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THE MODERN DRAMA SERIES
EDITED BY EDWIN BJÖRKMAN
THE RED LIGHT OF MARS
GEORGE BRONSON-HOWARD
THE RED LIGHT OF MARS
OR
A DAY IN THE LIFE OF THE DEVIL
A PHILOSOPHICAL COMEDY BY
GEORGE BRONSON-HOWARD
[Illustration]
NEW YORK
MITCHELL KENNERLEY
MCMXIII
COPYRIGHT 1913 THE JOHN W. RUMSEY CO.
COPYRIGHT 1913 MITCHELL KENNERLEY
THE·PLIMPTON·PRESS
NORWOOD·MASS·U·S·A
CONTENTS
PAGE
INTRODUCTION vii
LIST OF PLAYS BY GEORGE BRONSON-HOWARD x
THE RED LIGHT OF MARS 1
INTRODUCTION
There is to me something typically American about the life-story
leading up to the play contained in this volume—a story in which the
creation and publication of that play will undoubtedly represent only
a temporary climax. I want to tell it, not only as a curiosity, but
as something that has genuine significance to the world of letters.
The meaning of this story, read in conjunction with the work that
has grown out of it, is that the time when books were bred by books
only is about gone now. The new literature will come straight out of
life, apparently, and will in consequence have made a decided gain,
even though it may have lost something else. As it springs forth,
full-blooded and ready-tongued, we shall undoubtedly hear melancholy
voices proclaim the _vulgarization_ of poetry. But if, on hearing such
protests rising from some anæmic scholar’s cloistered cell, we look
back through the ages and fix our gaze not only on the little followers
but on the great leaders—on the Dantes and Shakespeares and Cervanteses
and Molières—then we shall find that almost always the term of
opprobrium quoted above has implied a _vitalization_ of the supposedly
menaced art form.
The author of “The Red Light of Mars” is now in his thirtieth year,
having been born on January 7, 1884, in Howard County, Maryland. His
father was a Baltimore merchant and insurance broker, who, in his turn,
had a Confederate blockade runner for father and an officer in the
English army for grandfather. His mother sprang from an old French
middle-class family, which had to emigrate from Dijon after the Edict
of Nantes.
George Bronson-Howard studied in a private school in London, in the
public schools of Baltimore, and in the City College of the same
place. At fourteen he lost both parents, just as he was about to enter
Johns Hopkins University, his age having been carefully concealed in
order that the examinations might be open to him. Instead he became
a messenger in the Weather Bureau at Baltimore. While thus employed,
he submitted successfully to the first of a series of civil service
examinations, each one of which required some skilful disingenuousness
lest the applicant’s age prove an insuperable obstacle. During the next
seven years, Mr. Bronson-Howard busied himself successively as follows:
Reporter on the Baltimore _American_; clerk in the office of the
Secretary of the Navy; stenographer at the Brooklyn Navy Yard; reporter
on the Brooklyn _Citizen_; press representative for one of the Frohman
theatres and for one of George W. Lederer’s productions; reporter on
the New York _Herald_; clerk in the Bureau of Navigation at Washington;
clerk in the office of the Collector of Customs at Manila, Philippine
Islands; assistant to the Collector of Customs at Iloilo, on the island
of Panay; newspaper correspondent at Manila; member of the Philippine
Constabulary; contributor of fiction stories to various newspapers and
magazines; employé of the Imperial Chinese Customs Service at Canton;
agent of the Imperial Chinese Government in Shantung Province; war
correspondent for the London _Chronicle_ with the Russian army in
Manchuria; magazine and newspaper writer at San Francisco.
He was twenty-one when he came East and began to produce a series of
clever, quick-moving stories, designated by himself “as melodramatic
magazine yarns.” The type of hero around which they were built was
wholly new: a secret agent of the State Department. Appearing in book
form under the title of “Norroy, Diplomatic Agent,” those stories met
with such success that their author found himself relieved for a long
time from all necessity of “pot-boiling.”
Since then he has written more stories, three romances—one of which
so far has only been published in Germany—essays, plays, criticism,
musical _revues_, etc. He has acted as play reader for the late Henry
B. Harris, as dramatic editor on _Smith’s Magazine_, as dramatic critic
on the New York _Morning Telegraph_, as vaudeville impresario at Paris,
and as librettist for the Winter Garden at New York. He has dramatized
a novel and novelized a play. He has lived at London, Baltimore, New
York, Paris, and Nice—to settle down at last in a house of his own at
Belleterre, Port Jefferson, Long Island.
So far Mr. Bronson-Howard has a dozen plays of every conceivable
type to his credit, some of them being wholly his own and some being
written in collaboration with others. Most of these works have already
been produced, some with marked success, and others are scheduled for
performance in the immediate future. Thus, for instance, “The Red Light
of Mars” will be staged by H. H. Frazee during the season of 1913-14.
There are two qualities that seem to characterize all of Mr.
Bronson-Howard’s dramatic productions: a keen perception of the
demands and possibilities of the stage, and a shrewdly humorous grasp
of human nature. His command of stagecraft is so facile that at
times it strikes the critic as a danger to his art. And it has the
faults as well as the merits generally accompanying such facility. He
would probably be much surprised if he heard himself referred to as a
“psychologist”—and yet that is just what he is, in his own practical,
intuitive, American way. With these two qualities, which provide for
the framework of his art, goes, as its informing and directing spirit,
a strong inclination to “side with the under dog.”
EDWIN BJÖRKMAN.
LIST OF PLAYS BY GEORGE BRONSON-HOWARD
THE ONLY LAW (with Wilson Mizner), 1909;
SPRING TIME (with Booth Tarkington and Harry Leon (Wilson)), 1910;
SNOBS, 1911;
AN ENEMY TO SOCIETY (with Wilson Mizner), 1911;
RHETT MARYL, 1912;
THE REEF (with David Belasco), 1912;
THE RED LIGHT OF MARS, 1913.
