[As
yourself, clown.
Tragedian.
before.]
Ho-ho-ho
the louder.
"Old Man." P-o-o-h! [The women weep all
Comedian.
to the
I
have
a bottle of whiskey
The women stop crying and look up
in amazement; the
[General commotion.
Comedian
Tragedian
straight-
ens himself out and
casts a surprised look at the
Cometo his
dian; the
feet
;
"Old Man,"
rubbing his hands, jumps
at the
the
Villain looks suspiciously
bottle of whiskey
.'*
Comedian.
Tragedian.
A
"Old Man."
Villain.
He-he-he
Humwhiskey.
A bottle
of whiskey.
A
ConTEDiAN.
served for such
ion
DOLLAR
A
bottle of whiskey, hidden
829
and pre-
You
bet
!
moments
tears.
as this, a
moment
of masculine depres-
and feminine
[Taking the flask from his hip pocket.
the faces of all changes
The expression on
disappointment.
it
from hope
to
Villain.
You
call
that a bottle.
I call
a
flask.
Tragedian.
[Explosively.]
A
thimble
"Old Man." A dropper! "Old Woman." For seven
Comedian.
whiskey,
of us
!
Oh!
But
it's
it.]
[Letting the flash sparkle in the sun.]
my
!
children.
[Opening the flask
and smelling
U-u-u-m
That's whiskey for you.
it
The saloonkeeper from
from sheer despair.
rising as if un-
whom
I
hooked
will
become a
still
teetotaler
[Tragedian
the flask. willing.
rising heavily
and slowly proceeding toward
skeptical
Villain
and
The "Old ]Man" chuckling and rubbing his
The "Old
hands.
Woman"
getting
up
indifferently
and moving
ballet steps
apathetically toward the flask.
the
The Hero-
ine and Ingenue hold each other by
in waltz time.
hand and take
All approach the
Comedian
with necks eagerly stretched out and smell the flask, which
Tragedian.
Villain.
Comedian holds firmly in both hands. Ho-ho-ho Fine "Old Man." He-he Small quanti
ty, but excellent
the

quality
\
Seems to be good whiskey.
[Dancing and singing.
is
Heroine.
dian.
My
comedian,
my
come-
Kis head
in the right place.
But why
didn't
you nab
a larger bottle ^
Comedian.
My
beloved one, I had to take in consideration
size of
both the quality of the whiskey and the
my pocket.
to go round.
"Old Woman."
Ingenue.
If
only there's enough of
it
Oh, I'm feeling sad again.
Comedian.
p.
Cheer up, there
it
will
be enough for us
all.
Cheer
Here, smell
again.
330
DAVID PINSKI
{They smell again and cheerfulness reappears.
They join
hands and dance and sing, forming a
circle, the
Come-
dian applauding.
Comedian.
of
it,
Good
!
If
you are so cheered
a drink.
after a
mere smell
what won't you
feel like after
Wait, 111 join you.
I'll
[He hides the whiskey flash in his pocket.]
roundel which
let,
show you a new
we
will
perform
in
our next presentation of
Hamnow
Vil-
to the great edification of our esteemed audience.
[Kicking
clear,
the
Villain's bundles out of
the icay.]
The
place
circle,
is
for
dance and play.
Join hands and form a
it.
but you.
lain,
stay on the outside of
let
!
You
in,
are to try to get in and
we
dance and are not to
you
without getting out of step.
Understand ?
{The
Now
then
circle is
formed in
the following order
Comedlan,
Heroine, Tragediajn, "Old Woman," "Old Man,'*
Ingenue.
Comedian.
[Singing.]
To be
or not to be, that
is
is
the question.
is
That
the question, that
enter
in,
the question.
He who would
If
Climb he must over
over he cannot.
us.
He must
get under us.
REFRAIN
Tra-la-la, tra-la-la.
Over
us,
under
us.
Tra-la-la, tra-la-la.
Under
us,
over us.
Now we
[The
are jolly, jolly are we.
Comedian
it
sings the refrain alone ai first
and
the others
repeat
together with him.
A
Comedian.
DOLLAR
is
331
To be
In
life
or not to be, that
is
the question.
is
That
the question, that
the question.
to
win
success.
Elbow your way through.
Jostle the next one.
Else you will be jostled.
REFRAIN
[Same as
[On
the last
before.]
word of
the refrain they stop as if
dumbfounded,
and stand
transfixed^ with eyes directed
on one spot inside
of the ring.
The Villain
the
lea7is
over the
Comedian and
closer
till
Heroine; gradually
the circle
arms of the draws
to free
their
heads almost touch.
They attempt
their
hands but each holds on
to the other
and
all
seven
whisper in great astonishment.
All.
a
[The
dollar
circle
opens up again, they look each at the other and
shout in wonder.
All.
a
dollar
[Once more they close in and the struggle to free their hands
grows wilder ; the Villain
tries to
climb over and then
stretches out his
is
under
the
hands into
the circle
and
hand
toward the dollar, but instinctively he
couple he tries to pass between, even but only
felt.
stopped by the
is
when he
not seen
Again
all
lean their heads over the dollar,
it,
quite lost in the contemplation of
and whispering,
enraptured.
All.
a
dollar
[Separating once again they look at each other with exultation
and
at the
same time
ecstasy.
try to free their hands, once
more exclaiming in All.
a
dollar
332
DAVID PINSKI
[Then the struggle
to get free
grows wilder and wilder.
Hit
hy
hand
the
that is perchance freed is quickly grasped again
it.
one who held
[In pain.]
Ingenue.
break them.
Oh,
my
!
hands,
my my
it.
hands
!
You'll
Let go of
If
my
hands
"Old Woman."
you don't
let
go of
hands
I'll bite.
[Attempting to bite the hands of the
TaAGEDLVN and
the
"Old Man,"
while they try to prevent
"Old ]Man." [Trying to free his hands from the Heroine and the "Old Woman."] Let
go of me.
both his hands.]
hold of the
[Pulling at
frail,
These women's hands that
seem so
go
just
look at them now.
Heroine.
[To Comedian.]
I think
it's
But you
let
my
If
hands.
Comedian.
Heroine.
you who are holding
mine, you know.
fast to mine.
^ATiy should I be holding you.^
is
you pick up
up.
the dollar, what
yours
let
is
Comedian.
Heroine.
Then
No,
go of
my
I'd rather pick
it
hand and I'll pick up myself.
it
Comedian.
Heroine.
I expected something like that
[Angrily.]
from you.
all.
Let go of
my
hands, that's
Comedian.
jommand.]
Ha-ha-ha
quiet.

It's
a huge joke.
still.]
[In a tone of
Be
[They become
We
plate the dollar with religious reverence.
quiet, I say
!
[Commotion.]
must contemKeep
real dollar in
A
dollar
is
spread out before us.
A
the midst of our
circle,
and everything within us draws us
toward
fore
it,
draws us on
irresistibly.
Be
quiet
are before the Ruler, before the Almighty.
Remember you On your knees be!
him and pray. On your knees. [Sinks down on his knees and drags with him
and Ingenue.
dragging the
the
Heroine
and
"Old Man" dropping on "Old Woman" with him.
his knees
"Old Man."
Tragedl^n.
He-he-he! Ho-ho-ho, clown
Comedian.
[To Tragedian.]
You
are not worthy of the
A
serious
esty.
DOLLAR
don't appreciate true Divine
333
Maj-
mask you wear.
You
On
your knees, or you'll get no whiskey.
[Tragedian
sinks heavily on his knees.]
O
holy dollar,
O
almighty ruler of
the universe, before thee
we
kneel in the dust and send toward
thee our most tearful and heartfelt prayers.
Our hands
are
bound, but our hearts strive toward thee and our souls yearn
for thee.
O
great king of kings, thou
who
bringest together
those
who thou who
are separated,
and separatest those who are near,
[The Villain, who is standing aside, takes a full jump,
clears the
Ingenue and
grasps the dollar.
All
let
go of
one another and fall upon him, shouting, screaming, pushing,
and
fighting.
Finally the Villain manages
fist.
to
free
himself, holding the dollar in his right
The others
follow
him with clenched fists,
glaring eyes,
and foaming Return the
mouths, wildly shouting.
All.
dollar
The
dollar!
The
dollar!
The
dollar!
Villain.
mine.
It
[Retreating.]
You
can't take
it
away from me;
!
it's
was lying under
my
!
bundle.
All.
Give up the dollar
[Tn great rage.]
Give up the dollar
Villain.
No, no.
[A moment during which
Quietly but with
the opposing sides look at each other in hatred.
malice.]
Moreover,
whom
should I give
it
to
?
To you
you you Comedian.

you
is
Ha-ha-ha-ha
it is his.
!
He
is
right,
the dollar
his.
He
has
it,
therefore
Ha-ha-ha-ha, and I wanted to
it
crawl on
teeth.
my
knees toward the dollar and pick
of
up with
my
Ha-ha-ha-ha, but he got ahead
[Whispering in
rage.]
me. Ha-ha-ha-ha.
Heroine.
not
let
That's because you would
go of me.
Comedian.
Tragedian.
Ha-ha-ha-ha
[Shaking his
fist
in the face of the Villain.]
Heaven and
hell,
I feel like crushing you
334
DAVID PINSKI
[He steps aside toward
pose.
the trunk
Ingenue,
lying
Comedian.
ckink
is
Ha-ha-ha!
is
and sits down in his former down on the grass, starts to cry. Now we will drink,
and the first
the Villain's.
accepted in gloom; the
the
[His proposition
ever,
Ingenue, howand
the
stops
crying;
"Old
IVIan"
"Old
Woman"
to snatch
it
have been standing by the Villain looking at
the dollar in his
hand as
from him.
latter, left
if waiting for the proper moment Finally the " Old Woman " makes
a contemptuous gesture and both turn aside from
lain.
the
Vil-
The
in peace, smooths out the dollar,
with a serious expression on his face.
The Comedian
hands him a small glass of whiskey.
Comedian.
Drink, lucky one.
fist,
[The Villain, shutting the dollar in his
takes the
re-
whiskey glass gravely and quickly drinks the contents,
turning the glass.
the dollar again.
He
then starts to smooth
still
and
caress
The Comedian, The whiskey
laughing, passes
the
whiskey glass from one
sullenly.
to the other of the
company,
who drink
Heroine,
fails to cheer them.
After drinking, the
Ingenue
begins to sob again.
The
icho is served last, throws the
empty whiskey
glass toward the
Comedian.
Comedian.
the bottle.
Good
shot.
Now
I'll
drink up
all
that's left in
[He puts
tries to
the flask to his lips
knock
it
and drinks. away from him, but he
to
The Heroine
skilfully evades
her.
The Villain continues
smooth and caress the
dollar.
Villain.
Ha-ha-ha
!
.
.
.
[Singing and dancing.
He who would enter in. Jump he must over us.
Ho-ho-ho!
World!
.
.
.
O Holy Dollar! O Almighty O King of Kings! Ha-ha-ha!
Ruler of
. .
the
.
Don't you
A
all
DOLLAR
it
335
not that I partake
think
if
I
have the dollar and you have
a bit of
majesty.
its
majesty?
That means that
I
am now
a part of
its
That means that I am the Almighty Dollar's plenipoOn tentiary, and therefore I a
m the Almighty Ruler himself. He-he-he your knees before me Comedian. [After thr
owing away the empty flask, lies down on Well roared, lion, but you forgot to hi
de your jackthe grass.]
! . .
.
!
.
,
.
ass's ears.
Villain.
It
is
one's consciousness of power.
He-he-he.
I
know and you know that if I have the money I have the say. Remember, none of you
has a cent to his name. The whiskey is
gone.
[Picking
I did
Comedian.
Villain.
my
job well.
Yes, to the last
up the flask and examining it. Drank it to the last drop. drop. This evening you
shall have
too, for
bread and sausage.
another day.
Very small portions,
shall
to-morrow
is
[Ingenue sobbing more
frequently.]
Not
till
the
day
he.
after
to-morrow
we reach town, and that
doesn't
mean
that you get anything to eat there, either, but I
IIhe-heHe who
Ha-ha-ha
does
O Holy Dollar, Almighty Dollar! my bidding shall not be without food.
[With wide-open
gets
eyes.]
[Gravely.]
Comedian.
bosom.
What ?
herself
[Ingenue
Ingenue.
Villain.
up and throws
on
the
Villain's
Oh,
Ha-ha,
my dear beloved one. my power already makes
Ingenue
away.]
itself felt.
Heroine.
[Pushing the
Let go of him, you.
he shall have
it.
He
sought
my love for a long time and now
What ?
You
[To Comedian.]
Comedian.
Heroine.
Villain.]
I
I hate you,
traitor.
[To the
have always loved
I adore you.

