ACT III

TIME: _Christmas morning._

SCENE: _The Convent chapel, decorated with Christmas greens,

candles, etc. A picture of the Madonna and Child wreathed in green.

On a daïs (back Center), in the_ ABBOT'S _chair, dressed in

white with a wreath on her head, is seated little_ ROSALIA.

_She sings a simple little Christmas hymn. Enter_ PETER,

_with an air of secrecy, sitting down at_ ROSALIA'S _feet._

PETER. Oh, sister, I feel so miserable!

ROSALIA. Why, Peter? I think it is just beautiful!

PETER. Oh, yes, of course it is beautiful, and that's the

very worst part of it. I mean, you know, that just because it is

so beautiful, and the good Fathers are so very dreadfully kind,

that I feel worse than ever. Oh, dear! I'm not saying what I mean a

bit, sister, but, you see, I hate not to tell the Fathers the truth

about you, and on Christmas day, too. You know they think that you

are a live doll, and a miracle, and you're no such thing. You're

just Peter's little sister, aren't you, pet? And they have been so

kind, and Father Ambrose has made your poor little ankle so nice and

well---- So it makes me feel horrid to think we're deceiving them.

Why, it's 'most as bad as telling a story.

ROSALIA [_patting_ PETER'S _shoulder_]. Poor Peter,

I'm so sorry!

PETER. What shall we do about it, sister?

ROSALIA. Why, Peter, I'll tell them. They're all so kind, I

don't think they will be cross.

PETER. Well, sister, I don't believe they will, either.

And it's Christmas day, so I want to be sure to do what is right.

And this is right--I am sure of that. Now I must run away; they'll

be coming soon. [_Exit_ PETER. _Sound of Monks singing in

the distance grows louder and louder. Enter Monks_, ABBOT

_leading, each bearing a tray full of toys for_ ROSALIA.

_Half the Monks march to the right, half to the left of her chair.

Monks hold out their presents to her._]

ROSALIA. Please, I'm not a miracle. I'm only Peter's little

sister!

FELIX, AMBROSE, _and_ SEBASTIAN. Peter!

ANSELM, HILARION, _and_ GREGORY. Peter's

little sister!

ABBOT. Peter? The Peter who works in our garden?

[_Enter_ PETER, _standing unnoticed by door._

ROSALIA. Yes, Peter's little sister.

[_Monks turn, each looking in the eyes of the

one nearest._

GREGORY. Surely, here's an opportunity for a whole convent

full of Monks to look foolish.

ANSELM. Filing up in procession----

AMBROSE. With our hands full of gifts----

SEBASTIAN. To offer them to a miracle----

FELIX. And then to find out that this miracle----

HILARION. This famous miracle is nothing but Peter's little

sister! [HILARION _doubles up with laughter, but controls

himself as the_ ABBOT _lifts his hand for order._]

ABBOT. My children, harken to me. Haven't I always

maintained that there are two ways of looking at anything? If an

object is not what we wish it to be in one light, let us see if there

is not some other light under which it will surely meet our views.

This dear little girl is a little girl and not a doll, that is true.

She did not come up in the place of the wax doll, and she is not a

miracle in that light. But look at her in another light, and surely

she is a miracle--do you not see? Look at her, the darling little

girl, isn't the very meaning and sweetness of all Christmas in her

loving, trusting, innocent little face?

MONKS. Yes, yes, she is a miracle, a miracle, indeed!

[_Monks come forward and lay the toys at

her feet._ PETER _fairly hugs himself with

joy._

ABBOT. And, Peter? Where is Peter?

PETER [_coming forward_]. Here I am, sir.

ABBOT. Peter, we feel so happy this beautiful Christmas

Day, that we must find some expression for our joy--we must surely

find a way to share such happiness with others. Run, my son, open

the Convent gates, and bid all the village people who wait there

for our usual gifts to enter and take part in our pleasure. [_Exit_

PETER _in haste._] Think, my children, what a gift we have

here for the poor parents of Peter and little Rosalia--this dear

little girl will be restored to them, not lame, as she was when she

wandered here, but well and strong and happy like other little ones.

Think of it, my children.

[_Enter_ PETER, _leading his father and mother,

who hasten to_ ROSALIA, _kneeling one on

each side of her great chair. The rest of

the villagers of Act I press in, and stand

grouped at each side of the stage._

ABBOT. Welcome, welcome, my good people! A Merry Christmas

to you all!

VILLAGERS. Merry Christmas! Merry Christmas!

[_Amid the tumult enter the two_ PAGES. _They

advance to the_ ABBOT, _and bowing, present

a letter with large seals._

ABBOT. How, now! What's this? [_Breaking seal and reading

letter, the Monks showing deep interest._] My children, we have here

a message from His Majesty, the King. He tells us that his son, the

Prince, reached his palace in safety, and that he has come to feel

great regret for all the trouble and anxiety he caused the Christmas

Monks. He hopes that the Prince's repentance, though late, will help

to season our Christmas and make it a happy one. And his Majesty adds

that he finds great improvement in his son. Well! Well! this does

indeed add yet another happiness to our day. [_To the people._] And

I know you all, little and big, are just as happy as we are, for at

last the gates are open to the Convent of the Christmas Monks.

[_All sing a Christmas carol._

CURTAIN

NOTES ON COSTUME AND PRESENTATION

(Mrs. Freeman's story of the same name, from which this little play

was taken, has delightful illustrations which would be of help in

making the monks' costumes. It appeared first in _Wide Awake_, Volume

16, and was later published in a collection of Mrs. Freeman's short

stories, entitled "The Pot of Gold.")

THE ABBOT (taken by an adult), and

THE BRETHREN of the Convent (boys, sixteen to eighteen)

wear long hooded robes made of white canton flannel. Greek patterns

in green are stenciled at hem of skirt and around the wide sleeves.

A rope of ground pine, or other Christmas wreathing, is worn for

a girdle, ends hanging, and the tonsures are made by wearing

close-fitting skull-caps of flesh-colored silk or sateen, with a

wreath of green at the edge.

When PETER and the PRINCE come to the Garden their

dress is the same, but their Greek borders should be smaller and

they wear no tonsures. They are boys of ten. Hoods of all are worn

hanging, except that of Brother SEBASTIAN, who in the 2nd

Act goes gloomily hooded. All wear sandals and white stockings.

As the story suggests neither country nor period, there may be a good

deal of latitude in the matter of costumes for the rest of the cast,

but the court party in the first act should be as resplendent as

possible.

THE PRINCE. Plumed hat, short trousers, slippers with bows,

coat with broad lace collar and cuffs. Very long cloak, borne behind

him by the

PAGES. Dressed alike in a style somewhat resembling the

Prince.

COURTIER. The same, with the addition of a short cape, and a

sword.

COURT LADY. Dress made with a train and a high beaded

collar. The boy and girl playing these parts are also Peter's Father

and Mother in the last act.

MISTRESS LONGLANE and MISTRESS SPINNING, and the

little Village girls wear large poke bonnets, old-fashioned shawls or

white kerchiefs, and mitts.

PETER. Neat, but old and faded blouse and knickerbockers.

Cap.

LITTLE ROSALIA. Quaint smocked dress, of soft blue, a

Persian border at hem, square neck, and short sleeves. (Or, white,

with blue borders.) Small cap, trimmed in the same way. She is lame

and walks with crutches.

PETER'S FATHER and MOTHER. Poorly and roughly

dressed.

GILBERT, the Carpenter's Apprentice. Blue denim apron.

Carries T-square.

ROBIN, the Forester's Son. Sleeveless green coat, over a

white shirt with full sleeves; full trousers; broad felt hat, turned

up on one side with a quill.

WALTER, the Miller's Son. White apron. Dusty felt hat.

(If preferred, instead of using the above suggestions for costumes,

the Randolph Caldecott pictures, or Kate Greenaway illustrations of

"Mother Goose," may be adopted as a scheme for dressing all but the

Monks.)

The entrance and exit of the Monks is always heralded by their

singing. Their song may be one of the well-known Christmas carols

containing a few Latin words, but a Latin chant is most effective,

such as can be found in the little Sunday-school hymnals of the Roman

Catholic Church. Suggestions for ROSALIA'S song and the

carol at the end of the play will be found on p. 315.

SETTING

For the Garden wall, a frame must be made sufficiently strong to bear

the weight of the Prince, and may need special bracing at the central

point where he climbs over. He uses a small ladder, preferably a

red-painted one, like those in children's ladder-wagon sets. The

framework of the wall may be covered with paper, but unbleached

muslin is much more substantial and lasting. On this is painted the

wall, representing either brick or stone, with a stone coping, all

quaintly stained and moss-grown. It is five or six feet in height.

The beds where the toys grow are outlined in green. Dolls as large

as possible should be used in the back row, in order to prevent the

contrast with little Rosalia from being too great. Smaller dolls may

be used in the front rows. The number depends on the size of the

stage and the possibilities for borrowing. They may be made to stand

with wooden braces, but it will be found convenient if milliners'

stands for displaying hats can be obtained, as they are light and can

be easily set in place. For the other bed, two or three small bare

bushes, on the branches of which can be fastened such toys as whips,

tin trumpets, etc. Small wheelbarrow, watering-pot, and other garden

tools scattered about.

For the last scene, the walls should be plain and dark in color. The

Abbot's chair is large and ecclesiastical, and Rosalia looks, in it,

like the doll for which the Monks mistook her. Two great candles, in

tall candlesticks, on the daïs beside her, are effective. No other

furniture.

THE SPELL OF CHRISTMAS

A CHRISTMAS PLAY, IN TWO SCENES

CHARACTERS

SIR GILBERT UNDERHILL.

LADY KATHERINE UNDERHILL.

RUFUS }

RAFE }

CICELY } Their Children.

ALLISON }

PHYLLIS, their orphan niece.

GILLIAN }

DICCON } Servants.

STEPHEN }

ANDREW } Roundhead soldiers.

WAT }

SIR PHILIP }

LADY GERALDINE } Ancestors of the House of Underhill.

WAITS, who sing without.

TIME: In the reign of Charles the First.

SCENE: The old manor-house of the Underhills.

[Illustration: ALLISON

"Of a truth, I did hear their voices"]

THE SPELL OF CHRISTMAS

SCENE I

_A chamber or corridor in the Manor House. Door [L.]. Hangings on

wall._ GILLIAN _seated [R.], with the three children about

her, all working at wreaths and garlands, and singing an old carol.

Curtain rises on second verse. While they sing_, DICCON

_enters. Takes up sword or other piece of armor from table [L.] and

begins to polish it._

CICELY [_with a deep sigh_]. Good Gillian, methinks that

though we sang our carols o'er and o'er we could not make it seem

like Christmas-tide. Brother Rufus is gone away, and we may not even

say we miss him. I would I knew---- [_Chin on hand._]

GILLIAN. You would you knew what, little mistress mine?

CICELY. I would I knew what is wrong with us. Christmas was

ever such a merry season in this dear house.

RAFE [_wisely_]. 'Tis because my father goeth about wearing

such a stern face.

ALLISON. And Mother looketh _so_ sad.

CICELY [_confidentially_]. And I think cousin Phyllis cries

in her chamber sometimes.

