_Violante holds herself erect and triump_Fifty Contemporary One-Act Plays

great arras in back, struggling for strength to go out._

_At this moment another death-procession passes.... A Miserere is

chanted...._

_A dawn of horror breaks over Violante's face ... she shrinks

inward from the passing procession, feeling the huge horror of the

Pestilence._

_Olivia gathers Florio's unresisting head to her bosom...._

_The sound of the Miserere dies off...._

_Into this tableau breaks Dioneo. Slowly he parts the arras._]

DIONEO [_grimacing, and seeing, at first, only Lizzia at the altar._]

Bestir yourself, old woman--

Where is your master, Florio,

And Lady Violante Ugolini?...

This is no time for lovers' dallying....

Tell them that Seignior Boccaccio

Sends word through me that we must wait no longer.

And, furthermore, he bids me say--that

[_Violante falls in a faint across his feet. Dioneo sees all.

Shrinking back._]

Merciful God!...

[_Curtain._]

ANOTHER WAY OUT

A COMEDY

BY LAWRENCE LANGNER

ANOTHER WAY OUT was originally produced by the Washington Square

Players at the Comedy Theatre, New York, on November 13th, 1916,

with the following cast:

MARGARET MARSHALL _Gwladys Wynne_.

MRS. ABBEY _Jean Robb_.

POMEROY PENDLETON _Jose Ruben_.

BARONESS DE MEAUVILLE _Helen Westley_.

CHARLES P. K. FENTON _Robert Strange_.

TIME: _The Present_.

Produced under the direction of MR. PHILLIP MOELLER.

Reprinted from "Plays of the Washington Square Players," published by

Frank Shay, by permission of Mr. Lawrence Langner. Applications for

permission to perform ANOTHER WAY OUT must be made to Lawrence

Langner, 55 Liberty Street, New York.

ANOTHER WAY OUT

A COMEDY BY LAWRENCE LANGNER

[SCENE: _The studio in Pendleton's apartment. A large room, with

sky-light in center wall, doors right and left, table set for

breakfast; a vase with red flowers decorates the table. Center

back stage, in front of sky-light, modeling stand upon which is

placed a rough statuette, covered by cloth. To one side of this is

a large screen. The furnishings are many hued, the cushions a

flare of color, and the pictures fantastically futuristic._

_At Rise: Mrs. Abbey, a benevolent looking, middle-aged woman, in

neat clothes and apron, is arranging some dishes on the table.

Margaret, a very modern young woman, is exercising vigorously. She

is decidedly good-looking. Her eyes are direct, her complexion

fresh, and her movements free. Her brown hair is "bobbed," and she

wears a picturesque Grecian robe._]

MRS. ABBEY. Breakfast is ready, ma'am.

[_Margaret sits at table and helps herself. Exit Mrs. Abbey, left._]

MARGARET [_calling_]. Pommy dear. Breakfast is on the table.

PENDLETON [_from without_]. I'll be there in a moment.

[_Margaret glances through paper; Pendleton enters, door right. He

is tall and thin, and of aesthetic appearance. His long blond hair

is brushed loosely over his forehead and he is dressed in a

helitrope-colored dressing gown. He lights a cigarette._]

MARGARET. I thought you were going to stop smoking before breakfast.

PENDLETON. My dear, I can't possibly stand the taste of tooth paste in

my mouth all day.

[_Pendleton sits at table. Enters Mrs. Abbey with tray. Pendleton

helps himself, then drops his knife and fork with a clang. Mrs.

Abbey and Margaret are startled._]

MRS. ABBEY. Anything the matter, sir?

PENDLETON. Dear, dear! My breakfast is quite spoiled again.

MRS. ABBEY [_concerned_]. Spoiled, sir?

PENDLETON [_pointing to red flowers on breakfast table_]. Look at those

flowers, Mrs. Abbey. Not only are they quite out of harmony with the

color scheme in this room, but they're positively red, and you know I

have a perfect horror of red.

MRS. ABBEY. But you like them that color sometimes, sir. What am I to do

when you're so temperamental about 'em.

MARGARET. Temperamental. I should say bad-tempered.

MRS. ABBEY [_soothingly_]. Oh no, ma'am. It isn't bad temper. I

understand Mr. Pendleton. It's just another bad night he's had, that's

what it is.

PENDLETON [_sarcastically polite_]. Mrs. Abbey, you appear to have an

intimate knowledge of how I pass the nights. It's becoming quite

embarrassing.

MRS. ABBEY. You mustn't mind an old woman like me, sir.

[_The sound of a piano hopelessly out of tune, in the apartment

upstairs, is heard, the player banging out Mendelssohn's Wedding

March with unusual insistence._]

PENDLETON. There! That confounded piano again!

MARGARET. And they always play the Wedding March. There must be an old

maid living there.

MRS. ABBEY. They're doing that for a reason.

MARGARET. What reason?

MRS. ABBEY. Their cook tole me yesterday that her missus thinks if she

keeps on a-playing of the Wedding March, p'raps it'll give you an' Mr.

Pendleton the idea of getting married. She don't believe in couples

livin' to-gether, like you an' Mr. Pendleton.

MARGARET. No?

MRS. ABBEY. And I just said you an' Mr. Pendleton had been living

together so long, it was my opinion you might just as well be married

an' done with it.

MARGARET [_angrily_]. Your opinion is quite uncalled for, Mrs. Abbey.

PENDLETON. Why shouldn't Mrs. Abbey give us her opinion? It may be

valuable. Look at her experiences in matrimony.

MRS. ABBEY. In matrimony, and out of it, too.

MARGARET [_sitting_]. But Mrs. Abbey has no right to discuss our affairs

with other people's maids.

MRS. ABBEY. I'll be glad to quit if I don't suit the mistress.

MARGARET [_angrily_]. There! Mistress again! How often have I asked you

not to refer to me as the mistress?

MRS. ABBEY. No offense, ma'am.

PENDLETON. You'd better see if there's any mail, Mrs. Abbey, and take

those flowers away with you.

MRS. ABBEY. Very well, sir.

[_Exit Mrs. Abbey door center._]

MARGARET. What an old-fashioned point of view Mrs. Abbey has.

[_Pendleton takes up paper and commences to read._]

MARGARET. Pommy, why do you stoop so?

PENDLETON. Am I stooping?

MARGARET. I'm tired of telling you. You ought to take more exercise.

[_Pendleton continues to read._]

MARGARET. One reason why the Greeks were the greatest of artists was

because they cultivated the body as carefully as the mind.

PENDLETON. Oh! Hang the Greeks!

[_Enter Mrs. Abbey right, with letters._]

MRS. ABBEY. There are your letters, sir. [_Coldly._] And these are

yours, ma'am.

[_Exit Mrs. Abbey left._]

MARGARET [_who has opened her letters meanwhile_]. How delightful! Tom

Del Valli has asked us to a party at his studio next Friday.

PENDLETON [_opening his letters_]. Both of us?

MARGARET [_giving him letter_]. Yes, and Helen Marsden wants us for

Saturday.

PENDLETON. Both of us?

MARGARET [_picking up another letter_]. Yes, and here's one from Bobby

Watson for Sunday.

PENDLETON. Both of us?

MARGARET. Yes.

PENDLETON. Really, Margaret, this is becoming exasperating. [_Holds up

letters._] Here are four more, I suppose for both of us. People keep on

inviting us out together time after time as though we were the most

conventional married couple on God's earth.

MARGARET. Do you object to going out with me?

PENDLETON [_doubtfully_]. No, it isn't that. But we're having too much

of a good thing. And I've come to the conclusion that it's your fault.

MARGARET [_indignantly_]. Oh! it's my fault? Of course you'd blame me.

Why?

PENDLETON. Because you have such an absurd habit of boasting to people

of your devotion for me, when we're out.

MARGARET. You surely don't expect me to quarrel with you in public?

PENDLETON. It isn't necessary to go to that extent. But then everybody

believes that we're utterly, almost stupidly in love with one another,

what can you expect?

MARGARET. You said once you never wanted me to suppress anything.

PENDLETON. That was before we began to live together.

MARGARET. What could I have done?

PENDLETON [_up right_]. Anything just so we could have a little more

freedom instead of being tied to one another the way we are. Never a

moment when we're not together, never a day when I'm not interviewed by

special article writers from almost every paper and magazine in the

country, as the only successful exponent of the theory that love can be

so perfect that the marriage contract degrades it. I put it to you,

Margaret, if this is a free union it is simply intolerable!

MARGARET. But aren't we living together so as to have more freedom?

Think of what it might be if we were married. Didn't you once write that

"When marriage comes in at the door, freedom flies out at the window"?

PENDLETON. Are we any better off, with everybody treating us as though

we were living together to prove a principle?

MARGARET. Well, aren't we incidently? You said so yourself. We can be a

beautiful example to other people, and show them how to lead the pure

natural lives of the later Greeks?

PENDLETON. Damn the later Greeks! Why do you always throw those

confounded later Greeks in my face? We've got to look at it from our

standpoint. This situation must come to an end.

MARGARET. What can we do?

PENDLETON. It rests with you.

MARGARET. With me?

PENDLETON. You can compromise yourself with somebody publicly. That'll

put an end to everything.

MARGARET. How will that end it?

PENDLETON. It'll break down the morally sanctified atmosphere in which

we're living. Then perhaps, people will regard us as immoral and treat

us like decent human beings again.

MARGARET. But I don't want to compromise myself.

PENDLETON. If you believe in your own ideas, you must.

MARGARET. But why should I have to do it?

PENDLETON. It will be so easy for you.

MARGARET. Why can't we both be compromised? That would be better still.

PENDLETON. I should find it a bore. You, unless my memory fails me,

would enjoy it.

MARGARET. You needn't be cynical. Even if you don't enjoy it, you can

work it into a novel.

PENDLETON. It's less exertion to imagine an affair of that sort, and the

result would probably be more saleable. Besides I have no interest

whatsoever in women, at least, in the women we know.

MARGARET. For that matter, I don't know any eligible men.

PENDLETON. What about Bob Lockwood?

MARGARET. But he's your best friend!

PENDLETON. Exactly--no man ever really trusts his best friend. He'll

probably compromise you without compunction.

MARGARET. I'm afraid he'd be too dangerous--he tells you all his

secrets. Whom will you choose?

PENDLETON. It's a matter of complete indifference to me.

MARGARET. I've heard a lot of queer stories about Jean Roberts. How

would she do?

PENDLETON [_firmly_]. Margaret, I don't mind being party to a

flirtation--but I draw the line at being the victim of a seduction.

MARGARET. Why not leave it to chance? Let it be the next interesting

woman you meet.

PENDLETON. That might be amusing. But there must be an age limit. And

how about you?

MARGARET [_takes cloth off statuette and discloses figure of Apollo in

rough modeling clay_]. Me! Why not the new model who is coming to-day to

pose for my Apollo?

PENDLETON. Well, if he's anything like that, you ought to be able to

create a sensation. Then, perhaps, we shall have some real freedom.

MARGARET. Pommy, do you still love me as much as you did?

PENDLETON. How you sentimentalize! Do you think I'd be willing to enter

into a flirtation with a strange woman, if I didn't want to keep on

living with you?

MARGARET. And we won't have to break up our little home, will we?

PENDLETON. No, anything to save the home. [_Catches himself._] My God!

If any of my readers should hear me say that! To think that I, Pomeroy

Pendleton, should be trying to save my own home. And yet, how

characteristically paradoxical.

MARGARET [_interrupting_]. You are going to philosophize! Give me a

kiss.

[_She goes to him, sits on his lap, and places her arm on his

shoulder; he takes out cigarette, she lights it for him._]

PENDLETON [_brought back to reality_]. I have some work to do--I must

go.

MARGARET. A kiss!

PENDLETON [_kisses her carelessly_]. There let me go.

MARGARET. I want a real kiss.

PENDLETON. Don't be silly, dear, I can't play this morning. I've simply

got to finish my last chapter.

[_A bell rings, Mrs. Abbey enters and goes to door._]

MRS. ABBEY. There's a lady to see Mr. Pendleton.

MARGARET. Tell her to come in!

PENDLETON. But, Margaret!

MARGARET. Remember! [_Significantly._] The first woman you meet!

[_Exit Margaret. Mrs. Abbey enters with Baroness de Meauville.

Exit Mrs. Abbey._]

BARONESS DE MEAUVILLE [_speaking with a pronounced English accent_].

Good morning, Mr. Pendleton, I'm the Baroness de Meauville!

PENDLETON [_recalling her name_]. Baroness de Meauville? Ah, the

costumiere?

BARONESS. Not a costumiere, Mr. Pendleton, I am an artist, an artist in

modern attire. A woman is to me what a canvas is to a painter.

PENDLETON. Excuse me for receiving you in my dressing gown. I was at

work.

BARONESS. I like to see men in dressing gowns--yours is charming.

PENDLETON [_flattered and pleased_]. Do you like it? I designed it

myself.

BARONESS [_looking seductively into his eyes_]. How few really creative

artists there are in America.

PENDLETON [_modestly_]. You flatter me.

BARONESS. Not at all. You must know that I'm a great admirer of yours,

Mr. Pendleton. I've read every one of your books. I feel I know you as

an old friend.

PENDLETON. That's very nice of you!

[_The Baroness reclines on couch; takes jeweled cigarette case

from reticule and offers Pendleton a cigarette._]

BARONESS. Will you smoke?

PENDLETON. Thanks.

[_Pendleton lights her cigarette, then his own. He draws his

chair up to the couch. An atmosphere of mutual interest is

established._]

BARONESS. Mr. Pendleton, I have a mission in life. It is to make the

American woman the best dressed woman in the world. I came here to-day

because I want you to help me.

PENDLETON. But I have no ambitions in that direction.

BARONESS. Why should you have ambitions? Only the bourgeoisie have

ambitions. We artists have inspirations. I want to breathe into you the

spirit of my great undertaking. Already I have opened my place in the

smartest part of the Avenue. Already I have drawn my assistants from all

parts of the world. Nothing is lacking to complete my plans but you.

PENDLETON. Me? Why me?