genius.
You
are
now
into
the
wisest of the wise.
Villain.
other arm.
[Holding
Ingenue
in one arm.]
Come
my
[Heroine, throwing
bracing him.
herself into his arms, kissing
and em-
8S6
Comedian.
DAVID PINSKI
[Half rising
the grass.]
on his
knees.]
Stop,
I
protest.
[Throwing himself on
"O frailty, thy name is woman."
/ro/n.
"Old Woman."
embracing him.]
play the "Old
[Approaching the Villain
little
behind and
for
Find a
spot on your
bosom
me.
I
Woman," but you know I'm
I have
all
not really old.
Villain.
Now
of
power and
Call
it
all of love.
Comedian.
Villain.
Don't
call it love.
servility.
[Freeing himself from the women.]
But now
vassals
I have
something more important to carry out.
My
I mean
We
you
will
all
I have decided we
How so ? We go forward
You have
will
not stay here over night.
proceed further.
Women.
Villain.
to-night.
?
Comedian.
Villain.
so decided
I have so decided,
and that
in itself
should be
enough
for you;
but due to an old habit I
shall explain to
you
why
I have so decided.
Comedian.
not disturb
Villain.
Keep your explanation
I'll
to yourself
and better
my contemplation
of the sunset.
blacklist.
put you down on the
go
It will go
ill
with you for your speeches against me.
explanation,
well, then, I
Now,
then, without an
stirs.]
we
will
and
at once.
[Nobody
Very
go alone.
Women.
Villain.
No, no.
What do you mean ?
I go with you.
I.
Ingenue.
Heroine.
Villain.
And "Old Woman."
And
I.
Your loyalty "Old ]Man." [Who is
the deuce
I
is
gratifies
me
?
very much.
sitting apathetically
upon
the trunk.]
What
urging you to go
Villain.
wanted to explain to you, but now no more.
I
I
owe you no
that
is
explanations.
have decided
I
wish to go, and
sufficient.
A
Comedian.
head
DOLLAR
comedy wonderfully.
337
He
plays his
Would you
ever have suspected that there was so
?
much
wit in his cabbage
Women.
gle glance.
[Making
love to
tlie
Villain.]
Oh, you darling.
Tragedian.
Villain.
[Majestically.]
I wouldn't give
him even a
tell
sin-
Still
another on the blacklist.
I'll
you
this
much
I have decided
Ha-ha-ha
!
Comedian.
Villain.
How
long will you keep this up
if
?
We
start at once,
but
I
am
to
pay
for
your food
I will not carry any baggage.
among you and
now. away.
of course those
the heaviest share.
You shall divide my bundles who are on the blacklist will get You heard me. Now
move on. I'm going
town, which
is
We will proceed to the nearest
Now,
then, I
thirty miles
am
ofiP.
Comedian.
Villain.
Bon voyage. And with me fares His Majesty
are coming,
I'll
the Dollar and
your meals for to-morrow.
Women. We "Old Man."
Tragedian.
we
are coming.
go along.
[To the Villain.]
You're a scoundrel and a
mean
giver.
fellow.
Villain.
I
am
no fellow of yours.
I
am
master and bread-
Tragedian.
Villain.
I'll
crush you in a moment.
What ?
to right.
You
threaten
me
!
Let's go.
their satchels
[Turns
him.
The women take
and follow
"Old Man."
trunk.
is
[To the Tragedian.]
Get up and take the
It
We
will settle the score
with him some other time.
he
who has
the dollar now.
[Rising and shaking his
fist.]
Tragedian.
Villain.
I'll
get
him
yet.
[He takes his side of the trunk.
[To Tragedian.]
First put one of
my
bundles on
your back.
338
Tragedian.
Villain.
DAVID PINSKI
[In rage.]
all
One
of
your bundles on
it
my
back ?
Oh, for
I care
you can put
on your head, or
between your teeth.
"Old
you
JVIan."
We
will
put the bundle on the trunk.
Comedian.
in earnest.'^
[Sitting up.]
Look
here, are
you joking or are
Villain.
[Contemptuoushj.]
I never joke.
Comedian.
Villain.
Then you are in earnest ? I'll make no explanations.
Comedian.
dollar
Do
you
really think that because
you have the
Villain.
kings.
The holy
dollar, the
almighty dollar, the king of
Comedian.
ter
[Continuing.]
That
therefore
you are the mas-
Villain.
Bread-giver and provider.
Comedian.
Villain.
And
that
we must
in earnest ?
Do what
I bid you to.
Comedian.
Villain.
So you are
You must
[Rising.]
get up, take the baggage and follow
me.
Comedian.
Villain.
Then
if
I declare a revolution.
!
What
.'*
A
revolution
Comedian.
Tragedl\n.
with a
first
A bloody one,
need be.
[Dropping his end of the trunk and advancing
toward the Villain.]
bellicose attitude
And
I shall be the
to let 3'our blood,
you scoundrel.
have nothing to say to you.
Villain.
If that's the case I
Those who wish, come along.
Comedian.
Villain.
[Getting in his way.]
dollar.
No, you
shall
not go until
you give up the
Comedian.
Villain.
Ha-ha.
It
is
to laugh
'
The
dollar, please, or
He-he-he
Comedian.
Then
let there
be blood.
[Turns up his
sleeves.
A
Tragedian.
[Taking
DOLLAR
Ah
!
339
Blood, blood
off his coat.]
"Old Man."
[Dropping his end of the trunk.]
I'm not going
to keep out of a fight.
Women.
Villain.
[Dropping his
[Shouting.]
?
satchels.]
Nor we.
shall I give
Nor
we.
To whom
up the dollar?
You
youyou you
Comedian.
we'll get
This argument will not work any more.
all of us.
it
!
You
are to give the dollar up to
At the
it,
first
opportunity
change and divide
into equal parts.
Women.
Hurrah, hurrah
[To Villain.]
Divide
divide
it
Comedian.
Tragedian.
And
I will even be so good as to
give you a share.
I'd rather give
Comedian.
It shall be as I say.
Heroine.
comedian
!
[Throwing herself
him a sound thrashing. Give up the dollar. on the Comedian's breast.]
I'm
sick of you.
My
My comedian
!
Ingenue.
dollar.
[To the Villain.]
Give up the
better step
Comedian.
aside or else
[Pushing the
Heroine
aside.]
You
you may get the punch I aim at the master and bread-giver. [To the Villain.] Com
e up with the dollar Tragedian. Give up the dollar to him, do you hear ?
All.
The
dollar, the dollar
I'll
Villain.
tear
it
to pieces.
Comedian.
left
Then we shall tear out what little hair you have on your head. The dollar, quick
[They surround the Villain; the women pull his hair; the Tragedian grabs him by
the collar and shakes him; the "Old Man" strikes him on his bald pate ; the Com
edian
!
struggles with
him and finally grasps
dollar.]
the dollar.
it
Comedian.
[The
[Holding up the
I have
women dance and
Bandits
!
sing.
Villain.
Thieves
I'll
Tragedian.
Silence, or
shut your mouth.
[Goes back to the trunk
and assumes
his heroic pose.
S40
Comedian.
fright
DAVID PINSKI
[Putting the dollar into hi* pocket.]
That's what
for a little
I call a successful
and a bloodless revolution, except
and heart palpitation on the part
Listen,
of the late master
and
bread-giver.
some one
puzzled
is
coming.
Perhaps
he'll
be able
to change the dollar and then
"Old Man."
parts.
[Starts to
I
am
we can divide it at once. how we can change it into equal
the
calculate
with
Ingenue and
the
the
"Old
are
Woman."
Heroine.
[Tenderly attentive
to
Comedian.]
You
angry with me, but I was only playing with him so as to wheedle
the dollar out of him.
Comedian.
of
it.
And now you want
It
is
to trick
me
it
out of
my
share
"Old Man."
It
is
impossible to divide
If it
into equal parts.
absolutely impossible.
five cents or
were ninety-eight cents or one
perceives the comto left.
hundred and
[The
Stranger
it,
enters
pany, greets
stops him.
from the right, and continues his way
Comedian
Comedian.
I beg your pardon,
sir;
perhaps you have change
of a dollar in dimes, nickels,
and pennies.
The "Old
[Showing the
forward.
dollar.
Man"
and women
step
Stranger.
the others
[Getting slightly nervous, starts somewhat,
makes a
quick movement for his pistol-pocket, looks at the
Comedian and
[Moving from
and says
left.]
sloicly.]
Change
of a dollar.^
the circle to
I believe I have.
Women.
Stranger.
revolver.]
Hurrah
[Turns so that no one
is
behind him and pulls his
Hands up
[In a gentle tone of voice.]
Comedian.
Stranger.
My
dear
sir,
we
are
altogether peaceful folk.
[Takes the dollar from the Comedian's hand and
A
walks backwards
to left
DOLLAR
341
Good-
with the pistol pointed at the group.]
night, everybody.
[He disappears, the actors remain dumb with fear, with
their
hands up, mouths wide open, and staring into space.
[Finally breaks out into thunderous laughter.]
Comedian.
Ha-
ha-ha-ha-ha-ha
CURTAIN
THE DIABOLICAL CIRCLE
BY
BEULAH BORNSTEAD
The Diabolical Circle is reprinted by special permission of Professor Franz Rick
aby, in whose course in dramatic composition (English 36) For permisin the Unive
rsity of North Dakota this play was written. sion to perform, address Professor
Franz Rickaby, University of North Dakota, University, North Dakota.
BEULAH BORNSTEAD
Beulah Bornstead, one of the promising young playwrights of the Northwest, was b
orn in Grand Forks, North Dakota, May 5, 1896. She has had her academic training
at the University of North Dakota, from which she received her B.A. in 1921. At
present Miss Bornstead is principal of the Cavalier High School, North Dakota.
Before attempting drama she tried her hand at journalism and at short-story writ
ing. Miss Bornstead was introduced into playwriting by Professor Franz Rickaby,
in whose course in dramatic composition at the University of North Dakota The Di
abolical Circle was written. In speaking of this play Miss Bornstead writes: '^
The Diabolical Circle is the first play I have ever written. I never enjoyed doi
ng anything so much in my life. The characters were so real to me that if I had
bumped into one going round the corner I should not have been surprised in the l
east. Betty and Charles and Adonijah and even Cotton Mather himself worked that
play out. All the humble author did was to set it down on paper." The Diabolical
Circle was produced May 5, 1921, by the Dakota Play makers in their Little Thea
tre at the University of North Dakota. The Diabolical Circle is one of the best
contemporary plays dealing with American historical material. Its characterizati
on is one of its noteworthy elements.
CHARACTERS
Cotton Mather
Betty,
his daughter
suitor,
Adonijah Wigglesworth, a
and Cotton's
choice
Charles Manning,
likewise a suitor, but
Betty's choice
The Clock
THE DIABOLICAL CIRCLE
SCENE
TIME:
The
:
The living-room in
the
Mather home in Boston.
About 1700, an evening in early autumn.
stage represents the living-room of the colonial fireplace is seen down-stage
Mather home.
left,
A
large
within which stand
huge brass andirons.
To one
side hangs the bellows, with the
tongs near by, while above, underneath the mantelpiece, is sus-
pended an old flint-lock
brass candlesticks,
rifle.
On
both ends of the mantel are
and hanging
directly above is
an
old-fash-
ioned portrait of Betty's mother.
leading into the hall at centre
left,
There are two doors, one
the other,
communicating
straight high-
with the rest of the hou^e, up-stage right.
A
backed
towers
the
settee
is
down-stage right, while in the centre back
an
old grandfather's clock.
To
the left of the clock is
chintz.
window, cross-barred and draped with flowered
An
old-fashioned table occupies the corner between the
window
and
the hall door.
Here and
there are various straight-backed
chairs of
Dutch
origin.
Rag
rugs cover the floor.
is seated
As
the curtain rises
by the
fire,
with
Cotton Mather Betty on a stool
is
in a large armchair
at his feet, with her knitting.
CoTTOJNT, his hair already touched with the whitening frost of
many
a severe
New England winter,
grave
and
sedate.
Very much
exercised ivith the perils of this
life,
and
serenely contemplative
of the
life to
come, he takes himself and the world about
him
very seriously.
Not
*
so with
Mistress Betty.
Outwardly demure, yet inwardly
of the
Plans for this clock may be had by addressing Professor N. B. Knapp, Manual Trai
ning Department, University of North Dakota,
University, North Dakota.
Copyright, 1922, by the Dakota Playmakers.
347
348
rebellious
BEULAH BORNSTEAD
against the straitened
conventions
of the
times,
she dimples over with roguish merriment
provocation.
upon
the slightest
As we first
Cotton.
daughter,
see
them Cotton
is
giving
Bettt som
timely advice.
But you must understand that marriage,
in
my
is
a most reverend and serious matter which should
be approached
responsibility.
a manner
fittingly considerate of its
grave
Betty.
about
[Thoughtfully.]
Truly reverend and most
but I
like
serious,
father [looking
it.
up
roguishly],
not so
much
of the grave
Cotton.
too lightly.
[Continuing.] It
is
I fear thou lookest
upon the matter
not seemly to treat such a momentous occa-
sion thus flippanth^
Betty.
Marriage
thee.
is
[Protesting.]
Nay,
father,
yet a great
way
off.
why Mayhap
consider
it
at
all.?
I shall never leave
Cotton.
selves of
forth.
on to leave
Thou little thinkest that I may be suddenly called The Good AVord cautions us to
boast not ourthe morrow, for we know not what a day may bring
thee.
Betty.
well.
[Dropping her
knitting.]
Father, thou art not feeling
Perhaps
Cotton.
Nay,
child,
be not alarmed.
'Tis
but a most necI will not
essary lesson to be learned
and
laid
up
in
the heart.
always be with thee and I would
of thy future welfare before I go.
like to
be comfortably assured
Betty.
[Picking her knitting up.]
Be comfortably
assured,
then, I prithee; I have
no
fears.
Cotton.
chair.]
[Bringing his
!
Aj^e
There
!
thou had'st some and virtuous mother only
arm doion forcibly on the arm of the Thou hast no fears. Would that [Looks up at
the portrait.] Had thy prudent
it
is.
lived to point the
way, I might be
THE DIABOLICAL CIRCLE
spared this anxiety; but, beset by diverse
lishing the
349
difficulties in estab-
and sorely harassed by many hardships and by evil men, I fear me I have not prop
ounded to thee much that I ought. Betty. In what then is mine education lacking?
Have I
of
in this country,
kingdom
God
not
all
that
is
fitting
and proper
I
for
a maiden to know ?
not.
Cotton.
[Perplexed.]
know
estate.
I have done
my
best,
but thou hast not the proper attitude of mind befitting a maiden
about to enter the married
Betty.
[Protesting.]
Nay, but I
am
not about to enter the
married estate.
Cotton.
Betty.
whither
It
is
time.
[Mockingly pleading.]
Entreat
me
not to leave thee,
will go,
father, nor forsake thee; for whither
thou goest I
and
a
ir-
Cotton.
reverence.
[Interrupting sternly.]
Betty
!
It
ill
befitteth
daughter of mine to quote the Scriptures with such seeming

^I
would not be parted from
thee, yet I
would that
thou wert promised to some godly and upright soul that would
guide thee yet more surely in the paths of righteousness.
There
be
many
Betty.
such.
Yea, too many.
Cotton.
Betty.
What meanest thou ?
One were one too many when
[Shaking his head.]
I would have none.
!
Cotton.
Ah, Betty, Betty
When
wilt
thou be serious?
surrounding thee
of his godly
There
is
a goodly youth
among
the friends
whom
I
have often marked, both on account
demeanor and simple wisdom.
[Nodding.]
Betty.
Yea, simple.
Cotton.
ble
I speak of Adonijah Wigglesworth, a most estima-
young gentleman, an acquaintance
Yea, cultivate.
whom
thou would'st do
well to cultivate.
Betty.
Cotton.
What
thinkest thou
?
350
Betty.
break
BEULAH BORNSTEAD
A sod
His
too dense for any ploughshare.
My wit would
in the turning.
is
Cotton.
driven.
a strong nature, born to drive and not be
There
is
not such another, nay, not in the whole of
Boston.
Betty.
Nay, I have
[Testily.]
lately heard there be
many
such
Cotton.
Betty.
spread.]
Mayhap
up
thou couldst name a few.
her
left
[Musingly, holds
hand with fingers
little
out-
Aye, that I can.
[Checks off one on the
finger.]
There be Marcus Ainslee
Cotton.
Betty.
A
goodly youth that hath an eye for books.
eye, sayest thou.?
One
neither morocco
Nay, four; and since I am bound nor edged with gilt, let us consign him
of action, then, should appeal
to the shelf wherein he findeth fullest compensation.
Cotton.
worth ?
How now ? A man
What
to thy brash tastes.
sayest thou to Jeremiah
Wads-
Betty.
Too brash and rash
and
I'll
for
me
[checking off that candi-
date on the next finger],
have none of him.
There's Percy
Wayne. Cotton.
Betty.