THE RED LIGHT OF MARS
OR
A DAY IN THE LIFE OF THE DEVIL
A PHILOSOPHICAL COMEDY
PERSONS
(in order of appearance)
THOMAS VANILLITY, B. Sc., LL.D., M.A. (_Oxon_)
THE HON. HIPPOLYTE CRITTY, _Judge of Special Sessions_
JOHN MAGNUS _Of Magnus & Co., Bankers_
WILLIAM TROMPER _Manager Magnus Steel Works_
MRS. HORACE HENRY FELIX
FANNY FELIX _Her daughter_
A VALET
H. ADDINGTON AGNUS, M.D., Ph.D., D.Sc.
NOEL ONFROY, R.A. _Chevalier Légion d’honneur_
THE LIGHT
TOPLISS _A servant_
DOLL BLONDIN _A show-girl_
SCHWARTZENHOPFEL _An anarchist_
ST. ELMO PEATTIE _Sheriff_
A DETECTIVE LIEUTENANT
TWO DETECTIVES
A CHAUFFEUR
THE RED LIGHT OF MARS
THE FIRST ACT
_The study and laboratory of Doctor Addington Agnus, Rothlyn, Long
Island._
_Entrances: Folding-doors to laboratory; door to garden; spiral
stairway; door to hallway._
_A long, low white room: white-panelled, white book-shelves, furniture,
etc.; upholstered in light yellow and light blue chintz._
_Garden seen through two windows on either side of upper door.
Folding-doors to laboratory closed._
_A sunny day in early winter: late morning. The sun is almost blinding
on the white room and the highly polished brasses._
_A bright wood-fire burns._
_As the curtain rises: a knocking on the garden door, which continues.
The knob rattles. The door gives way, almost precipitating Thomas
Vanillity on his face._
_Vanillity is a college professor, lean, spare, ascetic-looking; wears
a dark gray English walking suit; tailed coat; derby hat. Has typical
sad Englishman’s moustache, a “drooper”; closely shaven lantern jaws.
Carries neatly folded umbrella._
VANILLITY (_evidently astounded at unlocked door_)
Well: upon my word—upon my word! (_Picks up hat, umbrella, etc., which
have fallen, and straightens himself_) I wonder if he’s in? (_A slight
explosion from laboratory; he drops articles again_) Yes, he’s in!
(_Picks up articles a second time; straightens tie, etc., in glass;
twirls moustache; then goes to fire; stretches out hands_) A-a-ah!
[_A second knocking on garden door._
VANILLITY (_going to folding-doors and calling into laboratory_) Oh,
Addington, Addington, my boy! (_A second explosion from laboratory.
Vanillity goes to door, admitting Judge Hippolyte Critty: grossly but
respectably fat, with an unctuous smile and a walrus-tusk moustache_)
JUDGE CRITTY (_smiling genially_)
Ah! Professor! Professor! Come to claim all the credit of your pupil’s
great discovery? (_Waves hand toward laboratory_)
VANILLITY (_with painful humility_)
I did nothing, Judge, nothing. A man like Dr. Agnus would succeed
without my teaching or anyone’s. (_Shows by his attitude some servility
to the Judge_)
JUDGE CRITTY (_warming hands at fire_)
Well, he _thinks_ you’re responsible. “If it wasn’t for Professor
Vanillity,” he keeps saying—
VANILLITY
I never knew so painfully modest a boy—
JUDGE CRITTY (_they are both at fire_)
Boy—you’ve hit it—boy! The great scientist (_bows to laboratory
doors_) retains all his boyish shyness and lack of confidence. He even
(_preening himself_) gives _me_ credit for part of his success. Because
once I said the time was coming when science would keep us alive
forever. _He_ says _that_ put him on the track.
VANILLITY (_with melancholy satisfaction, looking toward laboratory_)
Immortality! No more building up just for Time to tear down!
JUDGE CRITTY (_in a smoking-room manner, ribald_)
And making us independent of _women_!
VANILLITY (_shocked_)
My _dear_ Judge!
JUDGE CRITTY
Of _good_ women, I mean. They are the only dangerous kind. We learned
how to handle the bad ones a few thousand years ago!
VANILLITY
My _dear_ Judge!
JUDGE CRITTY (_going back to the days of boyish confidences_) Tommy:
it’s my profession to be a hypocrite. That’s why I enjoy talking
to you. Being absolutely dependent on me, you can’t give me away.
(_Laughs foxily_) If I didn’t have you, I’d become a Catholic. I
simply can’t keep all my cleverness to myself. That’s why most people
enjoy confession. And so I say again: the _good_ women are the only
_dangerous_ kind! (_Goes to cellarette_) Have a drink! There! (_Pours_)
VANILLITY
My _dear_ Lytey—
JUDGE CRITTY
Nonsense, down with it! I _need_ you today, and when you’re dead sober,
you’ve got a _conscience_. (_Drinking with him_) Have a cigar! Take it!
(_Lights cigars for Vanillity and himself_)
[_Vanillity’s face brightens as drink and cigar affect him._
JUDGE CRITTY
Yes, sir! The only _dangerous_ kind! That’s why I’m sorry for _that_
poor fellow! (_Nods toward laboratory_)
VANILLITY
Ssh! Ssh!
JUDGE CRITTY
Pooh! He doesn’t know anybody’s on earth when he’s working—poor devil!
VANILLITY
Poor devil? Poor fellow? Who just won the Nobel prize—the most
discussed scientist in the world?
JUDGE CRITTY
And a year from now forgotten!
VANILLITY
Absurd! (_Seeing the Judge’s solemn look_) Why?
JUDGE CRITTY
In love!
VANILLITY
With a very sweet girl—a very ambitious girl!
JUDGE CRITTY
Ambitious for _herself_—yes.
VANILLITY
But—
JUDGE CRITTY (_looks at watch_)
She’ll be here any minute now: was to meet me here quarter to. I came
before time to find you; knew you’d be the first to congratulate him!
Another drink?
VANILLITY
My _dear_ Lytey—
[_Judge Critty forces it on him; Vanillity’s smile becomes a beam._
JUDGE CRITTY
She’s bringing John Magnus and William Tromper with her.
VANILLITY (_dazed_)
John Magnus!
JUDGE CRITTY
And William Tromper!
VANILLITY (_dazed_)
John Magnus!!
JUDGE CRITTY
And William Tromper’s the general manager of the Magnus Steel Works!
He’s going to offer our friend (_waving toward laboratory_) one hundred
thousand dollars a year! Chief chemist of the works!
VANILLITY
One hundred thousand dollars a year? My God!! (_A silence; changed
tone; nods toward laboratory_) But _he_ won’t take it!
