better, I's.... [MARY _keeps her head muffled in her apron_.] Honey, I's
sho' gwine make you a good man.
[MARY _pays no attention to him. In his embarrassment he strums his
guitar, clears his throat, props his foot up on a chair rung, and
begins singing in a low voice._]
JIM. Lyin' in the jail house,
A-peepin' th'ough de bars....
AUNT CANDACE. [_Waking from her reverie._] Bring me de li'l black box,
gal. Bring me de box! [MARY _drops her apron and stares dully at the
floor_.] Bring me de box! [_Half-screaming._] Bring me de box, I say!
[_Trembling and groaning, she stands up._ MARY _goes to the chest and
brings her the black box_. AUNT CANDACE _drops her stick and clutches
it_.] I's gwine tell you de secret o' dis li'l box. Yo' mammy told me to
tell you if de time ever come, an' it's come. She seed trouble an' our
mammy befo' us. [_She takes a key, tied by a string around her neck, and
unlocks the box, pulling out a wrinkled white dress, yellowed with age,
of the style of the last generation._ JIM _sits down, overcome with
astonishment, staring at the old woman with open mouth_.] Look heah,
chile. I's gwine tell you now. Nineteen yeahs ago come dis Christmas
dey's a white man gi'n your mammy dis heah, an' dat white man is kin to
you, an' he don't live fur off nuther. Gimme dat dress dere on de bed.
[MARY _gets it and holds it tightly to her breast_. AUNT CANDACE
_snatches at it, but_ MARY _clings to it_.] Gimme dat dress!
MARY. It's mine!
AUNT CANDACE. Gimme! [_She jerks the dress from_ MARY. _Hobbling to the
fireplace, she lays both of them carefully on the flames._ JIM _makes a
movement as if to save them, but she waves him back with her stick_.]
Git back, nigger! Git back! Dis night I's gwine wipe out some o' de
traces o' sin. [MARY _sits in her chair, sobbing. As the dresses burn_
AUNT CANDACE _comes to her and lays her hand upon her head_.] I knows
yo' feelin's, chile. But yo's got to smother 'em in. Yo's got to smother
'em in.
CURTAIN
MOONSHINE
BY
ARTHUR HOPKINS
_Moonshine_ is reprinted by special permission of Arthur Hopkins,
Plymouth Theatre, New York City. All rights reserved. For permission
to perform, address the author.
ARTHUR HOPKINS
Arthur Hopkins, one of the well-known men of the practical theatre of
to-day, was born in Cleveland, Ohio, in 1878. He completed his academic
training at Western Reserve University, Cleveland, Ohio. At present he
is the manager of Plymouth Theatre, New York City.
Mr. Hopkins's entire life has been given to the theatre, which is his
hobby. In the midst of his various activities as a manager he has found
time to do some dramatic writing. Among his one-act plays are _Thunder
God_, _Broadway Love_, and _Moonshine_, which appeared in the _Theatre
Acts Magazine_ for January, 1919.
_Moonshine_ is an excellent play of situation that has grown out of the
reaction of character on character.
CHARACTERS
LUKE HAZY, _Moonshiner_
A REVENUE OFFICER
MOONSHINE
SCENE: _Hut of a moonshiner in the mountain wilds of North
Carolina. Door back left. Window back right centre. Old deal table
right centre. Kitchen chair at either side of table, not close to
it. Old cupboard in left corner. Rude stone fireplace left side. On
back wall near door is a rough pencil sketch of a man hanging from
a tree._
_At rise of curtain a commotion is heard outside of hut._
LUKE. [_Off stage._] It's all right, boys.... Jist leave him to me....
Git in there, Mister Revenue.
[REVENUE, _a Northerner in city attire, without hat, clothes dusty,
is pushed through doorway_. LUKE, _a lanky, ill-dressed Southerner,
following, closes door_. REVENUE'S _hands are tied behind him_.
LUKE. You must excuse the boys for makin' a demonstration over you,
Mister Revenue, but you see they don't come across you fellers very
frequent, and they allus gits excited.
REVENUE. I appreciate that I'm welcome.
LUKE. 'Deed you is, and I'm just agoin' to untie your hands long nuff
fer you to take a sociable drink. [_Goes to stranger, feels in
all-pockets for weapons._] Reckon yer travellin' peaceable. [_Unties
hands._] Won't yer sit down?
