The Project Gutenberg eBook of Moloch
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online
at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States,
you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located
before using this eBook.
Title: Moloch
A play in a prologue, three acts and an epilogue
Author: Beulah Marie Dix
Release date: April 8, 2026 [eBook #78389]
Language: English
Original publication: New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1916
Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/78389
Credits: Carla Foust, Chris Miceli and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive)
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MOLOCH ***
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTE
Italic text is denoted by _underscores_.
Small caps in the text is denoted by UPPERCASE.
Some minor changes to the text are noted at the end of the book.
_Moloch_
THE BORZOI PLAYS
I WAR
_By Michael Artzibashef_
II MOLOCH
_By Beulah Marie Dix_
III MORAL
_By Ludwig Thoma_
IV THE INSPECTOR-GENERAL
_By Nicolay Gogol_
_The Borzoi Plays II_
MOLOCH
_A play in a Prologue, three
acts and an Epilogue by_
Beulah
Marie
Dix
[Illustration]
_New York · Alfred A Knopf · 1916_
COPYRIGHT, 1916, BY
ALFRED A. KNOPF
THIS PLAY, IN ITS PRESENT PRINTED FORM, IS
DESIGNED FOR THE READING PUBLIC ONLY. ALL
DRAMATIC RIGHTS IN IT ARE PROTECTED BY COPYRIGHT,
AND NO PERFORMANCE MAY BE GIVEN
WITHOUT THE WRITTEN PERMISSION OF THE
AUTHOR AND THE PAYMENT OF ROYALTY.
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
KLAW AND ERLANGER
IN ASSOCIATION WITH GEORGE C. TYLER
Present
HOLBROOK BLINN’S COMPANY
in
MOLOCH
A PLAY ABOUT WAR
In a Prologue, Three Acts and an Epilogue
BY BEULAH M. DIX
PEOPLE CHARACTERS PLAYED BY
---------------------------------------------------------
A Man Robert _Holbrook Blinn_
His Wife Katherine _Lillian Albertson_
His Son Roland _Cornish Beck_
His Mother Lydia _Mrs. Thomas Whiffen_
His Sister Gertrude _Louise Rutter_
His Brother Basil _Creighton Hale_
His Uncle The Professor _T. Wigney Percyval_
His Servant Martha _Ruth Benson_
His Friend Philip _Paul Gordon_
The Woodsy Boy _Sydney D. Carlyle_
A Girl Frances _Laura Iverson_
Another Girl Margaret _Rosina Henley_
A Little Boy Thomas _Richard Dupont_
A Major } _Edwin Brandt_
An Adjutant } _Paul S. Bliss_
A Sergeant } _Jules A. Ferrar_
Another Sergeant } Fellow- _Charles Rolfe_
A Soldier } Countrymen _A. P. Kaye_
Another Soldier } _A. H. Ebenhack_
A Third Soldier } _John Dupont_
A Fourth Soldier } _Thomas Hill_
A Major } _Redfield Clarke_
A Lieutenant } _Gareth Hughes_
A Corporal } _Edmund Breese_
A Trooper } Foreigners _Dale Kennedy_
Another Trooper } _Theodore C. Brown_
A Third Trooper } _Harry Dean_
A Fourth Trooper } _Vincent Phillips_
PROLOGUE—Before the War. A Country House.
Interval, Ten Days.
ACT I—Mobilization. A Town House.
Interval, Nine Months.
ACT II—Invasion. A Town House.
Interval, Seven Months.
ACT III—Battle. On the Firing Line.
Interval, Eight Months.
EPILOGUE—After the War. A Country House.
The Fruits of Victory.
Play produced by Mr. Blinn
The above, from a program of the New Amsterdam Theatre, New York,
shows the cast at the first New York performance of this play, Monday
evening, September 20, 1915. The play had previously been produced in
Cleveland and in Chicago.
MOLOCH
PROLOGUE
_The country-house, once a farmhouse of the better sort, but now become
the residence of the owners of the estate, is a shabby, homelike,
livable place. The walls of the living-room are wainscotted in warm
brown, with plaster above, and hung with sporting prints and pictures
of battle. The ceiling is raftered. At the right of the audience is
a big fireplace, with a trophy of arms above it. On the mantel-shelf
are a brace of old-fashioned metal candlesticks, and a fair-sized
loving-cup of silver. A low fire burns upon the hearth. At either
side of the fireplace are doors. The one toward the back of the room
leads to a coat-closet, the one toward the front to inner rooms. At
the left of the audience a door leads to the kitchens, etc. At the
back a two-fold outer door opens on a brick terrace, with a suggestion
of garden lying below. Beyond the balustrade of the terrace you may
glimpse springtide country, with fields under cultivation, fruit-trees
smothered with blossoms, and, in the distance, the tower of a little
church and the roofs of a peaceful hamlet. At either side of this main
door are casement windows. Those at the left make of that ample corner
of the room a huge bow-window, with slightly raised floor and cushioned
seat. The furniture is simple, massive and good: a Jacobean settle, at
right angles to the hearth, a chest beneath the windows at the right,
a gate-legged table at the centre, a heavy writing table, well down at
the left, with smokers’ stuff, a lamp, a work-basket, a small stand in
the bow-window, with a bowl of gold-fish, and the usual complement of
serviceable and comfortable chairs._
_The season is May. The time is sunset._
_In the bow-window, reading in the late light, with books scattered
about him, and the gold-fish at his elbow, sits the Professor, a
scholarly and somewhat opinionated gentleman of seventy, with a
wrinkled, not altogether unkindly, face and white hair. His sister,
Lydia, sixty-odd, but erect and spirited, sits on the settle, playing
Patience at a little table. She wears a bit of fine lace by way of
cap, but her gown of plum-color is never so little out of fashion.
At the chest Katherine is arranging flowers in two low bowls, slowly
and carefully, as one who loves flowers and respects them. She is
perhaps thirty, of the type that, for lack of better word, we describe
as Madonna, born to be a mother to everything in sight, but with
her goodness spiced with a saving sense of humor. She wears a soft
gray house-dress. On the floor at the left kneels Roland, a paper
soldier-cap upon his head, at play with toy soldiers, ranged in ranks,
and a toy gun. He is six or seven years old, the sort of little lad to
make any mother proud. He speaks, as the curtain rises._
ROLAND. Bang! [_Knocks down the toy soldiers._] See, Mummy, our men
have killed all the foreigners.
KATHERINE. Why do you want to kill them, son?
ROLAND. Because they’re foreigners.
KATHERINE. Roland!
LYDIA. Do let the boy alone! You wouldn’t have him play with dolls.
ROLAND. I’ll be the colonel, like my grandpa was. He killed the nasty
foreigners, didn’t he, Mummy?
KATHERINE [_setting flowers on the centre table_]. That was ever so
long ago. We are at peace with all the world now. We shall always be at
peace.
PROFESSOR. Have you seen the newspapers?
KATHERINE [_setting flowers on the writing table_]. Of course I
haven’t. Not since day before yesterday. But who cares for the stuff
they print? [_Sits by the table, takes up her sewing._] Civilized
nations don’t fight each other.
[_From the terrace come in quickly Gertrude and Basil, both in tramping
clothes. She is in her early twenties, impulsive, passionate, and
altogether charming. He is in his late teens, with the erect and
masterful carriage that stamps him as a military cadet. Both carry
newspapers._]
BASIL. Hello, folks! We’ve got the papers.
PROFESSOR [_rising excitedly_]. Well, well, well!
BASIL [_giving him a newspaper_]. Yesterday’s. Best we could do.
[_Tosses his cap on the chest._]
GERTRUDE. Clear to the Corner we had to tramp to get them. Of all the
luck! To be poked into this dead and alive place, a hundred miles from
everywhere, at such a time! [_Flings paper on table._]
LYDIA. Hush! Tell me if there’s any news.
[_Gertrude hangs her coat and hat in the closet._]
BASIL. I should say there was news.
PROFESSOR [_reading paper_]. Ultimatum! Well, well!
KATHERINE [_startled, but only for a moment_]. Ultimatum!
PROFESSOR. Outrageous! Insolent!
[_Katherine resumes her sewing._]
BASIL. They think we’ll back down, just because we don’t swagger about,
armed to the teeth. Well, when it comes to business, we’ll show them a
thing or two.
PROFESSOR. Yes. When this great nation of ours is once roused—
BASIL. Why, I’d back one of our chaps with his bare fists to do up two
of those foreign Johnnies with their rifles.
GERTRUDE [_coming to the hearth_]. Oh, for goodness’ sake, talk sense!
PROFESSOR. I trust you do not doubt the spirit and courage of your
countrymen?
GERTRUDE. No. But you’re all making the mistake of doubting the spirit
and courage of other people’s countrymen.
LYDIA. Meaning—
GERTRUDE. The foreigners are as brave as we are.
BASIL. Oh, come now!
GERTRUDE. If it comes to war, they’ll put up just as good a fight as we
will.
PROFESSOR. Pshaw! [_Disgusted, he retires into the bow-window with his
paper._]
GERTRUDE. And they’re in condition to fight. They have bigger guns than
ours, explosives we don’t even know the names of. Phil says—
BASIL. Oh, it’s Phil’s talk you’re handing us out.
GERTRUDE [_going up to him_]. Yes, and it’s sensible talk, too.
BASIL. Well, I must say that I think—
LYDIA. Children! Children!
[_Robert has meantime appeared in the outer doorway, a likable chap of
thirty-odd, the best type, perhaps, of Landjunker or of country squire.
He wears country clothes, and evidently has come from tramping his
fields._]
ROBERT. Hello! So the war’s broke out right here, eh?
ROLAND [_running to him_]. Daddy!
BASIL. Trudie’s got to quoting Phil.
GERTRUDE. And Basil is absurd. [_She retires to the window at right._]
LYDIA. And your mother, I believe, is also absurd.
ROBERT. There, there! Of course you are not. Any mail come in?
KATHERINE. They haven’t got that bridge mended yet.
BASIL. They’re still sending round by the Corner, when they send at
all. [_He strolls out upon the terrace, where he lights a cigarette._]
ROBERT. Humph! Hoped I’d get word about that new cultivator. [_Goes to
the smoking table and gets a pipe._]
[_Roland returns to his toys._]
KATHERINE. Did Phil come in with you?
ROBERT. No. He stopped at the gamekeeper’s. Seems the baby is coming
down with whooping cough or something.
GERTRUDE. Did you come round by the ten acre? [_Sits by table centre._]
ROBERT. Yes. Ought to get a second crop off it this season. You know,
it will play the mischief with our getting fertilizers, if the fools
should rush us into war.
KATHERINE. Oh, but they won’t.
ROLAND. Daddy, will you please mend my soldier?
ROBERT. Sure thing! Been in the thick of the fight, hasn’t he? Get me
the glue, son. [_Sits by table centre._]
KATHERINE. Here you are, Roland. [_Gives him a tube of glue from the
writing table._]
ROLAND. Thank you! Here, Daddy.
ROBERT. Right! [_Mends soldier, while Roland leans against his knee._]
Poor old chap! Lost both legs, hasn’t he? That’s what your Uncle Basil
is aching to do, ever since he got to be a cadet. Go out and fight
somebody, anybody, and come home in fragments. [_Looking up at Basil._]
Eh, Bub?
BASIL. Great thing to sit and laugh, when your country is threatened.
ROBERT. Oh, I’ve lived through two big war scares in my day. Mother’s
lived through half a dozen.
LYDIA. And through two wars, remember.
PROFESSOR. Do you realize, Robert, that they have sent us an ultimatum?
ROBERT. Ever watch two dogs, with a fence between ’em, tearing along,
barking, ready to chew each other up, till they come to an open gate
and can get at each other? Then down go their tails, and home they go.
That’s the way it will be this time. We’ll snarl at each other till
it comes to the point of fighting, and then the common sense of the
average citizen—
[_Roland goes back to his toys._]
KATHERINE. That’s what I keep saying. As if people could fight nowadays!
LYDIA. Nonsense! Men have always fought. They always will fight.
Doesn’t it say in the Bible: “I come not to bring peace, but a sword”?
KATHERINE. Yes. And doesn’t it say also: “Agree with thine adversary”?
PROFESSOR [_rising, annoyed_]. My dear ladies, those old legends of
Christianity are not at all pertinent. Now let me tell you—
KATHERINE. Roland! Run fetch some bread for Uncle’s gold-fish. Run!
[_Roland runs out at the left._] Now I know you’re going to say
something barbaric.
LYDIA. Barbaric fiddlesticks! Just commonsense.
PROFESSOR. Thank you, my dear sister. As I was about to say, if you
will read my compendium of international relations—
ROBERT [_rising_]. We have! [_Goes to closet and gets string with which
he mends the toy._]
PROFESSOR. You will understand that wars are the outcome of great folk
movements over which individuals have no control. As a scholar and a
philosopher, then, I must believe—
[_Roland runs in again._]
ROLAND. Now may I feed the gold-fish, Uncle?
PROFESSOR. Yes, yes. As I was about to say—Not too fast, sonny! Not
too fast! There! Slowly! That way! I was about to remark that wars
after all work for the good of the race.
BASIL. Nothing like war to put an edge on a nation.
PROFESSOR. And not merely are the martial virtues stimulated, but
literature and learning revive and flourish.
KATHERINE. In a bloodstained soil?
PROFESSOR. So many of you dear women can see nothing in war but the
pain and suffering that are merely incidental.
LYDIA. It’s a sentimental viewpoint.
[_Roland in the bow-window takes up and examines one of his uncle’s
books._]
PROFESSOR. Now I solemnly believe that we are on the eve of conflict.
ROBERT. The folks that talk like you are doing their best to get us
into one.
BASIL. If they want a fight, let ’em have it, I say!
GERTRUDE. Oh, have a chip on your shoulder, if you must. But be sure
you’re ready for the people that will try to knock it off.
LYDIA. This talk about being ready is downright blasphemous.
ROBERT. Quite a strong word, Mother.
LYDIA. Our country has been victorious in every war in its history.
Doesn’t that prove that God is on our side? And if God is for us—
[_Robert reseats himself at the table._]
PROFESSOR. National destiny. I, for one, believe this war is not only
inevitable, but desirable.
ROLAND [_coming to his mother, with an open book_]. O Mummy! What’s
this horrid picture? He’s eating folks alive.
KATHERINE. Let’s see, son! [_Takes book._] “They made their children
pass through the fire to Moloch.”
ROLAND. Who was Moloch, Mummy?
KATHERINE. He was their god, laddie. They gave him their children to
devour, and they thought it was a noble thing to do.
PROFESSOR. Sun worship merely. Moloch is another name for Baal.
KATHERINE. I wonder if it’s not another name for the god of war.
PROFESSOR. My dear Kate, your mythology is hopelessly confused.
[_Retires again to his paper._]
KATHERINE. Oh, I’m not talking mythology. Just sense.
GERTRUDE. It’s time somebody did.
ROBERT. Steady!
KATHERINE. The god of war—the awful monster with the flaming jaws, and
the nations running joyously to fling him their youngest and strongest
and best.
LYDIA. Sentimental nonsense, Kate.
ROLAND. And will Moloch eat us, too, Mummy?
KATHERINE [_kissing him_]. Oh, no, no, dear! Of course not. That was
ever so long ago.
ROBERT. And they were just heathen that didn’t know any better. Not
good sensible Christian people, like ourselves.
