Produced by David Garcia and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net. (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Kentuckiana Digital Library.)
[Illustration: STUART WALKER WITH THE WORKING MODEL OF HIS PORTMANTEAU
THEATRE]
MORE PORTMANTEAU PLAYS
BY
STUART WALKER
Author of Portmanteau Plays
Edited, and with an Introduction by
EDWARD HALE BIERSTADT
[Illustration: ILLUSTRATED]
CINCINNATI
STEWART & KIDD COMPANY
1919
STEWART &. KIDD DRAMATIC SERIES
The Portmanteau Plays
By Stuart Walker
Edited and with an Introduction by
Edward Hale Bierstadt
VOL. 1--Portmanteau Plays
Introduction
The Trimplet
Nevertheless
Six Who Pass While the Lintels Boil
Medicine Show
VOL. 2--More Portmanteau Plays
Introduction
The Lady of the Weeping Willow Tree
The Very Naked Boy
Jonathan Makes a Wish
VOL. 3--Portmanteau Adaptations
Introduction
Gammer Gurton's Needle
The Birthday of the Infanta
"Seventeen"
_Each of the above three volumes handsomely bound and illustrated. Per
volume net $1.75_
STEWART & KIDD CO., PUBLISHERS
ILLUSTRATIONS
STUART WALKER WITH THE WORKING MODEL OF
HIS PORTMANTEAU THEATRE _Frontispiece_
FACING PAGE
THE LADY OF THE WEEPING WILLOW TREE, ACT III 34
THE LADY OF THE WEEPING WILLOW TREE, ACT III 63
THE VERY NAKED BOY 80
JONATHAN MAKES A WISH, ACT I I 130
JONATHAN MAKES A WISH, ACT II II 149
INTRODUCTION
During the period which has elapsed between the publication of _Portmanteau
Plays_, and that of the present volume our country entered upon the
greatest war in history, and emerged victorious. It is far too early to
estimate what effect that war has had or may have upon all art in general,
and upon the dramatic and theatric arts in particular, but there is every
indication that the curtain is about to rise on the great romantic revival
which we have watched and waited for, and of which Stuart Walker has been
one of the major prophets.
During the actual period of the war many of the creative and interpretative
artists of the theater were engaged either directly in army work or in one
of its auxiliary branches. It is amusing to recall that the present writer
met Schuyler Ladd serving as Mess Sergeant for a Base Hospital in France,
Alexander Wollcott, late dramatic critic of the New York _Times_, attached
to the _Stars and Stripes_ in Paris, and Douglas Stuart, the London
producer, in an English hospital at Etretat, the while he himself was
serving as an enlisted man on the staff of the same hospital. These are
minor instances, but when they have been multiplied several hundred times
one begins to see how closely the actor, the critic, and the producer were
involved in the struggle. Again the problem of providing proper
entertainment for the troops was, and still is, a serious one. In the great
number of cases it seems highly probable that the entertainment along such
lines done by the men themselves was far more effective than that provided
by outside organizations. More than once, however, it appeared to the
writer that here was a field especially suited to the _Portmanteau Theater_
and to its repertory. The question of transportation, always a crucial
point with such a venture, was no more difficult than that presented by
many companies already in the field, and doing immensely inferior work. My
return to America put me in possession of the facts of the matter, and
without desiring in any way to cast blame, much less to indict, or to
emphasize unduly a relatively unimportant point, it seems only fitting that
there should be included in this record the reasons for what has seemed to
many of us a lost opportunity. They are at least much more brief than the
apologia which precedes them.
The _Portmanteau Theater_, its repertory of forty-eight plays, and its
trained company, was offered for war purposes under the following
conditions: no royalty was to be paid for any of the plays, no salary was
to be paid Mr. Walker; the company was to go wherever sent, whether in or
out of shell fire, in France or in England; the only stipulation being that
the members of the company should be remunerated at the same rate paid an
enlisted man in the United States army, and that the principal members
should receive the pay of subalterns. On the whole an arrangement so
generous that it is almost absurd. To this offer the Y. M. C. A. turned a
deaf ear. Their attention was concentrated on vaudeville at the moment,
and with one hand they covered their eyes while with the other they
clutched their purse strings. The War Camp Community Service could see no
way in which the Theater could function for the men either at home or
abroad. The _Portmanteau_ was, in a word, too "high-brow" a venture for
them. The reader is referred to the Appendix of this volume showing the
repertory in use at that time. Another official contented himself with the
statement that the problem of transportation involved rendered the project
impracticable. The matter is too lengthy to discuss here, but the writer,
who was able to observe the situation at first hand, knows this to be an
error. The navy then asked for plans and estimates so that a number of
_Portmanteau Theaters_ might be constructed aboard the ships. Mr. Walker
offered to put all his patents at the complete disposal of the Navy
Department, and himself was ready to draw plans and make suggestions. The
navy approved the idea, and with sublime assurance requested Mr. Walker to
proceed with the work of construction--at his own expense. It was
impossible; the money could not be afforded, and the venture was abandoned.
It is therefore very evident that there was an opportunity, and that that
opportunity was lost; but it was not the _Portmanteau_ which lost it. At
any rate we are left free to take up the history of Mr. Walker's theater
and his plays at the point where we left off in the first book of the
series.
The close of the highly successful season at the _Princess Theater_ in New
York, the winter of 1915-1916, was followed by twelve weeks on the road,
three of which were spent in Chicago, and then by thirteen weeks in
Indianapolis. It was in this last city that the production of the
adaptation of Booth Tarkington's book, "Seventeen," changed all plans by
its instant popularity. On the way East, a stop was made in Chicago, and
before that city had time to do much more than voice its enthusiasm, the
company left for New York. During the fall of 1917 _Seventeen_ was played
regularly, with the addition of some special performances of the repertory.
_Seventeen_ was played in New York for two hundred and fifty-eight
performances (Chicago had already had one hundred), and the special
performances of _The Book of Job_ were renewed in the spring. It was during
the next fall, that of 1918, that a second _Seventeen_ company was sent out
on the road. That company is still out, the total playing time for the work
since its production being (April, 1919) just one hundred and four weeks.
The next summer, 1918, included a repertory season of thirteen weeks, again
at Indianapolis, and four in Cincinnati, while the following winter, just
past, chimed ten weeks of repertory at the _Punch and Judy Theater_ in New
York. To sum up in brief then--Mr. Walker has, beginning in the spring of
1916 and ending in the spring of 1919, played seventy-six weeks of
repertory, in which he has produced forty-eight plays. This does not
include the _Seventeen_ run which, as I have said, totals one hundred and
four weeks to date. It is safe to claim that this represents as successful
repertory work as has been done in the United States so far. We shall,
however, return to that presently.
In the fall of 1917, so important to the Portmanteau company, a change of
management was instituted, by which the following staff came into control:
Stage Director--Gregory Kelly: Stage Manager--Morgan Farley: Musical
Director--Michel Bernstein: Manager--Harold Holstein: Press
Representative--Alta May Coleman: Treasurer--Walter Herzbrun. The changes
were excellent, and were thoroughly justified in their results. An
arrangement was made with the Shuberts, whereby booking was greatly
facilitated, and with its structure thus reinforced, the Theater was in an
excellent position to "carry on."
It may be remembered by those who read the first book of the _Portmanteau
Series_ that in my introduction I placed the greater portion of my emphasis
on the theatrical side; that is, the _Portmanteau_ as a portable theater
rather than as a repertory company. It is my intention here to reverse the
process, and this for two reasons. First: Mr. Walker has in the last two
years by no means confined himself to the _Portmanteau_ stage. The recent
run at the _Punch and Judy Theater_ in New York was upon a full size stage,
and this was not at all an exception. The _Portmanteau_ was, and is, an
idea, but that idea has no very definite connection with repertory as such.
