TRANSCRIBER’S NOTE
Italic text is denoted by _underscores_.
Small caps in the text is denoted by UPPERCASE.
Some minor changes to the text are noted at the end of the book.
_Moloch_
THE BORZOI PLAYS
I WAR
_By Michael Artzibashef_
II MOLOCH
_By Beulah Marie Dix_
III MORAL
_By Ludwig Thoma_
IV THE INSPECTOR-GENERAL
_By Nicolay Gogol_
_The Borzoi Plays II_
MOLOCH
_A play in a Prologue, three
acts and an Epilogue by_
Beulah
Marie
Dix
[Illustration]
_New York · Alfred A Knopf · 1916_
COPYRIGHT, 1916, BY
ALFRED A. KNOPF
THIS PLAY, IN ITS PRESENT PRINTED FORM, IS
DESIGNED FOR THE READING PUBLIC ONLY. ALL
DRAMATIC RIGHTS IN IT ARE PROTECTED BY COPYRIGHT,
AND NO PERFORMANCE MAY BE GIVEN
WITHOUT THE WRITTEN PERMISSION OF THE
AUTHOR AND THE PAYMENT OF ROYALTY.
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
KLAW AND ERLANGER
IN ASSOCIATION WITH GEORGE C. TYLER
Present
HOLBROOK BLINN’S COMPANY
in
MOLOCH
A PLAY ABOUT WAR
In a Prologue, Three Acts and an Epilogue
BY BEULAH M. DIX
PEOPLE CHARACTERS PLAYED BY
---------------------------------------------------------
A Man Robert _Holbrook Blinn_
His Wife Katherine _Lillian Albertson_
His Son Roland _Cornish Beck_
His Mother Lydia _Mrs. Thomas Whiffen_
His Sister Gertrude _Louise Rutter_
His Brother Basil _Creighton Hale_
His Uncle The Professor _T. Wigney Percyval_
His Servant Martha _Ruth Benson_
His Friend Philip _Paul Gordon_
The Woodsy Boy _Sydney D. Carlyle_
A Girl Frances _Laura Iverson_
Another Girl Margaret _Rosina Henley_
A Little Boy Thomas _Richard Dupont_
A Major } _Edwin Brandt_
An Adjutant } _Paul S. Bliss_
A Sergeant } _Jules A. Ferrar_
Another Sergeant } Fellow- _Charles Rolfe_
A Soldier } Countrymen _A. P. Kaye_
Another Soldier } _A. H. Ebenhack_
A Third Soldier } _John Dupont_
A Fourth Soldier } _Thomas Hill_
A Major } _Redfield Clarke_
A Lieutenant } _Gareth Hughes_
A Corporal } _Edmund Breese_
A Trooper } Foreigners _Dale Kennedy_
Another Trooper } _Theodore C. Brown_
A Third Trooper } _Harry Dean_
A Fourth Trooper } _Vincent Phillips_
PROLOGUE—Before the War. A Country House.
Interval, Ten Days.
ACT I—Mobilization. A Town House.
Interval, Nine Months.
ACT II—Invasion. A Town House.
Interval, Seven Months.
ACT III—Battle. On the Firing Line.
Interval, Eight Months.
EPILOGUE—After the War. A Country House.
The Fruits of Victory.
Play produced by Mr. Blinn
The above, from a program of the New Amsterdam Theatre, New York,
shows the cast at the first New York performance of this play, Monday
evening, September 20, 1915. The play had previously been produced in
Cleveland and in Chicago.
MOLOCH
PROLOGUE
_The country-house, once a farmhouse of the better sort, but now become
the residence of the owners of the estate, is a shabby, homelike,
livable place. The walls of the living-room are wainscotted in warm
brown, with plaster above, and hung with sporting prints and pictures
of battle. The ceiling is raftered. At the right of the audience is
a big fireplace, with a trophy of arms above it. On the mantel-shelf
are a brace of old-fashioned metal candlesticks, and a fair-sized
loving-cup of silver. A low fire burns upon the hearth. At either
side of the fireplace are doors. The one toward the back of the room
leads to a coat-closet, the one toward the front to inner rooms. At
the left of the audience a door leads to the kitchens, etc. At the
back a two-fold outer door opens on a brick terrace, with a suggestion
of garden lying below. Beyond the balustrade of the terrace you may
glimpse springtide country, with fields under cultivation, fruit-trees
smothered with blossoms, and, in the distance, the tower of a little
church and the roofs of a peaceful hamlet. At either side of this main
door are casement windows. Those at the left make of that ample corner
of the room a huge bow-window, with slightly raised floor and cushioned
seat. The furniture is simple, massive and good: a Jacobean settle, at
right angles to the hearth, a chest beneath the windows at the right,
a gate-legged table at the centre, a heavy writing table, well down at
the left, with smokers’ stuff, a lamp, a work-basket, a small stand in
the bow-window, with a bowl of gold-fish, and the usual complement of
serviceable and comfortable chairs._
_The season is May. The time is sunset._
_In the bow-window, reading in the late light, with books scattered
about him, and the gold-fish at his elbow, sits the Professor, a
scholarly and somewhat opinionated gentleman of seventy, with a
wrinkled, not altogether unkindly, face and white hair. His sister,
Lydia, sixty-odd, but erect and spirited, sits on the settle, playing
Patience at a little table. She wears a bit of fine lace by way of
cap, but her gown of plum-color is never so little out of fashion.
At the chest Katherine is arranging flowers in two low bowls, slowly
and carefully, as one who loves flowers and respects them. She is
perhaps thirty, of the type that, for lack of better word, we describe
as Madonna, born to be a mother to everything in sight, but with
her goodness spiced with a saving sense of humor. She wears a soft
gray house-dress. On the floor at the left kneels Roland, a paper
soldier-cap upon his head, at play with toy soldiers, ranged in ranks,
and a toy gun. He is six or seven years old, the sort of little lad to
make any mother proud. He speaks, as the curtain rises._
ROLAND. Bang! [_Knocks down the toy soldiers._] See, Mummy, our men
have killed all the foreigners.
KATHERINE. Why do you want to kill them, son?
ROLAND. Because they’re foreigners.
KATHERINE. Roland!
LYDIA. Do let the boy alone! You wouldn’t have him play with dolls.
ROLAND. I’ll be the colonel, like my grandpa was. He killed the nasty
foreigners, didn’t he, Mummy?
KATHERINE [_setting flowers on the centre table_]. That was ever so
long ago. We are at peace with all the world now. We shall always be at
peace.
PROFESSOR. Have you seen the newspapers?
KATHERINE [_setting flowers on the writing table_]. Of course I
haven’t. Not since day before yesterday. But who cares for the stuff
they print? [_Sits by the table, takes up her sewing._] Civilized
nations don’t fight each other.
[_From the terrace come in quickly Gertrude and Basil, both in tramping
clothes. She is in her early twenties, impulsive, passionate, and
altogether charming. He is in his late teens, with the erect and
masterful carriage that stamps him as a military cadet. Both carry
newspapers._]
BASIL. Hello, folks! We’ve got the papers.
PROFESSOR [_rising excitedly_]. Well, well, well!
BASIL [_giving him a newspaper_]. Yesterday’s. Best we could do.
[_Tosses his cap on the chest._]
GERTRUDE. Clear to the Corner we had to tramp to get them. Of all the
luck! To be poked into this dead and alive place, a hundred miles from
everywhere, at such a time! [_Flings paper on table._]
LYDIA. Hush! Tell me if there’s any news.
[_Gertrude hangs her coat and hat in the closet._]
BASIL. I should say there was news.
PROFESSOR [_reading paper_]. Ultimatum! Well, well!
KATHERINE [_startled, but only for a moment_]. Ultimatum!
PROFESSOR. Outrageous! Insolent!
[_Katherine resumes her sewing._]
BASIL. They think we’ll back down, just because we don’t swagger about,
armed to the teeth. Well, when it comes to business, we’ll show them a
thing or two.
