ahead like always--if----
BAUER. [_Muttering._] If--if----
MRS. BAUER. [_To the boys._] Get your caps now, it's time to go to
school.
[KARL _gets up, passes behind his father and beckons to_ FRITZI _to
follow him_.
FRITZI. [_Keeping his seat._] Do we have to go to school?
BAUER. [_Suddenly alert._] Why, what's the matter?
FRITZI. The boys----
MRS. BAUER. [_Breaking in._] Fritzi!
[_The boys go into the inner room._ BAUER _collapses again_.
MRS. BAUER. [_Looking at him strangely._] Fritzi--if you didn't----
BAUER. I can't prove nothing--and no one believes me. [_A pause. She is
silent under his gaze._] No one! [_He waits for her to speak. She sits
with averted face. He sinks into a dull misery. The expression in his
eyes changes from beseeching to despair as her silence continues, and he
cries out hoarsely._] No one! Even if you kill a cat--what's a cat
against a man's life!
MRS. BAUER. [_Tensely, her eyes fastened on his._] But you _didn't_ kill
it?
[_A pause._
MRS. BAUER. [_In a low, appealing voice._] Did you? Fritz? Did you?
[BAUER _gets up slowly. He stands very still and stares at his
wife._
KARL'S VOICE. Mama, Fritzi's fooling with papa's gun.
[_Both children rush into the room._
KARL. You oughta lock it up.
MRS. BAUER. [_To_ FRITZI.] Bad boy! [_To_ KARL.] Fritzi wants to kill
himself--that's what. Go on to school.
[_Boys run past area._
VOICES. Who killed the cat! Who killed the cat!
[_At the sound of the voices the boys start back. Instinctively_
MRS. BAUER _lays a protecting hand on each. She looks around at her
husband with a sudden anxiety which she tries to conceal from the
children, who whisper together._ BAUER _rises heavily to his feet
and walks staggeringly toward the inner room_.
MRS. BAUER. [_In a worried tone, as the pushes the children out._] Go on
to school.
[_At the threshold of the inner room_ BAUER _stops, half turns back
with distorted features, and then hurries in. The door slams behind
him._ MRS. BAUER _closes the outer door, turns, takes a step as
though to follow_ BAUER, _hesitates, then crosses to the kitchen
table and starts to clear up the dishes. The report of a revolver
sounds from the inner room. Terror-stricken_, MRS. BAUER _rushes
in_.
MRS. BAUER'S VOICE. Fritz! Fritz! Speak to me! Look at me, Fritz! You
didn't do it, Fritz! I know you didn't do it!
[_Sound of low sobbing.... After a few seconds the telephone
bell.... It rings continuously while the Curtain slowly falls._
MANIKIN AND MINIKIN
(A BISQUE-PLAY)
BY
ALFRED KREYMBORG
_Manikin and Minikin_ is reprinted by special permission of Alfred
Kreymborg. All rights reserved. For permission to perform, address
Norman Lee Swartout, Summit, New Jersey.
ALFRED KREYMBORG
Alfred Kreymborg, one of the foremost advocates of free-verse rhythmical
drama, was born in New York City, 1883. He founded and edited _The
Globe_ while it was in existence; and under its auspices issued the
first anthology of imagist verse (Ezra Pound's Collection, 1914). In
July, 1915, he founded _Others, a Magazine of the New Verse_, and _The
Other Players_ in March, 1918, an organization devoted exclusively to
American plays in poetic form. At present Mr. Kreymborg is in Italy,
launching a new international magazine, _The Broom_.
Mr. Kreymborg has been active in both poetry and drama. He has edited
several anthologies of free verse, and has published his own free verse
as _Mushrooms_ and _The Blood of Things_. His volume of plays, all in
free rhythmical verse, is _Plays for Poem--Mimes_. The most popular
plays in this volume are _Lima Beans_, and _Manikin and Minikin_.
_Manikin and Minikin_ aptly exemplifies Mr. Kreymborg's idea of
rhythmical, pantomimic drama. It is a semi-puppet play in which there
are dancing automatons to an accompaniment of rhythmic lines in place of
music. Mr. Kreymborg is a skilled musician and he composes his lines
with musical rhythm in mind. His lines should be read accordingly.