KATHERINE. There, dear, put the book away, and don’t think any more
about it.
[_Roland replaces the book on the window seat and returns to his toys._]
BASIL. Believe I’ll step down to the village and see if they’ve done
anything about getting the mail across. [_Gets cap._] It will be no
joke for me, if my leave’s been withdrawn and I’ve not got word.
PROFESSOR. Wait a moment, Basil! You did not find the air damp, Robert?
ROBERT. Dry as one of your lectures, sir.
PROFESSOR. Then, Basil, I’ll go with you.
BASIL. I’ll fetch your hat, sir. [_Goes to closet._]
PROFESSOR. I, too, have a barbarous interest in what is going on.
[_Taking hat from Basil._] Thanks, my boy! Can’t be too careful, you
know. I hate to lie awake at night coughing.
[_Basil and the Professor go out at the terrace door._]
GERTRUDE. Uncle Charles is particular about his own comfort. [_Rises._]
More than he is about the comfort of the men he’s so eager to send
to do the fighting. [_Goes to the bow-window, obviously waiting and
watching for some one._]
ROBERT. Two of a kind, Uncle and Basil. And it’s the kind that kicks
over all our apple-carts. Here’s your man, son. Good as new!
[_Roland puts away his toys._]
LYDIA. Basil’s profession was your father’s profession. It would have
been yours, if you had been physically fit.
ROBERT [_rising_]. Yes. That astigmatism in my left eye did me a mighty
good turn, when it kept me out of the army.
LYDIA. Robert!
ROBERT [_going to her_]. Well, well, Mother, I do enough for honor and
glory when I turn out once a year with a regiment of defensibles. Rest
of the time I’m not keen on being an anachronism in gold braid and an
air-tight helmet. [_Sits by table and takes up newspaper._]
[_Martha comes in at the right, a middle-aged servant, kindly and
commonplace._]
MARTHA. If you please, it’s Master Roland’s bed time.
ROLAND. I don’t want to go to bed.
MARTHA. Come, come, Master Roland! Why, you’d ought to see my little
niece Patty go when she’s bid.
ROLAND. I don’t want to—
KATHERINE. Roland!
ROLAND. Well, will you come hear me say my prayers, Mummy?
KATHERINE. Yes, dear. Run along now!
ROLAND. Good night, Aunt Trudie!
GERTRUDE [_kissing him_]. Good night, darling.
ROLAND. Good night, Granny. I’ll take my sword into bed with me, so you
needn’t be scared if the enemy should come.
LYDIA. Bless the boy!
ROLAND. Good night, Daddy!
ROBERT. Good night, old man.
MARTHA. Come, Master Roland!
ROLAND. But you won’t need to wash my hands, Martha. They were washed
once to-day.
[_Roland and Martha go out at the right._]
KATHERINE. Why, I didn’t realize it was his bedtime. [_Folds work._]
Phil is a long time at the gamekeeper’s.
GERTRUDE. Rob! [_Goes to the table._] If there should be war—what would
happen to Phil?
ROBERT. Don’t begin to worry. There won’t be war.
LYDIA. Those foreigners will give way, when they see we’re in earnest.
A cowardly lot!
GERTRUDE. Phil isn’t exactly what I should call a coward. Cowards don’t
win races in monoplanes in a high wind. [_Goes to terrace door._]
ROBERT. Where going, Trudie?
GERTRUDE. Just across the garden.
LYDIA. It’s past sunset.
GERTRUDE. I’m only going a little step.
[_Gertrude goes out._]
LYDIA. I can’t help thinking it would be in better taste just now if
Philip went back to his own country.
ROBERT. He happens to have a year more of work at the laboratory.
LYDIA. Then let him go back to his old laboratory, instead of hanging
round here, putting notions into my daughter’s head.
KATHERINE. You know his chief ordered him to take this fortnight off.
He was getting a bit seedy.
LYDIA. You’ll always make excuses for him.
ROBERT. We owe him something, Mother.
LYDIA. He did no more than any physician is bound to do.
KATHERINE. Look here, Mother, you weren’t here, that awful night. You
didn’t see Roland lying there, with his poor little face congested,
fighting for every single breath, a losing fight, and we, with all our
love, just helpless. And then Rob brought Phil to me.
ROBERT. We hadn’t been very nice to that lot of noisy young doctors,
camped down by the ford, had we, Kate?
KATHERINE [_rising_]. Why, half of them were foreigners. [_Goes
to table._] Until that night, I don’t think that I’d dreamed that
foreigners were quite the same as ourselves. But when Phil came in
I—I just fell at his feet, as if he had been sent from God Himself,
praying: “Save my only one! Oh, save my baby!”
[_Robert rises and goes to her._]
LYDIA. That’s his business, isn’t it?
KATHERINE. And when the tube filled up, and we thought it was all
over, Phil put his lips to the tube and drew out the poison that was
suffocating our boy.
LYDIA. Other doctors have done as much.
KATHERINE [_heatedly_]. But Phil had cut his lip, remember! He took a
big risk, with his eyes open, for a stranger’s child—for our child!
ROBERT. There, there!
KATHERINE [_sits by table_]. Well, I shan’t forget that, ever. [_Dries
her eyes._]
LYDIA [_rises, sets Patience table by the hearth_]. That’s all very
fine, but I hope that Gertrude won’t make a fool of herself over the
fellow. Get my shawl, Robert! I’ll take a little step in the garden,
too. [_Goes to door._]
[_Robert gets shawl from closet._]
KATHERINE [_rising_]. Now you know it’s getting a bit damp, Mother.
LYDIA. Fiddlesticks! If Charles can venture out, I can. Always an old
Betty about his precious health.
ROBERT. Here you are, Mother. [_Folds shawl about her._] Shall I come
with you?
LYDIA. I don’t need help yet a while in managing my own children,
thanks!
[_Lydia goes out at the terrace door._]
ROBERT. She’s got her hands full, this time.
KATHERINE. You mean—
ROBERT. I know.
KATHERINE [_going to him_]. You know that Phil and Gertrude are in love
with each other?
ROBERT. He asked my permission this afternoon. Her guardian and all
that sort of thing.
KATHERINE. Well, if they’re only one half as happy as we’ve been—
ROBERT [_his arms about her_]. Rubbed along pretty well, haven’t we,
old girl?
KATHERINE. I don’t ask for better. There! Run along after mother, do.
Don’t let her break in on them and spoil this minute. It won’t come
again.
ROBERT. I say! Do you remember the night when we first—
KATHERINE. Now don’t be foolish. [_Kisses him._] Run!
[_Robert goes out. The room is now dusky with twilight. Katherine goes
to the hearth and lights the candles on the mantel-shelf. As she is
busied with the second candle, Phil comes quickly from the terrace. A
well built young man, headlong and sufficiently likable. He wears a
Norfolk suit and a cap which he tosses upon the chest. At the slight
noise of his entrance Katherine turns._]
KATHERINE. O Phil! I’m to congratulate you. Yes?
PHIL [_catching both her hands_]. Rob has told you, then? And I have
just this minute spoke with her.
KATHERINE. Nearer the stars than ever you came in your airship, aren’t
you?
PHIL. The airship? Oh, I give up the flying now. I am getting down to
work. To-morrow I go back to the city.
KATHERINE. But—
PHIL. Oh, yes. I am all rested. I can see straight what was all thick
before. You watch me now, put it through, for her sake.
KATHERINE [_sitting on the settle_]. Your research? You never told us
much about it.
PHIL. It is too big a thing almost to speak about. [_Sits by her._] It
is, I think, almost I can some day put my hand on how to cure what we
are most afraid of. Living death, I mean. Death by torture. Cancer.
KATHERINE. A-ah! That was how my mother died. I watched her. O Phil! If
you can do that, it’s like grace sent down from Heaven.
PHIL. I don’t say I can. I mean only, with time, with work—Lord! How I
can work now! Funny! They used, you know, the old chaps, to bring to
the women they loved heads of their enemies, men they’d killed. To-day
maybe we bring to a woman so many people saved, men and women and
little kiddies, perhaps. That’s a pretty worth-while gift, eh?
[_Roland comes in from the right, in blue pajamas and slippers._]
ROLAND. O Mummy! You never came to hear my prayers.
KATHERINE. You bad one! Run to bed, quick!
[_Roland lags snail-like toward the door._]
PHIL. Oh, let him stay up for a minute, please! Come along, kiddie!
[_Takes Roland on his knee._] Well, old pal! What have you done all day?
ROLAND. I’ve been playing war. We killed the foreigners.
KATHERINE. Roland!
PHIL. So so! And will you kill me, too?
ROLAND [_with his arm about Phil’s neck_]. You’re not a foreigner. If
anybody tries to kill you ever, I will take my sword—
KATHERINE. That’s enough, dear. Come say your prayers.
ROLAND. I want Uncle Phil to say his prayers with me.
PHIL. I’m afraid I have forgotten how.
ROLAND. I’ll show you. [_Slips from Phil’s knee._] You kneel, you know,
like this. [_Kneels before Katherine._]
KATHERINE. Phil, dear! To-night—
PHIL. It is, I think, twenty years since—[_Glances from the child to
the mother, then kneels beside Roland._] She would have loved you, my
mother.
ROLAND.
“Now I lay me down to sleep.
I pray Thee, Lord, my soul to keep!”
Make me kind! Keep me clean! Make me a good boy, for the dear Lord’s
sake. Amen!
PHIL [_half whimsically_]. Make me a good boy for her dear sake!
KATHERINE [_her hand on his shoulder_]. Amen!
MARTHA [_outside_]. Master Roland! Master Roland!
[_Phil jumps up in some embarrassment and goes to the other side of the
room. Martha comes in at the right. Roland springs up and runs away
from her._]
MARTHA. Come to bed, sir! Come! [_Trying vainly to catch Roland._] My
niece Patty never acted like this.
[_Robert comes in from the terrace. Roland runs to him._]
ROLAND. Let me stay up a minute, Daddy!
ROBERT. Well, it’s a special sort of night. [_Goes to the hearth._]
ROLAND [_running to Phil_]. I’m going to stay up! I’m going to stay up!
ROBERT [_taking down the loving-cup_]. We’ll want this prize cup of
Phil’s, won’t we, Kate?
KATHERINE. Oh, yes. And there’s a bottle of the ’97 left.
ROBERT. Fine! [_Crosses._] Fill it, Martha.
MARTHA. Yes, sir.
[_Martha goes out at left with the cup._]
ROBERT [_going to Phil_]. It’s all right, old son. Trudie is with her
mother. And Trudie could persuade the legs off a brass kettle.
ROLAND [_at the terrace door_]. Oh, the moon! [_Seizes Katherine’s hand
and draws her to the door._] See the moon, Mummy! There, above the
pear-trees. Will the rabbits come out and dance? The Woodsy Boy says
they do.
KATHERINE. Hush! Who is that coming across the garden?
ROLAND. Oh, it’s my Woodsy Boy!
[_Roland runs out on the terrace._]
ROBERT. Who does he mean?
KATHERINE. A little chap that we’ve met in the wood, Roland and I.
Roland! [_She follows the child out upon the terrace._]
ROLAND [_outside_]. Yes, Mummy.
KATHERINE [_outside_]. You’ll catch your death!
[_Roland comes into the room from the terrace, with the Woodsy Boy, a
slender lad of sixteen or seventeen, shy, big-eyed, quick-motioned,
like a faun. He is barefooted and bareheaded, in old brown trousers and
shirt. In his arms he carries a little cur. Katherine follows them
into the room._]
ROLAND. Come in! Don’t be scared. My Uncle Phil can make him well.
WOODSY BOY. He has broken his leg, please.
ROBERT. Hello! Poor little beggar! It’s your job, Phil.
KATHERINE. Roland! Don’t look! [_She leads Roland to the settle, and
places him upon it._]
PHIL. You will let me take him, yes? [_Takes the dog._] It hurts, eh?
[_Martha comes in at the left with the loving-cup._]
MARTHA. Here’s the cup, sir.
ROBERT. Put it down. We’re a clinic just now.
[_Martha sets the cup on the table at centre._]
PHIL. It’s broken, all right. Lay a paper across the table, will you,
Rob? [_Robert spreads a paper on the writing table._] We’ll want some
warm water, Martha, and some cloths.
MARTHA. Yes, sir.
[_Martha goes out at left._]
PHIL. If you have pencils handy, they’ll make corking splints. [_Brings
the dog to the writing table, where he works over him._]
ROBERT. Hold on! I’ll give you a light. [_Lights lamp on table._]
PHIL. Steady, old sport! I’m your friend.
ROBERT. Quiet him, will you, sonny?
[_Woodsy Boy runs to the table and strokes the dog._]
KATHERINE. What a shame that your pet is hurt!
WOODSY BOY. He isn’t mine, lady. I found him. Over there by the upper
lake.
KATHERINE. But that’s a long distance for you to walk.
WOODSY BOY. He was in pain. So I had to bring him.
[_Martha comes in again with a basin of water and some cloths._]
MARTHA. Here’s the warm water, sir.
ROBERT. Fine! [_Sets basin on table._] Here you are, Phil.
PHIL. We’ll fix him all right now.
MARTHA. Poor creature! I’d better get him something to eat.
ROBERT. Sure thing! Kill him with indigestion. He’ll die happy.
KATHERINE. Can’t you find an old basket for him?
MARTHA. Oh, yes, ma’am. And I’ll get him a bone, too.
[_Martha goes out at left._]
PHIL. Hold on! We haven’t rags enough.
ROBERT. Here you are! [_Tearing up his handkerchief._] Wait a bit!
[_Basil comes in from the terrace, heatedly, and stands brushing the
mud from his trousers._]
BASIL. Well, of all the damned luck!
ROBERT. Hold your horses, Bub! What’s up?
BASIL. I can’t get across the beastly river. And how do I know what’s
waiting for me, there at the postmaster’s, and forty feet of bad water,
or fifteen miles of road between us?
WOODSY BOY. Do you want the mail, Mister?
BASIL. Do I want it? Rather!
WOODSY BOY. I’ll get it. [_Runs to terrace door._]
KATHERINE. Child alive! You can’t get across the river. The bridge is
down.
WOODSY BOY [_laughing_]. Oh, yes. But I can get across. There’s a place
I know, and nobody else. You wait. I’ll show you.
[_The Woodsy Boy runs out._]
PHIL. Hold the light nearer, Rob! Catch hold, Basil, please! Keep the
little beggar still.
[_The three men crowd about the writing table. Gertrude runs in from
the terrace._]
GERTRUDE. O Kate! [_Goes to Katherine._] You know, don’t you?
KATHERINE [_embracing her_]. I’m so happy over it.
GERTRUDE. Mother almost forgave Phil for being a foreigner.
PHIL. Give us a splint. Get busy!
KATHERINE. Nice things, aren’t they, those men of ours!
GERTRUDE. Kate! If there should be war!
KATHERINE. Why, there can’t be. Men like those three, at each other’s
throats, food for cannon— Oh, it’s madness to think of it!
[_Martha comes in from the left with a basket._]
MARTHA. Here’s the basket, sir. [_She crosses and stands by Roland._]
BASIL. Just make him comfy. Then I’ll put him out in the lean-to.
[_Basil takes the dog in the basket and goes out at left. Robert goes
to the table at centre. Professor comes in from the terrace, closely
followed by Lydia._]
PROFESSOR. Dear, dear! It is long past the hour for covering the
gold-fish. And you didn’t remember, Kate!