PROFESSOR. Yes. When this great nation of ours is once roused—
BASIL. Why, I’d back one of our chaps with his bare fists to do up two
of those foreign Johnnies with their rifles.
GERTRUDE [_coming to the hearth_]. Oh, for goodness’ sake, talk sense!
PROFESSOR. I trust you do not doubt the spirit and courage of your
countrymen?
GERTRUDE. No. But you’re all making the mistake of doubting the spirit
and courage of other people’s countrymen.
LYDIA. Meaning—
GERTRUDE. The foreigners are as brave as we are.
BASIL. Oh, come now!
GERTRUDE. If it comes to war, they’ll put up just as good a fight as we
will.
PROFESSOR. Pshaw! [_Disgusted, he retires into the bow-window with his
paper._]
GERTRUDE. And they’re in condition to fight. They have bigger guns than
ours, explosives we don’t even know the names of. Phil says—
BASIL. Oh, it’s Phil’s talk you’re handing us out.
GERTRUDE [_going up to him_]. Yes, and it’s sensible talk, too.
BASIL. Well, I must say that I think—
LYDIA. Children! Children!
[_Robert has meantime appeared in the outer doorway, a likable chap of
thirty-odd, the best type, perhaps, of Landjunker or of country squire.
He wears country clothes, and evidently has come from tramping his
fields._]
ROBERT. Hello! So the war’s broke out right here, eh?
ROLAND [_running to him_]. Daddy!
BASIL. Trudie’s got to quoting Phil.
GERTRUDE. And Basil is absurd. [_She retires to the window at right._]
LYDIA. And your mother, I believe, is also absurd.
ROBERT. There, there! Of course you are not. Any mail come in?
KATHERINE. They haven’t got that bridge mended yet.
BASIL. They’re still sending round by the Corner, when they send at
all. [_He strolls out upon the terrace, where he lights a cigarette._]
ROBERT. Humph! Hoped I’d get word about that new cultivator. [_Goes to
the smoking table and gets a pipe._]
[_Roland returns to his toys._]
KATHERINE. Did Phil come in with you?
ROBERT. No. He stopped at the gamekeeper’s. Seems the baby is coming
down with whooping cough or something.
GERTRUDE. Did you come round by the ten acre? [_Sits by table centre._]
ROBERT. Yes. Ought to get a second crop off it this season. You know,
it will play the mischief with our getting fertilizers, if the fools
should rush us into war.
KATHERINE. Oh, but they won’t.
ROLAND. Daddy, will you please mend my soldier?
ROBERT. Sure thing! Been in the thick of the fight, hasn’t he? Get me
the glue, son. [_Sits by table centre._]
KATHERINE. Here you are, Roland. [_Gives him a tube of glue from the
writing table._]
ROLAND. Thank you! Here, Daddy.
ROBERT. Right! [_Mends soldier, while Roland leans against his knee._]
Poor old chap! Lost both legs, hasn’t he? That’s what your Uncle Basil
is aching to do, ever since he got to be a cadet. Go out and fight
somebody, anybody, and come home in fragments. [_Looking up at Basil._]
Eh, Bub?
BASIL. Great thing to sit and laugh, when your country is threatened.
ROBERT. Oh, I’ve lived through two big war scares in my day. Mother’s
lived through half a dozen.
LYDIA. And through two wars, remember.
PROFESSOR. Do you realize, Robert, that they have sent us an ultimatum?
ROBERT. Ever watch two dogs, with a fence between ’em, tearing along,
barking, ready to chew each other up, till they come to an open gate
and can get at each other? Then down go their tails, and home they go.
That’s the way it will be this time. We’ll snarl at each other till
it comes to the point of fighting, and then the common sense of the
average citizen—
[_Roland goes back to his toys._]
KATHERINE. That’s what I keep saying. As if people could fight nowadays!
LYDIA. Nonsense! Men have always fought. They always will fight.
Doesn’t it say in the Bible: “I come not to bring peace, but a sword”?
KATHERINE. Yes. And doesn’t it say also: “Agree with thine adversary”?
PROFESSOR [_rising, annoyed_]. My dear ladies, those old legends of
Christianity are not at all pertinent. Now let me tell you—
KATHERINE. Roland! Run fetch some bread for Uncle’s gold-fish. Run!
[_Roland runs out at the left._] Now I know you’re going to say
something barbaric.
LYDIA. Barbaric fiddlesticks! Just commonsense.
PROFESSOR. Thank you, my dear sister. As I was about to say, if you
will read my compendium of international relations—
ROBERT [_rising_]. We have! [_Goes to closet and gets string with which
he mends the toy._]
PROFESSOR. You will understand that wars are the outcome of great folk
movements over which individuals have no control. As a scholar and a
philosopher, then, I must believe—
[_Roland runs in again._]
ROLAND. Now may I feed the gold-fish, Uncle?
PROFESSOR. Yes, yes. As I was about to say—Not too fast, sonny! Not
too fast! There! Slowly! That way! I was about to remark that wars
after all work for the good of the race.
BASIL. Nothing like war to put an edge on a nation.
PROFESSOR. And not merely are the martial virtues stimulated, but
literature and learning revive and flourish.
KATHERINE. In a bloodstained soil?
PROFESSOR. So many of you dear women can see nothing in war but the
pain and suffering that are merely incidental.
LYDIA. It’s a sentimental viewpoint.
[_Roland in the bow-window takes up and examines one of his uncle’s
books._]
PROFESSOR. Now I solemnly believe that we are on the eve of conflict.
ROBERT. The folks that talk like you are doing their best to get us
into one.
BASIL. If they want a fight, let ’em have it, I say!
GERTRUDE. Oh, have a chip on your shoulder, if you must. But be sure
you’re ready for the people that will try to knock it off.
LYDIA. This talk about being ready is downright blasphemous.
ROBERT. Quite a strong word, Mother.
LYDIA. Our country has been victorious in every war in its history.
Doesn’t that prove that God is on our side? And if God is for us—
[_Robert reseats himself at the table._]
PROFESSOR. National destiny. I, for one, believe this war is not only
inevitable, but desirable.
ROLAND [_coming to his mother, with an open book_]. O Mummy! What’s
this horrid picture? He’s eating folks alive.
KATHERINE. Let’s see, son! [_Takes book._] “They made their children
pass through the fire to Moloch.”
ROLAND. Who was Moloch, Mummy?
KATHERINE. He was their god, laddie. They gave him their children to
devour, and they thought it was a noble thing to do.
PROFESSOR. Sun worship merely. Moloch is another name for Baal.
KATHERINE. I wonder if it’s not another name for the god of war.
PROFESSOR. My dear Kate, your mythology is hopelessly confused.
[_Retires again to his paper._]
KATHERINE. Oh, I’m not talking mythology. Just sense.
GERTRUDE. It’s time somebody did.
ROBERT. Steady!
KATHERINE. The god of war—the awful monster with the flaming jaws, and
the nations running joyously to fling him their youngest and strongest
and best.
LYDIA. Sentimental nonsense, Kate.
ROLAND. And will Moloch eat us, too, Mummy?
KATHERINE [_kissing him_]. Oh, no, no, dear! Of course not. That was
ever so long ago.
ROBERT. And they were just heathen that didn’t know any better. Not
good sensible Christian people, like ourselves.
KATHERINE. There, dear, put the book away, and don’t think any more
about it.
[_Roland replaces the book on the window seat and returns to his toys._]
BASIL. Believe I’ll step down to the village and see if they’ve done
anything about getting the mail across. [_Gets cap._] It will be no
joke for me, if my leave’s been withdrawn and I’ve not got word.
PROFESSOR. Wait a moment, Basil! You did not find the air damp, Robert?
ROBERT. Dry as one of your lectures, sir.
PROFESSOR. Then, Basil, I’ll go with you.
BASIL. I’ll fetch your hat, sir. [_Goes to closet._]
PROFESSOR. I, too, have a barbarous interest in what is going on.
[_Taking hat from Basil._] Thanks, my boy! Can’t be too careful, you
know. I hate to lie awake at night coughing.