DICCON [_mutters_]. Meseemeth we should all know right well

what aileth this place. [_Enter_ SIR GILBERT. _Stands in

doorway._] When he that was the very life and soul is missing from

the hearth----

GILLIAN. Hist, Diccon [_warning gesture_].

DICCON. ----and more than that, under a cloud----

GILLIAN. Be silent, I say, Diccon.

DICCON [_paying no heed_]. 'Tis young Master Rufus this

house needs so sorely, I'm thinking.

SIR GILBERT [_striding forward angrily_]. Silence, I say.

Have I not given command that my son's name shall not pass the lips

of any of my people? I will be obeyed in mine own house. Diccon,

hence! Thou canst spend thy days in the stables caring for my horses,

an thou'lt not learn to bridle thy tongue. Mayhap the dumb beasts

will teach thee a lesson.

DICCON [_bowing humbly_]. I crave pardon, Sir Gilbert. I but

thought----

SIR G. Enough. [_Turns to table. Exit_ DICCON,

_with an awkward bow._] Gillian, let this be a warning to you as

well. I have laid my commands--I will be obeyed. [_Exit._]

RAFE. 'Tis very hard to be just children, when anything's

wrong, I think. We may not know what our elders do know, and yet we

must be just as uncomfortable.

GILLIAN. Tst-tst, my lambs! Let us think of other things.

Shall we measure our garlands? [_Stretches out her green._]

RAFE [_measuring his against it, while_ CICELY

_and_ ALLISON _stretch theirs together_]. Indeed, 'tis soon

done, good Gillian. We've used up all our greens.

GILLIAN [_rising_]. I will see if Roger and Noll have

brought more for us. [_Exit._]

RAFE [_considering his garland_]. Would my garland measure

around the great pasty Dame Joan hath made for to-morrow's feast,

think you, Cicely?

CICELY [_laughing_]. The venison pasty, Rafe? Mayhap when

Dame Joan hath turned her back, we can try and see.

ALLISON. I fear mine will but reach around a very little pudding!

[_Enter_ PHYLLIS.] Oh, cousin Phyllis, cousin Phyllis, come see our

garlands!

PHYLLIS [_coming forward_]. Did my little Allison wreathe

all this long piece? [ALLISON _nods proudly._] That's brave

work, indeed.

CICELY [_arms around_ PHYLLIS]. Dear cousin

Phyllis, won't you stay and help us--and tell us why everyone is so

sad?

PHYLLIS [_frightened_]. Nay, dear, I must not, and you must

not be sad--'tis Christmas Eve.

RAFE. Yes, we know. But _why_ doth my father look so

stern----

PHYLLIS. Nay, nay--I may not speak of it. My aunt will be

sore displeased.

[_Enter_ LADY KATHERINE.

LADY KATHERINE [_in doorway_]. Phyllis, why art idling here

with the children? To thy tasks, girl!

[_Exit._

PHYLLIS [_turning hastily to follow_]. You see, sweethearts,

I must not tarry. But I wish good speed to your garlands. Farewell.

[_Exit._]

CICELY. Thou dost see, Rafe. Father will not let us speak of

brother Rufus, and Mother is so cross to poor cousin Phyllis.

ALLISON [_shocked_]. Nay, Cicely; Mother isn't cross. It's

naughty to say that.

RAFE. I think I know what it is all about. [_Very

confidentially. Girls draw their chairs close._] I think brother

Rufus ran away to the wars to fight for the King----

CICELY. But, Rafe, that can't be what displeaseth Father,

for Father is a soldier, too, and he himself will fight for our lord

the King, if so be the King needeth him.

ALLISON [_nodding her head with conviction_]. Father is the

most gallantest soldier in all the country.

RAFE. But I do think that is why Father is so angry with

brother Rufus.

CICELY. And why is Mother so--so unkind to poor cousin

Phyllis?

RAFE [_very solemnly_]. Because--because Rufus did say that

when he was come of age and was a man he would _marry_ cousin Phyllis!

CICELY. Oh! But _I_ think that's very, _very_ nice! Why

doesn't Mother like it, Rafe? They'd never go away to any other house

at all--and then, beside,--Allison and I could be their bride-maidens!

[_Enter_ GILLIAN _with an armful of greens._

GILLIAN [_sitting down among them_]. Here's work for us all,

my pets. We must e'en make our fingers fly an we would finish our

task.

CICELY [_full of importance_]. Oh, good Gillian, Rafe doth

say----

RAFE [_trying to repress her_]. It's no use to ask Gillian,

Cicely. Didst not hear my Father tell her she mustn't talk of it?

GILLIAN. That's best, Master Rafe. Let Gillian tell you a

tale whilst we work.

ALLISON. A fairy-tale, Gillian? [_Whispers full of awe._]

Are the _fairies_ about to-night, dear Gillian?

RAFE. Not on Christmas Eve, Allison. They aren't, are they,

Gillian? Midsummer Eve is the fairies' night.

CICELY. And fairies have no power on Christmas Eve, and

witches can't charm you, nor cast their spells upon you----

RAFE. Because 'tis such a holy, holy night.

GILLIAN. Oh, but there be wonderful things that do befall on

Christmas Eve, Master Rafe. My old grandam used to say that when the

midnight bells ring, the cattle in the stables do kneel down to hail

the holy day!

CICELY. Oh, Gillian, _do_ they?

RAFE. Hast ever seen them, Gillian? Or hath thy grandam?

ALLISON. All the cows, and the sheep, and the little, little

lambs?

GILLIAN. Nay, sweetheart, I never saw them, but I was wont

to think, each Christmas Eve, that I would surely creep out to the

stables and keep watch.

RAFE. And did you?

GILLIAN. Oh, Master Rafe, in truth 'twas a pretty plan,--but

I was not a very brave little wench,--and it was so cold and dark and

fearsome: when the time was come, I was always fain to put it off

until the next year!

RAFE [_scornfully_]. Sooth! I would never do that!

GILLIAN. Nay, that I'll warrant, Master Rafe! But let

me tell thee what else my grandam hath told me. 'Twas about the

portraits in the long gallery in this very house.

[_Enter_ DICCON, _with armful of wood for fire,

which he piles upon the hearth._

CICELY. The portraits---- Oh, yes, Gillian. [_Draws close

to_ GILLIAN.]

RAFE. I know. Our great-great-grandfather and our

great-great-grandmother.

CICELY. Bethink thee, Rafe--what are their names? I do

forget.

RAFE. They are Sir Philip and Lady Geraldine Underhill. And

they lived right here in this very house.

DICCON [_turning from hearth_]. Yes, Master Rafe, they lived

in this house. He was a passing gallant gentleman, and fought for

the King, and she was as beautiful as he was brave, and as brave as

she was beautiful. And they say that in a great war his enemies came

to search this house for him, but he and my lady hid themselves in a

secret chamber that's long since forgot. But 'tis somewhere in the

house,---- [_looks about as if expecting to find door at once_] if a

body just but knew how to find the door----

GILLIAN [_in contempt_]. Nay, nay, Diccon. I'll warrant me

the Master knoweth where that door is.

DICCON. Mayhap Sir Gilbert doth know. But none else may find

it. Many's the time the lads ha' looked for it--many's the time.

[_Exit._]

[RAFE _goes about for a moment, lifting hangings,

etc., as if in search for door, but returns

to_ GILLIAN'S _side to hear her answer

to_ CICELY.

CICELY. But, Gillian, what was it thy grandam told about the

portraits?

GILLIAN. Oh, verily, my sweet. Thinking about the secret

door I had well-nigh forgot. My grandam said that if all the house

was still and sleeping, just on the stroke of twelve every Christmas

Eve, Sir Philip and my Lady Geraldine do move and breathe, step forth

from their picture frames, clasp hands, and move together in an

ancient dance!

RAFE. _Do_ they?

CICELY _and_ ALLISON. Oh-h-h! [_Drawing near to_

GILLIAN _with a little delighted shiver._]

LADY K. [_without_]. Gillian, Gillian! Come hither, wench; I

need thee.

GILLIAN [_rising_]. Anon, my lady! [_To children._] Think

of it, bairns--that fine brave gentleman and that beautiful lady,

stepping across the floors in the moonlight---- [_Exit, hand lifted

as if holding a partner's, taking stately dancing steps._]

CICELY. Oh, Rafe, think'st that Gillian speaketh true?

RAFE. Yes, I do believe her. Christmas is such a marvelous fair time,

Cicely, that I do think _any_thing wonderful might happen.

ALLISON. I would I could _see_ Sir Philip and Lady Geraldine

at their dancing.

CICELY. Oh, so do I! Rafe, dost think---- [_Hesitates,

afraid to speak her thought._]

RAFE [_boldly_]. I think--that if my lord and my lady do

dance--we shall see them this very Christmas Eve.

CICELY. Oh, Rafe, what dost mean us to do?

RAFE. When the great doors are closed at eleven o'clock--I

always hear Diccon making them fast--I'll sit up in my bed, so that

I can't by mischance fall asleep. Then I will wake thee and Allison,

and we will steal into the long gallery and hide ourselves.

CICELY. But if Sir Philip and Lady Geraldine see us, mayhap

they'll be displeased and not come forth.

RAFE. But if we go soon enough they can't see us, because

they don't come alive until twelve o'clock. Until the clock strikes,

they're only pictures, Cicely.

CICELY. Verily, I did forget.

RAFE. I mean to make sure the nursery door which giveth on

the back passage is left unlocked and open, or mayhap I might fail to

hear. Come, sister, bring your wreaths. [_Goes toward door._]

CICELY [_gathering up wreaths_]. Oh, Rafe, 'tis a wonderful

fine plan!

ALLISON. Thou'lt let me come too, Rafe?

RAFE. We'll all go. S-sh-sh, now, not a whisper to

anyone. [_Exeunt children in great excitement. Short pause. Enter_

RUFUS, _secretly (L.), stopping to look about and listen.

Crosses furtively to door (R.) and looks out. Enter_ PHYLLIS

_(L.), and as_ RUFUS _turns back into room, she sees him,

and with a low cry hurries to meet him._]

PHYLLIS. Oh, Rufus, Rufus--not _you_!

RUFUS. Yes, 'tis I, fair cousin. I prithee speak softly. I

would not have it known as yet that I am here.

PHYLLIS. But whence came you, Rufus? We thought you miles

away, with the King's troops----

RUFUS. My company made a secret march, across this valley,

and I thought to spend Christmas in mine own dear home. My Captain

gave me leave to come here to-night, and join him to-morrow eve. But

after I set out on my solitary march, a company of Roundhead rebels

sprang up from a copse by the way and gave chase to our men.

PHYLLIS. How knew you this?

RUFUS. I had come but a half-hour's walk, up the long hill,

and saw it all quite plainly.

PHYLLIS [_much troubled_]. But, Rufus, then you are cut off

from the King's men, for there be very many rebels and few loyal

hearts about us, in these parts.

RUFUS. I know, Phyllis. And, furthermore, though I would

not alarm thee, I must tell thee that I was seen by that treacherous

Farmer Gosling on the road hither, and I fear he may set others like

himself upon my track.

PHYLLIS. Oh, Rufus, you frighten me so--they will surely

come and take you.