KATHERINE. I’m sorry, Uncle. [_She joins him in the bow-window._] But
I’m sure they haven’t caught cold. [_She helps him to cover the globe
with a cloth._]
GERTRUDE. Mother, dear!
LYDIA. I am quite resigned. [_She pauses before the settle._] Philip!
[_Phil hastily is drying his hands._] Whenever you are at liberty—
PHIL. Dear lady! [_Goes to her._]
LYDIA [_giving him her hand_]. You have my consent. [_Phil kisses her
hand._] No doubt I should be grateful that you asked it. [_She sits on
the settle._]
[_Basil comes in again from the left._]
GERTRUDE [_eager to make amends for her mother’s brusqueness_]. Phil
dear! [_Draws near him._]
BASIL. Oh, I say! Is that what you’re driving at, you two?
KATHERINE. Where were your eyes, you bat?
PROFESSOR. Felicitations, then, are in order?
ROLAND. What is it all about?
PHIL. The biggest thing in the world, kiddie.
GERTRUDE. Uncle Phil is going to be your really uncle, not a pretend
uncle.
ROLAND. Is he, Daddy?
ROBERT. Perhaps we’d better let him—if he promises to be good!
ROLAND. And he’ll stay with us always? Isn’t that jolly, Granny?
LYDIA. Well, I suppose it is.
GERTRUDE. O Mother, you know you’re just as happy as the rest of us.
KATHERINE. And that’s pretty happy.
ROBERT. Right you are! [_Takes cup._] Here’s to you, Sis! And to you,
old son! All the love that’s in all our hearts—
BASIL. Me, too!
ROBERT. —out of this loving-cup. Drink first, Trudie!
GERTRUDE. Thank you, Rob! [_Drinks._] It’s your turn, Phil.
[_Their hands are on the cup, when the Woodsy Boy runs in from the
terrace with newspapers._]
WOODSY BOY. Here are the papers. I couldn’t read them. But the people,
they all said: War!
KATHERINE. Oh, no!
ROBERT. Let me see!
BASIL. Give it here!
[_Both snatch papers from the Woodsy Boy. Basil gives a paper to the
Professor. Robert sits at table, flinging open the paper._]
PHIL. It can’t be. [_Sets down the cup._]
GERTRUDE. Phil! Oh, but you— What will become of you?
ROBERT [_from paper_]. War was declared at midnight.
LYDIA. It’s come, then.
PROFESSOR. Just as I foretold.
KATHERINE. Oh, no, no! God wouldn’t let it be.
BASIL [_from paper_]. They’ve stoned our ambassador. They’ve dragged
our flag in the mud.
PROFESSOR. Exactly what they did thirty years ago.
LYDIA. A foreigner is always a foreigner.
PROFESSOR. Racial differences outcrop—
PHIL. Racial differences? What do you talk of? This is the twentieth
century. We’re past the tribal stage.
BASIL [_striking the paper with his fist_]. Your people aren’t even
past the caveman stage.
ROBERT [_rising_]. Go easy, Basil!
PHIL. It has come, it seems, Rob, the thing we agreed was quite
impossible.
ROBERT. Old man, nothing is changed between you and me, remember.
Nothing is going to change.
KATHERINE. Of course not.
GERTRUDE. It can’t make any difference. We won’t let it make any
difference, will we, Phil? Will we?
PHIL. Between us two? No!
BASIL. You can’t help yourselves. It’s war now. War!
WOODSY BOY [_touching Robert’s sleeve_]. Is it because of the war he
must go away?
ROBERT. What do you mean?
WOODSY BOY. The men down in the village, they were saying he must go.
LYDIA. And they’re right. I’ve lived through two wars.
GERTRUDE. Mother!
PHIL. And I was tending their children, just this afternoon.
KATHERINE. Oh, they can’t mean to drive him away?
BASIL. Can’t they? [_Beside himself._] Look here! See what his people
have done to our people! [_Gives paper to Robert._] Look! Look!
ROBERT. Good God! Our women—outraged. Little children, taken out of
their mothers’ arms, torn to pieces.
PHIL. You believe those stories?
BASIL. We know the sort they are, the dirty brutes!
ROBERT. Go slow there!
PHIL. Am I a—dirty brute?
KATHERINE. Basil!
PHIL. Rob! Tell me! In this house, now, where do I stand?
ROBERT. You are—our guest.
KATHERINE [_going to Robert_]. Our friend, Rob. Our best friend.
GERTRUDE. Why, Rob! You don’t mean—
PHIL [_with authority_]. Please, Trudie! Please! [_To Robert._] You
take them seriously, then, these lies to sell your newspapers?
BASIL. Maybe it’s a lie that our country is honeycombed with your
infernal spy system. Chaps that have been guests in our houses—chaps
like yourself—
GERTRUDE [_to Basil_]. Oh! You dare to—
ROBERT [_to Basil_]. Be quiet! [_To Phil._] Of course that’s absurd.
But your country and my country are going to fight.
KATHERINE. You said yourself—
ROBERT. That was before war was declared. And before I knew how the
foreigners fight.
KATHERINE. Rob!
ROBERT. Now, right or wrong, it’s my country.
LYDIA. Ah!
ROBERT. They’re right, those men in the village. Better go, Phil, while
there’s still time.
PHIL. I understand, yes. I leave right away for town. I go and get my
things together now. [_Starts toward door right._]
GERTRUDE. You’re driving him away!
PHIL. No, no, dear. It’s just commonsense. In town I see you all again.
This war scare blows over maybe. This is then just a good story, eh?
Good night, Katherine!
KATHERINE [_giving him her hand_]. Good night, Phil!
PHIL [_to Robert_]. Good night [_shaking Robert’s hand_], old enemy!
[_Turns to Gertrude._]
GERTRUDE [_clinging to him_]. You’ll come back? Oh, you’ll come back?
PHIL. Of course I will. [_Kisses her. Roland slips to floor and stands
awaiting a farewell._] Good-bye!
[_Phil goes out hastily at the right, ignoring the child._]
ROLAND [_at the point of tears_]. You said he would stay with us always.
[_Gertrude buries her face in her hands, sobbing aloud._]
LYDIA. Hush! [_Draws Roland down on settle beside her, soothing him._]
BASIL. I’ve got to get the eleven o’clock train to town.
ROBERT [_seated at table, with the paper_]. War was declared at
midnight.
KATHERINE. Less than twenty-four hours. Already it’s cost us our best
friend. Oh, what’s to be the end of it all? [_Her hand on Robert’s
shoulder._] What’s to be the end?
[_Robert looks up at her, wondering._]
CURTAIN
ACT I
_The town-house, in its architecture and its furnishings, belongs to
an older generation. The parlor, in the second story, opens at the
back, up three shallow steps and through a wide arched doorway, hung
with dull green curtains that are looped aside, into a writing room.
The rear wall of this inner room is lined with bookshelves. A writing
table and a chair fill the centre of the room. In the parlor itself
are two long windows at the right, hung with curtains and formal
lambrequins, and set with window boxes, full of plants in blossom,
and with cushioned window-seats. Between the windows stands a tall,
old-fashioned secretary, topped with a classic bust, and littered
with writing things, among which are a pair of desk candlesticks and
several photographs in frames. A stand with the globe of gold-fish is
in the window nearer the audience and close by a rocking-horse. At
either side of the door to the writing room stands a bookcase. Above
these bookcases hang large prints of battle-scenes. At the left is a
fireplace, filled with green branches. Above the narrow mantle-ledge
hangs the picture of a man in uniform, draped with a flag of three
diagonal stripes, dark blue, orange, and dark blue. Beneath the
picture hangs a sheathed sword. At either side of the fireplace are
doors to the outer passage. Before the fireplace are two armchairs. At
the centre of the room is a table, with three chairs, and across the
table, facing the audience, is drawn a small sofa. The furniture all is
mellowed with use._
_The season is early June. The time is the middle of the morning, ten
days subsequent to the happenings of the Prologue._
_Seated at the table in the writing room, the Professor drives a busy
pen. On the rocking-horse sits Roland, with toy sword, helmet, and
cuirass, and a toy banner, on a staff, in his hand. At the secretary
Katherine is busy with notes and check-book. Lydia, by the hearth,
is mending a silk flag, the size of a company pennon. At the table
Gertrude, and her two friends, Frances and Margaret, girls of her own
age and class, are deftly making small nosegays, and putting them
into a flat basket, which already is three quarters filled. The table
is littered with greens and cut flowers. The women all are in light
summer frocks. The sunlight from the long windows is clear and strong.
From the street below swells the sound of martial music. The girls’
voices at first are barely audible through the din, but as the regiment
passes, presently it dies._
MARGARET. Every man that is a man is going to the front.
FRANCES. That’s just what I told Richard. So of course he went and
volunteered. If he hadn’t, I’d never have spoken to him again.
MARGARET. The field uniforms are the sweetest things.
FRANCES. I shall have my new coat cut with a military collar.
GERTRUDE. Stop talking, girls, and hurry! Don’t forget the train goes
through at half past eleven.
[_Martha comes in at the left, rear door, with a note and a newspaper._]
FRANCES. Won’t the soldiers be glad of the flowers!
LYDIA. You’d much better take them tobacco.
MARTHA. Here’s the Extra, ma’am, they were crying in the street.
[_Gives paper to Lydia._] And here’s a note from the hospital, ma’am.
[_Gives note to Katherine._]
MARGARET [_rising_]. Oh, may we look, too? [_Runs to Lydia._]
FRANCES [_at Lydia’s side_]. Another victory. Glorious!
LYDIA. Didn’t I tell you? When once this country is roused!
KATHERINE. Gertrude!
GERTRUDE. Yes, dear.
KATHERINE. We’d better cut up all the old linen in the house.
GERTRUDE. Are they short of gauze already?
KATHERINE. Yes. And another trainload of wounded will come in to-night.
FRANCES [_returning to the table_]. Did you hear that, Trudie? Another
victory!
GERTRUDE. Oh, yes. I heard.
MARTHA. Here are the keys, ma’am.
KATHERINE. Yes. Are the sandwiches ready?
MARTHA. I’ve just given the hamper to the porter to take to the station.
KATHERINE. Boil both the hams to-night. The commissary seems to have
broken down. If we don’t feed the troops that pass through—
GERTRUDE. O Martha! Reach us some flowers from the window boxes. We’re
running short.
MARTHA [_at rear window, right_]. They’re most all dying, Miss. It’s
the dust the men kick up a-marching by.
[_A bugle sounds in the street and the jingle of harness._]
ROLAND [_at the window_]. O Mummy, look! Cavalry!
FRANCES. If I don’t just love a bugle!
MARTHA. Wouldn’t I just like to be a man and go fight the nasty
foreigners myself!
PROFESSOR. Martha! Will you please come here?
MARTHA. Yes, sir. [_Goes into writing room._]
PROFESSOR. At last I have caught that troublesome mouse. Kindly dispose
of it! [_Gives Martha a wire trap, which he takes from beneath the
writing table._] I mean, take it away and kill it.
MARTHA [_coming into the parlor_]. Well, I must say! I’ve never killed
nothing in my life, but flies and mosquitoes. And if he wants his mouse
killed, he can kill it himself, so there.
ROLAND [_going to her_]. Say, Martha, let’s turn him loose in the court.
MARTHA. We will that.
ROLAND. He’ll be so scared he’ll never come back, and he’ll tell all
the other little mice never to come here, too.
[_Roland and Martha go out at the forward door left._]
PROFESSOR [_rising_]. There! That is quite done. [_Comes into the
parlor, manuscript in hand._] This is an appeal to be given to the
world in this evening’s papers, a trumpet call to the youth of our land
to rally to the standard.
GERTRUDE. What’s the good of their rallying, if there’s no equipment
for them?
PROFESSOR. That is beside the point. [_Margaret goes to the rear window
for flowers._] Their backwardness at such a time is appalling.
KATHERINE. So many men have wives and children and old folks that
depend upon them.
PROFESSOR. The claims of our country are paramount.
LYDIA. What do you know about it? You’ve nothing with a claim upon you,
except that bowl of gold-fish.
PROFESSOR [_going to her_]. Let me assure you, my dear sister, that if
my heart were not weak, and if I were not past the age limit, I should
be already at the front. That is, if it were not true now as always
that the pen is mightier than the sword. If I can stir a thousand men
to action by my writings, obviously it is better for the nation that I
stay at home and write. [_Goes to the door, but turns, smarting with
the sense of his wrongs._] Anybody but a woman would see that!
[_The Professor goes out, forward door, left._]
GERTRUDE. Hurry, Margaret! It’s late!
MARGARET. Just a minute. It’s a lot of volunteers are passing now. Come
see them, Kate!
KATHERINE. I can’t bear to look. They’re all so young.
MARGARET. Oh, Basil! [_Turns from window._] Here’s your brother Basil,
just coming up the steps. And he’s got his uniform at last.
FRANCES [_rising_]. What uniform?
GERTRUDE [_rising_]. They’ve graduated the first class cadets ahead of
time. Basil is a lieutenant now.
[_Basil comes in, forward door, left, in the showy uniform of a hussar
lieutenant, which he carries well. You love him at sight._]
GERTRUDE. Oh, you beautiful thing!
BASIL. Chuck it now! [_Puts busby and gauntlets on chair._] Good
morning, Frances. Good morning, Margaret.
FRANCES. My, but you’re splendid!
BASIL. How do you like it, Mother?
LYDIA. Come here! That collar isn’t going to rub your neck?
BASIL. Devil a bit!
FRANCES. Don’t you want to do something for me?
BASIL [_going to her, with an exaggerated bow_]. My heart is at your
feet.
FRANCES. I don’t want your heart. I want one of your coat buttons.
BASIL. The penalty for cutting off a button is shooting. Do you want to
put a permanent crimp in my career?
FRANCES. But you must have an extra button.
BASIL. I have. [_Takes button from pocket._] For the dearest girl in
the world.
FRANCES. That’s me?
MARGARET [_wounded_]. Basil!
BASIL [_turning to Lydia_]. Will you accept it, Mother?
LYDIA [_trying to hide her feelings_]. Foolishness! [_Pockets button._]
I can ease that collar a little. You’re staying to lunch?
BASIL. I’m afraid not. Just ran around to say: So long!
KATHERINE. What do you mean?
BASIL. Ripping good luck! We’ve got our marching orders.
[_The three girls speak together_:]
FRANCES. How perfectly lovely!
MARGARET. This very day?
GERTRUDE. Where are you going?
LYDIA. Marching orders! [_Sinks back in her chair, clutching the flag._]
BASIL [_bending over her_]. Mother! I say!
LYDIA. It’s—a little sudden. Don’t mind me! [_Rises, leaving the flag
on the chair._] There are some things to get ready. I’ll be down in a
minute.
[_Lydia goes out through the writing room._]
GERTRUDE [_after an instant’s troubled pause_]. These flowers must go.
FRANCES. You must have a flower, Basil. To remember me by. [_Puts a
flower in his coat._]
BASIL. Is it likely I’d forget you?
MARGARET [_offering a flower_]. Here, Basil.
BASIL [_taking flower_]. But I’ll have to wear one of them behind my
ear!
FRANCES. Goose! I’m going to kiss you good-bye. Old playmates! [_Kisses
him._] Good-bye, Gertrude! Good luck, Basil!