There is no longer the need, in this particular instance, that there once
was, for the invariable use of the _Portmanteau_, except as convenience
requires. At the very beginning, when the company often played for private
persons, the portable stage was indispensable. But so thoroughly did the
_Portmanteau_ idea justify itself that from being a crutch it grew into a
handy staff, always valuable, but no longer essential. All that has been
said of it, and of its possibilities, is quite as true today as ever it
was, but now having proved his original thesis, if so it may be called, Mr.
Walker may well be content to work out the future gradually and in his own
way. Second: the repertory idea is certainly of infinitely more importance
than any theatrical device or contrivance, however interesting and valuable
such a departure may be in itself. As to any difference in the acting
necessitated by the change from a small to a large stage that amounts to
little. It is entirely a difference in quality, an ability to temper the
interpretation to the surroundings, and as such would apply as readily to
the staging and setting of a play as to the acting itself. On a large stage
one might take three steps to convey an impression where on a small stage
one step would produce the same effect. An arch or pylon would obviously
have to be of greater proportions on a large stage than on a small one. Yet
in both these instances the ultimate effect is precisely the same. Let us
turn then to a consideration of the Portmanteau, not as a theater, but as a
repertory company.
There is certainly no space here, and just as certainly no necessity, for
dwelling long upon the prime importance of repertory. Several excellent
books have been written on that absorbing subject, and we may surely take
for granted that which we know beyond all doubt to be the truth, namely,
that repertory as opposed to the "long run" and to the "star" system is the
ultimate solution of a most vexatious and perplexing problem--how to change
the modern theater from an industry to an art. The disadvantages of the
present mode of procedure are too evident to call for recapitulation;
witness the results obtained. On the other hand there can be no question
that there is a practicable and simple panacea in repertory; see what has
been done by the Abbey company in Dublin, by Miss Horniman's players in
Manchester, by the _Scottish Repertory Theater_, on a smaller scale, in
Glasgow, by John Drinkwater's repertory theater in Birmingham, concerning
which I have, unfortunately, no exact data, but which I understand is doing
remarkable work with distinct success, and by the Portmanteau company in
the United States. It would be well also to include Charles Frohman's
season at the _Duke of York's Repertory Theater_ in London; in fact the
inclusion of this seventeen weeks' season would be inevitable. Where the
experiment has failed it has failed for reasons which did not, in any way,
shape or manner, invalidate the principle at stake. Thus, to cite the great
example on our own side of the water, the _New Theater_ was doomed to
failure from the very start in the fact that it was born crippled. It may
be restated to advantage, just here, that from the spring of 1916 to the
spring of 1919, a period of three years, Mr. Walker has produced
forty-eight plays, has given seventy-six weeks of repertory, and has had a
nearly unbroken run of one hundred and four weeks with one play which has
been commercially successful beyond the others. Of the forty-eight plays
produced during this time eighteen had never been seen before on any stage;
four were entirely new to America (except for a possible itinerant amateur
performance); and twenty-six were revivals, modern, semi-modern, and
classical. It is my belief that this record will take a creditable position
in the history of American repertory. Abroad, however, its place is less
secure, but even here the _Portmanteau_ is by no means snowed under.
In the other great English speaking country there are four outstanding
examples of repertory work, as has already been stated. On the Continent
the situation is entirely different; there is no "problem" there, for the
repertory theater has long been an established fact. France, in the
_Comedie-Francaise_, and Germany, in several of her theaters before the
war, merely provide us with a criterion. In Great Britain, however, and in
America, we are in the process of building and adjusting, so that the
examples of one will reasonably affect the other. At the risk of being
misunderstood we shall pause long enough to call attention to the _Irving
Place Theatre_,[1] of New York, a German house supporting German plays, and
attended very largely by a German clientele, but notwithstanding all this a
repertory theater of standing, and of some distinction, from which we might
learn several useful lessons. However, it is with the Anglo-American stage
that we have to do at the moment.
Doubtless, first in importance comes the Abbey Theater Company of Dublin.
From December, 1905, to December, 1912, there were produced at the _Abbey
Theater_ (I am unfortunately unable to include the several important tours
made) seventy-four plays, of which seven were translations. Of the rest but
few were revivals, as the history of the Irish literary movement will show.
They were plays written especially for the theater, for particular
audiences, and to achieve definite purpose as propaganda. Moreover, when
the _Abbey_ was tottering on the brink of failure, Miss Horniman came to
the rescue with a substantial subsidy which enabled the theater not only to
proceed, but finally to establish itself on a sound running basis. Mr.
Walker's company has had to fight its own way from the very start.
In Manchester, Miss Horniman's own repertory company at the _Midland
Theater_ and finally at the _Gaiety_ has been distinctly and brilliantly
successful. In a period of a little more than two years there were produced
fifty-five plays; twenty-eight new, seventeen revivals of modern English
plays, five modern translations, and five classics. This is a repertory as
well balanced as it is wide. In 1910, however, there was inaugurated the
practise of producing each play for a run of one week, so that from that
time on the theater was open to the criticism of being not a repertory in
the fullest sense of the term, but a short run theater. But for that
matter, I do not think that there is a repertory theater either in England
or in America which fulfills the ideal conditions set down by William
Archer who had in mind, as he wrote, the repertory theater of the
Continent.
"When we speak of a repertory, we mean a number of plays always ready for
performance, with nothing more than a 'run through' rehearsal, which,
therefore, can be, and are, acted in such alternation that three, four or
five different plays may be given in the course of a week. New plays are
from time to time added to the repertory, and those of them which succeed
may be performed fifty, seventy, a hundred times, or even more, in the
course of one season; but no play is ever performed more than two or three
times in uninterrupted succession."[2]
This applies exactly to the _Comedie-Francaise_, which, in the year 1909,
presented one hundred and fifteen plays, eighteen of which were performed
for the first time, the remainder being a part of the regular body of the
repertory of that theater. In the first decade of the present century there
were no less than two hundred and eighty-two plays added to the repertory
of the _Comedie_. It may be of service to remember, however, that the
_Comedie-Francaise_ was established by royal decree in 1680. If the _Globe
Theater_ of Shakespeare's day had lived and prospered up to the present we
might have an example to match that of France.
It is probable that if one were to use the phrase "repertory in America"
the wise ones of the theater would raise their eye-brows stiffly and
remark, "There is none." That would be nearly true, but not altogether so.
It is my desire here to sketch in brief the early beginnings of what has
been termed the "independent theater" movement,[3] from which repertory in
this country unquestionably grew, up to the time of the establishment of
the "little theaters" which now dot the country, and into which movement
that of the "independent theater" eventually merged.
In 1887 there was inaugurated by A. M. Palmer at the _Madison Square
Theater_, of which he was manager at that time, a series of "author's
matinees" which appear to have been in some sense try-outs for a possible
repertory season. Only three plays were produced, however, before Mr.
Palmer decided against the scheme as impracticable. It is interesting to
note that these three plays were all by American authors--Howells,
Matthews, and Lathrop. The attempt was actually not repertory in the
strict sense, but it undoubtedly marks a tendency, slight, but evident, to
incline in the right direction.
Some four years later, in the fall of 1891, a Mr. McDowell, son of General
McDowell of Civil War fame, started the _Theater of Arts and Letters_ with
the idea of bringing literature and the drama into closer relationship.
Five plays were produced, and among the names of the authors (again they
were all natives) one finds several which have since become famous.