Of the bluest blood in Boston. Yet that be not everything [checks and Jonas Appl
eby
Cotton.
off another finger]
He
hath an eye to worldly goods
Especially the larder.
Betty.
[Quickly.]
To marry him
would be an everlasting round between the tankard and the
kettle.
[Checks
him
off.]
Nay,
let
me
look yet farther
James
Endicott.
[Checking.]
Cotton.
Betty.
Aye, there might be a lad for thee; birth, breeding,
Yea, most agreeable
a well-favored countenance, and most agreeable.
unto
I
himself.
'Twere a pity
to disturb such unanimity.
Therefore, let us pass on.
Take
Charles Manning, an you please
Cotton.
It pleaseth
me
not
!
know
the
ilk; his
father be-
THE DIABOLICAL CIRCLE
fore
351
him a devoted servant
of
of the devil
and King Charles.
With
others of his kind he hath brought dissension
among
the young
men
Harvard,
many
of
whom
are dedicated to the service of
the Lord, with his wicked apparel and ungodly fashion of wear-
manner of Russians and barbarous Inhim brought up in such pride as doth in no wa
ys become the service of the Lord. The devil himself hath laid hold on our young
men, so that they do evaping long hair after the
dians.
Many
there be with
orate senseless, useless, noisy impertinency wherever they
be;
may
and now
it
has e'en got out in the pulpits of the land, to the
great grief and fear of
many
godly hearts.
starts to his feet
[He
and paces
the floor.
Betty.
[Standing upright.]
[Interrupting.]
Cotton.
hearing.
But Charles Mention not that scapegrace
in
my
Betty.
not
[Still persisting.]
But, father, truly thou knowest
Cotton.
tance.]
[Almost savagely, while
not.
Betty
have
retreats to
it.
a safe dis-
Name him
is
I will not
Compared with
Adonijah he
a reed shaken in the winds, whereas Adonijah
resemble th a tree planted by the river of waters.
Betty.
of the devil
[Who has been looking and thou wilt behold
out of the window.]
his horns.
Converse
Even now he ap-
proacheth the knocker.
[The knocker sounds.
Cotton.
[Sternly.]
Betake thyself to thine own chamber
ill
with thine unseemly tongue, which so
befitteth a maid.
[Betty
is
very demure, with head slightly bent
and downcast
eyes ; but the
moment Cotton
turns she glances roguishly
her glance revolves
after his retreating
form ; then while
about the room, she starts slightly as her gaze falls upon
the clock.
A
smile of mischievous delight
flits over
her
countenance as she tiptoes in Cotton's ivake until the
clock is reached.
Cotton, unsuspecting, meanichile pro-
352
BEULAH BORNSTEAD
ceeds to do his duty as host, ivith never a
backward glance.
While he
is
out in the hall
Betty, with a lingering smils
of triumph, climbs into the clock and cautiously peeks
forth as her father opens the door
and ushers in Adoni-
JAH, whereupon the door softly
closes.
sir.
Adonijah.
Good-morrow, reverend
I
Cotton.
Adonijah.
within.
Enter, and doubly welcome.
would inquire whether thy daughter Betty
is
Cotton.
Betty
ment.
will
We were but speaking of thee as thy knock sounded.
be here presently; she hath but retired for the mothyself in comfort.
Remove thy wraps and make
[Adonijah
crowned
is
a lean, lank, lantern-jawed individual, clad in
with high-
the conventional sober gray of the Puritan,
hat,
and a fur
tippet
to his ears.
He
removes the
wound about his neck up hat and tippet and hands
them upon the
them
table ;
to
Cotton, who
selects to
carefully places
meanwhile Adonijah looks appraisinghj about him
the
and judiciously
pauses a moment
armchair by the
fire.
He
rub his hands before the blaze, and
then gingerly relaxes into the depths of the armchair, as
though fearful his comfort would give
tained.
way
ere fully at-
Cotton
is
places a chair on the other side of
Adonijah and
Cotton.
last.?
is seated.
it
And how
with thee since I have seen thee
Adonijah.
finely as
it
My
business prospereth [mournfully], but not so
might well do.
is
[The clock strikes four, but
unnoticed by the two men.
Thou hast suffered some great loss ? Adonijah. But yes and no this matter of
Cotton.

lending
money
is
hath
many and
grievous complications, not the least of which
I but insist
the duplicity of the borrower.
to the
on the thirty pounds
it
hundred as
my
due recompense, and when I demand
THE DIABOLICAL CIRCLE
they respond not, but
ingratitude.
let
355
my
kindness
lie
under the clods of
conviction.]
is
[Straightening
up, and speaking with I will have
They
own.
shall
come
before the council.
what
mine
Cotton.
to
to.
[Righteottsly.]
it.
demand
I wist not
And it is not unbecoming of thee what the present generation is coming
of
in
Adonijah. They have no sense of the value They know not how to demean themselves
properly
money.
due pro-
portion to their worldly goods, as the Lord hath prospered them.
There be many that have nothing and do hold
us that be worthy of our possessions.
their heads
above
The wicked stand in slippery places. It will not Judgment shall come upon them.
Adonijah. Aye, let them fall. I for one have upheld them too far. They squander
their means in riotous living, and walk not in the ways of their fathers.
Cotton.
always be thus.
Cotton.
lad,
There be many such
many suchbut
As
thou,
my
thou art not one of the multitude.
I have often ob-
served to
my
Betty, thou standest out as a most upright and
God-fearing young man.
Adonijah.
[Brimming
over with self-satisfaction.]
That have
I ever sought to be.
Cotton.
Adonijah.
An
example that others would do well to imitate.
[All puffed up.]
Nay, others value
it
not.
They
be envious of
Cotton.
Adonijah.
my good fortune. A most prudent young man
Thou'rt too modest.
[His face falling.]
!
Nay, be not so over-
blushingly timid.
But Betty
doth
she regard
me
thus
?
Cotton.
spair not.
The ways
of a
maid are past finding out; but de-
I think she hath thee
much
to heart, but, as the
perverse heart of
contrary.
woman
dictateth,
behaveth much to
the
354
Adonijah.
thinkest
BEULAH BORNSTEAD
[Brightening
up as one with new
Nay,
lad, I
hopes.]
Thou
Betty
Cotton.
[Interrupting.]
am
sure of
it.
was ever a
dutiful daughter.
[All unseen,
Betty
peeks out mischievously.
Adonijah.
Cotton.
Adonijah.
But Thou
I mistrust
referr'st to
me
her heart
is
elsewhere.
young Manning without doubt.
I
It can never be.
'Tis
but a passing fancy.
fear Charles thinketh not so.
Nay, but I
have
been told in secret [leaning forward confidentially] by one that
hath every opportunity to know, that he hath enjoined Good-
man Shrewsbury
Cotton.
Adonijah.
to send for
[impressively] a ring
[Angered.]
A
ring, sayest
thou ^
[Nodding.]
Aye, even
so.
Cotton.
Adonijah.
tion
?
But he hath not signified such intention here to me. Then there are no grounds f
or his rash presump-
Cotton. no
Humph
!
Grounds
[Rises.]
!
For a ring
!
Aye,
in.
there'll
be
diabolical circle here for the devil to
daunce
I will queswill
tion Betty thereon.
Do
thou remain here and I
offer
send her to thee.
ring
Oh, that he should
daughter of mine a
[Cotton
taken.
reverie.
leaves the room.
Adonijah
leans hack in his
chair in supreme contentment at the turn affairs have
The clamorous knocker arouses him from his
He
gazes stupidly around.
The continued im-
perious tattoo on the knocker finally brings
him
to his feet.
He
Adonijah.
host
is
goes into the hall
and opens
the door.
His
voice is
heard.
[Frostily.]
Good-afternoon,
Sir
Charles,
mine
absent.
Charles.
Adonijah.
[Stepping
in.]
?
My
mission has rather to do with
Mistress Betty.
Is she in
[Closing the hall door,
and turning
to
Charles,
THE DIABOLICAL CIRCLE
replies in grandiose haiUeur.]
355
Mistress Betty
is
otherwise en-
gaged, I would have thee know.
Chaeles.
trust,
Engaged?
[Bovxing.]
Your humble
servant,
I
hath the supreme pleasure of that engagement.
[He glances inquiringly aboiU the room, and places
the hat
on
the table beside that of
Adonijah.
The
tivo hats
are
as different as the two
severe ;
men : Adonijah 's prim.
Puritanic,
Charles's
is
three-cornered, with a flowing plume.
[Charles
more
a handsome chap of goodly proportions, with
a straightforward air and a pleasant smile.
after the
He
is
dressed
fashion of the cavaliers of Virginia, and
curls.
wears a long wig with flowing
each other up.
The two men
size
Adonijah.
[Meaningly.]
Her
see.
father will shortly arrive.
Charles.
'Tis
[Impatiently striding forth.]
Devil take her father.
is
Mistress Betty I would
Where
she
?
[Charles continues pacing the
floor.
Adonijah, shocked
beyond measure, turns his back on the offending Charles,
and with folded arms and bowed head stands aside in profound meditation. The clo
ck door slowly opens and Betty cautiously peeks out. Charles stops short and
is
about to begin a decided demonstration, when Betty,
toith
a warning glance toward Adonijah, checks him with
upraised hand.
The
clock door closes
and Charles sub-
sides into the armchair with
delight.
irnth
a comprehending grin of
Adonijah
slowly turns
and faces Charles
a melancholy
Prithee,
air.
Charles.
Adonijah.
ment.
why
so sad
?
[The grin becomes a chuckle.
I do discern no cause for such unrighteous merri-
Charles.
find
it,
'Tis
none the
less for all of that.
all,
I take
life
as I
dif-
and
for that
matter so do they
even thou.
The
ference be in the finding.
[Whistles.
t^5Q
BEULAH BORNSTEAD
[Uneasily.]
It
is
Adonijah.
time her father did arrive.
Charles.
Adonijah.
Where then hath he been ?
He
but went in search of Betty.
we'll wait.
Charles.
[He
Ah, then
whistles,
while
room, glancing every
ment of
his
Adonijah moves uneasily about the now and then at this disturbing elepeace, a^ i
f he would send him to kingdom
Waiting
come, if he only could.
Adonijah.
thee naught.
[After considerable toleration.]
may avail
[Whistles.
Charles.
Adonijah.
terfeit sigh.]
And
thee.?
Nevertheless we'll wait.
tivo
[Takes another turn or
and fetches up a counfruitless.
Methinks, her father's quest be
[Starting up.]
Charles. Charles.
Adonijah.
here.
Ah, then,
let
us go.
chair opposite,
relaxes.]
[Adonijah,
visibly relieved, sits
[Amused.]
Nay.?
[Sits
down in the down and
Ah,
then, we'll wait.
[Troubled.]
'Tis certain Mistress
[Whistles.
Betty be not
neither here
Charles.
nor there.
vealed in time
Nay,
if
she be not here, then I
am
I would wager ten pounds to a farthing she be ro^
if
she but will
it.
Wilt take
me up ?
Adonijah.
It be not
seemly so to stake thy fortune on 4
Thou'rt right on
if
woman's whim.
Charles.
for
if
[LaugJis.]
it.
If she will, say I,
will.
she will she won't, and
False jargon
!
she won't she
Adonijah.
[Enter
A woman
has no will but e'en her
father's as a maid, her husband's later
still.
Cotton, who
stops short on seeing
Charles,
rallies
quickly,
and
proceeds.
Cotton. Charles. Cotton.
[Stifl^^^]
Good-day to you,
riseji.]
sir.
[Bowing ; he has
[To Adonijah.]
is
And
to you, sire.
I
am
deeply grieved to report
that Mistress Betty
not to be found.
a sly look of triumph at Charles.
[Adonijah
steals
THE DIABOLICAL CIRCLE
Charlbs. Cotton.
[In
357
mock
solemnity.]
I prithee present
my
deep
>egrets to Mistress Betty.
I will call again.
!
God
speed thee
[And as Charles
takes his leave
Cotton
afar
off.
places his
hand
affectionately
upon Adonijah's
son; Betty
shoulder,
saying reassuringly.]
I fain
Come
again,
my
may
not be
would have her soon persuaded of thy worth.
Improve thy
Adonijah.
time.
[Beaming.]
[As the door closes behind them
the
fire,
Good morrow, sir; I will. Cotton slowly walks toward
Still
where he stands in complete revery.
ab-
sorbed in thought he walks sloivly out the door at the right.
Betty
peeks cautiously out, but hearing footsteps quickly
withdraivs.
Cotton
she be
re-enters with hat on.
He
is talk-
ing to himself,
reflectively.
?
Cotton.
Where can
Mayhap at Neighbor Ainslee's.
The banging
more
[He goes hurriedly out through the hall door.
of the outside door is heard.
The
clock door once
listening.
slowly opens
and Betty peers forth,
The sound
of a door opening causes her to draw back.
is
As
the noise
further emphasized by approaching footsteps, she pulls
the clock door quickly to.
Charles
it
enters.
He
looks
inquiringly about, tosses his hat on the table,
and goes
for the clock.
steps forth
He
of
opens
the
with a gay laugh.
very
Betty
by
out
clock,
much
assisted
Charles.
Charles.
flesh
Blessed
relief!
Thou
art in
very truth, then,
and blood?
Betty.
fitombed.
And what
else
should I be, forsooth
?
Charles.
Betty.
[Laughing.]
I marked thee for a
mummy
there
[Disengaging her hand.]
What ?
!
Darest thou ?
to, whilst
Charles.
[sighs]
A
lively
mummy now
thou art come
I
I waited through the ages
[Laughingly.]
Betty.
A veritable monument of patient grief.
Charles.
And Adonijah
358
Betty.
[Mimics.]
BEULAH BORNSTEAD
Yea, verily, old Father Time but come to
life.
Thy
In
waiting
Charles.
may
be back at
may avail thee naught. truth, it may avail me naught; any time, while I have muc
h to
Nay, sweet Betty
then, the dearest
call
thy father
say, sweet
Betty
Betty.
[Interrupting.]
call
me
not.
Charles.
Betty.
or
Dear Betty,
[Quickly.]
Yea,
me
dearest
mummy,
Hottentot,
what you will, just so it be not sweet, like Adonijah. It sickens me beyond expr
essing. Charles. Then, sweet Betty thou art not, say rather sour Betty, cross Be
tty, mean Betty, bad Betty, mad Betty, sad
Betty.
Betty.
[Suddenly dimpling.]
Nay, glad Betty
Wilt
tell
Charles.
I
Art then so glad
.^^
me why?
mad.
In sooth,
know not whither
Betty.
Wilt
tell
to be glad, or sad, or
Sometimes I
am
but one, sometimes I
am
all three.
me
why.?
left
Charles.
[Stepping closer and imprisoning her
haTid.]
Thou wilt not now escape it, for I will tell thee why, and mayhap this will aid
me. [Slips ring, ivhich he has had conHath this no meaning for cealed in his poc
ket, on her finger.]
thee.?
Betty.
[Her eyes sparkling with mischief.]
Aye,
'tis
a dia-
bolical circle for the devil to
daunce
in
what.'*
Charles.
Betty.
in
[In astonishment.]
[Slowly.]
saith.
A
A
diabolical circle for the devil to
daunce
so father
Charles.
Betty.
Likewise Adonijah.
to
[Weakly endeavoring
!
comprehend.]
A
diabolical
circle
but what say
it
again, Betty.
it
[Repeats slowly, emphasizing
with pointed finger.]
A
diabolical circle for the devil to
daunce
in.
Charles.
devil
[Throws hack his head and laughs.]
May
I be the
THE DIABOLICAL CIRCLE
Betty.
[Shaking her finger at him.]
359
!
Then daunce
[They take position, as though for a minuet.
sounds.
The knocker
Into the
Betty runs
to the
window.
Betty.
clock
Aye, there's Adonijah at the knocker.
hie theequick, quick
[Reproachfully.]
Charles.
And
would'st thou incarcerate
me
through the ages?
!
[Turns
to the clock.]
O
timely sar-
cophagus
[Charles
is
smuggled into the
to
clock,
and Betty has barely and conceal
it
enough time
make a dash for
the door
the hat
he-
hind her before
opens and in stalks Adonijah.
He
looks about suspiciously.
Betty faces him
with the
hat held behind her.
lays them on the table.
He
removes his hat and tippet and
ADO]^aJAH.
Methought
[Dryly.]
I heard a
sound of many
have
I;
feet.
less.
Betty. Betty.
[Looking down.]
Two
feet
no more, no
Adonijapi.
Aye, two be quite
sufficient.
An
thou sayest the word, they yet can beat as loud
a retreat as an whole regiment.
Adonijah.
Thou
dost
it
my
meaning misconstrue.
Betty. Betty.
steps hack.]
Construe
then, I prithee.
Adonijah.
I came not here to vex Then get thee hence. [He But not behind me, Satan.
steps forward.
Betty
to
it.
Adonijah. Betty.
drive
[Coming
closer.]
And
yet thou driv'st
me
[Backing
off.]
Indeed, thou hast a nature born to
and not be driven.
[Highly complimented.]
notice.
Adonijah.
So be
it,
yet I scarce had
hoped that thou would'st
Betty.
[Retreating.]
[Advancing.]
Born
to drive,
thou sayest, not be driven.
Thou hast
said
it,
born to
drive.
But
father
what
to drive I have not said.
That knowledge hath
father, then,
my
yet concealed.
Adonijah.
[Eagerly.]
Thy
hath told thee
360
Betty.
BEULAH BORNSTEAD
[Who
is
retreating steadily across the room.\
Thou
seats
wert born to drive !
[Strikes settee
and
the
goes
down on
the hat.
Adoxijah
himself beside Betty.
remain
on
hat.
Betty is Adonijah
of necessity forced to
slides
arm along
the
hack of the
jerks his
settee.
The clock door
strikes erratically.
He
arm hack and
his
gazes in the direction of the clock.
The
clock
hands wigwag.
ADOisnjAH stares abstractedly
and passes
Betty. Adonijah.
hand
over his forehead in a dazed
aileth thee.'*
!
manner.
[Solicitously.]
What
[Still staring.]
The time
It doth
it
Betty. Betty. Betty. Betty.
[Stifles
a yawn.]
grow
late.
Adonijah.
Adonijah. Adonijah.
But not
consistently;
changeth.
'Twas ever so with time.
[Reminiscently .]
verily, 'tis
Of a certainty they moved.
Yea,
not uncommon.
But backwards
[Joyfully.]
Why,
then,
my
prayers are answered.
How
often I have prayed
them thus
to
move
!
Yet hath
it
never come to pass.
Adonijah.
Nay, had'st thou seen
Thou'rt
ill.
Betty.
moves over
face.]
Prithee calm thyself.
[Steals his
Adonijah.
arm along
!
the back of the settee
closer.]
Sweet Betty
[Betty
looks
and away with a wry
There was a
Thy
indifference in
no wise blinds me
sits
to thy conception
of
my
true value.
[Betty
up, round-eyed.]
time when I despaired