REVENUE. [_Drawing over chair and sitting._] Thank you. [_Rubs wrists to
get back circulation._]
LUKE. [_Going over to cupboard and taking out jug._] Yessa, Mister, the
boys ain't seen one o' you fellers fer near two years. Began to think
you wus goin' to neglect us. I wus hopin' you might be Jim Dunn. Have a
drink?
REVENUE. [_Starts slightly at mention of_ JIM DUNN.] No, thank you, your
make is too strong for me.
LUKE. It hain't no luck to drink alone when you git company. Better have
some.
REVENUE. Very well, my friend, I suffer willingly.
[_Drinks a little and chokes._
LUKE. [_Draining cup._] I reckon ye all don't like the flavor of liquor
that hain't been stamped.
REVENUE. It's not so bad.
LUKE. The last Revenue that sit in that chair got drunk on my make.
REVENUE. That wouldn't be difficult.
LUKE. No, but it wuz awkward.
REVENUE. Why?
LUKE. I had to wait till he sobered up before I give him his ticker. I
didn't feel like sendin' him to heaven drunk. He'd a found it awkward
climbin' that golden ladder.
REVENUE. Thoughtful executioner.
LUKE. So you see mebbe you kin delay things a little by dallyin' with
the licker.
REVENUE. [_Picking up cup, getting it as far as his lips, slowly puts it
down._] The price is too great.
LUKE. I'm mighty sorry you ain't Jim Dunn. But I reckon you ain't. You
don't answer his likeness.
REVENUE. Who's Jim Dunn?
LUKE. You ought to know who Jim Dunn is. He's just about the worst one
of your revenue critters that ever hit these parts. He's got four of the
boys in jail. We got a little reception all ready for him. See that?
[_Pointing to sketch on back wall._
REVENUE. [_Looking at sketch._] Yes.
LUKE. That's Jim Dunn.
REVENUE. [_Rising, examining picture._] Doesn't look much like any one.
LUKE. Well, that's what Jim Dunn'll look like when we git 'im. I'm
mighty sorry you hain't Jim Dunn.
REVENUE. I'm sorry to disappoint you.
LUKE. [_Turning to cupboard and filling pipe._] Oh, it's all right. I
reckon one Revenue's about as good as another, after all.
REVENUE. Are you sure I'm a revenue officer?
LUKE. [_Rising._] Well, since we ketched ye climin' trees an' snoopin'
round the stills, I reckon we won't take no chances that you hain't.
REVENUE. Oh.
LUKE. Say, mebbe you'd like a seggar. Here's one I been savin' fer quite
a spell back, thinkin' mebbe I'd have company some day. [_Brings out
dried-up cigar, hands it to him._
REVENUE. No, thank you.
LUKE. It hain't no luck to smoke alone when ye got company. [_Striking
match and holding it to_ REVENUE.] Ye better smoke. [REVENUE _bites off
end and mouth is filled with dust, spits out dust_. LUKE _holds match to
cigar. With difficulty_ REVENUE _lights it_.] That's as good a five-cent
cigar as ye can git in Henderson.
REVENUE. [_After two puffs, makes wry face, throws cigar on table._] You
make death very easy, Mister.
LUKE. Luke's my name. Yer kin call me Luke. Make you feel as though you
had a friend near you at the end--Luke Hazy.
REVENUE. [_Starting as though interested, rising._] Not the Luke Hazy
that cleaned out the Crosby family?
LUKE. [_Startled._] How'd you hear about it?
REVENUE. Hear about it? Why, your name's been in every newspaper in the
United States. Every time you killed another Crosby the whole feud was
told all over again. Why, I've seen your picture in the papers twenty
times.
LUKE. Hain't never had one took.
REVENUE. That don't stop them from printing it. Don't you ever read the
newspapers?
LUKE. Me read? I hain't read nothin' fer thirty years. Reckon I couldn't
read two lines in a hour.
REVENUE. You've missed a lot of information about yourself.
LUKE. How many Crosbys did they say I killed?
REVENUE. I think the last report said you had just removed the twelfth.
LUKE. It's a lie! I only killed six ... that's all they wuz--growed up.
I'm a-waitin' fer one now that's only thirteen.