MANIKIN AND MINIKIN
(A BISQUE-PLAY)
_Seen through an oval frame, one of the walls of a parlor. The
wall-paper is a conventionalized pattern. Only the shelf of the
mantelpiece shows. At each end, seated on pedestals turned slightly
away from one another, two aristocratic bisque figures, a boy in
delicate cerise and a girl in cornflower blue. Their shadows join
in a grotesque silhouette. In the centre, an ancient clock whose
tick acts as the metronome for the sound of their high voices.
Presently the mouths of the figures open and shut, after the mode
of ordinary conversation._
SHE. Manikin!
HE. Minikin?
SHE. That fool of a servant has done it again.
HE. I should say, she's more than a fool.
SHE. A meddlesome busybody----
HE. A brittle-fingered noddy!
SHE. Which way are you looking? What do you see?
HE. The everlasting armchair,
the everlasting tiger-skin,
the everlasting yellow, green, and purple books,
the everlasting portrait of milord----
SHE. Oh, these Yankees!--And I see
the everlasting rattan rocker,
the everlasting samovar,
the everlasting noisy piano,
the everlasting portrait of milady----
HE. Simpering spectacle!
SHE. What does she want, always dusting?
HE. I should say--that is, I'd consider the thought----
SHE. You'd consider a lie--oh, Manikin--you're trying to defend her!
HE. I'm not defending her----
SHE. You're trying to----
HE. I'm not trying to----
SHE. Then, what are you trying to----
HE. Well, I'd venture to say, if she'd only stay away some morning----
SHE. That's what I say in my dreams!
HE. She and her broom----
SHE. Her everlasting broom----
HE. She wouldn't be sweeping----
SHE. Every corner, every cranny, every crevice----
HE. And the dust wouldn't move----
SHE. Wouldn't crawl, wouldn't rise, wouldn't fly----
HE. And cover us all over----
SHE. Like a spider-web--ugh!
HE. Everlasting dust has been most of our life----
SHE. Everlasting years and years of dust!
HE. You on your lovely blue gown----
SHE. And you on your manly pink cloak.
HE. If she didn't sweep, we wouldn't need dusting----
SHE. Nor need taking down, I should say----
HE. With her stupid, clumsy hands----
SHE. Her crooked, monkey paws----
HE. And we wouldn't need putting back----
SHE. I with my back to you----
HE. I with my back to you.
SHE. It's been hours, days, weeks----
by the sound of that everlasting clock----
and the coming of day and the going of day----
since I saw you last!
HE. What's the use of the sun
with its butterfly wings of light--
what's the use of a sun made to see by--
if I can't see you!
SHE. Manikin!
HE. Minikin?
SHE. Say that again!
HE. Why should I say it again--don't you know?
SHE. I know, but sometimes I doubt----
HE. Why do you, what do you doubt?
SHE. Please say it again!
HE. What's the use of a sun----
SHE. What's the use of a sun?
HE. That was made to see by----
SHE. That was made to see by?
HE. If I can't see you!
SHE. Oh, Manikin!
HE. Minikin?
SHE. If you hadn't said that again, my doubt would have filled a
balloon.
HE. Your doubt--which doubt, what doubt?
SHE. And although I can't move, although I can't move unless somebody
shoves me, one of these days when the sun isn't here, I would have
slipped over the edge of this everlasting shelf----
HE. Minikin!
SHE. And fallen to that everlasting floor into so many fragments, they'd
never paste Minikin together again!
HE. Minikin, Minikin!
SHE. They'd have to set another here--some Minikin, I'm assured!
HE. Why do you chatter so, prattle so?
SHE. Because of my doubt--because I'm as positive as I am that I sit
here with my knees in a knot--that that human creature--loves you.
HE. Loves me?
SHE. And you her!
HE. Minikin!
SHE. When she takes us down she holds you much longer.
HE. Minikin!
SHE. I'm sufficiently feminine--and certainly old enough--I and my
hundred and seventy years--I can see, I can feel by her manner of
touching me and her flicking me with her mop--the creature hates
me--she'd like to drop me, that's what she would!