[_Frances goes out, forward door left, with the basket of flowers._]
MARGARET. Good-bye, Basil!
BASIL [_taking her hand_]. Good-bye, Margaret. Don’t forget me!
MARGARET. No, never.
[_He starts to draw her to him._]
FRANCES [_outside_]. Hurry, Margaret! Hurry! Hurry!
[_Margaret goes out, forward door, left._]
BASIL [_throwing into the wastepaper-basket the flower that Frances
gave_]. It gets me how you can have a little idiot like Frances buzzing
round you. [_Goes to the window, right, back, putting Margaret’s flower
in his coat as he does so._]
GERTRUDE. Thank goodness, we’re rid of them at last.
BASIL [_in window_]. She doesn’t look back.
GERTRUDE [_impishly_]. Frances?
BASIL. Frances? No! Of course not.
KATHERINE. Where are they sending you?
BASIL. Don’t know. [_Turns from window, slightly swaggering, while he
gets out a cigarette._] Oh, the firing line, all right. Great luck!
Was afraid the war would be over before I’d had a crack at it. Can’t
last more than six weeks, you know. We’ve got the beggars on the run
already. So much for all their big guns and new explosives. It’s the
spirit you put into it counts, I tell you. Hang it all! Got any matches?
KATHERINE. Right here.
BASIL [_going to secretary_]. Seen the papers, haven’t you? [_Strikes
a match._] We’ve had another— Hello! Still got Phil’s picture standing
round? [_Toward table, smoking._]
KATHERINE. Why not?
BASIL. Just a matter of taste, that’s all. I wonder if the fellow was a
spy.
KATHERINE. Now that you’re wearing a lieutenant’s uniform, it would be
a mortal insult to box your ears, wouldn’t it?
BASIL. [_distinctly embarrassed_]. Well?
KATHERINE. I should hate to have to insult you. Better go to your
mother. She’s waiting for you.
BASIL [_on way out_]. Coming, Trudie?
GERTRUDE. In a minute. I’ve got to clear up.
[_Basil goes out through the writing room. Gertrude throws litter from
the table into the wastepaper-basket._]
GERTRUDE. Kate! Basil is right, you know.
KATHERINE. About Phil’s picture? [_Rises._]
GERTRUDE. Yes.
KATHERINE [_going to her_]. Gertrude! Have you thought—
GERTRUDE. I haven’t done much else, all these endless days. It’s got to
stop. Why, Kate, what else can I do? Basil is going to the front. Rob
is drilling with his regiment. I belong with them. Not with Phil.
KATHERINE. How much did you ever really care for him?
GERTRUDE. So much that if he came in at that door—if I heard his
voice—if I felt his arms about me— What should I do? [_Clings to
Katherine, sobbing._] Oh, I don’t know what I should do.
[_Robert comes in, forward door, left, in civilian clothes._]
ROBERT. Hello! Hello! What’s the row?
[_Military music from the street below._]
GERTRUDE. Oh, let me be! Please! Let me be!
[_Gertrude hurries out, crying, at the rear door left._]
ROBERT. What’s up?
KATHERINE. She’s tired to death, that’s all. [_Sits on sofa._]
ROBERT. Not fretting about Phil, is she?
KATHERINE. What should you suppose?
ROBERT. Well, she’d better drop it. Things being as they are— Can’t
you see it’s impossible? [_Katherine hides her face in her hands._]
What’s the matter? [_He sits beside her._] Come, come, Kate! That isn’t
like you. Tired, aren’t you?
KATHERINE. Tired of hearing them marching by. All day long. All night
long. And all the love and kindness that made our lives, trampled under
the feet that march.
ROBERT. That’s morbid. Come on! Crack a smile, Kate. That’s a good
girl. You don’t want to lose your grip, you know, so early in the game.
[_Music dies slowly away._]
KATHERINE. So early— You mean the war is only just beginning?
ROBERT. Kate! It hasn’t even begun.
KATHERINE. And Basil says: In six weeks!
ROBERT. Yes. And the newspapers report another victory, every day or so.
KATHERINE. You mean they’re telling us—
ROBERT. Well—they’re not telling us more than half the truth. Don’t
you worry, dear! In the long run we’ll knock those damned cock-sure
foreigners down on their knees, yes, and hold ’em there till they
promise to be good. But before we can do that, we’ve got to make an
army out of a lot of raw men that never so much as loaded a gun. That
isn’t done in a day.
KATHERINE. Oh, what’s the good of it! What’s the use of it! What’s the
sense of it!
ROBERT. Kate!
KATHERINE. In ten days’ fighting you’ve undone the life-work of
thousands of people. There ought to be some other way. There must be
some other way.
ROBERT. There, there!
KATHERINE. And you say we haven’t even begun! But we women, we’ve begun
already. Do you realize what the distress is like in the families of
the poorer men that have volunteered?
ROBERT. Those things will all adjust themselves.
KATHERINE. Do you realize how many babies have been killed already by
your war?
ROBERT. What are you talking about?
KATHERINE. So many dead, because the milk in the mother’s breast turned
poison, when the father went away to war. So many born dead—
ROBERT. That’s sentimental. The infant death-rate may soar a bit, but
after a war there’s always an increase in births.
KATHERINE. If Roland should die, would it console you to know that a
dozen children will be born down in the village next winter?
ROBERT [_rising_]. There’s no reasoning with you, Kate. Too bad to
disagree to-day, of all days. [_Goes to hearth._] I had something I
wanted to tell you.
KATHERINE [_rising_]. Something—bad, you mean.
ROBERT. Nothing dreadful, only—I might have mentioned it before, but
I thought, in case I didn’t pull it off, no need to fuss you up for
nothing. And as long as you’re comfortably fixed here—
KATHERINE [_going to him_]. Quick! Quick! Tell me what you’re driving
at!
ROBERT. Kate, dear!
KATHERINE. You’re going to leave me?
ROBERT. Yes.
KATHERINE. With the men that march?
ROBERT. Yes.
KATHERINE. My God! [_Quietly sits down by the hearth._]
ROBERT. The country needs trained men. Needs ’em desperately. You
wouldn’t have me hang round home now, would you? I couldn’t anyhow. Not
with his blood in me [_pointing to the picture over the fireplace_],
and the chaps that were his fathers before him.
KATHERINE. I thought—not till later. Your regiment, just raw
defensibles—
ROBERT. I’m not waiting for them.
KATHERINE. You’ve volunteered?
ROBERT. Changed my major’s commission for a captaincy in the regulars.
Don’t you realize? They’re short of officers already. I’m to report at
Headquarters to-night.
KATHERINE. This very night?
ROBERT. Had my new uniform sent round here. Better get into it,
perhaps. [_Starts toward writing room._]
KATHERINE. And Basil goes to-day. What will your mother do? What shall
I do?
ROBERT [_turning quickly_]. Kate!
KATHERINE. All right. [_Controls herself. Rises._] Yes. Of course. I
understand. It’s in the blood. My fathers weren’t soldiers—but one of
them burned at the stake for the faith that was his. How much time have
we still?
ROBERT. Well—about an hour.
KATHERINE. No more? Your mother—she’ll want a moment, alone. Go to her!
Speak to Gertrude! I’ll come in a minute.
ROBERT. Kate! [_Catches her to him._] You see, I didn’t realize that
the call would come so soon. Kate, dear!
KATHERINE. Don’t! I can’t bear it. Please go! I’ll come presently. I’ll
come.
[_Robert goes out through the writing room. Katherine sways and sinks
on the sofa, covering her face with her hands. After a moment Martha
comes in excitedly at the forward door left._]
MARTHA. If you please, ma’am.
KATHERINE. Not now, Martha. I can’t.
MARTHA. O ma’am! He’s come back.
KATHERINE [_looking up._] Who?
MARTHA. Mr. Philip.
KATHERINE. Phil!
MARTHA. He wants to see you. He’s waiting downstairs.
KATHERINE [_rising_]. Not here in this house?
MARTHA. Yes, ma’am.
KATHERINE. In this town where everybody knows him! Why, the people in
the street—the very neighbors—if they should raise the cry of spy!
MARTHA. O ma’am! Not like that poor man they—
KATHERINE. Send him up here quick! And don’t let any one else in.
[_Martha starts to go._] Say I’m not at home.
[_Phil comes in headlong at the forward door._]
PHIL [_catching her last words_]. You’ve got to see me, Katherine.
[_Martha goes out._]
KATHERINE. Oh, you crazy boy!
PHIL [_grasping her hands_]. Listen to me!
KATHERINE. Why aren’t you safe across your own frontier? You’ve had ten
days.
PHIL. Ten days? Yes. Ten days like ten years. I’ve been hiding out in
the suburbs. I’ve been waiting for a word from Gertrude.
KATHERINE. Phil!
PHIL. Where is she?
KATHERINE. Here.
PHIL. Why hasn’t she sent me a word? Didn’t you get my letters?
KATHERINE. Yes.
PHIL. Then why hasn’t she written? What’s wrong? Tell me, Katherine!
Tell me! I’ve come here to find out. I don’t go till I do find out.
[_Gertrude comes in at the rear door left._]
GERTRUDE. O Kate! Rob is calling for you.
PHIL [_turning, arms out_]. Gertrude!
GERTRUDE [_instinctively, straight to his arms_]. Phil! Phil!
[_Recovering herself, she draws back._] Oh, no! no!
KATHERINE [_in the doorway of the writing room_]. Say what you came to
say. I’ll go to Rob.
GERTRUDE. Don’t leave me, Kate!
KATHERINE. He’s risked his life to come here. You’ve got to listen to
him.
[_Katherine goes out through the writing room._]
GERTRUDE. There’s nothing to say. You belong there. I belong here.
PHIL. Belong to what? To a lot of crazy savages, gone drunk with
newspaper-lies?
GERTRUDE. You shan’t speak so of my countrymen!
PHIL. My own precious countrymen are just as wild-eyed as yours. We
don’t belong to either camp. We belong to each other.
GERTRUDE. No, no! That’s all past!
PHIL. You bet it isn’t. Sit down! Come! [_Draws her down on the sofa,
and sits beside her._] Listen to me, Trudie! Get the noise of the
marching out of your ears. Remember what it was like, spring twilight,
there in the garden, when we first kissed. [_Kisses her._]
GERTRUDE [_clinging to him_]. O Phil! These last days—they’ve been an
awful dream.
PHIL. That’s all we’ll let this war be to us, an awful dream. We’re
going to get out of it.
GERTRUDE. How can we?
PHIL. Now listen! You sail for America next week. I’ll send you to an
exchange professor that I know. His wife will look after you. I’ll join
you inside the month. We’ll be married.
GERTRUDE. And I thought it was all over and done with!
PHIL. They’ll give me an instructor’s berth, and a room in the
laboratory. I’ll get at the research. While they’re killing over here,
I’ll be hammering out a way to cure. Isn’t that as worth while?
GERTRUDE. Why, yes. Of course!
PHIL. And we’ll have a shelter to offer to your mother and to
Katherine, if things go wrong.
GERTRUDE. If things— [_Slowly comprehending._] If things go wrong? You
mean you think your people will get the better of my people?
PHIL. Dear, I only said if.
GERTRUDE [_rising_]. But you think it.
PHIL. What else can I think? I know the kind of fight my country is
going to make. There’s only one outcome possible. [_Rises._] But all
that has nothing to do with us, dear, has it?
GERTRUDE. Yes. Everything—everything. I’ve got to stand by. Because my
country is going to need every ounce of strength that’s in every last
man and woman, too. Because your treacherous country—
PHIL. Treacherous!
GERTRUDE. Yes. Haven’t you been arming yourselves?
PHIL. It’s hardly fair to call us treacherous because you’ve chosen to
be blind.
GERTRUDE. Why—
PHIL. A nation’s got to do one of two things: arm itself or else
stop talking war. You’ve gone about bragging of your past, with a
blunderbuss made in 1830. Now we’ll turn to with real guns and teach
you—
GERTRUDE. Phil!
PHIL [_realizing what he has said_]. I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean
it. [_Going to her._] One country is to me no more than another.
Trudie! Please!
GERTRUDE. You may believe what you’re saying. But it isn’t so. You
belong with the foreigners, after all. And they’ve behaved like savages.
PHIL. Remember, dear, my father and my mother belong to that race of
savages.
GERTRUDE. Yes. I remember at last. Oh, I was crazy! Even for a minute
to think that we could ever—
PHIL. Listen to me!
GERTRUDE [_turning from him_]. No, no! [_Snatches the flag from her
mother’s chair._] This is my flag. My father fought for it. His father—
PHIL. Don’t be theatric, dear.
GERTRUDE. Yes, that’s just what you would say—a man who turns his back
on his homeland—who runs away when others fight—
PHIL. Yes. Running into a laboratory, where I’ve risked death a hundred
times, and no bugles and flags about it either.
GERTRUDE. But I stand by my country. If I can help one wounded boy that
has fought for his country—
PHIL. You don’t know what you’re saying, Trudie. [_Goes to her._]
You’re tired. You’re hysterical. [_Takes her in his arms._]
GERTRUDE. Let me go!
PHIL. Listen to me! Listen! We’ll give up the thought of America. I
don’t ask you to marry me now. I ask you only to wait.
GERTRUDE. No, no!
PHIL. Only to say that you love me and you’ll wait. Only that! O my
dear! Don’t you realize it’s our lives we’re settling now, for keeps?
GERTRUDE. And do you think I’ll tie my life to a coward?
PHIL [_drawing back, mortally hurt_]. Trudie!
[_Robert, in the uniform of an infantry captain, comes through the
writing room, followed by Katherine._]
KATHERINE. Wait, Rob! Wait!
GERTRUDE. Here’s where I belong. Here’s where I stay.
ROBERT [_coming into the parlor, to Phil_]. What are you doing here?
PHIL. Wasting time. [_Goes blindly to the right._]
[_Basil comes through the writing room._]
BASIL. What’s the row? [_Seeing Phil._] Come back, have you?
GERTRUDE. He wants me to marry him. But I won’t go with him.
ROBERT [_beneath his breath_]. You sneak!
BASIL. Case for the detention camp, this time, Rob.
PHIL [_facing the brothers_]. Well?
ROLAND [_outside_]. Daddy!
ROBERT. Keep him out!
[_Before Basil can move to intercept him, Roland runs in at the rear
door left, and casts himself upon Phil._]
ROLAND. O my Phil! Did you come back to see us?
KATHERINE. Rob! Please! Please! You know what brought him here.
ROBERT [_after a moment, pointing off through writing room_]. That way
is clear. For old sake’s sake, you’re free to go that way, if you go
quick.
PHIL. Thanks! [_Sets down Roland._] I like the front way better.
KATHERINE. Phil! No! If they take you at our door!
PHIL. I came safe. I shall go safe. I am the sort looks out always for
safety.
KATHERINE. But where are you going?
PHIL. Back to my own country. Then to hell very likely.
[_Phil goes out by the forward door._]
GERTRUDE. Oh! They won’t kill him! [_Starts after Phil._]
[_Robert stops her._]
BASIL [_in window at back_]. The street’s clear. Or he wouldn’t have
risked it.
ROBERT. Good old Trudie!
ROLAND [_curled up on the sofa, sobbing._] Phil!
BASIL [_going to him_]. Buck up, old man!
[_Lydia appears in the doorway of the writing room. Very faintly from
the street sounds the music of the March-out, which swells louder and
louder as the act goes on._]
LYDIA. Boys! It’s time, if you’re to take that train.