[_Basil and the Professor go out at the terrace door._]
GERTRUDE. Uncle Charles is particular about his own comfort. [_Rises._]
More than he is about the comfort of the men he’s so eager to send
to do the fighting. [_Goes to the bow-window, obviously waiting and
watching for some one._]
ROBERT. Two of a kind, Uncle and Basil. And it’s the kind that kicks
over all our apple-carts. Here’s your man, son. Good as new!
[_Roland puts away his toys._]
LYDIA. Basil’s profession was your father’s profession. It would have
been yours, if you had been physically fit.
ROBERT [_rising_]. Yes. That astigmatism in my left eye did me a mighty
good turn, when it kept me out of the army.
LYDIA. Robert!
ROBERT [_going to her_]. Well, well, Mother, I do enough for honor and
glory when I turn out once a year with a regiment of defensibles. Rest
of the time I’m not keen on being an anachronism in gold braid and an
air-tight helmet. [_Sits by table and takes up newspaper._]
[_Martha comes in at the right, a middle-aged servant, kindly and
commonplace._]
MARTHA. If you please, it’s Master Roland’s bed time.
ROLAND. I don’t want to go to bed.
MARTHA. Come, come, Master Roland! Why, you’d ought to see my little
niece Patty go when she’s bid.
ROLAND. I don’t want to—
KATHERINE. Roland!
ROLAND. Well, will you come hear me say my prayers, Mummy?
KATHERINE. Yes, dear. Run along now!
ROLAND. Good night, Aunt Trudie!
GERTRUDE [_kissing him_]. Good night, darling.
ROLAND. Good night, Granny. I’ll take my sword into bed with me, so you
needn’t be scared if the enemy should come.
LYDIA. Bless the boy!
ROLAND. Good night, Daddy!
ROBERT. Good night, old man.
MARTHA. Come, Master Roland!
ROLAND. But you won’t need to wash my hands, Martha. They were washed
once to-day.
[_Roland and Martha go out at the right._]
KATHERINE. Why, I didn’t realize it was his bedtime. [_Folds work._]
Phil is a long time at the gamekeeper’s.
GERTRUDE. Rob! [_Goes to the table._] If there should be war—what would
happen to Phil?
ROBERT. Don’t begin to worry. There won’t be war.
LYDIA. Those foreigners will give way, when they see we’re in earnest.
A cowardly lot!
GERTRUDE. Phil isn’t exactly what I should call a coward. Cowards don’t
win races in monoplanes in a high wind. [_Goes to terrace door._]
ROBERT. Where going, Trudie?
GERTRUDE. Just across the garden.
LYDIA. It’s past sunset.
GERTRUDE. I’m only going a little step.
[_Gertrude goes out._]
LYDIA. I can’t help thinking it would be in better taste just now if
Philip went back to his own country.
ROBERT. He happens to have a year more of work at the laboratory.
LYDIA. Then let him go back to his old laboratory, instead of hanging
round here, putting notions into my daughter’s head.
KATHERINE. You know his chief ordered him to take this fortnight off.
He was getting a bit seedy.
LYDIA. You’ll always make excuses for him.
ROBERT. We owe him something, Mother.
LYDIA. He did no more than any physician is bound to do.
KATHERINE. Look here, Mother, you weren’t here, that awful night. You
didn’t see Roland lying there, with his poor little face congested,
fighting for every single breath, a losing fight, and we, with all our
love, just helpless. And then Rob brought Phil to me.
ROBERT. We hadn’t been very nice to that lot of noisy young doctors,
camped down by the ford, had we, Kate?
KATHERINE [_rising_]. Why, half of them were foreigners. [_Goes
to table._] Until that night, I don’t think that I’d dreamed that
foreigners were quite the same as ourselves. But when Phil came in
I—I just fell at his feet, as if he had been sent from God Himself,
praying: “Save my only one! Oh, save my baby!”
[_Robert rises and goes to her._]
LYDIA. That’s his business, isn’t it?
KATHERINE. And when the tube filled up, and we thought it was all
over, Phil put his lips to the tube and drew out the poison that was
suffocating our boy.
LYDIA. Other doctors have done as much.
KATHERINE [_heatedly_]. But Phil had cut his lip, remember! He took a
big risk, with his eyes open, for a stranger’s child—for our child!
ROBERT. There, there!
KATHERINE [_sits by table_]. Well, I shan’t forget that, ever. [_Dries
her eyes._]
LYDIA [_rises, sets Patience table by the hearth_]. That’s all very
fine, but I hope that Gertrude won’t make a fool of herself over the
fellow. Get my shawl, Robert! I’ll take a little step in the garden,
too. [_Goes to door._]
[_Robert gets shawl from closet._]
KATHERINE [_rising_]. Now you know it’s getting a bit damp, Mother.
LYDIA. Fiddlesticks! If Charles can venture out, I can. Always an old
Betty about his precious health.
ROBERT. Here you are, Mother. [_Folds shawl about her._] Shall I come
with you?
LYDIA. I don’t need help yet a while in managing my own children,
thanks!
[_Lydia goes out at the terrace door._]
ROBERT. She’s got her hands full, this time.
KATHERINE. You mean—
ROBERT. I know.
KATHERINE [_going to him_]. You know that Phil and Gertrude are in love
with each other?
ROBERT. He asked my permission this afternoon. Her guardian and all
that sort of thing.
KATHERINE. Well, if they’re only one half as happy as we’ve been—
ROBERT [_his arms about her_]. Rubbed along pretty well, haven’t we,
old girl?
KATHERINE. I don’t ask for better. There! Run along after mother, do.
Don’t let her break in on them and spoil this minute. It won’t come
again.
ROBERT. I say! Do you remember the night when we first—
KATHERINE. Now don’t be foolish. [_Kisses him._] Run!
[_Robert goes out. The room is now dusky with twilight. Katherine goes
to the hearth and lights the candles on the mantel-shelf. As she is
busied with the second candle, Phil comes quickly from the terrace. A
well built young man, headlong and sufficiently likable. He wears a
Norfolk suit and a cap which he tosses upon the chest. At the slight
noise of his entrance Katherine turns._]
KATHERINE. O Phil! I’m to congratulate you. Yes?
PHIL [_catching both her hands_]. Rob has told you, then? And I have
just this minute spoke with her.
KATHERINE. Nearer the stars than ever you came in your airship, aren’t
you?
PHIL. The airship? Oh, I give up the flying now. I am getting down to
work. To-morrow I go back to the city.
KATHERINE. But—
PHIL. Oh, yes. I am all rested. I can see straight what was all thick
before. You watch me now, put it through, for her sake.
KATHERINE [_sitting on the settle_]. Your research? You never told us
much about it.
PHIL. It is too big a thing almost to speak about. [_Sits by her._] It
is, I think, almost I can some day put my hand on how to cure what we
are most afraid of. Living death, I mean. Death by torture. Cancer.
KATHERINE. A-ah! That was how my mother died. I watched her. O Phil! If
you can do that, it’s like grace sent down from Heaven.
PHIL. I don’t say I can. I mean only, with time, with work—Lord! How I
can work now! Funny! They used, you know, the old chaps, to bring to
the women they loved heads of their enemies, men they’d killed. To-day
maybe we bring to a woman so many people saved, men and women and
little kiddies, perhaps. That’s a pretty worth-while gift, eh?
[_Roland comes in from the right, in blue pajamas and slippers._]
ROLAND. O Mummy! You never came to hear my prayers.
KATHERINE. You bad one! Run to bed, quick!
[_Roland lags snail-like toward the door._]
PHIL. Oh, let him stay up for a minute, please! Come along, kiddie!
[_Takes Roland on his knee._] Well, old pal! What have you done all day?
ROLAND. I’ve been playing war. We killed the foreigners.
KATHERINE. Roland!
PHIL. So so! And will you kill me, too?
ROLAND [_with his arm about Phil’s neck_]. You’re not a foreigner. If
anybody tries to kill you ever, I will take my sword—
KATHERINE. That’s enough, dear. Come say your prayers.
ROLAND. I want Uncle Phil to say his prayers with me.