REVENUE. When'll he be ripe?
LUKE. Jes as soon as he comes a-lookin' fer me.
REVENUE. Will he come?
LUKE. He'll come if he's a Crosby.
REVENUE. A brave family?
LUKE. They don't make 'em any braver--they'd be first-rate folks if they
wuzn't Crosbys.
REVENUE. If you feel that way why did you start fighting them?
LUKE. I never started no fight. My granddad had some misunderstandin'
with their granddad. I don't know jes what it wuz about, but I reckon my
granddad wuz right, and I'll see it through.
REVENUE. You must think a lot of your grandfather.
LUKE. Never seen 'im, but it ain't no luck goin' agin yer own kin. Won't
ye have a drink?
REVENUE. No--no--thank you.
LUKE. Well, Mr. Revenue, I reckon we might as well have this over.
REVENUE. What?
LUKE. Well, you won't get drunk, and I can't be put to the trouble o'
havin' somebody guard you.
REVENUE. That'll not be necessary.
LUKE. Oh, I know yer like this yer place now, but this evenin' you
might take it into yer head to walk out.
REVENUE. I'll not walk out unless you make me.
LUKE. Tain't like I'll let yer, but I wouldn't blame yer none if yu
tried.
REVENUE. But I'll not.
LUKE. [_Rising._] Say, Mistah Revenue, I wonder if you know what you're
up against?
REVENUE. What do you mean?
LUKE. I mean I gotta kill you.
REVENUE. [_Rising, pauses._] Well, that lets me out.
LUKE. What do yu mean?
REVENUE. I mean that I've been trying to commit suicide for the last two
months, but I haven't had the nerve.
LUKE. [_Startled._] Suicide?
REVENUE. Yes. Now that you're willing to kill me, the problem is solved.
LUKE. Why, what d'ye want to commit suicide fer?
REVENUE. I just want to stop living, that's all.
LUKE. Well, yu must have a reason.
REVENUE. No special reason--I find life dull and I'd like to get out of
it.
LUKE. Dull?
REVENUE. Yes--I hate to go to bed--I hate to get up--I don't care for
food--I can't drink liquor--I find people either malicious or dull--I
see by the fate of my acquaintances, both men and women, that love is a
farce. I have seen fame and preference come to those who least deserved
them, while the whole world kicked and cuffed the worthy ones. The
craftier schemer gets the most money and glory, while the fair-minded
dealer is humiliated in the bankruptcy court. In the name of the law
every crime is committed; in the name of religion every vice is
indulged; in the name of education greatest ignorance is rampant.
LUKE. I don't git all of that, but I reckon you're some put out.
REVENUE. I am. The world's a failure ... what's more, it's a farce. I
don't like it but I can't change it, so I'm just aching for a chance to
get out of it.... [_Approaching_ LUKE.] And you, my dear friend, are
going to present me the opportunity.
LUKE. Yes, I reckon you'll get your wish now.
REVENUE. Good ... if you only knew how I've tried to get killed.
LUKE. Well, why didn't you kill yerself?
REVENUE. I was afraid.
LUKE. Afreed o' what--hurtin' yourself?
REVENUE. No, afraid of the consequences.
LUKE. Whad d'ye mean?
REVENUE. Do you believe in another life after this one?
LUKE. I kan't say ez I ever give it much thought.
REVENUE. Well, don't--because if you do you'll never kill another Crosby
... not even a revenue officer.
LUKE. 'Tain't that bad, is it?
REVENUE. Worse. Twenty times I've had a revolver to my head--crazy to
die--and then as my finger pressed the trigger I'd get a terrible
dread--a dread that I was plunging into worse terrors than this world
ever knew. If killing were the end it would be easy, but what if it's
only the beginning of something worse?
LUKE. Well, you gotta take some chances.
REVENUE. I'll not take that one. You know, Mr. Luke, life was given to
us by some one who probably never intended that we should take it, and
that some one has something ready for people who destroy his property.
That's what frightens me.
LUKE. You do too much worryin' to be a regular suicide.
REVENUE. Yes, I do. That's why I changed my plan.
LUKE. What plan?
REVENUE. My plan for dying.
LUKE. Oh, then you didn't give up the idea?
REVENUE. No, indeed--I'm still determined to die, but I'm going to make
some one else responsible.