JUDGE CRITTY
He _will_ take it. That’s your job!
VANILLITY (_starts_)
Mine?
JUDGE CRITTY
And mine. To persuade him!
VANILLITY (_dazed_)
Fanny wants him to?
JUDGE CRITTY
Yes! And so do you.
VANILLITY
I? Never! (_Springs to his feet_)
JUDGE CRITTY
Have another drink!
VANILLITY
My _dear_ Lytey—
JUDGE CRITTY
Take it! (_Having poured it, he forces it on Vanillity again_) And so
do you! (_With emphasis_)
VANILLITY
It’s wicked! It’s sinful!
JUDGE CRITTY
Have—
VANILLITY
No; I won’t have another drink! I know you can smother every good
feeling in me with a little liquor—
JUDGE CRITTY
Believe me: not a _little_!
VANILLITY
But this I won’t do; I will not; I won’t! To stop a man on the trail of
immortality? No! No! No!
JUDGE CRITTY
I said good women were the only dangerous kind, didn’t I?
VANILLITY
_She_ wants it? Why?
JUDGE CRITTY
For the reason that nine hundred and ninety-nine Americans do anything
“to be as _good_ as _anybody_.” One hundred thousand dollars a year is
the income on two million. It will enable her to gratify every social
ambition. She’s ambitious: for _herself_—I said _that_, too.
[_Vanillity falls into a stupefied rage; his hand sneaks toward
decanter; a horn is heard off stage._
JUDGE CRITTY (_at window_)
Here they are! (_Swiftly_) Now, mind! (_Fiercely_) D’you understand?
VANILLITY
I will _not_!
JUDGE CRITTY
You _will_! And I’ll tell you why. Magnus put me where I am, and he’ll
put me on the Supreme Bench the first vacancy. Then I’ll put _you_ into
the first College Presidency! _Now_, d’you understand?
[_A knock at the door._
VANILLITY
Man, it’s awful. It’s _sacrilege_.
JUDGE CRITTY
It’s _life_. Unfortunately. But life just the same. We didn’t make
life. But we have to _live_ it. Here! Have another drink. (_Pours it_)
[_A second knock is heard; Vanillity hesitates over the drink._
JUDGE CRITTY (_impatiently whispering_)
Come on—come on!
[_Vanillity gulps it and sits disconsolate. Judge Critty opens the
door for Fanny Felix, her mother, Mrs. Felix, John Magnus, and William
Tromper. Fanny is, par excellence, the well-bred, cold, detached,
sure-of-herself American girl of the upper class, very lace-y and
lingerie-y. Mrs. Felix looks almost as juvenile; she has less dignity;
her coat-collar and tie might be a man’s; her smart hat is feminine
enough, and so are her small, high-heeled shoes. John Magnus has an
air and an eyeglass; wears a morning coat, vest, and trousers of light
gray, and a gray top-hat to match; needs only a pair of binoculars
slung over his shoulder to be attired for the races. William Tromper
is the vulgar, pig-headed, ignorant, self-made American business man.
His small pig-like eyes show sullen hatred, an animal’s cunning,
and a savage’s determination. He is continually ready to assert
authority over supposed inferiors and equality with superiors: the
breed that has made America infamous. He is dressed in that stiff
supposed-to-be-correct fashion that marks such people: a suit of
expensive but ugly, hard-faced cloth, pressed into knife-like creases
about the lapels and trousers; a shining white waistcoat, starched and
creased; a hard-boiled shirt; a mathematically perfect rhomboid of a
sausage-like necktie; shining, creaky laced shoes of patent leather,
etc. When the party enters, and during the first few words of the
following conversation, Magnus’s valet takes their heavy motoring
coats._
MAGNUS
Here before us, Judge? (_Shakes hands_)
MRS. FELIX (_to Vanillity, shaking hands_)
The chauffeur let me drive! Glorious!
FANNY (_ditto_)
Yes, your hands won’t be fit to be seen for a week.
JUDGE CRITTY (_speaking over his shoulder while shaking hands with the
women_) I don’t think Professor Vanillity ever had the pleasure of
meeting you, Mr. Magnus.
MAGNUS (_reprovingly_)
_I_ have not had that _honor_. (_Shakes hands_) Professor—Mr. Tromper—
TROMPER (_in his best middle-class behavior_)
Pleased to meet you, Professor. Pleased to see you again, Judge.
JUDGE CRITTY (_urbanely_)
Just had a little talk with my old friend here; he shares our opinion,
Mr. Magnus.
MAGNUS
I do not know that I hold any opinion on the subject, Judge Critty. I
came along simply to please the young lady.
VANILLITY (_with a ray of hope and in a tone slightly thickened by
drink_) Then, Mr. Magnus—you don’t wholly believe in the sacrifice of a
career for money? (_Magnus frowns and looks crushingly at Judge Critty_)
JUDGE CRITTY
The Professor is inquiring as to your views, Mr. Magnus. (_Looking hard
at Vanillity_) His _own_ are _fixed_—
TROMPER
Sacrifice, did I hear you say, Professor? A young fellow gets an offer
of a fortune a year and you talk about sacrifice. He hasn’t had any
career _yet_.
VANILLITY (_with spirit_)
The Nobel prize.
TROMPER (_sneers_)
Forty thousand dollars for—how many years’study and work—
FANNY
Dr. Agnus is thirty-two—
TROMPER
Say twenty-five years’schooling and work to make forty thousand
dollars—that ain’t much of a career? I made that much long before his
age.
MAGNUS
The case is different here. Yours can be no criterion. You married
probably on less than Dr. Agnus’s schoolboy allowance—
TROMPER
Grew up together, we did. She worked and I worked. To a man that wants
comforts, it’s cheaper, marrying.
MAGNUS (_smiling_)
Showing just how far apart the cases are. The young lady here (_nods
toward Fanny_) does not make marriage cheaper.
FANNY (_correctly_)
Really, Mr. Magnus—
MAGNUS
I withdraw, with apologies.
FANNY
But don’t you _want_ Addington to do this?
MAGNUS
I haven’t been conscious of wanting _anything_ these many years, Fanny.
MRS. FELIX (_smiling_)
You don’t need to be, John. You lift your eyebrows and people hustle.
You get what you want before you’re conscious of wanting it. But you
_do_ want Dr. Agnus to take his offer (_points to Tromper_), don’t you?