HE. Minikin!
SHE. Don't you venture defending her! Booby--you don't know live women!
When I'm in the right position I can note how she fondles you, pets you
like a parrot with her finger-tip, blows a pinch of dust from your eye
with her softest breath, holds you off at arm's length and fixes you
with her spider look, actually holds you against her cheek--her
rose-tinted cheek--before she releases you! If she didn't turn us apart
so often, I wouldn't charge her with insinuation; but now I know she
loves you--she's as jealous as I am--and poor dead me in her live power!
Manikin? */
HE. Minikin?
SHE. If you could see me--the way you see her----
HE. But I see you--see you always--see only you!
SHE. If you could see me the way you see her, you'd still love me, you'd
love me the way you do her! Who made me what I am? Who dreamed me in
motionless clay?
HE. Minikin?
SHE. Manikin?
HE. Will you listen to me?
SHE. No!
HE. Will you listen to me?
SHE. No.
HE. Will you listen to me?
SHE. Yes.
HE. I love you----
SHE. No!
HE. I've always loved you----
SHE. No.
HE. You doubt that?
SHE. Yes!
HE. You doubt that?
SHE. Yes.
HE. You doubt that?
SHE. No. You've always loved me--yes--but you don't love me now--no--not
since that rose-face encountered your glance--no.
HE. Minikin!
SHE. If I could move about the way she can--
if I had feet--
dainty white feet which could twinkle and twirl--
I'd dance you so prettily
you'd think me a sun butterfly--
if I could let down my hair
and prove you it's longer than larch hair--
if I could raise my black brows
or shrug my narrow shoulders,
like a queen or a countess--
if I could turn my head, tilt my head,
this way and that, like a swan--
ogle my eyes, like a peacock,
till you'd marvel,
they're green, nay, violet, nay, yellow, nay, gold--
if I could move, only move
just the moment of an inch--
you would see what I could be!
It's a change, it's a change,
you men ask of women!
HE. A change?
SHE. You're eye-sick, heart-sick
of seeing the same foolish porcelain thing,
a hundred years old,
a hundred and fifty,
and sixty, and seventy--
I don't know how old I am!
HE. Not an exhalation older than I--not an inhalation younger! Minikin?
SHE. Manikin?
HE. Will you listen to me?
SHE. No!
HE. Will you listen to me?
SHE. No!
HE. Will you listen to me?
SHE. Yes.
HE. I don't love that creature----
SHE. You do.
HE. I can't love that creature----
SHE. You can.
HE. Will you listen to me?
SHE. Yes--
if you'll tell me--
if you'll prove me--
so my last particle of dust--
the tiniest speck of a molecule--
the merest electron----
HE. Are you listening?
SHE. Yes!
HE. To begin with--
I dislike, suspect, deplore--
I had best say, feel compassion
for what is called humanity--
or the animate, as opposed to the inanimate----
SHE. You say that so wisely--
you're such a philosopher--
say it again!
HE. That which is able to move
can never be steadfast, you understand?
Let us consider the creature at hand
to whom you have referred
with an undue excess of admiration
adulterated with an undue excess of envy----
SHE. Say that again!
HE. To begin with--
I can only see part of her at once.
She moves into my vision;
she moves out of my vision;
she is doomed to be wayward.
SHE. Yes, but that which you see of her----
HE. Is ugly, commonplace, unsightly.
Her face a rose-face?
It's veined with blood and the skin of it wrinkles--
her eyes are ever so near to a hen's--
her movements,
if one would pay such a gait with regard--
her gait is unspeakably ungainly--
her hair----
SHE. Her hair?
HE. Luckily I've never seen it down--
I dare say it comes down in the dark,
when it looks, most assuredly, like tangled weeds.
SHE. Again, Manikin, that dulcet phrase!
HE. Even were she beautiful,
she were never so beautiful as thou!
SHE. Now you're a poet, Manikin!
HE. Even were she so beautiful as thou--lending her your eyes, and the
exquisite head which holds them--like a cup two last beads of wine, like
a stone two last drops of rain, green, nay, violet, nay, yellow, nay,
gold----
SHE. Faster, Manikin!