Commercially, the venture was a total failure, and the authors did not even
collect their full royalties. A short tour was made with several of the
more successful plays, one by Clyde Fitch (a one-act which was afterwards
expanded into _The Moth and the Flame_), one by Richard Harding Davis, and
one by Brander Matthews. All three of these were one-act. American authors
were willing enough to write plays, but they apparently could not succeed,
except in isolated instances, in writing good ones. There was evidently an
utter dearth of suitable material. Nevertheless, when foreign plays were
put on no better fortune ensued, unless they represented the old school of
pseudo melodrama, and farce adapted from the French and German, such as
Augustin Daly delighted in. Daly too had discovered that to encourage the
American playwright was to court disaster.
In 1897 _The Criterion_, a New York review of rather eccentric merit,
endeavored to establish the _Criterion Independent Theater_ modeled on the
_Theatre-Libre_ of Antoine. A company was recruited, headed by E. J.
Henley, and performances were given at first the _Madison Square Theater_,
and then the _Berkeley Lyceum_. It was frankly intended that the appeal
should be to a small, select audience, and, in spite of the jeers of the
press, five plays were produced--one Norwegian, one Italian, one French,
one Spanish, and one American. A glance through the list shows us that the
American play, by Augustus Thomas, is the only one which has not since
entered into the permanent literature of the stage. Internal differences,
and imperfect rehearsals combined to overthrow the venture which, after one
season, was abandoned. The success of the last production, however, _El
Gran Galeoto_, inspired Mr. John Blair to produce Ibsen's _Ghosts_ with
Miss Mary Shaw at the _Carnegie Lyceum_ in 1899. From this sprang _The
Independent Theater_, generously backed financially by Mr. George Peabody
Eustis of Washington.
The list of the patrons of this theater reads like a chapter from "Who's
Who." Many of the men associated with the plan gave their services free or
at a nominal cost. The three persons more directly responsible for the
artistic side of the work were Charles Henry Meltzer, John Blair, and
Vaughan Kester, while among the patrons were W. D. Howells, Bronson Howard,
E. C. Stedman, E. H. Sothern, Charles and Daniel Frohman, and Sir Henry
Irving. Six plays were given, this time none of them of American origin.
The press and critics were most bitter in their denunciation of these
foreign importations, as they had been on the previous occasion. There was,
however, on the part of the audiences a definite tendency to let drop the
scales from their eyes, and to awake to the new forces in the drama and the
theater as represented by Ibsen, Hervieu, the _Theatre-Libre_, and the
_Independent Theater_. But in spite of all this, one season's work saw the
conclusion of the project. A part of the repertory was given in other
cities, notably Boston and Washington, but, though a very real interest was
aroused, it was not sufficient to permit the company to continue. About two
thousand dollars represented the deficit at the end of the season; by no
means a discreditable balance, albeit on the wrong side of the ledger, when
one considers the circumstances. The actual results of the work are summed
up in a privately printed pamphlet written by Mr. Meltzer than whom no one
was more closely in touch with the whole independent movement.
"What have the American 'Independents' achieved by their efforts?
"They have succeeded, thanks to Mr. George Peabody Eustis, the general
manager of the scheme, in giving twenty-two performances of plays
recognized everywhere abroad as characteristic, interesting, and literary.
"They have extended the 'Independent' movement from New York to Boston and
Washington.
"They have encouraged at least one 'regular' manager to announce the
production next season of an Ibsen play.
"They have revived discussion of the general tendencies of modern drama.
"They have interested, and occasionally charmed, an intelligent minority of
playgoers, who have grown weary of the rank insipidity, vulgarity, and
improbability of current drama.
"They have bored, angered, and distressed a less intelligent majority of
playgoers and critics.
"They have discovered at least one new actress of unusual worth.
"They have prepared the way, at a by no means inconsiderable cost of time,
thought, and money, for future, and perhaps, more prosperous movements
aiming at the reform of the American stage."
Coming at the time it did, sponsored by the best minds in America, and
worked to its conclusion by whole hearted enthusiasts, _The Independent
Theater_ did, beyond all doubt, have a very vitalizing effect on both the
stage and the drama of this country. The next step, perhaps the climactic
one of the series, was longer in coming (1909).
The _New Theater_ has been our greatest attempt and our greatest failure.
The details of these two seasons have been placed before the public so many
times that there is no necessity for doing more here than suggesting a
broad outline. If the enterprise had, from its very inception, been in the
hands of capable men who knew their work, instead of being handicapped by
wealthy amateurs the history of a failure might never have been written. In
its first season _The New Theater_ presented thirteen plays at intervals of
a fortnight. Of these, four were classics, three were original works by
native authors, and two by contemporary British dramatists. During the
second season, at the end of which the idea was given up and the _New
Theater_ abandoned, eleven plays were produced; six of these were of
British origin, semi-modern; one was a classic; three were Belgian, and one
was American. I have counted in this season, two plays produced the season
before, the only revivals. Altogether then, twenty-two plays were given,
only five of which can be considered as home products. Mr. Ames, the
Director, was balked at every turn by the combined forces of Fifth Avenue
and Wall Street, while the outrageous and impossible construction of the
theater itself proved an insurmountable handicap. In addition it was now
found almost impossible to induce the American dramatist to turn from the
great profits of the long run Broadway theaters to the acceptance of one
hundred and fifty dollars a performance at the _New Theater_. There was
something to be said on both sides. The _New Theater_ was a splendid and
costly attempt, and it taught us several invaluable lessons, chief among
them the occasional unimportance of money.
Probably next in order comes the short repertory of Miss Grace George at
the _Playhouse_ in 1915 and 1917. This lasted for about one season and a
half, and, while there was promise of continuation, the project was finally
abandoned. It is only fair to say that Miss George worked under the
peculiar disadvantage of entire lack of sympathy, and indeed, open
antagonism as well, on the part of several of her most important confreres.
The real trouble seemed to be one of those that affected the _New Theater_,
that is, Miss George was totally unable to secure American plays for her
purposes. In the period of her project she produced seven plays; five the
first year, and two the next. Of these, five were modern British plays, one
was a translation from the French, and one was semi-modern American. Again
it will be observed that American plays were simply not forthcoming, a
condition widely different from that obtaining during the nineties when the
_Theater of Arts and Letters_, and the _Criterion Independent_ held their
short sway. Miss George's effort was distinctly worth while, but in the end
there was added only another gravestone to the cemetery of buried hopes.[4]
With the advent of the "little theater" movement, from about 1905, there
are many small companies and theaters which can, in a broad sense, fairly
be termed repertory. To discuss any number of them would require a book in
itself, and the reader is referred to "_The Insurgent Theater_" by
Professor Dickenson as the work most nearly fulfilling this need. Probably
the _Washington Square Players_ of New York are typical, more or less, of
them all, and their repertory for two years is given in the Appendix. Aside
from the natural conditions resulting from the war, one reason of their
failure seems to have been their pernicious desire to be "different" at any
cost. In spite of their excellent work they ultimately found that cost to
be prohibitive, but the discovery was made too late.[5] The majority of the
little theaters are, however, too entirely provincial in their appeal to
warrant an assumption of any great influence, in spite of their vital and
unquestionable importance.[6]
It will be observed that in speaking of Stuart Walker's work I have used
the phrase repertory _company_, not, repertory _theater_. That is, of
course, part of the secret. A theater anchored to one spot is obviously at
a disadvantage. It cannot seek its audience, but must sit with what
patience and capital it has at its disposal, and wait for the audience to
come to it. With a touring company the odds are more even. An unsuccessful
month in one city may be made up by a successful one in another. The type
of play that captivates the west may not go at all in the east, and the
other way about. There are plays now on the road, and which have been there
literally for years, doing excellent business, which have never ventured to
storm the very rocky coast bounding New York. And there are plays which
have had crowded houses in the metropolis which have slumped, and
deservedly so, most dismally when they were taken out where audiences were
possessed of a clearer vision. Hence it is easy to see that Mr. Walker,
playing in both the east and the west, in small cities and in large ones,
can do what the _New Theater_ and the _Playhouse_ could not do. True, they
could send their companies out on tour, but the _New Theater_ with its huge
stage and panoramic scenery could find but few theaters which could house
it, and the whole idea of both that and Miss George's company was a fixed
repertory theater. Indeed in both of them the faults of the "star" system
were never wholly absent.