MAGNUS
Do I, Tromper?
TROMPER
Well, sir—
MRS. FELIX
He means, shall he tell the truth?
MAGNUS
The lady wishes you to tell the truth, Tromper.
TROMPER
Well, sir—
MRS. FELIX
Take your time. A business man can’t speak the truth so quickly. That
takes practice.
TROMPER (_to Magnus_)
Well, sir, if what you said about the young doctor is true—
FANNY (_triumphantly_)
And it _is_ true. I told him, myself.
TROMPER
That one chemical discovery of his alone will save the mills—I wouldn’t
undertake to say how much—that is, if he can do it!
FANNY
He can!
MAGNUS
Well?
FANNY
Well? (_Her eyes turn toward the laboratory_)
MAGNUS
He is in apparently. (_To the others_) We are all agreed upon the
matter?
JUDGE CRITTY (_hastily_)
I can answer for Professor Vanillity and myself.
FANNY
And I for mother!
MRS. FELIX
I think it is a shame, Fanny.
MAGNUS
Apparently Tromper answers for me.
JUDGE CRITTY
I think we can convince the young man where his duty lies—
MRS. FELIX
I wish I could convince the lot of you where _your_ duty lies! Can’t
you see that all this comes from not giving women the vote long ago?
FANNY
Mother, dear!—exercise your monomania at any other time than this!
MAGNUS (_to Mrs. Felix, amused_)
Really?
MRS. FELIX
Really! When a woman is allowed to figure out her duty to the nation,
she’ll want her husband to give _it_ his best, instead of giving his
best to _her_.
FANNY
What nonsense, mother! A man’s first duty is to his home—
MRS. FELIX
Give them the vote, and they’ll sacrifice the home to make the nation.
MAGNUS (_seated, crossing legs_)
Ladies, proceed! This is strangely interesting to me.
MRS. FELIX
It will be more than interesting to you when we win, John Magnus. Why
do you control the money-market of America? Because women, having no
interest in business, urge their men to make as much money as they can.
They can do this only by taking advantage of other people’s weakness;
not realizing that, if they do this to weaker people, stronger men will
do it to them. And so it’s dog eat dog, and as you’re the biggest one
in the kennel you eat them all—
FANNY
Mother! Are you losing _all_ your manners?
MAGNUS
Thanks for making me a _big_ dog anyhow, Loo—But how would women voting
change all this?
FANNY
Oh, mother!—please!
MRS. FELIX
Why, as soon as women realize that modern laws of business, applied to
the home, would make every man a thief and every woman a prostitute,
they’ll stop urging their husbands to make more than the next man—
MAGNUS
Loo! I hereby subscribe any reasonable sum you say to the cause of
suffrage—thereby planning my own downfall!—
MRS. FELIX
Or showing your contempt!—Well! you’re amusing anyhow, John Magnus. If
somebody could make you take things seriously, you’d be as great a man
as your subsidized newspapers _say_ you are—
JUDGE CRITTY
Really, my dear Mrs. Felix;—even the _hysterical_ newspapers admit Mr.
Magnus is a great man!
MAGNUS
My dear press-agent—we are in the presence of my friends, not of the
public. You may consider yourself off duty.
MRS. FELIX
No man can be selfish and great. Mr. Magnus only amuses himself by
playing a game with the public. But how he can be amused by winning
games from his inferiors, I don’t know. That’s the kink in his
greatness.
MAGNUS
I have just begun to realize their inferiority, Loo. That’s why the
game begins to bore me—
MRS. FELIX
Start teaching them instead of beating them, then.
MAGNUS
Anything to get back my interest in life! How shall I begin?
MRS. FELIX
By endowing that brilliant boy in there to carry on his search for
immortality—give him some of your useless millions.
FANNY
Mother! He isn’t a beggar. He can give himself and me everything we
need by work.
MRS. FELIX
Yes, but can he give the _world_ everything—
TROMPER
He can give the world more iron rails for railroads; more armor-plate
for battleships—
MRS. FELIX
More money for Magnus, you mean. Railroads and battleships never made
anybody wiser or happier—
VANILLITY
Oh, really, Mrs. Felix—travel—
MRS. FELIX
Whisking past interesting places at a mile a minute isn’t travelling.
That’s moving pictures for the rich. (_To Magnus_) John, with your
money translated into real power—not petty authority—you’ll go down to
history as big a man as the boy in there—your name linked with his—
JUDGE CRITTY
Pardon me, Mrs. Felix; _his_ name linked with Mr. Magnus.
MRS. FELIX
No. The boy is a fool at everything except his work. But his wisdom in
that is greater than all of yours, John Magnus.
[_Judge Critty lifts his hands, about to protest._
MAGNUS
If he can make men immortal, certainly—
[_Judge Critty subsides._
MRS. FELIX
Well, at twenty-nine he’s made animals’ hearts and lungs immortal. In
fifty years, endowed with millions—
[_Magnus nods._
MRS. FELIX
You _do_ see, don’t you? Now, will you bury that talent in a vulgar
manufactory—
TROMPER (_offended_)
Vulgar! Why, some of our men come to work in their own automobiles.
MRS. FELIX
Prosaic manufactory, then. (_To Magnus_) Remember, when you bury him,
you bury your own chance to be a great man! Whoever heard of a mere
money-maker in history unless as the patron of artists, writers, or
scientists?
MAGNUS
Loo, I’ve a good mind to _make_ you marry me! I believe you’d make life
interesting again—
MRS. FELIX
You’d have to change a good many of your ways before you can do that.
I admire your brains, but what’s the sense of having them when they
aren’t put to any good use? Will you endow the boy? (_Nods toward
laboratory_)
MAGNUS
Yes.
MRS. FELIX
A few more answers like that, and I’ll say “yes” to you.
MAGNUS
I’ll endow him—to please you. But I demand interest on my investment.
I’ll build the finest workshop a scientist ever had: give him ten,
twenty, a hundred assistants; the most renowned scientists in the
world, no matter what they cost.—He can spend any amount on whatever he
needs in his work. But I’ll have no young society-man business—
[_Fanny starts and her expression grows sullen._
MAGNUS
He’ll stay _here_, on Long Island. And he’ll spend no more on himself
than he needs to live decently. If I sacrifice _millions_, he must
sacrifice _something_—
FANNY
What do you mean by living decently. (_Biting her lips_) The way _you_
live?
