the_ "OLD WOMAN."] Let go of me. [_Pulling at both his hands._] These
women's hands that--seem so frail, just look at them now.
HEROINE. [_To_ COMEDIAN.] But you let go my hands.
COMEDIAN. I think it's you who are holding fast to mine.
HEROINE. Why should I be holding you? If you pick up the dollar, what is
yours is mine, you know.
COMEDIAN. Then let go of my hand and I'll pick it up.
HEROINE. No, I'd rather pick it up myself.
COMEDIAN. I expected something like that from you.
HEROINE. [_Angrily._] Let go of my hands, that's all.
COMEDIAN. Ha-ha-ha--It's a huge joke. [_In a tone of command._] Be
quiet. [_They become still._] We must contemplate the dollar with
religious reverence. [_Commotion._] Keep quiet, I say! A dollar is
spread out before us. A real dollar in the midst of our circle, and
everything within us draws us toward it, draws us on irresistibly. Be
quiet! Remember you are before the Ruler, before the Almighty. On your
knees before him and pray. On your knees.
[_Sinks down on his knees and drags with him the_ HEROINE _and_
INGENUE. "OLD MAN" _dropping on his knees and dragging the_ "OLD
WOMAN" _with him_.
"OLD MAN." He-he-he!
TRAGEDIAN. Ho-ho-ho, clown!
COMEDIAN. [_To_ TRAGEDIAN.] You are not worthy of the serious mask you
wear. You don't appreciate true Divine Majesty. On your knees, or you'll
get no whiskey. [TRAGEDIAN _sinks heavily on his knees_.] O holy dollar,
O almighty ruler of the universe, before thee we kneel in the dust and
send toward thee our most tearful and heartfelt prayers. Our hands are
bound, but our hearts strive toward thee and our souls yearn for thee. O
great king of kings, thou who bringest together those who are separated,
and separatest those who are near, thou who----
[_The_ VILLAIN, _who is standing aside, takes a full jump, clears
the_ INGENUE _and grasps the dollar. All let go of one another and
fall upon him, shouting, screaming, pushing, and fighting. Finally
the_ VILLAIN _manages to free himself, holding the dollar in his
right fist. The others follow him with clenched fists, glaring
eyes, and foaming mouths, wildly shouting._
ALL. The dollar! The dollar! The dollar! Return the dollar!
VILLAIN. [_Retreating._] You can't take it away from me; it's mine. It
was lying under my bundle.
ALL. Give up the dollar! Give up the dollar!
VILLAIN. [_In great rage._] No, no. [_A moment during which the opposing
sides look at each other in hatred. Quietly but with malice._] Moreover,
whom should I give it to? To you--you--you--you?
COMEDIAN. Ha-ha-ha-ha! He is right, the dollar is his. He has it,
therefore it is his. Ha-ha-ha-ha, and I wanted to crawl on my knees
toward the dollar and pick it up with my teeth. Ha-ha-ha-ha, but he got
ahead of me. Ha-ha-ha-ha.
HEROINE. [_Whispering in rage._] That's because you would not let go of
me.
COMEDIAN. Ha-ha-ha-ha!
TRAGEDIAN. [_Shaking his fist in the face of the_ VILLAIN.] Heaven and
hell, I feel like crushing you!
[_He steps aside toward the trunk and sits down in his former
pose._ INGENUE, _lying down on the grass, starts to cry_.
COMEDIAN. Ha-ha-ha! Now we will drink, and the first drink is the
Villain's.
[_His proposition is accepted in gloom; the_ INGENUE, _however,
stops crying; the_ "OLD MAN" _and the_ "OLD WOMAN" _have been
standing by the_ VILLAIN _looking at the dollar in his hand as if
waiting for the proper moment to snatch it from, him. Finally the_
"OLD WOMAN" _makes a contemptuous gesture and both turn aside from
the_ VILLAIN. _The latter, left in peace, smooths out the dollar,
with a serious expression on his face. The_ COMEDIAN _hands him a
small glass of whiskey_.
COMEDIAN. Drink, lucky one.
[_The_ VILLAIN, _shutting the dollar in his fist, takes the whiskey
glass gravely and quickly drinks the contents, returning the glass.
