shame not to retain the idioms of a language. Bridget, do you mind if I
call you Biddie? it is more euphonious, and modernizes the old classic
appellation. But what is this liquid in the pan here?”[4]
“Howly Mither! Where wuz ye raised? Feth, that’s millick, fresh from the
coo.”
“Millick! That is the vernacular I dare say, for milk; and this thick
yellow coating?”
“It’s crame--Lord--sich ignurntz.”
“Crame! Well, well; now Biddie, dear, I must get to work. I’m going to
make a cake--all out of my own head, for Henry--he’s my lover,
Biddie--to eat when he comes to-night!”
(Aside) “It’s dead intirely he’ll be if he ates it.”
“Now Biddie, I’ve got everything down here on my tablet: A pound of
butter, 20 eggs, 2 pounds of sugar, salt to your taste--flour, vanilla,
baking powder in proportion as your judgment dictates. Now Biddie, let
me have the eggs first. Why! it says, ‘beat them well,’ but won’t that
break the shells?”[5]
“Feth, I’d brek ’em this time anny how, lest they don’t set well on
Mister Henry’s stummick,” said Bridget pleasantly.
“All right. I suppose I can use the shells separately. There they go!
Biddie dear, I’ve broken all the eggs into the flour, and you may save
the shells to give to some poor people. Now, what next? Oh, I’m so
tired! Isn’t housework just awfully hard? But I’m so glad I’ve learned
to make cake. Now what shall I do next, Biddie?”
“Axin yer pardon, yez might give it to the pigs, Miss Cicely,” said
Bridget, “it’s mesilf can’t say no ither use for it.”
“Pigs! Oh, Biddie!!! You don’t mean to say that you have some dear
cunning little white pigs! Oh, do bring the little darlings in and let
me feed them! I’m just dying to have one for a pet. I think they are too
awfully sweet for anything.”
Just then the bell rang and Mr. Henry was announced. Cicely told Bridget
she would take another lesson the next day, and she went into the parlor
with her chintz apron on, with a little dab of flour on her nose, and
told Henry she was learning to cook[6]--and he told her she must not get
worried nor overheated, and that he didn’t care whether she could cook
or not--he didn’t want to eat when he could have her to talk to----and
poor Bridget was just slamming things in the kitchen and talking to
herself (in that sweet idiom) about “idgits ternin things upsid down for
her convanience.”
TABLEAUX.
1. Kitchen scene. Bridget working at table, Miss Cicely entering
half-opened door from rear; mother in foreground.
2. Bridget faces audience, eying Miss Cicely in center of foreground;
mother at right.
3. Miss Cicely pointing and Bridget looking at ceiling. They are alone.
4. Miss Cicely points to a pan of milk on the table at the left, Bridget
standing at right side, face to audience.
5. Miss Cicely, tablets in hand, in front of table contemplates her
ingredients, and Bridget looks on contemptuously.
6. Parlor. Henry and Cicely discussing matters on a sofa.
--------------
THE BRIDAL WINE CUP.
(SPECIALLY ARRANGED FOR THIS NUMBER.)
CHARACTERS AND COSTUMES:--Marion, the bride, young and as pretty as
possible, in full bridal costume of white; her husband, a little older
and as fine looking as he can be made; her father, a man about fifty,
gray, portly and dignified, both in full dress; his wife, some younger,
in elaborate toilet of dark silk _en traine_, hair powdered; three of
six bridesmaids--as stage and other circumstances will permit--in one
color if possible (dresses of cheese-cloth are very pretty in rose, blue
or sea-green--and very cheap) if not, in colors that harmonize; the same
number of attendants in evening dress; two maids of honor, about five
years old, in white, carrying baskets of flowers; two pages, about eight
years old in Lord Fauntleroy costume; clergyman, as spirituelle in
appearance as can be had--powder if complexion is dark or florid--should
be smooth-faced, wears episcopal gown and carries prayer-book; guests
_ad lib._ in the background and sides in groups.
(First tableau is announced and shown before the reading begins--as the
“staging” is elaborate and should be carefully done.)[1]
“Pledge with wine, pledge with wine,” cried the young and thoughtless
Harvey. “Pledge with wine,” ran through the bridal party.
The beautiful bride grew pale--the decisive hour had come--she pressed
her white hands together, and the leaves of her bridal wreath trembled
on her pure brow; her breath came quicker, her heart beat wilder. From
her childhood she had been most solemnly opposed to the use of all wines
and liquors.