MAGNUS
No, that’s living extravagantly. (_Smiling_)
FANNY
Mother, Mr. Magnus has just been joking at your expense.
MRS. FELIX
I see no joke.
FANNY
Addington was giving up his work for my sake—our home’s sake. Mr.
Magnus hasn’t changed that any.
MRS. FELIX
Addington has only a few thousand a year income. Handicapped that
way, he might never fully succeed in his work. Mr. Magnus makes it
impossible for him to fail.
FANNY
And meanwhile live in this poky seacoast village; ten miles from a
railroad; not half a dozen nice families near us—
MAGNUS
A motor will get you to New York after dinner, in time for the theatre,
the opera, or a dance—
MRS. FELIX
Of course, you’d keep a small flat in New York.
MAGNUS
Oh, anything reasonable—say, fifteen thousand a year for personal
expenses—
FANNY (_aghast_)
Fifteen thousand! (_Reproachfully to Mrs. Felix_) You see now, mother!
MRS. FELIX
See what?
FANNY (_exasperated_)
Why, my gowns, my little expenses come to twenty-five hundred, and I
don’t have half enough—not a quarter enough. I _won’t_—I’ll live in the
right places and know the right people and do the right things—or I
won’t marry—
MRS. FELIX
Silly places—ignorant people—selfish things—
FANNY
Mr. Magnus, it wasn’t very nice of you!
MAGNUS (_to Mrs. Felix_)
People would much rather do what they like than what _we_ like—
MRS. FELIX
They must be taught to like what’s best for the world. Fanny—do you
mean you’ll deliberately spoil Addington’s career? Refuse this great
chance?
TROMPER
Business is business, Mrs. Felix. Your daughter would make a good
business woman.
MRS. FELIX (_to Fanny_)
I hope that last remark shows you how petty your conduct is.
FANNY
Live on Long Island out of the season? Have a poky flat in town and one
servant? Never entertain? Never meet worth-while people? Be out of it
altogether? I’m better off unmarried!
MRS. FELIX (_alarmed_)
Don’t say that!
VANILLITY
You have the man you love, Miss Felix.
FANNY
If the man I love doesn’t love me well enough to make some sacrifices
for my sake—
VANILLITY
But the same applies to you—
FANNY
Women sacrifice enough when they surrender their liberty—when they take
on the duties of marriage—
MRS. FELIX
But you said you didn’t intend to have more than one child, anyhow—
FANNY (_shocked_)
Mother!
MRS. FELIX (_to Tromper_)
Will you pardon us just a moment, Mr. Tromper? (_Shows him into the
hallway and closes the door_) You others don’t matter, knowing us as
well as you do. Now, Fanny, what do you mean?
FANNY
The duties of a wife—
MRS. FELIX
Don’t hide behind phrases.
FANNY
If you don’t know, mother, it’s too late for you to learn.
MRS. FELIX
Well, I’ll tell you what _my_ duties as a wife were: spending more
than my husband could get decently; making him overwork to pay
my extravagances; keeping him until four in the morning at silly
affairs, knowing he must work while I slept it off; flirting with
every idle attractive man I met, letting him think I was a fragile
flower plucked by a hand of a savage who could not appreciate my fairy
fragrance! Those—and neglecting my one child until she grew up to be
an encyclopædia of all a woman should _not_ be—those were _my_ wifely
duties!
FANNY
Mother! You are shocking everybody!
MAGNUS
Not me, Loo!
MRS. FELIX
If I had brought you up properly instead of leaving you to snobbish
servants and fashionable incubators, you might be some man’s blessing
instead of curse! Plain words, Fanny! May they start you thinking and
keep you from ruining the mind and killing the body of some good man
like your father, who died a bankrupt, and—though our fashionable
physician friends made it look otherwise—a suicide! (_To the
others_)—All of you knew this?
MAGNUS
Yes—
[_Vanillity bows his head._
JUDGE CRITTY (_clearing his throat_)
Why—
FANNY (_tears in her voice_)
Mother, you are brutal! Brutal! Brutal!
MRS. FELIX
No. _You_ are _going_ to be.
FANNY
I believe you hate me.
MRS. FELIX
I hate myself when I see what I was yesterday in you today. I hate
myself for letting that yesterday live in you instead of killing it
when you were a child. I only saw myself as I was just before your
father decided to finish things. Knowing he would lose me anyhow, he
told me how fatal his love for me had been. “A beautiful poisonous
orchid,” he called me—(_breaks down_) Fanny, Fanny, Fanny!
FANNY (_coldly_)
Mother, don’t make a scene!
MRS. FELIX (_drying her eyes_)
Useless—useless—
MAGNUS (_rising_)
It was all my fault. I should never have made the offer—
MRS. FELIX
It was the first _real_ thing you ever did.
MAGNUS
I mean the first offer—the _selfish_ one—the _burying_ one—
MRS. FELIX
Cancel it!
MAGNUS
It is cancelled!
FANNY (_almost murderously_)
Mother, when we get home, I will pack and go to Aunt Clara’s. In the
future please don’t concern yourself about me any more than about any
other young woman of your acquaintance.—Shall we go?
MRS. FELIX
But the boy in there—
FANNY
No need to disturb him. He is busy, and no doubt happy—I will break the
bad news in a letter.
MRS. FELIX
You break the engagement?
FANNY
Oh, no, indeed! He’ll soon find some other steel manufacturer or
somebody of the sort to offer him just as much.
MAGNUS (_quieting Mrs. Felix’s frantic interrogation_)
I see—the bad news is breaking my word?
[_Fanny nods._
MAGNUS
You told him, and he accepted?
FANNY
I talked to him for an hour over the telephone this morning—
MRS. FELIX
He accepted—so easily—
FANNY
Easily!—I told him he must either accept or lose me—and rang off. Two
minutes later he was frantically accepting—
MAGNUS
You should have told us that and saved argument.
FANNY
I wanted you—all of you—to _make_ argument—good argument—so that he
would see it was for the best and not sulk and grieve afterwards.
(_Angrily_) Mother promised she would not interfere.
MRS. FELIX
It was thinking of poor Harry did it.
FANNY
Please do not refer to father again—now that you’ve shattered all my
ideals about him—
MRS. FELIX
Ideals! Fanny, Fanny!