ROBERT. Roland! Stop crying. Come, come! [_Leads him to Katherine._]
Remember you’re to take care of your mother.
LYDIA. Give me that flag, Gertrude!
GERTRUDE [_beside herself, kissing the flag passionately_]. O Mother!
Mother!
LYDIA. Hush! It was the flag of your father’s company, Basil. Bring it
home, as he brought it! Bring it home!
BASIL. Yes, Mother. [_Kisses her, and places her, half fainting, on the
sofa._] Good girl, Sis! [_Embraces Gertrude._] Good-bye! Six weeks from
now. We’ll have them cleaned up by then, the scallawags! [_Catching up
busby and gloves._] Come on, Rob, you duffer! Good-bye, Kate! Six weeks
and a captaincy! Good-bye!
[_Basil goes out at forward door._]
LYDIA. My little boy! Rob! My little boy!
ROBERT [_kneeling before her_]. There, there, Mother! It’s all right.
It’s all right. You’ve got Gertrude. You’ve got Kate. Take care of each
other. It won’t be long. [_Turns to Katherine._] Old girl! [_Kisses
her, snatches up his cap, goes hurriedly to the door._] Good-bye!
ROLAND [_running after Robert_]. Good-bye, Daddy!
[_Robert goes out. The door closes in Roland’s grieved and puzzled
little face._]
LYDIA. Basil! My little, little boy!
GERTRUDE [_seated at table, raising her head_]. Do you think you’re the
only one that’s given? I’ve given. All that I have. For my country.
Freely. Joyfully.
[_Frances and Margaret run in at the rear door left._]
FRANCES. Such a crowd! We ran in the back way.
MARGARET. They’re gone!
FRANCES. No, not yet.
[_The two girls run to the window, rear, Roland to the front window._]
GERTRUDE [_rising unsteadily_]. Quick! The flowers! All that there are!
[_The three girls crowd in the rear window, tearing up the flowers
from the window boxes, and casting them to the troops that pass below,
with broken cries of “Good luck!” “Good-bye!” that are drowned in the
music of the March-out. Katherine stands with eyes covered. Roland tugs
at her skirt and draws her to the window where he stands waving his
flag. The music is at its fortissimo. Lydia nerves herself, rises, and
totters a step toward the window._]
CURTAIN
ACT II
_It is the same parlor, where the girls in summer frocks were making
nosegays, but since that morning nine months of war have passed. The
curtains are drawn across the arched doorway to the writing room. The
windows are half coated with frost. The window boxes are gone. The
gold-fish and their stand are near the hearth, where a meager coal
fire burns. On the bookcase to the right of the door to the writing
room is a large lighted lamp. On the mantel-shelf a pair of lighted
candles. Upon the table, on a large tray, is a coffee machine, with its
accessories, sugar basin, cups, and spoons._
_The season is February, bitterly cold. The time is early evening._
_Beside the hearth, wrapped in a shawl, Lydia sits knitting. With the
passing of the months she has aged and thinned. The Professor cowers on
the sofa, with a gray shawl over his stooping shoulders. In the rear
window stands Gertrude, looking down into the street. She wears over
her house dress a knitted jacket. All three have the air of people worn
out with anxiety and grief and apathetic with despair. Only Gertrude
blazes with rebellion. From the street sounds monotonously the roll of
the wheels of heavy artillery. After a moment the Professor speaks._
PROFESSOR. Are they still marching by?
GERTRUDE. Don’t you hear the wheels of the artillery?
PROFESSOR. The foreigners, in our city!
LYDIA. How can you bear to watch them?
GERTRUDE. I want to see the guns that finished us. Do you remember how
we stood at the window, eight months ago? How we cheered and threw
flowers?
LYDIA. It was the day that Basil went to the front.
GERTRUDE. The war was to end in six weeks. We believed it. Fools!
LYDIA. I’ve dropped another stitch.
GERTRUDE [_going to her, with compunction_]. How can you knit, and your
hands so cold?
LYDIA. It takes up my mind.
GERTRUDE. I’ll fix the fire.
[_She kneels on the hearth, and lays on the coal, a piece at a time,
lifting the pieces with a bit of newspaper, in order to do it without
noise._]
PROFESSOR. Yes, the room is shockingly cold. Dear, dear! [_Sits by the
hearth._]
LYDIA. Carefully, Gertrude. Don’t waste the coal!
GERTRUDE. What’s the sense of saving coal to warm those foreign brutes?
[_Rises._] Let’s be comfortable for an hour. We may not live any
longer. [_Goes to the window, front._]
PROFESSOR. Non-combatants in an undefended town! The invaders are bound
by every usage of civilized warfare—
GERTRUDE. What’s civilized warfare got to do with it? Still marching!
No end to them. We used to laugh at them for playing soldier. Playing
soldier! It was we that played. They made a business of it.
LYDIA. But God is on our side. We must triumph in the end.
GERTRUDE. Phil said: Either arm, or stop talking war. We wouldn’t arm,
but we liked to talk. And there are the foreigners marching through our
streets. They’ll be quartered under our roof. They’ll be—
LYDIA. Hush! Listen!
GERTRUDE. What is it?
LYDIA. Go to the door. I heard the bell ring.
GERTRUDE. Why, it can’t be, Mother. They wouldn’t ring. And no one else
would come.
[_The door bell rings._]
LYDIA. I said so!
[_Katherine comes from the writing room, drawing the curtains close
behind her. She wears a knitted coat over her house dress._]
KATHERINE. Some one is ringing. Didn’t you hear? The noise will wake
Roland. [_Comes into parlor._] They must come in.
GERTRUDE. I’ll go down.
KATHERINE. No. You’d better let me.
[_Katherine goes out at the forward door. The bell rings again._]
PROFESSOR [_querulously_]. Where has she gone?
LYDIA. Listen!
PROFESSOR. There is a draught from that door.
GERTRUDE. Please be quiet, Uncle. [_Goes to the door._] There is some
one crying. I can hear them on the stairs.
MARGARET [_outside, sobbing_]. I’m so glad to find somebody. I’m so
glad.
GERTRUDE. Why, it’s Margaret.
[_Katherine comes in again, supporting Margaret, very pale, in a plain
hat and loose dark cloak. Gertrude closes the door after they have
entered._]
MARGARET. Oh, let me stay here! Let me stay!
KATHERINE. What else should you do? Only don’t cry, silly! You’ll wake
up Roland. Let us help you out of your things. [_Takes off her cloak._]
There’s a little coffee left, Gertrude. Start the machine!
[_Gertrude, at back of table, starts the coffee machine. Katherine sits
by Margaret on the sofa. It is now seen that Margaret wears on her left
arm a Red Cross band and that her hand rests, bandaged, in a sling._]
LYDIA. We thought you were still at St. Mary’s.
KATHERINE. When did you leave the hospital?
MARGARET. There isn’t any hospital any more. They dropped bombs into
St. Mary’s night before last. I got my arm burned, helping to carry out
our wounded men. We couldn’t get them all. [_Sobs._] We couldn’t get
them all.
KATHERINE. Don’t, dear! You mustn’t. Don’t!
MARGARET. I wasn’t any use, with only one arm. So I started. It was the
last train into town. Last night that was. But now—there’s no way to
get out.
KATHERINE. Yes. It’s too late now.
MARGARET. But why have you stayed on? I couldn’t believe my eyes, when
I looked up and saw Gertrude at the window.
KATHERINE. Roland has been sick.
LYDIA. With typhoid, yes. We couldn’t move him.
KATHERINE. But you—you ought to have gone, Mother.
LYDIA. Where? The enemy hold the north. They’re probably stabling their
horses in our parlor now. Cutting down Rob’s young trees to build their
fires.
KATHERINE. Mother, you’re shivering. [_Rises._] I’ll bring more coal.
GERTRUDE. Let me, Kate!
KATHERINE. No, you did it last time.
[_Katherine goes out with the coal scuttle at the rear door left._]
MARGARET. The servants have all left you?
LYDIA. Yes. Martha was the last.
MARGARET. Why, I never thought that Martha—
GERTRUDE. She had to go to help her sister. There was a baby coming.
She’s been gone a month.
MARGARET. I hope it wasn’t to the north she went.
GERTRUDE. Yes. It was.
MARGARET. And have you any word of—Robert?
GERTRUDE. He is on the battle-line in the west. They have made him a
major. He has the medal of honor.
MARGARET. And—and—
GERTRUDE. Basil? No. No word in three months. Not since the river fight.
LYDIA [_in a strained voice_]. Once, in his first campaign, I was seven
months without a word from your father. Seven whole months!
MARGARET. Missing? Not that! Anything but that!
[_Gertrude sits beside her, comforting._]
LYDIA. Missing? Why, it means no more than that a man is held a
prisoner, or maybe wounded in some field hospital. I’ve lived through
two wars. I know what I’m talking about.
[_Katherine comes in again with the coal._]
KATHERINE. We must try to make this coal last till midnight. [_Lays on
a few pieces, carefully and quietly._]
GERTRUDE [_going to the machine_]. It’s lucky we have the big lamp to
help out.
KATHERINE. Yes. There’s still a barrel of oil below.
MARGARET [_rising_]. Shall I draw the curtains?
GERTRUDE. No, no! The orders are that windows shall be lighted and
unscreened.
KATHERINE [_rising_]. Isn’t the coffee ready?
GERTRUDE [_filling cup_]. I’m afraid it’s barely lukewarm.
MARGARET. No matter!
GERTRUDE. Here’s the sugar. [_Gives cup to Katherine._]
KATHERINE [_carrying the cup to Margaret, at the right_]. I’m sorry
there’s no condensed milk to spare. But we have to keep it all for
Roland.
GERTRUDE. They’ll take it when they come. You’ll see they will, the
brutes!
KATHERINE. What’s the good of it, Gertrude? They’re here in the town.
Any minute they’ll be in this house.
MARGARET. Oh! [_Lets the cup fall._] They’re here—this minute! Look!
Look!
KATHERINE. Be quiet! What is it?
MARGARET [_pointing_]. The door!
[_Slowly the rear door at left is pushed open and Martha comes in. Her
dark dress and coarse shoes are muddied and a little disordered. Her
hair is a little displaced. Her hat is broken. She is very quiet, only
her eyes are a little too bright._]
GERTRUDE. Why, Martha!
KATHERINE. Blessed woman! Where did you come from?
MARTHA. I came in by the back way, as usual, ma’am. Shan’t I cook you
some dinner? I have come back to stay, if you please.
KATHERINE. But how did you ever get here? [_Sits at left of table._]
With the enemy filling the roads—
MARTHA. I came on a train. Then I walked. I have come back. There is no
meat in the larder, but I can make a soup of tinned things.
LYDIA. I can’t understand. Where did you leave your sister?
MARTHA [_pleasantly_]. Oh, I haven’t any sister. Look here! [_From her
bosom takes a child’s little knitted glove._] That’s Patty’s glove, my
little niece with the pretty curls. I made it myself for her. We heard
in the morning that the foreigners were coming into the town. A bomb
fell right in our street and tore an old man’s arm off. Sister took the
baby. It was two weeks old. I took Patty. She had her doll in her arms.
We got onto a tram. We was trying to get the station. They said there
still were trains—
KATHERINE. Don’t try to tell us, Martha! Don’t!
MARTHA. Why not? I tell it over to myself all day and all night. There
was a bomb struck a house. Patty cried. I can feel her little arms
round my neck. There was another bomb, and the tram opened up, just
like a paper box when you hit it. You know how ’tis at the butcher’s
shop, all sort of red and shapeless and dripping? Well, it was like
that where my sister had been, with the baby. I just took Patty and I
ran. I had her tight by the hand, and I could see the station at the
end of the street. Then I heard ’em screaming that the soldiers were
coming, and horses galloping, and I fell, and the crowd went over me.
When I got up, I had Patty’s glove in my hand. But I couldn’t find
her. I kept asking folks if they’d seen a little girl, with curls and
a doll in her arms. I kept asking till the houses began to burn. Then
I came away. That’s all that’s left of my sister and Patty and the
little baby. Funny to think of, isn’t it? [_Puts the glove back in her
bosom._] Now I’ll get dinner.
KATHERINE [_going to her_]. Listen, Martha! You must go to your
room—your old room. I’ll bring something that you must take. You must
sleep.
[_The door bell rings furiously._]
MARGARET [_screaming_]. Oh! Oh!
GERTRUDE. They’ve come!
[_Heavy knocking on the door below._]
KATHERINE. Yes. At last. They mustn’t make that noise. [_Starts to the
door._]
MARTHA. You can’t demean yourself, ma’am. I’ll go to the door.
[_Martha goes out at the forward door left. An instant of silence and
strained listening. Then renewed beating on the door._]
GERTRUDE. Oh! And we’re helpless! Helpless!
MARGARET [_half screaming_]. I’m afraid—afraid!
KATHERINE. Pull yourself together! Remember what race you belong to.
Stop it now!
PROFESSOR. Non-combatants—our rights are clear and unviolable. The law
of nations—
THE CORPORAL [_outside_]. Make now an end of that! I go where I shall
damn please.
[_Enter at the forward door left, shoving Martha before him, the
foreign Corporal. A man of forty odd, in shabby cavalry uniform,
overcoat and gauntlets, with a carbine slung across his back. No
villain, just a coarse, common man, capable of rough geniality, even of
rough kindliness. Just now, cold, tired, and hungry, he shows few signs
of either quality._]
CORPORAL. Trot in and announce me, old girl!
[_Katherine steps between him and Martha, who retreats to the right._]
KATHERINE. You are billeted here, I suppose?
CORPORAL [_handing her a paper_]. You can bet we are. The Lieutenant,
me, the Corporal, and three of our men. [_Crosses to Martha._] Hurry
up, old girl! We want grub and plenty of it, too. Oh, you’ll get your
taste, do not be afraid. We’re not risking a dose o’ rat poison in our
porridge. [_Pulling off his gauntlets._] May as well bring us up also a
bottle or two of wine. The old chap has some down in the cellar.
PROFESSOR [_rising_]. What!
CORPORAL. Oh, you cannot fool me! I was foreman in a shop on the next
street, until the war broke out.
KATHERINE. Martha, cook enough for five men. As quickly as possible.
MARTHA. Yes, ma’am.
[_Martha goes out at the rear door, left._]
CORPORAL. Is this your warmest room?
KATHERINE. Yes.
CORPORAL. Well, it is not quite so cold as out o’ doors. If it’s the
best you got, why, you can vacate. Clear out, I mean. You to the
cock-loft. The Lieutenant must have this room.
PROFESSOR. My good man—
KATHERINE. Uncle!
PROFESSOR. Let me point out to you that these women—
CORPORAL. Shut up, you old idiot! I had enough of your gab last year,
drifting into your popular lectures down the street here. Survival
of the fittest, that’s what you were preaching. And the fit survive,
because they get the fire and the grub. That is logic, eh?
LYDIA [_rising_]. Charles! Come!
[_Lydia and the Professor go out at the rear door left. Margaret
follows after them, shrinking, with her eyes on the Corporal._]
CORPORAL. Look here, you don’t need to make like that, my girl. I am no
bold, bad ravisher. None of us are. We want the grub, and to get warmed
up. God! We’ve seen women enough a’ready. [_Gertrude puts her arm about
Margaret and leads her to the door. The Corporal spies the coffee
machine and pounces upon it._] Hey! What’s this? Coffee? Ah, the blamed
stuff is cold. [_To Katherine._] Hold on, you!