PHIL. I’m afraid I have forgotten how.
ROLAND. I’ll show you. [_Slips from Phil’s knee._] You kneel, you know,
like this. [_Kneels before Katherine._]
KATHERINE. Phil, dear! To-night—
PHIL. It is, I think, twenty years since—[_Glances from the child to
the mother, then kneels beside Roland._] She would have loved you, my
mother.
ROLAND.
“Now I lay me down to sleep.
I pray Thee, Lord, my soul to keep!”
Make me kind! Keep me clean! Make me a good boy, for the dear Lord’s
sake. Amen!
PHIL [_half whimsically_]. Make me a good boy for her dear sake!
KATHERINE [_her hand on his shoulder_]. Amen!
MARTHA [_outside_]. Master Roland! Master Roland!
[_Phil jumps up in some embarrassment and goes to the other side of the
room. Martha comes in at the right. Roland springs up and runs away
from her._]
MARTHA. Come to bed, sir! Come! [_Trying vainly to catch Roland._] My
niece Patty never acted like this.
[_Robert comes in from the terrace. Roland runs to him._]
ROLAND. Let me stay up a minute, Daddy!
ROBERT. Well, it’s a special sort of night. [_Goes to the hearth._]
ROLAND [_running to Phil_]. I’m going to stay up! I’m going to stay up!
ROBERT [_taking down the loving-cup_]. We’ll want this prize cup of
Phil’s, won’t we, Kate?
KATHERINE. Oh, yes. And there’s a bottle of the ’97 left.
ROBERT. Fine! [_Crosses._] Fill it, Martha.
MARTHA. Yes, sir.
[_Martha goes out at left with the cup._]
ROBERT [_going to Phil_]. It’s all right, old son. Trudie is with her
mother. And Trudie could persuade the legs off a brass kettle.
ROLAND [_at the terrace door_]. Oh, the moon! [_Seizes Katherine’s hand
and draws her to the door._] See the moon, Mummy! There, above the
pear-trees. Will the rabbits come out and dance? The Woodsy Boy says
they do.
KATHERINE. Hush! Who is that coming across the garden?
ROLAND. Oh, it’s my Woodsy Boy!
[_Roland runs out on the terrace._]
ROBERT. Who does he mean?
KATHERINE. A little chap that we’ve met in the wood, Roland and I.
Roland! [_She follows the child out upon the terrace._]
ROLAND [_outside_]. Yes, Mummy.
KATHERINE [_outside_]. You’ll catch your death!
[_Roland comes into the room from the terrace, with the Woodsy Boy, a
slender lad of sixteen or seventeen, shy, big-eyed, quick-motioned,
like a faun. He is barefooted and bareheaded, in old brown trousers and
shirt. In his arms he carries a little cur. Katherine follows them
into the room._]
ROLAND. Come in! Don’t be scared. My Uncle Phil can make him well.
WOODSY BOY. He has broken his leg, please.
ROBERT. Hello! Poor little beggar! It’s your job, Phil.
KATHERINE. Roland! Don’t look! [_She leads Roland to the settle, and
places him upon it._]
PHIL. You will let me take him, yes? [_Takes the dog._] It hurts, eh?
[_Martha comes in at the left with the loving-cup._]
MARTHA. Here’s the cup, sir.
ROBERT. Put it down. We’re a clinic just now.
[_Martha sets the cup on the table at centre._]
PHIL. It’s broken, all right. Lay a paper across the table, will you,
Rob? [_Robert spreads a paper on the writing table._] We’ll want some
warm water, Martha, and some cloths.
MARTHA. Yes, sir.
[_Martha goes out at left._]
PHIL. If you have pencils handy, they’ll make corking splints. [_Brings
the dog to the writing table, where he works over him._]
ROBERT. Hold on! I’ll give you a light. [_Lights lamp on table._]
PHIL. Steady, old sport! I’m your friend.
ROBERT. Quiet him, will you, sonny?
[_Woodsy Boy runs to the table and strokes the dog._]
KATHERINE. What a shame that your pet is hurt!
WOODSY BOY. He isn’t mine, lady. I found him. Over there by the upper
lake.
KATHERINE. But that’s a long distance for you to walk.
WOODSY BOY. He was in pain. So I had to bring him.
[_Martha comes in again with a basin of water and some cloths._]
MARTHA. Here’s the warm water, sir.
ROBERT. Fine! [_Sets basin on table._] Here you are, Phil.
PHIL. We’ll fix him all right now.
MARTHA. Poor creature! I’d better get him something to eat.
ROBERT. Sure thing! Kill him with indigestion. He’ll die happy.
KATHERINE. Can’t you find an old basket for him?
MARTHA. Oh, yes, ma’am. And I’ll get him a bone, too.
[_Martha goes out at left._]
PHIL. Hold on! We haven’t rags enough.
ROBERT. Here you are! [_Tearing up his handkerchief._] Wait a bit!
[_Basil comes in from the terrace, heatedly, and stands brushing the
mud from his trousers._]
BASIL. Well, of all the damned luck!
ROBERT. Hold your horses, Bub! What’s up?
BASIL. I can’t get across the beastly river. And how do I know what’s
waiting for me, there at the postmaster’s, and forty feet of bad water,
or fifteen miles of road between us?
WOODSY BOY. Do you want the mail, Mister?
BASIL. Do I want it? Rather!
WOODSY BOY. I’ll get it. [_Runs to terrace door._]
KATHERINE. Child alive! You can’t get across the river. The bridge is
down.
WOODSY BOY [_laughing_]. Oh, yes. But I can get across. There’s a place
I know, and nobody else. You wait. I’ll show you.
[_The Woodsy Boy runs out._]
PHIL. Hold the light nearer, Rob! Catch hold, Basil, please! Keep the
little beggar still.
[_The three men crowd about the writing table. Gertrude runs in from
the terrace._]
GERTRUDE. O Kate! [_Goes to Katherine._] You know, don’t you?
KATHERINE [_embracing her_]. I’m so happy over it.
GERTRUDE. Mother almost forgave Phil for being a foreigner.
PHIL. Give us a splint. Get busy!
KATHERINE. Nice things, aren’t they, those men of ours!
GERTRUDE. Kate! If there should be war!
KATHERINE. Why, there can’t be. Men like those three, at each other’s
throats, food for cannon— Oh, it’s madness to think of it!
[_Martha comes in from the left with a basket._]
MARTHA. Here’s the basket, sir. [_She crosses and stands by Roland._]
BASIL. Just make him comfy. Then I’ll put him out in the lean-to.
[_Basil takes the dog in the basket and goes out at left. Robert goes
to the table at centre. Professor comes in from the terrace, closely
followed by Lydia._]
PROFESSOR. Dear, dear! It is long past the hour for covering the
gold-fish. And you didn’t remember, Kate!
KATHERINE. I’m sorry, Uncle. [_She joins him in the bow-window._] But
I’m sure they haven’t caught cold. [_She helps him to cover the globe
with a cloth._]
GERTRUDE. Mother, dear!
LYDIA. I am quite resigned. [_She pauses before the settle._] Philip!
[_Phil hastily is drying his hands._] Whenever you are at liberty—
PHIL. Dear lady! [_Goes to her._]
LYDIA [_giving him her hand_]. You have my consent. [_Phil kisses her
hand._] No doubt I should be grateful that you asked it. [_She sits on
the settle._]
[_Basil comes in again from the left._]
GERTRUDE [_eager to make amends for her mother’s brusqueness_]. Phil
dear! [_Draws near him._]
BASIL. Oh, I say! Is that what you’re driving at, you two?
KATHERINE. Where were your eyes, you bat?
PROFESSOR. Felicitations, then, are in order?
ROLAND. What is it all about?
PHIL. The biggest thing in the world, kiddie.
GERTRUDE. Uncle Phil is going to be your really uncle, not a pretend
uncle.
ROLAND. Is he, Daddy?
ROBERT. Perhaps we’d better let him—if he promises to be good!
ROLAND. And he’ll stay with us always? Isn’t that jolly, Granny?