RUFUS. Aye, they will try, dear cousin. But I've safe harbor

in my father's house, and when darkness comes I can put forth once

more and rejoin our men in the North.

PHYLLIS. A safe harbor, saidst thou! Thou little knowest---- Hark!

someone comes. Hide thee speedily, Rufus. Here, behind this curtain.

There--do not show thyself until I see thee again. [_Hides_ RUFUS

_behind hanging, and exit (R.). Enter_ SIR GILBERT _and_ LADY

KATHERINE _(L.)._ SIR GILBERT _sits moodily in chair by fire._ LADY

KATHERINE _stands before him._]

SIR G. [_as they enter_]. I tell thee, I will hear no more

of it.

LADY K. But, my lord, this day have I heard a rumor that a

band of King's men were near us--here in this nest of rebel enemies!

If there were fighting--if my boy Rufus were in danger, and I might

not succor him, 'twould go nigh to kill me. And so, my lord, I'm come

once more to crave pardon for him.

SIR G. I tell thee, it will not be granted thee. When the

boy disobeyed me and ran away I disowned him. I vowed he should never

enter these doors again.

LADY K. My lord, the lad was so eager to serve his King.

SIR G. [_springs up and paces the floor_]. Did I forbid

him to serve his King? Nay, when the time was come, he should have

gone with me, with horse and arms, in state befitting a gentleman's

son. And so I told him. I told him he was full young yet--the lad is

scarce turned seventeen. Eagerness to serve his King, forsooth! 'Twas

mere idleness. He chose to run away from his tasks and his studies.

Beshrew me! Whether he find the camp life of a common soldier a bed

of roses or no, I care not. He must e'en lie in it. I'll neither

grant him pardon, nor receive him in my house. To consort with common

soldiers and camp ruffians--he hath disgraced my name.

LADY K. Oh, my poor lad.

SIR G. Thou and Phyllis need not grieve so foolishly----

LADY K. [_stiffens angrily_]. Phyllis! She is the one reason

why I am reconciled to his being away.

SIR G. [_more gently_]. Come, good wife, be not so hard upon

poor Phyllis. She's a good maid and a fair. What if the lad have

turned her head a bit? I would fain have thee remember the lass is an

orphan and we her only kinsfolk.

LADY K. [_moving away_]. I care not to talk of Phyllis.

[_Turns back._] Will nothing move you, my lord?

SIR G. [_hardening_]. I've told you my mind--let's hear no

more of this. [_Exeunt (L.)._ RUFUS _comes from hiding-place

and stands sadly by fire. Enter_ PHYLLIS.]

RUFUS [_turning toward her_]. Why, Phyllis, I little guessed

my father could be so hard and stern. I knew I had displeased him,

but _this_ passeth belief.

PHYLLIS. He is very unforgiving. When you called this house

a safe harbor, you little knew.

RUFUS [_turning as if to go_]. So be it, then. If my father

cannot forgive me,--I'll e'en forth to the tender mercies of mine

enemies.

PHYLLIS [_alarmed_]. Oh, no, no, Rufus! At least do not venture forth

until the dark hath come! No one must see you here. Come into the

blue guest chamber. 'Tis not a secure hiding-place should the house

be searched, but 'twill serve for the time, and by midnight you may

steal away safely. Do come, Rufus! [_He lets her half lead, half push

him out as she talks. Exeunt (R.). Pause---- Children's laughter

heard. Enter (L.)_ CICELY _with a bunch of raisins._ RAFE _in

pursuit. They run all about the stage._ CICELY _jumps upon a chair

and holds the raisins over_ RAFE'S _head. He tries to jump for them._]

CICELY [_breaking off raisins and dropping them one at a time into_

RAFE'S _mouth_]. Oh, Rafe, such rare sport! You'll have no need to

waken _me_. I'll never sleep this night, I know.

ALLISON [_without, calling_]. Rafe, Rafe! Where art thou?

Oh, Cicely!

RAFE [_pulling_ CICELY _down and securing

raisins_]. Quick, sister, let's hide us! [RAFE _runs

behind hangings (R.)_, CICELY _behind table (L.). Enter_

ALLISON _(L.). Stands still and looks about._]

ALLISON [_softly_]. Of a truth, I did hear their voices.... I

know.... 'Tis sport. 'Tis a game of hide and hunt. I must set me to

find 'em. [_Goes peering about. As she peeps over chair (R.)_, CICELY

_runs out and covers_ ALLISON'S _eyes from behind with her hands._

RAFE _comes from other side and feeds_ ALLISON _with raisins._ RAFE

_and_ CICELY _begin to sing Christmas carol, and_ ALLISON _throws off

Cicely's hands and joins in song._]

CURTAIN

SCENE II

_A gallery in the Manor House. R. front, fireplace[27] with glowing

red fire. Beside it, at right angles, settle. R. back, door. Back

Center, the portraits of_ SIR PHILIP _and_ LADY GERALDINE, _in tall

old frames reaching down nearly to floor, so that only a short

step is necessary when the figures come out. L. back, window, with

snow-covered trees in distance, and moonlight. L. front, door.

Hangings, a few quaint chairs, etc. Center of stage clear. Curtain

shows empty stage._ DICCON _and_ GILLIAN _cross from L. to R.,

talking_--GILLIAN _enters first, as if in haste_, DICCON _trying to

stop her. Stage lights very dim._ GILLIAN _carries a candle, which

she shades with her hand._

[Footnote 27: See note on Fireplace, p. 313.]

DICCON [_calling softly_]. Gillian, Gillian! Hang the wench!

Wilt not wait, good Gillian? I've somewhat of great import to tell

thee.

GILLIAN [_impatiently_]. Were I to believe thee, Master

Diccon, _all_ thine affairs are of great matter. Mayhap thou thinkest

_my_ business is ever of small consequence?

DICCON. Nay, then, Gillian--but this news is thine and mine

and my lord's and my lady's too!

[GILLIAN _turns, a little curious, and waits for

him._

GILLIAN [_scornfully_]. A strange matter, methinks, that can

be thine and mine and theirs, too!

DICCON. But list a moment, and you shall hear. Giles, the

horse-boy, hath been in the village this day, and heard that which

bodes ill to us. Giles heard them talking in the tavern----

GILLIAN. Heard whom talking, Diccon? I can make naught of

thy twisting tales!

DICCON. Why, the Roundhead knaves, be sure. And the pith and

kernel of Giles' tale--an thou'lt not hear the how and the when--is

this! that they mean to come hither this night and search our house.

GILLIAN [_gives a little scream and claps her hand over her

mouth_]. Oh, Diccon, Diccon,--what can they want here? We be peaceful

folk. In sooth 'tis known we are all good King's men, but no harm

have we done to any! Oh, Diccon!

DICCON. Sst! silly wench! They'll not harm thee. But hark to

what else Giles heard. They be coming to search for Master Rufus!

GILLIAN. Master Rufus! But he hath not been here these many

weeks.

DICCON. Sst! Speak more cautiously, Gillian. The knaves did

say they have certain knowledge that Master Rufus is here in hiding.

GILLIAN [_looking fearfully and suspiciously about_]. Oh,

Diccon, dost believe it?

DICCON. In good sooth, how can I tell? But I am in great

fear.

GILLIAN. Thou afeard, Diccon? Oh, what dost think the

Roundhead villains will do to us?

DICCON [_angrily_]. A pest upon thee, wench! They'll do

naught to _us_! 'Tis for my young master I am troubled. If they take

him, 'tis doubtless to a rebel prison he'll go, and then--it's rough

fare for such a young lad,--and gentle born and bred to boot.

GILLIAN [_curiously_]. But can he be here, think you, Diccon?

DICCON [_anxiously_]. He may be. And I do fear to ask my

lord or my lady of the matter. [_Going towards door._] I would I knew

my duty, Gillian.

[_Exeunt (R.). After a moment enter (L.)

the three children in nightgowns, the little

girls in caps, also. They do not speak, but

motion to each other excitedly, and run

about, choosing a fit hiding-place._ ALLISON

_takes a small stool and plants it

directly in front of portraits, sits down,

and folds her hands to wait. The others,

consulting by signs, do not at first see her,

then rush upon her in alarm and drag her

away, taking stool with them, and making

reproving gestures. All go to settle, place

stool by fire, and allow_ ALLISON _to sit on

it._ CICELY _kneels at end of settle, partly

concealed by its arm._ RAFE _lies full

length upon it, alternately ducking below

arm and peeping over it. They shake fingers

at each other, touch lips to insure silence,

and when_ ALLISON _turns as if to

speak._ CICELY _claps a quiet hand over her

mouth. Business of settling into place.

When there has been a moment's pause, a

bell is heard in the distance striking midnight.

The portraits slowly turn their

heads, take a long and deep breath, and

begin to move; soft music is heard (minuet,

from Mozart's "Don Giovanni");

they bend forward, step with one foot from

the frames and clasp hands across the space

between; then step forth entirely, and bow

and courtesy low and slowly to each other.

Then they take hands, and to the music

go through such part of the old French

minuet as is practicable for two alone.

When this has continued as long as is desirable,

there is a sudden noise without.

Instantly the music ceases and the figures

go back with all swiftness and resume

pose in frames. Children also much

startled._

CICELY [_in alarmed whisper_]. Oh, Rafe, what was that?

RAFE. I don't know. Sh-sh-sh!

[_Enter_ RUFUS _(R.), silently and furtively.

Goes to window and peers out. Comes

back hurriedly and without seeing children.

Exit (R.)._ RAFE _springs up and follows

to door, gazing out after_ RUFUS.

CICELY [_aloud, but still cautious, though in great

fright_]. Oh, Rafe--I saw a man! Who was that?

ALLISON. So did I, sister! Let's _run_!

CICELY. Mother! Mother! I'm frightened!

ALLISON. Oh, Gillian, come get us!

[_Both rush screaming out of door (L.)._ RAFE

_comes quickly and silently back. Goes to

window and stands peering out._

RAFE. That was brother Rufus. I wonder how he came

hither.... And there is someone ... away out there in the snow ...

men ... coming this way. [_Leaves window and stands directly in front

of portraits, with his back to them, and a little way off. Stares

anxiously straight before him, and speaks low and quietly._] Perhaps

they are soldiers ... or wicked people come to seek for him and take

him away.... Rufus went up the little stairs to the Tower.... There's

no place to hide in the Tower! [_His voice gradually rising._]

They'll find him as soon as they get here.... Oh, _what_ shall I

do--what shall I do? [_Stands with hands clenched, listening and

thinking, wide-eyed. The portraits move and bend toward him._]

LADY GERALDINE [_leaning forward and smiling tenderly_].

Little Rafe, little Rafe, thou must play the man this night!

SIR PHILIP [_leaning forward and speaking earnestly_].

Little lad, little lad, thou art little and young! Go and fetch thy

father!

RAFE [_does not turn at all_]. My father will know what

to do.... Mayhap he will even open the secret door Gillian telleth

of.... Surely, surely he cannot be angry now. [_Turns and rushes

wildly out (R.)_].

[_Enter_ PHYLLIS _(R.), all shaking and trembling._

PHYLLIS [_calls softly_]. Rufus! Rufus! Where art thou?