The facts that I have been able to give here seem to point to but one
conclusion. That is, that Stuart Walker's repertory company stands
numerically on a par with anything else of the kind ever attempted in the
United States, and that it is not unworthy of comparison with the best
repertory work in England. It must be borne in mind that, in some measure,
all this has been done on a fairly small scale. There has not been the
money at hand to do it otherwise, nor has there been the necessity. The
company may be compared better with the _Gaiety_ of Manchester than with
the _Duke of York's Theater_. And too, as with the _Gaiety_, many of the
players have been relatively unknown before their advent on the
_Portmanteau_ stage. It is the definite mission, or some part of it at any
rate, of the repertory company to encourage new dramatists, new players,
and new stage effects when such encouragement is advisable. To be merely
different is by no means to be worth while.
The three plays included in this volume have all been presented
successfully both in the east and in the west. The two long plays--_The
Lady of the Weeping Willow Tree_ and _Jonathan Makes a Wish_--both have the
distinction of being popular with audiences and unpopular with critics, a
condition of affairs not as unique as it might seem. As for the third, _The
Very Naked Boy_, it is a thoroughly delightful trifle, unimportant as
drama, yet very perfect in itself, and has been liked by nearly everyone.
Combining, as it does, comedy and sentiment, it possesses all the elements
that go to make for success with the average audience.
_The Lady of the Weeping Willow Tree_ is founded on an old Japanese legend,
how old no one knows. Mr. Walker became interested in Japanese folk-lore
through a collection of ballads; it is amusing to observe how his fondness
for ballads has followed him through all his work, and this play was the
result. From the first it went well. Apparently no one could resist the
pathos of the intensely human story which culminated in so tragic a form.
One might think that the appeal in a play of this type, written by an
author so well known as an artist in stagecraft, would be largely visual.
While that appeal is unquestionably there in abundance, the real essence of
the tale is the vitally human quality of its characters. One is indeed
inclined to believe that we take our pleasures sadly, when he has seen an
audience quite dissolved in tears at a performance of this play, and all
the while enjoying themselves unutterably. It is a drama of imagination and
of emotion. The cold, hard, and more often than not deceiving light of the
intellect plays but a small part. It is the human heart with its passions,
its fears, its regrets, and its aspirations that concerns us here; not the
human mind with its essentially microcosmic point of view, and its petty,
festering egoism. The play is beautiful because it is true, and equally it
is true because it is beautiful. It seems to me quite the best and
soundest piece of work Mr. Walker has done so far, though he himself
prefers his later play, _Jonathan Makes a Wish_.
This last play is more realistic--stupid term!--than anything of a serious
nature that the author has so far attempted. It is, however, the realism of
Barrie rather than that of Brieux, and this at any rate is consoling. The
first act is extraordinary, splendid in thought, in technique, and in
execution. Therein lies the trouble, if trouble there be. Neither of the
two acts following can reach the level of the first, and with the opening
of the second act the play gradually, though hardly perceptibly, declines,
not in interest, but in strength. The transposition of the character of the
Tramp from an easy going good nature in the first act to that of a Dickens
villain in the second may require explanation. The last sensation the boy
has is that of the blow on his head, and his last visualization is that of
the Tramp's face bending over him. Thus, in his delirium, the two would
inevitably be associated. The story of the delirium, the second act, is
peculiarly well done. One feels the slight haziness of outline, the great
consequence of actually inconsequential events, the morbid terror lurking
always in the near background, which are a very part and parcel of that
strange psychological condition which is here made to play a spiritual
part. The last act suffers for want of material. In reality, all that is
necessary is to wind up the play speedily and happily. It seems probable
that the introduction of the deliciously charming Frenchwoman, played so
delightfully by Margaret Mower, would give the needed color and substance
to this portion. As it is, one feels a little something lacking--but only a
little. That the play is, as one pseudo-critic remarked, an argument in
favor of infant playwrights, is too absurd to discuss. If it argues at all,
it is that the relationship between the child world and the adult must be
democratic, not tyrannic, and that flowers grow, like weeds, only when they
are encouraged, not trod upon. The play is interesting, true, and
imaginative to a degree; if it is not wholly satisfactory, it but partakes
of the faults of virtue. Audiences, young, old, metropolitan and urban,
have responded to the work in a manner which left no doubt of their
approval. In New York it was slow in taking hold, and unfortunately the
company was obliged to leave to fill other engagements just at the time
when a more definite success was at hand. In the west the spirit of the
thing caught at once; there was no hesitation there.
From the beginning there has been a very definite plan in Mr. Walker's mind
as to what his objective point was to be, and especially in view of what I
have said of his company in connection with repertory it may be interesting
to suggest the outline of that plan here. This is no less than to establish
in some city a permanent repertory theater and company, and to use the
_Portmanteau Theater_ and company for touring purposes. It is an amusing
thought; the little theater would shoot out from under the wing of its
parent as a raiding party detaches itself from its company, but the
consequences would be, one hopes, less destructive on both sides. The
thought, however, is really much more than amusing; it is of very real
consequence and importance. It will readily be seen that in this we have a
combination of the advantages of both the stationary and the touring
repertory company, and hence, double the chances of success. And Mr. Walker
would by no means be restricted to one _Portmanteau Theater_. If conditions
warranted it he could as easily construct and send out a dozen on the road,
taking his work into every nook and corner of the theater-loving country.
In fact the ramifications of the idea are so vast that it is useless to
endeavor to do more than suggest them here. The reader will see for himself
what great possibilities are involved, and what an effect this might have
on all repertory work in America.
During the last two years the work of Mr. Walker's company has improved in
every way. The addition of new members, such as Margaret Mower, and
particularly George Gaul, whose performance In _The Book of Job_ was, in my
opinion, one of the finest ever seen on the American stage, has naturally
served to strengthen the fabric greatly. The older members of the company,
Gregory Kelly, McKay Morris, Edgar Stehli and many others, have all
improved in their work, increasing in assurance and finish. The success
that has attended the fortunes of the theater has made possible finer stage
effects (the Dunsany productions have been immensely improved) and the
repertory has been greatly enriched by some really fine plays, and has been
enhanced by others of a more popular character. One thing must be said,
however, in all fairness. It has seemed to the writer that of late there
has been an increasing tendency on the part of Mr. Walker's scenic artists
and costume designers to fall away from the plain surfaces and unbroken
lines of the new stagecraft, and to achieve an effect which one can only
characterize as "spotty." This can best be appreciated by those who know
the two American productions of Dunsany's one-act play, _The Tents of the
Arabs_. I am rather regretfully of the opinion that, aside from the actual
playing and reading of the parts, Sam Hume's production was superior to
that of Mr. Walker. An opulence of variegated colors does not always
suggest as much as flat masses. The set used by Mrs. Hapgood in her
production of Torrence's _Simon the Cyrenian_ illustrates excellently the
desired result. It is, however, Stuart Walker's privilege to adapt the new
ideas, and to make such use of the old, as seems best to him. One is
sometimes inclined to miss, nevertheless, the simplicity of his earlier
work, especially when it is compared with the splendor, not always well
used or well advised, of his later productions. His company has always read
beautifully, and its reading is now better than ever. The only adverse
criticism, if adverse criticism there be at all, lies against the Stage
Director himself. I am especially glad to be able to say this, for the
producer whose work is too good, too smooth, is surely stumbling to a fall.