HE. I can't, Minikin!
Words were never given to man
to phrase such a one as you are--
inanimate symbols
can never embrace, embody, hold
the animate dream that you are--
I must cease.
SHE. Manikin!
HE. And even were she so beautiful as thou,
she couldn't stay beautiful.
SHE. Stay beautiful?
HE. Humans change with each going moment.
That is a gray-haired platitude.
Just as I can see that creature
only when she touches my vision,
so I could only see her once, were she beautiful--
at best, twice or thrice--
you're more precious than when you came!
SHE. And you!
HE. Human pathos penetrates still deeper
when one determines their inner life,
as we've pondered their outer.
Their inner changes far more desperately.
SHE. How so, wise Manikin?
HE. They have what philosophy terms moods,
and moods are more pervious to modulation
than pools to idle breezes.
These people may say, to begin with--
I love you.
This may be true, I'm assured--
as true as when _we_ say, I love you.
But they can only say,
I love you,
so long as the mood breathes,
so long as the breezes blow,
so long as water remains wet.
They are honest--
they mean what they say--
passionately, tenaciously, tragically--
but when the mood languishes,
they have to say,
if it be they are honest--
I do not love you.
Or they have to say,
I love you,
to somebody else.
SHE. To somebody else?
HE. Now, you and I--
we've said that to each other--
we've had to say it
for a hundred and seventy years--
and we'll have to say it always.
SHE. Say always again!
HE. The life of an animate--
SHE. Say always again!
HE. Always!
The life of an animate
is a procession of deaths
with but a secret sorrowing candle,
guttering lower and lower,
on the path to the grave--
the life of an inanimate
is as serenely enduring--
as all still things are.
SHE. Still things?
HE. Recall our childhood in the English museum--
ere we were moved,
from place to place,
to this dreadful Yankee salon--
do you remember
that little old Greek tanagra
of the girl with a head like a bud--
that little old Roman medallion
of the girl with a head like a----
SHE. Manikin, Manikin--
were they so beautiful as I--
did you love them, too--
why do you bring them back?
HE. They were not so beautiful as thou--
I spoke of them--
recalled, designated them--
well, because they were ages old--
and--and----
SHE. And--and?
HE. And we might live as long as they--
as they did and do!
I hinted their existence
because they're not so beautiful as thou,
so that by contrast and deduction----
SHE. And deduction?
HE. You know what I'd say----
SHE. But say it again!
HE. I love you.
SHE. Manikin?
HE. Minikin?
SHE. Then even though that creature has turned us
apart,
can you see me?
HE. I can see you.
SHE. Even though you haven't seen me
for hours, days, weeks--
with your dear blue eyes--
you can see me--
with your hidden ones?
HE. I can see you.
SHE. Even though you are still,
and calm, and smooth,
and lovely outside--
you aren't still and calm
and smooth and lovely inside?
HE. Lovely, yes--but not still and calm and smooth!
SHE. Which way are you looking? What do you see?
HE. I look at you. I see you.
SHE. And if that fool of a servant--oh, Manikin--suppose she should
break the future--our great, happy centuries ahead--by dropping me,
throwing me down?
HE. I should take an immediate step off this everlasting shelf--
SHE. But you cannot move!
HE. The good wind would give me a blow!
SHE. Now you're a punster! And what would your fragments do?
HE. They would do what Manikin did.
SHE. Say that again!
HE. They'd do what Manikin did....
SHE. Manikin?
HE. Minikin?
SHE. Shall I tell you something?
HE. Tell me something.
SHE. Are you listening?
HE. With my inner ears.
SHE. I wasn't jealous of that woman----
HE. You weren't jealous?
SHE. I wanted to hear you talk----
HE. You wanted to hear me talk?
SHE. You talk so wonderfully!
HE. Do I, indeed? What a booby I am!
SHE. And I wanted to hear you say----
HE. You cheat, you idler, you----
SHE. Woman----
HE. Dissembler!
SHE. Manikin?
HE. Minikin?
SHE. Everlastingly?
HE. Everlastingly.
SHE. Say it again!