[_Margaret hurries out rear door left. Katherine pauses on stair to
writing room. Gertrude runs to her._]
GERTRUDE. Katherine!
KATHERINE. Go stay with Roland. He might be frightened. Go to him. I’m
all right. [_Gertrude goes into writing room. Katherine comes to the
table._] Yes, the coffee is cold. Wait and I’ll warm it up.
CORPORAL. Hurry up, then. Want it hot and plenty when the Lieutenant
comes. Got to treat him nicely. [_Saunters leisurely toward the
hearth._] Kid from the War School. A fine chap, oh yes! But he’s
so newly hatched lieutenant, the shell is still sticking to him.
In Heaven’s name! Do you call that then a fire? [_Catches up coal
scuttle._]
KATHERINE. Stop!
CORPORAL. Huh?
KATHERINE. Don’t make a noise! [_Goes to him._] I’ve got a sick child
in that room. Put the scuttle down. I’ll lay on the coal myself.
CORPORAL. Damn foolishness! I can’t wait all day. Let go there!
[_Katherine clings to the scuttle, facing him, defiant. The forward
door at left is flung open noisily and the Lieutenant comes in,
followed by a Trooper. The Lieutenant is about twenty, a slender young
fellow, unshaven, sunken-eyed, haggard with exhaustion. He staggers as
he enters._]
CORPORAL [_going to him_]. Here! Let me, sir!
LIEUTENANT. You do not need to hold my arm. [_Moves unsteadily toward
the sofa._] It is twenty years about since I was last a baby.
CORPORAL. You go down the stairs and make some fires burn. [_Trooper
salutes and goes out rear door left. Katherine kneels and replenishes
her fire. The Lieutenant wavers where he has halted. The Corporal
catches him._] Will you please sit down, sir? [_Puts him on the sofa._]
Shall I pull off your boots?
LIEUTENANT. Damn it, no! You touch me, and I think I break to pieces
like an icicle. This damned country!
CORPORAL [_to Katherine_]. Have you brandy?
KATHERINE. I’ve no more left. But I’ll have the coffee ready in a
minute.
LIEUTENANT. To hell with your brandy! It is always brandy that you say.
I do not want brandy. I want only to be warm. And a little while to
sleep.
CORPORAL. You stretch out here, sir. I’ll bring some blankets.
LIEUTENANT. Curse your soul! How can I sleep? There are the horses.
Stable inspection. [_Painfully he tries to draw the gauntlets from his
half frozen hands._]
CORPORAL. Just stay here quiet, sir, and leave things to me. Let me
pull off those gauntlets.
LIEUTENANT. Look here! I am not a baby. Clear out, will you?
CORPORAL [_saluting_]. Yes, sir.
[_The Corporal goes out at the forward door left._]
LIEUTENANT. He is a great fool. Because his mother nursed me he thinks—
Well, where is that coffee?
KATHERINE [_going to the table_]. I think it’s ready. [_As she moves
the cups she makes a slight noise._]
LIEUTENANT [_turning quickly_]. Place that machine at the other end of
the table!
KATHERINE [_moving the tray_]. Certainly. Would you mind telling me why?
LIEUTENANT. Because ladies of your country have sometimes, in their
playfulness, spilt blazing alcohol upon men of ours with their backs
turned, and given them by mistake hydrochloride solution instead of
water.
KATHERINE. Do you know men to whom such things have happened?
LIEUTENANT. I know men who know men to whom it has happened. And I
have read in our newspapers. [_Again he wrestles with his gauntlets,
but desists with a gasp of pain._] Ah! [_Katherine fills a cup with
coffee._] Oh, I am not scared, you know. Give me that coffee!
KATHERINE. It’s pretty hot. You can’t drink it yet.
LIEUTENANT. This rotten country. [_His head droops._]
[_Katherine looks at him, and sees no more than a tired, half-frozen,
miserable boy. Obviously, if he were a very little younger, he would
cry outright. She surrenders to the eternal mother in her._]
KATHERINE. I can cool your coffee with some condensed milk. [_Going to
the bookcase, she takes a can from behind the books._]
LIEUTENANT [_feebly lifting his head_]. That’s a funny place to keep
milk. [_Begins again to work off his gauntlets._]
KATHERINE. I have kept it for my boy that is sick. Kept it hidden.
[_Puts milk into the coffee._] Sugar?
LIEUTENANT. Two lumps. [_Convention asserts itself._] Please!
KATHERINE [_coming to him_]. Can you hold the cup?
LIEUTENANT. My fingers—they are like sticks of wood.
KATHERINE. I’ll hold it for you. [_Sets the cup to his lips._] Not too
hot?
LIEUTENANT. No. It’s fine. Go slow! [_He drinks, then pauses, looking
up at her._] Tell me! You are maybe after all on our side? Some of the
folks are, secretly.
KATHERINE. Oh, no! My husband is at the front. Have some more?
LIEUTENANT. Yes. [_Drinks, then pauses._] I had forgot, you know. My
cap on in the house. [_He makes a futile effort to remove it with his
numbed hand._]
KATHERINE. Shall I take it off?
LIEUTENANT. Yes. Please!
[_Katherine removes his cap, and lays it on the table, then pours
another cup of coffee._]
KATHERINE. Shall we get you something to eat?
LIEUTENANT. I got my throat sore clear into my ears. I can’t swallow
food at all. You know, you do not want to think they all go to pieces
in our army like me. It is not a month I have been at the front. Pretty
soon I get used to it.
KATHERINE. Hold the cup in your hands. It will thaw out your fingers.
Can you stand it?
LIEUTENANT. Yes. Won’t you—won’t you sit down?
KATHERINE. Thank you. [_Takes a chair, sits at a little distance._]
LIEUTENANT [_drinking coffee throughout_]. We aren’t, you know, really
brutes. But you treat us like we are, and think we are, then we are.
Perhaps if we’d met before the war—and that isn’t yet a year ago—we
might have been nice and polite to each other, and maybe friends.
Funny, isn’t it?
KATHERINE. So funny that I think the angels cry over the joke of it.
LIEUTENANT. I came pretty near coming to your country last spring on
vacation. Might have come to this very town. I had a cousin was staying
here—
[_First Trooper comes in again, with a bucket of coal._]
LIEUTENANT. Well, what is it, then?
FIRST TROOPER. Shan’t I fix the fire, sir? [_Starts to throw on coal._]
KATHERINE. Please don’t make a noise!
LIEUTENANT. You hear the lady, blockhead! Lay on the coals, one piece
at a time, like she wants.
FIRST TROOPER. Yes, sir. [_Kneels and replenishes the fire._]
LIEUTENANT. You are here alone in the house?
KATHERINE. There are four other women and an old man.
LIEUTENANT. Where are they, then?
KATHERINE. Upstairs.
LIEUTENANT. Are there fires upstairs?
KATHERINE. No.
LIEUTENANT. You, there! You will go upstairs and give to the ladies my
compliments. Say they are welcome to use here the room that is warm. Be
civil!
[_First Trooper salutes and goes out at the rear door left._]
KATHERINE [_rising_]. Thank you!
LIEUTENANT [_rising_]. We aren’t, you see, brutes, any more than your
own men are, maybe. See here! I think now I can hold a pen. I will
write a paper that you stick on your door. It will help you maybe.
KATHERINE. You’re good.
LIEUTENANT. You are the first woman, of the sort I have known at my
mother’s, to speak decent to me in four weeks. Oh, I get used to it. We
are doing what is right. What our country orders, it is always right.
But a chap doesn’t like the kids to cry when they see his uniform.
There’s pen and ink there?
KATHERINE [_going to the secretary_]. Oh yes. And here’s paper.
[_Lights candles on the secretary._] Are you sure you can manage?
LIEUTENANT [_sitting at the secretary_]. Yes. I don’t need to write
much. And I am pretty near thawed out. Only now I am sleepy. [_Writes._]
GERTRUDE [_entering from the writing room_]. Katherine!
KATHERINE. Come in! [_Goes to her._] It’s all right. He’s a decent
little chap. It’s all right.
LIEUTENANT. Have you please a blotter?
KATHERINE [_re-arranging the coffee tray_]. Three or four of them on
the desk.
LIEUTENANT. Yes, I find them. Hello! [_Takes up a framed photograph._]
What is this picture?
KATHERINE. An old friend of ours. He was your fellow-countryman.
LIEUTENANT [_rising_]. He is also my cousin that I told you of.
GERTRUDE. You are Phil’s cousin? [_Runs to him._] Where is he? What’s
become of him? Is he alive? Oh, for pity’s sake, tell me, tell me!
LIEUTENANT. You are maybe the girl he wrote of once?
GERTRUDE. Yes, yes. I’m that girl—his girl. I know that now. Only I was
such a fool. Where is he? Oh, he isn’t—dead?
LIEUTENANT. No. That is—I heard last from him three months ago. He was
serving with the aviation corps.
KATHERINE. You mean he is fighting?
LIEUTENANT. To be sure, yes. What else does a man do, when his country
needs him?
GERTRUDE. That’s just what I told him, here in this room. I remember.
Yes.
LIEUTENANT. He volunteered, and he is now officer.
KATHERINE. And what about his work? The cure for cancer?
LIEUTENANT. Oh, there isn’t now time for things like that. He must
fight.
GERTRUDE. Yes. Don’t you understand? Of course he must fight. And it
doesn’t matter—who he fights. He’s mine. I’m his. And I’m waiting for
him, just as he begged me to wait. Oh, he must know it. Where is he?
Where can I write to him?
LIEUTENANT. I cannot tell you. We do not ever tell what will make
people know where our different troops are stationed. But I can send a
letter maybe for you.
GERTRUDE. Oh, please! Please! I must tell him. You promise you’ll send
it? You promise?
LIEUTENANT. As sure as I live.
[_Lydia, Margaret, and the Professor come in at the rear door left._]
GERTRUDE. You darling!
[_For the last hour she has been on the edge of hysterics. Now she
falls over the edge and kisses the Lieutenant._]
LYDIA. Gertrude! Have you gone crazy?
GERTRUDE. Oh, it’s all right. He’s going to be related by marriage.
He’s Phil’s cousin. And I’m going to write to Phil this minute.
[_Gertrude sits at the secretary. The Professor sits by the hearth,
Margaret stands near him, Lydia is on the sofa, with her eyes riveted
to the Lieutenant, who, not unnaturally embarrassed, has turned away
and is lighting a cigarette at the desk candle._] How long will it be
before he gets it? O Phil! My own dear! It’s all coming right at last.
It’s all coming right!
[_Gertrude writes rapidly, her face in the candlelight seraphic with
content. The Lieutenant turns and faces Lydia. She gravely inclines her
head. He bows._]
LYDIA. You—are their leader?
LIEUTENANT. Yes, Madam.
LYDIA. You are—not very old.
[_Katherine proffers an ash-tray._]
LIEUTENANT. Thanks! I think I do not smoke.
KATHERINE. You look done out. Can’t you lie down a bit?
LIEUTENANT. I ought to keep afoot, I think, till my corporal reports.
[_Martha comes in at the rear door, left, with a tray, on which are two
cups._]
MARTHA [_going to Lydia_]. Here is hot soup, ma’am. I made it for you
and the Profes—
[_Her voice trails off as she sees the Lieutenant. Lydia waves aside
the cup. Martha gives a cup to the Professor._]
KATHERINE [_going toward the writing room_]. You could lie down on the
couch in the inner room. It is quite warm. My boy is asleep there. Why,
you trust us, don’t you?
LIEUTENANT [_going to her_]. I trust you. It is two nights I have not
shut my eyes. I think I will.
[_Martha goes out, rear door, left, with a last glance at the
Lieutenant._]
LIEUTENANT. You are that lady—Katherine—my cousin wrote about?
KATHERINE. I’m Katherine, yes.
LIEUTENANT. Was I pretty beastly at first? I’m—tired. I don’t quite
remember.
KATHERINE. You’ll feel better when you wake. Good rest. [_Holds out her
hand._]
LIEUTENANT [_kissing her hand_]. Yes. That’s what I want. Rest!
[_The Lieutenant goes into the writing room. The curtains close upon
him. Lydia, on the sofa, takes up and fondles his gauntlets. Presently
she cries silently._]
PROFESSOR [_querulously_]. This soup is weak. [_Margaret takes his cup
and sets it on mantle._] Thanks! But it is good to see Martha moving
about.
KATHERINE. Why, Mother! Mother! [_Goes to Lydia._] You’re not crying?
Oh, no! That isn’t like you.
LYDIA. He made me think of Basil. The same age—the cavalry uniform. He
looked so tired! So cold! O God! My little boy—somewhere—tired, cold,
suffering! My little boy! Send him home to me, God! That’s all I ask.
That’s all I’ll ever ask. Send him home! Dear God! [_Sobs._]
KATHERINE. Oh, hush, dear! Hush!
PROFESSOR. Be reasonable, Lydia. Only compute how many people, on both
sides of the frontier, are praying in just those terms. How can you
believe that there is a God to hear and—
LYDIA. Why should He hear the foreigners? Superstitious wretches! They
don’t know how to pray. But we have always served God and fought His
good fight. He will listen to us. He must listen. Oh, my little boy!
Let me see him again. Only let me see him. I’ll be satisfied.
MARGARET. What was that?
KATHERINE. Listen, Mother! Please!
MARGARET. I thought I heard Roland speak.
KATHERINE. Yes. It was in that room. [_She goes to the door of the
writing room, and parts the curtains a very little._] No. It’s all
quiet. It’s all right. [_Goes to Gertrude._] How are you coming on,
Trudie?
GERTRUDE. I’m the happiest girl in the world. And I haven’t deserved it.
KATHERINE. Dear! Don’t be too—
GERTRUDE. Too sure? Why, I’m as sure of Phil as I am of the stars in
Heaven. If he’s alive—and he is alive. I know it. I feel it. And when
he gets my letter— Bless that little lieutenant! Bless my Phil! God
bless us every one this night. [_Writes._]
[_The Corporal comes in at the left forward door._]
CORPORAL. Well! Where’s the Lieutenant?
KATHERINE. He is lying down in the inner room. [_The Corporal starts
toward the writing room._] Must you disturb him?
CORPORAL. I’ll look once at him. [_Parts the curtains slightly._] Dark
in there! Give us here a candle. [_Katherine fetches a candle from the
secretary._] He is, you see, my foster-brother, and my old woman, she
will have my skin, if I let him come down with pneumonia.
KATHERINE [_giving him the candle_]. Here you are! Go softly, won’t you?
[_The Corporal goes into the writing room._]
PROFESSOR. You see, it is as I assured you. There are established rules
of warfare, as you women fail to realize, and under those rules—
[_The Corporal appears in the doorway of the writing room. His quietude
is dreadful. At sight of him the Professor is paralyzed into silence._]
CORPORAL. Which of you did it?
[_All rise. The Corporal thrusts aside the curtains, between which he
is standing. The interior of the writing room is disclosed, under the
flickering light of the candle, which he evidently has set at one side.
Across the wall, where formerly stood the bookcases, is a crib, on
which lies Roland, cowering beneath the bed-clothes. Diagonally, head
to the crib, is drawn a couch, upon which, half covered with a rug,
lies the Lieutenant, stretched upon his back, with one arm trailing on
the floor. There is a dark smear across his throat, and upon the pillow
and the sheet._]
CORPORAL. Come! Speak up!