LUKE. Oh--so you hain't willing to pay fer yer own funeral music?
REVENUE. No, sir. I'll furnish the passenger, but some one else must buy
the ticket. You see, when I finally decided I'd be killed, I immediately
exposed myself to every danger I knew.
LUKE. How?
REVENUE. In a thousand ways.... [_Pause._] Did you ever see an
automobile?
LUKE. No.
REVENUE. They go faster than steam engines, and they don't _stay_ on
tracks. Did you ever hear of Fifth Avenue, New York?
LUKE. No.
REVENUE. Fifth Avenue is jammed with automobiles, eight deep all day
long. People being killed every day. I crossed Fifth Avenue a thousand
times a day, every day for weeks, never once trying to get out of the
way, and always praying I'd be hit.
LUKE. And couldn't yu git hit?
REVENUE. [_In disgust._] No. Automobiles only hit people who try to get
out of the way. [_Pause._] When that failed, I frequented the lowest
dives on the Bowery, flashing a roll of money and wearing diamonds,
hoping they'd kill me for them. They stole the money and diamonds, but
never touched me.
LUKE. Couldn't you pick a fight?
REVENUE. I'm coming to that. You know up North they believe that a man
can be killed in the South for calling another man a liar.
LUKE. That's right.
REVENUE. It is, is it? Well, I've called men liars from Washington to
Atlanta, and I'm here to tell you about it.
LUKE. They must a took pity on ye.
REVENUE. Do you know Two Gun Jake that keeps the dive down in Henderson?
LUKE. I should think I do.... Jake's killed enough of 'em.
REVENUE. He's a bad man, ain't he?
LUKE. He's no trifler.
REVENUE. I wound up in Jake's place two nights ago, pretending to be
drunk. Jake was cursing niggers.
LUKE. He's allus doin' that.
REVENUE. So I elbowed my way up to the bar and announced that I was an
expert in the discovery of nigger blood ... could tell a nigger who was
63-64ths white.
LUKE. Ye kin?
REVENUE. No, I can't, but I made them believe it. I then offered to look
them over and tell them if they had any nigger blood in them. A few of
them sneaked away, but the rest stood for it. I passed them all until I
got to Two Gun Jake. I examined his eyeballs, looked at his
finger-nails, and said, "You're a nigger."
LUKE. An' what did Jake do?
REVENUE. He turned pale, took me into the back room. He said: "Honest to
God, mister, can ye see nigger blood in me?" I said: "Yes." "There's no
mistake about it?" "Not a bit," I answered. "Good God," he said, "I
always suspected it." Then he pulled out his gun--
LUKE. Eh ... eh?
REVENUE. And shot _himself_.
LUKE. Jake shot hisself!... Is he dead?
REVENUE. I don't know--I was too disgusted to wait. I wandered around
until I thought of you moonshiners ... scrambled around in the mountains
until I found your still. I _sat_ on it and waited until you boys showed
up, and here I am, and you're going to kill me.
LUKE. [_Pause._] Ah, so ye want us to do yer killin' fer ye, do ye?
REVENUE. You're my last hope. If I fail this time I may as well give it
up.
LUKE. [_Takes out revolver, turns sidewise and secretly removes
cartridges from chamber. Rises._] What wuz that noise?
[_Lays revolver on table and steps outside of door._ REVENUE _looks
at revolver, apparently without interest_.
[LUKE _cautiously enters doorway and expresses surprise at seeing_
REVENUE _making no attempt to secure revolver. Feigning excitement,
goes to table, picks up gun._
LUKE. I reckon I'm gettin' careless, leavin' a gun layin' around here
that-a-way. Didn't you see it?
REVENUE. Yes.
LUKE. Well, why didn't ye grab it?
REVENUE. What for?
LUKE. To git the drop on me.
REVENUE. Can't you understand what I've been telling you, mister? I
don't _want_ the drop on you.
LUKE. Well, doggone if I don't believe yer tellin' me the truth. Thought
I'd just see what ye'd do. Ye see, I emptied it first.
[_Opens up gun._
REVENUE. That wasn't necessary.
LUKE. Well, I reckon ye better git along out o' here, mister.
REVENUE. You don't mean you're weakening?