[The clock again strikes wildly.

The
hands drop and
clock.]
rise as before.
Adonijah
it ?
ill.
excitedly points at the
ail
Again
!
Did'st
mark
Something doth
the clock
!
Betty.
Yea, truly thou art
The
clock behaveth
much
more
to the point than thou.
Adonijah.
[another glance]
[Tearing his gaze from the clock.]
[glances at the clock]
As
I
was on
the point of saying
thy father hath given
me
to understand
[with eye
on
the clock he hitches
up
closer]
that thou art not averse to mine affections
THE DIABOLICAL CIRCLE
[As he attempts
strikes
to
361
the clock
put his arm around
startles
Betty
a
tattoo
and
him
excitedly to his feet, as
the
hands
travel all the
way round.
look
!
Adonijah.
[Pointing.]
enters.
Now
Mark
the time
[Cotton
Cotton.
vent thee.
Tarry yet awhile,
Tarry.?
my
son, the time doth not pre-
Adonijah.
est thou
finger,
!
Time doth not
prevent.?
Little
know-
[Gazes abstractedly about.
Sights the ring on
Betty's
It
who in excitement has
Aye, there
it
forgotten to keep her hands behind
her
back.]
is,
the
diabolical
all
circle.
is
a
charm.
It
harms her
she here.?
not,
while
about
me
is.
is
askew.
Whence came
form did
it
[Points at Betty.]
She neither came
she
nor went, and yet she was not there and
enter.
now
A
manly
Yet hath vanished
into thin air.
Yea, verily,
was none other than the
devil himself in one of his divers
forms, of which he hath aplenty.
The very
clock indulgeth in
I can-
unseemly pranks.
not
A
strange influence hangs over me.
now
go.
abide.
I
must depart from hence.
Hold
My conscience bids
!
me
Cotton.
Betty.
[Striving to detain him.]
Thou'rt
mad
!
Nay, father, he is ill. Adonijah. [Wildly.] Aye, if
blame.
things.
The
spell
did
I be mad, thy daughter be to come upon me. I have seen strange
Cotton.
Adonijah.
What meanest thou ?
[Pointing at Betty,
is
who regards him wonderingly.]
Thy
daughter
a witch
to
!
Betty.
[Runs
Cotton.]
Oh, father
thunders at Adonijah.]
?
Cotton.
Adonijah.
will.
[Consoles
Betty;
What.?
Darest thou to being forth such an accusation
Aye, while I yet have strength to order mine own
We
shall see
what we
shall see
when the
fires
leap round
the stake.
All the diabolical circles the devil
will
may
invent or his
helpmeets acquire
be of small avail when the leaping tongues
362
BEULAH BORNSTEAD
I can delay
of flame curl round you, false servant of the devil,
no
longer.
I will repair to the council at once,
and report what
paternal solici-
I have seen.
[Betty /am^5 away.
tude.
Cotton
is at
once
all
Adonijah gazes in stupefaction. All unobserved Charles slips out of the clock. F
inalhj Adonijah, as Betty shows signs of reviving, turns himself away, only Adon
ijah to find himself face to face with Charles.
stops dead in his tracks, absolutely nonplussed.
Charles.
dence.
Thou
goest to the council.?
wilt.
Thou
lackest evi-
Behold the devil an' thou
[Adonijah 's jaw drops.
He stares unbelievingly. Cotton looks up in surprise as Charles continues. Charl
es. An' thou goest to the council with such a mesAnd match word of sage, the dev
il will dog thy very footsteps. thine with word of truth in such a light that th
ine own words
shall imprison thee in the stocks over Sunda}'.
[Adonijah
recovers
from
his temporary abstraction,
and
seiz-
ing his hat and tippet, tears out the door as if a whole
legion of
imps were in
fidl pursuit.
tuously turns on his heel
and
goes over to
Charles contempBetty, who is
for a witch
?
noio clinging to her father s arm.
Betty.
[Faintly.]
They
will
not burn
me
Charles.
[Savagely.]
[Hotly.]
Aye,
let
Cotton.
seemeth to
with a new thought.]
Aye let But how cam'st thou here ?
!

them try it an they will. them [Then starting suddenly

Yea, verily,
air.
it
me
thou did'st materialize out of thin
[Surveys
Charles
with piercing scrutiny.
Charles.
find
Nay,
see through
me an
air,
thou can'st.
Thou
wilt
me
a most material shadow, the
like of
which no eye hath
ever pierced.
'Twas not out of the
but out of yonder clock
that I materialized.
Betty.
Yea, father, I put him there.
[Going to the clock and opening
it.]
Cotton.
Of a
truth, the
THE DIABOLICAL CIRCLE
evidence,
all told, is here.
363
Thou wert
of a certainty in the clock.
{Takes out the detached pendulum.
Steps back and surveys the
timepiece, whose hands clearly indicate a time long passed or not
yet come.]
And
as far as
pendulums are concerned
warrant.
[looking rue-
fully at the one in his hand], thou certainly wert
no improve
I never
Charles.
be called to
Aye, that
fulfil
I'll
And may
more
such position; the requirements be far too ex-
acting for one of
Cotton.
my build and constitution. But what extremity hath induced thee
^
to take
up
thine abode in such a place
[Lays the pendulum aside and gives
attention.
Charles
his entire
Charles.
take
it.
Why,
that
came
all in
the course of events as I
upon mine came Adonijah; and, being loath either to leave the field or share it,
I hid within the clock. Once there, the temptation to help time in covering its
course grew strong upon me in the
I returned a short time ago, hard
heels
When
hope that Adonijah, misled by the lateness of the hour, would
soon depart.
Only I looked not
sire, for
for such a departure.
Judge
if
me
a
not too harshly,
I love thy daughter, and
thou
wilt give thy consent to our marriage I will
do
all
that becometh
man
to deserve such treasure.
Cotton.
is
I like not thy frivolous
it
manner
of wearing hair that
not thine own;
becomes thee not.
And
I strongly mistrust
life.
thine attitude toward the
more
serious things of
Charles.
desire,
tosses
its
If
I'll
my
wig standeth between
all.
me and my
it
heart's
off
ise
and up and smooths disarranged curls.] And as for mine outlook on life, I promth
ee that hath but matched the outer trappings, and can be
[He pulls the wig
it
why,
have no wig at
aside.
Betty, with a
little
cry, picks
doflFed as quickly.
as
I am as serious beneath all outward levity any sober-minded judge, and can act a
ccordingly. Cotton. See to it that thou suit the action to those words.
My
heart
is
strangely
moved toward
thee, yet I
would ponder
364
BEULAH BORNSTEAD
[Turns
to
the matter more deeply.
Betty, who has been absent-
mindedly twirling
the curls
on the wig.]
And where
[as
is
thy voice,
my
daughter?
for the once.
Thou But it
for
art strangely silent
is
an
afterthought]
of small wonder, since thou hast
had
enough excitement
Charles,
one evening.
Me thinks
that scoundrel,
Adonijah, needetli following up.
Do
thou remain with Betty,
and
I will hasten after him.
Charles.
Adonijah.
He
Nay, thou need'st not trouble thyself regarding hath much too wholesome a regard
for the duck-
ing-stool to cause further mischief.
Cotton.
sure.
Nevertheless, I will
away
to the council
and make
[He plants his hat on his head and departs.
[Turning
is
to Betty, who has dropped the wig on the now gazing demurely at the floor.] And
now to finish up where we left off. The devil hath led us a merrier dance than w
e suspected. Thou hast not truly given answer to
Charles.
settee,
and who
the question I have asked of thee.
Betty.
Betty. Betty.
Charles.
Charles. Charles.
Betty.
What more of an answer would'st thou Why, I have yet had none at all. Must tell
thee further ?
[Gravely.]
yet require ?
[Mischievously.]
Thou must. Then put the question once again.

Thou knowest
the question, an thou wilt.
An' thou knowest the answer.
[Charles
Betty.
Charles
takes her in his arms.
[Holding up her hand so thai the ring sparkles.]
circle
!
Look,
the diabolical
CURTAIN
THE FAR-AWAY PRINCESS
BY
HERMANN SUDERMANN
The Far- Away Princess is reprinted by special arrangement with Charles Scribner
's Sons, the publishers of Roses, from which this play is taken. For permission
to perform address the publishers.
HERMANN
SUDERIVIANN
Hermann Sudermann, one of the foremost of the Continental European dramatists, w
as born at Matziken, in East Prussia, Germany, September 30, 1857. He attended s
chool at Elbing and Tilsit, and then at fourteen became a druggist's apprentice.
He received his university training at Konigsberg and Berlin. Soon he devoted h
is energies to literary work. His greatest literary work is in the field of the
drama, in which he became successful almost instantly. His strength is not in po
etic beauty and in deep insight into human character, as in
the instance of a
essentially a
number
of other
German
dramatists.
He
is
by
instinct.
man of the theatre, a dramatist, and a He is a dramatic craftsman of the first
technician
order.
His chief one-act plays are in two volumes: Morituri, which contains Teja, Fritc
hen, and The Eternal Masculine; and Roses, which contains Streaks of Light, Marg
ot, The Last Visit, and The
Far- Away Princess. The Far-Away Princess
delicate of
is
Sudermann 's
plays.
one of the most subtle and most Its technic is exemplary.
CHARACTERS
The Princess von Geldern Baroness von Brook, her maid
Frau von Halldorf
LiDDY
of honor
MiLLY
her daughters
Fritz Strubel, a student
Frau Lindemann
Rosa, a waitress
A
Lackey
THE FAR-AWAY PRINCESS*
THE PRESENT DAY:
The veranda of an inn.
randa.
The scene
is
laid at
an inn situated
above a watering-place in central Germany.
The
right side of the stage
and half of
the
ve-
background represent a framework of glass enclosing the
The
left
side
and
the other half of the
background rep-
resent the stone walls of the hou^e.
To
the left, in the foreleft.
ground, a door; another door in the background, at the
On
On
the
left,
back, a buffet
and
serving-table.
Neat
little
tables
and small iron
chairs for visitors are placed about the veranda.
the right, in the centre,
a large
telescope,
standing on a
tripod, is directed through
an open window.
Rosa, dressed
in the costume of the country, is arranging floivers on the small
tables.
Frau Lindemann,
a handsome, stoutish
left.
woman
in
the thirties, hurries in excitedly from the
Frau Lindemann.
bedding
this
There
!
Now
she can
!
everything fresh and clean as new unexpected honor Barons and counts
!
come curtains, No, this honor,
have been here

often enough.
Even
!
the Russian princes sometimes
come up
from the Springs.
just like
I don't bother
that
Perhaps
my head about themthey're
But a
it isn't
princess
a
real princess
all.
!
Rosa.
a real princess after
Frau Lindemann. mean by that
Rosa.
but
silks
[Indignantly.]
What.^
What do you
wouldn't be
I
was only thinking that a
like this.
real princess
lie
coming to an inn
Real princesses won't
just wait
on anything
!
and
velvets.
You
and
see; it's
a trick
* Copyright, 1909,
by Charles
Scribner's Sons.
All rights reserved.
370
HERMANN SUDERMANN
Are you going
is
Frau Lindemann.
isn't
to pretend that the letter
genuine; that the lett^
a forgery?
is
Rosa.
Maybe one
Lindemaitot.
of the regular customers
playing a joke.
[Giggles.
That student, Herr
Striibel, he's
always joking.
Striibel
Frau
When Herr
makes a joke he
Oh, of course one
as for writing a
it
makes a decent
forged letter
there!
joke, a real, genuine joke.
has to pretend to be angry sometimes