“Yes, Marion, lay aside your scruples for this once,” said the judge in
a low tone, going towards his daughter, “the company expect it. Do not
so seriously infringe upon the rules of etiquette--in your own house act
as you please; but in mine, for this once please me.”[2]
Every eye was turned towards the bridal pair. Marion’s principles were
well known. Harvey had been a convivialist, but of late his friends
noticed the change in his manners, the difference in his habits--and
to-night they watched him to see, as they sneeringly said, if he was
tied down to a woman’s opinion so soon.
Pouring out a brimming beaker, they held it with tempting smiles toward
Marion.[3] She was very pale, though more composed, and her hand shook
not as, smiling back, she gracefully accepted the crystal tempter and
raised it to her lips. But scarcely had she done so when every hand was
arrested by her piercing exclamation of “Oh, how terrible.” “What is
it?” cried one and all, thronging together, for she had slowly carried
the glass at arm’s length and was fixedly regarding it as though it were
some hideous object.[4] “Wait,” she answered, while an inspired light
shone from her dark eyes; “wait, and I will tell you. I see,” she added,
slowly pointing one jeweled finger at the sparkling ruby liquid, “a
sight that beggars all description, and yet listen, I will paint it for
you if I can. It is a lovely spot; tall mountains, crowned with verdure,
rise in awful sublimity around; a river runs through, and bright flowers
grow to the water’s edge. There is a thick warm mist, that the sun seeks
vainly to pierce; trees, lofty and beautiful, wave to the airy motion of
the birds; but there, a group of Indians gather; they flit to and fro
with something like sorrow upon their dark brow; and in their midst lies
a manly form, but his cheek how deathly; his eye wild with the fitful
fire of fever! One friend stands beside him; nay, I should say, kneels,
for he is pillowing that poor head upon his breast.
“Genius in ruins. Oh! the high, holy-looking brow! Why should death mark
it, and he so young? Look how he throws aside his dark curls! See him
clasp his hands! Hear his thrilling shrieks for life! Mark how he
clutches at the form of his companion, imploring to be saved. Oh! hear
him call piteously his father’s name; see him twine his fingers together
as he shrieks for his sister--his only sister, the twin of his
soul--weeping for him in his distant native land.”
“See!” she exclaimed, while the bridal party shrank back, the untasted
wine trembling in their faltering grasp, and the judge fell,
overpowered, upon his seat; “see! his arms are lifted to heaven; he
prays, how wildly, for mercy; hot fever now rushes through his veins.
The friend beside him is weeping; awe-stricken, the dark men move
silently and leave the living and dying together.”
There was a hush in that princely parlor, broken only by what seemed a
smothered sob, from some manly bosom. The bride stood yet upright, with
quivering lip, and tears stealing to the outward edge of her lashes. Her
beautiful arm had lost its tension, and the glass, with its little
troubled red waves, came slowly towards the range of her vision. She
spoke again; every lip was mute. Her voice was low, faint, yet awfully
distinct; she still fixed her sorrowful glance upon the wine cup.[5]
“It is evening now; the great white moon is coming up, and her beams lay
gently upon his forehead. He moves not; his eyes are set in their
sockets; dim are their piercing glances; in vain his friend whispers the
name of father and sister--death is there. Death, and no soft hand, no
gentle voice to bless and soothe him. His head sinks back--one
convulsive shudder--he is dead!”
A groan ran through the assembly. So vivid was her description, so
unearthly her look, so inspired her manner, that what she described
seemed actually to have taken place then and there. They noticed, also,
that the bridegroom hid his face in his hands and was weeping.
“Dead!” she repeated again, her lips quivering faster and faster, and
her voice more and more broken; “and there they scoop him a grave; and
there, without a shroud, they lay him down in the damp, reeking
earth--the only son of a proud father, the idolized brother of a fond
sister. And he sleeps to-day in that distant country, with no stone to
mark the spot. There he lies--my father’s son--my own twin brother, a
victim to this deadly poison. Father,” she exclaimed, turning suddenly,
while the tears rained down her beautiful cheeks, “father, shall I drink
the poison now?”
The form of the old judge was convulsed with agony. He raised his head,
but in a smothered voice he faltered: “No, no, my child; in God’s name,
no.”
She lifted the glittering goblet, and letting it suddenly fall to the
floor it was dashed into a thousand pieces.[6] Many a tearful eye
watched her movements, and instantaneously every wine-glass was
transferred to the marble table on which it had been prepared. Then, as
she looked at the fragments of crystal, she turned to the company,
saying: “Let no friend, hereafter, who loves me, tempt me to peril my
soul for wine. Not firmer are the everlasting hills than my resolve, God
helping me, never to touch or taste that terrible poison. And he to whom
I have given my hand; who watched over my brother’s dying form in that
last solemn hour, and buried the dear wanderer there by the river in
that land of gold, will, I trust, sustain me in that resolve. Will you
not, my husband?”