MAGNUS (_to Mrs. Felix_)
If the boy accepted so readily, I think perhaps, Loo, it would be an
injustice to cancel that first offer—
FANNY (_earnestly_)
Mr. Magnus—please—don’t—
MAGNUS
I suppose Tromper—my good faithful beef-eating Tromper—will spread the
report that I’m losing my mind if I do—
MRS. FELIX
Great men shouldn’t care, John. The mob _always_ think greatness is
madness.
FANNY (_impatiently_)
Mother—
MRS. FELIX
I only wish there was some one to save the poor boy from you, Fanny—I
do, indeed!
[_A ring is heard at the door and Vanillity goes to open it. Noel
Onfroy enters. He has pointed beard, twirling moustache, pointed
hands, hair cut en brosse; wears black velvet jacket, rich red tie,
riding trouserss with white Bedford cords, black patent-leather boots;
bare-headed; he is smoking a pipe._
MAGNUS
I intended running in on you in a moment, my boy—
ONFROY (_nodding to all_)
Where is the Chub? (_Nods toward laboratory_) Elixir-of-lifing? (_With
real pleasure_) How are you, Charlotte Corday? (_Shakes Mrs. Felix’s
hand_) Where do you buy those pink cheeks? I couldn’t paint better ones
myself.
MRS. FELIX
These aren’t painted—they’re anger.
ONFROY
With Clarissa Henbane, as usual?
FANNY
Please don’t take liberties, Mr. Onfroy.
ONFROY
When I take liberties with you, Lydia Languish, I condescend.
(_Pointedly turning his back_) Anger?
MAGNUS (_chuckling_)
And women love him for it; they love him, the coxcomb! They used to
pay him five thousand dollars, less for their portraits than for the
slangings he gave them—(_this while Mrs. Felix explains to Onfroy in
undertone_)
FANNY (_pale with rage_)
Mr. Magnus, please don’t include me in your generalities—I am not like
other girls—
[_Mrs. Felix finishes explaining._
ONFROY (_turning_)
That one remark proves you are, dear Lady Disdain. It is one of the
ninety-and-nine banalities that make up what the average young woman
calls her opinions. Another is the following remark addressed to men
who are sane about women: “Ah, wait until you meet the right one!”
MAGNUS (_still chuckling_)
They love it—love it! Fanny pretends not to; but that’s because she
knows he’s married and she can’t get him. If the boy in there treated
you as this coxcomb does my daughter, you wouldn’t mind living on
_nothing_ a year in the Sahara Desert.
FANNY
Mr. Magnus—
MAGNUS
Oh, I know—Olive was all you are, Fanny, and more. Then along comes
the coxcomb. In three weeks she’s telling me he says he can’t afford
to marry her—and won’t I please settle a dowry on them so that he can
give up portrait painting where all the women are wild about him—marry
her—and settle down to art for art’s sake.
ONFROY
I’ll say this for you, Ivan the Terrible: you were game; took your
medicine standing up; came across with the dowry like a little man,
thereby earning the thanks of every true lover of art. No more
pot-boilers, no more portraits, no more demnition fool chromos for the
demnition fool public! You’ve got yourself into history, Kubla Khan.
You will live as my patron.
MAGNUS
The way we poor financiers are patronized! It’s the second time I’ve
been told that this morning—
ONFROY (_to Mrs. Felix_)
You’ve been praising me, Joan of Arc?
MRS. FELIX
The thought of you hasn’t crossed my mind in weeks, Sir Egotist.
ONFROY
Oh, the Chub? (_Glancing at laboratory_) Right, too! (_To Magnus_)
Endow him, Governor. The other thing is damnable—downright damnable.
I’ll say this—and me saying it means a lot—I’m nobody compared to
him. (_Hastily_) Not personally! I should have said: “Art’s nothing
to his sort of science” (_To Fanny_) One little bit of pink and white
prettiness stopping the greatest thing science ever tackled!
FANNY (_goes to the Judge, stopping her ears while Onfroy talks;
then tearfully_) Judge Critty, you’re the only one with the least
chivalry. Why should I be abused so? Because I want my husband to have
some pleasure in life? Instead of frowsing in smelly chemicals all
day—risking his life—
VANILLITY
Oh, no, my dear Miss Felix! Oh, no! (_Eagerly_) No risk!—Not the
slightest! It’s as peaceful, as harmless as—as—
[_A succession of sharp reports like pistol-shots ring out. The
folding-doors are thrown back and H. Addington Agnus stumbles in
backward and sits down, staring blankly, seeing nothing. Smoke arises
from the laboratory. As it clears away, Agnus rushes back again,
examines something through a microscope._
FANNY (_sharply_)
Addington, stop making yourself ridiculous. (_She goes into the
laboratory and shakes him_)
AGNUS (_comes to, as one who has been in a trance_)
My own—my darling! (_Embraces her_)
FANNY (_wriggling_)
Addington! There are peo—(_muffled by kiss_)—ple here, I tell
you—(_Releases herself_)
AGNUS (_not seeing anyone else, abstractedly_)
Just had a most successful discovery—chemical—out of my line,
rather—but—(_Seizes and kisses her again_)
FANNY
Addington! Don’t you see there are visitors?
[_Agnus turns and almost collapses; then he turns away from the rest
again._
FANNY (_taking hold of him_)
Mr. Magnus—
AGNUS
Oh, Lord!
FANNY (_pulls him out, protesting_)
Mr. Magnus—and—
ONFROY
Hello, Chub! How’s the Chub? Celebrated Chub, eh?
[_Agnus has, in his embarrassment, been going from one to another,
shaking hands._
JUDGE CRITTY } Your success warms me like
} old wine, my boy.
}
VANILLITY } My dear pupil; I have an
} (_almost excuse for having lived.
} simultaneously_)
MAGNUS } The heartiest congratulations.
}
MRS. FELIX } Addington—you’re a great
} man.
[_Now that he is nearer, one perceives that Agnus is a youthful,
enthusiastic, absent-minded genius, with a strong face save for his
unsophisticated juvenile glance. This is now hidden, for he wears
heavy tortoise-shell spectacles; also white trousers and tunic,
heavily braided at collar and sleeves and along trousers legs—an old
army uniform in fact, with insignia stripped off, though the buttoned
shoulder-straps remain._
MAGNUS
May I re-admit Mr. Tromper, Loo? (_He opens the hallway door_) Tromper!