but
My
land
!
a
letter
with a gold crown on
[She takes a
letter from
her ivaist
and
reads.]
"This
after-
noon Her Highness, the Princess von Geldern,
the Springs.
will stop at
the
Fairview Inn, to rest an hour or so before making the descent to
You
are requested to have ready a quiet and com-
fortable room, to guard
Her Highness from any annoying adnot be repeated.
vances, and, above
all,
to maintain the strictest secrecy regarding
this event, as otherwise the royal visit will
Baroness von Brook, maid of honor to Her Highness."
Now,
honor
Dear,
what have you got
Rosa.
to say
?
Herr
Striibel lent
me
a book once. a trick
A
maid
of
came
into that, too.
I'm sure
Striibel
it's
Frau Lindemann.
dear, isn't that
[Looking out toward the back.]
Herr
now, coming up the
hill ?
To-day
of
all
days
!
What on
all
earth does he always want up here ?
Rosa.
[Pointedly.]
He's in such favor at the Inn.
He won't
be leaving here
day.
Frau Lindemann. That won't do at all. He's got to be I'll be disagreesent off. I
f I only knew how I could Oh, ho manage that's the only way to it him able to [S
trubel enters. He is a handsome young fellow without

much
Strubel.
Strubel.
polishy hut cheerful, unaffected, entirely at his ease,
and invariably good-natured.
Good day, everybody. Frau Lindemann. [Sarcastically.]
[Surprised at her coolness.]
Charming day. I say What's up ?
!
Who's been rubbing you the wrong
way.'^
May
I have a glass
THE FAR-AWAY PRINCESS
of beer,
371
anyway ?
if
Glass of beer,
[Sits
if
you please
!
Several glasses
of beer,
you
please.
down.]
Pestiferously hot this after-
noon.
Frau Lindemann.
Strubel.
[After
a pause.]
H'm, H'm.
Landlady Linda, dear, why so quiet to-day ? Frau Lindemann. In the first place,
Herr Strubel, I would
have you know that Strubel.
Just
my name
is
Frau Lindemann.
so.
Frau Lindemann.
familiarity
And, secondly,
if
you don't stop your
Strubel.
!"
[Singing, as
Rosa brings him a glass of beer.] "Beer
it is
!
beer Heavens and earth, how hot
Frau Lindemann. quietly down there at
Strubel.
Ah,
If
[Drinks.
you
find
?
it
so hot,
why
don't you stay
the Springs
soul
my
thirsts
for
the heights
my
soul
thirsts for the heights
every afternoon.
Just as soon as ever
my
sallow-faced pupil has thrown himself
down on
the couch to
give his red corpuscles a chance to grow, "I gayly grasp
my
Alpine
and mount to my beloved." Frau Lindemann. [Scornfully.] Bah!
staff
Strubel.
Oh, you're thinking that you are
my
beloved
.f*
No, dearest;
my
beloved stays
down
there.
But
to get nearer
to her, I have to
come up here
up to your
why
telescope.
With the
aid of your telescope I can look right into her
window
see
?
Rosa.
that?
[Laughing.]
Oh, so that's
Frau Lindemann.
Besides, I've no
Perhaps you think I'm interested
in all
more time
for you.
Moreover, I'm go-
ing to have this place cleaned right away.
Strubel.
Good-by, Herr
[Goes out.
Strubel.
[Laughing.]
I certainly caught
it
that time
!
See
here, Rosa, what's got into her
head ?
there are crowned heads
letters vnth
Rosa.
[Mysteriously.]
Ahem,
and
let-
other heads
and ahemthere are
crowns and
ters without crowns.
372
HERMANN SUDERMANN Are you Strubel. Letters Rosa. There are maids of honorand othe
r maids
?
?
!
[Giggles.
Strubel.
finger.]
Permit me.
!
[Tapping her forehead
lightly with his
Ow
Ow
Why, your
head's on
fire.
Rosa.
What's the matter ?
Strubel.
Blow
!
Blow
just
!
And
while you are getting some salve for
my
burns,
I'll
[Goes to the telescope.
[Enter
Frau von Halldorf, Liddy, and Milly. Frau VON Halldorf is an aristocratic icoman
, somewhat
and
affected.
supercilious
Liddy.
yourself.
Here's the telescope, mother.
Now
you can
see for
Frau
v.
Halldorf.
What
a pity that
it's in
use just now.
Strubel.
[Stepping hack.]
I can wait.
Oh, I beg of you, ladies
I have
plenty of time.
Frau v. Halldorf.
[She goes
place.]
[Condescendingly.]
Ah, thanks so much.
returns to his former
up
to the telescope, ivhile
!
Strubel
Waitress
[As
is
Bring us three glasses of milk.
languidly drops into a chair.]
Liddy.
the right
Milly
Beyond
to
the road, mother.
Frau
no
Liddy.
v.
Halldorf.
Let
Oh, I have found the road, but I see
sort.
carriage
neither a royal carriage nor any other
me
look.
Frau
Liddy.
v.
Halldorf. Halldorf.
Please do.
It has disappeared now.
v.
Frau
carriage
Are you quite sure that
it
was a royal
?
Liddy.
It
Oh, one has an instinct for that sort of thing, mother.
in the cradle.
comes to one
Frau
v.
Halldorf.
[As
Milly yawns and
I'm always
tired.
sighs
aloud.]
Are you sleepy, dear ^ Milly. No, only tired.
Frau
v.
Halldorf.
Well, that's just
why we
are at the
THE FAR-AWAY PRINCESS
Springs.
373
Do
as the princess does take the waters religiously.
:
MiLLY.
hill
The
princess oughtn't to be climbing
like this.
up such a steep
either
on a hot day
Frau
to
v.
Halldorf.
[More
If,
softly.]
Well, you
luck,
are taking
all this trouble.
by good
know why we we should happen
Oh,
meet the princess
LiDDY.
[Who has been
again
!
looking through the telescope.]
there
it is
Frau
LiDDY.
v.
Halldorf.
It's just
[Eagerly.]
Where?
Where?
[Takes Liddy's place,
Frau
inside
v.
coming around the turn at the top. Halldorf. Oh, now I see it Why, there's no on
e
!
LiDDY.
Well, then she's coming
v.
up on
foot.
is
Frau
ing
Halldorf.
If I
[To Milly.]
she
is
See, the princess
com-
up on
foot, too.
And
just as antemic as
you
are.
if
Milly.
have
were going to marry a grand-duke, and
I could
my own
v.
carriage driven along beside me, I wouldn't
com-
plain of having to walk either.
Frau
LiDDY.
Halldorf.
I can't see a thing now.
You have
v.
to turn the screw, mother. I
Frau
LiDDY.
Halldorf.
Let
have been turning
it
right along, but
the telescope won't move.
me
try.
little
Strubel.
LiDDY.
mother.
It
[Who has been throwing
seems to
loads of paper at
Rosa
during the preceding conversation.]
What
are they
up to?
me
that you've turned the screw too far,
Frau
I've
v.
Halldorf.
[Rising.]
W^ell,
what
shall
Strubel.
Permit
me
to
we do about it ? come to your aid, ladies.
Frau
had some experience with these old screws. Very kind indeed. v. Halldorf. [Strub
el busies himself with the instrument.

LiDDY.
Listen, mother.
If the carriage
has almost reached
374
HERMANN SUDERMANN
off.
the top the princess can't be far
to watch for
Wouldn't
it
be best, then,
Frau
v.
them on the road ? Halldorf. Certainly,
This
is
if
you think that would be
a regular
best, dear Liddy.
Strubel.
not only an old screw, but
it's
perverted old screw.
Frau v. Halldorf. Ah, really? [Aside to her daughters.] And if she should actual
ly speak to us at this accidental meeting and if we could present ourselves as t
he subjects of her noble fiance, and tell her that we live at her future home ju
st imagine what an advantage that would give us over the other women of

the court
Strubel.
There, ladies
!
We
have now rescued the useful
is
instrument to which the far-sightedness of mankind
indebted.
sir,
Frau
going to
v.
Halldorf.
Thanks, so much.
Pardon me,
but
is
have you heard anything about the report that the princess
make the journey up here to-day.^ Strubel. The princess ? The princess of the Sp
rings ? The princess of the lonely villa? The princess who is expected at the ir
on spring every morning, but who has never been seen by a living soul ? Why, I a
m enormously interested. You wouldn't believe how much interested I am
!
Liddy.
is!
[Who has
v.
looked out, back.]
There
therethere
is
it
Frau
Liddy.
PIalldorf.
It's
The
carriage
?
reached the top already.
It
stopping over
there at the edge of the woods.
Frau v. Halldorf. She wUl surely Come quickly, my dear children, so that
dental.
enter
it
it
there,
then.
will lock quite accito
Here
is
your money.
[She throws a coin
,
Rosa
a^id
unwraps a small package done up in tissue-paper which she has
brought with her.]
for you.
Here
is
a bouquet for you
and here's one
oh, yes
!
You
are to present these to the princess.
it
MiLLY.
So that
will look quite accidental
[All three go out.
THE FAR-AWAY PRINCESS
Strubel.
Surely she
!
375
sits
Good heavens Could I ? I don't believe it well, I'll make sure right away [Goes
up to

the telescope
and
stops.]
Oh,
I'll
go along with them, anyhow.
[Exit after them.
Frau Lindemann.
them ?
Rosa.
All of them.
[Entering.]
Have they
all
gone

all
of
Frau Lindemann.
[Looking toward the
right.]
There
two
me
!
there
ladies
How
and a lackey are coming up the footpath. Mercy my heart is beating If I had only
had the sofa re!
covered
last spring
What am I going to say to them Rosa,
!
?
don't you
princess
?
know a poem by
now
!
heart which you could speak to the
[Rosa shrugs her shoulders.]
They're coming through
Stop putting your arms under your apron that way, you stupid thing oh dear, oh dea
r
the court
!
[The door opens.
A
Lackey
in plain black livery enters,
and remains standing
pale, sickly,
at the door.
Princess and Frau von Brook.
unassuming young
girl,
He precedes The The Princess is a
wearing a very sim-
ple walking costume
and a medium-sized leghorn hat
trimmed with
roses.
Frau von Brook
woman, in
is
a handsome,
stately, stern-looking
the thirties.
She
is well-
dressed, but in accordance with the simple tastes of the
North German
nobility.
Frau v. is the proprietor of this place ? Frau Lindemann. At your command, your
Highness. Frau v. Brook. [Reprovingly.] I am the maid of honor. Where is the roo
m that has been ordered ? Frau Lindemann. [Opens the door, left.] Here at the he
ad
Brook.
of the stairs
Who
my lady.
Would your Highness

Frau
for a
v.
Brook.
care to remain here
few moments ?
Brook.
The Princess. Very much, dear Frau von Frau v. Brook. Edward, order what is
needed
is
for
Her
Highness, and see that a room next to Her Highness
prepared
376
for
HERMANN SUDERMANN
me.
I
may assume
that these are
Your Highness's wishes?
Frau von Brook.
and
pilloics, goes
The
Princess.
Why
left.
certainly, dear
[The Lackey,
with Rosa,
icho is carrying shaiols
out
The
Princess.
pas sommeil.
abominable.
Mais puisque je te dis, Eugenie, que je n'ai M'envoyer coucher comme une enfant,
c'est Mais
je t'implore, cherie, sois sage
Frau
sais,
v.
Brook.
!
Tu
que
c'est le
medecin, qui
The
Et
si
Princess.
Ah, ton medecin
!
Toujours cette corvee.
je te dis v.
Frau
best for
Brook.
Chut!
I
My
dear woman, wouldn't
"^
it
be
you
to superintend the preparations
Frau Lindemann.
Frau
v.
am
entirely at your service.
[Ahoid
to
go out,
left.
Brook.
One
thing more.
This veranda, leading
it
from the house to the grounds
to the public
.'*
would
be possible to close
it
Frau Lindemann.
not
sit
Oh, certainly.
trees.
The
guests as often as
out under the
Frau v. Brook. Very well, then do so, please. [Frau Lindemann locks the door.] W
e may be assured that no one will
enter this place
?
Frau Lindemann.
the house will
If
it is
desired,
none of us belonging to
come in here either. Frau v. Brook. We should like that. Frau Lindemann. Very we
ll. Frau v. Brook. Really, you must be more careful, You must be If that woman h
ad understood French
[Exit.
darling.

careful
it ?
The Princess. What would have been Frau v. Brook. Oh, my dear child
!
so dreadful
about
This
mood
of yours,
which
is
due to nothing but your
illness
haven't taken your peptonized milk yet
that reminds me, you a secret which
this
is
we must keep from every one, above the Grand Duke should discover
all
from your
fiance.
If
THE FAR-AWAY PRINCESS
The
Frau
Princess.
v.
377
[Shrugging her shoulders.]
Well,
Brook.
A
bride's
duty
is
to be a
what of it ? happy bride.
Otherwise
The Princess. Otherwise.^ Frau v. Brook. She will be a lonely and an unloved wom
an. The Princess. [With a little smile of resignation.] Ah Frau v. Brook. What i
s it, dear? [The Princess shakes And then think of the strain of those formal pr
esenher head.] You must grow strong. tations awaiting you in the autumn Remember
that you must be equal to the most exacting de!
mands
of
life.
The Princess. Of life ? "V^Tiose life ? Frau v. Brook. W^hat do you mean by that
? The Princess. Ah, what good does it do to talk about
Frau
v.
it.^
Brook. Yes, you are right. In my soul, too, there are unhappy and unholy thought
s that I would rather not utter.
From my own
experience I
know
that
it is
best to keep strictly
within the narrow path of duty.
The Princess. And to go to sleep. Frau v. Brook. Ah, it isn't only that. The Pri
ncess. Look out there See the woods
!
!
Ah, to
lie
down on
the moss, to cover oneself with leaves, to watch the
clouds pass by high above
Frau
time.
v.
Brook.
[Softening.]
We
can do that, too, some-
The
Frau
Princess.
[Laughing aloud.]
Sometime!
[The Lackey appears
at the door.
Is everything ready ? v. Brook. [The Lackey bows. The Princess. [Aside to Frau v
. Brook.]
But I simply
Does Your
cannot
sleep.
Frau
v.
Brook.
Try
to, for
my sake.
[Aloud.]
Highness
command
[Smiling and sighing.]
left.
The
Princess.
[They go
out,
Yes, I
command.
378
HERMANN SUDERMANN
[The stage
remains empty for several moments.
is
Then
Strubel
all of
heard trying the latch of the hack door.
Strubel's Voice.
a sudden
!
Hullo
!
!
What's up
!
!
Why
well, I
is
this locked
?
Rosa
!
the telescope
help myself.
teranda.
right.]
Rosa
[He
is
Open up Won't you ?
I've got to look tlirough
Oh,
know how
to
seen walking outside of the glass-covered
his head through the
Then he puts
open tcindow
Well, here
at the
Not a
soul inside?
[Climbs
over.]
we
are.
What on
same
earth has happened to these people?
out.]
[Unlocks the
it's all
hack door and looks
to me.
Everything deserted.
Well,
the
[Locks the door again.]
But
let's find
out right
away what
the carriage has to do with the case.
to
[Prepares
look through the telescope.
The Princess
left,
en-
ters cautiously
through the door at the
her hat in her
hand.
Without noticing Strubel, icho
is
standing mo-
tionless hefore the telescope, she goes hurriedly to the door at the hack
and unlocks
it.
Strubel.
[Startled at the
Why, how do you do?
sound of the key, turns around.] [The Princess, not venturing to movey
AVouldn't
glances hack at the door through which she has entered.]
you like to look through the telescope a while? Please do. [The Princess, undeci
ded as to whether or not she should answer
him, takes a few steps hack toward the door at the you going away ? I won't do a
nything to you.
left.]
Why
are
The
Princess.
[Reassured.]
Oh, I'm not going away.
Strubel.
That's right.
The door was locked. dow as I did ? The Princess. [Frightened.]
the window
?
But where have you come from? Surely you didn't climb through the win-