[_To herself._] Oh, where can the rash boy have gone? He was safe

for the time in the Blue Chamber. And now---- Oh, what can I do! I

must warn him! [_Wrings her hands and goes to window._] Gillian hath

told me they are coming to seek him. He must be warned! Oh, where can

he have gone? [_Goes to door (L.), then to window once more. Enter_

RAFE, _dragging_ SIR GILBERT _by the hand._]

RAFE [_breathless_]. You needs must listen, Father! Brother

Rufus came in at this door and went to the window, softly, to peep

out. Then he ran out again and I got me up speedily and ran to the

casement. [_Tries to draw_ SIR GILBERT _to window, but he

resists and stands frowning (R. Center)._] And I looked out, Father,

and there was someone coming--men--away over toward the village. I

saw them. And Rufus is gone up the Tower stairs---- [PHYLLIS

_starts forward to door, but turns back._]

PHYLLIS. The Tower, saidst thou, Rafe?

RAFE. Yes! The Tower! And thou knowest, Father, there is no

way of escape from the Tower! Father, tell us what to do!

PHYLLIS [_coming to his side with clasped hands_]. Oh, good

Uncle, save him while there is yet time!

RAFE. I know _thou_ canst find a way, Father!

[_Enter_ LADY KATHERINE, _the two little girls

clinging to her skirts._

LADY K. [_in amazement_]. What can be the meaning of all

this coil? The children crying to me in fright some old wives' tale

about the family portraits--someone in the gallery--the soldiers----

My poor wits cannot fathom it!

RAFE [_still clinging to his father's hand_]. Oh, lady

Mother, Rufus is hiding in the Tower, and the soldiers are coming,

and Father must save him!

LADY K. [_cries out_]. Rufus, saidst thou? [_Shakes off the

children and hurries toward_ RAFE.] Where is he, boy?

RAFE [_seizes her hand and draws her to door (L.)_]. Here, Mother,

here, up in the Tower. [_Exeunt._ CICELY _and_ ALLISON _cling

together._]

CICELY. Oh, Allison, sweet sister, it was brother Rufus we

did see in the gallery. And the Roundhead soldiers are coming.

ALLISON. Will they drag him away from here?

PHYLLIS. Oh, Uncle, dear Uncle, surely thou knowest some

secret place in this old house where he can lie safe until danger be

past?

[_Enter_ RAFE _and_ LADY KATHERINE _with_

RUFUS _(R.)._ LADY KATHERINE _hastens

to window, glances out, then goes to quiet

children, who are sobbing._ RAFE _rushes

to his father, and_ RUFUS _at first starts to

him._

RAFE. Father, here he is. Now what's to do?

RUFUS. Father, I would----

SIR G. [_interrupting_]. Not a word from you, sirrah! How

dare you enter this house whence you went but to disgrace my name?

You are no son of mine!

[RUFUS _draws back and stands proudly a little

aloof. The rest cry out in protest._

LADY K. Oh, my lord, you cannot mean the words you speak!

PHYLLIS. Uncle!

RAFE. Oh, Father, poor Rufus!

DICCON [_without_]. Sir Gilbert! Sir Gilbert! Where art

thou, master!

GILLIAN [_without_]. Oh, mistress! Oh, my lady!

[_Enter_ DICCON _and_ GILLIAN _in greatest excitement._

DICCON _carries a pair of candles,

which he places hastily on the chimney-piece.

Raise lights._

DICCON. My lord, the soldiers are coming! [_Rushes to

window._] They be at our very gates!

GILLIAN. Oh, mistress, the murthering knaves will burn the

house above our heads!

LADY K. Hold thy peace, silly wench!

[_General hubbub. Children cling crying to

their mother._ DICCON _and_ GILLIAN _at

window._ RAFE _now running to window,

now tugging at his father's hand._ PHYLLIS

_at his other side._

DICCON. They come down the long hill!

GILLIAN. I see them, the knaves!

PHYLLIS. Oh, Uncle, prythee forgive Rufus--save him quickly!

SIR G. [_angrily_]. He doth not desire forgiveness.

PHYLLIS. Oh, Uncle, he would have asked it but now. Thy

bitter words did check him, and thou knowest he is proud. He could

not ask it then.

GILLIAN. Here they be!

DICCON. At our very gates!

LADY K. [_above noise_]. My lord, thou dost know some secret

place. Do but disclose it to me. Remember he is thine own flesh and

blood.

DICCON. Hark, ye can hear them! [_Silence falls. In the

distance the carol of the_ WAITS _is heard._]

PHYLLIS [_relieved_]. 'Tis the waits at their carols.

LADY K. [_thankfully_]. 'Tis not the soldiers, after all!

DICCON [_turning from window_]. Would it were not, my lady!

Ye do hear the waits singing beneath the hall windows, 'tis true, but

these at our gates be no peaceful carollers. [_Turns back to window.

All are silent for a moment, listening, until the refrain of "Peace

on earth" is reached._]

SIR G. [_startled_]. "Peace on earth, good will to men!" Now Heaven

forgive my angry spirit! Here, Rufus--quick, lad! [_Touches spring

at R. of portrait. Panel opens, and_ SIR GILBERT _thrusts_ RUFUS

_through, and it closes behind him._ SIR GILBERT _turns and takes

command._] Clear the room--this throng will never do--guilt and

suspicion sit upon our very faces. Wife, Phyllis! take these children

to bed. Gillian! to the kitchen, wench, and do all in thy power to

quiet the maidens there. Hasten to the gate, Diccon, and say that

your master throws open his doors to their search. Bear yourselves,

all, as if nothing had befallen! Now, haste!

[_Rapid clearing of the room._ LADY KATHERINE

_and_ PHYLLIS _hurry the children

out (L.), trying to quiet them. Exeunt_

DICCON _and_ GILLIAN _by the door (R.).

Unnoticed_, RAFE _springs into box of settle,

and closes lid over him. When all are

gone_, SIR GILBERT _goes quietly about room

to put all in order. Looks out at window.

Sounds from without, of beating on doors,

etc. Cries, "Down with the false King!"

"Death to traitors!" etc._ SIR GILBERT

_goes to panel for a moment._

SIR G. [_tapping_]. Rufus! Rufus!

RUFUS [_within_]. Yes, Father!

SIR G. Cheerly, good lad! Lie thou quiet, no harm shall

come to thee. [SIR GILBERT _goes to chimney, takes an old

book from shelf, and sits on settle. Noises of search gradually come

nearer. Enter_ DICCON, _followed by soldiers._]

DICCON [_torn between his fear and hatred of the soldiers

and his wish to propitiate them_]. Here is my lord, your masterships!

He bade me give you free welcome [_bows politely, but as they pass

him he snarls aside_], and a pest upon all of ye!

SIR G. What would you of me, my men? Why, Diccon, these be

all old neighbors--not soldiers.

[_The men are disconcerted, and advance awkwardly,

pulling at their forelocks._

STEPHEN. Yes--Sir Gilbert--no, Sir Gilbert--we be verily

soldiers--soldiers of the Parliament.

SIR G. You have taken up arms against your King? I had

thought to see old neighbors and friends and loyal men. [_Rises,

laying down book._]

STEPHEN. We do be loyal men----

ANDREW. Loyal to the Parliament.

WAT. And soldiers of Cromwell.

SIR G. What, then, would you of me? Ye do know I am a

subject of King Charles.

STEPHEN. My lord, we have orders to search this house.

SIR G. So be it, then. Obey your orders. What do ye look to

find here?

ANDREW. 'Tis a false traitor Cavalier.

WAT. He lurketh here and we mean to have him, too.

STEPHEN. We would do our work peaceably, my lord. But our

general must have the country cleared of all Malignants.

SIR G. You have my free consent. My house is open to you

from turret's peak to the bins in the cellar.

DICCON. There be more of 'em, my lord--a round dozen. And

they waited not thy permission. They be already both on tower and in

bins.

SIR G. Disturb them not, good Diccon. [_Turns back to

settle, takes up book and pretends to read, but keeps a careful eye

on soldiers._]

STEPHEN. Do your work with thoroughness, men.

ANDREW. That will we, captain!

WAT. There be many lurking--places in these old rats' nests.

ANDREW. We'll ferret him out!

WAT. Aye, aye--the false villain.

[_They go carefully about room, lifting hangings,

tapping walls and floor, trying to see

behind picture-frames, coming very near

secret door._

STEPHEN. Have ye tested the walls?

WAT. Aye, and the floors.

ANDREW. There be no secrets here.

STEPHEN. Then we'll look further. Give ye good even, Sir

Gilbert.

ANDREW. Mayhap we'll meet again----

WAT. Aye,--on the field of battle!

[_Exeunt soldiers, with angry gestures._ SIR

GILBERT _rises and bows slightly, signing to_

DICCON _to follow._ SIR GILBERT _waits an

instant, follows to door, then goes to window

and watches._ RAFE _jumps out of box,

and stands beside settle. Enter_ LADY

KATHERINE, _followed by_ PHYLLIS _and_

GILLIAN, _stealing in to peep out at window.

Enter_ CICELY _and_ ALLISON, _catching

at_ GILLIAN'S _skirts._

ALLISON [_piteously_]. Gillian! Gillian!

CICELY. Oh, Gillian, don't leave us alone!

GILLIAN [_turns back_]. Never! my lambs. Have never a fear of that.

[_Sits in chair (L.), gathers_ ALLISON _into her lap, drawing_

CICELY _beside her._ GILLIAN _still looks anxiously towards window._]

PHYLLIS. There they go, those wicked men!

LADY K. Now Heaven be praised! [RAFE _runs to stand

at panel. Enter_ DICCON.]

DICCON. My lord and my lady---- [_All turn._ SIR

GILBERT _crosses stage to meet_ DICCON.] The knaves

be all gone, sir. I shut the gate upon them with my own two hands.

[_Everyone takes a breath of relief._ RAFE _touches spring

and_ RUFUS _steps out and strides to his father._]

RUFUS. Father, let your son's first word be to crave pardon

for all his willfulness!

SIR G. [_clasping his hand warmly and putting an arm across

his shoulder_]. Nay, lad, 'tis freely given. Methinks I should first

ask thine for all my hardness of heart.

[PHYLLIS _goes to_ LADY KATHERINE, _who

turns and kisses her affectionately. They

stand side by side._

PHYLLIS. Our little Rafe has played the man and saved Rufus

for us all.

LADY K. He is a brave little lad! But tell me, children,

what doth it mean that you were out of your beds at such a strange

hour?

RAFE. We got up to see our ancestors dance.

ALL. Ancestors dance!

SIR G. What meaneth the child?

RAFE. Why, sir, Gillian's grandam hath said to her, that

when the midnight tolled on Christmas Eve, my lord and my lady here

did step forth, clasp hands, and dance.

ALLISON. And so we came to see.

CICELY. And soothly, it was so. They came forth and danced,

here in the shine of the fire. A brave sight, Father!

SIR G. Now, saints defend us! What is a man to make of this?

LADY K. Never heed them--'twas just a sleep-heavy fancy. A

beautiful Christmas-tide dream.

RAFE. Nay, lady Mother, it was no dream. It was the spell of

Christmas brought it all to pass.

SIR G. Now doth the lad speak truth, good friends! Verily it

_is_ the spell of Christmas which hath saved us all from sin and much

sorrow this night. The spell of "Peace upon earth, good will to men."