[_Tromper enters just as Agnus has shaken the last hand._
FANNY (_hastening over_)
Addington—the man who made the offer—Mr. Tromper—
TROMPER
Pleasedtermeetcher—
[_Agnus shakes hands with Tromper, muttering and looking puzzled._
FANNY
You know, on the telephone this morning—
AGNUS (_turning away: utterly forgetting Tromper_)
Fanny, you didn’t mean that, did you? Of course you didn’t—I know you
didn’t! Why—after me winning the prize—
TROMPER (_walking around and facing him again_)
That’s why we make the offer, Doctor—
FANNY (_dangerously_)
You’re going back on your word, Addington?
AGNUS (_turning his back, forgetting Tromper again_)
Fanny, I forgot all about it. I began experimenting and—
FANNY
Forgot your word of honor—for smelly chemicals—
AGNUS
Fanny!
TROMPER (_again, to the amusement of the others, walking around to face
him_) We wouldn’t take up _all_ your time, you know, doctor.—After
hours you could go on with your work—
ONFROY
Correspondence-course immortality—a few hours every night will open
every door for you—even immortality—
MRS. FELIX
Don’t accept, Addington—
ONFROY
By no means, Chub—_Never!_
JUDGE CRITTY (_clearing throat_)
You have said you valued my opinion, my dear lad: you have called me a
second father—
ONFROY
And Little Red Riding Hood called the wolf grandmother, too. (_To
Agnus_) Decline it!
FANNY
Good day to you, Addington! (_She is at the garden door; Agnus rushes
over to her; she throws off his hand_) You’ve broken your word.
Good-bye!
AGNUS
Good-bye?
[_The rest remain farther down the stage, watching the couple with
curiosity._
FANNY
I’ll _send_ your ring and your letters—
[_The following colloquy is held in half-whispers to give impression
that the others do not hear it._
AGNUS
But, Fanny—
FANNY
I told you, this was your chance. I can’t wait to marry until I’m gray.
AGNUS (_excitedly_)
But you love me?
[_Fanny shrugs her shoulders._
AGNUS (_wildly_)
You’re tired of me?
FANNY
No, of waiting.
AGNUS (_seizing her wrists_)
You don’t care for anybody else?
[_Fanny turns away._
AGNUS (_madly_)
Say you don’t! Say you don’t!
FANNY (_impatiently_)
No! But I’ll try to—hereafter. Let me go. You’re making a _scene_!
(_Wrenches herself away and goes out; he follows_)
ONFROY (_viciously_)
He needs a guardian. (_Points to laboratory_) He leaves his wits in
there: hat-checks his brains.
MRS. FELIX
But he hat-checks _more_ brains than all of us carry around everywhere.
ONFROY
It’s damnable! (_At the window_) Here he comes back—you win. It’s
written all over his face.
AGNUS (_enters again_)
She’s given me time to think it over. (_To Onfroy_) She’s gone on to
see Olive.
ONFROY (_to Magnus_)
Yes, since you long-distanced, Olive’s worried everybody in the house
nearly to death for fear her luncheon wouldn’t be grand enough for you
New Yorkers. I told her: “Olive, when an artist entertains business
men, he condescends—”
MAGNUS
A favorite word of coxcombs. (_He goes toward door_) Tromper included?
ONFROY (_making a face_)
Oh, I suppose so.
MAGNUS
Tromper!
TROMPER (_swelling with righteous wrath and the desire to say “I’m as
good as you are” but afraid to insult Magnus’s son-in-law_) I’ll eat at
the Club here—thank you. (_Stalks forward in dignity_)
MAGNUS
Tromper! (_Tromper is immediately extinguished_) Come along!
[_They go out._
ONFROY (_to Judge Critty_)
Olive’s expecting you, too. Don’t mind what I said. Go ahead. Poo-bah!
JUDGE CRITTY
I take you with the usual salt, Onfroy. (_Recovers his dignity by
having thus made light of Onfroy_) Professor!
VANILLITY (_to Agnus_)
My dear lad—I—
JUDGE CRITTY
Tom!
[_Vanillity, feeling very wretched, shakes Agnus’s hand. As the Judge’s
back is turned, he shakes his head vigorously. They go out._
FANNY (_outside_)
Mother, are you coming!
MRS. FELIX (_to Onfroy, hurriedly_)
She’ll come back if I stay. Argue the boy out of it—do. Addington,
listen to Noel. (_She goes_)
ONFROY (_alone with Agnus_)
Now, you bally ass; you Simon Simple; you Babe-in-the-Wood; you Hans
Clodhopper; you Little Claus; you—you everything that is asinine—listen
to me; if you accept, I’ll never speak to you again!
AGNUS
And—if I don’t—_she won’t!_
ONFROY
More than that, you Lilliputian brain-storm, I’ll publish your infamy
in every medical and scientific journal—in every newspaper and
magazine, too, not controlled by this money-mad crew. You!—the biggest
man in science—to make a nigger-slave of yourself for jews-harps and
frill-fralls! Go part your hair in the middle and comb it over your
forehead! You’ve got a forehead under false pretences. Your hair ought
to grow into your eyes. Your eyes should close together like a smelt’s.
You ought to have a chin running due south. Your head ought to look
like a chipmunk’s or like a Bartlett pear.—Bah!
AGNUS
Life’s nothing without her?
ONFROY
You read that in a book. You won’t be sure you know her when the
fashions in women’s clothes change. You’re mad with the madness of a
man who has never lived with women before.
AGNUS
I thank Heaven—in that way—I’m worthy of her!
ONFROY
Oh, you fish! You eel! Worthy of her? She isn’t worthy to carry your
coat! You’re Addington Agnus, the man who won the Nobel prize—try to
remember the name—_Addington Agnus_.
AGNUS
You’ve never loved, Noel—
ONFROY
A dozen times. And if Olive made me dissatisfied tomorrow, I might love
a dozen times more before I got satisfied again. Marriage made me.
It’ll ruin you. Before I married, I was a pot-boiling portrait-painter.