He then starts to smooth and caress the dollar again. The_
COMEDIAN, _still laughing, passes the whiskey glass from one to the
other of the company, who drink sullenly. The whiskey fails to
cheer them. After drinking, the_ INGENUE _begins to sob again. The_
HEROINE, _who is served last, throws the empty whiskey glass toward
the_ COMEDIAN.
COMEDIAN. Good shot. Now I'll drink up all that's left in the bottle.
[_He puts the flask to his lips and drinks. The_ HEROINE _tries to
knock it away from him, but he skilfully evades her. The_ VILLAIN
_continues to smooth and caress the dollar_.
VILLAIN. Ha-ha-ha!... [_Singing and dancing._
He who would enter in,
_Jump_ he must over us.
Ho-ho-ho! O Holy Dollar! O Almighty Ruler of the World!... O King of
Kings! Ha-ha-ha!... Don't you all think if I have the dollar and you
have it not that I partake a bit of its majesty? That means that I am
now a part of its majesty. That means that I am the Almighty Dollar's
plenipotentiary, and therefore I am the Almighty Ruler himself. On your
knees before me!... He-he-he!...
COMEDIAN. [_After throwing away the empty flask, lies down on the
grass._] Well roared, lion, but you forgot to hide your jack-ass's ears.
VILLAIN. It is one's consciousness of power. He-he-he. I know and you
know that if I have the money I have the say. Remember, none of you has
a cent to his name. The whiskey is gone. [_Picking up the flask and
examining it._
COMEDIAN. I did my job well. Drank it to the last drop.
VILLAIN. Yes, to the last drop. This evening you shall have bread and
sausage. Very small portions, too, for to-morrow is another day.
[INGENUE _sobbing more frequently_.] Not till the day after to-morrow
shall we reach town, and that doesn't mean that you get anything to eat
there, either, but I--I--I--he-he-he. O Holy Dollar, Almighty Dollar!
[_Gravely._] He who does my bidding shall not be without food.
COMEDIAN. [_With wide-open eyes._] What? Ha-ha-ha!
[INGENUE _gets up and throws herself on the_ VILLAIN'S _bosom_.
INGENUE. Oh, my dear beloved one.
VILLAIN. Ha-ha, my power already makes itself felt.
HEROINE. [_Pushing the_ INGENUE _away_.] Let go of him, you. He sought
my love for a long time and now he shall have it.
COMEDIAN. What? You!
HEROINE. [_To_ COMEDIAN.] I hate you, traitor. [_To the_ VILLAIN.] I
have always loved--genius. You are now the wisest of the wise. I adore
you.
VILLAIN. [_Holding_ INGENUE _in one arm_.] Come into my other arm.
[HEROINE, _throwing herself into his arms, kissing and embracing
him_.
COMEDIAN. [_Half rising on his knees._] Stop, I protest. [_Throwing
himself on the grass._] "O frailty, thy name is woman."
"OLD WOMAN." [_Approaching the_ VILLAIN _from behind and embracing
him_.] Find a little spot on your bosom for me. I play the "Old Woman,"
but you know I'm not really old.
VILLAIN. Now I have all of power and all of love.
COMEDIAN. Don't call it love. Call it servility.
VILLAIN. [_Freeing himself from the women._] But now I have something
more important to carry out. My vassals--I mean you all--I have decided
we will not stay here over night. We will proceed further.
WOMEN. How so?
VILLAIN. We go forward to-night.
COMEDIAN. You have so decided?
VILLAIN. I have so decided, and that in itself should be enough for you;
but due to an old habit I shall explain to you why I have so decided.
COMEDIAN. Keep your explanation to yourself and better not disturb my
contemplation of the sunset.
VILLAIN. I'll put you down on the blacklist. It will go ill with you for
your speeches against me. Now, then, _without_ an explanation, we will
go--and at once. [_Nobody stirs._] Very well, then, I go alone.
WOMEN. No, no.
VILLAIN. What do you mean?
INGENUE. I go with you.
HEROINE. And I.
"OLD WOMAN." And I.
VILLAIN. Your loyalty gratifies me very much.