The very fact that there is definite room for improvement in the
_Portmanteau_ presentations, leads one to feel, knowing the record of the
company, that these improvements will be made.
To return for a moment to an earlier phase of our discussion, it may be
both interesting and profitable to note the fact that while the _Abbey_,
the _Manchester_, and the _New Theaters_ were all aided by material
subsidies, the _Portmanteau_ has stood on its own legs, albeit they wabbled
a trifle on occasion, from the very start. A little, but only a little,
money has been borrowed, and there has been just one gift, that of $5000.
This last was accepted for the reason that it would enable the Theater to
mount sets and costume plays in a rather better fashion than heretofore.
While it was not absolutely essential to the continued existence of the
_Portmanteau_ it made presently possible productions which otherwise would
have been postponed indefinitely; in British army slang it would be called
"bukshee," meaning extra, like the thirteenth cake in the dozen. The record
of the _Portmanteau_ is its own, and that of its many friends who have been
generous in contributing that rarest of all gifts, sympathetic
understanding.
Before withdrawing my intrusive finger from the _Portmanteau_ pie I should
like to pay a small tribute to Stuart Walker himself. I do not think I have
ever known a man who gave more unsparingly of himself in all his work. That
dragon of the theater, the expense account, has often necessitated someone
shouldering the work of half a dozen who were not there. Always it is Mr.
Walker who has taken the task upon his back, cheerfully and willingly, and
despite physical ills, under which a less determined man would have
succumbed. His never wavering belief in his work and his ability to do that
work have brought him through many a pitfall. It is not a petty vanity,
but the strong conceit of the artist; that which most of us call by the
vague term ideals. The spirit of the _Portmanteau_ is to be found alike in
its offices and on its stage; a spirit of unselfish belief that somehow,
somewhere, we all shall "live happily ever after" if only we do the work we
are set to do faithfully here and now. The theater, the organization which
has that behind it, in conjunction with a keenly intelligent co-operation
or team-play, will take a great deal of punishment before it goes down.
Mistakes have been made, of course; otherwise neither producer nor company
were human; but it is in the acknowledgment and rectification of errors
that men become great.
The repertory theater, the new drama, and stage craft, have an able ally in
the _Portmanteau_. We may look far afield for that elixir which will
transmute the base metal of the commercial theater to the bright gold of
art, but unless we remember that the pot of treasure is to be found at this
end of the rainbow, and not the other, our search will be in vain.
EDWARD HALE BIERSTADT.
New York City,
April, 1919.
* * * * *
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I wish to acknowledge with gratitude the assistance given me by Mr. Brander
Matthews, Mr. Montrose Moses, and by Mr. Charles Henry Meltzer in obtaining
data, verifying dates and names, and by their kindly advice.
E. H. B.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] Since America's entrance in the War given over to the "movies."
[2] Mr. John Palmer, in his book, "The Future of the Theater," gives the
following as the programme for the then, 1913, projected National Theater.
The war intervened, however, and the venture has been lost sight of for the
moment. This statement is even more reasonable than that of Mr. Archer, for
this is intended for practical use in England while his was merely taken
from France.
"... it seems desirable to state that a repertory theater should be held to
mean a theater able to present at least two different plays of full length
at evening performances in each completed week during the annual season,
and at least three different plays at evening performances and matinees
taken together ... and the number of plays presented in a year should not
be less than twenty-five. A play of full length means a play occupying at
least two-thirds of the whole time of any performance. But two two-act
plays, or three one-act plays, composing a single programme, should, for
the purposes of this statute, be reckoned as equivalent to a play of full
length."
As Mr. Palmer remarks "this statute is both elastic and watertight."
E. H. B.
[3] See Appendix for complete repertories.
[4] Announcement has just been made that Miss George will continue her
repertory during the season of 1919-1920.
[5] They only failed for $3000, however: the rent of a Broadway theater for
a week.
[6] This statement hardly applies to _The Neighborhood Theater_, or to that
successor to _The Washington Square Players_, _The Theater Guild_, the work
of which at the _Garrick Theater_, New York, during the first part of 1919
has been excellent in the very highest degree.
THE PROLOGUE TO THE PORTMANTEAU THEATER
THE PROLOGUE
_As the lights in the theater are lowered the voice of MEMORY is heard as
she passes through the audience to the stage_.
MEMORY
Once upon a time, but not so very long ago, you very grownups believed in
all true things. You believed until you met the Fourteen Doubters who were
so positive in their unbelief that you weakly cast aside the things that
made you happy for the hapless things that they were calling life. You were
afraid or ashamed to persist in your old thoughts, and strong in your folly
you discouraged your little boy, and other people's little boys from the
pastimes they had loved. Yet all through the early days you had been surely
building magnificent cities, and all about you laying out magnificent
gardens, and, with an April pool you had made infinite seas where pirates
fought or mermaids played in coral caves. Then came the Doubters, laughing
and jeering at you, and you let your cities, and gardens, and seas go
floating in the air--unseen, unsung--wonderful cities, and gardens, and
seas, peopled with the realest of people.... So now you, and he, and I are
met at the portals. Pass through them with me. I have something there that
you think is lost. The key is the tiny regret for the real things, the
little regret that sometimes seems to weight your spirit at twilight, and
compress all life into a moment's longing. Come, pass through. You cannot
lose your way. Here are your cities, your gardens, and your April pools.
Come through the portals of once upon a time, but not so very long
ago--today--now!
_She passes through the soft blue curtains, but unless you are willing to
follow her, turn back now. There are only play-things here._
THE LADY OF THE WEEPING WILLOW TREE
A PLAY IN THREE ACTS
CHARACTERS
O-SODE-SAN, an old woman
O-KATSU-SAN
OBAA-SAN
THE GAKI OF KOKORU, an eater of unrest
RIKI, a poet
AOYAGI
WEEPING WILLOW TREE
ACT I
[_Before the House of Obaa-San. At the right back is a weeping willow tree,
at the left the simple little house of Obaa-San._
[_O-Sode-San and O-Katsu-San enter._
O-SODE-SAN
Oi!... Oi!... Obaa-San!
O-KATSU-SAN
Obaa-San!... Grandmother!
O-SODE-SAN
She is not there.
O-KATSU-SAN
Poor Obaa-San.
O-SODE-SAN
Why do you always pity Obaa-San? Are her clothes not whole? Has she not her
full store of rice?
O-KATSU-SAN
Ay!
O-SODE-SAN
Then what more can one want--a full hand, a full belly, and a warm body!
O-KATSU-SAN
A full heart, perhaps.
O-SODE-SAN
What does Obaa-San know of a heart, silly O-Katsu? She has had no husband
to die and leave her alone. She has had no child to die and leave her arms
empty.
O-KATSU-SAN
Hai! Hai! She does not know.
O-SODE-SAN
She has had no lover to smile upon her and then--pass on.
O-KATSU-SAN
But Obaa-San is not happy.
O-SODE-SAN
Pss-s!
O-KATSU-SAN
She may be lonely because she has never had any one to love or to love her.
O-SODE-SAN
How could one love Obaa-San? She is too hideous for love. She would
frighten the children away--and even a drunken lover would laugh in her
ugly face. Obaa-San! The grandmother!
O-KATSU-SAN
O-Sode, might we not be too cruel to her?
O-SODE-SAN
If we could not laugh at Obaa-San, how then could we laugh? She has been
sent from the dome of the sky for our mirth.