BARONESS [_endearingly_]. Are you not considered one of the foremost men

of letters in America?

PENDLETON [_modestly_]. Didn't you say you had read all my books?

BARONESS. Are you not the only writer who has successfully portrayed the

emotional side of American life?

PENDLETON [_decidedly_]. Yes.

BARONESS. Exactly. That is why I have chosen you to write my

advertisements.

PENDLETON [_aghast_]. But, Baroness!

BARONESS. You're not going to say that. It's so ordinary.

PENDLETON. But, but, you want me to write advertisements!

BARONESS. Please don't disappoint me.

PENDLETON. Yes, I suppose that's so. But one has a sense of pride.

BARONESS. Art comes before Pride. Consider my feelings, an aristocrat,

coming here to America and engaging in commerce, and advertising, and

other dreadful things, and all for the sake of Art!

PENDLETON. But you make money out of it!

BARONESS. Only incidentally. Just as you, in writing my advertisements,

would make, say ten thousand or so, as a sort of accident. But don't let

us talk of money. It's perfectly revolting, isn't it? Art is Life, and I

believe in Life for Art's sake. That's why I'm a success.

PENDLETON. Indeed? How interesting. Please go on.

BARONESS. When a woman comes to me for a gown, I don't measure body, why

should I? I measure her mind. I find her color harmony. In a moment I

can tell whether she ought to wear scarlet, mauve, taupe, magenta, or

any other color, so as to fall into her proper rhythm. Every one has a

rhythm, you know. [_Pendleton sits on sofa._] But I don't have to

explain all this to you, Mr. Pendleton. You understand it intuitively.

This heliotrope you are wearing shows me at once that you are in rhythm.

PENDLETON [_thinks of Margaret_]. I'm not so sure that I am. What you

say interests me. May I ask you a question?

BARONESS. Yes, but I may not answer it.

PENDLETON. Why do you wear heliotrope and the same shade as mine?

BARONESS [_with mock mystery_]. You mustn't ask me that.

PENDLETON. I'm all curiosity.

BARONESS. Curiosity is dangerous.

PENDLETON. Supposing I try to find out?

BARONESS. That may be even more dangerous.

PENDLETON. I'm fond of that kind of danger.

BARONESS. Take care! I'm very fragile.

PENDLETON. Isn't heliotrope in rhythm with the faint reflection of

passion?

BARONESS. How brutal of you to have said it.

PENDLETON [_coming closer to her_]. I, too, am in rhythm with

heliotrope.

BARONESS [_with joy_]. How glad I am. Thank God you've no desire to kiss

my lips.

PENDLETON. Only your finger-tips.

[_They exchange kisses on finger-tips._]

PENDLETON. Your fingers are like soft, pale, waxen tapers!

BARONESS. Your kisses are the breathings that light them into quivering

flame!

PENDLETON. Exquisite--exquisite!

BARONESS [_withdrawing her hands_]. That was a moment!

PENDLETON. We must have many such.

BARONESS. Many? That's too near too much.

PENDLETON [_feverishly_]. We shall, dear lady.

BARONESS. How I adore your writings! They have made me realize the

beauty of an ideal union, the love of one man for one woman at a time.

Let us have such a union, you and me.

PENDLETON [_taken back_]. But I live in such a union already.

BARONESS [_rising in amazement_]. And only a moment ago you kissed me!

PENDLETON. Well--what of it?

BARONESS. Don't you see what we've done? You are living in one of those

wonderful unions you describe in your books--and I've let you kiss me.

I've committed a sacrilege.

PENDLETON. You're mistaken. It isn't a sacrilege. It's an opportunity.

BARONESS [_dramatically_]. How can you say that--you whose words have

inspired my deepest intimacies. No, I must go. [_Makes for the door._]

I--must--go.

PENDLETON. You don't understand. I exaggerated everything so in my

confounded books.

BARONESS. Please ask her to forgive me. Please tell her I thought you

were married, otherwise, never, never, would I have permitted you to

kiss me.

PENDLETON. What made you think I was married?

BARONESS. One often believes what one hopes.

PENDLETON. You take it too seriously. Let me explain.

BARONESS. What is there to explain? Our experience has been complete.

Why spoil it by anti-climax?

PENDLETON. Am I never to see you again?

BARONESS. Who knows? If your present union should end, and some day your

soul needs--some one?

[_Exit door center, her manner full of promise._]

PENDLETON [_with feeling_]. Good-by--long, pale fingers.

[_Enter Margaret, door right._]

MARGARET. Did you get a good start with the scandal?

PENDLETON. Not exactly. I may as well admit it was a failure through no

fault of mine, of course. And now, I simply must finish that last

chapter.

[_He exits. Margaret rings. Mrs. Abby enters._]

MARGARET. You may clear, Mrs. Abbey.

MRS. ABBEY. Very well, ma'am.

[_She attends to clearing the table._]

MARGARET. Mrs. Abbey, have you worked for many people living together,

like Mr. Pendleton and myself?

MRS. ABBEY. Lor', Ma'am, yes. I've worked in nearly every house on the

south side of Washington Square.

MARGARET. Mr. Pendleton says I'm as domestic as any wife could be. Were

the others like me?

MRS. ABBEY. Most of them, ma'am, but some was regular hussies; not only

a-livin' with their fellers--but havin' a good time, too. That's what I

call real immoral.

[_Bell rings. Mrs. Abbey opens door center and passes out.

Conversation with Fenton without is heard. Mrs. Abbey comes

back._]

MRS. ABBEY. A young man wants to see you, ma'am.

MARGARET. That's the new model. I'll get my working apron.

[_Exit Margaret, door right. Mrs. Abbey calls through door center._]

MRS. ABBEY. You c'n come in.

[_Enter door left, Charles P. K. Fenton, dictionary salesman. He

is a strikingly handsome young man, offensively smartly dressed in

a black and white check suit, gaudy tie, and white socks. His hair

is brushed back from his forehead like a glossy sheath. He carries

a black bag. His manner is distinctly "male."_]

MRS. ABBEY [_points to screen_]. You can undress behind there.

FENTON. Undress? Say, what's this? A Turkish bath?

MRS. ABBEY. Did you expect to have a private room all to yourself?

FENTON [_looking around_]. What am I to undress for?

MRS. ABBEY. The missus will be here in a minute.

FENTON. Good night! I'm goin'.

[_Makes for door._]

MRS. ABBEY. What's the matter? Ain't you the Missus' new model?

FENTON. A model! Ha! Ha! You've sure got the wrong number this time. I'm

in the dictionary line, ma'am.

MRS. ABBEY. Well, of all the impudence! You a book agent, and a-walkin'

in here.

FENTON. Well, you asked me in, didn't you? Can't I see the missus, jest

for a minute?

MRS. ABBEY [_good-naturedly_]. Very well. Here she is.

[_Confidentially._] And I advise you to remove that Spearmint from your

mouth, if you want to sell any dictionaries in this house.

FENTON [_placing hand to mouth_]. Where shall I put it?

MRS. ABBEY. You'd better swallow it!

[_Fenton tries to do so, chokes, turns red, and places his hand to

mouth._]

MARGARET [_to Fenton_]. I'm so glad to see you.

[_Fenton is most embarrassed. Mrs. Abbey, in surprise, attempts to

explain situation._]

MRS. ABBEY. But, ma'am--

MARGARET. You may go, Mrs. Abbey.

MRS. ABBEY. But, but, ma'am--

MARGARET [_severely_]. You may go, Mrs. Abbey. [_Exit Mrs. Abbey in a

huff._] I'm so glad they sent you up to see me. Won't you sit down?

[_Fenton finds it a difficult matter to handle the situation. He

adopts his usual formula for an "opening," but his speech is

mechanical and without conviction. Margaret adds to the

embarrassment by stepping around him and examining him with

professional interest._]

FENTON. Madam, I represent the Globe Advertising Publishing Sales Co.,

the largest publishers of dictionaries in the world.

MARGARET [_continuing to appraise him_]. Then you're not the new model?

FENTON. No, ma'am.

MARGARET. What a pity! Never mind, go on.

FENTON. As I was saying, ma'am, I represent the Advertising Globe

Publishing--I mean the Globe Publishing Sales Publishing Co., the

largest publishers of dictionaries in the world. For some time past we

have felt there was a demand for a new Encyclopaedic Dictionary, madam,

one that would not only fill up a good deal of space in the bookshelf,

making an attractive addition to the home, but also containing the most

complete collection of words in the English language.

MARGARET [_who has taken a pencil and is measuring Fenton while he

speaks; Fenton's discomfort is obvious. He attempts to rearrange his tie

and coat, thinking she is examining him._] Please go on talking, it's so

interesting.

FENTON. Statistics show that the Woman of Average Education in America,

Madam, has command of but fifteen hundred words. This new dictionary,

Madam, [_Produces book from bag._] will give you command of over eight

hundred and fifty thousand.

MARGARET [_archly_]. So you are a dealer in words--how perfectly

romantic.

FENTON [_warming_]. Most of these words, madam, are not used more than a

dozen times a year. They are our Heritage from the Past. And all these

words, to say nothing of the fact that the dictionary fills five inches

in a bookshelf, making an attractive addition to the library, being

handsomely bound in half-cloth--all these are yours, ma'am, for the

price of one dollar.

[_He places dictionary in her hand. She examines it._]

FENTON. If you have a son, madam, the possession of this dictionary will

give him an opportunity of acquiring that knowledge of our language

which made Abraham Lincoln the Father of our Country. Madam, opportunity

knocks at the door only once and _This_ is _your_ opportunity at one

dollar.

MARGARET [_meaningly_]. Yes, this is my opportunity! I'll buy the

dictionary and now [_sweetly_] won't you tell me your name?

FENTON [_pocketing dollar_]. My name is Charles P. K. Fenton.

MARGARET. Mr. Fenton, would you mind doing me a favor?

FENTON [_looking dubiously towards the screen_]. Why, I guess not,

ma'am.

MARGARET. I want you to take off your coat.

FENTON [_puzzled_]. You're not trying to kid me, ma'am?

MARGARET. I just want to see your development. Do you mind?

FENTON [_removes coat_]. Why, no, ma'am, if that's all you want.

MARGARET. Now, bring your arm up, tighten the muscles. [_Fenton does as

she bids; Margaret thumps his arm approvingly._] Splendid! You must take

lots of exercise, Mr. Fenton.

FENTON. Not me, ma'am. I never had no time for exercise; I got that

workin' in a freight yard.

Margaret. I suppose you think me rather peculiar, Mr. Fenton.

FENTON. You said it, Miss.

MARGARET. You see I'm a sculptress. [_Points to statuette._] This is my

work.

FENTON. You made that? Gee! that's great. [_Examines statuette._] Just

like them statues at the Metropolitan.

MARGARET. That figure is Apollo, Mr. Fenton.

FENTON. Oh, Apollo.

MARGARET. I was to engage a professional model for it, but I could never

hope to get a professional as fine a type as you. Will you pose for it?

FENTON [_aghast_]. Me? That feller there without any clothes.

[_Dubiously._] Well, I don't know. It's kind of chilly here.

MARGARET. If I draped you, it would spoil some of your lines. [_Seeing

his hesitation._] But I will if you like.

FENTON [_relieved_]. Ah, now you're talking.

MARGARET. So, you'll really come?

FENTON. How about this evening?

MARGARET. Splendid! Sit down. [_Fenton does so._] Mr. Fenton, you've

quite aroused my curiosity. I know so few business men. Is your work

interesting?

FENTON. Well, I can't say it was, until I started selling around this

neighborhood.

MARGARET. Is it difficult?

FENTON. Not if you've got personality, Miss. That's the thing,

personality. If a feller hasn't got personality, he can't sell goods,

that's sure.

MARGARET. What do you mean by personality, Mr. Fenton.

FENTON. Well, it's what sells the goods. I don't know how else to

explain it exactly. I'll look it up in the dictionary. [_Takes

dictionary and turns pages._] Here it is, ma'am. Per--per--why, it

isn't in here. I guess they don't put in words that everybody knows. We

all know what personality means. It's what sells the goods.

MARGARET. I adore a strong, virile, masculine personality.

FENTON. I don't quite get you, madam.

MARGARET. The men I know have so much of the feminine in them.

FENTON. Oh, "Cissies"!

MARGARET [_flirtingly_]. They lack the magnetic forcefulness which I

like so much in you.

FENTON. I believe you are kidding me. Does that mean you like me?

MARGARET. That's rather an embarrassing question.

FENTON. You must or you wouldn't let me speak to you this way.

MARGARET [_archly_]. Never mind whether I like you. Tell me whether you

like me?

FENTON [_feeling more at home_]. Gee! I didn't get on to you at first.

Sure I like you.

MARGARET. Then we're going to be good friends.

FENTON. You just bet we are. Say, got a date for to-morrow evening?

MARGARET. No.

FENTON. How about the movies? There's a fine feature film at the Strand.

Theda Bara in "The Lonesome Vampire," five reels. They say it's got

"Gloria's Romance" beat a mile.

MARGARET. I don't know that I'd care to go there.

FENTON. How about a run down to Coney?

MARGARET. Coney! I've always wanted to do wild Pagan things.

FENTON. Say, you'll tell me your name, won't you?

MARGARET. Margaret Marshall.

FENTON. Do you mind if I call you Margie?

MARGARET. If you do, I must call you--

FENTON. Charley. Gee, I like the name of Margie. Some class to that.

MARGARET. I'm glad you like it.

FENTON [_moving nearer_]. And some class to you!

MARGARET [_coyly_]. So you really like me?

FENTON. You bet. Say, before I go, you've got to give me a kiss, Margie.

MARGARET. Well, I don't know. Aren't you rather "rushing" me?

FENTON. Say, you are a kidder.

[_He draws her up from her chair, and kisses her warmly on the

lips._]

MARGARET [_ecstatically_]. You have the true Greek spirit! [_They kiss

again._] If only Pommy would kiss me that way!

FENTON. Pommy? Who's Pommy?

MARGARET. Pommy is the man I live with.

FENTON. Your husband!

