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| THE UNIFORM EDITION OF |
| THE PLAYS OF J. M. BARRIE |
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A KISS
FOR CINDERELLA
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| _THE WORKS OF J. M. BARRIE._ |
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| |
| _NOVELS, STORIES, AND SKETCHES._ |
| _Uniform Edition._ |
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| AULD LICHT IDYLLS, BETTER DEAD. |
| WHEN A MAN’S SINGLE. |
| A WINDOW IN THRUMS, AN EDINBURGH ELEVEN. |
| THE LITTLE MINISTER. |
| SENTIMENTAL TOMMY. |
| MY LADY NICOTINE, MARGARET OGILVY. |
| TOMMY AND GRIZEL. |
| THE LITTLE WHITE BIRD. |
| PETER AND WENDY. |
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| _Also_ |
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| HALF HOURS, DER TAG. |
| ECHOES OF THE WAR. |
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| _PLAYS._ |
| _Uniform Edition._ |
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| DEAR BRUTUS. |
| A KISS FOR CINDERELLA. |
| ALICE SIT-BY-THE-FIRE. |
| WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS. |
| QUALITY STREET. |
| THE ADMIRABLE CRICHTON. |
| ECHOES OF THE WAR. |
| _Containing_: The Old Lady Shows Her Medals—The |
| New Word—Barbara’s Wedding—A Well-Remembered |
| Voice. |
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| HALF HOURS. |
| _Containing_: Pantaloon—The Twelve-Pound |
| Look—Rosalind—The Will. |
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| _Others in Preparation._ |
| _INDIVIDUAL EDITIONS._ |
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| PETER PAN IN KENSINGTON GARDENS. |
| Illustrated by ARTHUR RACKHAM. |
| PETER AND WENDY. |
| Illustrated by F. D. BEDFORD. |
| PETER PAN AND WENDY. |
| Illustrated by MISS ATTWELL. |
| TOMMY AND GRIZEL. |
| Illustrated by BERNARD PARTRIDGE. |
| MARGARET OGILVY. |
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| |
| ⁂ For particulars concerning _The Thistle Edition_ of |
| the Works of J. M. BARRIE, sold only by subscription, |
| send for circular. |
| |
| |
| NEW YORK: CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS |
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| THE PLAYS OF |
| J. M. BARRIE |
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| A KISS |
| FOR CINDERELLA |
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| A COMEDY |
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| CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS |
| NEW YORK : : : : : : : : : 1923 |
| |
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COPYRIGHT, 1920, BY
J. M. BARRIE
Printed in the United States of America
_All rights reserved under the International Copyright Act.
Performance forbidden and right of representation reserved.
Application for the right of performing this play must be
made to Charles Frohman, Inc., Empire Theatre, New York._
[Illustration: (Publisher colophon)]
I
_The least distinguished person in ‘Who’s Who’ has escaped, as it
were, from that fashionable crush, and is spending a quiet evening
at home. He is curled up in his studio, which is so dark that he
would be invisible, had we not obligingly placed his wicker chair
just where the one dim ray from the stove may strike his face. His
eyes are closed luxuriously, and we could not learn much about
him without first poking our fingers into them. According to the
tome mentioned (to which we must return him before morning), Mr.
Bodie is sixty-three, has exhibited in the Royal Academy, and is at
present unmarried. They do not proclaim him comparatively obscure:
they left it indeed to him to say the final word on this subject,
and he has hedged. Let us put it in this way, that he occupies more
space in his wicker chair than in the book, where nevertheless
he looks as if it was rather lonely not to be a genius. He is a
painter for the nicest of reasons, that it is delightful to live
and die in a messy studio; for our part, we too should have become
a painter had it not been that we always lost our paint-box. There
is no spirited bidding to acquire Mr. Bodie’s canvases: he loves
them at first sight himself, and has often got up in the night to
see how they are faring; but ultimately he has turned cold to them,
and has even been known to offer them, in lieu of alms, to beggars,
who departed cursing. We have a weakness for persons who don’t get
on, and so cannot help adding, though it is no business of ours,
that Mr. Bodie had private means. Curled up in his wicker chair he
is rather like an elderly cupid. We wish we could warn him that the
policeman is coming._
_The policeman comes: in his hand the weapon that has knocked down
more malefactors than all the batons—the bull’s-eye. He strikes
with it now, right and left, revealing, as if she had just entered
the room, a replica of the Venus of Milo, taller than himself
though he is stalwart. It is the first meeting of these two, but,
though a man who can come to the boil, he is as little moved
by her as she by him. After the first glance she continues her
reflections. Her smile over his head vaguely displeases him. For
two pins he would arrest her._
_The lantern finds another object, more worthy of his attention,
the artist. Mr. Bodie is more restive under the light than was his
goddess, perhaps because he is less accustomed to being stared at.