His glistening eyes, his sad, sweet smile was her answer.
The judge left the room, and when an hour later he returned, and with a
more subdued manner, took part in the entertainment of the bridal
guests, no one could fail to read that he, too, had determined to banish
the enemy for once and forever from his princely rooms.
TABLEAUX.
1. Bridal party in foreground, ceremony in process; maids of honor and
pages in front.
2. Supper table at left, near which stands the Judge and in center of
foreground the bride, who looks at her father; others in groups.
3. One of the attendants handing a wine-glass (by all means filled with
cold tea, or fruit juice) to Marion, on whom all eyes are fixed.
4. Glass in extended right hand, pointing to it with index finger of
left.
5. Guests seem transfixed with interest in the recital and Marion’s
glass has been brought nearer to herself.
6. The bride has advanced to the front (so as not to spatter the
others--and must have practiced sufficiently not to spatter her own
gown) and in the instant when the curtain is drawn she dashes the
wine-glass to the floor. If this tableau is shown a second time, a
second wine-glass must be sacrificed.
--------------
GRANDMA’S MINUET.
Grandma told me all about it;
Told me so I couldn’t doubt it,
How she danced--my grandma danced--
Long ago.
How she held her pretty head,
How her dainty skirt she spread,
How she turned her little toes[1],
Smiling little human rose!
Long ago.
Grandma’s hair was bright and sunny,
Dimpled cheek, too--ah, how funny!
Really, quite a pretty girl,
Long ago.
Bless her! Why, she wears a cap,
Grandma does, and takes a nap
Every single day; and yet
Grandma danced a minuet,
Long ago.
Now she sits there rocking, rocking,
Always knitting grandpa’s stocking[2]
(Every girl was taught to knit
Long ago);
Yet her figure is so neat,
I can almost see her now
Bending to her partner’s bow[3]
Long ago.
Grandma says our modern jumping,
Hopping, rushing, whirling, bumping,
Would have shocked the gentlefolk
Long ago.
No--they moved with stately grace,
Everything in proper place;
Gliding slowly forward, then
Slowly courtesying back again[4]
Long ago.
Modern ways are quite alarming,
Grandma says; but boys were charming--
Girls and boys, I mean, of course--
Long ago.
Bravely modest, grandly shy--
What if all of us should try
Just to feel like those who met
In their graceful minuet,
Long ago?
With the minuet in fashion,
Who could fly into a passion?
All would wear the calm they wore
Long ago.
In time to come, if I perchance
Should tell my grandchild of our dance
I should really like to say:
“We did, dear, in some such way
Long ago.”
MOVING TABLEAUX WITH PIANO OBLIGATO.
(Specially arranged for Preston Library.)
The music continues through the entire reading and should be very soft,
player and piano may be hidden. A child eight or ten years old will
often be found who can take the part gracefully and keep time to the
music, but if not, get a young lady--as the beauty of the tableaux
depends largely upon the dancing. The dress should be white and simple.
The Grandmother sits in the background, in ordinary makeup for old lady.
The words suggest the appropriate tableaux at the places indicated.
--------------
ABOU BEN ADHEM.
-------
BY LEIGH HUNT.
-------
(ARRANGED FOR AN ILLUSTRATED READING WITH THREE TABLEAUX)
“Abou Ben Adhem, may his tribe increase,
Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace
And saw, within the moonlight of his room,
Making it rich and like a lily in bloom,
An Angel writing in a book of gold.[1]
Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold.
And to the vision in the room, he said:
‘What writest thou?’ The Angel raised its head
And with a look made all of sweet accord,
Answered: ‘The names of those that love the Lord,’[2]
‘And is mine one?’ ‘Nay, not so,’
Replied the Angel. Abou spoke more low
But cheerily still: ‘I pray thee, then,
Write me as one who loves his fellow men.’