MARGARET. No, we just live together. You see, we don't believe in

marriage.

FENTON [_pushing her away in horror_]. I thought there was something

queer about all this. Does he live here?

MARGARET. Yes. [_Points to door._] He's in there now.

FENTON [_excitedly_]. Good night! I'm goin'.

[_Looks for hat._]

MARGARET [_speaking with real anguish_]. You're surely not going just on

that account.

FENTON [_taking hat and bag_]. Isn't that enough?

MARGARET [_emotionally_]. Please don't go. Listen, I can't suppress my

feeling for you; I never do with anybody. I liked you the moment I saw

you, I want you as a friend, a good friend. You can't go now, just when

everything's about to begin.

FENTON [_severely_]. Fair's fair, Miss. If he's keeping you, you can't

be taking up with me at the same time. That puts the finish on it.

MARGARET. But he doesn't keep me. I keep myself.

FENTON. Wait a minute. You support yourself, and live with him of your

own free will. Then you've got no excuse for being immoral; 'tisn't like

you had to make your living at it. [_At door._] Good-by.

MARGARET. But I can explain everything.

FENTON. It's no use, Miss. Even though I am a salesman, I've got a sense

of honor. I sized you up as a married woman when I came in just now, or

I never would have made love to you at all.

MARGARET. Oh--wait! Supposing I should want to buy some more

dictionaries.

FENTON [_returning_]. You've got my card, Miss. The 'phone number is on

it. Bryant 4253. [_Sees Margaret hang her head._] Don't feel hurt, Miss.

You'll get over these queer ideas some day, and when you do, well,

you've got my number. So long, kid.

[_Exit Fenton, door, center._]

MARGARET [_taking his card from table and placing it to her lips

soulfully_]. My Apollo, Bryant 4253!

PENDLETON. Did you get a good start with your scandal. [_Margaret hangs

her head._] It's no use; I'm convinced we're in a hopeless muddle.

MARGARET. I heartily agree with you.

PENDLETON. You've changed your mind very suddenly.

MARGARET. I have my reasons.

PENDLETON. The fact is, Margaret, that so long as we live together we're

public figures, with everybody else as our jury.

MARGARET. But lots of people read your books and respect us.

PENDLETON. The people that respect us are worse than the people that

don't.

MARGARET. If they wouldn't always be bothering about our morals!

PENDLETON. If we continue living together, we shall simply be giving up

our freedom to prove we are free.

MARGARET [_faltering_]. I suppose we ought to separate.

PENDLETON. I believe we should.

MARGARET. We'll have to give up the studio.

PENDLETON [_regretfully_]. Yes.

MARGARET. It's taken a long time to make the place homelike.

PENDLETON. We've been very comfortable here.

MARGARET. I shall miss you at meals.

PENDLETON. I shall have to start eating at clubs and restaurants again,

no more good home cooking.

MARGARET. We're kind of used to one another, aren't we?

PENDLETON. It isn't an easy matter to break, after five years.

MARGARET. And there are mighty few studios with as good a light as this;

I don't want to separate if you don't.

PENDLETON. But, Margaret. [_Piano starts playing wedding march._] There,

that confounded piano again. [_Seized with an idea._] Margaret, there's

another way out!

MARGARET [_with same idea_]. You mean, we ought to marry!

PENDLETON. Yes, marry, and do it at once. That'll end everything.

MARGARET. Let's do it right away and get it over with; I simply must

finish my Apollo.

PENDLETON. I'm going to buy you a new gown to get married in, a wedding

present from Baroness de Meauville's.

MARGARET. I don't know that I want a De Meauville gown.

PENDLETON. Please let me. I want to give you something to symbolize our

new life together.

MARGARET. Very well. And in return, I'll buy you a dictionary, so that I

won't have to keep on correcting your spelling.

[_Exit Pendleton. Margaret goes to 'phone, and consults Fenton's

card._]

MARGARET. Bryant 4253? Can I speak to Mr. Fenton? [_Enter Mrs. Abbey._]

Mrs. Abbey. What do you think? We're going to get married!

MRS. ABBEY. Well, bless my soul! That's right. You can take it from me,

ma'am, you'll find that respectability pays.

MARGARET [_at 'phone_]. Bryant 4253? [_Sweetly._] Is that Mr. Fenton?

[_Pause._] Hello, Charley!

[_Curtain._]

ARIA DA CAPO

A PLAY

BY EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY

PERSONS

PIERROT.

COLUMBINE.

COTHURNUS [_masque of tragedy_].

THYRSIS [_shepherd_].

CORYDON [_shepherd_].

First printed in "Reedy's Mirror," St. Louis. Application to produce

this play should be made to Edna St. Vincent Millay, in care of the

Provincetown Players, 133 Macdougal Street, New York.

ARIA DA CAPO

A PLAY BY EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY

[SCENE: _A Stage. The curtain rises on a stage set for a

Harlequinade, a merry black and white interior. Directly behind

the footlights, and running parallel with them, is a long table,

covered with a gay black and white cloth, on which is spread a

banquet. At the opposite ends of this table, seated on delicate

thin-legged chairs with high backs, are Pierrot and Columbine,

dressed according to the tradition, excepting that Pierrot is in

lilac, and Columbine in pink. They are dining._]

COLU. Pierrot, a macaroon! I cannot _live_

Without a macaroon!

PIER. My only love,

You are _so_ intense.... It is Tuesday, Columbine?----

I'll kiss you if it's Tuesday.

COLU. It is Wednesday,

If you must know.... Is this my artichoke,

Or yours?

PIER. Ah, Columbine,--as if it mattered!

Wednesday.... Will it be Tuesday, then, to-morrow,

By any chance?

COLU. To-morrow will be--Pierrot,

That isn't funny!

PIER. I thought it rather nice.

Well, let us drink some wine and lose our heads

And love each other.

COLU. Pierrot, don't you love

Me now?

PIER. La, what a woman!--How should I know?

Pour me some wine: I'll tell you presently.

COLU. Pierrot, do you know, I think you drink too much.

PIER. Yes, I dare say I do.... Or else too little.

It's hard to tell. You see, I am always wanting

A little more than what I have,--or else

A little less. There's something wrong. My dear,

How many fingers have you?

COLU. La, indeed,

How should I know?--It always takes me one hand

To count the other with. It's too confusing.

Why?

PIER. Why?--I am a student, Columbine;

And search into all matters.

COLU. La, indeed?--

Count them yourself, then!

PIER. No. Or, rather, nay.

'Tis of no consequence.... I am become

A painter, suddenly,--and you impress me--

Ah, yes!--six orange bull's-eyes, four green pin-wheels,

And one magenta jelly-roll,--the title

As follows: _Woman Taking In Cheese From Fire-Escape_.

COLU. Well, I like that! So that is all I've meant

To you!

PIER. Hush! All at once I am become

A pianist. I will image you in sound,...

On a new scale ... without tonality....

_Vivace senza tempo senza tutto_....

Title: _Uptown Express at Six O'Clock_.

Pour me a drink.

COLU. Pierrot, you work too hard.

You need a rest. Come on out into the garden,

And sing me something sad.

PIER. Don't stand so near me!

I am become a socialist. I love

Humanity; but I hate people. Columbine,

Put on your mittens, child; your hands are cold.

COLU. My hands are _not_ cold.

PIER. Oh, I am sure they are.

And you must have a shawl to wrap about you,

And sit by the fire.

COLU. Why, I'll do no such thing!

I'm hot as a spoon in a tea-cup!

PIER. Columbine,

I'm a philanthropist. I know I am,

Because I feel so restless. Do not scream,

Or it will be the worse for you!

COLU. Pierrot,

My vinaigrette: I cannot _live_ without

My vinaigrette!

PIER. My only love, you are

_So_ fundamental!... How would you like to be

An actress, Columbine?--I am become

Your manager.

COLU. Why, Pierrot, _I_ can't act.

PIER. Can't act! Can't act! La, listen to the woman!

What's that to do with the price of furs?--You're blonde,

Are you not?--You have no education, have you?--

Can't act! You under-rate yourself, my dear!

COLU. Yes, I suppose I do.

PIER. As for the rest,

I'll teach you how to cry, and how to die,

And other little tricks; and the house will love you.

You'll be a star by five o'clock.... That is,

If you will let me pay for your apartment.

COLU. _Let_ you?--well, that's a good one! Ha! Ha! Ha!

But why?

PIER. But why?--well, as to that, my dear,

I cannot say. It's just a matter of form.

COLU. Pierrot, I'm getting tired of caviar

And peacocks' livers. Isn't there something else

That people eat?--some humble vegetable,

That grows in the ground?

PIER. Well, there are mushrooms.

COLU. Mushrooms!

That's so! I had forgotten ... mushrooms ... mushrooms....

I cannot _live_ with.... How do you like this gown?

PIER. Not much. I'm tired of gowns that have the waist-line

About the waist, and the hem around the bottom,--

And women with their breasts in front of them!--

_Zut_ and _ehe_! Where does one go from here!

COLU. Here's a persimmon, love. You always liked them.

PIER. I am become a critic; there is nothing I can enjoy....

However, set it aside;

I'll eat it between meals.

COLU. Pierrot, do you know,

Sometimes I think you're making fun of me.

PIER. My love, by yon black moon, you wrong us both.

COLU. There isn't a sign of a moon, Pierrot.

PIER. Of course not.

There never was. "Moon's" just a word to swear by,

"Mutton!"--now _there's_ a thing you can lay the hands on,

And set the tooth in! Listen, Columbine:

I always lied about the moon and you.

Food is my only lust.

COLU. Well, eat it, then,

For heaven's sake, and stop your silly noise!

I haven't heard the clock tick for an hour.

PIER. It's ticking all the same. If you were a fly,

You would be dead by now. And if I were a parrot,

I could be talking for a thousand years!

[_Enters Cothurnus._]

PIER. Hello, what's this, for God's sake?--What's the matter?

Say, whadda you mean?--get off the stage, my friend,

And pinch yourself,--you're walking in your sleep!

COTH. I never sleep.

PIER. Well, anyhow, clear out.

You don't belong on here. Wait for your own scene!

Whadda you think this is,--a dress-rehearsal?

COTH. Sir, I am tired of waiting. I will wait

No longer.

PIER. Well, but what are you going to do?

The scene is set for me!

COTH. True, sir; yet I

Can play the scene.

PIER. Your scene is down for later!

COTH. That, too, is true, sir; but I play it now.

PIER. Oh, very well!--Anyway, I am tired

Of black and white. At least, I think I am.

[_Exit Columbine._]

Yes, I am sure I am. I know what I'll do!--

I'll go and strum the moon, that's what I'll do....

Unless, perhaps, ... you never can tell ... I may be,

You know, tired of the moon. Well, anyway,

I'll go find Columbine.... And when I find her,

I will address her thus: "_Ehe_ Pierrette!"--

There's something in that.

[_Exit Pierrot._]

COTH. You, Thyrsis! Corydon!

Where are you?

THYR. Sir, we are in our dressing-room!

COTH. Come out and do the scene.

CORY. You are mocking us!--

The scene is down for later.

COTH. That is true;

But we will play it now. I am the scene.

[_Seats himself on high place in back of stage. Enter Corydon and

Thyrsis._]

CORY. Sir, we were counting on this little hour.

We said, "Here is an hour,--in which to think

A mighty thought, and sing a trifling song,

And look at nothing."--And, behold! the hour,

Even as we spoke, was over, and the act begun,

Under our feet!

THYR. Sir, we are not in the fancy

To play the play. We had thought to play it later.

CORY. Besides, this is the setting for a farce.

Our scene requires a wall; we cannot build

A wall of tissue-paper!

THYR. We cannot act

A tragedy with comic properties!

COTH. Try it and see. I think you'll find you can.

One wall is like another. And regarding

The matter of your insufficient wood,

The important thing is that you speak the lines,

And make the gestures. Wherefore I shall remain

Throughout, and hold the prompt-book. Are you ready?

CORY.-THYR. [_sorrowfully_]. Sir, we are always ready.

COTH. Play the play!

[_Corydon and Thyrsis move the table and chairs to one side out of

the way, and seat themselves in a half-reclining position on the

floor, left of the center of the stage, propped up by crepe paper

pillows and bolsters, in place of rocks._]

THYR. How gently in the silence, Corydon,

Our sheep go up the bank. They crop a grass

That's yellow where the sun is out, and black

Where the clouds drag their shadows.

Have you noticed

How steadily, yet with what a slanting eye

They graze?

CORY. As if they thought of other things.

What say you, Thyrsis, do they only question

Where next to pull?--Or do their far minds draw them

Thus vaguely north of west and south of east?

THYR. One cannot say.... The black lamb wears its burdocks

As if they were a garland,--have you noticed?--

Purple and white--and drinks the bitten grass

As if it were a wine.

CORY. I've noticed that.

What say you, Thyrsis, shall we make a song

About a lamb that thought himself a shepherd?

THYR. Why, yes!--that is, why,--no. (I have forgotten

My line.)

CORY. [_prompting_]. "I know a game worth two of that."

THYR. Oh, yes.... I know a game worth two of that:

Let's gather rocks, and build a wall between us;

And say that over there belongs to me,

And over here to you!

CORY. Why,--very well.

And say you may not come upon my side

Unless I say you may!

THYR. Nor you on mine!

And if you should, 'twould be the worse for you!

[_They weave a wall of colored crepe paper ribbons from the

center front to the center back of the stage, fastening the

ends to Columbine's chair in front and to Pierrot's chair in

the back._]

CORY. Now there's a wall a man may see across,

But not attempt to scale.

THYR. An excellent wall.

CORY. Come, let us separate, and sit alone

A little while, and lay a plot whereby

We may outdo each other.

[_They seat themselves on opposite sides of the wall._]

PIER. [_off stage_]. Ehe Pierrette!

COLU. [_off stage_]. My name is Columbine!

Leave me alone!

THYR. [_coming up to the wall_].

Corydon, after all, and in spite of the fact

I started it myself, I do not like this

So very much. What is the sense of saying

I do not want you on my side the wall?