LYDIA. Well, I suppose it is.
GERTRUDE. O Mother, you know you’re just as happy as the rest of us.
KATHERINE. And that’s pretty happy.
ROBERT. Right you are! [_Takes cup._] Here’s to you, Sis! And to you,
old son! All the love that’s in all our hearts—
BASIL. Me, too!
ROBERT. —out of this loving-cup. Drink first, Trudie!
GERTRUDE. Thank you, Rob! [_Drinks._] It’s your turn, Phil.
[_Their hands are on the cup, when the Woodsy Boy runs in from the
terrace with newspapers._]
WOODSY BOY. Here are the papers. I couldn’t read them. But the people,
they all said: War!
KATHERINE. Oh, no!
ROBERT. Let me see!
BASIL. Give it here!
[_Both snatch papers from the Woodsy Boy. Basil gives a paper to the
Professor. Robert sits at table, flinging open the paper._]
PHIL. It can’t be. [_Sets down the cup._]
GERTRUDE. Phil! Oh, but you— What will become of you?
ROBERT [_from paper_]. War was declared at midnight.
LYDIA. It’s come, then.
PROFESSOR. Just as I foretold.
KATHERINE. Oh, no, no! God wouldn’t let it be.
BASIL [_from paper_]. They’ve stoned our ambassador. They’ve dragged
our flag in the mud.
PROFESSOR. Exactly what they did thirty years ago.
LYDIA. A foreigner is always a foreigner.
PROFESSOR. Racial differences outcrop—
PHIL. Racial differences? What do you talk of? This is the twentieth
century. We’re past the tribal stage.
BASIL [_striking the paper with his fist_]. Your people aren’t even
past the caveman stage.
ROBERT [_rising_]. Go easy, Basil!
PHIL. It has come, it seems, Rob, the thing we agreed was quite
impossible.
ROBERT. Old man, nothing is changed between you and me, remember.
Nothing is going to change.
KATHERINE. Of course not.
GERTRUDE. It can’t make any difference. We won’t let it make any
difference, will we, Phil? Will we?
PHIL. Between us two? No!
BASIL. You can’t help yourselves. It’s war now. War!
WOODSY BOY [_touching Robert’s sleeve_]. Is it because of the war he
must go away?
ROBERT. What do you mean?
WOODSY BOY. The men down in the village, they were saying he must go.
LYDIA. And they’re right. I’ve lived through two wars.
GERTRUDE. Mother!
PHIL. And I was tending their children, just this afternoon.
KATHERINE. Oh, they can’t mean to drive him away?
BASIL. Can’t they? [_Beside himself._] Look here! See what his people
have done to our people! [_Gives paper to Robert._] Look! Look!
ROBERT. Good God! Our women—outraged. Little children, taken out of
their mothers’ arms, torn to pieces.
PHIL. You believe those stories?
BASIL. We know the sort they are, the dirty brutes!
ROBERT. Go slow there!
PHIL. Am I a—dirty brute?
KATHERINE. Basil!
PHIL. Rob! Tell me! In this house, now, where do I stand?
ROBERT. You are—our guest.
KATHERINE [_going to Robert_]. Our friend, Rob. Our best friend.
GERTRUDE. Why, Rob! You don’t mean—
PHIL [_with authority_]. Please, Trudie! Please! [_To Robert._] You
take them seriously, then, these lies to sell your newspapers?
BASIL. Maybe it’s a lie that our country is honeycombed with your
infernal spy system. Chaps that have been guests in our houses—chaps
like yourself—
GERTRUDE [_to Basil_]. Oh! You dare to—
ROBERT [_to Basil_]. Be quiet! [_To Phil._] Of course that’s absurd.
But your country and my country are going to fight.
KATHERINE. You said yourself—
ROBERT. That was before war was declared. And before I knew how the
foreigners fight.
KATHERINE. Rob!
ROBERT. Now, right or wrong, it’s my country.
LYDIA. Ah!
ROBERT. They’re right, those men in the village. Better go, Phil, while
there’s still time.
PHIL. I understand, yes. I leave right away for town. I go and get my
things together now. [_Starts toward door right._]
GERTRUDE. You’re driving him away!
PHIL. No, no, dear. It’s just commonsense. In town I see you all again.
This war scare blows over maybe. This is then just a good story, eh?
Good night, Katherine!
KATHERINE [_giving him her hand_]. Good night, Phil!
PHIL [_to Robert_]. Good night [_shaking Robert’s hand_], old enemy!
[_Turns to Gertrude._]
GERTRUDE [_clinging to him_]. You’ll come back? Oh, you’ll come back?
PHIL. Of course I will. [_Kisses her. Roland slips to floor and stands
awaiting a farewell._] Good-bye!
[_Phil goes out hastily at the right, ignoring the child._]
ROLAND [_at the point of tears_]. You said he would stay with us always.
[_Gertrude buries her face in her hands, sobbing aloud._]
LYDIA. Hush! [_Draws Roland down on settle beside her, soothing him._]
BASIL. I’ve got to get the eleven o’clock train to town.
ROBERT [_seated at table, with the paper_]. War was declared at
midnight.
KATHERINE. Less than twenty-four hours. Already it’s cost us our best
friend. Oh, what’s to be the end of it all? [_Her hand on Robert’s
shoulder._] What’s to be the end?
[_Robert looks up at her, wondering._]
CURTAIN
ACT I
_The town-house, in its architecture and its furnishings, belongs to
an older generation. The parlor, in the second story, opens at the
back, up three shallow steps and through a wide arched doorway, hung
with dull green curtains that are looped aside, into a writing room.
The rear wall of this inner room is lined with bookshelves. A writing
table and a chair fill the centre of the room. In the parlor itself
are two long windows at the right, hung with curtains and formal
lambrequins, and set with window boxes, full of plants in blossom,
and with cushioned window-seats. Between the windows stands a tall,
old-fashioned secretary, topped with a classic bust, and littered
with writing things, among which are a pair of desk candlesticks and
several photographs in frames. A stand with the globe of gold-fish is
in the window nearer the audience and close by a rocking-horse. At
either side of the door to the writing room stands a bookcase. Above
these bookcases hang large prints of battle-scenes. At the left is a
fireplace, filled with green branches. Above the narrow mantle-ledge
hangs the picture of a man in uniform, draped with a flag of three
diagonal stripes, dark blue, orange, and dark blue. Beneath the
picture hangs a sheathed sword. At either side of the fireplace are
doors to the outer passage. Before the fireplace are two armchairs. At
the centre of the room is a table, with three chairs, and across the
table, facing the audience, is drawn a small sofa. The furniture all is
mellowed with use._
_The season is early June. The time is the middle of the morning, ten
days subsequent to the happenings of the Prologue._
_Seated at the table in the writing room, the Professor drives a busy
pen. On the rocking-horse sits Roland, with toy sword, helmet, and
cuirass, and a toy banner, on a staff, in his hand. At the secretary
Katherine is busy with notes and check-book. Lydia, by the hearth,
is mending a silk flag, the size of a company pennon. At the table
Gertrude, and her two friends, Frances and Margaret, girls of her own
age and class, are deftly making small nosegays, and putting them
into a flat basket, which already is three quarters filled. The table
is littered with greens and cut flowers. The women all are in light
summer frocks. The sunlight from the long windows is clear and strong.
From the street below swells the sound of martial music. The girls’
voices at first are barely audible through the din, but as the regiment
passes, presently it dies._
MARGARET. Every man that is a man is going to the front.
FRANCES. That’s just what I told Richard. So of course he went and
volunteered. If he hadn’t, I’d never have spoken to him again.
MARGARET. The field uniforms are the sweetest things.
FRANCES. I shall have my new coat cut with a military collar.
GERTRUDE. Stop talking, girls, and hurry! Don’t forget the train goes
through at half past eleven.
[_Martha comes in at the left, rear door, with a note and a newspaper._]
FRANCES. Won’t the soldiers be glad of the flowers!
LYDIA. You’d much better take them tobacco.
MARTHA. Here’s the Extra, ma’am, they were crying in the street.