Hark, the waits are singing still--as angels sing, and ever shall

sing the world around, on Christmas Eve.

[_All stand listening for a moment to distant

singing, then join in carol._

CURTAIN

NOTES ON COSTUME, MUSIC, AND SETTING

Adult parts in this play taken by boys and girls of fifteen or

sixteen. In contrast to these, the smaller the children playing Rafe,

Cicely, and Allison, the better--Rafe not over eight, Cicely and

Allison six and five years.

Costumes follow the Van Dyke pictures of Charles I and those of

his children. Very helpful illustrations may also be found in

"Merrylips," by Beulah Marie Dix. (The Macmillan Company.)

SIR GILBERT and RUFUS wear sleeveless jerkins made

of tan-colored canton flannel to represent leather. Rufus wears boots

and a broad-brimmed hat with plumes, and long cloak of the same color

as his suit. These suits should be of rich colors in contrast to the

sober colors of the Puritan soldiers, who also wear leather-colored

jerkins and boots.

Cavaliers wear broad lace collars and cuffs, while the PURITAN

SOLDIERS wear square linen collars and cuffs, and under-sleeves

with stripes running around them of black and orange, the colors of

the Parliament. Orange baldric over right shoulder. If possible,

metal helmets, or firemen's helmets silvered to represent the steel

caps of the time; otherwise, broad-brimmed felt hats with band or

scarf of orange and black. They carry swords, cross-bows, or other

arms.

LADY KATHERINE and PHYLLIS. Full, quilted

petticoats, broad, deep-pointed lace collars and cuffs. Dressed in

rich colors. Lady Katherine wears a small lace cap upon her hair.

RAFE. Suit like the picture of Prince Charles. May wear a

broad fringed sash, and fringed bows at his knees. Lace collar and

cuffs. Sleeves may be slashed.

CICELY and ALLISON. Little short-waisted, quilted

dresses, with flowered panels set in. Lace at the square necks and

the elbow sleeves.

GILLIAN. Plainly made dress of flowered material. Skirt

full, but not quilted. Short caps to the sleeves. White kerchief,

apron, and plain white cap.

DICCON. Plain suit, like the Puritans, but less sober in

color, and without the leather jerkin. Square linen collar and cuffs.

THE PORTRAITS. Costumes of an earlier century.

SIR PHILIP. Slashed doublet and trunks of rich color, and

long stockings to match. Ruff, and plumed cap or hat of same material

as doublet. Wears a dagger.

LADY GERALDINE. Dress of rich color to harmonize with Sir

Philip's. Puffed and slashed sleeves, figured panel in front of skirt

and waist, and panniers on hips. Ruff, and small beaded cap.

To stand in absolute stillness for so long a time is a difficult

matter. Therefore the portraits must be careful to take poses which

they can hold without too great a strain throughout the act.

MUSIC

Choose songs which, through their quaintness, may be in keeping with

the atmosphere of the whole.

For the children:

"Waken, Christian children,"[28]

[Footnote 28: Words printed in "A Puritan Christmas," p. 136.]

"The first Nowell the angel did say,"

or some other simple old carol.

For the Waits:

"From far away we come to you."

These three carols are all to be found in "Christmas Carols New and

Old," Novello & Company. The last has been modernized and set to new

music more suitable for children's voices by Mr. W.W. Gilchrist,

and is to be found in a book containing many good carols for

children ("The First Nowell" among them), "The New Hosanna."[29] Mr.

Gilchrist's version omits the quaint refrains of the original--"The

snow in the street, and the wind on the door," and "Minstrels and

maids stand forth on the floor," and substitutes "Sing 'Glory to God'

again and again," and "Peace upon earth, good will to men." These

last words are necessary to the sense in two places, in the text

of the play. When the play was first given, the Waits used the old

refrains, and Mr. Gilchrist's, for alternate verses, thus gaining in

quaintness of effect and at the same time avoiding monotony. For the

midnight dance, use the Minuet from Mozart's "Don Giovanni."[30]

[Footnote 29: See p. 315.]

[Footnote 30: See note, p. 146, in regard to the English, following

"A Puritan Christmas."]

SETTING

If the first scene, which requires little furniture,--the table, a

chair for Gillian, and low stools for the children,--can be set in

front of the second, much time will be saved in the changing. One

scene will serve for both acts, if the frames of the portraits can be

covered with hangings during the first act. Mission furniture may

be used, but if it is possible to obtain a carved chair and table,

and appropriate objects to hang upon the wall,--one or two pieces of

armor, a pair of antlers, etc.,--the effect can be much enhanced.

The secret door in the second act must be planned in accordance with

the possibilities of one's stage. If scenery is used, one section may

be opened wide enough for Rufus to pass through. Otherwise, arrange

hangings so that he may appear to go through a door behind them.

THE BABUSHKA

A RUSSIAN LEGEND, IN ONE SCENE

CHARACTERS

THE BABUSHKA.

THE BARON.

PRINCE DIMITRI }

PRINCESS DAGMAR } His children.

KOLINKA }

MARIE }

MATRENA } Children of a peasant family.

SASCHA }

NICOLAS }

PAVLO }

OLD SEMYON }

IVAN, his grandson } The village fiddlers.

MICHAEL, SERGIUS, LEO, BORIS, PETER }

SOPHIA, NADIA, FEODOSIA, MASHA, } Village children.

MALASHKA, KATINKA, PRASKOVIA }

THE BABUSHKA

TIME: _Christmas Eve._

SCENE: _Interior of a Russian "isba," or hut. Back R., door;

L., window; through them a dreary winter landscape is visible. In the

corner, by the window, a ledge with ikons and decorations. Right,

Russian oven, with ladder to top. Bench runs under window and along

wall. For other furniture, a few stools and a table, or large chest

used as a table [L.], with a cloth, a loaf of bread, and a knife upon

it. Down stage [R.], a cradle. On the floor, bear skins, or other

furs. At rise of curtain_, MARIE, _seated by the table,

braids a basket_; MATRENA _rocks cradle_; KOLINKA

_sits by window, knitting_; SASCHA _lies on top of the

oven_; NICOLAS _and_ PAVLO _play on the floor.

Children are singing the "Carol of the Birds."_

[Music: CAROL OF THE BIRDS]

BAS. QUERCY.

Whence comes this rush of wings afar?

Following straight the Noël star?

Birds from the woods in wondrous flight,

Bethlehem seek this Holy Night.

2. "Tell us, ye birds, why come ye here,

Into this stable, poor and drear?"

"Hast'ning we seek the new-born King,

And all our sweetest music bring."

3. First came the Cock, ere break of day,

Strutting along in plumage gay,

Straight to the humble manger flew,

Chanting aloud _Coquerico_.

4. Then, near the Babe a Goldfinch drew,

Chirping with mirth _Tir-li-chiu-chiu_;

_Chiu_ said the Sparrow in reply,

_Pal-pa-bat_ was the Quail's quick cry.

5. Blackbirds then raised their sweetest notes;

Warbled the Linnets' tuneful throats!

Pigeons all cooed _Rou-cou-rou-cou_,

Larks sang with joy _Ti-ro-li-rou_.

6. Angels, and shepherds, birds of the sky,

Come where the Son of God doth lie;

Christ on the earth with man doth dwell,

Join in the shout, Noël, Noël!

KOLINKA. How lonely it is with Father away!

MARIE. Yes, and isn't it strange to think that all the

houses in the village are just as quiet as ours?--on Christmas Eve,

too.

SASCHA. I don't believe it ever happened before that the

whole village had to turn out and hunt wolves on Christmas Eve.

MARIE. And if they hadn't had to do that I suppose Mother

wouldn't have had to spend the day taking care of Petrovitch's sick

wife, either.

KOLINKA. If the men were at home somebody would be coming

in, or at least passing by.

MARIE. Oh, I do hope they will kill all those dreadful

wolves so we shan't have to be afraid any more.

MATRENA. I'm so afraid Father will be hurt!

SASCHA [_with scorn_]. _Hurt_, Matrena! Of course he won't

be hurt. Hasn't he always hunted wolves, every winter? But that's

the way with you and Kolinka. I tell you _I'm_ not afraid. I only

wish I were older and bigger--then I could have gone, too. It's very

slow to have to stay at home and take care of you girls. [_Yawns and

stretches._]

MARIE [_turning indignantly_]. Indeed, Sascha, it wouldn't

be slow at all if you would do something beside lie up there on the

stove and sleep. Here's the bowl you began to carve a month ago, not

finished yet. Just come down now, and do it.

SASCHA. Oh, no! I like this better. And you know you would

rather have me stay up here and tell you the news. [_Teasingly._]

KOLINKA. News, indeed! What news can _you_ have to tell, I

should like to know?

SASCHA [_triumphantly_]. Just this. That the great castle up

on the hill has been thrown open once more.

MARIE [_surprised_]. _Has_ it? Why?

KOLINKA. I don't believe it.

SASCHA. It's true, though. Our father the Czar has pardoned

the Baron, and he has come back from Siberia.

KOLINKA. Are you _sure_, Sascha? Where is the Baroness?

SASCHA. The men said so at the well this morning, so it must

be true.

MATRENA. Did the Baron bring the little Prince and Princess

with him?

SASCHA. _Of course_ my lady and the children weren't in

Siberia with the Baron. They've been in some foreign country--I

forget where--all these years. And now the Baron has sent for them,

and they have all come back to the castle to keep Christmas together.

MATRENA. Oh, how glad I am!

SASCHA. What are you glad for? It won't make any difference

to _us_.

MATRENA. But I'm glad, anyway!

KOLINKA. Of course she is, and so we all are, Sascha--glad

for the Baron and the lady, and the children, too.

NICOLAS. Did you say they were coming here, Sascha?

PAVLO. Are we going to see them?

SASCHA. No, of course not. They've come to the castle, and

it will be the wonder of wonders if _we_ see them.

KOLINKA [_kindly_]. Perhaps they will drive through the

village in their beautiful sleigh, Nicolas, and then you and Pavlo

will have a chance to see them.

SASCHA. They did say, at the village well, that now the

Baron is home, there will be more strangers in the village again.

MARIE. All the better for the village, and that's a very

good reason for you to come down and work, Sascha. We can sell what

we make to these same strangers, and earn a few kopeks for poor

Father.

SASCHA. That's so, Marie. [_Comes down ladder and begins

to examine work._] I believe I'll make some more forks and spoons.

[_Consults_ MARIE _in pantomime._]

NICOLAS. Let's play wolf hunt, Pavlo! I'll be a wolf----

[_Covers himself with a skin._]

PAVLO. And I'll be a hunter with a club! [_Jumps up and arms

himself._ NICOLAS _growls realistically._ PAVLO _prepares to strike._]

KOLINKA [_suddenly, in a startled voice_]. What's that

outside!

NICOLAS. Bears!

PAVLO. No, it's a wolf! [_They throw down skin and club and

fly to the top of the stove._]

PAVLO _and_ NICOLAS [_terror-stricken_]. Wolf! Wolf!

[MARIE _and_ KOLINKA _go to window._

SASCHA _tries to see out, then goes to unbolt

door._

MATRENA [_running to foot of ladder and shaking her finger at_

NICOLAS _and_ PAVLO]. You bad boys! you've waked the baby!