It is a silly game. I'd much prefer

Making the little song you spoke of making,

About the lamb, you know, that thought himself

A shepherd!--what do you say?

[_Pause._]

CORY. [_at wall_]. (I have forgotten

The line)

COTH. [_prompting_]. "How do I know this isn't a trick"

CORY. Oh, yes.... How do I know this isn't a trick

To get upon my land?

THYR. Oh, Corydon,

You _know_ it's not a trick. I do not like

The game, that's all. Come over here, or let me

Come over there.

CORY. It is a clever trick

To get upon my land.

[_Seats himself as before._]

THYR. Oh, very well! [_Seats himself as before_] [_To himself._]

I think I never knew a sillier game.

CORY. [_coming to wall_].

Oh, Thyrsis, just a minute!--all the water

Is on your side the wall, and the sheep are thirsty.

I hadn't thought of that.

THYR. Oh, hadn't you?

CORY. Why, what do you mean?

THYR. What do I mean?--I mean

That I can play a game as well as you can.

And if the pool is on my side, it's on

My side, that's all.

CORY. You mean you'd let the sheep

Go thirsty?

THYR. Well, they're not my sheep. My sheep

Have water enough.

CORY. _Your_ sheep! You are mad, to call them.

Yours--mine--they are all one flock! Thyrsis, you can't mean

To keep the water from them, just because

They happened to be grazing over here

Instead of over there, when we set the wall up?

THYR. Oh, can't I?--wait and see!--and if you try

To lead them over here, you'll wish you hadn't!

CORY. I wonder how it happens all the water

_Is_ on your side.... I'll say you had an eye out

For lots of little things, my innocent friend,

When I said, "Let us make a song," and you said,

"I know a game worth two of that!"

COLU. [_off stage_].

D'you know, I think you must be getting old,

Or fat, or something,--stupid, anyway!--

Can't you put on some other kind of collar?

THYR. You know as well as I do, Corydon,

I never thought of anything of the kind.

_Don't_ you?

CORY. I _do_ not.

THYR. Don't you?

CORY. Oh, I suppose so.

Thyrsis, let's drop this,--what do you say?--it's only

A game, you know ... we seem to be forgetting

It's only a game ... a pretty serious game

It's getting to be, when one of us is willing

To let the sheep go thirsty, for the sake of it.

THYR. I know it, Corydon.

[_They reach out their arms to each other across the wall._]

COTH. [_prompting_]. "But how do I know?"

THYR. Oh, yes.... But how do I know this isn't a trick

To water your sheep, and get the laugh on me?

CORY. You can't know, that's the difficult thing about it,

Of course,--you can't be sure. You have to take

My word for it. And I know just how you feel.

But one of us has to take a risk, or else,

Why don't you see?--the game goes on forever--

It's terrible, when you stop to think of it....

Oh, Thyrsis, now for the first time I feel

This wall is actually a wall, a thing

Come up between us, shutting me away

From you.... I do not know you any more!

THYR. No, don't say that! Oh, Corydon, I'm willing

To drop it all, if you will! Come on over

And water your sheep! It is an ugly game.

I hate it from the first.... How did it start?

CORY. I do not know.... I do not know.... I think

I am afraid of you!--you are a stranger!

I never set eyes on you before! "Come over

And water my sheep," indeed!--They'll be more thirsty

Then they are now, before I bring them over

Into your land, and have you mixing them up

With yours, and calling them yours, and trying to keep them!

[_Enter Columbine._]

COLU. [_to Cothurnus_]. Glummy, I want my hat.

THYR. Take it, and go.

COLU. Take it and go, indeed! Is it my hat,

Or isn't it? Is this my scene, or not?

Take it and go! Really, you know, you two

Are awfully funny!

[_Exit Columbine._]

THYR. Corydon, my friend,

I'm going to leave you now, and whittle me

A pipe, or sing a song, or go to sleep.

When you have come to your senses, let me know.

[_Goes back to where he has been sitting, lies down and sleeps._]

[_Corydon, in going back to where he has been sitting, stumbles

over bowl, of colored confetti and colored paper ribbons._]

CORY. Why, what is this?--Red stones--and purple stones--

And stones stuck full of gold!--The ground is full

Of gold and colored stones!... I'm glad the wall

Was up before I found them!--Otherwise,

I should have had to share them. As it is,

They all belong to me.... Unless--

[_He goes to wall and digs up and down the length of it, to see if

there are jewels on the other side._]

None here--

None here--none here--They all belong to me!

[_Sits._]

THYR. [_awakening_]. How curious! I thought the little black lamb

Came up and licked my hair! I saw the wool

About its neck as plain as anything!

It must have been a dream. The little black lamb

Is on the other side of the wall, I'm sure.

[_Goes to wall and looks over. Corydon is seated on the ground,

tossing the confetti up into the air and catching it._]

Hello, what's that you've got there, Corydon?

CORY. Jewels.

THYR. Jewels?--And where did you ever get them?

CORY. Oh, over here.

THYR. You mean to say you found them,

By digging around in the ground for them?

CORY. [_unpleasantly_]. No, Thyrsis.

By digging down for water for my sheep.

THYR. Corydon, come to the wall a minute, will you?

I want to talk to you.

CORY. I haven't time.

I'm making me a necklace of red stones.

THYR. I'll give you all the water that you want,

For one of those red stones,--if it's a good one.

CORY. Water?--what for?--what do I want of water?

THYR. Why, for your sheep.

CORY. My sheep?--I'm not a shepherd!

THYR. Your sheep are dying of thirst.

CORY. Man, haven't I told you

I can't be bothered with a few untidy

Brown sheep all full of burdocks?--I'm a merchant,

That's what I am!--And I set my mind to it,

I dare say I could be an emperor!

[_To himself_.] Wouldn't I be a fool to spend my time

Watching a flock of sheep go up a hill,

When I have these to play with--when I have these

To think about?--I can't make up my mind

Whether to buy a city, and have a thousand

Beautiful girls to bathe me, and be happy

Until I die, or build a bridge, and name it

The Bridge of Corydon,--and be remembered

After I'm dead.

THYR. Corydon, come to the wall,

Won't you?--I want to tell you something.

CORY. Hush!

Be off! Be off! Go finish your nap, I tell you!

THYR. Corydon, listen: If you don't want your sheep,

Give them to me.

CORY. Be off. Go finish your nap.

A red one--and a blue one--and a red one--

And a purple one--give you my sheep, did you say?--

Come, come! What do you take me for, a fool?

I've a lot of thinking to do,--and while I'm thinking,

The sheep might just as well be over here

As over there.... A blue one--and a red one--

THYR. But they will die!

CORY. And a green one--and a couple

Of white ones, for a change.

THYR. Maybe I have

Some jewels on my side.

CORY. And another green one--

Maybe, but I don't think so. You see, this rock

Isn't so very wide. It stops before

It gets to the wall. It seems to go quite deep,

However.

THYR. [_with hatred_]. I see.

COLU. [_off stage_]. Look, Pierrot, there's the moon!

PIER. [_off stage_]. Nonsense!

THYR. I see.

COLU. [_off stage_]. Sing me an old song, Pierrot,--

Something I can remember.

PIER. [_off stage_]. Columbine,

Your mind is made of crumbs,--like an escallop

Of oysters,--first a layer of crumbs, and then

An oystery taste, and then a layer of crumbs.

THYR. I find no jewels ... but I wonder what

The root of this black weed would do to a man

If he should taste it.... I have seen a sheep die,

With half the stalk still drooling from its mouth.

'Twould be a speedy remedy, I should think,

For a festered pride and a feverish ambition.

It has a curious root. I think I'll hack it

In little pieces.... First I'll get me a drink;

And then I'll hack that root in little pieces

As small as dust, and see what the color is

Inside. [_Goes to bowl on floor._]

The pool is very clear. I see

A shepherd standing on the brink, with a red cloak

About him, and a black weed in his hand....

'Tis I. [_Kneels and drinks._]

CORY. [_Coming to wall_]. Hello, what are you doing, Thyrsis?

THYR. Digging for gold.

CORY. I'll give you all the gold

You want, if you'll give me a bowl of water.

If you don't want too much, that is to say.

THYR. Ho, so you've changed your mind?--It's different,

Isn't it, when you want a drink yourself?

CORY. Of course it is.

THYR. Well, let me see ... a bowl

Of water,--come back in an hour, Corydon. I'm busy now.

CORY. Oh, Thyrsis, give me a bowl

Of water!--and I'll find the bowl with jewels,

And bring it back!

THYR. Be off, I'm busy now.

[_He catches sight of the weed, picks it up and looks at it,

unseen by Corydon._]

Wait!--Pick me out the finest stones you have....

I'll bring you a drink of water presently.

CORY. [_goes back and sits down, with the jewels before him_].

A bowl of jewels is a lot of jewels.

THYR. [_chopping up the weed_]. I wonder if it has a bitter taste?

CORY. There's sure to be a stone or two among them

I have grown fond of, pouring them from one hand

Into the other.

THYR. I hope it doesn't taste

Too bitter, just at first.

CORY. A bowl of jewels

Is far too many jewels to give away....

And not get back again.

THYR. I don't believe

He'll notice. He's thirsty. He'll gulp it down

And never notice.

CORY. There ought to be some way

To get them back again.... I could give him a necklace,

And snatch it back, after I'd drunk the water,

I suppose ... why, as for that, of course, a _necklace_....

[_He puts two or three of the colored tapes together and tries

their strength by pulling them, after which he puts them around

his neck and pulls them, gently, nodding to himself. He gets up

and goes to the wall, with the colored tapes in his hands._

_Thyrsis in the meantime has poured the powdered root--black

confetti--into the pot which contains the flower and filled it up

with wine from the punch-bowl on the floor. He comes to the wall

at the same time, holding the bowl of poison._]

THYR. Come and get your bowl of water, Corydon.

CORY. Ah, very good!--and for such a gift as that

I'll give you more than a bowl of unset stones.

I'll give you three long necklaces, my friend.

Come closer. Here they are.

[_Puts the ribbons about Thyrsis' neck._]

THYR. [_putting bowl to Corydon's mouth_]. I'll hold the bowl

Until you've drunk it all.

CORY. Then hold it steady.

For every drop you spill I'll have a stone back

Out of this chain.

THYR. I shall not spill a drop.

[_Corydon drinks, meanwhile beginning to strangle Thyrsis._]

THYR. Don't pull the string so tight.

CORY. You're spilling the water.

THYR. You've had enough--you've had enough--stop pulling

The string so tight!

CORY. Why, that's not tight at all....

How's this?

THYR. [_drops bowl_]. You're strangling me! Oh, Corydon!

It's only a game!--and you are strangling me!

CORY. It's only a game, is it?--Yet I believe

You've poisoned me in earnest!

[_Writhes and pulls the strings tighter, winding them about

Thyrsis' neck._]

THYR. Corydon! [_Dies._]

CORY. You've poisoned me in earnest.... I feel so cold....

So cold ... this is a very silly game....

Why do we play it?--let's not play this game

A minute more ... let's make a little song

About a lamb.... I'm coming over the wall,

No matter what you say,--I want to be near you....

[_Groping his way, with arms wide before him, he strides through

the frail papers of the wall without knowing it, and continues

seeking for the wall straight across the stage._]

Where is the wall?

[_Gropes his way back, and stands very near Thyrsis without

knowing it; he speaks slowly._]

There isn't any wall,

I think.

[_Takes a step forward, his foot touches Thyrsis' body, and he

falls down beside him._]

Thyrsis, where is your cloak?--just give me

A little bit of your cloak!...

[_Draws corner of Thyrsis' cloak over his shoulders, falls across

Thyrsis' body, and dies._

_Cothurnus closes the prompt-book with a bang, arises

matter-of-factly, comes down stage, and places the table over the

two bodies, drawing down the cover so that they are hidden from

any actors on the stage, but visible to the audience, pushing in

their feet and hands with his boot. He then turns his back to the

audience, and claps his hands twice._]

COTH. Strike the scene!

[_Exit Cothurnus. Enter Pierrot and Columbine._]

PIER. Don't puff so, Columbine!

COLU. Lord, what a mess

This set is in! If there's one thing I hate

Above everything else,--even more than getting my feet wet--

It's clutter!--He might at least have left the scene

The way he found it.... don't you say so, Pierrot?

[_She picks up punch bowl. They arrange chairs as before at ends

of table._]

PIER. Well, I don't know. I think it rather diverting

The way it is.

[_Yawns, picks up confetti bowl._]

Shall we begin?

COLU. [_screams_]. My God!

What's that there under the table?

PIER. It is the bodies

Of the two shepherds from the other play.

COLU. [_slowly_]. How curious to strangle him like that,

With colored paper ribbons!

PIER. Yes, and yet

I dare say he is just as dead.

[_Pause. Calls Cothurnus._]

Come drag these bodies out of here! We can't

Sit down and eat with two dead bodies lying

Under the table!... The audience wouldn't stand for it!

COTH. [_off stage_]. What makes you think so?--Pull down the

tablecloth

On the other play, and hide them from the house,

And play the farce. The audience will forget.

PIER. That's so. Give me a hand there, Columbine.

[_Pierrot and Columbine pull down the table cover in such a way

that the two bodies are hidden from the house, then merrily set

their bowls back on the table, draw up their chairs, and begin the

play exactly as before, speaking even more rapidly and

artificially._]

COLU. Pierrot, a macaroon,--I cannot _live_

Without a macaroon!

PIER. My only love,

You are _so_ intense!... Is it Tuesday, Columbine?--

I'll kiss you if it's Tuesday.

[_Curtains begin to close slowly._]

COLU. It is Wednesday,

If you must know.... Is this my artichoke,

Or yours?

PIER. Ah, Columbine, as if it mattered!

Wednesday.... Will it be Tuesday, then to-morrow,

By any chance?

[_Curtain._]

HELENA'S HUSBAND

AN HISTORICAL COMEDY

BY PHILIP MOELLER

CHARACTERS

HELENA, _the Queen_.

TSUMU, _a black woman, slave to Helena_.

MENELAUS, _the King_.