What?
You came
through
Strubel.
Of course I
did.
The
Princess.
[Frightened anew.]
Then
I
had rather
to
[Ahoid
go hack.
Strubel.
Oh,
my
dear young lady, you just stay right here.
THE FAR-AWAY PRINCESS
Why,
before I'd drive
379
you away
I'd pitch myself headlong over
a precipice
The
Princess.
[Smiling, reassured.]
I only
wanted
to go
out into the woods for half an hour.
Strubel.
Oh, then you're a regular guest here at the Inn
[Quickly.]
?
The
Princess.
Yes

yes, of course.
Strubel.
iVnd of course you drink the waters
[In a friendly way.]
down
below.'*
The
waters.
Princess.
Oh,
yes, I drink the
And I'm
taking the baths, too.
Strubel.
See here,
better for
Two hundred
on you
?
metres up and
Isn't that very hard
Heavens
there
!
down And you
it.
every time
look so pale
It
!
my
dear young lady, don't you do
to go
would be
you
down
that
is
Oh, forgive
me
I've been talking without thinking.
Of course, you have your
/ know how to
in all
own
life!
reasons

It's
decidedly cheaper up here.
I've never
value a thing of that sort.
had any money
my
The
comes
as
Princess.
[Trying
to
seem
practical.]
But when one
I look to
to a watering-place,
one must have money.
chest.]
Strubel.
if
[Slapping himself on the
?
Do
you
!
Thank Heaven, I can't afford such luxuries No; I'm only a poor fellow who earns
his miserable pittance durI drank iron
ing vacation
by acting as a private tutor
noon I eat
five
that's to say, "miserlie
able"
is
only a figure of speech, for in the morning I
abed
until nine, at
for work, I really
and at night seven courses; and as haven't a thing to do My pupil is so anaemic
!
why, compared to him, you're
The
Princess.
[Laughing
rather glad I'm not one.
fit
for a circus rider
unrestrainedly.]
Oh,
well,
I'm
Strubel.
Dear me,
it's
a business
like
any
other.
The The
Princess.
Like any other ?
pray,
Really, I didn't think that.
Strubel.
And
what did you think then ?
Princess.
Oh, I thought that they were
an entirely
different sort of people.
380
Strubel.
HERMANN SUDERMANN
My
dear young lady,
all
people are "an entirely
different sort."
Of course we two
aren't.
We
get along real
!
well together, don't
we ?
As poor
as church mice, both of us
The
Princess.
true.
[Smiling
reflectively.]
Who knows?
If
Per-
haps that's
Strubel.
stay
[Kindly.]
Do
you know what?
He's here to
you want to
I
down
there

I'll tell
you how one can
live cheaply.
have
a friend, a student
are. at
like myself.
mend up
as you
I feed
him up at the house where I'm
staying.
[Frightened
a peculiar look of The Princess's.]
Oh, but you mustn't be
No, I shouldn't have said it. It wasn't decent of me. Only, let me tell you, I'm
so glad to be able to help the poor fellow out of
my
unexpected earnings, that I'd
all
like to
be shouting
it
from the
housetops
the time
!
Of
course,
you understand
then ?
that, don't
you?
The
Princess.
You
like to help people,
?
Strubel.
Surel^^
don't you
The
Princess.
it,
[Reflecting.]
No.
There's always so
much
in the
talk about
and the whole thing immediately appears
newspapers.
Strubel.
What ?
in
If
you help some one, that appears
I only
?
if
The
Princess.
[Quickly correcting herself.]
mean
one takes part
entertainments for charity
yes, naturally.
Strubel.
get
sees to
Oh,
In those things they always
if
some woman
it,
it.
of
rank to act as patroness,
sure, that the
they can, and she
you may be
newspapers make a fuss
over
The
Princess.
[Demurely.]
Oh, not every
Strubel.
these titled
Just try to teach
me something I don't know about
women
in
!
Besides,
my
dear young lady, where
or
?
is
your home

one of the krge

Oh, no.
cities,
The
Princess.
In quite a small town
really more
like the country.
Strubel.
Then I'm going
to
show you something that you
your
life.
probably never saw before
in all
THE FAR-AWAY PRINCESS
The
Princess.
381
Oh do
!
!
What
H'ln
is it ?
Strubel.
a princess
not a make-believe, but a
real,
true-blue princess
The The
Princess.
Yes.
Oh, really ?
Strubel. Strubel.
Our
Princess of the Springs.
Princess.
And who may
Of Geldern ?
that be
?
Why,
Of
Princess Marie Louise.
The
Princess.
Strubel.
course.
The
The
Princess.
Do you know
certainly.
her ?
Strubel.
retirement.
Why,
Princess.
Really?
I thought that she lived in great
Strubel.
it.
Well, that doesn't do her
any good.
Not a
bit of
And
you
because you are such a jolly good fellow I'm going to
secret.
tell
my
I'm
in love
with this princess
The
is,
Princess.
Oh!
can't imagine
Strubel.
You
what a comfort
it is.
The
fact
every young poet has got to have a princess to love.
The The
Princess.
Are you a poet ^
tell
Strubel.
Strubel.
Can't you
that by looking at
me ?
!
Princess.
I never
saw a poet
before.
Never saw a poet
[Assenting.]
never saw a princess
H'mand
Why,
you're learning a heap of things to-day
The
poems
'em!
Princess.
to her
?
have you written
Quantities of
Strubel.
Why,
that goes without saying
!
The
you.?
Princess.
Oh, please
recite
some
little
thing
won't
Strubel.
No, not No,
yet.
Everything at the proper time.
going to
yes.
The
The
Princess.
Ah,
first
yes, first I should like to see the princess.
Strubel.
I
am
tell
you the whole
story.
Princess.
Oh, yes,
Please do.
[Sits
down.
Strubel.
Well, then
I had hardly heard that she was here
382
HERMANN SUDERMANN
It
before I was dead in love with her.
shot, I tell you.
in love
was
all
just as quick as
a
Just as
if
I
had waited
m}^
life
long to
fall
with her.
Besides, I also heard about her beauty
see,
and
her sorrow.
You
she had an early love
affair.
The
that?
Princess.
[Disconcerted.]
What?
officer
Are
they
saying
Strubel.
Yes.
It
was a young
there.
who went
to Africa
because of her
and died
And

know that, too ? know ? But that's a mere detail Even the fact that in six month
s she it doesn't concern me. will become the bride of a grand-duke even that can
make no difference to me. For the present she is my princess. But you're
Princess.
they
The
Strubel.
What
don't they

not listening to
me
!
The
Princess.
Strubel.
not give
Oh, yes, I am Do you know what that means my princess up my princess not for anyt
hing in all the world
!
I'll
The
know
Princess.
But

if
you don't even know her
her ?
?
Strubel.
myself
I don't
know
Why,
I
know
her as well as I
The
And
she
Princess.
Strubel.
I don't
Have you ever met her, then ? know of any one who has ever met
what she looks
like.
her.
there's not a soul that can tell
It
is
said that there were pictures of her in the shop-windows
first
when
came, but they were removed immediately.
In the
morning a great many people are always lurking around the
Springs trying to catch a glimpse of her.
I,
myself, have gotten
up at six o'clock a couple of times on the same errand and if you knew me better
, you'd realize what that meant. But not a
sign of her
!

Either she has the stuff brought to her house or

she has the power of making herself invisible.
turns aside
to
[The Princess
conceal a smile.]
After that, I used to hang around
Until one day the
her garden
every day,
whom
for hours at a time.
policeman,
the managers of the Springs have stationed at
THE FAR-AWAY PRINCESS
the gates,
383
came up
to
me and
asked
me what on
earth I was
of ap-
doing there.
proach
!
was the end of those methods Suddenly, however, a happy thought struck me.
Well, that
Now
I can see her and have her near to
me
as often as I wish.
The
Princess.
Why,
that's very interesting.
How ?
I risk
it ?
Strubel.
Yes, that's just the point.
H'm, should
Should I take you into
my confidence ?
that you
The
Princess.
You promised me some time ago
[Looks
would show her to me.
Strubel.
Wait a second.
through
the
telescope.]
There she
is.
Please look for yourself.
The
escope.]
Princess.
But
I
am
is
[She, too, looks through the telif
Actually, there
the garden as plain as
one were
in
it.
Strubel.
And
at the corner
that's she.
window on the
left
embroidery-frame

with the
is
The
Princess.
?
Are you absolutely certain that that
else
the
princess
Strubel.
Why, who
could
it
be ?
like that
is
The
woman,
Princess.
Oh, 'round about a princess
there
are such a lot of people.
For instance, there
her waiting-
there's the seamstress
and her
assistants, there's
if
Strubel.
the very
But,
my
dear young lady,
you only understood
else.
anything about these matters, you would have been certain at
first
glance that
it
was she
the nobility in every motion
and no one Observe the queenly grace with which she
it's
bends over the embroidery-frame
The
frame ?
Princess.
How
do you know that
an embroidery-
Strubel.
stockings
Why, what
should a princess be bending over
if
not an embroidery-frame.^
?
Do
you expect her to be darning
The
Princess.
It wouldn't hurt her at all that's just one of those petty, bourgeois no-
Strubel.
Now,
384
tions which
HERMANN SUDERMANN
we ought
far
to suppress.
It's
not enough that we
have
to stick in this misery,
but we'd Hke to drag her down, too
that being
The The
Strubel.
above
all
earthly care
Princess.
Oh, dear
me
!
What
are you sighing about so terribly
Tell me, wouldn't
?
Princess.
yon
like to
have a closer
acquaintance with your princess, some time ?
Strubel.
to me,
Closer ?
Why
?
should I }
Isn't she close
call
enough
my
far-away princess
for that's what I
to
her
?
when
I
talk to myself about her.
And
?
have her
still
closer
The
Princess.
Why,
so that
you could
talk to her
and
know what
Strubel.
she really was like
[Terrified.]
!
Talk to her!
poor
Heaven forbid
folks.
!
Good?
ness gracious, no
Just see here
how am I to face a princess
tailor.
I'm an ordinary
fellow, the son of
I haven't polished
manners
I haven't even
a decent
A
lady like that
I've
tutor.
why, she'd measure me from top to toe in one glance. my lessons in the fine hous
es where I've applied as
glance from boots to cravat
had
A
and you're dismissed
think that I
!
The
Princess.
girl is
And you
[correcting
herself]
that this
as superficial as that ?
Strubel.
"This girl"!
Dear me, how that sounds
!
But,
how
even
should I ever succeed in showing her
if
my
real self
.^^
And
I should,
you
so nice
what would she care ? Oh, yes, if she were like and simple and with such a kindh
earted, roguish

little
twinkle in her eye
!
The
Princess.
Roguish
I
?
Why
so
?
Strubel.
Because you are laughing at
me
in
your
sleeve.
And really I deserve nothing better. The Princess. But your princess
ter than
deserves something bet-
your opinion of her.
Strubel.
How
do you know that ?
The
Princess.
You
really
ought to try to become acagain no
quainted with her some time.
Strubel.
No, no, no
and
!
As long
as she re-
THE FAR-AWAY PRINCESS
mains
to be
385
my
far-away princess she
is
everything that I want her
modest, gracious, loving.
when
She smiles upon
me dreamUy.
Yes, she even listens
can't be said of
I recite
!
my
poems
to her
and that
to the
many
people
And
as soon as I have finished
it
she sighs, takes a rose from her breast, and casts
poet.
down
I wrote a few verses yesterday about that rose,
that
flower which represents the pinnacle of
my
desires, as it were.
The
Princess.
[Eagerly.]
Oh, yes.
Oh, please, please
Strubel.
Well, then, here goes.
H'm
"
"Twenty
roses nestling close
The
Princess.
What ?
Are there twenty now ?
princess
Strubel.
rupted me.
[Severely.]
My
would not have
inter-
The
Princess.
Oh, please
forgive me.
Strubel.
I shall begin again.
"Twenty roses nestling close Gleam upon thy breast. Twenty years of rose-red lov
e Upon thy fair cheeks rest.
"Twenty years would I gladly Out of life's brief reign.
give
Could I but ask a rose of thee
And
ask
it
not
in vain.
"Twenty roses thou dost not need Why, pearls and rubies are thine With nineteen
thou'dst be just as fair. And one would then be mine
"And twenty
Would
years of rose- wreathed joy
life
spring to
for
me
suffice
Yet twenty years could ne'er To worship it and thee !"