KOLINKA. Be quiet, boys! It's not a wolf at all.

MATRENA. Nor a bear, either. [_Rocks cradle, and pats and

hushes baby._]

MARIE. It's some poor body lost in the snow, perhaps.

[SASCHA _gets door open and runs out._

SASCHA [_without_]. Have you lost your way? Come with me.

Here is our door. It's a bitter cold night.

[MATRENA _leaves cradle and stands by_ MARIE.

_Enter_ SASCHA _with_ PRINCE _and_ PRINCESS.

NICOLAS _and_ PAVLO _watch with

interest._

KOLINKA [_going forward hospitably_]. Come in; you are very

welcome. [_Sees the strange guests._] Oh----

MARIE [_aside_]. Oh, Matrena, who can it be?

MATRENA [_aside_]. Marie, just see how beautifully they are

dressed!

[_Children stand back abashed._ SASCHA _remains

by door._

PRINCE [_who leads_ PRINCESS _by the hand_]. We

thank you for taking us in. I am the Prince Dimitri from the castle,

and this is my sister, the Princess Dagmar.

PRINCESS. And we have lost our way.

KOLINKA [_timidly_]. We--we didn't know who it was. I'm so

glad we heard you.

MARIE [_gently taking_ PRINCESS' _hand_]. Oh,

Matrena, how cold her hand is! Come near our stove, my lady, and warm

yourself.

[MARIE _and_ MATRENA _rub the_ PRINCESS'

_hands while the boys on the stove peer

down curiously. The_ PRINCE _puts his

hands against stove._ SASCHA _and_ KOLINKA

_stand staring at the strangers._

SASCHA. How did you get lost?

PRINCE. We wanted to see our beautiful forest----

PRINCESS. You see, we have only been here for a few days.

PRINCE. So we started out for a little walk. We didn't mean

to go far at all, but before we knew it we had lost sight of the

castle.

PRINCESS. And though we tried and tried to find it again, we

kept getting deeper into the forest.

SASCHA. But how did you come to the village? It isn't very

far from the castle, but it is hard to find unless you know the road,

or just the right path in the forest.

KOLINKA. Yes, how did you come here?

PRINCESS. An old woman found us wandering about trying to

find the path, and she brought us here. Such a strange old woman, all

wrinkled and bent.

PRINCE. _She_ seemed to know just how to come here, though I

couldn't tell what was guiding her.

PRINCESS. And she was so good and kind to us--but she never

spoke once, all the way.

MARIE [_clapping her hands_]. It must have been the Babushka!

SASCHA. Of course it was!

KOLINKA _and_ MATRENA. How wonderful!

NICOLAS _and_ PAVLO. Babushka! Babushka!

PRINCE [_puzzled_]. The Babushka?

PRINCESS. Who is she?

SASCHA. What! you, Russian children, and don't know that!

KOLINKA [_aside_]. Hush, Sascha, don't be rude. You forget they have

been away ever since they were babies, almost. [_To_ PRINCE.] We can

tell you all about the Babushka, Prince. Sit down, and Marie will

tell you the story. Marie knows it best. [KOLINKA, SASCHA, _and_

MARIE _draw benches forward and all sit down_, MARIE _in the center,

the rest not too close to her._ PRINCE _and_ PRINCESS _on bench

to R._, MATRENA _on end of_ MARIE'S _bench._ SASCHA _stands near_

MATRENA. KOLINKA _behind the group, knitting._ NICOLAS _and_ PAVLO

_watch gravely._]

NICOLAS. There aren't any bears or wolves coming, Pavlo?

PAVLO. No. And Marie's going to tell a story.

NICOLAS. Let's get down. [_They scramble down the ladder,

and seat themselves at_ MARIE'S _feet._]

MARIE. Was the old woman in the forest all dressed in gray?

PRINCESS. Yes, all in a long gray cloak, with a queer white

cap on her head.

MARIE. Yes. Then I'm certain it was the Babushka. She is

sure to be wandering about on Christmas Eve.

PRINCE. Is she?

PRINCESS. Why?

MARIE. That's what the story is about. Once upon a time,

hundreds and hundreds of years ago, there was a lonely little house

out in the fields where four great roads met.

SASCHA. And by the house there was a big guidepost that

pointed four ways at once, to show people which road to take.

[_Stretches out both arms and swings his body slowly to show how the

post points._]

MARIE. Babushka lived all alone in the little cottage. In

the summer the place didn't seem so lonely, for the banks at the

roadside were covered with bright flowers, and the days were long and

full of sunshine. But in the winter everything was white as far as

Babushka could see, and the wind howled, and the wolves howled, and

the birds were all gone. And Babushka was poor, and old, and lonely.

One winter day, when she was hurrying to get her work all done and

her house tidied before the dark came down, because she was too

poor to buy candles for herself, she heard a strange sound outside

like silver bells ringing above the whistling wind. She looked out

of her little window and saw a great train of people coming down

the broadest of the roads toward the crossroad. She never had seen

anything so strange before, for the leaders were not traveling in

sleighs or on horseback, but on three great splendid white camels.

The silver bells were hung about the camels' necks, and their saddles

were decorated with silver ornaments. And on the camels rode Three

Kings. Babushka knew they were kings because they were so richly

dressed and because each one wore a golden crown on his head. And

after them followed a long train of servants and guards. The Kings

did not know which road to take, and one of the servants was sent to

knock on Babushka's door and ask the way. At first the old woman was

so frightened that she wouldn't open the door, nor answer at all, and

the Kings themselves had to get down from their camels and come to

speak with her. The servants frightened Babushka, but the Kings were

so kind to her that she soon told them all she knew about the four

great roads. It wasn't very much, for she had never traveled further

than the nearest village, but she told the Kings that there they

could find shelter for themselves and their camels and their servants.

Then the first King said: "We have journeyed a very long way,

Babushka. We have been guided on the road by a glorious, shining

Star, and we know that by and by the Star will lead us to a little

new-born Baby."

The poor old Babushka wondered very much, and said: "Who is the

little child, my lord, that you should take such a long, hard journey

to find him?"

And the first King said: "He is a great King--the King of all the

earth. When we find Him we will lay our crowns at His feet, with

these gifts we have brought--gold, and frankincense, and myrrh. We

are called Gaspar, Melchior, and Balthazar."

Babushka listened and looked. She saw the gold crowns, and she saw

that each one of the Kings bore in his hand a gift--one held a richly

embroidered bag which looked heavy, and it was, for it was filled

with gold. Another carried a beautiful crystal jar full of something

clear and golden. Babushka knew this must be myrrh, and suddenly she

knew, too, that the fragrance of spices filling the poor little house

must come from the incense in the stone vase she saw in the hands of

the third King.

She listened and looked, and then she said: "Kings have no need of

gifts, my lord. Why do you carry these gifts to the little child?"

And the first King said: "Because this King of all the Earth is the

King of Love, or He would not have come down into the world as a

little child. And because we love Him more than everything else, we

are bringing Him the very best that we have."

And the second King said: "Come, Babushka, go with us on our journey

to find the Christ-Child. He has come into the world to love and help

just such poor old creatures as you."

And the third King said: "There is room in His heart for you, and we

will gladly help you on the journey to Him."

And all the Kings begged her to go with them. But Babushka was afraid

and unwilling. She saw how cold and dreary it was outside, and she

knew that she was warm and dry in her little hut, even if she was

so poor. She didn't know anything better than just to have enough

to eat, and a fire to keep her warm. She looked up into the dark,

threatening sky, and couldn't see any marvelous star through the

thick clouds. And, besides, she wanted to finish sweeping up her

house. She must surely do that first of all. But the Kings could not

wait, so they mounted their camels again, and soon Babushka heard

the music of the silver bells growing fainter and fainter in the

distance. All the next day, and the day after, and the day after

that, and every day all the year, and through all the years, Babushka

thought of her strange visitors. And still more she thought of the

little Child. And the more she thought, the more she grew to love

Him, until at last she began to wish she had gone with the Three

Kings. She grew more and more unhappy about it, until one day she

made up her mind that she would set out alone to try to find the

Child. She forgot how many, many years had gone by since the visit of

the Kings, and she didn't know that the Child had gone back to His

Throne in Heaven again. She locked her little cottage and set out,

going from village to village and from house to house, everywhere

seeking for the Christ-Child. When she found a little child who was

kind and loving and true, she said to herself: "This little one looks

as the Child I am seeking must have looked," and it made her very

happy. But still she didn't find the Child the Kings had found.

And, Princess, though it all happened such hundreds and hundreds of

years ago, the Babushka is still hurrying over the world in winter

time, looking in every nursery and every cottage for the little

Christ-Child. She comes in softly with just a rustle of her skirts,

and bends over the beds where little children lie asleep. She always

puts some small gift on the pillow, and steals silently out again. It

is only the children that are good and quiet who ever see her, and

she makes friends with them and gives them Christmas presents. But

she loves the babies best of all, I know, because she still hopes

to find among them the Baby who was laid in a manger on the first

Christmas.

MATRENA [_after an instant's pause, pointing to window_].

Someone is at the window!

PRINCESS. I see her--it's the old woman who led us out of

the forest!

SASCHA. It's the Babushka!

KOLINKA. Perhaps she will come in. Let's be very quiet.

MATRENA. Let's sing--the Babushka loves our carols.

[_Children sing softly the carol of the Birds.

Enter_ BABUSHKA, _very quietly. Lays her

hand on_ PAVLO'S, _then on_ NICOLAS' _head,

and gazes earnestly at them._

[_Kneels by cradle, bending over the baby, and

kisses it. Rises, stands watching the children

a moment, then glides silently out.

Children see her pass window, then the

song ceases._

PRINCESS [_suddenly springing up_]. Oh, Dimitri, why didn't

we beg the Babushka to take us home to the castle? Our Father and

Mother will be so terribly frightened when we don't come back!

PRINCE [_hurrying to door_]. Perhaps it isn't too late.

SASCHA [_catching his arm, and standing before the door_].

No, no! you couldn't catch her.

KOLINKA. And you mustn't go out in the cold again.

PRINCESS [_in great distress_]. But we must let our father

know we are safe!

KOLINKA. We will send a messenger as soon as we can, but

there is no one in the village to-night----

SASCHA. The wolves have been so bad that all the men have

gone out to hunt them.

KOLINKA. Perhaps someone will be back soon, and then we can

send. It isn't safe for the boys to go alone into the forest so late.

SASCHA [_to_ PRINCE]. Father made me promise not to

go away until he came home. I'm not a bit afraid, though.

KOLINKA. Sascha, run and ask old Semyon what he thinks.

[_Exit_ SASCHA.] Sascha will bring Semyon back with him.

NICOLAS. Perhaps Ivan will come, too.

MATRENA. Ivan and Semyon play their violins and sing--Ivan

is Semyon's grandson, you know.

PAVLO. And we sing, too.

NICOLAS. We'll sing for you when they come.

PRINCE. Will you? That's nice.

MARIE. We sing all the songs we know on winter nights. And

while we sing we work. See, Princess, this is our winter work.