"OLD MAN." [_Who is sitting apathetically upon the trunk._] What the
deuce is urging you to go?
VILLAIN. I wanted to explain to you, but now no more. I owe you no
explanations. I have decided--I wish to go, and that is sufficient.
COMEDIAN. He plays his comedy wonderfully. Would you ever have suspected
that there was so much wit in his cabbage head?
WOMEN. [_Making love to the_ VILLAIN.] Oh, you darling.
TRAGEDIAN. [_Majestically._] I wouldn't give him even a single glance.
VILLAIN. Still another on the blacklist. I'll tell you this much--I have
decided----
COMEDIAN. Ha-ha-ha! How long will you keep this up?
VILLAIN. We start at once, but if I am to pay for your food I will not
carry any baggage. You shall divide my bundles among you and of course
those who are on the blacklist will get the heaviest share. You heard
me. Now move on. I'm going now. We will proceed to the nearest town,
which is thirty miles away. Now, then, I am off.
COMEDIAN. Bon voyage.
VILLAIN. And with me fares His Majesty the Dollar and your meals for
to-morrow.
WOMEN. We are coming, we are coming.
"OLD MAN." I'll go along.
TRAGEDIAN. [_To the_ VILLAIN.] You're a scoundrel and a mean fellow.
VILLAIN. I am no fellow of yours. I am master and bread-giver.
TRAGEDIAN. I'll crush you in a moment.
VILLAIN. What? You threaten me! Let's go.
[_Turns to right. The women take their satchels and follow him._
"OLD MAN." [_To the_ TRAGEDIAN.] Get up and take the trunk. We will
settle the score with him some other time. It is he who has the dollar
now.
TRAGEDIAN. [_Rising and shaking his fist._] I'll get him yet.
[_He takes his side of the trunk._
VILLAIN. [_To_ TRAGEDIAN.] First put one of my bundles on your back.
TRAGEDIAN. [_In rage._] One of your bundles on my back?
VILLAIN. Oh, for all I care you can put it on your head, or between your
teeth.
"OLD MAN." We will put the bundle on the trunk.
COMEDIAN. [_Sitting up._] Look here, are you joking or are you in
earnest?
VILLAIN. [_Contemptuously._] I never joke.
COMEDIAN. Then you are in earnest?
VILLAIN. I'll make no explanations.
COMEDIAN. Do you really think that because you have the dollar----
VILLAIN. The holy dollar, the almighty dollar, the king of kings.
COMEDIAN. [_Continuing._] That therefore you are the master----
VILLAIN. Bread-giver and provider.
COMEDIAN. And that we must----
VILLAIN. Do what I bid you to.
COMEDIAN. So you are in earnest?
VILLAIN. You must get up, take the baggage and follow me.
COMEDIAN. [_Rising._] Then I declare a revolution.
VILLAIN. What? A revolution!
COMEDIAN. A bloody one, if need be.
TRAGEDIAN. [_Dropping his end of the trunk and advancing with a
bellicose attitude toward the_ VILLAIN.] And I shall be the first to let
your blood, you scoundrel.
VILLAIN. If that's the case I have nothing to say to you. Those who
wish, come along.
COMEDIAN. [_Getting in his way._] No, you shall not go until you give up
the dollar.
VILLAIN. Ha-ha. It is to laugh!
COMEDIAN. The dollar, please, or----
VILLAIN. He-he-he!
COMEDIAN. Then let there be blood. [_Turns up his sleeves._
TRAGEDIAN. [_Taking off his coat._] Ah! Blood, blood!
"OLD MAN." [_Dropping his end of the trunk._] I'm not going to keep out
of a fight.
WOMEN. [_Dropping his satchels._] Nor we. Nor we.
VILLAIN. [_Shouting._] To whom shall I give up the dollar?
You--you--you--you?
COMEDIAN. This argument will not work any more. You are to give the
dollar up to all of us. At the first opportunity we'll get change and
divide it into equal parts.
WOMEN. Hurrah, hurrah! Divide it, divide it!
COMEDIAN. [_To_ VILLAIN.] And I will even be so good as to give you a
share.
TRAGEDIAN. I'd rather give him a sound thrashing.
COMEDIAN. It shall be as I say. Give up the dollar.