PROFESSOR [_babbling_]. What, what, what!
GERTRUDE. O my God!
KATHERINE [_in a suffocated voice_]. Roland! Roland! [_Rushes to the
writing room._]
CORPORAL [_intercepting her, grasping her arms_]. No, you don’t! Make a
man to lie down and rest, and he trusting you, you hell-cat!
[_Several troopers rush into the room by the door left back._]
KATHERINE [_shrieking_]. Roland! Roland! Have they killed you, too?
FIRST TROOPER. What’s the matter?
CORPORAL. Cut the Lieutenant’s throat, and he asleep.
GERTRUDE [_rushing to Katherine’s aid_]. No, no! [_Flings herself upon
the Corporal._] Let go of her!
ROLAND. Mummy! Mummy!
[_Katherine breaks from the Corporal, rushes to the crib, and lifts
Roland in her arms._]
KATHERINE. Yes, yes! Mother’s here.
ROLAND. Don’t let her hurt me! I’m afraid.
KATHERINE. Shut your eyes! Don’t look, dear! Don’t look! [_Brings him
down into the main room._]
ROLAND. Why did she do it? With the kitchen knife. Why did Martha do it?
GERTRUDE. Martha!
ROLAND. She came through the door. O Mummy! I’m afraid.
[_Katherine sits on the sofa, with Roland in her arms. Lydia hurries
to her, and puts her shawl about him. Katherine drags off her knitted
jacket to wrap around the child._]
CORPORAL. Call in the patrol.
FIRST TROOPER. Yes, sir. [_Runs to window right forward._]
CORPORAL. Find that other woman!
[_Two Troopers go out through the writing room._]
FIRST TROOPER. Hey! They’re just making the rounds. [_Dashes window
open._] Hey, come in here! If you please, sir. [_Turns to Corporal._]
It’s grand rounds, sir.
ROLAND. I’m cold, Mummy.
KATHERINE. That draught— Oh, close the window, in pity’s name!
[_The Troopers come in from the writing room, dragging Martha between
them._]
SECOND TROOPER. Here she is, sir.
LYDIA. Martha! You couldn’t have done it. No, no!
ROLAND. Oh, I’m afraid.
[_At the forward door, left, come in two Troopers, who stand aside
at attention. The Foreign Major follows them in—a tall, thin man,
pale-featured, impersonal as Death, and as weary._]
MAJOR. Well? What is now here?
CORPORAL. Our lieutenant, sir, murdered while he was asleep. There’s
the woman did it.
MAJOR [_going to Martha_]. Have you anything to say?
MARTHA [_taking the child’s glove from her bosom_]. That is Patty’s
glove I knitted. That is all. My sister, the little baby, Patty—all
three. When your soldiers came into our town.
MAJOR. It was in the north, your town?
MARTHA. It used to be.
MAJOR. The man you killed was three hundred miles away from there. You
were stupid to do this. [_Turns to the Troopers._] Take her down into
the street. Shoot her. Let the neighbors see.
[_The two last-comers of the troopers lay hold of Martha._]
KATHERINE. Oh, no! Can’t you see for yourself that she’s insane?
MAJOR. Take her along!
MARTHA [_breaks loose, rushes to Lydia_]. No, no, no! I wouldn’t so
much as kill a mouse. You know I wouldn’t. [_The Troopers seize her and
drag her to the door._] No, no! I’m afraid of the guns. Don’t kill me!
Oh, oh! The guns! Don’t kill me! No, no, no!
[_The Troopers drag Martha out at the forward door, left. The door goes
to upon her cries._]
MAJOR. Clear the house at once. Then burn it.
[_At a sign from the Corporal, two Troopers go into the writing room,
cover the body of the Lieutenant with a sheet, and remove the couch,
with the body upon it._]
KATHERINE. Where are we to go?
MAJOR. Outside our lines. See that they go! [_Turns away to the door._]
It is merciful we do not shoot you all.
GERTRUDE [_running to him_]. Oh! Can’t you see my mother is old—and the
little boy is ill—and this paper—he left this paper. See! He asked that
we be protected.
MAJOR. Yes. You have killed the one man would have saved you. Tear up
your paper now. In three minutes. Burn the house.
[_The Major goes out at the forward door, left._]
KATHERINE. Trudie! Bring shoes for Roland!
CORPORAL. No, you don’t! Right as you stand, all of you. Come on now!
[_Comes down into the room._] Clear the house!
LYDIA [_rising_]. No, no! The boy—
PROFESSOR [_starting feebly to snatch down the sword from beneath the
picture_]. My father’s house—his sword! I will not go alive!
CORPORAL [_striking him contemptuously_]. You damned old fool! Get out!
PROFESSOR [_broken_]. O my God!
LYDIA [_going to him_]. That is foolish, Charles. Before you were
right. There is no God. Come!
[_Moving with dignity, Lydia leads out the old man at the left.
Margaret hurries after them._]
CORPORAL. All of you!
KATHERINE. It will kill my boy.
CORPORAL. It was a mother’s boy you killed in there. Will you get out?
Or shall we—
FIRST TROOPER [_at the window_]. Hi! They’ve got her up against the
wall. She’ll get it now. [_From the street comes Martha’s shriek._]
Damn ye, go burn!
[_Simultaneously with the shriek and his cry, sounds a volley of
rifles._]
ROLAND. Mummy! Mummy!
KATHERINE. Dear, we’ll carry you. Come, Gertrude!
[_Carrying between them the child, huddled in the shawl and the knitted
jacket, the two women move toward the door._]
ROLAND. I’m so cold, Mummy! I’m so cold!
[_As Katherine and Gertrude go out, forward door, left, with Roland,
Troopers rush in through all three doors. First Trooper with his
carbine smashes the glass in the secretary. Others tear down the
hangings, demolish the chairs, smash the bookcases, all with half
audible imprecations. The Corporal directs the havoc._]
CORPORAL. Bring more petrol! There’s a barrel below. Tear down that
rag. It will make a blaze. We’ll show them! Hurry up that petrol! [_A
Trooper tears down the flag from beneath the picture and casts it among
the débris. A Third Trooper runs in with a can of petrol, which he
pours upon the mass._] Kill our men sleeping, damn them!
[_With his carbine the Corporal smashes the chandelier above the table.
A Fourth Trooper snatches from the hearth blazing coals in a shovel and
hurls them upon the heap of broken furniture._]
CURTAIN
ACT III
_The little farmstead, which has been seized by the advancing army,
lies close to the firing line. At the left is the farmhouse, a small,
mean building, of stone, with casement windows, and an inset porch,
from which the entrance door opens. At the side of the porch, nearer
the audience, is a bench, on which stands a water-bucket. Not far
distant is a rough table, fetched from the house, with a stool at
either side, and, before it, a bench. On the table are a pad of paper,
several pencils, a map, held in place by small stones, and a mug with a
little water. Farther back is a tree, the branches of which overshadow
the roof of the house. Across the courtyard, at the back, runs a high
wall of brick, with a slight coping of thatch, which is pierced at the
centre by a wide gateway. Through the gateway is seen a glimpse of
rugged autumn country, and in the foreground, passing the gate, a heavy
road. At the right is an open shed. Beneath this shed is a ladder,
and near by a heap of straw and a few broken farm implements. Toward
the front of the shed is a table, on which rest two field-telephones.
Beside it, by way of seat, an old box. Between the shed and the
audience is a lane, masked by a clump of trees, and with a barred gate
that stands open._
_The season is September. Seven months have passed since the town-house
burned. The time is late afternoon._
_At the left of the table the Adjutant, a keen young martinet of
thirty, is busily writing. At the telephone, with the headpiece in
place, sits a Sergeant, a heavily built man of forty odd. Huddled
in the straw beneath the shed lies Thomas, a child of six or seven,
barefooted, in a soiled smock and trousers, with a white, soiled face.
At the back, by the gateway, two soldiers are on sentry duty. One of
them is the Woodsy Boy, a different being in his stiff uniform and
service boots. He is gnawing surreptitiously at a piece of bread.
From the distance comes the boom of heavy guns, heard intermittently
throughout the act._
SERGEANT [_receiving a message_]. Yes, sir. This is the outpost at
Crossways. I’ll hold the line. [_To Adjutant._] Headquarters, sir. They
want the Colonel.
ADJUTANT [_to First Soldier_]. Headquarters calling. Tell the Colonel.
FIRST SOLDIER. Yes, sir. [_Turns to gateway._] He’s just here.
[_Robert comes through the gateway. He wears the shabby service uniform
of a colonel of infantry, and a not very well kept mustache. In the
months of fighting he has in every way “gone off.” His voice when he
speaks is almost a “whiskey voice.” At his heels, with a map in his
hand, comes the Major, a dull, commonplace man of forty._]
MAJOR. We’ve got ’em on the run, I tell you. Cleaned ’em off the
heights here. Chased ’em across the river there.
ROBERT. Humph! Watch out for the come-back.
MAJOR. We can smother them with numbers.
ROBERT. They’re on their own doorstep now. With their backs up.
ADJUTANT. Headquarters on the line, sir.
ROBERT. Eh? Then why in hell—
ADJUTANT. Just this minute, sir.
ROBERT. Right! [_Goes to the telephone. The Major seats himself at the
table and goes over the maps with the Adjutant._] Headquarters?— Yes,
sir. We are entrenching a kilometer beyond the farm-house.— Yes, sir.
We can hold it.— How many, sir?— Fine! Thanks. [_To Sergeant._] Get the
commissary! [_Goes to the table._] Two more regiments before midnight.
If they try to rush us, they’ll get what’s coming to them.
[_Thomas steals out from beneath the shed and very timidly takes up and
eats the crumbs that the Woodsy Boy has let fall._]
MAJOR. Not much like it was a year ago.
ROBERT. No. We can beat ’em now at their own game. Anything in your
flask, old man?
MAJOR. About enough to drown a fly.
ROBERT. Let’s see the color of it. [_Reluctantly the Major hands over
his flask._] Sorry—between friends. Ebb tide here, till the supplies
get through. [_Goes toward house._] And I’ve got another touch of
rheumatics coming on.
[_Robert goes into the house._]
ADJUTANT. Rather a pity!
MAJOR. Pity your grandmother! He’s a better soldier drunk than half of
’em sober. Give us your pencil! If there’s half a minute, I’ll scratch
a letter home. September—
ADJUTANT. Twenty-first.
MAJOR. Hm! That’s my oldest girl’s birthday. [_Writes._]
WOODSY BOY [_holding out his piece of bread, to Thomas._] Here, Kid!
Take it. Come on. Don’t be scared.
[_Thomas snatches the bread and retreats a little._]
FIRST SOLDIER [_going to the Woodsy Boy, but keeping a wary eye on the
two officers._] You’re green, all right. When you’ve seen as many stray
brats as I have—well, you’ll eat what little grub you get your paws on.
WOODSY BOY. What becomes of him?
FIRST SOLDIER. Why, a nice young lady nurse will come along and feed
him out of a silver mug, and tuck him up in a pink crib, with a woolly
baa lamb beside him, huh? Say, ain’t you got any sense at all?
WOODSY BOY. Do you mean, when we go away, he will be left alone?
THOMAS. My daddy is coming back pretty soon. He said he would. [_Goes
back into the shed._]
WOODSY BOY. Where d’you suppose his daddy’s gone?
FIRST SOLDIER. If you shin that wall, you’ll see a clump of trees over
yonder. Daddy’s there. “Rockabye baby, on the tree-top.” With the rope
that tethered one of his own cows tied round his neck.
WOODSY BOY. What for?
FIRST SOLDIER. Just sniping. Got two of ours before we settled his
hash. That was a bit o’ the fun you weren’t in on, Greeny.
[_The Adjutant, rolling himself a cigarette, chances to look up. First
Soldier withdraws to the left of the gateway._]
WOODSY BOY [_to Thomas, fumbling in his pocket_]. Here! That is
chocolate. Extra ration. It’s good. Eat it.
[_Thomas snatches the chocolate and runs back into the shed._]
SERGEANT. Commissary on the line, sir.
ADJUTANT [_rising_]. Hold it! [_Goes to house door._] Colonel! Ready
the commissary.
[_Robert comes in from the house._]
ROBERT [_to the Major_]. Fooled me that time, old man. [_Gives back the
flask._] Not enough to drown a flea. Well?
ADJUTANT. Commissary, sir.
ROBERT. Right! [_Goes to telephone._] Hello, Commissary! Where in hell
are those supplies? Can’t live on air, you know. Can’t suck our paws
like blasted bears.— Well, I don’t give a damn! We’ve been entrenching
for forty-eight hours. Not a blamed thing to eat but the bread in our
haversacks, and a little beef on the hoof.— What’s that?— Well, that’s
more like it.— Hold on! I say! You’re sending us some brandy, too, eh?
[_The Major and the Adjutant exchange glances._] Need it badly. Got
some cases of sickness. All right. So long. [_Turns to the Adjutant._]
Four motor-trucks will be at the foot of the lane, any minute. See that
the commissary sergeant is on the job.
ADJUTANT. Right, sir.
ROBERT. I say! [_Detaining him._] Look out yourself for that stuff
consigned to me. It’s important.
ADJUTANT. Yes, sir.
[_The Adjutant goes out through the gateway._]
ROBERT [_at the back of the table_]. Well! What writing?
MAJOR. Just a line home.
ROBERT. That’s a nice thing to have, a home. Those chaps didn’t happen
to leave me mine.
SERGEANT. Outpost K is calling, sir.
ROBERT. Eh?
SERGEANT. Yes. This is Crossways. What?— They got that biplane, sir.
[_Major turns alertly._]
ROBERT [_excited_]. No!
SERGEANT. Smashed the pilot to bits. Mixed the other fellow up with
red-hot petrol.
ROBERT. Can talk, can’t he?
SERGEANT. Can he talk?— Yes. He can talk, sir.
ROBERT. Send him over here.
SERGEANT. The Colonel says: Send him over!— Is that all, sir?
ROBERT. That’s all, Sergeant. [_Goes to centre of the courtyard, to the
Woodsy Boy._] Come here, you!
WOODSY BOY [_coming to him, saluting_]. Yes, sir.
ROBERT. You’re the man saw the biplane go westward night before last?
WOODSY BOY. Yes, sir.
ROBERT. Why in hell couldn’t you have given the alarm?
WOODSY BOY. I thought ’twas just a big bird, sir.
ROBERT. Well, when birdie dropped a bomb, down in the field where our
men happened to be sleeping, you woke up and took a little notice,
maybe?
WOODSY BOY. Yes, sir. [_Shuddering._] I heard ’em scream.
ROBERT. Did you see a light on the hill beyond?
WOODSY BOY. Plain as I see you, sir.
ROBERT. And a light far off as you could see, there in the west?
WOODSY BOY. Yes, sir.
ROBERT [_to the Major_]. That’s our water tower. Birdie just missed it.
[_To Woodsy Boy._] That’s all! [_The Woodsy Boy salutes and returns to
his post. Robert sits on the bench in front of the table._] There’s
been too many lights on the hills. Too many camp fires by day. To-night
I’m counting on finding out the name and address of the folks that are
setting those fires.
MAJOR. You think you’ll get that from the aviator?