ANALYTIKOS, _the King's librarian_.

PARIS, _a shepherd_.

HELENA'S HUSBAND was first produced by the Washington Square Players,

under the direction of Mr. Moeller, at the Bandbox Theatre, New York,

on the night of October 4, 1915, with the following cast:

HELENA [_Queen of Sparta_] _Noel Haddon_.

TSUMU [_the slave_] _Helen Westley_.

MENELAUS [_the King_] _Frank Conroy_.

ANALYTIKOS [_his librarian_] _Walter Frankl_.

PARIS [_a shepherd_] _Harold Meltzer_.

The scene was designed by Paul T. Frankl and the costumes by Robert

Locker.

Reprinted from "Five Somewhat Historical Plays" published by Alfred

A. Knopf, by special permission of Mr. Moeller. The professional and

amateur stage rights on this play are strictly reserved by the author.

Applications for permission to produce the play should be made to Mr.

Philip Moeller, care Alfred A. Knopf, 220 West 42nd Street, New York.

HELENA'S HUSBAND

AN HISTORICAL COMEDY BY PHILIP MOELLER

[_SCENE is that archaeological mystery, a Greek interior. A door

on the right leads to the King's library, one on the left to the

apartment of the Queen. Back right is the main entrance leading to

the palace. Next this, running the full length of the wall, is a

window with a platform, built out over the main court. Beyond is a

view of hills bright with lemon groves, and in the far distance

shimmers the sea. On the wall near the Queen's room hangs an old

shield rusty with disuse. A bust of Zeus stands on a pedestal

against the right wall. There are low coffers about the room from

which hang the ends of vivid colored robes. The scene is bathed in

intense sunlight. Tsumu is massaging the Queen._]

HELENA. There's no doubt about it.

TSUMU. Analytikos says there is much doubt about all things.

HELENA. Never mind what he says. I envy you your complexion.

TSUMU [_falling prostrate before Helena_]. Whom the Queen envies should

beware.

HELENA [_annoyed_]. Get up, Tsumu. You make me nervous tumbling about

like that.

TSUMU [_still on floor_]. Why does the great Queen envy Tsumu?

HELENA. Get up, you silly. [_She kicks her._] I envy you because you can

run about and never worry about getting sunburnt.

TSUMU [_on her knees_]. The radiant beauty of the Queen is unspoilable.

HELENA. That's just what's worrying me, Tsumu. When beauty is so perfect

the slightest jar may mean a jolt. [_She goes over and looks at her

reflection in the shield._] I can't see myself as well as I would like

to. The King's shield is tarnished. Menelaus has been too long out of

battle.

TSUMU [_handing her a hand mirror_]. The Gods will keep Sparta free from

strife.

HELENA. I'll have you beaten if you assume that prophetic tone with me.

There's one thing I can't stand, and that's a know-all.

[_Flinging the hand mirror to the floor._]

TSUMU [_in alarm_]. Gods grant you haven't bent it.

HELENA. These little mirrors are useless. His shield is the only thing

in which I can see myself full-length. If he only went to war, he'd have

to have it cleaned.

TSUMU [_putting the mirror on a table near the Queen_]. The King is a

lover of peace.

HELENA. The King is a lover of comfort. Have you noticed that he spends

more time than he used to in the library?

TSUMU. He is busy with questions of State.

HELENA. You know perfectly well that when anything's the matter with the

Government it's always straightened out at the other end of the palace.

Finish my shoulder. [_She examines her arm._] I doubt if there is a

finer skin than this in Sparta.

[_Tsumu begins to massage the Queen's shoulder._]

HELENA [_taking up a mirror_]. That touch of deep carmine right here in

the center of my lips was quite an idea.

TSUMU [_busily pounding the Queen_]. An inspiration of the Gods!

HELENA. The Gods have nothing to do with it. I copied it from a low

woman I saw at the circus. I can't understand how these bad women have

such good ideas.

[_Helen twists about._]

TSUMU. If your majesty doesn't sit still, I may pinch you.

HELENA [_boxing her ears_]. None of your tricks, you ebony fiend!

TSUMU [_crouching_]. Descendant of paradise, forgive me.

HELENA. If you bruise my perfect flesh, the King will kill you. My

beauty is his religion. He can sit for hours, as if at prayer, just

examining the arch of my foot. Tsumu, you may kiss my foot.

TSUMU [_prostrate_]. May the Gods make me worthy of your kindness!

HELENA. That's enough. Tsumu, are you married?

TSUMU [_getting up_]. I've been so busy having babies I never had time

to get married.

HELENA. It's a great disillusionment.

TSUMU [_agast_]. What!

HELENA. I'm not complaining. Moo Moo is the best of husbands, but

sometimes being adored too much is trying. [_She sighs deeply._] I think

I'll wear my heliotrope this afternoon.

[_A trumpet sounds below in the courtyard. Tsumu goes to the

window._]

TSUMU. They are changing the guards at the gates of the palace. It's

almost time for your bath.

[_She begins scraping the massage ointment back into the box._]

HELENA. You're as careful with that ointment as Moo Moo is with me.

TSUMU. Precious things need precious guarding.

HELENA. It's very short-sighted on Moo Moo's part to send everybody to

the galleys who dares lift a head when I pass by--and all these

nice-looking soldiers! Why--the only men I ever see besides Moo Moo are

Analytikos and a lot of useless eunuchs.

TSUMU. Oh, those eunuchs!

HELENA [_as she sits dreaming_]. I wish, I wish--

[_She stops short._]

TSUMU. You have but to speak your desire to the King.

HELENA [_shocked_]. Tsumu! How can you think of such a thing? I'm not a

bad woman.

TSUMU. He would die for you.

HELENA [_relieved_]. Ah! Do you think so, Tsumu?

TSUMU. All Sparta knows that His Majesty is a lover of peace, and yet he

would rush into battle to save you.

HELENA. I should love to have men fighting for me.

TSUMU [_in high alarm_]. May Zeus turn a deaf ear to your voice.

HELENA. Don't be impertinent, Tsumu. I've got to have some sort of

amusement.

TSUMU. You've only to wait till next week, and you can see another of

the priestesses sacrificed to Diana.

HELENA. That doesn't interest me any longer. The girls are positively

beginning to like it. No! My mind is set on war.

TSUMU [_terrified_]. I have five fathers of my children to lose.

HELENA. War, or--or--

TSUMU [_hopefully_]. Have I been so long your slave that I no longer

know your wish?

HELENA [_very simply_]. Well, I should like to have a lover.

TSUMU [_springs up and rushes over in horror to draw the curtains across

the door of the library. All of a tremble_]. Gods grant they didn't hear

you.

HELENA. Don't be alarmed, Tsumu. Analytikos is over eighty.

[_She bursts into a loud peal of laughter and Menelaus rushes into

the room._]

MENELAUS [_in high irritation_]. I wish you wouldn't make so much noise

in here. A King might at least expect quiet in his own palace.

HELENA. Tsumu, see if my bath is ready. [_Tsumu exits._] You used not

speak like that to me, Moo Moo.

MENELAUS [_in a temper_]. How many times must I tell you that my name is

Menelaus and that it isn't "Moo Moo"?

HELENA [_sweetly_]. I'll never do it again, Moo Moo. [_She giggles._]

MENELAUS. Your laugh gets on my nerves. It's louder than it used to be.

HELENA. If you wish it, I'll never, never laugh again.

MENELAUS. You've promised that too often.

HELENA [_sadly_]. Things are not as they used to be.

MENELAUS. Are you going to start that again?

HELENA [_with a tinge of melancholy_]. I suppose you'd like me to be

still and sad.

MENELAUS [_bitterly_]. Is it too much to hope that you might be still

and happy?

HELENA [_speaking very quickly and tragically_]. Don't treat me cruelly,

Moo Moo. You don't understand me. No man ever really understands a

woman. There are terrible depths to my nature. I had a long talk with

Dr. AEsculapius only last week, and he told me I'm too introspective.

It's the curse of us emotional women. I'm really quite worried, but much

you care, much you care. [_A note of tears comes into her voice._] I'm

sure you don't love me any more, Moo Moo. No! No! Don't answer me! If

you did you couldn't speak to me the way you do. I've never wronged you

in deed or in thought. No, never--never. I've given up my hopes and

aspirations, because I knew you wanted me around you. And now,

NOW--[_She can contain the tears no longer._] Because I have neglected

my beauty and because I am old and ugly, you regret that Ulysses or

Agamemnon didn't marry me when you all wanted me, and I know you curse

the day you ever saw me.

[_She is breathless._]

MENELAUS [_fuming_]. Well! Have you done?

HELENA. No. I could say a great deal more, but I'm not a talkative

woman.

[_Analytikos comes in from the library._]

ANALYTIKOS. Your Majesty, are we to read no longer to-day?

HELENA. I have something to say to the King.

[_Analytikos goes toward the library. Menelaus anxiously stops

him._]

MENELAUS. No. Stay here. You are a wise man and well understand the

wisdom of the Queen.

ANALYTIKOS [_bowing to Helena_]. Helena is wise as she is beautiful.

MENELAUS. She is attempting to prove to me in a thousand words that

she's a silent woman.

ANALYTIKOS. Women are seldom silent. [_Helen resents this._] Their

beauty is forever speaking for them.

HELENA. The years have, indeed, taught you wisdom.

[_Tsumu enters._]

TSUMU. The almond water awaits your majesty.

HELENA. I hope you haven't forgotten the chiropodist.

TSUMU. He has been commanded but he's always late. He's so busy.

HELENA [_in a purring tone to Menelaus_]. Moo Moo.

[_Menelaus, bored, turns away._]

HELENA [_to Tsumu_]. I think after all I'll wear my Sicily blue.

[_She and Tsumu go into the Queen's apartment._]

ANALYTIKOS. Shall we go back to the library?

MENELAUS. My mind is unhinged again--that woman with her endless

protestations.

ANALYTIKOS. I am sorry the poets no longer divert you.

MENELAUS. A little poetry is always too much.

ANALYTIKOS. To-morrow we will try the historians.

MENELAUS. No! Not the historians. I want the truth for a change.

ANALYTIKOS. The truth!

MENELAUS. Where in books can I find escape from the grim reality of

being hitched for life to such a wife? Bah!

ANALYTIKOS. Philosophy teaches--

MENELAUS. Why have the Gods made woman necessary to man, and made them

fools?

ANALYTIKOS. For seventy years I have been resolving the problem of woman

and even at my age--

MENELAUS. Give it up, old man. The answer is--don't.

ANALYTIKOS. Such endless variety, and yet--

MENELAUS [_with the conviction of finality_]. There are only two sorts

of women! Those who are failures and those who realize it.

ANALYTIKOS. Is not Penelope, the model wife of your cousin Ulysses, an

exception?

MENELAUS. Duty is the refuge of the unbeautiful. She is as commonplace

as she is ugly. [_And then with deep bitterness._] Why didn't _he_ marry

Helen when we all wanted her? He was too wise for that. He is the only

man I've ever known who seems able to direct destiny.

ANALYTIKOS. You should not blame the Gods for a lack of will.

MENELAUS [_shouting_]. Will! Heaven knows I do not lack the will to rid

myself of this painted puppet, but where is the instrument ready to my

hand?

[_At this moment a Shepherd of Apollonian beauty leaps across the

rail of the balcony and bounds into the room. Menelaus and

Analytikos start back in amazement._]

ANALYTIKOS. Who are you?

PARIS. An adventurer.

ANALYTIKOS. Then you have reached the end of your story. In a moment you

will die.

PARIS. I have no faith in prophets.

ANALYTIKOS. The soldiers of the King will give you faith. Don't you know

that it means death for any man to enter the apartments of the Queen?

PARIS [_looking from one to the other_]. Oh! So you're a couple of

eunuchs.

[_Though nearly eighty this is too much for Analytikos to bear. He

rushes to call the guard, but Menelaus stops him._]

PARIS [_to Analytikos_]. Thanks.

ANALYTIKOS. You thank me for telling you your doom?

PARIS. No--for convincing me that I'm where I want to be. It's taken me

a long while, but I knew I'd get here. [_And then very intimately to

Menelaus._] Where's the Queen?

MENELAUS. Where do you come from?

PARIS. From the hills. I had come down into the market-place to sell my

sheep. I had my hood filled with apples. They were golden-red like a

thousand sunsets.

MENELAUS [_annoyed_]. You might skip those bucolic details.

PARIS. At the fair I met three ancient gypsies.

MENELAUS. What have they to do with you coming here?

PARIS. You don't seem very patient. Can't I tell my story in my own way?

They asked me for the apple I was eating and I asked them what they'd

give for it.

MENELAUS. I'm not interested in market quotations.

PARIS. You take everything so literally. I'm sure you're easily bored.

MENELAUS [_with meaning_]. I am.

PARIS [_going on cheerfully_]. The first was to give me all the money

she could beg, and the second was to tell me all the truth she could

learn by listening, and the third promised me a pretty girl. So I

chose--

[_He hesitates._]

ANALYTIKOS. You cannot escape by spinning out your tale.

PARIS. Death is the end of one story and the beginning of another.

MENELAUS. Well! Well! Come to the point. Which did you choose?

PARIS [_smiling_]. Well, you see I'd been in the hills for a long while,

so I picked the girl.

ANALYTIKOS. It would have been better for you if you had chosen wisdom.

PARIS. I knew you'd say that.

ANALYTIKOS. I have spoken truly. In a moment you will die.

PARIS. It is because the old have forgotten life that they preach

wisdom.

MENELAUS. So you chose the girl? Well, go on.

PARIS. This made the other cronies angry, and when I tossed her the

apple one of the others yelped at me: "You may as well seek the Queen of

Sparta: she is the fairest of women." And as I turned away I heard their

laughter, but the words had set my heart aflame and though it cost me my

life, I'll follow the adventure.

ANALYTIKOS [_scandalized_]. Haven't we heard enough of this?

MENELAUS [_deeply_]. No! I want to hear how the story ends. It may amuse

the King.

[_He makes a sign to Analytikos._]

PARIS. And on the ship at night I looked long at the stars and dreamed

of possessing Helen.