The Angel wrote and vanished, but the next night
Appeared with a great, wakening light,
Showing the names of those whom love of God had blessed,
And lo, Abou Ben Adhem’s led all the rest!”[3]
CHARACTERS AND COSTUMES:--Abou Ben Adhem, on a couch over which an
oriental spread is thrown. (If the genuine article is not to be had,
substitute one of the most brilliant coloring obtainable.) He should be
large and dark-skinned, head enveloped in turban of bright colored cloth
or pure white. Angel, tall blonde; must be blonde, even if golden wig
has to be rented or made of yellow Germantown yarn; face and arms freely
powdered; hair hangs loosely and shows for all it is worth; draping is
done most easily by means of two sheets (old,--new ones are too stiff to
form graceful folds) as follows: over the ordinary underclothing, which
must be sleeveless so far as the lower half of the arm is concerned,
fold over a corner to a foot in depth, and place folded part over the
chest, pinning drapery to each shoulder, letting it fall easily and full
to floor, even trailing; do the same with the second sheet, using it to
drape the back of the angel(?) pinning both under the arms in such a way
as not to interfere with their free use, nor to cover below the elbow; a
white or silver cord and tassel is tied loosely in front just below the
waist line, and in such a manner as to allow the drapery above to fall
in folds over the girdle; the wings must not be “stingy” nor set too
high on the shoulders, must nearly touch floor (see directions, p. 6,
for making) and are pinned in place before the second sheet is draped; a
silver band of pasteboard covered with paper with a star in front
confines the hair ever so slightly.
The “book of gold” is any large book covered with gilt paper.
The scroll containing “the names of those whom love of God had blessed”
is made of blank white paper, two and a half by five feet, paste-hemmed
edge of one inch on sides and lower end, the upper end pasted on a round
stick of light wood (the writer has used a curtain roller or broom
handle) and the name Abou Ben Adhem in large gilt letters pasted about a
foot from the top. The “odds and ends” of gilt paper that are left from
this cutting may be used to simulate the other names further down upon
the scroll, only Abou’s being intended as readable.
The light for these tableaux should be as yellow and mellow as
possible--and in the writer’s opinion nothing is so good for obtaining
this effect as kerosene lamps used abundantly, as foot-lights, on
brackets, and wherever a place may be found for one--with shades of
yellow tissue paper thrown over plain white porcelain or glass ones on
as many of the lamps as can be dressed in this way. Gas is next
best--but electric light is too white. (See “Directions,” p. 6, for
making foot-lights.)
TABLEAUX.
1. Sitting-room scene; couch at right of center of foreground, head
pointing toward left and a little back. Desk or table at convenient
distance on left, where angel writes, facing the dreamer, who has raised
his head and watches intently, resting it on his hand. Angel’s look is
toward the book of gold.
2. Same as preceding, except that Angel’s head is raised while speaking,
and she looks at Abou.
3. Angel stands, holding scroll so that both audience and Abou may see
and read his name.
--------------
EASTER EXERCISE.
LONGFELLOW’S “KING ROBERT OF SICILY” ILLUSTRATED WITH TABLEAUX.
-------
BY THE AUTHOR OF “PRESTON PAPERS.”
-------
(The following is designed for a high-school or academy
entertainment.--AUTHOR.)
Only “cue” lines from the well-known poem are given. The reader should
stand in front of the drawn curtain, reading during arrangement of stage
for scenic illustration. _Everything must be in readiness for prompt and
silent changes_ from one tableau to another, that the poem may be
“illustrated,” not spoiled. The entire poem should be read--the tableaux
shown at the cue.
(“cue” line.)
“On St. John’s eve, at vespers, proudly sat,
And heard the priests chant the Magnificat.”
1. Stage represents church, with dim lights; at left altar, priests
chanting; at right, king and retinue in pews. Altar may be fashioned
from upturned box, over which showy table-spread is thrown; railing may
be made by turning chairs of one pattern, with backs toward pews; king’s
crown of pasteboard covered with gilt paper; loose robe of any soft,
brilliant color; ermine can be made from sheets of cotton wadding cut in
strips three or four inches wide having black spots an inch and a half
long, tapering from half inch wide to round point; courtiers’ costumes
brilliant with gilt and tinsel.
“And leaning back, he yawned and fell asleep,
Lulled by the chant monotonous and deep.”
2. Same scene; lights dimmer; music softer and more monotonous--King
sleeping.
“The sounds re-echoed from the roof and walls--
As if dead priests were laughing in their stalls.”
3. Same, but with lights all extinguished save one or two dimly burning;
king alone, near door at extreme right.
“King Robert’s self, in features, form, and height,
But all transfigured by angelic light.”
4. Banquet room brilliantly lighted in the palace; table elegantly
equipped with damask, glass (the more beautiful color the better),
silver, flowers, etc., people standing in groups; king’s counterpart on
dais in background; _real_ king in foreground, side to audience, staring
at his “other self.”
“And in the corner, a revolting shape,
Shivering and chattering, sat the wretched ape.”