HEROINE. [_Throwing herself on the_ COMEDIAN'S _breast_.] My comedian!
My comedian!
INGENUE. [_To the_ VILLAIN.] I'm sick of you. Give up the dollar.
COMEDIAN. [_Pushing the_ HEROINE _aside_.] You better step aside or else
you may get the punch I aim at the master and bread-giver. [_To the_
VILLAIN.] Come up with the dollar!
TRAGEDIAN. Give up the dollar to him, do you hear?
ALL. The dollar, the dollar!
VILLAIN. I'll tear it to pieces.
COMEDIAN. Then we shall tear out what little hair you have left on your
head. The dollar, quick!
[_They surround the_ VILLAIN; _the women pull his hair; the_
TRAGEDIAN _grabs him by the collar and shakes him; the_ "OLD MAN"
_strikes him on his bald pate; the_ COMEDIAN _struggles with him
and finally grasps the dollar_.
COMEDIAN. [_Holding up the dollar._] I have it!
[_The women dance and sing._
VILLAIN. Bandits! Thieves!
TRAGEDIAN. Silence, or I'll shut your mouth.
[_Goes back to the trunk and assumes his heroic pose._
COMEDIAN. [_Putting the dollar into his pocket._] That's what I call a
successful and a bloodless revolution, except for a little fright and
heart palpitation on the part of the late master and bread-giver.
Listen, some one is coming. Perhaps he'll be able to change the dollar
and then we can divide it at once.
"OLD MAN." I am puzzled how we can change it into equal parts.
[_Starts to calculate with the_ INGENUE _and the_ "OLD WOMAN."
HEROINE. [_Tenderly attentive to the_ COMEDIAN.] You are angry with me,
but I was only playing with him so as to wheedle the dollar out of him.
COMEDIAN. And now you want to trick me out of my share of it.
"OLD MAN." It is impossible to divide it into equal parts. It is
absolutely impossible. If it were ninety-eight cents or one hundred and
five cents or----
[_The_ STRANGER _enters from the right, perceives the company,
greets it, and continues his way to left_. COMEDIAN _stops him_.
COMEDIAN. I beg your pardon, sir; perhaps you have change of a dollar in
dimes, nickels, and pennies.
[_Showing the dollar. The_ "OLD MAN" _and women step forward_.
STRANGER. [_Getting slightly nervous, starts somewhat, makes a quick
movement for his pistol-pocket, looks at the_ COMEDIAN _and the others
and says slowly_.] Change of a dollar? [_Moving from the circle to
left._] I believe I have.
WOMEN. Hurrah!
STRANGER. [_Turns so that no one is behind him and pulls his revolver._]
Hands up!
COMEDIAN. [_In a gentle tone of voice._] My dear sir, we are altogether
peaceful folk.
STRANGER. [_Takes the dollar from the_ COMEDIAN'S _hand and walks
backwards to left with the pistol pointed at the group_.] Good-night,
everybody.
[_He disappears, the actors remain dumb with fear, with their hands
up, mouths wide open, and staring into space._
COMEDIAN. [_Finally breaks out into thunderous laughter._]
Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!
CURTAIN
THE DIABOLICAL CIRCLE
BY
BEULAH BORNSTEAD
_The Diabolical Circle_ is reprinted by special permission of Professor
Franz Rickaby, in whose course in dramatic composition (English 36) in
the University of North Dakota this play was written. For permission to
perform, address Professor Franz Rickaby, University of North Dakota,
University, North Dakota.
BEULAH BORNSTEAD
Beulah Bornstead, one of the promising young playwrights of the
Northwest, was born in Grand Forks, North Dakota, May 5, 1896. She has
had her academic training at the University of North Dakota, from which
she received her B.A. in 1921. At present Miss Bornstead is principal of
the Cavalier High School, North Dakota. Before attempting drama she
tried her hand at journalism and at short-story writing.
Miss Bornstead was introduced into playwriting by Professor Franz
Rickaby, in whose course in dramatic composition at the University of
North Dakota _The Diabolical Circle_ was written. In speaking of this
play Miss Bornstead writes: "_The Diabolical Circle_ is the first play I
have ever written. I never enjoyed doing anything so much in my life.