386
HERMANN SUDERMANN
Princess.
The
How
b
nice
that
is!
I've never
had any
verses written to
me
Strubel.
Ah,
my
dear young lady, ordinary folks like us
!
own verse-making The Princess. And all for one And then what is left you fades
have to do
their
!
rose
!
Dear me, how soon
it
.'*
Strubel.
even as
No,
my
dear friend, a rose like that never fades
my
love for the gracious giver can never die.
The
Princess.
Strubel.
But you haven't even got it yet That makes no difference in the end. I'm
entirely
independent of such externals.
with the more advanced classes
When some day
I shall be ex-
plaining Ovid to the beginners, or perhaps even reading Horace
no,
it's
better for the present
not to think of reaching any such dizzy heights of greatness
well,
then I shall always be saying to myself with a smile of sat-
isfaction:
"You,
too,
were one of those confounded
that will
artist fellows
why, you once went so far as to love a princess !"
The
all.'*
Princess.
And
make you happy
.?
Strubel.
Enormously!
of
happiness.'*
For what makes us happy,
Great heavens, no!
after
A
bit
Happiness
wears out
like
an old glove.
Well, then,
The
Princess.
what does ?
!
Strubel.
a fancy
Ah, how should I know
Any
kind of a dream
a wish unfulfilled
a
sorrow that
we
coddle
some
nothing which suddenly becomes everything to us.
I shall al-
ways say
as long as
to
my
pupils:
"Young men,
if
you want to be happy
you
live,
create gods for yourselves in your
own image;
these gods will take care of your happiness."
The
Princess.
And what would
be ?
Is,
the god be like that you
would create ?
STRtJBEL.
Would
my
dear young lady,
is I
A man
of the world, a gentleman, well-bred, smiling, enjoying
life
who
upon mankind from under bushy eyebrows, who knows Nietzsche and Stendhal by hear
t, and [pointing to his shoes] who
looks out
THE FAR-AWAY PRINCESS
isn't
387
I
down at the heels a god, in short, worthy of my princess. know perfectly well th
at all my life long I shall never do any-

thing but crawl around on the ground like an industrious ant,

but I know, too, that the god of
my
fancy will always take
pull
by the
collar
when the proper moment comes and
Yes, up there I'm safe.
me me up
god,
again into the clouds.
or rather your goddess
And your
easy
to
what would she look
That's
like ?
The
Princess.
[Thoughtfully.]
not
say.
My goddess would bea quiet, peaceful woman who would treasure a secret
little
joy like the apple of her eye,
nothing of the world except what she wanted to know, and
would have the strength to make her
her.
who would know who own choice when it pleased
to
Strubel.
aspiration,
my
But that doesn't seem dear young lady.
princess
me
a particularly lofty
The The
girl.
Princess.
Lofty as the heavens,
my
friend.
Strubel. Strubel.
My
For
would be
of a different opinion.
Princess.
Do you
think so ?
that's merely the ideal of every little country
The
Princess.
Not
It
is
her
ideal
her
daily
life
which she
it.
counts as naught.
Strubel.
as that
!
Oh, I say,
my ideal because I my dear young girl
like
if
can never attain
It can't be as
!
bad
A
young
girl
you
so
charming and
I
don't
want
to be forward, but
I could only help you a bit
The
Before,
Princess.
it
Have you
got to be helping
all
the
time.'^
was only a cheap lunch, now it's actually Strubel. Yes, yes, I'm an awful donkey
, I know, but The Princess. [Smiling.] Don't say any more about
!
it,
dear friend
I like
you that way.
Really,
Strubel.
that
[Feeling oppressed by her superiority.]
!
you
are an awfully strange person
There's something about you
that
Princess.
Well.?
The
388
Strubel.
HERMANN SUDERMANN
I can't exactly define
it.
Tell me, weren't
It's so
you
in
wanting to go into the woods before ?
here.
so oppressive
it
The
Princess.
Oppressive
?
I don't find
so at all
quite
the contrary.
Strubel.
events,
No, no
I'm
restless.
may
I not escort
you

?
I don't know what at all One can chat more freely, one
if
can express himself more openly

one
[Takes a deep breath.
The
away
She'll
Princess.
[Smiling.]
And you
?
are leaving your far-
princess with such a light heart
[Carelessly.]
Strubel.
Oh,
she
!
She
won't
run
away.
be sitting there to-morrow again
Princess.
and the day
after, too
The
path
And
so that
is
your great, imdying love ?
Strubel.
Yes, but
when a
girl like
you comes across one's
Frau
v.
Halldorf.
[Hurrying in and then drawing back in
feigned astonishment.]
Oh
[Similarly.]
LiDDY AND MiLLY.
StrtJbel.
find her
?
Oh
tell
Well, ladies, didn't I
you that you wouldn't
!
Princesses don't grow along the roadside like weeds
Frau
infinite
v.
Halldorf.
[Disregarding
him
ceremoniously.]
fills
The
happiness with which this glorious event
our hearts
must excuse in some measure the extraordinary breach of good manners which we ar
e committing in daring to address Your Highness. But, as the fortunate subjects
of Your Highness's
most noble
Strubel.
fiance,
we
could not refrain from
!
Well, well
What's
all this ?
Frau
v.
Halldorf.
from
offering to our eagerly awaited
sovereign a slight token of our future loyalty.
Liddy
!
Milly
!
[LiDDY and Milly come forward, and, with low court bows,
their bouquets.]
offer
My
daughters respectfully present these few
flowers to the illustrious princess
THE FAR-AWAY PRINCESS
Strubel.
here,
389
I beg your pardon, but
?
who
is
doing the joking
you or
[Frau
v.
Brook
left,
enters.
The
Princess, tahen unawares,
has retreated more and more helplessly toward the door
at the
undecided whether to take
v.
flight or
remain.
She greets the arrival of Frau
sigh of
relief.
Brook
me,
with a
happy
Frau
v.
Brook.
[Severely.]
Pardon
ladies.
Appar-
ently you have not taken the proper steps toward being pre-
sented to
Her Highness.
I
In matters of
this sort
one must
first
apply to me.
to twelve,
may
be addressed every morning from eleven
and
I shall be
happy
to consider your desires.
Frau
v.
Halldorf.
[With dignity.]
I
and
my children, mais
dame, were aware
rule.
of the fact that
we were
acting contrary to the
usual procedure; but the impulse of loyal hearts
I shall be glad to avail myself of your
guided by no
very kind invitaPrincess.
tion.
[All three go out with low curtsies to
The
!
Frau v. Brook. What forwardness come down without me.'' And what is
there doing
.^
But how could you that young man over
.^^
Does he belong
to those people
[The Princess shakes her head.
word, goes
to get his hat, is
Strubel, without a
which has been lying on a chair,
to leave.
bows abruptly, and
about
The
Princess.
Oh, no
!
That wouldn't be
What.^
nice.
Not that
Your
way Frau
Highness
v.
Brook.
!
[Amazed.]
What!
Why,
The
Princess.
Let
me
be, Eugenie.
This young
man and
I have become far too good friends to part in such an unfriendly,
yes, almost hostile fashion.
Frau
v.
Brook.
Your Highness,
[To Strubel.]
I
am
very
much
The
Princess.
You and
I will certainly re-
390
HERMANN SUDERMANN
this
member
with
all
hour with great pleasure, and I thank you for
heart.
If I only
!
it
my
had a rose with me, so as to
give you your dear wish
Eugenie, haven't
we any
roses with
us?
Fkau v. Brook. Your Highness, I am very much The Princess. [Examining herself an
d searching among Well, how are we going to manage it ? vases.]
Strubel.
I
the
most humbly thank
your
Highness

for the
kind intention.
The
have
don't
it
Princess.
is
No, no
wait
!
hat which she
!
holding in her hand
with a sudden
joking.
[Her glance falls upon the
thought.]
I
But don't think that I'm
scissors
!
And
we'll
have to
I
do without
[She tears one of the roses from the hat]
know whether
there are just twenty

[Holding out one

of the roses to him.]
Well ^
This rose has the merit of being just
as real as the sentiment of which
just as unfading.
we were speaking
.'*
before
and
Strubel.
Is this
to bemy punishment
smilingly shakes her head.]
[The Princess Or does your Highness mean by it
that only the Unreal never fades ?
The
Princess.
That's exactly what I
mean
because
the
Unreal must always dwell
in the imagination.
Strubel.
cesses
So
that's
it
!
Just as
it is
only the far-away prin-
who are always near to us. Frau V. Brook. Permit me
it is
to remark.
Your Highness
must hurry
fall.]
that
high time
The
away.
Princess.
[Offering
[Is
As you
see,
those
who
lets
are near
him
the rose again.]
it,
Well }
his
Strubel.
about to take
hut
hand
With
the far-away princess there
in
[pointing dovm]
it
would have been
harmony, but with the
vnth emotion.]
No, thanks

[Shakes his head, then softly and
I'd rather not.
[He hows and goes
out.
arti-
The
Princess.
[Smiling pensively,
throws
away
the
THE FAR-AWAY PRINCESS
jicial flower.]
391
I'm going to ask
my
fiance to let
me
send him a
rose.
Frau
prised!
v.
Brook.
Your Highness, I am
very
much
sur-
The
Princess.
Well, I told you that I wasn't sleepy.
CURTAIN
THE STRONGER
BY
AUGUST STRINDBERG
AUGUST STRINDBERG
August Strindberg, Sweden's foremost dramatist, was born at Stockholm in 1849. H
e attended the University of Upsala but did not graduate. In 1872 he wrote Maste
r Olaf, which was for six years steadily refused by managers. When it did appear
it inaugurated the Swedish dramatic renascence. By
turns Strindberg was schoolmaster, journalist, dramatist, writer of scientific a
nd political treatises, and writer of short stories. In 1883 he left Sweden and
travelled extensively in Denmark,
Germany, France, and Italy. He died in 1912. As a dramatist Strindberg's chief s
trength lies not so much in dramatic technique as it does in his trenchant and s
earching power of analysis of the human mind. His chief plays are very exact and
narrow views of the feminine soul. Some of his own
domestic bitterness finds expression in the feminine studies in his plays. He is
very fond of showing the power of one character over another. His important one
-act plays are The Outlaw, Countess Julie, Creditors, Pariah, Facing Death, and
The Stronger. The Stronger has a dramatic intensity that few plays possess. Thou
gh but one character speaks, the souls of three are skiKully laid bare.
PERSONS
Mrs. Miss
X., an actress, married
Y.,
an
actress ,
unmarried
THE STRONGER*
SCENE A
:
corner of a ladies' restaurant ; two small tables of cast-
iron,
a sofa covered with red plush, and a few chairs.
enters, dressed in hat
Mrs. X.
and vnnter
coat,
and carrying a
pretty
Japanese basket on her arm.
in front of her a partly emptied bottle of beer ; she is
Miss Y. has
changes
reading an illustrated weekly, and every
it
now and
then she ex-
for a new one.
Mrs. X.
Well,
how
do, Millie!
Here you are
sitting
on
Christmas Eve, as lonely as a poor bachelor.
Miss Y.
looks
up from
the
paper for a moment^ nods, and
resumes her reading.
Mrs. X.
makes me
Really, I feel sorry to find
you
like this
alone
It
alone in a restaurant, and on Christmas
as sad as
Eve
of all times.
saw a wedding party at Paris once in a restaurant the bride was reading a comic
paper and the groom was playing billiards with the witnesses. Ugh, when it
I
when

begins that way, I thought,

ing billiards on his wedding
how
day
!
will it
end ?
Think
of
it,
play-
Yes, and you're going to say
that she was reading a comic paper
dear.
that's a different
it
case,
my
[A waitress brings a cup of chocolate, places
X-,
before
Mrs.
and disappears again.
[Sips a few spoonfuls ; opens the basket
presents.]
Mrs. X.
and displays
a number of Christmas
* Copyright, 1912,
See what I've bought for
my
by Charles
Scribner's Sons.
All rights reserved.
397
398
tots
AUGUST STRINDBERG
[Picks
it.
up a
doll.]
What do you
think of this?
Lisa
is
to have
see
?
She can
is it
roll
her eyes and twist her head, do you
here's a cork pistol for Carl.
it
Fine,
not ?
And
[Loads the pistol and pops
as if frightened.
at
Miss Y.
Miss Y.
starts
Mrs. X.
Did
I scare
you?
?
Why, you
didn't fear I
was
going to shoot you, did you
believe that of me.
surprise
If
Really, I didn't think
you could
wouldn't
you were to shoot me
I've got in your

it.
well, that
me
the least.
it
way
once, and I
know
you'll never forget
but I couldn't help
You
still
think I
intrigued
anything of the kind
you away from the Royal Theatre, and I didn't do although you think so. But it d
oesn't
matter what I say, of course
same.
for
you
believe
it
was I
just the
[Pulls out a pair of embroidered slippers.]
Well, these are
I hate
my hubbytulipsI've
tulips
embroidered them myself.
H'm
!
and he must have them on everything.
the
[Miss Y. looks up from
paper with an expression of
mingled sarcasm and curiosity.
Mrs. X. [Puts a hand in each slipper.] Just see what small Bob has. See? And you
should see him walk elegant! Of course, you've never seen him in slippers.
feet

[Miss Y. laughs aloud.

Mrs. X.
Look here
here he comes.
walk across the
table.
[Makes
the slippers
Miss Y. laughs
again.
like this:
Mrs. X. Then he gets angry, and he stamps his foot just "Blame that cook who can
't learn how to make coffee.'*
Or:
"The
idiot
now
Then
that
there
girl
is
has forgotten to
fix
my
study
lamp again."
idiots don't
a draught through the floor and
it's
his feet get cold.
"Gee, but
freezing,
and those blanked
even know enough to keep the house warm."
[She rubs the sole of one slipper against the instep of the
other.
Miss Y.
breaks into prolonged laughter.
Mrs. X.
And
then he comes
home and has
to
hunt
for his
THE STRONGER
slippei'S
Sflij?
Mary has pushed them under the bureau.
is
Well, per-
haps
it
not right to be making fun of one's
all
own husband.
hubby, that's
He's pretty good for
that
a
real dear little
what he
faithful.
is.
You
should have such a husband
tell.?
what are you
know he
as
laughing at?
Can't you
Then, you
see, I
Yes, I know, for he has told
me
himself
what
in the
like that.'' That nasty Betty tried to him away from me while I was on the road.
Can you think [Pause.] But I'd have scratched of anything more infamous ? the e
yes out of her face, that's what I'd have done, if I had been [Pause.] I'm glad
Bob told me all at home when she tried it. about it, so I didn't have to hear it
first from somebody else. [Pau^e.] And, just think of it, Betty was not the onl
y one I don't know why it is, but all women seem to be crazy after my husband. I
t must be because they imagine his government position gives him something to sa
y about the engagements.
world makes you giggle
get
!
Perhaps you've tried
for him, too
?
it
yourself

^you
may have
set
your traps
Yes, I don't trust you very far
never cared for you and then I have been thinking you rather had a grudge agains
t him. [Pav^e. They look at each other in an embarrassed manner, Mrs. X. Amelia,
spend the evening with us, won't you? Just to show that you are not angry not w
ith me, at least. I

but I know he

cannot
tell
exactly why, but
it
seems so awfully unpleasant to
in
have you
way that time know at all
[Pause.
youfor an enemy. Perhaps because I got or don't know I
[rallentando]
^I
your
don't
really,
Miss Y.
gazes searchingly at
It
Mrs. X.
first
Mrs. X.
acquaintance
[Thoughtfully.]
was so
peculiar, the
why, I was afraid of you when I
you out
^and
way our met you;
It didn't
so afraid that I did not dare to let
of sight.
I always found myself near you. I didn't have the courage to be your enemy so I be
came your
matter where I tried to go
friend.
But
there
was always something discordant
in the air
400
AUGUST STRINDBERG
called at our
it
when you
like
home,
for I
saw that
it
my
does
husband didn't
you
and
least,
annoyed me

just as
when a
dress
won't
to
fit.
I've tried
my
very best to make him appear friendly
but I couldn't move him not until you were Then you two became such fast friends
that it almost looked as if you had not dared to show your real feelings before
, when it was not safe and later let me see, now I didn't get jealous strange, w
as it not.'' And I remember the baptism you were acting as godmother, and I made
him kiss you and he did, but both of you looked terribly embarrassed that is, I
you at

engaged.

didn't think of
it
it
then
or afterwards, evenI never thought of
Why
don't you say some-

till
now!
[Rises impulsively.]
You have not uttered a single word all this time. You've just let me go on talki
ng. You've been sitting there staring at me only, and your eyes have drawn out o
f me all these thoughts which were lying in me like silk in a cocoon thoughts ba
d thoughts maybe let me think. Why did you
thing?

break your engagement?