[_Analytikos makes an involuntary movement toward the balcony, but

Menelaus stops him._]

PARIS. Desire has been my guiding Mercury; the Fates are with me, and

here I am.

ANALYTIKOS. The wrath of the King will show you no mercy.

PARIS [_nonchalantly_]. I'm not afraid of the King. He's fat, and--a

fool.

ANALYTIKOS. Shall I call the guards?

[_Menelaus stops him._]

MENELAUS [_very significantly_]. So you would give your life for a

glimpse of the Queen?

PARIS [_swiftly_]. Yes! My immortal soul, and if the fables tell the

truth, the sight will be worth the forfeit.

MENELAUS [_suddenly jumping up_]. It shall be as you wish!

PARIS [_buoyantly_]. Venus has smiled on me.

MENELAUS. In there beyond the library you will find a room with a bath.

Wait there till I call you.

PARIS. Is this some trick to catch me?

MENELAUS. A Spartan cannot lie.

PARIS. What will happen to you if the King hears of this?

MENELAUS. I will answer for the king. Go.

[_Paris exits into the library._]

ANALYTIKOS [_rubbing his hands_]. Shall I order the boiling oil?

MENELAUS [_surprised_]. Oil?

ANALYTIKOS. Now that he is being cleaned for the sacrifice.

MENELAUS. His torture will be greater than being boiled alive.

ANALYTIKOS [_eagerly_]. You'll have him hurled from the wall of the

palace to a forest of waiting spears below?

MENELAUS. None is so blind as he who sees too much.

ANALYTIKOS. Your majesty is subtle in his cruelty.

MENELAUS. Haven't the years taught you the cheapness of revenge?

ANALYTIKOS [_mystified_]. You do not intend to alter destiny.

MENELAUS. Never before has destiny been so clear to me.

ANALYTIKOS. Then the boy must die.

MENELAUS [_with slow determination_]. No! He has been sent by the Gods

to save me!

ANALYTIKOS. Your majesty!

[_He is trembling with apprehension._]

MENELAUS [_with unbudgeable conviction_]. Helena must elope with him!

ANALYTIKOS [_falling into a seat_]. Ye Gods!

MENELAUS [_quietly_]. I couldn't divorce the Queen. That would set a bad

example.

ANALYTIKOS. Yes, very.

MENELAUS. I couldn't desert her. That would be beneath my honor.

ANALYTIKOS [_deeply_]. Was there no other way?

MENELAUS [_pompously_]. The King can do no wrong, and besides I hate the

smell of blood. Are you a prophet as well as a scholar? Will she go?

ANALYTIKOS. To-night I will read the stars.

MENELAUS [_meaningfully_]. By to-night I'll not need you to tell me.

[_Analytikos sits deep in thought._] Well?

ANALYTIKOS. Ethics cite no precedent.

MENELAUS. Do you mean to say I'm not justified?

ANALYTIKOS [_cogitating_]. Who can establish the punctilious ratio

between necessity and desire?

MENELAUS [_beginning to fume_]. This is no time for language. Just put

yourself in my place.

ANALYTIKOS. Being you, how can I judge as I?

MENELAUS [_losing control_]. May you choke on your dialectics! Zeus

himself could have stood it no longer.

ANALYTIKOS. Have you given her soul a chance to grow?

MENELAUS. Her soul, indeed! It's shut in her rouge pot. [_He has been

strutting about. Suddenly he sits down crushing a roll of papyrus. He

takes it up and in utter disgust reads._] "The perfect hip, its

development and permanence." Bah! [_He flings it to the floor._] I've

done what I had to do, and Gods grant the bait may be sweet enough to

catch the Queen.

ANALYTIKOS. If you had diverted yourself with a war or two you might

have forgotten your troubles at home.

MENELAUS [_frightened_]. I detest dissension of any kind--my dream was

perpetual peace in comfortable domesticity with a womanly woman to warm

my sandals.

ANALYTIKOS. Is not the Queen--?

MENELAUS. No! No! The whole world is but her mirror. And I'm expected to

face that woman every morning at breakfast for the rest of my life, and

by Venus that's more than even a King can bear!

ANALYTIKOS. Even a King cannot alter destiny. I warn you, whom the Gods

have joined together--

MENELAUS [_in an outburst_]. Is for man to break asunder!

ANALYTIKOS [_deeply shocked_]. You talk like an atheist.

MENELAUS. I never allow religion to interfere with life. Go call the

victim and see that he be left alone with the Queen.

[_Menelaus exits and Analytikos goes over to the door of the

library and summons Paris, who enters clad in a gorgeous robe._]

PARIS. I found this in there. It looks rather well, doesn't it? Ah! So

you're alone. I suppose that stupid friend of yours has gone to tell the

King. When do I see the Queen?

ANALYTIKOS. At once.

[_He goes to the door of the Queen's apartment and claps his hand.

Tsumu enters and at the sight of her Paris recoils the full length

of the room._]

PARIS. I thought the Queen was a blonde!

ANALYTIKOS. Tell Her Majesty a stranger awaits her here.

[_Tsumu exits, her eyes wide on Paris._]

You should thank the Gods for this moment.

PARIS [_his eyes on the door_]. You do it for me. I can never remember

all their names.

[_Helena enters clad in her Sicily blue, crowned with a garland of

golden flowers. She and Paris stand riveted, looking at each

other. Their attitude might be described as fantastic. Analytikos

watches them for a moment and then with hands and head lifted to

heaven he goes into the library._]

PARIS [_quivering with emotion_]. I have the most strange sensation of

having seen you before. Something I can't explain--

HELENA [_quite practically_]. Please don't bother about all sorts of

fine distinctions. Under the influence of Analytikos and my husband,

life has become a mess of indecision. I'm a simple, direct woman and I

expect you to say just what you think.

PARIS. Do you? Very well, then--[_He comes a step nearer to her._] Fate

is impelling me toward you.

HELENA. Yes. That's much better. So you're a fatalist. It's very Greek.

I don't see what our dramatists would do without it.

PARIS. In my country there are no dramatists. We are too busy with

reality.

HELENA. Your people must be uncivilized barbarians.

PARIS. My people are a genuine people. There is but one thing we

worship.

HELENA. Don't tell me it's money.

PARIS. It's--

HELENA. Analytikos says if there weren't any money, there wouldn't be

any of those ridiculous socialists.

PARIS. It isn't money. It's sincerity.

HELENA. I, too, believe in sincerity. It's the loveliest thing in the

world.

PARIS. And the most dangerous.

HELENA. The truth is never dangerous.

PARIS. Except when told.

HELENA [_making room on the couch for him to sit next to her_]. You

mustn't say wicked things to me.

PARIS. Can your theories survive a test?

HELENA [_beautifully_]. Truth is eternal and survives all tests.

PARIS. No. Perhaps, after all, your soul is not ready for the supremest

heights.

HELENA. Do you mean to say I'm not religious? Religion teaches the

meaning of love.

PARIS. Has it taught you to love your husband?

HELENA [_starting up and immediately sitting down again_]. How dare you

speak to me like that?

PARIS. You see. I was right.

[_He goes toward the balcony._]

HELENA [_stopping him_]. Whatever made you think so?

PARIS. I've heard people talk of the King. You could never love a man

like that.

HELENA [_beautifully_]. A woman's first duty is to love her husband.

PARIS. There is a higher right than duty.

HELENA [_with conviction_]. Right is right.

PARIS [_with admiration_]. The world has libeled you.

HELENA. Me! The Queen?

PARIS. You are as wise as you are beautiful.

HELENA [_smiling coyly_]. Why, you hardly know me.

PARIS. I know you! I, better than all men.

HELENA. You?

PARIS [_rapturously_]. Human law has given you to Menelaus, but

divine law makes you mine.

HELENA [_in amazement_]. What!

PARIS. I alone appreciate your beauty. I alone can reach your soul.

HELENA. Ah!

PARIS. You hate your husband!

HELENA [_drawing back_]. Why do you look at me like that?

PARIS. To see if there's one woman in the world who dares tell the

truth.

HELENA. My husband doesn't understand me.

PARIS [_with conviction_]. I knew you detested him.

HELENA. He never listens to my aspirations.

PARIS. Egoist.

HELENA [_assuming an irresistible pose_]. I'm tired of being only

lovely. He doesn't realize the meaning of spiritual intercourse, of soul

communion.

PARIS. Fool!

HELENA. You dare call Moo Moo a fool?

PARIS. Has he not been too blind to see that your soul outshines your

beauty? [_Then, very dramatically._] You're stifling!

HELENA [_clearing her throat_]. I--I--

PARIS. He has made you sit upon your wings. [_Helena, jumping up, shifts

her position._] You are groping in the darkness.

HELENA. Don't be silly. It's very light in here.

PARIS [_undisturbed_]. You are stumbling, and I have come to lead you.

[_He steps toward her._]

HELENA. Stop right there! [_Paris stops._] No man but the King can come

within ten feet of me. It's a court tradition.

PARIS. Necessity knows no tradition. [_He falls on his knees before

her._] I shall come close to you, though the flame of your beauty

consume me.

HELENA. You'd better be careful what you say to me. Remember I'm the

Queen.

PARIS. No man weighs his words who has but a moment to live.

HELENA. You said that exactly like an actor. [_He leans very close to

her._] What are you doing now?

PARIS. I am looking into you. You are the clear glass in which I read

the secret of the universe.

HELENA. The secret of the universe. Ah! Perhaps you could understand me.

PARIS. First you must understand yourself.

HELENA [_instinctively taking up a mirror_]. How?

PARIS. You must break with all this prose. [_With an unconscious gesture

he sweeps a tray of toilet articles from the table. Helena emits a

little shriek._]

HELENA. The ointment!

PARIS [_rushing to the window and pointing to the distance_]. And climb

to infinite poesie!

HELENA [_catching his enthusiasm, says very blandly_]. There is nothing

in the world like poetry.

PARIS [_lyrically_]. Have you ever heard the poignant breathing of the

stars?

HELENA. No. I don't believe in astrology.

PARIS. Have you ever smelt the powdery mists of the sun?

HELENA. I should sneeze myself to death.

PARIS. Have you ever listened to the sapphire soul of the sea?

HELENA. Has the sea a soul? But please don't stop talking. You do it so

beautifully.

PARIS. Deeds are sweeter than words. Shall we go hand in hand to meet

eternity?

HELENA [_not comprehending him_]. That's very pretty. Say it again.

PARIS [_passionately_]. There's but a moment of life left me. I shall

stifle it in ecstasy. Helena, Helena, I adore you!

HELENA [_jumping up in high surprise_]. You're not making love to me,

you naughty boy?

PARIS. Helena.

HELENA. You've spoken to me so little, and already you dare to do that.

PARIS [_impetuously_]. I am a lover of life. I skip the inessentials.

HELENA. Remember who I am.

PARIS. I have not forgotten, Daughter of Heaven. [_Suddenly he leaps to

his feet._] Listen!

HELENA. Shhh! That's the King and Analytikos in the library.

PARIS. No! No! Don't you hear the flutter of wings?

HELENA. Wings?

PARIS [_ecstatically_]. Venus, mother of Love!

HELENA [_alarmed_]. What is it?

PARIS. She has sent her messenger. I hear the patter of little feet.

HELENA. Those little feet are the soldiers below in the courtyard.

[_A trumpet sounds._]

PARIS [_the truth of the situation breaking through his emotion_]. In a

moment I shall be killed.

HELENA. Killed?

PARIS. Save me and save yourself!

HELENA. Myself?

PARIS. I shall rescue you and lead you on to life.

HELENA. No one has even spoken to me like that before.

PARIS. This is the first time your ears have heard the truth.

HELENA. Was it of you I've been dreaming?

PARIS. Your dream was but your unrealized desire.

HELENA. Menelaus has never made me feel like this. [_And then with a

sudden shriek._] Oh! I'm a wicked woman!

PARIS. No! No!

HELENA. For years I've been living with a man I didn't love.

PARIS. Yes! Yes!

HELENA. I'm lost!

PARIS [_at a loss_]. No! Yes! Yes! No!

HELENA. It was a profanation of the most holy.

PARIS. The holiest awaits you, Helena! Our love will lighten the

Plutonian realms.

HELENA. Menelaus never spoke to me like that.

PARIS. 'Tis but the first whisper of my adoration.

HELENA. I can't face him every morning at breakfast for the rest of my

life. That's even more than a Queen can bear.

PARIS. I am waiting to release you.

HELENA. I've stood it for seven years.

PARIS. I've been coming to you since the beginning of time.

HELENA. There is something urging me to go with you, something I do not

understand.

PARIS. Quick! There is but a moment left us.

[_He takes her rapturously in his arms. There is a passionate

embrace in the midst of which Tsumu enters._]

TSUMU. The chiropodist has come.

HELENA. Bring me my outer garment and my purse.

[_Tsumu exits, her eyes wide on Paris._]

PARIS. Helena! Helena!

[_Helena looks about her and takes up the papyrus that Menelaus

has flung to the floor._]

HELENA. A last word to the King. [_She looks at the papyrus._] No, this

won't do; I shall have to take this with me.

PARIS. What is it?

HELENA. Maskanda's discourse on the hip.

[_A trumpet sounds below in the courtyard._]

PARIS [_excitedly_]. Leave it--or your hip may cost me my head. We

haven't a minute to spare. Hurry! Hurry!

[_Helena takes up an eyebrow pencil and writes on the back of the

papyrus. She looks for a place to put it and seeing the shield she

smears it with some of the ointment and sticks the papyrus to

it._]

PARIS [_watching her in ecstasy_]. You are the fairest of all fair women

and your name will blaze as a symbol throughout eternity.

[_Tsumu enters with the purse and the Queen's outer robe._]

HELENA [_tossing the purse to Paris_]. Here, we may need this.

PARIS [_throwing it back to Tsumu_]. This for your silence, daughter of

darkness. A prince has no need of purses.

TSUMU [_looking at him_]. A prince!

HELENA [_gloriously_]. My prince of poetry. My deliverer!