O-KATSU-SAN
I do not know! I do not know! Sometimes I think I hear tears in her laugh!
O-SODE-SAN
Pss-s! That is no laugh. Obaa-San cackles like an old hen.
O-KATSU-SAN
I think she is unhappy now and then--always, perhaps.
O-SODE-SAN
Has she not her weeping willow tree--the grandmother?
O-KATSU-SAN
Ay. She loves the tree.
O-SODE-SAN
The grandmother of the weeping willow tree! It's well for the misshapen,
and the childless, and the loveless to have a tree to love.
O-KATSU-SAN
But, O-Sode, the weeping willow tree can not love her. Perhaps even old
Obaa-San longs for love.
O-SODE-SAN
Do we not come daily to her to talk to her? And to ask her all about her
weeping willow tree?
O-KATSU-SAN
Oi! Obaa-San.
[_A sigh is heard._
O-SODE-SAN
What was that, O-Katsu?
O-KATSU-SAN
Someone sighed--a deep, hard sigh.
O-SODE-SAN
Oi! Obaa-San! Grandmother!
[_The sigh is almost a moan._
O-KATSU-SAN
It seemed to come from the weeping willow tree.
O-SODE-SAN
O-Katsu! Perhaps some evil spirit haunts the tree.
O-KATSU-SAN
Some hideous Gaki! Like the Gaki of Kokoru--the evil ghost that can feed
only on the unrest of humans. Their unhappiness is his food. He has to find
misery in order to live, and win his way back once more to humanity. To
different men he changes his shape at will, and sometimes is invisible.
O-SODE-SAN
Quick, Katsu, let us go to the shrine--and pray--and pray.
O-KATSU-SAN
Ay. There!
[_They go out. The Gaki appears._
THE GAKI
Why did you sigh?
THE VOICE OF THE TREE
O Gaki of Kokoru! My heart hangs within me like the weight of years on
Obaa-San.
THE GAKI
Why did you moan?
THE TREE
The tree is growing--and it tears my heart.
THE GAKI
I live upon your unrest. Feed me! Feed me!
[_The tree sighs and moans and The Gaki seems transported with joy._
THE TREE
Please! Please! Give me my freedom.
THE GAKI
Where then should I feed? Unless I feed on your unhappiness I should cease
to live--and I must live.
THE TREE
Someone else, perchance, may suffer in my stead.
THE GAKI
I care not where or how I feed. I am in the sixth hell, and if I die in
this shape I must remain in this hell through all the eternities. One like
me must feed his misery by making others miserable. I can not rise through
the other five hells to human life unless I have human misery for my food.
THE TREE
Oh, can't you feed on joy--on happiness, on faith?
THE GAKI
Faith? Yes, perhaps--but only on perfect faith. If I found perfect
faith--ah, then--I dare not dream.--There is no faith.
THE TREE
Do not make me suffer more. Let me enjoy the loveliness of things.
THE GAKI
Would you have someone else suffer in your stead?
THE TREE
Someone else--someone else--
THE GAKI
Ay--old Obaa-San--she whom they call the grandmother.
[_The Tree moans._
THE GAKI
She will suffer in your stead.
THE TREE
No! No! She loves me! She of all the world loves me! No--not she!
THE GAKI
It shall be she!
THE TREE
I shall not leave!
THE GAKI
You give me better food than I have ever known. You wait! You wait!
THE TREE
Here comes Obaa-San! Do not let her suffer for me!
THE GAKI
You shall be free--as free as anyone can be--when I have made the misery of
Obaa-San complete.
THE TREE
She has never fully known her misery. Her heart is like an iron-bound chest
long-locked, with the key lost.
THE GAKI
We shall find the key! We shall find the key!
THE TREE
I shall warn her.
THE GAKI
Try!
THE TREE
Alas! I can not make her hear! I can not tell her anything.
THE GAKI
She can not understand you! She can not see me unless I wish! Earth people
never see or hear!
THE TREE
Hai! Hai! Hai!
[_Obaa-San enters. She is old, very, very old, and withered and misshapen.
There is only laughter in your heart when you look at Obaa-San unless you
see her eyes. Then_--
OBAA-SAN
My tree! My little tree! Why do you sigh?
THE TREE
Hai! Hai! Hai!
OBAA-SAN
Sometimes I think I pity you. Yes, dear tree!
THE TREE
Hai! Hai! Hai!
THE GAKI
Now I am a traveller. She sees me pleasantly.--Grandmother!
OBAA-SAN
Ay, sir!
THE GAKI
Which way to Kyushu?
OBAA-SAN
You have lost your way. Far, far back beyond the ferry landing at Ishiyama
to your right. That is the way to Kyushu.
THE GAKI
Ah, me!
OBAA-SAN
You are tired. Will you not sit and rest?--Will you not have some rice?
THE GAKI
Oh, no.--Where is your brood, grandmother?
OBAA-SAN
I have no brood. I am no grandmother. I am no mother.
THE GAKI
What! Are there tears in your voice?
OBAA-SAN
Tears! Why should I weep?
THE GAKI
I do not know, grandmother!
OBAA-SAN
I am no grandmother!--Who sent you here to laugh at me?--O-Sode-San? 'Tis
she who laughs at me, because--
THE GAKI
No one, old woman--
OBAA-SAN
Yes, yes, old woman. That is it. Old woman!--Who are you? I am not wont to
cry my griefs to any one.
THE GAKI
Griefs? You have griefs?
OBAA-SAN
Ay! Even _I_--she whom they call Obaa-San--have griefs.--Even I! But they
are locked deep within me. No one knows!
THE GAKI
Someone must know.
OBAA-SAN
I shall tell no one.
THE GAKI
Someone must know!
OBAA-SAN
You speak like some spirit--and I feel that I must obey.
THE GAKI
Someone must know!
OBAA-SAN
I shall not speak. Who cares?--What is it I shall do? Tell my story--unlock
my heart--so that O-Sode-San may laugh and laugh and laugh. Is it not
enough that some evil spirit feeds upon my deep unrest?
THE GAKI
How can one feed upon your unrest when you lock it in your heart? (_The
voices of O-Sode-San and O-Katsu-San are heard calling to Obaa-San_) Here
come some friends of yours. Tell them your tale.
[_He goes out._
OBAA-SAN
Strange. I feel that I must speak out my heart.
[_O-Sode-San and O-Katsu-San come in._
O-SODE-SAN
Good morning, grandmother!
OBAA-SAN (_with a strange wistfulness in her tone_)
Good morning, O-Sode-San. Good morning, O-Katsu-San. May the bright day
bring you a bright heart.
O-KATSU-SAN
And you, Obaa-San.
O-SODE-SAN
How is the weeping willow tree, grandmother?
OBAA-SAN
It is there--close to me.
O-SODE-SAN
And does it speak to you, grandmother--
OBAA-SAN
I am no grandmother! I am no grandmother! I am no mother! O-Sode, can you
not understand? I am no mother.--I am no wife.--There is no one.--I am only
an old woman.--In the spring I see the world turn green and I hear the song
of happy birds and feel the perfumed balmy air upon my cheek--and every
spring that cheek is older and more wrinkled and I have always been alone.
I see the stars on a summer night and listen for the dawn--and there never
has been a strong hand to touch me nor tiny fingers to reach out for me. I
have heard the crisp autumn winds fight the falling leaves and I have known
that long winter days and nights were coming--and I have always been
alone--alone. I have pretended to you--what else could I do? Grandmother!
Grandmother! Every time you speak the name, the emptiness of my life stands
before me like a royal Kakemono all covered with unliving people.
O-SODE-SAN
You never seemed to care.