[_Gives paper to Lydia._] And here’s a note from the hospital, ma’am.
[_Gives note to Katherine._]
MARGARET [_rising_]. Oh, may we look, too? [_Runs to Lydia._]
FRANCES [_at Lydia’s side_]. Another victory. Glorious!
LYDIA. Didn’t I tell you? When once this country is roused!
KATHERINE. Gertrude!
GERTRUDE. Yes, dear.
KATHERINE. We’d better cut up all the old linen in the house.
GERTRUDE. Are they short of gauze already?
KATHERINE. Yes. And another trainload of wounded will come in to-night.
FRANCES [_returning to the table_]. Did you hear that, Trudie? Another
victory!
GERTRUDE. Oh, yes. I heard.
MARTHA. Here are the keys, ma’am.
KATHERINE. Yes. Are the sandwiches ready?
MARTHA. I’ve just given the hamper to the porter to take to the station.
KATHERINE. Boil both the hams to-night. The commissary seems to have
broken down. If we don’t feed the troops that pass through—
GERTRUDE. O Martha! Reach us some flowers from the window boxes. We’re
running short.
MARTHA [_at rear window, right_]. They’re most all dying, Miss. It’s
the dust the men kick up a-marching by.
[_A bugle sounds in the street and the jingle of harness._]
ROLAND [_at the window_]. O Mummy, look! Cavalry!
FRANCES. If I don’t just love a bugle!
MARTHA. Wouldn’t I just like to be a man and go fight the nasty
foreigners myself!
PROFESSOR. Martha! Will you please come here?
MARTHA. Yes, sir. [_Goes into writing room._]
PROFESSOR. At last I have caught that troublesome mouse. Kindly dispose
of it! [_Gives Martha a wire trap, which he takes from beneath the
writing table._] I mean, take it away and kill it.
MARTHA [_coming into the parlor_]. Well, I must say! I’ve never killed
nothing in my life, but flies and mosquitoes. And if he wants his mouse
killed, he can kill it himself, so there.
ROLAND [_going to her_]. Say, Martha, let’s turn him loose in the court.
MARTHA. We will that.
ROLAND. He’ll be so scared he’ll never come back, and he’ll tell all
the other little mice never to come here, too.
[_Roland and Martha go out at the forward door left._]
PROFESSOR [_rising_]. There! That is quite done. [_Comes into the
parlor, manuscript in hand._] This is an appeal to be given to the
world in this evening’s papers, a trumpet call to the youth of our land
to rally to the standard.
GERTRUDE. What’s the good of their rallying, if there’s no equipment
for them?
PROFESSOR. That is beside the point. [_Margaret goes to the rear window
for flowers._] Their backwardness at such a time is appalling.
KATHERINE. So many men have wives and children and old folks that
depend upon them.
PROFESSOR. The claims of our country are paramount.
LYDIA. What do you know about it? You’ve nothing with a claim upon you,
except that bowl of gold-fish.
PROFESSOR [_going to her_]. Let me assure you, my dear sister, that if
my heart were not weak, and if I were not past the age limit, I should
be already at the front. That is, if it were not true now as always
that the pen is mightier than the sword. If I can stir a thousand men
to action by my writings, obviously it is better for the nation that I
stay at home and write. [_Goes to the door, but turns, smarting with
the sense of his wrongs._] Anybody but a woman would see that!
[_The Professor goes out, forward door, left._]
GERTRUDE. Hurry, Margaret! It’s late!
MARGARET. Just a minute. It’s a lot of volunteers are passing now. Come
see them, Kate!
KATHERINE. I can’t bear to look. They’re all so young.
MARGARET. Oh, Basil! [_Turns from window._] Here’s your brother Basil,
just coming up the steps. And he’s got his uniform at last.
FRANCES [_rising_]. What uniform?
GERTRUDE [_rising_]. They’ve graduated the first class cadets ahead of
time. Basil is a lieutenant now.
[_Basil comes in, forward door, left, in the showy uniform of a hussar
lieutenant, which he carries well. You love him at sight._]
GERTRUDE. Oh, you beautiful thing!
BASIL. Chuck it now! [_Puts busby and gauntlets on chair._] Good
morning, Frances. Good morning, Margaret.
FRANCES. My, but you’re splendid!
BASIL. How do you like it, Mother?
LYDIA. Come here! That collar isn’t going to rub your neck?
BASIL. Devil a bit!
FRANCES. Don’t you want to do something for me?
BASIL [_going to her, with an exaggerated bow_]. My heart is at your
feet.
FRANCES. I don’t want your heart. I want one of your coat buttons.
BASIL. The penalty for cutting off a button is shooting. Do you want to
put a permanent crimp in my career?
FRANCES. But you must have an extra button.
BASIL. I have. [_Takes button from pocket._] For the dearest girl in
the world.
FRANCES. That’s me?
MARGARET [_wounded_]. Basil!
BASIL [_turning to Lydia_]. Will you accept it, Mother?
LYDIA [_trying to hide her feelings_]. Foolishness! [_Pockets button._]
I can ease that collar a little. You’re staying to lunch?
BASIL. I’m afraid not. Just ran around to say: So long!
KATHERINE. What do you mean?
BASIL. Ripping good luck! We’ve got our marching orders.
[_The three girls speak together_:]
FRANCES. How perfectly lovely!
MARGARET. This very day?
GERTRUDE. Where are you going?
LYDIA. Marching orders! [_Sinks back in her chair, clutching the flag._]
BASIL [_bending over her_]. Mother! I say!
LYDIA. It’s—a little sudden. Don’t mind me! [_Rises, leaving the flag
on the chair._] There are some things to get ready. I’ll be down in a
minute.
[_Lydia goes out through the writing room._]
GERTRUDE [_after an instant’s troubled pause_]. These flowers must go.
FRANCES. You must have a flower, Basil. To remember me by. [_Puts a
flower in his coat._]
BASIL. Is it likely I’d forget you?
MARGARET [_offering a flower_]. Here, Basil.
BASIL [_taking flower_]. But I’ll have to wear one of them behind my
ear!
FRANCES. Goose! I’m going to kiss you good-bye. Old playmates! [_Kisses
him._] Good-bye, Gertrude! Good luck, Basil!
[_Frances goes out, forward door left, with the basket of flowers._]
MARGARET. Good-bye, Basil!
BASIL [_taking her hand_]. Good-bye, Margaret. Don’t forget me!
MARGARET. No, never.
[_He starts to draw her to him._]
FRANCES [_outside_]. Hurry, Margaret! Hurry! Hurry!
[_Margaret goes out, forward door, left._]
BASIL [_throwing into the wastepaper-basket the flower that Frances
gave_]. It gets me how you can have a little idiot like Frances buzzing
round you. [_Goes to the window, right, back, putting Margaret’s flower
in his coat as he does so._]
GERTRUDE. Thank goodness, we’re rid of them at last.
BASIL [_in window_]. She doesn’t look back.
GERTRUDE [_impishly_]. Frances?
BASIL. Frances? No! Of course not.
KATHERINE. Where are they sending you?
BASIL. Don’t know. [_Turns from window, slightly swaggering, while he
gets out a cigarette._] Oh, the firing line, all right. Great luck!
Was afraid the war would be over before I’d had a crack at it. Can’t
last more than six weeks, you know. We’ve got the beggars on the run
already. So much for all their big guns and new explosives. It’s the
spirit you put into it counts, I tell you. Hang it all! Got any matches?
KATHERINE. Right here.
BASIL [_going to secretary_]. Seen the papers, haven’t you? [_Strikes
a match._] We’ve had another— Hello! Still got Phil’s picture standing
round? [_Toward table, smoking._]
KATHERINE. Why not?
BASIL. Just a matter of taste, that’s all. I wonder if the fellow was a
spy.
KATHERINE. Now that you’re wearing a lieutenant’s uniform, it would be
a mortal insult to box your ears, wouldn’t it?
BASIL. [_distinctly embarrassed_]. Well?
KATHERINE. I should hate to have to insult you. Better go to your
mother. She’s waiting for you.