PARIS [_divinely_]. My queen of love!

[_They go out, Tsumu looking after them in speechless amazement.

Suddenly she sees the papyrus on the shield, runs over and reads

it and then rushes to the door of the library._]

TSUMU [_calling_]. Analytikos.

[_She hides the purse in her bosom. Analytikos enters, scroll in

hand._]

ANALYTIKOS. Has the Queen summoned me?

TSUMU [_mysteriously_]. A terrible thing has happened.

ANALYTIKOS. What's the matter?

TSUMU. Where's the King?

ANALYTIKOS. In the library.

TSUMU. I have news more precious than the gold of Midas.

ANALYTIKOS [_giving her a purse_]. Well! What is it?

TSUMU [_speaking very dramatically and watching the effect of her

words_]. The Queen has deserted Menelaus.

ANALYTIKOS [_receiving the shock philosophically_]. Swift are the ways

of Nature. The Gods have smiled upon him.

TSUMU. The Gods have forsaken the King to smile upon a prince.

ANALYTIKOS. What?

TSUMU. He was a prince.

ANALYTIKOS [_apprehensively_]. Why do you say that?

TSUMU [_clutching her bosom_]. I have a good reason to know. [_There is

a sound of voices below in the courtyard. Menelaus rushes in

expectantly. Tsumu falls prostrate before him._] Oh, King, in thy

bottomless agony blame not a blameless negress. The Queen has fled!

MENELAUS [_in his delight forgetting himself and flinging her a purse_].

Is it true?

TSUMU. Woe! Woe is me!

MENELAUS [_storming_]. Out of my sight, you eyeless Argus!

ANALYTIKOS [_to Tsumu_]. Quick, send a messenger. Find out who he was.

[_Tsumu sticks the third purse in her bosom and runs out._]

MENELAUS [_with radiant happiness, kneeling before the bust of Zeus_].

Ye Gods, I thank ye. Peace and a happy life at last.

[_The shouts in the courtyard grow louder._]

ANALYTIKOS. The news has spread through the palace.

MENELAUS [_in trepidation, springing up_]. No one would dare stop the

progress of the Queen.

TSUMU [_rushes in and prostrates herself before the King_]. Woe is me!

They have gone by the road to the harbor.

MENELAUS [_anxiously_]. Yes! Yes!

TSUMU. By the King's orders no man has dared gaze upon Her Majesty. They

all fell prostrate before her.

MENELAUS. Good! Good! [_Attempting to cover his delight._] Go! Go! You

garrulous dog.

[_Tsumu gets up and points to shield. Analytikos and the King look

toward it. Analytikos tears off the papyrus and brings it to

Menelaus. Tsumu, watching them, exits._]

MENELAUS [_reading_]. "I am not a bad woman. I did what I had to do."

How Greek to blame fate for what one wants to do.

[_Tsumu again comes tumbling in._]

TSUMU [_again prostrate before the King_]. A rumor flies through the

city. He--he--

ANALYTIKOS [_anxiously_]. Well? Well?

TSUMU. He--he--

MENELAUS [_furiously to Analytikos_]. Rid me of this croaking raven.

TSUMU. Evil has fallen on Sparta. He--

ANALYTIKOS. Yes--yes--

MENELAUS [_in a rage_]. Out of my sight, perfidious Nubian.

[_Sounds of confusion in the courtyard. Suddenly she springs to

her feet and yells at the top of her voice._]

TSUMU. He was Paris, Prince of Troy!

[_They all start back. Analytikos stumbles into a seat. Menelaus

turns pale. Tsumu leers like a black Nemesis._]

ANALYTIKOS [_very ominously_]. Who can read the secret of the Fates?

MENELAUS [_frightened_]. What do you mean?

ANALYTIKOS. He is the son of Priam, King of Troy.

TSUMU [_adding fuel_]. And of Hecuba, Queen of the Trojans.

[_She rushes out to spread the news._]

ANALYTIKOS. That makes the matter international.

MENELAUS [_quickly_]. But we have treaties with Troy.

ANALYTIKOS. Circumstances alter treaties. They will mean nothing.

MENELAUS. Nothing?

ANALYTIKOS. No more than a scrap of papyrus. Sparta will fight to regain

her Queen.

MENELAUS. But I don't want her back.

ANALYTIKOS. Can you tell that to Sparta? Remember, the King can do no

wrong. Last night I dreamed of war.

MENELAUS. No! No! Don't say that. After the scandal I can't be expected

to fight to get her back.

ANALYTIKOS. Sparta will see with the eyes of chivalry.

MENELAUS [_fuming_]. But I don't believe in war.

ANALYTIKOS [_still obdurate_]. Have you forgotten the oath pledged of

old, with Ulysses and Agamemnon? They have sworn, if ever the time came,

to fight and defend the Queen.

MENELAUS [_bitterly_]. I didn't think of the triple alliance.

ANALYTIKOS. Can Sparta ask less of her King?

MENELAUS. Let's hear the other side. We can perhaps arbitrate. Peace at

any price.

ANALYTIKOS. Some bargains are too cheap.

MENELAUS [_hopelessly_]. But I am a pacifist.

ANALYTIKOS. You are Menelaus of Sparta, and Sparta's a nation of

soldiers.

MENELAUS [_desperately_]. I am too proud to fight!

ANALYTIKOS. Here, put on your shield. [_A great clamor comes up from the

courtyard, Analytikos steps out on the balcony and is greeted with

shouts of "The King! The King!" Addressing the crowd._] People of

Sparta, this calamity has been forced upon us. [_Menelaus winces._] We

are a peaceful people. But thanks to our unparalleled efficiency, the

military system of Sparta is the most powerful in all Greece and we can

mobilize in half an hour.

[_Loud acclaims from the people. Menelaus, the papyrus still in

hand, crawls over and attempts to stop Analytikos._]

ANALYTIKOS [_not noticing him_]. In the midst of connubial and communal

peace the thunderbolt has fallen on the King. [_Menelaus tugs at

Analytikos' robe._] Broken in spirit as he is, he is already pawing the

ground like a battle steed. Never will we lay down our arms! We and

Jupiter! [_Cheers._] Never until the Queen is restored to Menelaus.

Never, even if it takes ten years. [_Menelaus squirms. A loud cheer._]

Even now the King is buckling on his shield. [_More cheers. Analytikos

steps farther forward and then with bursting eloquence._] One hate we

have and one alone! [_Yells from below._]

Hate by water and hate by land,

Hate of the head and hate of the hand,

Hate of Paris and hate of Troy

That has broken the Queen for a moment's toy.

[_The yells grow fiercer._]

Zeus' thunder will shatter the Trojan throne.

We have one hate and one alone!

[_Menelaus sits on the floor dejectedly looking at the papyrus. A

thunder of voices from the people._]

We have one hate and one alone. Troy! Troy!

[_Helmets and swords are thrown into the air. The cheers grow

tumultuous, trumpets are blown, and the_

_Curtain falls._]

THE SHADOWED STAR

BY MARY MACMILLAN

CAST

A WOMAN, _the mother_.

AN OLD WOMAN, _the grandmother_.

TWO GIRLS, _the daughters_.

A MESSENGER BOY.

A NEIGHBOR.

ANOTHER NEIGHBOR.

THE SHADOWED STAR is reprinted from "Short Plays" by Mary MacMillan by

permission of Messrs. Stewart & Kidd Company, Cincinnati, Ohio. The

acting rights of this play are reserved by the author. Address all

correspondence to the author in regard to production.

THE SHADOWED STAR

BY MARY MACMILLAN

[_A very bare room in a tenement house, uncarpeted, the boards

being much worn, and from the walls the bluish whitewash has

scaled away; in the front on one side is a cooking-stove, and

farther back on the same side a window; on the opposite side is a

door opening into a hallway; in the middle of the room there is a

round, worn dining-room table, on which stands a stunted, scraggly

bit of an evergreen-tree; at the back of the room, near the

window, stands an old-fashioned safe with perforated tin front;

next it a door opening into an inner room, and next it in the

corner a bed, on which lies a pallid woman; another woman, very

old, sits in a rocking-chair in front of the stove and rocks.

There is silence for a long space, the old woman rocking and the

woman on the bed giving an occasional low sigh or groan. At last

the old woman speaks._]

THE OLD WOMAN. David an' Michael might be kapin' the Christmas wid

us to-morrow night if we hadn't left the ould counthry. They'd

never be crossin' the sea--all the many weary miles o' wetness an'

fog an' cold to be kapin' it wid us here in this great house o'

brick walls in a place full o' strange souls. They would never be

for crossin' all that weary, cold, green wather, groanin' an'

tossin' like it was the grave o' sivin thousan' divils. Ah, but it

would be a black night at sea! [_She remains silent for a few

minutes, staring at the stove and rocking slowly._] If they hadn't

to cross that wet, cold sea they'd maybe come. But wouldn't they

be afeard o' this great city, an' would they iver find us here?

Six floors up, an' they niver off the ground in their lives. What

would ye be thinkin'? [_The other woman does not answer her. She

then speaks petulantly._] What would ye be thinkin'? Mary, have ye

gone clane to slape? [_Turns her chair and peers around the back

of it at the pallid woman on the bed, who sighs and answers._]

THE WOMAN. No, I on'y wisht I could. Maybe they'll come--I don't

know, but father an' Michael wasn't much for thravel. [_After a

pause and very wearily._] Maybe they'll not come, yet [_slowly_],

maybe I'll be kapin' the Christmas wid them there. [_The Old Woman

seems not to notice this, wandering from her question back to her

memories._]

THE OLD WOMAN. No, they'll niver be lavin' the ould land, the green

land, the home land. I'm wishing I was there wid thim. [_Another pause,

while she stares at the stove._] Maybe we'd have a duck an' potatoes,

an' maybe something to drink to kape us warm against the cold. An' the

boys would all be dancin' an' the girls have rosy cheeks. [_There is

another pause, and then a knock at the door. "Come in," the two women

call, in reedy, weak voices, and a thin, slatternly Irish woman

enters._]

THE NEIGHBOR. God avnin' to ye; I came in to ask if I might borrow the

loan o' a bit o' tay, not havin' a leaf of it left.

THE WOMAN. We have a little left, just enough we was savin' for

ourselves to-night, but you're welcome to it--maybe the girls will bring

some. Will ye get it for her, mother? Or she can help herself--it's in

the safe. It's on the lower shelf among the cups an' saucers an' plates.

[_The Old Woman and Neighbor go to the safe and hunt for the tea, and do

not find it readily. The safe has little in it but a few cracked and

broken dishes._]

THE NEIGHBOR [_holding up a tiny paper bag with an ounce perhaps of tea

in it._] It's just a scrap!

THE OLD WOMAN. To be sure! We use so much tay! We're that exthravagant!

THE NEIGHBOR. It hurts me to take it from ye--maybe I'd better not.

THE OLD WOMAN. The girls will bring more. We always have a cupboard full

o' things. We're always able to lend to our neighbors.

THE NEIGHBOR. It's in great luck, ye are. For some of us be so poor we

don't know where the next bite's comin' from. An' this winter whin

iverything's so high an' wages not raised, a woman can't find enough to

cook for her man's dinner. It isn't that ye don't see things--oh,

they're in the markets an' the shops, an' it makes yer mouth wather as

ye walk along the sthrates this day before the Christmas to see the

turkeys an' the ducks ye'll niver ate, an' the little pigs an' the

or'nges an' bananies an' cranberries an' the cakes an' nuts an'--it's

worse, I'm thinkin', to see thim whin there's no money to buy than it

was in the ould counthry, where there was nothing to buy wid the money

ye didn't have.

THE WOMAN. It's all one to us poor folk whether there be things to buy

or not. [_She speaks gaspingly, as one who is short of breath._] I'm

on'y thinkin' o' the clane air at home--if I could have a mornin' o'

fresh sunshine--these fogs an' smoke choke me so. The girls would take

me out to the counthry if they had time an' I'd get well. But they

haven't time. [_She falls into a fit of coughing._]

THE OLD WOMAN. But it's like to be bright on Christmas Day. It wouldn't

iver be cloudy on Christmas Day, an' maybe even now the stars would be

crapin' out an' the air all clear an' cold an' the moon a-shinin' an'

iverything so sthill an' quiet an' bleamin' an' breathless [_her voice

falls almost to a whisper_], awaitin' on the Blessed Virgin. [_She goes

to the window, lifts the blind, and peers out, then throws up the sash

and leans far out. After a moment she pulls the sash down again and the

blind and turns to those in the room with the look of pathetic

disappointment in little things, of the aged._] No, there's not a sthar,

not one little twinklin' sthar, an' how'll the shepherds find their way?

Iverything's dull an' black an' the clouds are hangin' down heavy an'

sthill. How'll the shepherds find their way without the sthar to guide

thim? [_Then almost whimpering._] An' David an' Michael will niver be

crossin' that wet, black sea! An' the girls--how'll they find their way

home? They'll be lost somewhere along by the hedges. Ohone, ohone!

THE NEIGHBOR. Now, grannie, what would ye be sayin'? There's niver a

hedge anywhere but granite blocks an' electric light poles an' plenty o'

light in the city for thim to see all their way home. [_Then to the

woman._] Ain't they late?

THE WOMAN. They're always late, an' they kape gettin' lather an' lather.

THE NEIGHBOR. Yis, av coorse, the sthores is all open in the avnin's

before Christmas.

THE WOMAN. They go so early in the mornin' an' get home so late at

night, an' they're so tired.

THE NEIGHBOR [_whiningly_]. They're lucky to be young enough to work an'

not be married. I've got to go home to the childer an' give thim their

tay. Pat's gone to the saloon again, an' to-morrow bein' Christmas I

misdoubt he'll be terrible dhrunk again, an' me on'y jist well from the

blow in the shoulder the last time. [_She wipes her eyes and moves

towards the door._]

THE OLD WOMAN. Sthay an' kape Christmas wid us. We're goin' to have our

celebratin' to-night on Christmas Eve, the way folks do here. I like it

best on Christmas Day, the way 'tis in the ould counthry, but here 'tis

Christmas Eve they kape. We're waitin' for the girls to come home to

start things--they knowin' how--Mary an' me on'y know how to kape

Christmas Day as 'tis at home. But the girls'll soon be here, an'

they'll have the three an' do the cookin' an' all, an' we'll kape up the

jollity way into the night.