The characters were so real to me that if I had bumped into one going
round the corner I should not have been surprised in the least. BETTY
and CHARLES and ADONIJAH and even COTTON MATHER himself worked that play
out. All the humble author did was to set it down on paper." _The
Diabolical Circle_ was produced May 5, 1921, by the Dakota Playmakers in
their Little Theatre at the University of North Dakota.
_The Diabolical Circle_ is one of the best contemporary plays dealing
with American historical material. Its characterization is one of its
noteworthy elements.
CHARACTERS
COTTON MATHER
BETTY, _his daughter_
ADONIJAH WIGGLESWORTH, _a suitor, and_ COTTON'S _choice_
CHARLES MANNING, _likewise a suitor, but_ BETTY'S _choice_
THE CLOCK
THE DIABOLICAL CIRCLE
SCENE: _The living-room in the Mather home in Boston._
TIME: _About 1700, an evening in early autumn._
_The stage represents the living-room of the Mather home. A large
colonial fireplace is seen down-stage left, within which stand huge
brass andirons. To one side hangs the bellows, with the tongs near
by, while above, underneath the mantelpiece, is suspended an old
flint-lock rifle. On both ends of the mantel are brass
candlesticks, and hanging directly above is an old-fashioned
portrait of Betty's mother. There are two doors, one leading into
the hall at centre left, the other, communicating with the rest of
the house, up-stage right. A straight high-backed settee is
down-stage right, while in the centre back towers an old
grandfather's clock.[K] To the left of the clock is the window,
cross-barred and draped with flowered chintz. An old-fashioned
table occupies the corner between the window and the hall door.
Here and there are various straight-backed chairs of Dutch origin.
Rag rugs cover the floor._
_As the curtain rises_ COTTON MATHER _is seated in a large armchair
by the fire, with_ BETTY _on a stool at his feet, with her
knitting_.
COTTON, _his hair already touched with the whitening frost of many
a severe New England winter, is grave and sedate. Very much
exercised with the perils of this life, and serenely contemplative
of the life to come, he takes himself and the world about him very
seriously._
_Not so with_ MISTRESS BETTY. _Outwardly demure, yet inwardly
rebellious against the straitened conventions of the times, she
dimples over with roguish merriment upon the slightest
provocation._
_As we first see them_ COTTON _is giving_ BETTY _some timely
advice_.
COTTON. But you must understand that marriage, my daughter, is a most
reverend and serious matter which should be approached in a manner
fittingly considerate of its grave responsibility.
BETTY. [_Thoughtfully._] Truly reverend and most serious, father
[_looking up roguishly_], but I like not so much of the grave about it.
COTTON. [_Continuing._] I fear thou lookest upon the matter too lightly.
It is not seemly to treat such a momentous occasion thus flippantly.
BETTY. [_Protesting._] Nay, father, why consider it at all? Marriage is
yet a great way off. Mayhap I shall never leave thee.
COTTON. Thou little thinkest that I may be suddenly called on to leave
_thee_. The Good Word cautions us to boast not ourselves of the morrow,
for we know not what a day may bring forth.
BETTY. [_Dropping her knitting._] Father, thou art not feeling well.
Perhaps----
COTTON. Nay, child, be not alarmed. 'Tis but a most necessary lesson to
be learned and laid up in the heart. I will not always be with thee and
I would like to be comfortably assured of thy future welfare before I
go.
BETTY. [_Picking her knitting up._] Be comfortably assured, then, I
prithee; I have no fears.
COTTON. [_Bringing his arm down forcibly on the arm of the chair._] Aye!
There it is. Thou hast no fears. Would that thou had'st some! [_Looks up
at the portrait._] Had thy prudent and virtuous mother only lived to
point the way, I might be spared this anxiety; but, beset by diverse
difficulties in establishing the kingdom of God in this country, and
sorely harassed by many hardships and by evil men, I fear me I have not
propounded to thee much that I ought.
BETTY. In what then is mine education lacking? Have I not all that is
fitting and proper for a maiden to know?
COTTON. [_Perplexed._] I know not. I have done my best, but thou hast
not the proper attitude of mind befitting a maiden about to enter the
married estate.