[PRINCE _and_ PRINCESS _go to table and look

over wooden articles and baskets, with_

MARIE _and_ MATRENA. KOLINKA _stands

by window._

NICOLAS [_to_ PAVLO]. I'm glad I wasn't big enough

to go wolf-hunting, aren't you, Pavlo, because now we've seen the

Prince and the Princess.

PAVLO. And Sascha said they wouldn't come here--but they

did. Let's go up on the stove again, Nicolas. [_They climb upon the

stove._]

KOLINKA. There they come. [_Opens door. Enter_

SASCHA, SEMYON, _and_ IVAN.] Did you tell

Semyon, Sascha?

SASCHA. Yes, and he says we must wait.

SEMYON. Good-evening to you all.

CHILDREN. Good-evening.

SEMYON [_bowing_]. It's a poor, cold welcome home we give to

our Prince and Princess, but we are glad to see them among us again.

PRINCE. I'm sure they've all been kind, little father.

SEMYON [_bowing again, to Prince_]. I'm sorry, my lord, that

there is no way to send a message to the Baron, but our boys are too

young, and I am too feeble. The men will be at home soon, I hope, and

meanwhile you must be patient.

MARIE. Oh, Semyon, let us have some carols [_to_

PRINCESS], and then the time will go quickly.

SEMYON. Ivan and I are always glad to make music on

Christmas Eve.

IVAN. Or any other eve, either, Grandfather.

[SEMYON _sits in center of stage_, IVAN _standing

beside him. They play their violins

and sing the ballad of King Wenceslas, all

the children joining in the chorus._

NICOLAS. Sister, sister, I hear somebody shouting, outside!

SASCHA [_rushing to door_]. The men come back from the wolf

hunt!

IVAN. Let's see what they've killed. [_Exeunt_ IVAN

_and_ SASCHA.]

KOLINKA. No, it's not our father--they're all men that look

like soldiers.

MARIE. It's the people from the castle come to look for you!

[_Door flies open. Enter_ IVAN _and_ SASCHA

_with_ BARON. PRINCE _and_ PRINCESS _rush

to him._

PRINCE _and_ PRINCESS. Father! Father!

BARON. My children! Are you both safe?

PRINCESS. Oh, yes, Father. These children have been so good

to us.

BARON. Have they, my dear? Then they have been good to me,

too, and I thank them with all my heart.

KOLINKA. Oh, we haven't done anything, sir!

PRINCE. Tell us how you found out where we were, Father?

BARON. In rather a queer way, my son. We didn't miss you

just at once, but as soon as we knew you were gone everyone was in

a great fright, you may be sure. I started out with Sergius and

Smoloff, and half a dozen others to search for you in the forest. We

hadn't gone a hundred yards from the castle when we met the strangest

little old woman I ever saw, all dressed in gray, and wrinkled and

bent----

PRINCESS [_clapping her hands_]. The Babushka, Father, the

Babushka!

MARIE, SASCHA, _and_ KOLINKA. The Babushka

took the message!

PRINCE. It was she who brought us here!

SEMYON. Have you never heard of the Babushka, Baron?

BARON. Yes, yes! I know the old story of the Babushka, but I

never saw her before.

IVAN. She always comes to our village at Christmas time. We

don't all see her every year, but somebody always sees her.

PRINCE. What did she do, Father?

BARON. She did not speak at all. She looked at us for a

moment with the softest eyes imaginable, and then she stooped down

and pointed to your footprints in the snow. Then she pointed toward

the village, smiled, and beckoned to us to follow her. It seemed as

if she must have guessed our trouble, and she seemed so sure and so

full of cheer, that we couldn't help believing we should find you,

and followed her at once. I must reward her liberally for the great

service she has done me and mine this night.

MARIE. The Babushka wants no reward, Baron. You know what it

is she has been searching for all these years? Grandmother says it

was Love the Babushka wanted, and she has surely found it, for every

little child in Russia loves her dearly, dearly, and watches for her

at Christmas time.

IVAN. And when she comes, the children sing their carols for

her. But the one she loves best is the "Golden Carol"--that's the

song of the Three Kings, you know, sir.

SEMYON [_in doorway_]. The Babushka is coming now, with

her followers, my lord. Here they are! [_Enter a troop of village

children, the_ BABUSHKA _in their midst, smiling on them,

and now and then patting some little one on the head. She stands in

the center of the stage and distributes gifts to the children from

a quaint basket, answering their cries and questions by nods and

smiles, each child exclaiming "Thank you!" "How nice!" etc., as he

receives his gift._]

CHILDREN. Oh, Babushka! dear, good Babushka!

SOPHIA. Have you got something for everybody?

MALASHKA. Are you quite sure?

SERGIUS. Me, too, Babushka!

MASHA. I've tried to be good, all the whole year!

CHILDREN. We all have, _truly_, Babushka.

SERGIUS. I've had good lessons--you can ask the

school-teacher.

KATINKA. My mother says I've been a good girl--aren't you

glad?

PETER. Please, Babushka--I--I'm afraid I haven't been a very

good boy. But I'm sorry, and I'll try to do better next year. I'll be

bigger, then.

PRASKOVIA. We'll all be very, very good next year--won't we,

children?

CHILDREN. Indeed we will, Babushka.

BORIS. Perhaps it will be easier next year.

FEODOSIA. Oh, please, Babushka, I have a baby brother at

home. Could you give me something for him?

LEO. My big brother has gone wolf-hunting with the men, but

he'll be sorry enough he missed you, Babushka.

MICHAEL. So has mine, and he'll be sorry, too.

NADIA. Dear Babushka, I've kept the present so carefully

that you gave me last year.

MALASHKA. Oh, _did_ you? Mine got broken and I cried.

CHILDREN. Oh, Babushka, we love you, we love you! Why can't

you stay with us always? Live here with us--in our village.

SASCHA. Babushka! You must have something for the Prince and

Princess, haven't you?

[_As the_ BABUSHKA _gives them something, the_

BARON _turns to the children._

BARON. Children, the Babushka has given the best present of

all to me.

[_Children stare in surprise._

MARIE. Oh, I know! I know what it was!

BARON. Yes, some of you can guess. The Prince and the

Princess were my Christmas present, for the Babushka gave them back

to me.

[_Children laugh and clap._

SEMYON [_tapping his violin for quiet_]. Come, children, we

must sing for the Babushka!

CHILDREN. Yes--we always do. [_Applaud again._

SEMYON _and_ IVAN _play, while children sing "The

Golden Carol."_]

[Music: THE GOLDEN CAROL

of MELCHIOR, BALTHAZAR, and GASPAR.]

We saw a light shine out afar,

On Christmas in the morning,

And straight we knew Christ's star it was,

Bright beaming in the morning.

Then did we fall on bended knee,

On Christmas in the morning,

And praised the Lord, who'd let us see,

His glory at its dawning.

2. Oh, ever thought be of His Name,

On Christmas in the morning,

Who bore for us both grief and shame,

Afflictions sharpest scorning.

And may we die (when death shall come)

On Christmas in the morning,

And see in heaven, our glorious home,

That Star of Christmas morning.

CURTAIN

NOTES ON SETTING, MUSIC, AND COSTUME

RUSSIAN OVEN. Made from a wooden packing-case, five or six

feet in height, covered with cambric, and painted to represent stone,

brick, or tiles. These stoves are decorated with rich panels in bold

conventional designs of flower or animal forms, or combinations of

geometrical figures. They are often so large that in the bitter

weather whole families may sleep on their tops, or on a platform

above.

IKONS. Pictures of the Christ, the Madonna, and the Saints,

much ornamented with gilt, and placed on a ledge in "the beautiful

corner," with candles in silver candlesticks, sweet-smelling grasses,

and flowers, real or of paper. Sometimes a carved wooden pigeon is

also placed before the ikons--the emblem of the Holy Spirit. The

wall in this corner is hung with long towels, either covered with

embroidery, or embroidered at the ends. Everyone who enters the room

makes an obeisance, and crosses himself, before the ikons. They are

specially decorated for Christmas.

Make the towels with stencils, as described in the notes on girls'

costumes.

The same characteristic designs are placed on ledges, cupboards, and

shelves, on the chest, or coffer, and ceiling beam, on carved wooden

boxes, dishes, and jugs, which are often displayed on a sideboard.

The knife and loaf placed on the coffer constitute a symbol of

hospitality.

The decoration of the stage need be limited only by time and

resources.

MUSIC

Search for information in regard to carol-singing in Russia having

been unsuccessful, old carols have been chosen which lend an

atmosphere of quaintness. The "Carol of the Birds" is old French,

the others English, "The Golden Carol" of the Magi being especially

appropriate to the story.

The sources for "Good King Wenceslas" are given on p. 316. The

singing of this carol (also the "Golden Carol") is accompanied by the

Village Fiddlers on their violins. Semyon sings the part of the King,

Ivan that of the Page, all the children the narrative parts.

Others, with better knowledge of the subject, may be able to obtain

music more strictly suitable. The author would be glad to gain any

accurate information in regard to the use of Christmas carols in

Russia.

COSTUMES

BOYS wear Russian blouses, and dark trousers, their legs

bound, from feet to knees, with yellowish rags; shoes suggesting

moccasins. Blouses may be made of canton flannel, white, or dull

colors, or of unbleached muslin, reaching halfway to knees. Neck

finished in a band; opening from collar down left side is not more

than six or eight inches, giving just room enough to put the head

through. Trim this collar and opening, also sleeves, with fur; or

put on a conventional border with stencil and paints, narrow at neck

opening, broad on sleeves. Tie in at waist with a short sash, ends

hanging, of bright color to match borders.

Outdoor winter costume of boys is a very thick, very full-skirted

coat of dark color, immense boots, cap of fur, or fur-bordered, and

bright scarf about neck, ends tucked into breast of coat. The village

children, however, may be supposed to rush in from their houses,

after the Babushka, without coats, but dressed as above, which is

both simpler and more picturesque.

GIRLS' costumes vary a little more.

1. Sleeveless dress, to ankles; white guimpe, long full

sleeves. Dress of bright colors, with band of plain color

edging bottom of skirt, neck, both of dress and guimpe,

and bordering white sleeves. Apron, white, with stenciled

designs in various colors.

2. Skirt to ankles, of soft faded blue or red, worn high on

the short white waist, which has full sleeves, gathered in

a band at the elbow. Trimmed with stenciled bands in bright

colors, at hem of skirt, on neck and sleeves, and also at

the edge of an immense handkerchief worn on the head and

knotted under the chin. This is large enough to spread out

over shoulders, and is straight across the back.

3. Plain narrow skirt of soft color, with a long-sleeved

apron (cream white), low-necked in front, and cut like an

Eton jacket in the back. This skirt has a band of plain

color at the hem, but the apron is trimmed with many rows

of stenciled patterns at the bottom, a narrow pattern

at neck and hand, and a broader one around the back at

the waist. White chemisette in front, also with band of

trimming.

Girls wear knots of ribbon hanging from the ends of their braids,

many strings of bright beads on the neck, and large gold hoops, or

enameled earrings in their ears. They may wear low shoes with bows

or buckles, or the soft, thick moccasin-like shoes worn by the boys.

Some few may be bareheaded. Others wear the large handkerchiefs

described above, and still others the picturesque "kokochnik," a

velvet, bead-trimmed crescent, worn forward on the head as in the

picture of "Marie." These are easily cut from cardboard, covered with

velvet, and trimmed in different patterns with small beads.