afterward ?
Why
have you never
called
on us
Why
don't you want to be with us to-night ?
if intending to speak,
all.
[Miss Y. makes a motion as
Mrs. X.
clear to
No, you don't need to say anything at
now.
So, that's the reason of
it all.
!
All
is
me
Yes, yes
I don't want to fits together now. Shame on you same table with you.[Moves her t
hings to another table.] That's why I must put those hateful tulips on his slipp
ers because you love them. [Throws the slippers on the floor.] That's
Everything
sit
at the

why we have to spend the summer in the mountains because you can't bear the salt
smell of the ocean; that's why my boy had to be called Eskil because that was y
our father's name; that's why I had to wear your color, and read your books, and

eat your favorite dishes, and drink your drinks

for instance; that's

this chocolate,
why
of
it

great heavens
!
it's
terrible to think
it's
terrible
!
Everything was forced on
soul bored itself into
me by you
even
your passions.
Your
mine as a worm into
THE STRONGER
401
till
an apple, and it ate and ate and burrowed and burrowed, nothing was left but the
outside shell and a little black dust.
wanted
to
I
You were always on hand like a snake, with your black eyes, to charm me I felt h
ow my wings beat the air only to drag me down I was in the
run away from you, but I couldn't.

water with
my
feet tied together,
and the harder I worked with
my
me
arms, the further
down
I
went
down, down,
there
! !
till
I sank to
the bottom, where you lay in wait like a monster crab to catch
with your claws
and
now I'm
you
How
or
I hate you, hate you, hate
there, silent
full;
and calm and
it's
indifferent,
Shame on you But you, you just sit whether the moon is new
are incapable of hatred
whether
Christmas or mid-summer; whether other
people are happy or unhappy.
You
and you don't know how to love. As a cat in front of a mousehole, you are sittin
g there. You can't drag your prey out, and you can't pursue it, but you can outw
ait it. Here you sit in this corner do you know they've nicknamed it "the mouset
rap" on your account.'^ Here you read the papers to see if anybody is in trouble
, or if anybody is about to be discharged from the theatre. Here you watch your
victims and calculate Do you your chances and take your tributes. Poor Amelia kn
ow, I pity you all the same, for I know you are unhappy unhappy as one who has b
een wounded, and malicious because you are wounded. I ought to be angry with you
, but really I can't ^you are so small, after all and as to Bob, why, that

does not bother

me
in the least.
else
What
taught
does
it
matter to me,
drink chocolate
anyhow ?
If
you or somebody
me to
what
tiously.]
of that?
[Takes a spoonful of chocolate; then, senten-
They say chocolate is very wholesome. And if I have learned from you how to dres
s tant mieux it has only given

me
lost
a stronger hold on
my
husband

and you have

lost
where I
have gained.
Yes, judging by several signs, I think you have
him abeady. Of course, you meant me to break with him you did, and as you are no
w regretting but, you see, /

402
AUGUST STRINDBERG
It wouldn't
never would do that.
do to be narrow-minded,
you know.
wants ?
And why
should I take only what nobody else
all,
Perhaps, after
I
am
the stronger now.
You never
to
got anything from me; you merely gave
and thus happened
in
?
me what happened
you woke up.
to the thief
I had what you missed when
your hand,
never able
How explain in any other way that,
everything proved worthless and useless
You were
to keep a man's love, in spite of your tulips
and your passions
and I could; you could never learn the art of living from the books as I learned
it; you bore no little Eskil, although that was your father's name. And why do
you keep silent always

and everjrwhere silent, ever silent? I used to think it was because you were so
strong; and maybe the simple truth was you never had anything to say because you
were unable to [Rises and picks up the slippers.] I'm going home now think

I'll
take the tulips with
meyour
tulips.
You
couldn't learn
like
in-
anything from others; you couldn't bend
and so you broke
for all
a dry stem
structions.

and I
didn't.
Thank you, Amelia,
your
I thank you that you have taught
me how
to love
[Exit.
my
husband.
Now
I'm going home
to him
CURTAIN
BIBLIOGRAPHIES
COLLECTIONS OF ONE-ACT PLAYS
The Atlantic Book of
Press, Boston, 1921.
Modem
Plays.
The Atlantic Monthly
Baker, Geo. Pierce, Plays of the 47 Workship (two volumes) and Plays of the Harv
ard Dramatic Club (two volumes). Brentano's, New York City, 1918-20.
Clark, Barrett H., Representative One-Act Plays by British and
Irish Authors. Little, Brown and Company, Boston, 1921. Cohen, Helen Louise, One
-Act Plays by Modern Authors. Harcourt, Brace and Company, New York, 1921. Eliot
, Samuel A., Little Theatre Classics, one-act versions of standard plays from th
e modern and the classic plays. Four volumes now issued. Little, Brown and Compa
ny, Boston,
1918.
Mayorga, Margaret Gardner, Representative One- Act Plays by American Authors. Li
ttle, Brown and Company, Boston,
1919.
Moses, Montrose J., Representative One- Act Plays by Continental European Author
s. Little, Brown and Company, Boston,
1922.
Shay, Frank, and Loving, Pierre, Fifty Contemporary One-Act Plays. Stewart and K
idd Company, Cincinnati, 1920. Wisconsin Plays, First and Second Series. B. W. H
uebsch, New
York
City, 1914, 1918.
Smith, Alice M., Short Plays by Representative Authors.
The
A A
A
Macmillan Company, New York City, 1921. Volume of Plays from the Drama, 59 East
Van Buren Street, Chicago, is announced for 1922. Volume of One-Act Plays from t
he work of Professor Franz Rickaby, of the University of North Dakota, is under
way. Volume of One-Act Plays, from the work of Professor Frederick H. Koch, of t
he University of North Carolina, is under way.
405
406
BIBLIOGRAPHIES
LISTS OF
ONE-ACT PLAYS
Bibliography of Published Plays Available in English. World Drama Promoters, La
Jolla, California. Cheney, Sheldon, The Art Theatre. (Appendix: Plays Produced a
t the Arts and Crafts Theatre, Detroit.) Alfred A. Knopf, New-
York, 1917. Clapp, John Mantel, Plays for Amateurs. Bulletin of The Drama League
of America, Chicago, 1915. Clark, Barrett Harper, How to Produce Amateur Plays.
Little, Brown and Company, Boston, 1917. Dickinson, Thomas H., The Insurgent Th
eatre. (Appendix: List of Plays Produced by Little Theatres.) B. W. Huebsch, New
York, 1917.
Drummond, Drummond,
Alex. M., JFJfty.One-Act Plays.
Quarterly Journal
of Public Speaking, Vol. I, p. 234, 1915.
Alex. M., One-Act Plays for Schools and Colleges. Education, Vol. 4, p. 372, 191
8.
Faxon, F. W., Dramatic Index.
Boston.
Published from year to year,
Catalogues, etc.
French, Samuel, Guide to Selecting Plays. Samuel French, publisher. New York.
Johnson, Gertrude, Choosing a Play. Lists of various types of one-act plays in t
he Appendix. The Century Company, New York, 1920.
Kaplan, Samuel, Actable One-Act Plays.
brary, Chicago, 1916.
Chicago Public Li-
Koch, Frederick H., Community Drama
Service.
A
select list of
one-act plays. Extension Series, Number 36, in University of North Carolina Reco
rd, Chapel Hill, North Carolina, 1920.
Lewis, B. Roland, The Technique of the One- Act Play (Appendix: Contemporary One
- Act Plays). John W. Luce and Company, Boston, 1918.
Lewis, B. Roland, The One-Act Play in Colleges and High Schools. A select list o
f fifty one-act plays. Bulletin of Extension Division of University of Utah, Ser
ies No. 2, Vol. 10, No. 16, Salt
Lake City, 1920.
Lewis, B. Roland, One Hundred Representative One- Act Plays, in The Drama, April
, 1921, Vol. 11, No. 7, Chicago.
BIBLIOGRAPHIES
Lewis, B. Roland.
407
Bulletin on the One-Act Play, prepared for
of America.
The Drama League
one hmidred and
Contains a selected
list
of
one-act plays, with analyses, etc. The Drama League of America, Chicago, Illinoi
s, 1921. McFadden, E. A., Selected List of Plays for Amateurs, 113 Lake
fifty
View Avenue, Cambridge, Massachusetts, 1920. Mackay, Constance D'Arcy, The Littl
e Theatre in
States
the United (Appendix: List of Plays Produced in Little Theatres). Henry Holt & C
ompany, New York, 1917. Mayorga, Margaret Gardner, Representative One-Act Plays
by American Authors (Appendix: Selective List of One- Act Plays by American Auth
ors). Little, Brown & Company, Boston,
1919.
Merry, Glenn Newton, College Plays. University of Iowa, Iowa City, Iowa, 1919. T
hree Riley, Alice C. D., The One-Act PlayStudy Course. issues (February, March, A
pril) of The Drama League Bulletin, 1918, Washington, D. C. Riley, Ruth, Plays a
nd Recitations, Extension Division Record, Vol. 2, No. 2, November, 1920. Univer
sity of Florida,
Gainesville, Florida.
Selected List of Christmas Plays.
Drama League
Calendar, No-
York. Selected List of Patriotic Plays and Pageants Suitable for Amateurs. Drama
League Calendar, October 1, 1918, New York. The Drama League, BosSelected List
of Plays for Amateurs. ton. Also Doubleday, Page & Company, New York, 1917. Shay
, Frank, Play List, Winter, 1921. Frank Shay, 4 Christopher Street, New York. Sh
ay, Frank, and Loving, Pierre, Fifty Contemporary One-Act Plays (Appendix: The P
lays of the Little Theatre). Stewart &
15, 1918,
vember
New
Kidd Company,
Stratton, Clarence,
Cincinnati, 1920.
Two Hundred Plays Suitable for Amateurs. One hundred of them are one-act plays.
St. Louis, Missouri, 1920. The Drama Shop, 7 East 42d Street, New York.
tains a revised list of one-act plays)
.
Stratton, Clarence, Produxiing in Little Theatres (Appendix con-
Henry Holt
& Company,
Sum-
New York
Swartout,
mit,
City, 1921.
Norman Lee, One Hundred and One Good Plays.
Jersey, 1920.
New
408
BIBLIOGRAPHIES
BIBLIOGRAPHY OF REFERENCE ON THE ONE-ACT PLAY
Andrews, Charlton, The Technique of Play Writing, Chapter XVIII. Home Correspond
ence School, Springfield, Massachusetts.
Cannon, Fanny, Writing and Selling a Play, Chapter XXH. Henry Holt & Company, Ne
w York, 1915. Cohen, Helen Louise, One-Act Plays by Modern Authors, Introduction
. Harcourt, Brace and Company, New York, 1921. Corbin, John, The One-Act Play, i
n the New York Times, May,
Vol. IV, p. 8, col. 1. 1918. Eaton, Walter P., Washington Square Plays, Introduc
tion. Doubleday, Page & Company, Garden City, New York, 1917. Gibbs, Clayton E.,
The One-Ad Play, in The Theatre, Vol. XXIII, pp. 143-156, March, 1916. Goodman,
Edward, Why the One- Act Play?, in The Theatre,
Vol.
XXV,
p. 327, June, 1917.
Irish Theatre. G. P. Putnam's York, 1913. Hamilton Clayton, The One-Act Play in
America, in The Bookin Studies in man, April, 1913. Appears as Chapter Stagecraf
t, Henry Holt & Company, New York, 1914. Johnson, Gertrude, Choosing a Play, Cha
pter HI, Why the OneAct Play? The Century Company, New York, 1920. Lewis, B. Rol
and, The Technique of the One-Act Play. John W. Luce & Company, Boston, 1918. Le
wis, B. Roland, The One-Act Play in Colleges and High Schools, Bulletin of the U
niversity of Utah, Extension Series No. 2, Extension Division, University of Vol
. X, No. 16, 1920. Utah, Salt Lake City. Mackay, Constance D'Arcy, The Little Th
eatre in the United States, some interesting comments on various one-act plays.
Henry Holt & Company, New York, 1917. Middleton, George, Tradition and Other One
-Act Plays, Introduction, 1913; Embers, Etc., Introduction, 1911; Possession, Et
c., Introduction, 1915. All published by Henry Holt & Company, New York. Middlet
on, George, The Neglected One- Act Play, in The Dramatic Mirror, January 31, 191
3, pp. 13-14, New York.
Gregory,
Sons,
Lady Augusta, Our
New
XXH
BIBLIOGRAPHIES
Moses, Montrose
409
J., The American Dramatist, comment on the one-act play. Little, Brown & Company
, Boston, 1917. Neal, Robert Wilson, Short Stories in the Making, Chapter I. Oxf
ord University Press, New York, 1914. Page, Brett, Writing for Vaudeville. Home
Correspondence School, Springfield, Massachusetts, 1915. Poole's Index, for arti
cles on the one-act play in the magazines.
s Gttide to Periodical Literature for articles on the one-act play in the magazi
nes. Schnitzler, Arthur, Comedies of Words, Introduction by Pierre Loving. Stewa
rt & Kidd Company, Cincinnati, 1917.
The Reader
Underhill,
John Garrett, The One-Act Play in Spain,
in
The
Drama
:
A
Qvurterly Review, February, 1917.
Wilde, Percival, Confessional, and Other One-Act Plays, Preface.
Henry Holt & Company, New York, 1916. The several volumes dealing with the short
story
Esenwein,
Notestein
are suggested
as collateral study: Pitkin, Neal, Williams, Grabo, Baker,
Cross, Barrett,
and Dunn, Canby, Albright, Smith, Mathews, Pain, Gerwig.
BIBLIOGRAPHY ON
Beegle,
HOW TO PRODUCE
in this
PLAYS
Mary
Porter, and Crawford, Jack,
and Pageantry.
duction.
It
is
The Appendices
Community Drama volume contain ex-
cellent bibliographies
on almost every aspect of dramatic proa most valuable work. Yale University Pres
s,
New Haven, 1917. Chubb, Percival, Festivals and Plays. New
Clark,
Harper and Brothers,
Little,
York, 1912.
Barrett H.,
How
to
Produce Amateur Plays.
1917.
Brown & Company, Boston,
pany,
A. S. Barnes & ComYork, 1909. Hughes, Talbot, Dress Designs. The Macmillan Compa
ny, New York, 1913. Johnson, Gertrude, Choosing a Play. The Century Company, New
York, 1920. Mackay, Constance D'Arcy, Costumes and Scenery for Amateurs. Henry
Holt & Company, New York, 1915. Mackay, Constance D'Arcy, How to Produce Childre
n's Plays, Henry Holt & Company, New York, 1915.
Crampton, C. Ward, Folk Dance Book.
New
410
BIBLIOGRAPHIES
Rath, Emil, Esthetic Dancing. A. S. Barnes & Company, New York, 1914. Rhead, G.
N., Chats on Costutne, or Treatment of Draperies in Art. F. A. Stokes Company, N
ew York, 1906. Stratton, Clarence, Producing in the Little Theatres. Henry Holt
& Company, New York, 1921. Stratton, Clarence, Public Speaking, has a chapter on
Dramatics. Henry Holt & Company, New York, 1920. Taylor, Emerson, Practical Sta
ge Directing for Amateurs. E. P. Dutton & Company, New York, 1916. Waugh, Frank
A., Outdoor Theatres. Richard G. Badger, Boston, 1917.
Young, James, Making Up.
37th Street,
M. Witmark &
Sons, 144
West
New
York.
U.C.BERKELEY LIBRARIES
CD^b7^b5^D