HE. I refuse----
SHE. You refuse?
HE. Well----
SHE. Well?
HE. You have ears outside your head--I'll say that for you--but they'll
never hear--what your other ears hear!
SHE. Say it--down one of the ears--outside my head?
HE. I refuse.
SHE. You refuse?
HE. Leave me alone.
SHE. Manikin?
HE. I can't say it!
SHE. Manikin! */
[_The clock goes on ticking for a moment. Its mellow chimes strike
the hour._
CURTAIN
WHITE DRESSES
(A TRAGEDY OF NEGRO LIFE)
BY
PAUL GREENE
_White Dresses_ is reprinted by special permission of Professor
Frederick H. Koch. Copyrighted by the Carolina Playmakers, Inc., Chapel
Hill, North Carolina. For permission to produce, address Frederick H.
Koch, director.
PAUL GREENE
Paul Greene, one of the most promising of the University of North
Carolina Playmakers, was born in 1894 on a farm near Lillington, North
Carolina. He has received his education at Buies Creek Academy and at
the University of North Carolina, from which he received his bachelor's
degree in 1921. He saw service with the A. E. F. in France, with the
105th United States Engineers.
In addition to _White Dresses_, Mr. Greene has written a number of
one-act plays: _The Last of the Lowries_ (to be included in a
forthcoming volume of Carolina Folk-Plays, published by Henry Holt &
Company), _The Miser_, _The Old Man of Edenton_, _The Lord's Will_,
_Wreck P'int_, _Granny Boling_ (in _The Drama_ for August-September,
1921). The first three plays named above were produced originally by the
Carolina Playmakers at Chapel Hill.
_White Dresses_ is an excellent example of folk-play of North Carolina.
This play was written in English 31, the course in dramatic composition
at the University of North Carolina conducted by Professor Frederick H.
Koch. "The Aim of the Carolina Playmakers," says Professor Koch, "is to
build up a genuinely native drama, a fresh expression of the folk-life
in North Carolina, drawn from the rich background of local tradition and
from the vigorous new life of the present day. In these simple plays we
hope to contribute something of lasting value in the making of a new
folk-theatre and a new folk-literature."
Out of the many conflicts of American life, past and present, Mr. Greene
sees possibilities for a great native drama. _White Dresses_ presents a
fundamental aspect of the race problem in America.
CHARACTERS
CANDACE MCLEAN, _an old negro woman_, MARY'S _aunt_
MARY MCLEAN, _a quadroon girl, niece of_ CANDACE
JIM MATTHEWS, _Mary's lover_
HENRY MORGAN, _the landlord, a white man_
WHITE DRESSES
TIME: _The evening before Christmas, 1900_.
SCENE: _The scene is laid in a negro cabin, the home of_ CANDACE
_and_ MARY MCLEAN, _in eastern North Carolina_.
_In the right corner of the room is a rough bed covered with a
ragged counterpane. In the centre at the rear is an old bureau with
a cracked mirror, to the left of it a door opening to the outside.
In the left wall is a window with red curtains. A large chest
stands near the front on this side, and above it hang the family
clothes, several ragged dresses, an old bonnet, and a cape. At the
right, toward the front, is a fireplace, in which a small fire is
burning. Above and at the sides of the fireplace hang several pots
and pans, neatly arranged. Above these is a mantel, covered with a
lambrequin of dingy red crape paper. On the mantel are bottles and
a clock. A picture of "Daniel in the Lion's Den" hangs above the
mantel. The walls are covered with newspapers, to which are pinned
several illustrations clipped from popular magazines. A rough table
is in the centre of the room. A lamp without a chimney is on it.