The stenciled patterns above-mentioned take the place of Russian

embroideries. They are repeated conventional designs, Greek patterns,

and fantastic forms of flowers, birds, and animals. Stenciling is

suggested as being the easiest and quickest way of getting the

desired effect.

THE BABUSHKA. Long robe, and hooded cloak of light gray

canton flannel. The hood is worn over the head. She carries a quaint

basket filled with cheap little toys.

An adult is needed for this part, or an older girl of sufficient

insight and appreciation to carry out the simple pantomime and fill

it with the love and deep yearning of the Babushka, who is really a

spirit, and not a human being at all.

THE BARON. Long military coat, below knees; cream-colored,

trimmed on breast with a pattern in gold braid, a band of same around

the edge and up the slits at the sides. Double collar, standing up

behind head and lying flat across back, scarlet with a gilt pattern.

Scarlet sash with sword or dagger. Red boots with blue heels. Spurs.

Sleeves open from shoulder to fur-trimmed cuff, and worn hanging.

Under-sleeve, and lining of coat-sleeve of a rich color. Hat with

flat-topped crown about eight inches high, scarlet, with gold

pattern; standing brim, dark brown, three inches high, cleft in

front to show more of red and gold. Gilt cockade in front.

PRINCE. Russian blouse with military trimmings, scarlet and

white. Khaki trousers, boots, fur cap.

PRINCESS. White cape and hood, trimmed with fur and silver.

Dress underneath not unlike the little peasants', but more richly

trimmed.

OLD SEMYON. Long brown robe, halfway below knees, skirt

rather full. Legs bound in tan-colored rags. Moccasins. Coat has

broad collar with long reveres, and plain high vest inside, of same

material as coat. Hat made of the same, low, with rolling brim,

giving a turban-like effect. Long white hair and beard.

Marie, the eldest of the children, is perhaps fourteen; Kolinka,

twelve; Matrena, nine; Sascha, Ivan, and the Prince, eleven or

twelve; Pavlo and Nicolas, five or six; the Princess, nine. The

Village children should be rather small.

Satisfactory pictures of Russian homes and costumes are very

difficult to find, but there is a series of fairy-tales in Russian,

beautifully illustrated in color, which will be found most helpful to

those wishing to make costumes for this play. These books are to be

had at the Russian Importing Company, 452 Boylston Street, Boston,

and may also be seen in some of the larger Public Libraries.

A CANVAS CHRISTMAS

IN TWO ACTS

CHARACTERS

PETER PEPPER, Ringmaster, and owner of Pepper's Perennial Circus.

HARRY HOPKINS }

LIMBER JACK } otherwise MARCO BROTHERS, Acrobats.

BARNEY O'BRIEN } } SIGNOR FRENCELLI }

JERRY PICKLE } otherwise } SIGNOR COCODILLA } Clowns.

BEN JACKSON, otherwise MR. BARLOW, Minstrel and hand.

DUTCH, peanut-man and general factotum.

MIKE MCGINNIS, otherwise PROFESSOR WORMWOOD, Animal-trainer.

TIM, one of the hands.

SCHNEIDER, the Dog.

JOCKO, the Monkey.

FARMER SIMPSON.

BENJAMIN FRANKLIN SIMPSON--"BUB"--(Eight years old.) }

DANIEL WEBSTER SIMPSON--"SONNY"--(Five years old.) } his boys.

A CANVAS CHRISTMAS

Written for a club of boys from twelve to seventeen.

ACT I

TIME: _Ten o'clock on Christmas Eve._

SCENE: _The mess-tent of Pepper's Perennial Circus, very bare

and shabby, with circus litter about; signs, "No Smoking," "Next

performance, 2 P.M.," posters, etc., on the tent walls; a rough

mess-table of boards and trestles, with boxes, stools, two broken

chairs, etc., for seats. Pile of old blankets in one corner.

Lantern hangs in center of tent, and another [L.] at entrance to

circus tent. [R.], another exit, leading out of doors. Music [if

possible] from circus tent, playing last strains of "Home, Sweet

Home." Burst of applause from circus tent, the flaps part, and the

troupe enters_ [_excepting_ PEPPER, MIKE, _and the animals_], _weary

and discontented, and drop down anywhere to rest._ HOPKINS _throws

himself on pile of blankets [R.]_, JACK _takes a box nearby_, BARNEY

_sits on table, and_ JERRY _goes to entrance [R.], fanning himself

with his hat._ BEN _takes box [L.], and_ DUTCH _enters last, slipping

the straps of his peanut-tray from his shoulders and setting it on

the end of the table._

HARRY [_sullenly_]. This 'ere's the worst night we've 'ad

yet.

JACK. You bet yer life!

BARNEY. Faix! I've no futs left an me at all, at all!

TIM [_rubs his arms_]. I'm lame all over. It's me for the

liniment bottle!

JERRY. I'm as tired as any of you guys, but I'm a good deal

madder than I'm tired.

JACK. I should say.

HARRY. 'Ow could we be h'anything but tired and h'angry, I'd

like to h'arsk, with such a boss as old Pepper?

BEN. Gen'lemen--Mr. Pepper he su'tinly war pretty bad, dis

evenin'--in fac' I may say he war de limit.

JERRY. And no excuse for it, either.

BARNEY. Was it excuse, ye said?

DUTCH. Mishter Pepper he don't vaits for no excuse. You'd

t'ink ve vas all der lazy loafers--und der ain'd a lazy bone in der

whole boonch.

[_Enter_ MIKE, _with dog, and leading monkey._

MIKE. The sound of yez all is quite familiar. Be ye knockin'

the boss again?

BEN. We-all got mighty good reason, Mr. McGinnis.

HARRY. 'E's not getting a think but wot 'e's earned for

'isself.

JACK. Work a fellow to skin and bone!

BARNEY. Wid nary bit o' regard to his iligant muscle, Limber

Jack?

JACK. It's true--no joshin', Barney!

BARNEY. Niver a bit of it, darlin'!

JERRY. It's all work and no rest----

MIKE. And niver a dacint worrud, even for the dumb

bastes---- [_Pats dog and monkey. Dog goes about from one to another

expecting pats and caresses, which are absent-mindedly given. Monkey,

unobserved, steals peanuts from tray._]

TIM. Nothing but blame, morning, noon, and night!

DUTCH. Und ven der vork is ofer, ve don't gets noddings

enough to eats--ain'd?

BEN. Gentlemen, I'm 'bliged to admit dat I'm hungry all de

day long!

HARRY. H'and h'all night, you might say, and no

h'exaggeratin'.

TIM. We're all of us half starved.

JERRY [_warningly_]. Here's the boss, fellows!

[_Enter_ PETER, _striding into tent and giving

an angry glance around._

PETER [_suspiciously_]. What are you all doing here? You,

Tim, get a hustle on and put out those lights in the big tent.

[_Exit_ TIM, _slowly and sullenly._] Mike McGinnis, go put

your beasts in their cages--look at that monkey wasting the peanuts!

Dutch, you aren't worth your salt--can't you take care of your stuff?

[MIKE, _with an injured air, leads out monkey and whistles

dog after him._ DUTCH, _much aggrieved, takes up tray, and

moves it to another place._] Jerry Pickle, if you and O'Brien can't

ring in something new for your turn, you'll soon be given the hook,

and Ben's jokes are all stale enough to crumble. As for you, Hopkins,

I consider your riding to-night a flunk, and you and Jack are no

acrobats at all--you're just a couple of dubs. The show's always had

the name of a first-class show, and it's going to keep up to it, if

I've got to throw you all out and get a new lot. So you want to look

out--see? [_Exit angrily._]

HARRY [_jumping up_]. There's a-goin' to be h'end of

this--as sure as my name's 'Arry 'Opkins!

JERRY. Well, I'm with you, for one. We never go into winter

quarters for a rest----

HARRY. No, for the h'old skinflint goes and brings 'is

bloomin' show South----

JERRY. So's he can keep open all year round, and double his

profits.

DUTCH. Und vat does ve get oud of ut? Yust noddings.

JERRY. I should say not! We're half paid and half fed, and

worked double, and I for one have took all I'll stand.

JACK. I'm with you there.

TIM. So'm I, Jerry.

BARNEY. Bedad, it's in the same box we all are.

MIKE. True for you, Barney. We'd all better be quittin'.

BEN. Gen'lemen! dis yere 'lustrous Company a' unanimous.

We all 'low dat Mr. Pepper have got to reform. We-all mus' draw up

a partition an' prohibit Mr. Pepper for conduc' unbecomin' to a

Ringmaster. Gen'lemen, let us take action.

HARRY. H'action be blowed! If it's 'ighly satisfactory to

h'agitate petitions, or throw up your jobs--w'y, _I_ calls that just

nothin' doin'. No h'A-1 h'acrobat is a-goin' to stand bein' told 'e's

flunked in his best h'act. _I_ don't till I've pied 'im h'up.

[_A murmur of assent, and all draw closer

about him (R. front), speaking with lowered

voices._

BARNEY. That's something like talk, that is!

MIKE. I'm wid yez, Harry, me b'y.

JERRY. I'd like to burn his old show over his head.

TIM. Just doctor his wagon-axles a little, and when they

break down, we'll take to the woods!

JACK. _Much_ he'll get a new lot.

BEN. No, gen'lemen--I got dat proposition beat----

[_Words become inaudible; they draw closer

yet. The canvas (back Center) parts.

Enter_ BUB _and_ SONNY, _very cautiously

and timidly, peering about. They come

forward a little, and pause, looking at

group._

BUB. This is sure enough the circus, Sonny. Look at those

men.

[_The troupe fall apart guiltily, and look with

amazement at the children._

BUB [_grips_ SONNY'S _hand and comes forward

slowly_]. Please, mister, is the circus all over?

BEN. Laws, honey, you didn' 'spec' to fin' no circus dis

time o' night?

BARNEY. Sure, an' ut's time we was all tucked into our

little beds, an' the same to _you_, bedad.

HARRY. Maybe you'll do us the honor to tell us your names?

BUB [_impressively_]. My name is Benjamin Franklin Simpson.

SONNY. An' mine is Daniel Webster Simpson.

MIKE [_pretends to faint_]. Oh, would some of yez have the

goodness to fan me! [JACK _obliges him._]

JERRY. Give us a shorter one! They don't call you that every

time you get your orders, I'm sure.

[_Enter_ PEPPER, _watching unnoticed from

background._

BUB. No; I'm just Bub, and he's Sonny.

TIM. That's more like it.

JACK. Breathe easy, Mike.

HARRY. Well, Mr. Benjamin Franklin Bub, will you h'inform us

where you 'ails from?

BUB. We live over the mountain, by Pinesburg, an' we wanted

to see the circus, so we just ran off and came.

JERRY. Pinesburg--that's ten miles off. How'd you say you

come?

BUB. Just walked.

SONNY [_rubbing his fists in his eyes_]. An' the circus is

all over, an' I'm so tired! [_Men murmur sympathetically, and the

group breaks and re-forms around the boys. Men gather about, some

squatting near the boys, others standing behind._]

BARNEY. Futted it ivery shtep!