LUKE. I ain't got no call to do your killin' fer you. If ye hain't sport
enough to do it yerself, I reckon ye kin go on sufferin'.
REVENUE. But I told you why I don't want to do it. One murder more or
less means nothing to you. You don't care anything about the hereafter.
LUKE. Mebbe I don't, but there ain't no use my takin' any more chances
than I have to. And what's more, mister, from what you been tellin' me I
reckon there's a charm on you, and I ain't goin' to take no chances
goin' agin charms.
REVENUE. So _you're_ going to go back on me?
LUKE. Yes, siree.
REVENUE. Well, maybe some of the other boys will be willing. I'll wait
till they come.
LUKE. The other boys ain't goin' to see you. You're a leavin' this yer
place right now--now! It won't do no good. You may as well go peaceable;
ye ain't got no right to expect us to bear yer burdens.
REVENUE. Damn it all! I've spoiled it again.
LUKE. I reckon you better make up yer mind to go on livin'.
REVENUE. That looks like the only way out.
LUKE. Come on, I'll let you ride my horse to town. It's the only one we
got, so yu can leave it at Two Gun Jake's, and one o' the boys'll go git
it, or I reckon I'll go over myself and see if Jake made a job of it.
REVENUE. I suppose it's no use arguing with you.
LUKE. Not a bit. Come on, you.
REVENUE. Well, I'd like to leave my address so if you ever come to New
York you can look me up.
LUKE. 'Tain't likely I'll ever come to New York.
REVENUE. Well, I'll leave it, anyhow. Have you a piece of paper?
LUKE. Paper what you write on? Never had none, mister.
REVENUE. [_Looking about room, sees_ JIM DUNN's _picture on wall, goes
to it, takes it down_.] If you don't mind, I'll put it on the back of
Jim Dunn's picture. [_Placing picture on table, begins to print._] I'll
print it for you, so it'll be easy to read. My address is here, so if
you change your mind you can send for me.
LUKE. 'Tain't likely--come on. [_Both go to doorway_--LUKE _extends
hand_, REVENUE _takes it_.] Good-by, mister--cheer up ... there's the
horse.
REVENUE. Good-by. [_Shaking_ LUKE'S _hand_.
LUKE. Don't be so glum, mister. Lemme hear you laff jist onct before yu
go. [REVENUE _begins to laugh weakly_.] Aw, come on, laff out with it
hearty. [REVENUE _laughs louder_.] Heartier yit.
[REVENUE _is now shouting his laughter, and is heard laughing until
hoof-beats of his horse die down in the distance_.
[LUKE _watches for a moment, then returns to table--takes a
drink--picks up picture--turns it around several times before
getting it right--then begins to study. In attempting to make out
the name he slowly traces in the air with his index finger a
capital "J"--then mutters "J-J-J," then describes a letter
"I"--mutters "I-I-I," then a letter "M"--muttering "M-M-M,
J-I-M--J-I-M--JIM." In the same way describes and mutters D-U-N-N._
LUKE. Jim Dunn! By God! [_He rushes to corner, grabs shot-gun, runs to
doorway, raises gun in direction stranger has gone--looks intently--then
slowly lets gun fall to his side, and scans the distance with his hand
shadowing his eyes--steps inside--slowly puts gun in corner--seats
himself at table._] Jim Dunn!--and he begged me to kill 'im!!
MODESTY
BY
PAUL HERVIEU
_Modesty_ is reprinted by special permission of Barrett H. Clark, the
translator of the play from the French, and of Samuel French, publisher,
New York City. All rights reserved. For permission to perform, address
Samuel French, 28-30 West 38th Street, New York City.
PAUL HERVIEU
Paul Hervieu, one of the foremost of contemporary French dramatists, was
born in 1857 at Neuilly, near Paris. Although he prepared for the bar,
having passed the examination at twenty, and practised his profession
for a few years, he soon set to writing short stories and novels which
appeared in the early eighties. _The Nippers_, in 1890, established his
reputation as a dramatist. The remainder of his life was given to
writing for the stage. In 1900 he was elected to the French Academy. He
died October 15, 1915.
In addition to _The Nippers_, Hervieu's best-known long plays are _The
Passing of the Torch_, _The Labyrinth_, and _Know Thyself_.