He blinks and sits up._
MR. BODIE (_giving his visitor a lesson in manners_). I beg your
pardon, officer.
POLICEMAN (_confounded_). Not that, sir; not at all.
MR. BODIE (_pressing his advantage_). But I insist on begging your
pardon, officer.
POLICEMAN. I don’t see what for, sir.
MR. BODIE (_fancying himself_). For walking uninvited into the
abode of a law-abiding London citizen, with whom I have not the
pleasure of being acquainted.
POLICEMAN (_after thinking this out_). But I’m the one as has done
that, sir.
MR. BODIE (_with neat surprise_). So you are, I beg your pardon,
officer.
(_With pardonable pride in himself_ MR. BODIE _turns on the
light. The studio, as we can now gather from its sloped
roof, is at the top of a house; and its window is heavily
screened, otherwise we might see the searchlights through
it, showing that we are in the period of the great war.
Though no one speaks of_ MR. BODIE’S _pictures as Bodies,
which is the true test of fame, he is sufficiently eminent
not to have works of art painted or scratched on his walls,
mercy has been shown even to the panels of his door, and
he is handsomely stingy of draperies. The Venus stands so
prominent that the studio is evidently hers rather than
his. The stove has been brought forward so that he can rest
his feet on it, which ever of his easy chairs he is sitting
in, and he also falls over it at times when stepping back
to consider his latest failure. On a shelf is a large
stuffed penguin, which is to be one of the characters in
the play, and on each side of this shelf are two or three
tattered magazines. We had hankered after giving_ MR. BODIE
_many rows of books, but were well aware that he would
get only blocks of wood so cleverly painted to look like
books that they would deceive everyone except the audience.
Everything may be real on the stage except the books. So
there are only a few magazines in the studio (and very
likely when the curtain rings up it will be found that they
are painted too). But_ MR. BODIE _was a reader; he had
books in another room, and the careworn actor must suggest
this by his manner._
_Our_ POLICEMAN _is no bookman; we who write happen to
have it from himself that he had not bought a book since
he squeezed through the sixth standard: very tight was his
waist that day, he told us, and he had to let out every
button. Nevertheless it was literature of a sort that first
brought him into our ken. He was our local constable: and
common interests, as in the vagaries of the moon, gradually
made him and us cease to look at each other askance. We
fell into the way of chatting with him and giving him the
evening papers we had bought to read as we crossed the
streets. One of his duties was to herd the vagrant populace
under our arches during air-raids, and at such times he
could be properly gruff, yet comforting, like one who would
at once run in any bomb that fell in his beat. When he
had all his flock nicely plastered against the dank walls
he would occasionally come to rest beside us, and thaw,
and discuss the newspaper article that had interested him
most. It was seldom a war-record; more frequently it was
something on the magazine page, such as a symposium by
the learned on ‘Do you Believe in Love at First Sight?’
Though reticent in many matters he would face this problem
openly; with the guns cracking all around, he would ask for
our views wistfully; he spoke of love without a blush, as
something recognised officially at Scotland Yard. At this
time he had been in love, to his own knowledge, for several
weeks, but whether the god had struck him at first sight
he was not certain; he was most anxious to know, and it
was in the hope of our being able to help him out that he
told us his singular story. On his face at such times was
often an amazed look, as if he were staring at her rather
than at us, and seeing a creature almost beyond belief. Our
greatest success was in saying that perhaps she had fallen
in love at first sight with him, which on reflection nearly
doubled him up. He insisted on knowing what had made us
put forward this extraordinary suggestion; he would indeed
scarcely leave our company that night, and discussed the
possibility with us very much as if it were a police case._
_Our policeman’s romance, now to be told, began, as we
begin, with his climbing up into_ MR. BODIE’S _studio_.
MR. BODIE _having turned on the light gave him the nasty
look that means ‘And now, my man, what can I do for you?’
Our_ POLICEMAN, _however, was not one to be worsted without
striking a blow. He strode to the door, as he has told us,
and pointed to a light in the passage._)
POLICEMAN (_in his most brow-beating voice, so well known under the
arches_). Look here, sir, it’s that.
MR. BODIE. I don’t follow.
POLICEMAN. Look at that passage window. (_With natural pride in
language._) You are showing too much illumination.