BASIL [_on way out_]. Coming, Trudie?
GERTRUDE. In a minute. I’ve got to clear up.
[_Basil goes out through the writing room. Gertrude throws litter from
the table into the wastepaper-basket._]
GERTRUDE. Kate! Basil is right, you know.
KATHERINE. About Phil’s picture? [_Rises._]
GERTRUDE. Yes.
KATHERINE [_going to her_]. Gertrude! Have you thought—
GERTRUDE. I haven’t done much else, all these endless days. It’s got to
stop. Why, Kate, what else can I do? Basil is going to the front. Rob
is drilling with his regiment. I belong with them. Not with Phil.
KATHERINE. How much did you ever really care for him?
GERTRUDE. So much that if he came in at that door—if I heard his
voice—if I felt his arms about me— What should I do? [_Clings to
Katherine, sobbing._] Oh, I don’t know what I should do.
[_Robert comes in, forward door, left, in civilian clothes._]
ROBERT. Hello! Hello! What’s the row?
[_Military music from the street below._]
GERTRUDE. Oh, let me be! Please! Let me be!
[_Gertrude hurries out, crying, at the rear door left._]
ROBERT. What’s up?
KATHERINE. She’s tired to death, that’s all. [_Sits on sofa._]
ROBERT. Not fretting about Phil, is she?
KATHERINE. What should you suppose?
ROBERT. Well, she’d better drop it. Things being as they are— Can’t
you see it’s impossible? [_Katherine hides her face in her hands._]
What’s the matter? [_He sits beside her._] Come, come, Kate! That isn’t
like you. Tired, aren’t you?
KATHERINE. Tired of hearing them marching by. All day long. All night
long. And all the love and kindness that made our lives, trampled under
the feet that march.
ROBERT. That’s morbid. Come on! Crack a smile, Kate. That’s a good
girl. You don’t want to lose your grip, you know, so early in the game.
[_Music dies slowly away._]
KATHERINE. So early— You mean the war is only just beginning?
ROBERT. Kate! It hasn’t even begun.
KATHERINE. And Basil says: In six weeks!
ROBERT. Yes. And the newspapers report another victory, every day or so.
KATHERINE. You mean they’re telling us—
ROBERT. Well—they’re not telling us more than half the truth. Don’t
you worry, dear! In the long run we’ll knock those damned cock-sure
foreigners down on their knees, yes, and hold ’em there till they
promise to be good. But before we can do that, we’ve got to make an
army out of a lot of raw men that never so much as loaded a gun. That
isn’t done in a day.
KATHERINE. Oh, what’s the good of it! What’s the use of it! What’s the
sense of it!
ROBERT. Kate!
KATHERINE. In ten days’ fighting you’ve undone the life-work of
thousands of people. There ought to be some other way. There must be
some other way.
ROBERT. There, there!
KATHERINE. And you say we haven’t even begun! But we women, we’ve begun
already. Do you realize what the distress is like in the families of
the poorer men that have volunteered?
ROBERT. Those things will all adjust themselves.
KATHERINE. Do you realize how many babies have been killed already by
your war?
ROBERT. What are you talking about?
KATHERINE. So many dead, because the milk in the mother’s breast turned
poison, when the father went away to war. So many born dead—
ROBERT. That’s sentimental. The infant death-rate may soar a bit, but
after a war there’s always an increase in births.
KATHERINE. If Roland should die, would it console you to know that a
dozen children will be born down in the village next winter?
ROBERT [_rising_]. There’s no reasoning with you, Kate. Too bad to
disagree to-day, of all days. [_Goes to hearth._] I had something I
wanted to tell you.
KATHERINE [_rising_]. Something—bad, you mean.
ROBERT. Nothing dreadful, only—I might have mentioned it before, but
I thought, in case I didn’t pull it off, no need to fuss you up for
nothing. And as long as you’re comfortably fixed here—
KATHERINE [_going to him_]. Quick! Quick! Tell me what you’re driving
at!
ROBERT. Kate, dear!
KATHERINE. You’re going to leave me?
ROBERT. Yes.
KATHERINE. With the men that march?
ROBERT. Yes.
KATHERINE. My God! [_Quietly sits down by the hearth._]
ROBERT. The country needs trained men. Needs ’em desperately. You
wouldn’t have me hang round home now, would you? I couldn’t anyhow. Not
with his blood in me [_pointing to the picture over the fireplace_],
and the chaps that were his fathers before him.
KATHERINE. I thought—not till later. Your regiment, just raw
defensibles—
ROBERT. I’m not waiting for them.
KATHERINE. You’ve volunteered?
ROBERT. Changed my major’s commission for a captaincy in the regulars.
Don’t you realize? They’re short of officers already. I’m to report at
Headquarters to-night.
KATHERINE. This very night?
ROBERT. Had my new uniform sent round here. Better get into it,
perhaps. [_Starts toward writing room._]
KATHERINE. And Basil goes to-day. What will your mother do? What shall
I do?
ROBERT [_turning quickly_]. Kate!
KATHERINE. All right. [_Controls herself. Rises._] Yes. Of course. I
understand. It’s in the blood. My fathers weren’t soldiers—but one of
them burned at the stake for the faith that was his. How much time have
we still?
ROBERT. Well—about an hour.
KATHERINE. No more? Your mother—she’ll want a moment, alone. Go to her!
Speak to Gertrude! I’ll come in a minute.
ROBERT. Kate! [_Catches her to him._] You see, I didn’t realize that
the call would come so soon. Kate, dear!
KATHERINE. Don’t! I can’t bear it. Please go! I’ll come presently. I’ll
come.
[_Robert goes out through the writing room. Katherine sways and sinks
on the sofa, covering her face with her hands. After a moment Martha
comes in excitedly at the forward door left._]
MARTHA. If you please, ma’am.
KATHERINE. Not now, Martha. I can’t.
MARTHA. O ma’am! He’s come back.
KATHERINE [_looking up._] Who?
MARTHA. Mr. Philip.
KATHERINE. Phil!
MARTHA. He wants to see you. He’s waiting downstairs.
KATHERINE [_rising_]. Not here in this house?
MARTHA. Yes, ma’am.
KATHERINE. In this town where everybody knows him! Why, the people in
the street—the very neighbors—if they should raise the cry of spy!
MARTHA. O ma’am! Not like that poor man they—
KATHERINE. Send him up here quick! And don’t let any one else in.
[_Martha starts to go._] Say I’m not at home.
[_Phil comes in headlong at the forward door._]
PHIL [_catching her last words_]. You’ve got to see me, Katherine.
[_Martha goes out._]
KATHERINE. Oh, you crazy boy!
PHIL [_grasping her hands_]. Listen to me!
KATHERINE. Why aren’t you safe across your own frontier? You’ve had ten
days.
PHIL. Ten days? Yes. Ten days like ten years. I’ve been hiding out in
the suburbs. I’ve been waiting for a word from Gertrude.
KATHERINE. Phil!
PHIL. Where is she?
KATHERINE. Here.
PHIL. Why hasn’t she sent me a word? Didn’t you get my letters?
KATHERINE. Yes.
PHIL. Then why hasn’t she written? What’s wrong? Tell me, Katherine!
Tell me! I’ve come here to find out. I don’t go till I do find out.
[_Gertrude comes in at the rear door left._]
GERTRUDE. O Kate! Rob is calling for you.
PHIL [_turning, arms out_]. Gertrude!
GERTRUDE [_instinctively, straight to his arms_]. Phil! Phil!
[_Recovering herself, she draws back._] Oh, no! no!
KATHERINE [_in the doorway of the writing room_]. Say what you came to
say. I’ll go to Rob.
GERTRUDE. Don’t leave me, Kate!
KATHERINE. He’s risked his life to come here. You’ve got to listen to
him.
[_Katherine goes out through the writing room._]
GERTRUDE. There’s nothing to say. You belong there. I belong here.
PHIL. Belong to what? To a lot of crazy savages, gone drunk with
newspaper-lies?
GERTRUDE. You shan’t speak so of my countrymen!