_Modesty_ is his well-known one-act play. In subtlety of technic and in
delicacy of touch it is one of the finest examples of French one-act
plays. Its humor and light, graceful satire are noteworthy.
PERSONS IN THE PLAY
HENRIETTE
JACQUES
ALBERT
MODESTY
TIME: _The present._
SCENE: _A drawing-room. Entrance_, C; _sofa, chairs, writing-desk._
JACQUES _and_ HENRIETTE _enter_ C, _from dinner_. HENRIETTE _in
ball costume_, JACQUES _in evening dress. They come down_ C.
HENRIETTE. What is it? Is it so terribly embarrassing?
JACQUES. You can easily guess.
HENRIETTE. You're so long-winded. You make me weary--come to the point.
JACQUES. I'll risk all at a stroke--My dear Henriette, we are cousins. I
am unmarried, you--a widow. Will you--will you be my wife?
HENRIETTE. Oh, my dear Jacques, what _are_ you thinking of? We were such
good friends! And now you're going to be angry.
JACQUES. Why?
HENRIETTE. Because I'm not going to give you the sort of answer you'd
like.
JACQUES. You don't--you don't think I'd make a good husband?
HENRIETTE. Frankly, no.
JACQUES. I don't please you?
HENRIETTE. As a cousin you are charming; as a husband you would be quite
impossible.
JACQUES. What have you against me?
HENRIETTE. Nothing that you're to blame for. It is merely the fault of
my character; _that_ forces me to refuse you.
JACQUES. But I can't see why you----?
HENRIETTE. [_With an air of great importance._] A great change is taking
place in the hearts of us women. We have resolved henceforward not to be
treated as dolls, but as creatures of reason. As for me, I am most
unfortunate, for nobody ever did anything but flatter me. I have always
been too self-satisfied, too----
JACQUES. You have always been the most charming of women, the most----
HENRIETTE. Stop! It's exactly that sort of exaggeration that's begun to
make me so unsure of myself. I want you to understand once for all,
Jacques, I have a conscience, and, furthermore, it is beginning to
develop. I have taken some important resolutions.
JACQUES. What _do_ you mean?
HENRIETTE. I have resolved to better myself, to raise my moral and
intellectual standards, and to do that I must be guided, criticised----
JACQUES. But you already possess every imaginable quality! You are
charitable, cultured, refined----
HENRIETTE. [_Annoyed._] Please!
[_Turns away and sits on settee._ JACQUES _addresses her from
behind chair_.
JACQUES. You are discreet, witty----
HENRIETTE. The same old compliments! Everybody tells me that. I want to
be preached to, contradicted, scolded----
JACQUES. You could never stand _that_.
HENRIETTE. Yes, I could. I should be happy to profit by the criticism.
It would inspire me.
JACQUES. I'd like to see the man who has the audacity to criticise you
to your face----
HENRIETTE. That is enough! I trust you are aware that you are not the
person fit to exercise this influence over me?
JACQUES. How could I? Everything about you pleases me. It can never be
otherwise.
HENRIETTE. How interesting! That's the very reason I rejected your
proposal. I sha'n't marry until I am certain that I shall not be
continually pestered with compliments and flattery and submission. The
man who marries me shall make it his business to remind me of my
shortcomings, to correct all my mistakes. He must give me the assurance
that I am continually bettering myself.
JACQUES. And this--husband--have you found him already?
HENRIETTE. What--? Oh, who knows?
JACQUES. Perhaps it's--Albert?
HENRIETTE. Perhaps it is--what of it?
JACQUES. Really!
HENRIETTE. You want me to speak frankly?
JACQUES. Of course.
HENRIETTE. Then--you wouldn't be annoyed if I said something nice about
Albert?
[JACQUES _brings down_ C. _chair which is by desk, facing_
HENRIETTE.
JACQUES. Why, he's your friend!
HENRIETTE. Oh! So you, too, have a good opinion of him?
JACQUES. Certainly.
HENRIETTE. Well, what would you say of him?
JACQUES. [_Trying to be fair._] I'd trust him with money--I've never
heard he was a thief.
HENRIETTE. But in other ways?
JACQUES. [_Still conscientious._] I believe him to be
somewhat--somewhat----
HENRIETTE. Wilful? Headstrong?
JACQUES. Um--uncultured, let us say.