OBAA-SAN
Did I not care! Grandmother! Grandmother! Why? Because I loved a weeping
willow tree. Because to me it was real. It was my baby. But no lover ever
came to woo. No words ever came to me.--Think you, O-Sode-San, that the
song of birds in the branches is ease to an empty heart. Think you that the
wind amongst the leaves soothes the mad unrest in here. (_She beats her
breast_) I have no one--no one. I talk to my weeping willow tree--but there
is no answer--no answer, O-Sode-San--only stillness--and yet--sometimes I
think I hear a sigh.--Grandmother! Grandmother! There! Is that enough? I've
bared my heart to you. Go spread the news--I am lonely and old--old.--I
have always been lonely. Go spread the news.
O-KATSU-SAN
No, Obaa-San. We shall not spread the news. No one shall know.
O-SODE-SAN
But--we pity you.
OBAA-SAN
I need no pity.--Now my heart is unlocked. The dread Gaki of Kokoru who
feeds upon unrest can come to me and feed upon my pain. I care not.
THE TREE
Hai! Hai! Hai!
O-KATSU-SAN
Someone sighs.
OBAA-SAN
Yes. It is my tree. Perhaps there, too, someone in deep distress is
imprisoned--as I am imprisoned in this body.--Hai! You do not know. You do
not know!
O-SODE-SAN
Obaa-San--we have been hurting. I never knew--I am sorry, Obaa-San.
O-KATSU-SAN
You have been lonely, Obaa-San, but you have always been lonely. I know the
having and I know the losing.
O-SODE-SAN
Ay. 'Tis better to long for love than to have it--and then lose. Look at
me, whom the villagers call the bitter one. He came to me so long ago.--It
was spring, Obaa-San, and perfume filled the air and birds were singing
and his voice was like the voice from the sky-dome--all clear and
wonderful. Together we saw the cherry trees bloom--_once_: and on a summer
night we saw the wonder of the firefly fete. My heart was young and life
was beautiful. We watched the summer moon--and when the autumn came--Ai!
Ai! Ai! Obaa-San.--I knew a time of love--and oh, the time of hopelessness!
And I shut my heart. I did not see, Obaa-San.
OBAA-SAN
You knew his love, O-Sode-San. You touched his hand.
O-KATSU-SAN
But what is that? To her--my little girl--I gave all my dreams. I felt her
baby hands in mine and in the night I could reach out to her. I lived for
her. And then, one day--Obaa-San, I had known the joy of motherhood and I
had known the ecstasy of--child--and now--Her little life with me was only
a dream of spring, but still my back is warm with the touch of her
babyhood. The little toys still dance before my eyes. Oh, that was long
ago.--Now all is black.
OBAA-SAN
All blackness can never fill a mother's heart.--O-Katsu-San, you have known
the baby's hand in yours. But I am old--and I have never known, can never
know.--I'd go to the lowest hells if once I might but know the touch of my
own child's hand.
THE TREE
Hai! Hai! Hai
OBAA-SAN
Just once--for one short day--to fill the empty place in my heart that has
always been empty--and a pain--
O-SODE-SAN
Who is that man, Obaa-San?
OBAA-SAN
There? That is a stranger seeking for Kyushu.
O-KATSU-SAN
He seems to wish to speak to you.
OBAA-SAN
A strange man. 'Twas he who seemed to make me unlock my heart to you.
O-SODE-SAN
Then shall we go.--And we'll return, Obaa-San.
OBAA-SAN
Grandmother!
O-KATSU-SAN
We'll laugh no more.
[_They leave. Obaa-San turns to the tree. The Gaki enters, strangely
agitated._
THE GAKI
Obaa-San, for so they called you, tell me--did you say you'd go to the
lowest hells if you might know the touch of your own child?
OBAA-SAN
Forever--could I but fill this emptiness in my mother-heart.
THE GAKI
Would you really pay?
OBAA-SAN
Yes, yes. But why do you ask?--Who are you?
THE GAKI
I am a stranger bound for Kyushu.
OBAA-SAN
Why do you, too, make sport of me?
THE GAKI
Go you into your house and come not till I call.
[_Obaa-San obeys under a strange compulsion._
THE TREE
Hai! Hai! Hai
THE GAKI
You can not feed me now. That cry was the wind amongst your branches. Come.
I bid you come to life, to human form.
THE TREE
I do not wish to come.
THE GAKI
I bid you come!
[_When he touches the trunk of the tree, Aoyagi steps forth. She is small.
Her little body is swathed in brown and from her arms hang long sleeves
like the branches of the weeping willow. At first she shrinks. Then freedom
takes hold on her and she opens her arms wide._
THE GAKI
You are free.
AOYAGI
Free!
THE GAKI
As free as one in life. You are bound to the tree as one might be bound to
his body in a dream--but you may wander as one wanders in a dream--free
until the waking--then when the tree suffers, you shall suffer. Though you
be leagues away, you shall suffer.--But first you shall dream.--Now you are
to be the daughter of Obaa-San.
AOYAGI
Oi!
THE GAKI
Do not call yet.--You are to wed the first young man who passes here and
you are to follow him.
AOYAGI
But--Obaa-San?
THE GAKI
She shall feed me with her new-made misery.
AOYAGI
No--no--she loved me so!
THE GAKI
She shall feed me. You will be happy.
[_He disappears._
AOYAGI
Free! And happy!
[_The Gaki's voice is heard calling Obaa-San. She comes in and looks about.
At last her old tired eyes see Aoyagi. For a moment they face each other._
AOYAGI
Hai.
OBAA-SAN
A dream!
AOYAGI
Mother--
[_Obaa-San stands mute. She listens--yearning for the word again._
OBAA-SAN
Have you lost your way?
AOYAGI
No, mother--
[_Obaa-San does not know what to think or do. A strange giddiness seizes on
her and a great light fills her eyes._
OBAA-SAN
How beautiful the name! But I am only Obaa-San. Your mother--
[_She shakes her old head sadly._
AOYAGI
Obaa-San, my mother.
[_Obaa-San lays her hand upon her heart. Then she stretches out her arms._
OBAA-SAN
Obaa-San--your mother--where is my pain? And you--who are you?
AOYAGI
I am Aoyagi, mother.
OBAA-SAN
You have not lost your way?
AOYAGI
I have but just found my way.
OBAA-SAN
My pain is stilled. There is no emptiness. It is a dream--a dream of spring
and butterflies--Aoyagi!
[_She stretches out her arms and silently Aoyagi glides into them--as
though they had always been waiting for her._
OBAA-SAN
I seem never to have known a time when you were not here.
AOYAGI
Oh, mother dear, it is now--and now is always, if we will.
OBAA-SAN
It seems as though the weeping willow tree had warmed and shown its heart
to me.
AOYAGI
I am the Lady of the Weeping Willow tree!
OBAA-SAN
I care not who or what you are. You are here--close to my heart and I have
waited always. I know I dream--I know.
AOYAGI
How long I've tried to speak to you!
OBAA-SAN
How long my heart has yearned for you!
AOYAGI
Mother!
[_The Gaki appears._
THE GAKI
Such happiness. Already she has forgotten the coming of the man.
OBAA-SAN
Oh, how I've dreamed of you! When I was very, very young and had my little
doll, I dreamed of you. I used to sing a lullaby and still I sing it in my
heart:
See, baby, see
The ears of the wolf are long;
Sleep, baby, sleep,
Your father is brave and strong.
I grew into womanhood and still I dreamed of you. And, dreaming still, I
grew old. And all the world it seemed to me, made sport of my longing and
my loneliness. The people of the village called me grandmother. The
children echoed the grownups' cry and ran from me. Now--Aoyagi--you are
here. Oh, the warmth--the peace. Come let me gather flowers for the house.