PHIL. My own precious countrymen are just as wild-eyed as yours. We
don’t belong to either camp. We belong to each other.
GERTRUDE. No, no! That’s all past!
PHIL. You bet it isn’t. Sit down! Come! [_Draws her down on the sofa,
and sits beside her._] Listen to me, Trudie! Get the noise of the
marching out of your ears. Remember what it was like, spring twilight,
there in the garden, when we first kissed. [_Kisses her._]
GERTRUDE [_clinging to him_]. O Phil! These last days—they’ve been an
awful dream.
PHIL. That’s all we’ll let this war be to us, an awful dream. We’re
going to get out of it.
GERTRUDE. How can we?
PHIL. Now listen! You sail for America next week. I’ll send you to an
exchange professor that I know. His wife will look after you. I’ll join
you inside the month. We’ll be married.
GERTRUDE. And I thought it was all over and done with!
PHIL. They’ll give me an instructor’s berth, and a room in the
laboratory. I’ll get at the research. While they’re killing over here,
I’ll be hammering out a way to cure. Isn’t that as worth while?
GERTRUDE. Why, yes. Of course!
PHIL. And we’ll have a shelter to offer to your mother and to
Katherine, if things go wrong.
GERTRUDE. If things— [_Slowly comprehending._] If things go wrong? You
mean you think your people will get the better of my people?
PHIL. Dear, I only said if.
GERTRUDE [_rising_]. But you think it.
PHIL. What else can I think? I know the kind of fight my country is
going to make. There’s only one outcome possible. [_Rises._] But all
that has nothing to do with us, dear, has it?
GERTRUDE. Yes. Everything—everything. I’ve got to stand by. Because my
country is going to need every ounce of strength that’s in every last
man and woman, too. Because your treacherous country—
PHIL. Treacherous!
GERTRUDE. Yes. Haven’t you been arming yourselves?
PHIL. It’s hardly fair to call us treacherous because you’ve chosen to
be blind.
GERTRUDE. Why—
PHIL. A nation’s got to do one of two things: arm itself or else
stop talking war. You’ve gone about bragging of your past, with a
blunderbuss made in 1830. Now we’ll turn to with real guns and teach
you—
GERTRUDE. Phil!
PHIL [_realizing what he has said_]. I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean
it. [_Going to her._] One country is to me no more than another.
Trudie! Please!
GERTRUDE. You may believe what you’re saying. But it isn’t so. You
belong with the foreigners, after all. And they’ve behaved like savages.
PHIL. Remember, dear, my father and my mother belong to that race of
savages.
GERTRUDE. Yes. I remember at last. Oh, I was crazy! Even for a minute
to think that we could ever—
PHIL. Listen to me!
GERTRUDE [_turning from him_]. No, no! [_Snatches the flag from her
mother’s chair._] This is my flag. My father fought for it. His father—
PHIL. Don’t be theatric, dear.
GERTRUDE. Yes, that’s just what you would say—a man who turns his back
on his homeland—who runs away when others fight—
PHIL. Yes. Running into a laboratory, where I’ve risked death a hundred
times, and no bugles and flags about it either.
GERTRUDE. But I stand by my country. If I can help one wounded boy that
has fought for his country—
PHIL. You don’t know what you’re saying, Trudie. [_Goes to her._]
You’re tired. You’re hysterical. [_Takes her in his arms._]
GERTRUDE. Let me go!
PHIL. Listen to me! Listen! We’ll give up the thought of America. I
don’t ask you to marry me now. I ask you only to wait.
GERTRUDE. No, no!
PHIL. Only to say that you love me and you’ll wait. Only that! O my
dear! Don’t you realize it’s our lives we’re settling now, for keeps?
GERTRUDE. And do you think I’ll tie my life to a coward?
PHIL [_drawing back, mortally hurt_]. Trudie!
[_Robert, in the uniform of an infantry captain, comes through the
writing room, followed by Katherine._]
KATHERINE. Wait, Rob! Wait!
GERTRUDE. Here’s where I belong. Here’s where I stay.
ROBERT [_coming into the parlor, to Phil_]. What are you doing here?
PHIL. Wasting time. [_Goes blindly to the right._]
[_Basil comes through the writing room._]
BASIL. What’s the row? [_Seeing Phil._] Come back, have you?
GERTRUDE. He wants me to marry him. But I won’t go with him.
ROBERT [_beneath his breath_]. You sneak!
BASIL. Case for the detention camp, this time, Rob.
PHIL [_facing the brothers_]. Well?
ROLAND [_outside_]. Daddy!
ROBERT. Keep him out!
[_Before Basil can move to intercept him, Roland runs in at the rear
door left, and casts himself upon Phil._]
ROLAND. O my Phil! Did you come back to see us?
KATHERINE. Rob! Please! Please! You know what brought him here.
ROBERT [_after a moment, pointing off through writing room_]. That way
is clear. For old sake’s sake, you’re free to go that way, if you go
quick.
PHIL. Thanks! [_Sets down Roland._] I like the front way better.
KATHERINE. Phil! No! If they take you at our door!
PHIL. I came safe. I shall go safe. I am the sort looks out always for
safety.
KATHERINE. But where are you going?
PHIL. Back to my own country. Then to hell very likely.
[_Phil goes out by the forward door._]
GERTRUDE. Oh! They won’t kill him! [_Starts after Phil._]
[_Robert stops her._]
BASIL [_in window at back_]. The street’s clear. Or he wouldn’t have
risked it.
ROBERT. Good old Trudie!
ROLAND [_curled up on the sofa, sobbing._] Phil!
BASIL [_going to him_]. Buck up, old man!
[_Lydia appears in the doorway of the writing room. Very faintly from
the street sounds the music of the March-out, which swells louder and
louder as the act goes on._]
LYDIA. Boys! It’s time, if you’re to take that train.
ROBERT. Roland! Stop crying. Come, come! [_Leads him to Katherine._]
Remember you’re to take care of your mother.
LYDIA. Give me that flag, Gertrude!
GERTRUDE [_beside herself, kissing the flag passionately_]. O Mother!
Mother!
LYDIA. Hush! It was the flag of your father’s company, Basil. Bring it
home, as he brought it! Bring it home!
BASIL. Yes, Mother. [_Kisses her, and places her, half fainting, on the
sofa._] Good girl, Sis! [_Embraces Gertrude._] Good-bye! Six weeks from
now. We’ll have them cleaned up by then, the scallawags! [_Catching up
busby and gloves._] Come on, Rob, you duffer! Good-bye, Kate! Six weeks
and a captaincy! Good-bye!
[_Basil goes out at forward door._]
LYDIA. My little boy! Rob! My little boy!
ROBERT [_kneeling before her_]. There, there, Mother! It’s all right.
It’s all right. You’ve got Gertrude. You’ve got Kate. Take care of each
other. It won’t be long. [_Turns to Katherine._] Old girl! [_Kisses
her, snatches up his cap, goes hurriedly to the door._] Good-bye!
ROLAND [_running after Robert_]. Good-bye, Daddy!
[_Robert goes out. The door closes in Roland’s grieved and puzzled
little face._]
LYDIA. Basil! My little, little boy!
GERTRUDE [_seated at table, raising her head_]. Do you think you’re the
only one that’s given? I’ve given. All that I have. For my country.
Freely. Joyfully.
[_Frances and Margaret run in at the rear door left._]
FRANCES. Such a crowd! We ran in the back way.
MARGARET. They’re gone!
FRANCES. No, not yet.
[_The two girls run to the window, rear, Roland to the front window._]
GERTRUDE [_rising unsteadily_]. Quick! The flowers! All that there are!
[_The three girls crowd in the rear window, tearing up the flowers
from the window boxes, and casting them to the troops that pass below,
with broken cries of “Good luck!” “Good-bye!” that are drowned in the
music of the March-out. Katherine stands with eyes covered. Roland tugs
at her skirt and draws her to the window where he stands waving his
flag. The music is at its fortissimo. Lydia nerves herself, rises, and
totters a step toward the window._]
CURTAIN