BETTY. [_Protesting._] Nay, but I am not about to enter the married
estate.
COTTON. It is time.
BETTY. [_Mockingly pleading._] Entreat me not to leave thee, father, nor
forsake thee; for whither thou goest I will go, and whither----
COTTON. [_Interrupting sternly._] Betty! It ill befitteth a daughter of
mine to quote the Scriptures with such seeming irreverence.--I would not
be parted from thee, yet I would that thou wert promised to some godly
and upright soul that would guide thee yet more surely in the paths of
righteousness. There be many such.
BETTY. Yea, too many.
COTTON. What meanest thou?
BETTY. One were one too many when I would have none.
COTTON. [_Shaking his head._] Ah. Betty, Betty! When wilt thou be
serious? There is a goodly youth among the friends surrounding thee whom
I have often marked, both on account of his godly demeanor and simple
wisdom.
BETTY. [_Nodding._] Yea, simple.
COTTON. I speak of Adonijah Wigglesworth, a most estimable young
gentleman, an acquaintance whom thou would'st do well to cultivate.
BETTY. Yea, cultivate.
COTTON. What thinkest thou?
BETTY. A sod too dense for any ploughshare. My wit would break in the
turning.
COTTON. His is a strong nature, born to drive and not be driven. There
is not such another, nay, not in the whole of Boston.
BETTY. Nay. I have lately heard there be many such!
COTTON. [_Testily._] Mayhap thou wouldst name a few.
BETTY. [_Musingly, holds up her left hand with fingers outspread._] Aye,
that I can. [_Checks off one on the little finger._] There be Marcus
Ainslee----
COTTON. A goodly youth that hath an eye for books.
BETTY. One eye, sayest thou? Nay, four; and since I am neither morocco
bound nor edged with gilt, let us consign him to the shelf wherein he
findeth fullest compensation.
COTTON. How now? A man of action, then, should appeal to thy brash
tastes. What sayest thou to Jeremiah Wadsworth?
BETTY. Too brash and rash for me [_checking off that candidate on the
next finger_], and I'll have none of him. There's Percy Wayne.
COTTON. Of the bluest blood in Boston.
BETTY. Yet that be not everything [_checks off another finger_]--and
Jonas Appleby----
COTTON. He hath an eye to worldly goods----
BETTY. [_Quickly._] Especially the larder. To marry him would be an
everlasting round between the tankard and the kettle. [_Checks him
off._] Nay, let me look yet farther--James Endicott. [_Checking._]
COTTON. Aye, there might be a lad for thee; birth, breeding, a
well-favored countenance, and most agreeable.
BETTY. Yea, most agreeable--unto himself. 'Twere a pity to disturb such
unanimity. Therefore, let us pass on. Take Charles Manning, an you
please----
COTTON. It pleaseth me not! I know the ilk; his father before him a
devoted servant of the devil and King Charles. With others of his kind
he hath brought dissension among the young men of Harvard, many of whom
are dedicated to the service of the Lord, with his wicked apparel and
ungodly fashion of wearing long hair after the manner of Russians and
barbarous Indians. Many there be with him brought up in such pride as
doth in no ways become the service of the Lord. The devil himself hath
laid hold on our young men, so that they do evaporate senseless,
useless, noisy impertinency wherever they may be; and now it has e'en
got out in the pulpits of the land, to the great grief and fear of many
godly hearts.
[_He starts to his feet and paces the floor._
BETTY. [_Standing upright._] But Charles----
COTTON. [_Interrupting._] Mention not that scapegrace in my hearing.
BETTY. [_Still persisting._] But, father, truly thou knowest not----
COTTON. [_Almost savagely, while_ BETTY _retreats to a safe distance_.]
Name him not. I will not have it. Compared with Adonijah he is a reed
shaken in the winds, whereas Adonijah resembleth a tree planted by the
river of waters.
BETTY. [_Who has been looking out of the window._] Converse of the devil
and thou wilt behold his horns. Even now he approacheth the knocker.
[_The knocker sounds._
COTTON. [_Sternly._] Betake thyself to thine own chamber with thine
unseemly tongue, which so ill befitteth a maid.