5. Barren dark room; straw bed in further corner, with king sitting
thereon in plain dark robe, disheveled hair, wonder in face, and
attitude. _Ape_ may be omitted, or “made to order” of dark cloth, on
wooden chair or stool in opposite corner.
“He heard the garments of the Lord
Sweep through the silent air, ascending heavenward.”
6. Same scene; but king kneels, facing audience.
“Across these stones, that lead the way to heaven,
Walk barefoot, till my guilty soul be shriven.”
7. King Robert in the foreground in same garments, bowed head, hands
crossed on breast, standing; Angel King on throne in background. (Throne
may be improvised from big old-fashioned sofa, or two large chairs
without arms, having handsome spread thrown over it, with showy rug in
front.)
“Rose like the throbbing of a single string;
‘I am the Angel, and thou art the King.’”
--------------
DRAFTED.
A MEMORIAL DAY POEM, ILLUSTRATED WITH MOVING TABLEAUX.
-------
ARRANGED BY THE AUTHOR OF “PRESTON PAPERS.”
-------
I.
What? Drafted? My Harry! Why man, ’t is a boy at his books,
No taller, I’m sure, than your Annie; as delicate, too, in his looks.
Why it seems but a day since he helped me, girl-like, in my kitchen, at
tasks.
He drafted! Great God! Can it be that our President knows what he asks?
II.
He never could wrestle, this boy, though in spirit as brave as the best.
Narrow-chested, a little, you notice, like him who has long been at
rest.
Too slender for over-much study; why his teacher has made him to-day
Go out with his ball, on the common; and you’ve drafted a child at his
play!
III.
“Not a patriot?” Fie! Did I whimper when Robert stood up with his gun
And the hero-blood chafed in his forehead, the evening we heard of Bull
Run?
Pointing his finger at Harry, but turning his face to the wall,
“There’s a staff growing up for your age, Mother,” said Robert, “if I am
to fall.”
IV.
“Eighteen?” Oh, I know; and yet narrowly. Just a wee babe on the day
When his father got up from his sick bed, and cast his last ballot for
Clay.
Proud of his boy and his ticket, said he, “A new morsel of fame
We’ll lay on the candidate’s altar;” and christened the child with that
name.*/
V.
O, what have I done, a weak woman? In what have I meddled with harm
(Troubling God only for sunshine and rain, on my rough little farm)
That my ploughshares are beaten to swords, and sharpened before my
eyes--
That my tears must cleanse a foul nation, my lamb be a sacrifice?
VI.
Oh, I know there’s a country to save, man; and ’tis true there is no
appeal.
But did God see my boy’s name, lying the uppermost one in the wheel?
Five stalwart sons has my neighbor, and never the lot upon one!
Are these things Fortune’s caprices, or is it God’s will that is done?
VII.
Are the others too precious for resting when Robert is taking his rest
With the pictured face of young Annie, lying over the rent in his
breast?
Too tender for parting with sweethearts? Too fair to be crippled or
scarred?
My boy! Thank God for these tears--I was growing so bitter and hard!
VIII.
Now read me a page from the Book, Harry, that goes in your knapsack
to-night,
Of the Eye that sees when the sparrow grows weary and falters in flight.
Talk of something that’s nobler than living; of a Love that is higher
than mine;
And a Faith that has planted its banners where the heavenly camp-fires
shine.
IX.
Talk of Something that tenderly watches, while the shadows glide down in
the yard,
That shall go with my soldier to battle--and stand, with my picket, on
guard.
Spirits of loving and lost ones! Watch softly o’er Harry to-night--
For to-morrow he goes forth to battle! Arm him for Freedom and Right.
(The effectiveness of the above poem will depend mainly upon the
reading. The words are a constant outburst of emotions that find relief
only in vocal expression--and unless the reader can fully enter into
sympathy with the various feelings displayed by the widowed mother when
she learns that her only remaining son is drafted, its rare qualities
will be lost on the audience. The tableaux are but a mere
accompaniment.)
SUGGESTIONS.
_First Stanza._ Scene. Ordinary sitting-room; lady in widow’s weeds,
knitting near table--having books, papers and work on it--in center of
foreground. She rises to greet army officer in uniform, who enters at
left, carrying hat in left hand, and in his right, official paper which
he passes to lady who reads and turns to him as the reader (who is
concealed) pronounces the first words. Her face expresses surprise and
incredulity during first half of first line; then expostulation and
entreaty. At the words: “Great God,” she drops back into her chair,
overwhelmed by the thought.
_Second Stanza._ Without rising, she again turns to the officer, and
argues the case with special resistance on the last half of the last
line.