Now I’m the great Noel Onfroy, the American Velasquez. Love should
serve genius. It’s more important for me to paint good pictures than to
be foolish for six months or a year with some woman who doesn’t know a
Michael Angelo from a Christy chromo—or who thinks Gibson is a great
artist. Now, Fanny doesn’t know the difference between your work and
that of some tame rabbit in a hutch discovering cheaper ways of tanning
leather and dyeing cheese-cloth—
AGNUS
Olive didn’t know anything about art when you met her.
ONFROY
No, but I soon made her learn. I told her if she didn’t I wouldn’t
marry her. And I didn’t, either, until she spent a year in one of the
Julian studios learning how little she was and how big art was.—You
ought to send Fanny to a School of Science before you marry her—
AGNUS (_miserably_)
She’d laugh at me if I _suggested_ it.
ONFROY (_angrily_)
Vain, sickening puss-in-boots!
AGNUS (_angrily_)
Noel, you’re talking of the woman I love—
[_Outside a figure is seen at that moment darting through the bushes,
trying to hide, and finally crouching down._
ONFROY
Of the minx you love; the caterwauling, manicured, massaged,
Paris-gowned cocodette you love—
AGNUS (_furious_)
Cocodette?
ONFROY
A cocotte who keeps chemically pure because she knows she’ll fetch a
higher price in the marriage market—a married kept-up lady—
[_Agnus jumps up as if to strike him._
ONFROY (_sombrely_)
Don’t do it. I could break you in two.
AGNUS (_low_)
That finishes us—our friendship—
ONFROY (_with real feeling_)
I’m sorry—I spoke for your good: to bring you to your senses, Chub—
[_Agnus turns away._
ONFROY
All right.—Only—you won’t accept that offer, will you?
AGNUS
I intend to marry the woman I love. The woman whose shoestrings you
aren’t fit to—
ONFROY
Quoting Chambers—McCutcheon novels again—novels written for
fudge-munching slatternly wives to read on their way to an equally
trashy matinée—their house-work undone—Fanny Felixes without money—
AGNUS (_turning wildly_)
The Devil give me strength to thrash you within an inch of your life!
[_Onfroy catches hold of his hands._
AGNUS (_helpless_)
The Devil give me strength—
[_The hitherto crouching figure shoots up outside and a face becomes
visible at the window. Neither one of the men inside sees it._
ONFROY
You fool! You fool! (_Throws Agnus from him and goes out slamming the
door behind him_)
[_The face at the window turns to see Onfroy go hurriedly by. Agnus,
rushing after him, throws open the door, thus disclosing a man in the
garden who is waiting to enter._
MAN
Did I hear my name mentioned? (_Enters. He is as unlike the popular
conceptions of The Devil as possible, being short, squat, respectable,
fat and Teutonic. He is followed by a queer light that darts and
circles the ceiling_) You called me, I think! (_He closes the door_)
AGNUS (_backing_)
What! What!
MAN (_seating himself comfortably_)
You called me—
AGNUS
You? Who are you?—
MAN
My real name is Wisdom. You called me The Devil.
[_The light flashes across his face and circles around him._
AGNUS
I—you—!
THE DEVIL
You said: “The Devil give me strength.”
AGNUS
You—The Devil. (_Suddenly convulsed with laughter, sits down_)
THE DEVIL (_gruffly_)
Oh, I know, I look like the devil, but not like _The Devil_. But this
was the only body handy when I got back from Mars the last time, so I
had to take it—
[_The light darts viciously at him._
THE DEVIL (_points to the light, laughing_)
There’s the real owner of this carcass—a crazy German anarchist.—He was
howling for The Devil just as you were—wanted me to help blow up all
the capitalists—
[_The light attacks him again._
THE DEVIL
Tags after his foolish body, hoping I’ll get tired of it and give it
back, I suppose.—And so I will when I find a better one. It’s no fun
for a fiend of my renowned gentlemanly appearance to be masquerading as
a Dutch comedian. Worse than that—the police are looking for it. That’s
why I was hiding in your garden when I happened to hear you call me.
The Devil, in jail—a fine tale to take back to Mars.
AGNUS (_aghast_)
Man, you should be in some lunatic asylum—
MAN
Don’t call me “man.” That’s a deadly insult. If ever a respectable
Martian was sick of anything, it’s that unreasonable ignorant
ridiculous combination of poll-parrot and monkey—
AGNUS
Poor lunatic! I must humor you, I suppose.—Have you forgotten there
have been _great_ men?
THE DEVIL
Never. I have been all the great men in history. All the great men have
been The Devil: alias Wisdom. By taking possession of men’s bodies I
have tried to set up an ideal to strive for, set the race an example.
And then, when I had to quit and go back to Mars, each time the human’s
little soul came back to its body and, finding itself with too much
power, was responsible for all the inconsistencies, treacheries, and
cruelties that have puzzled psychologists and historians—
AGNUS
You are a plausible lunatic, anyway. Would you mind mentioning who you
were, for instance—
THE DEVIL
Oh, all the first-rate fellows—Confucius, Buddha, Mahomet—St.
Augustine, Martin Luther, Moses—to mention a few—Shakespeare,
Dickens—those were my sentimental days—
AGNUS (_amused_)
Oh! you wrote Shakespeare’s plays, did you?—
THE DEVIL
All the _good_ ones—
AGNUS (_laughing boisterously_)
Well, that’s settled anyway—Bacon didn’t do it, after all—
THE DEVIL
Yes, he did—I was Bacon, too.
AGNUS (_with ironical politeness_)
Been anybody lately?
THE DEVIL
Bernard Shaw was my last appearance. Just before my last trip to Mars.
I see he’s made good use of the plays I wrote for him; produced some
very good imitations; caught my style, so to speak. I was sorry to
leave Shaw. I was having rather better success waking up the world than
usual. But I simply _had_ to go back to Mars—
AGNUS (_with increasing irony_)
Really? Why?
THE DEVIL
It’s my home. When news came there some ten thousand years ago that man
was evolving into a thinking brute, the Martians realized the dawning
intellect would need a guide. I was the most ignorant of all Martians—I
had tried to lead a revolt to make the body independent of the spirit.
So, instead of going on to a higher mental state—my soul transferred
from planet to planet until finally I should reach the Sun, which is
the perfection of the soul—instead of that, I was sentenced to stand
still for ten thousand years; to act as the link between Mars and the
Earth; to make men fit for Mars, d’you understand?
AGNUS (_faltering_)