THE NEIGHBOR [_looks questioningly and surprised at the Woman, whose

eyes are on the mother._] Nay, if Pat came home dhrunk an' didn't find

me, he'd kill me. We have all to be movin' on to our own throubles.

[_She goes out, and the old woman leaves the Christmas-tree which she

has been fingering and admiring, and sits down in the rocking-chair

again. After a while she croons to herself in a high, broken voice. This

lasts some time, when there is the noise of a slamming door and then of

footsteps approaching._]

THE WOMAN. If I could on'y be in the counthry!

THE OLD WOMAN. Maybe that would be the girls! [_She starts tremblingly

to her feet, but the steps come up to the door and go by._] If David and

Michael was to come now an' go by--there bein' no sthar to guide thim!

THE WOMAN. Nay, mother, 'twas the shepherds that was guided by the sthar

an' to the bed o' the Blessed Babe.

THE OLD WOMAN. Aye, so 'twas. What be I thinkin' of? The little Blessed

Babe! [_She smiles and sits staring at the stove again for a little._]

But they could not find Him to-night. 'Tis so dark an' no sthars

shinin.' [_After another pause._] An' what would shepherds do in a

ghreat city? 'Twould be lost they'd be, quicker than in any bog. Think

ye, Mary, that the boys would be hootin' thim an' the p'lice, maybe,

would want to be aristin' thim for loitherin'. They'd niver find the

Blessed Babe, an' they'd have to be movin' on. [_Another pause, and then

there is the sound of approaching footsteps again. The Old Woman grasps

the arms of her chair and leans forward, intently listening._]--That

would sure be the girls this time! [_But again the footsteps go by. The

Old Woman sighs._] Ah, but 'tis weary waitin'! [_There is another long

pause._] 'Twas on that day that David an' me was plighted--a brave

Christmas Day wid a shinin' sun an' a sky o' blue wid fair, white

clouds. An' David an' me met at the early mass in the dark o' the frosty

mornin' afore the sun rose--an' there was all day good times an' a duck

for dinner and puddin's an' a party at the O'Brady's in the evenin',

whin David an' me danced. Ah, but he was a beautiful dancer, an' me,

too--I was as light on my feet as a fairy. [_She begins to croon an old

dance tune and hobbles to her feet, and, keeping time with her head,

tries a grotesque and feeble sort of dancing. Her eyes brighten and she

smiles proudly._] Aye, but I danced like a fairy, an' there was not

another couple so sprightly an' handsome in all the country. [_She

tires, and, looking pitiful and disappointed, hobbles back to her chair,

and drops into it again._] Ah, but I be old now, and the strength fails

me. [_She falls into silence for a few minutes._] 'Twas the day before

the little man, the little white dove, my next Christmas that Michael

was born--little son! [_There is a moment's pause, and then the pallid

woman on the bed has a violent fit of coughing._]

THE WOMAN. Mother, could ye get me a cup o' wather? If the girls was

here to get me a bite to ate, maybe it would kape the breath in me the

night.

THE OLD WOMAN [_starts and stares at her daughter, as if she hardly

comprehended the present reality. She gets up and goes over to the

window under which there is a pail full of water. She dips some out in a

tin cup and carries it to her bed._] Ye should thry to get up an' move

about some, so ye can enjoy the Christmas threat. 'Tis bad bein' sick on

Christmas. Thry, now, Mary, to sit up a bit. The girls'll be wantin' ye

to be merry wid the rest av us.

THE WOMAN [_looking at her mother with a sad wistfulness_]. I wouldn't

spoil things for the girls if I could help. Maybe, mother, if ye'd lift

me a little I could sit up. [_The Old Woman tugs at her, and she herself

tries hard to get into a sitting posture, but after some effort and

panting for breath, she falls back again. After a pause for rest, she

speaks gaspingly._] Maybe I'll feel sthronger lather whin the girls come

home--they could help me--[_with the plaint of longing in her voice_]

they be so late! [_After another pause._] Maybe I'll be sthrong again in

the mornin'--if I'd had a cup of coffee.--Maybe I could get up--an' walk

about--an' do the cookin'. [_There is a knock at the door, and again

they call, "Come in," in reedy, weak voices. There enters a little

messenger boy in a ragged overcoat that reaches almost to his heels. His

eyes are large and bright, his face pale and dirty, and he is fearfully

tired and worn._]

THE WOMAN. Why, Tim, boy, come in. Sit ye down an' rest, ye're lookin'

weary.

THE OLD WOMAN. Come to the stove, Timmie, man, an' warm yourself. We

always kape a warm room an' a bright fire for visitors.

THE BOY. I was awful cold an' hungry an' I come home to get somethin' to

eat before. I started out on another trip, but my sisters ain't home

from the store yit, an' the fire's gone out in the stove, an' the room's

cold as outside. I thought maybe ye'd let me come in here an' git warm.

THE OLD WOMAN. Poor orphan! Poor lamb! To be shure ye shall get warm by

our sthove.

THE BOY. The cars are so beastly col' an' so crowded a feller mostly has

to stand on the back platform. [_The Old Woman takes him by the shoulder

and pushes him toward the stove, but he resists._]

THE BOY. No, thank ye--I don't want to go so near yet; my feet's all

numb an' they allays hurt so when they warms up fast.

THE OLD WOMAN. Thin sit ye down off from the sthove. [_Moves the

rocking-chair farther away from the stove for him._]

THE BOY. If ye don't mind I'd rather stand on 'em 'til they gets a

little used to it. They been numb off an' on mos' all day.

THE WOMAN. Soon as yer sisters come, Timmie, ye'd betther go to

bed--'tis the best place to get warm.

THE BOY. I can't--I got most a three-hour trip yet. I won't get home any

'fore midnight if I don't get lost, and maybe I'll get lost--I did once

out there. I've got to take a box o' 'Merican Beauty roses to a place

eight mile out, an' the house ain't on the car track, but nearly a mile

off, the boss said. I wisht they could wait till mornin', but the orders

was they just got to get the roses to-night. You see, out there they

don' have no gas goin' nights when there's a moon, an' there'd ought to

be a moon to-night, on'y the clouds is so thick there ain't no light

gets through.

THE OLD WOMAN. There's no sthar shinin' to-night, Tim. [_She shakes her

head ominously. She goes to the window for the second time, opens it as

before, and looks out. Shutting the window, she comes back and speaks

slowly and sadly._] Niver a sthar. An' the shepherds will be havin' a

hard time, Tim, like you, findin' their way.

THE BOY. Shepherds? In town? What shepherds?

THE WOMAN. She means the shepherds on Christmas Eve that wint to find

the Blessed Babe, Jesus.

THE OLD WOMAN. 'Tis Christmas Eve, Timmie; ye haven't forgot that, have

ye?

THE BOY. You bet I ain't. I know pretty well when Christmas is comin',

by the way I got to hustle, an' the size of the boxes I got to carry.

Seems as if my legs an' me would like to break up pardnership. I got to

work till midnight every night, an' I'm so sleepy I drop off in the cars

whenever I get a seat. An' the girls is at the store so early an' late

they don't get time to cook me nothin' to eat.

THE WOMAN. Be ye hungry, Timmie?

THE BOY [_diffidently and looking at the floor_]. No, I ain't hungry

now.

THE WOMAN. Be ye shure, Timmie?

THE BOY. Oh, I kin go till I git home.

THE WOMAN. Mother, can't you find something for him to eat?

THE OLD WOMAN. To be shure, to be shure. [_Bustling about._] We always

kapes a full cupboard to thrate our neighbors wid whin they comes in.

[_She goes to the empty safe and fusses in it to find something. She

pretends to be very busy, and then glances around at the boy with a sly

look and a smile._] Ah, Timmie, lad, what would ye like to be havin',

now? If you had the wish o' yer heart for yer Christmas dinner an' a

good fairy to set it all afore ye? Ye'd be wishin' maybe, for a fine

roast duck, to begin wid, in its own gravies an' some apple sauce to go

wid it; an' ye'd be thinkin' o' a little bit o' pig nicely browned an' a

plate of potaties; an' the little fairy woman would be bringin' yer

puddin's an' nuts an' apples an' a dish o' the swatest tay. [_The Boy

smiles rather ruefully._]

THE WOMAN. But, mother, you're not gettin' Tim something to ate.

THE BOY. She's makin' me mouth water all right. [_The Old Woman goes

back to her search, but again turns about with a cunning look, and says

to the boy:_]

THE OLD WOMAN. Maybe ye'll meet that little fairy woman out there in

the counthry road where ye're takin' the roses! [_Nods her head

knowingly, turning to the safe again._] Here's salt an' here's

pepper an' here's mustard an' a crock full o' sugar, an', oh! Tim,

here's some fine cold bacon--fine, fat, cold bacon--an' here's half a

loaf o' white wheat bread! Why, Timmie, lad, that's just the food to

make boys fat! Ye'll grow famously on it. 'Tis a supper, whin ye add to

it a dhrop o' iligant milk, that's fit for a king. [_She bustles about

with great show of being busy and having much to prepare. Puts the plate

of cold bacon upon the table where stands the stunted bit of an

evergreen-tree, then brings the half-loaf of bread and cuts it into

slices, laying pieces of bacon on the slices of bread. Then she pours

out a glass of milk from a dilapidated and broken pitcher in the safe

and brings it to the table, the Boy all the while watching her hungrily.

At last he says rather apologetically to the woman._]

THE BOY. I ain't had nothin' since a wienerwurst at eleven o'clock.

THE OLD WOMAN. Now, dhraw up, Timmie, boy, an' ate yer fill; ye're more

thin welcome. [_The boy does not sit down, but stands by the table and

eats a slice of bread and bacon, drinking from the glass of milk

occasionally._]

THE WOMAN. Don't they niver give ye nothin' to ate at the gran' houses

when ye'd be takin' the roses?

THE BOY. Not them. They'd as soon think o' feedin' a telephone or an

automobile as me.

THE WOMAN. But don't they ask ye in to get warm whin ye've maybe come so

far?

THE BOY. No, they don't seem to look at me 'zacly like a caller. They

generally steps out long enough to sign the receipt-book an' shut the

front door behin' 'em so as not to let the house get col' the length o'

time I'm standin' there. Well, I'm awful much obleeged to ye. Now, I got

to be movin' on.

THE OLD WOMAN. Sthop an' cilibrate the Christmas wid us. We ain't

started to do nothin' yet because the girls haven't come--they know how

[_nodding her head_]--an' they're goin' to bring things--all kinds o'

good things to ate an' a branch of rowan berries--ah, boy, a great

branch o' rowan wid scarlet berries shinin' [_gesticulating and with

gleaming eyes_], an' we'll all be merry an' kape it up late into the

night.

THE BOY [_in a little fear of her_]. I guess it's pretty late now. I got

to make that trip an' I guess when I get home I'll be so sleepy I'll

jus' tumble in. Ye've been awful good to me, an' it's the first time I

been warm to-day. Good-by. [_He starts toward the door, but the Old

Woman follows him and speaks to him coaxingly._]

THE OLD WOMAN. Ah, don't ye go, Michael, lad! Now, bide wid us a bit.

[_The Boy, surprised at the name, looks queerly at the Old Woman, who

then stretches out her arms to him, and says beseechingly:_] Ah, boy,

ah, Mike, bide wid us, now ye've come! We've been that lonesome widout

ye!

THE BOY [_frightened and shaking his head_]. I've got to be movin'.

THE OLD WOMAN. No, Michael, little lamb, no!

THE BOY [_almost terrified, watching her with staring eyes, and backing

out_]. I got to go! [_The Boy goes out, and the Old Woman breaks into

weeping, totters over to her old rocking-chair and drops into it, rocks

to and fro, wailing to herself._]

THE OLD WOMAN. Oh, to have him come an' go again, my little Michael, my

own little lad!

THE WOMAN. Don't ye, dearie; now, then, don't ye! 'Twas not Michael, but

just our little neighbor boy, Tim. Ye know, poor lamb, now if ye'll thry

to remember, that father an' Michael is gone to the betther land an' us

is left.

THE OLD WOMAN. Nay, nay, 'tis the fairies that took thim an' have thim

now, kapin' thim an' will not ever give thim back.

THE WOMAN. Whisht, mother! Spake not of the little folk on the Holy

Night! [_Crosses herself._] Have ye forgot the time o' all the year it

is? Now, dhry yer eyes, dearie, an' thry to be cheerful like 'fore the

girls be comin' home. [_A noise is heard, the banging of a door and

footsteps._] Thim be the girls now, shure they be comin' at last. [_But

the sound of footsteps dies away._] But they'll be comin' soon.

[_Wearily, but with the inveterate hope._]

[_The two women relapse into silence again, which is undisturbed

for a few minutes. Then there is a knock at the door, and together

in quavering, reedy voices, they call, "Come in," as before. There

enters a tall, big, broad-shouldered woman with a cold,

discontented, hard look upon the face that might have been

handsome some years back; still, in her eyes, as she looks at the

pallid woman on the bed, there is something that denotes a

softness underneath it all._]

THE OLD WOMAN. Good avnin' to ye! We're that pleased to see our

neighbors!

THE NEIGHBOR [_without paying any attention to the Old Woman, but

entirely addressing the woman on the bed._] How's yer cough?

THE WOMAN. Oh, it's jist the same--maybe a little betther. If I could

on'y get to the counthry! But the girls must be workin'--they haven't

time to take me. Sit down, won't ye? [_The Neighbor goes to the bed and

sits down on the foot of it._]

THE NEIGHBOR. I'm most dead, I'm so tired. I did two washin's

to-day--went out and did one this mornin' and then my own after I come

home this afternoon. I jus' got through sprinklin' it an' I'll iron

to-morrow.

THE WOMAN. Not on Christmas Day!

_Violante holds herself erect and triumphant, clinging to the