Several chairs are about the room. A rocking-chair with a rag
pillow in it stands near the fire. There is an air of cleanliness
and poverty about the whole room._
_The rising of the curtain discloses the empty room. The fire is
burning dimly._ AUNT CANDACE _enters at the rear, carrying several
sticks of firewood under one arm. She walks with a stick, and is
bent with rheumatism. She is dressed in a slat bonnet, which hides
her face in its shadow, brogan shoes, a man's ragged coat, a
checkered apron, a dark-colored dress. She mumbles to herself and
shakes her head as she comes in. With great difficulty she puts the
wood on the fire, and then takes the poker and examines some
potatoes that are cooking in the ashes. She takes out her snuff-box
and puts snuff in her lip. As she does this her bonnet is pushed
back, and in the firelight her features are discernible--sunken
eyes, high cheek-bones, and big, flat nose. Upon her forehead she
wears a pair of steel-rimmed spectacles._
_She sits down in a rocking-chair, now and then putting her hand to
her head, and groaning as if in pain. She turns and looks
expectantly toward the door. After a moment she hobbles to the
chest on the right and takes out an old red crocheted fascinator.
Shivering she wraps it around her neck and stands looking down in
the chest. She lifts out a little black box and starts to unfasten
it, when the door suddenly opens and_ MARY MCLEAN _comes in_. AUNT
CANDACE _puts the box hastily back into the chest, and hurries to
the fire_.
MARY MCLEAN _has a "turn" of collards in one arm and a paper bundle
in the other. She lays the collards on the floor near the window
and puts her shawl on the bed. She is a quadroon girl about
eighteen years old, with an oval face and a mass of fine dark hair,
neatly done up. There is something in her bearing that suggests a
sort of refinement. Her dress is pitifully shabby, her shoes
ragged. But even this cannot hide the lines of an almost perfect
figure. For a negro she is pretty. As she comes up to the fire her
pinched lips and the tired expression on her face are plainly
visible. Only her eyes betray any signs of excitement._
AUNT CANDACE. Honey, I's been a-waitin' foh you de las' two hours. My
haid's been bad off. Chile, whah you been? Miss Mawgin must a had a
pow'ful washin' up at de big house.
[MARY _opens her hand and shows her a five-dollar bill_.
AUNT CANDACE. De Lawd help my life, chile!
MARY. An' look here what Mr. Henry sent you, too. [_She undoes the
bundle, revealing several cooked sweet potatoes, sausages, spareribs,
and some boiled ham._] He said as 'twas Christmas time he sent you this
with the collards there.
[_She points toward the collards at the window._ AUNT CANDACE _pays
little attention to the food as_ MARY _places it in her lap, but
continues to look straight into_ MARY'S _face. The girl starts to
give her the money, but she pushes her away._
AUNT CANDACE. [_Excitedly._] Whah'd you git dat, honey? Whah'd you git
it? Mr. Henry ain't never been dat kind befo'. Dey ain't no past
Christmas times he was so free wid 'is money. He ain't de kind o' man
foh dat. An' he a-havin' 'is washin' done on Christmas Eve. [_Her look
is direct and troubled._] Chile, Mr. Hugh didn't give you dat money, did
he?
MARY. [_Still looking in the fire._] Aunty, I ain't said Mr. Henry sent
you this money. Yes'm, Mr. Hugh sent it to you. I done some washin' for
him. I washed his socks and some shirts--pure silk they was. [_She
smiles at the remembrance._] An' he give me the money an' tole me to
give it to you--said he wished he could give you somethin' more.
[_She hands the money to_ AUNT CANDACE, _who takes it quickly_.
AUNT CANDACE. Help my soul an' body! De boy said dat! Bless 'is soul! He
ain't fo'got 'is ol' aunty, even if he ain't been to see 'er since he
come back from school way out yander. De Lawd bless 'im! Allus was a
good boy, an' he ain't changed since he growed up nuther. When I useter
nuss 'im he'd never whimper, no suh. Bring me de tin box, honey. An'
don't notice what I's been sayin'. I spects I's too perticler 'bout you.
I dunno.
[MARY _goes to the bureau and gets a tin box. She puts the money
in it, returns it, and lights the lamp._ AUNT CANDACE _takes off
her bonnet and hangs it behind her on the rocking-chair. Then she
begins to eat greedily, now and then licking the grease off her
fingers. Suddenly she utters a low scream, putting her hands to her
head and rocking to and fro. She grasps her stick and begins
beating about her as if striking at something, crying out in a loud
voice._
AUNT CANDACE. Ah-hah, I'll git you! I'll git you!
[MARY _goes to her and pats her on the cheek_.