Let me--
AOYAGI
Oh, mother, dear. I am so happy here.
OBAA-SAN (_suddenly becoming the solicitous mother, she handles Aoyagi as
one might handle a doll_)
Are you--truly?--Are you warm?--You are hungry!
AOYAGI
No--I am just happy.
[_She nestles close to Obaa-San. There is complete contentment._
OBAA-SAN
I shall bring you--a surprise.
[_She darts into the house. Immediately The Gaki comes in._
THE GAKI
You seem very happy, Aoyagi. And your mother is very happy, too.--And I am
hungry now.
AOYAGI
You will not hurt her! Let me go back to the Weeping Willow Tree--
THE GAKI
That would kill her--perhaps.
AOYAGI
No--no--I should be near her then--always.
THE GAKI
But where would I have my food? Not in your heart, not in hers--I should
starve and I must live.
AOYAGI
What then?
THE GAKI
See!
[_He points to the road. Aoyagi looks in that direction as The Gaki
disappears. Riki comes in. Occasionally one may hear a bit of a lullaby
sung in the old cracked voice of Obaa-San_:
See, baby, see
The ears of the wolf are long;
Sleep, baby, sleep,
Your father is brave and strong.
_Riki is a poet, young, free, romantic. He faces Aoyagi a little moment as
though a wonderful dragonfly had poised above his reflection in a pool._
RIKI
You are she!
AOYAGI
My--who--are--you?
RIKI
I am a poet--I have sought everywhere for you.
AOYAGI
I am the Lady of the Weeping Willow Tree!
RIKI
You are my love.
AOYAGI
I am the daughter of Obaa-San.
RIKI
I love you so!
AOYAGI
Yes--I love you so!--But I love Obaa-San, my mother--
RIKI
Come with me.
AOYAGI
But Obaa-San--
RIKI
Come with me. Butterfly, butterfly, alight upon the Willow Tree And if you
rest not well, then fly home to me. See! I make a little verse for you.
AOYAGI
But--Obaa-San--is very old and very lonely.
RIKI
She is your mother.--She must be glad to let you go.
AOYAGI
She does not know you.
RIKI
I know you.
AOYAGI
Yes--but I can not leave Obaa-San.
RIKI
We can not stay with Obaa-San.
AOYAGI
Can we not take her with us?
RIKI
No--like the Oshidori--we can go only by two and two along the silent
stream--and as Oshidori in silence and in happiness float on and on and
seem to cleave the mirrored sky that lies deep within the dark waters, so
we must go, we two, just you and I, to some silent place where only you and
I may be--and look and look until we see the thousand years of love in each
other's hearts.
AOYAGI
Something speaks to me above the pity for poor Obaa-San.
RIKI
It is love.
AOYAGI
I love Obaa-San.
RIKI
This is love beyond love. This is earth and air--sea and sky.
AOYAGI
I do not even know your name.
RIKI
What does my name matter? I am I--you are you.
AOYAGI
I love Obaa-San, my mother.--I feel happy in her arms;--I felt at
peace;--but now I feel that I must go to you.--I am fearful--yet I must
go.--You are--
RIKI
I am Riki. But what can Riki mean that already my eyes have not said?
AOYAGI
I feel a strange unrest--that is happiness.
RIKI
Come!
AOYAGI
First let me speak to Obaa-San.
RIKI
Look--out there--a mountain gleaming in the fresh spring air.--Amongst the
trees I know a glade that waits for you and me.--A little stream comes
plashing by and silver fishes leap from pool to pool--dazzling jewels in
the leaf-broken sunlight. Tall bamboo trees planted deep in the father
earth reach up to the sky.--And there the hand of some great god can reach
down to us and feed our happiness--
AOYAGI
Riki--I must go--I feel the strong hand leading me--I feel the happy
pain--I long--I would stay with Obaa-San; but, Riki, I must go.--Yon
mountain gleaming in the sun--the bamboo trees--the silver fishes--you--
[_Obaa-San enters carrying an armful of wistaria blossoms. She is radiant.
Then--she sees the lovers--and she understands. The blossoms slip from her
arms._
OBAA-SAN
When do you go?
AOYAGI
Obaa-San, my mother--something outside of me calls and I must obey.
OBAA-SAN
I understand.--It must be wonderful, my little daughter.
AOYAGI
Mother!--This is Riki.
OBAA-SAN
Riki!--See that you bring her happiness.
RIKI
I could not fail. I have searched for her always.
OBAA-SAN
We always search for someone--we humans.--Sometimes we find--sometimes we
wait always.
AOYAGI
Riki, I must not go. Obaa-San is my mother--and I am all she has.
OBAA-SAN
Yes, Aoyagi, you are all I have and that is why I can let you go. Be
happy--
AOYAGI
But you, my mother.
OBAA-SAN
For my sake, be happy. Some day I shall be Obaa-San no more--and what of
you then? Go, my little darling, go with Riki.--Some day, you will return.
RIKI
We shall return some day, Obaa-San.
AOYAGI
Farewell.
[_Very simply she steps into Obaa-San's outstretched arms and then, as
though they had been forever empty, Obaa-San stands gazing into space with
her arms outstretched. Aoyagi and Riki go out._
OBAA-SAN
Hai!--Hai!
[_She lays her hand upon her heart and, looking into space, turns to the
house. There is the empty tree--her empty heart! The Gaki comes in._
THE GAKI
Oi! Obaa-San!
[_Obaa-San turns mechanically._
OBAA-SAN
Did you not find your way?
THE GAKI
I found my way.--But why this unhappiness in your eyes?
OBAA-SAN
I am very lonely. I have lived my lifelong dream of spring and butterflies
a single instant--and it is gone.
[_She turns to go._
THE GAKI
I feed! I feed!
[_The voices of O-Sode and O-Katsu are heard calling Obaa-San._
Here are your friends again.
[_O-Sode and O-Katsu come in._
O-SODE-SAN
Hai! Obaa-San, a little lady passed and told us you were lonely.
OBAA-SAN
I am lonely.--But I have always been lonely.
O-SODE-SAN
What has happened?
[_The Gaki, hidden, has been triumphant. Suddenly he seems to shrivel as if
drawn with rage._
OBAA-SAN
I waited, oh so long--you know.--I opened my arms.--My dream came true.--I
sang my lullaby--to my child.--A lover came;--they have gone.
O-KATSU-SAN
She is a-wander in her mind.
OBAA-SAN
I opened my arms here--like this.--She stepped into them as though she had
been there always--and now she has gone.--In one short moment I lived my
mother-life.
O-SODE-SAN
It was magic! Come, Obaa-San, we'll make some prayers to burn.
O-KATSU-SAN
Some evil ghost.
OBAA-SAN
No! No! Some kindly spirit from the sky-dome came to me.--I have had one
moment of happiness complete.--I dreamed and I have known. Now I shall
dream again--a greater dream--a greater dream.
[_The old women go into the house._
THE GAKI
What! I can not feed! My Lady of the Weeping Willow Tree is gone! Obaa-San
has built a circle of happiness about her head. Hai! I shall die in this
shape.--I must feed.--Perhaps she tries to trick me.--I shall listen.--Why
does she not weep?--Why do they not wail?
[_He starts for the house. As he nears it, the voice of Obaa-San is heard
crooning the little lullaby_:
See, baby, see
The ears of the wolf are long;
Sleep, baby, sleep,
Your father is brave and strong.
THE GAKI (_defeated, seems beside himself. Suddenly he looks out and sees
the mountain-peak_) I'll find them in the bamboo glade. Perhaps I can make
unhappiness there. Riki and Aoyagi!
_The Curtains Close._