ROBERT. Why not? St. Jo’s reported that he landed inside our lines,
didn’t they? Reported that he stocked up with petrol, didn’t they?
MAJOR. Yes.
ROBERT. Well, then! He’s likely to know where he got the petrol and who
helped him. When we get one man, we get the next, and so on, till we
get the whole damned gang.
MAJOR. The country is rotten with treachery.
ROBERT. And there’s a real enemy in front. Don’t forget that! We’re not
out of the woods yet. And it will help things along to clear out some
of the snakeweed and skunk cabbage. When I get hold of that biplane
chap, he’s going to squeal.
MAJOR. Well—there are—er—rules of the game.
ROBERT. Not a hunting man, are you, old chap?
MAJOR. No.
ROBERT. If you were, you’d know there aren’t any rules when you’re
dealing with vermin. Let me once get hold of the fellow who dropped the
bombs into St. Jo’s—
[_As he is speaking the Adjutant comes in through the gateway, followed
by Katherine. She wears the dusty and rather shabby dress of a Red
Cross nurse, with cloak and bonnet._]
ADJUTANT [_saluting_]. A lady, sir, that wants to see you.
ROBERT. A lady? Here? You’re off your head. How’d she get here?
ADJUTANT. Red Cross nurse, with a pass from Headquarters. Came on the
commissary truck.
ROBERT [_rising_]. Well, put her on the truck and send her back where
she came from.
KATHERINE. Oh, please, no! Let me stay long enough to say— How are you,
Rob? [_Goes to him._]
ROBERT [_embracing her_]. Kate! How in God’s name did you get here?
[_The Major and the Adjutant fall back a little._]
KATHERINE. A little eager, perhaps, to see you. It’s been months and
months now, and—and a good deal has happened, Rob.
ROBERT. Yes. I know. Sit down here, come. [_Seats her on the bench._]
Pity we haven’t some brandy! Major, my wife. My Adjutant.
[_The two officers bow and retire to the back of the courtyard._]
ROBERT. We must fix it to send you back to the base. This is the last
place— You know we may be attacked before morning. What ever possessed
you—
KATHERINE. I got into St. Jo’s last night.
ROBERT. The devil you did! Then you were—
KATHERINE. Rob! Don’t talk about it, please. I thought I was hardened
to every horror, but—
ROBERT [_sitting beside her_]. There, there!
KATHERINE. Well, I came on to Headquarters this morning. They’re trying
to get me a pass to go through the lines, and meantime, when I found
you were stationed here—the chance to see you—I haven’t much else left.
ROBERT. You shouldn’t have taken the risk.
KATHERINE. I’ve been running risks, such as they are, for four months
now.
ROBERT. You shouldn’t have started on this fool’s errand. You ought to
be at home.
KATHERINE. There is no—home, Rob. So I started out to see if I couldn’t
find some trace of Basil.
ROBERT. Just waste of time. Poor kid! We shan’t see him this side of
Jordan.
KATHERINE. Don’t say that, please! If you could see your mother! If you
could hear her, night and day, crying for her boy. I can understand.
ROBERT. Yes. I know. Our boy— Did he suffer much, Kate?
KATHERINE. Not for long.
ROBERT. Did he speak of me?
KATHERINE. Yes. He cried for you.
ROBERT. Poor little kid! Poor old girl!
KATHERINE. Better not, Rob. I mustn’t cry here.
ROBERT. No. It’s over and done with now. [_Rises._] Can’t help him.
KATHERINE. It wasn’t for my boy alone. [_Rises._] Just the comfort—to
find you again. To have you, just the same, to cling to, when the whole
world reels. [_Robert embraces her._]
[_Second Soldier enters through the gateway._]
ADJUTANT [_approaching Robert_]. Beg pardon, sir.
ROBERT. Well?
ADJUTANT. Seven o’clock, sir.
ROBERT. Yes. Must go the rounds. We’re a bit short of officers, you
know. [_To Soldier._] Got my horse there?
SECOND SOLDIER. Yes, sir.
ROBERT. Be back soon, Kate. We shan’t be sending away the trucks for
half an hour. We’ll have a minute together yet. Ready, gentlemen!
[_Robert, the Major, the Adjutant, and Second Soldier go out through
the gateway. Thomas steals from the shed and stands watching them. The
shadows are deepening. Katherine watches Robert off. Then her eyes fall
upon Thomas. Her arms go out toward him yearningly._]
KATHERINE. What’s your name, dear?
THOMAS. Thomas.
KATHERINE [_sitting on the bench_]. And whose boy are you?
THOMAS [_shyly approaching her_]. Daddy’s.
KATHERINE. And where’s Daddy?
THOMAS. He’s coming back. He told me to wait.
KATHERINE. When did you wash your poor little face last? Are you hungry?
THOMAS. Yes.
KATHERINE. I have some biscuit in my pocket. If you’ll let me wash your
face—yes?
THOMAS. What kind o’ biscuit?
KATHERINE [_pouring water from the mug upon her handkerchief_]. Oh,
round ones and square ones and some of them sweet. [_Washes his face._]
My stars! What a smudgy little boy! Where’s Mammy?
THOMAS. Mammy died, three, four, five—oh, a lot of days ago. And
the little baby. The little weeny baby—so long. [_Measures with his
hands._] Daddy put them out there in the ground. I wish Daddy would
come.
KATHERINE. Don’t cry, dear! Don’t! [_Takes him on her lap._] Play I’m
your mammy. Here are the biscuit! All for you!
[_Thomas eats the biscuit eagerly._]
SERGEANT [_answering call_]. Crossways, yes, sir. Ready! [_Takes down
the message._] Airscout reports enemy massing in force, three regiments
of foot estimated, behind the lines, opposite Crossways. Right. Got it,
yes. Good-bye. [_Snaps fingers._]
FIRST SOLDIER [_going to him_]. Yes, sir.
SERGEANT. Take this to the Colonel. [_Gives him the written message._]
FIRST SOLDIER. Yes, sir.
[_First Soldier goes out through the gateway._]
SERGEANT. Snappy time round here to-night, young fellow.
WOODSY BOY [_coming a little toward him_]. Must we kill them some more,
sir?
SERGEANT. Well, what d’ye think you’re here for? Didn’t think ’twas a
sworry, did you, with swallow-tails and pink tea? My God! The stuff
they’ve sent us since the Conscript Act! Lucky for you, young chap, I’m
on the wire, ’stead o’ teaching you the drill. [_Busies himself with
copying duplicate messages into his book._]
THOMAS. Are you a little boy’s mother?
KATHERINE. Yes, dear.
THOMAS. Where is he?
KATHERINE [_after a moment_]. In a pleasant place. Where men have
stopped killing each other. Where women don’t have to cry any more.
Where little children are safe and happy. Oh, he’s better off where he
is! Better off! [_Controls herself._] Your mammy is there, too, dear.
Safe and happy. And the wee little baby.
THOMAS. Oh, no. Daddy put them there in the ground. I wish he’d come. I
want him so.
KATHERINE. Don’t cry. You must be a brave little boy. Cuddle close and
go to sleep.
[_She holds the child close. He shuts his eyes. Twilight is deepening.
The Woodsy Boy, who has watched her with the eyes of a lost dog, steals
to her side._]
WOODSY BOY. Lady! You don’t remember me?
KATHERINE. I’m sorry. No.
WOODSY BOY. I came to your place one night, with a dog that had broke
its leg.
KATHERINE. Not the Woodsy Boy?
WOODSY BOY. I showed you where to find the primroses, you and Roland.
KATHERINE. Oh, what are you doing here?
WOODSY BOY. I was tall enough and old enough, they said.
KATHERINE. A conscript, of course! You poor little fellow, they might
have let you be.
THOMAS [_in his sleep_]. Daddy!
KATHERINE. Hush! Hush!
WOODSY BOY. We have killed his daddy. He fired at us. We were taking
his cattle.
KATHERINE. God pity us all!
WOODSY BOY. At home my father stole a sheep. He was two years in jail.
Here we stole his father’s cattle—so we hanged his father on a tree. I
don’t understand.
KATHERINE. Just do as they tell you, Heaven pity you!
WOODSY BOY. At home the Parson told me not to kill. He said God said we
mustn’t. But here they say I must kill.
KATHERINE. Don’t try to understand!
SERGEANT. Hi you! Greeny! Cut into the house and fetch some lanterns!
[_The Woodsy Boy goes into the house._] Was he bothering you, ma’am?
KATHERINE. No, Sergeant.
SERGEANT. He’s a bit cracked in the head, you can see. Not much like
the chaps they sent us, first of the war. Kind of petering out, they
are.
[_Through the gateway come in Robert, the Major, the Adjutant, and
Second Soldier._]
ROBERT. Any report, Sergeant?
SERGEANT. Just the airscout, sir.
ROBERT. Take that ladder! Set it up against the shed. [_Second Soldier
sets ladder against the shed. The Woodsy Boy comes from the house with
two lighted lanterns. He hangs one on the porch, so that the light
falls across the table._] Let’s have the binoculars. [_Takes them from
the Adjutant._] Here! Climb up there. Look out for lights on the hills.
Flashes. [_Second Soldier goes up the ladder, hooks his elbows on roof
of the shed, and studies the horizon at right. The Woodsy Boy sets the
second lantern on the telephone table._] Late with that prisoner from
Outpost K.
ADJUTANT. Believe I hear the motor now, sir.
ROBERT. Well, bring him on the run. We’ve no time to fool. [_The
Adjutant goes through the gateway. Robert turns to Katherine, and sees
her, under the lanternlight, with the child in her arms. He cries
out._] Kate!
KATHERINE. Don’t wake him!
ROBERT. Good God! For half a minute I thought—[_Goes to her, furious
with himself._] What kid is that you’ve got there?
KATHERINE. Isn’t there a bed inside where I can lay him? Poor little
fellow!
ROBERT. This is the battle-line. Not much room here for sentiment.
KATHERINE. It’s his father’s house.
ROBERT. Well, put him on the bed, if you want to. [_Katherine leads the
half sleeping child to the house._] Better stay inside yourself. Turns
cool here after sunset. Can’t send you back for an hour yet. Go in! Go
in! [_Katherine and Thomas go into the house. Robert, badly shaken,
takes up the mug, dashes out the water that is in it, fills it from his
pocket flask, and takes a stiff drink of whiskey neat. The Adjutant
comes in. Robert turns at his step._] Got him?
ADJUTANT. We have, sir.
ROBERT. Well, trot him out.
[_The Adjutant signals with his hand from the gateway. An infantry
Sergeant comes in, followed by several soldiers. Two of them are half
supporting, half dragging Phil, incredibly altered. He wears the
scorched and torn remains of an aviation lieutenant’s uniform. He is
bareheaded and his forehead and eyes are covered with a blood-stained
emergency bandage. He is further disguised by a fortnight’s growth
of beard. His wrists are closely tied. Not incomprehensible that
Robert, two thirds drunk, should fail to recognize in this soiled and
broken wreck the man who should have been his brother-in-law. Not
incomprehensible either that Phil, blinded, and with senses benumbed
with pain, should fail to recognize in the whiskey voice the voice of
his old friend._]
SECOND SERGEANT. The aviator, sir, that ran the biplane over St. Jo’s.
ROBERT. Set him down there! [_The soldiers thrust Phil down on the
stool at the right of the table, and then draw back._] So you’re the
chap that paid us a visit last night.
PHIL [_desperately trying to hold himself together_]. Yes.
ROBERT [_sitting at left of the table, opposite him_]. D’ye know what
you did at St. Jo’s?
PHIL. Yes.
ROBERT. It was a job to be proud of, eh?
PHIL. Yes. We got your train-yard—your rolling-stock—locomotives—repair
shop.
ROBERT. Is that all?
PHIL. Do you want more? Well—maybe some of our chaps come again. I
can’t. [_Drops head on his arms on the table._] Done for!
MAJOR [_at the back of the table_]. See here! Don’t you know what you—
ROBERT. Shut up! Shut up! Is he shamming, Sergeant, or is he badly hurt?
SECOND SERGEANT. Pretty well shaken up, sir, and a couple of ribs bust
in. Then the tank blew up and he got it in the face. His eyes are done
for.
PHIL. Yes.
SECOND SERGEANT. He was pretty keen on killing himself. That’s why we
tied him.
PHIL [_lifting his head_]. I get out of it pretty quick anyhow. But
it’s no fun waiting. I— [_With his hands outstretched, to Robert._]
Oh, for God’s sake! Let me have some morphine! So for a minute it
stops hurting. So I don’t go crazy. Maybe you’ll be up against it once
yourself. For God’s sake! [_Drops his head on his arms._] For God’s
sake!
ROBERT. Bad as all that, is it? Well, you shall have your morphine,
sonny.
PHIL [_piteously_]. Thank you!
ROBERT. But first you’re going to do something for us, eh?
PHIL [_lifting his head_]. What do you want?
ROBERT. The names of the fellows inside our lines that are standing in
with you.
PHIL. I don’t know them.
ROBERT. Oh, yes, you do. Come on now! Who were they? Then it’s you to
the hospital. Not before.
PHIL. Say, you said it was a soldier you were taking me to. This is
nothing but a fat civilian, with his dinner slobbered all over his
waistcoat. You damned bastard, do you think I’d—
[_Robert springs up and starts toward Phil. The Major intercepts him._]
MAJOR. Go easy, sir.
ROBERT [_controlling himself_]. Think you can get me mad enough to hit
a blow might kill you, do you? [_Standing over Phil._] Not a bit of it.
[_Strikes him._] Shell out now! Who were they?
PHIL. No! [_With a suppressed groan._] Oh!
ROBERT. Pretty fierce the pain, eh? [_Sitting on the table, beside
Phil._] Think how jolly good you’re going to feel, with something
better than an emergency bandage over your eyes, dropping off to sleep—
PHIL. No.
ROBERT. Regular little hero, aren’t you? Well, I guess we’d better
tell you just how much of a hero you really are. Didn’t know perhaps
that there was a train made up and ready to start at daybreak, in the
train-yard at St. Jo’s.
PHIL. What of it?
ROBERT. Not much of it, after your bombs smashed into it. [_Phil gives
a short and savage laugh._] Just before then it was full up with
wounded men—three hundred of them—and half of them your own chaps.
PHIL. No! You’re saying that to torture me. You’re lying. All of you.
If I could only see your faces, I’d know you were lying.
ROBERT [_rising_]. Well, we’re going to send you where you’ll find
out whether it’s the truth or not. [_Takes pad, and writes while he
speaks._] We’d be well within our rights to hang you, you damned
air-pirate. But we’ll stand you up against the wall instead.
PHIL. I thank you.
ROBERT. Set him up there! [_Two soldiers take Phil and thrust him
against the wall at the right of the gateway. Meantime Robert beckons
the Second Sergeant, and shows him the written paper. The Sergeant
takes the paper and by the light of his electric bull’s eye shows it
to the soldiers of his squad successively. Meantime Robert goes on
speaking._] Back him up against the wall. More to the right. Here you,
fetch that lantern. Hang it on that peg beside his head. [_The Woodsy
Boy, shrinking, takes the lantern from the telephone table, and hangs
it on the wall, where the light falls squarely on Phil’s ghastly face.
This done, he darts back into the shelter of the shed, where he remains
throughout a horrified and fascinated witness._] Got anything to say?
PHIL. Be quick. That’s all.
ROBERT. We’ll let you give the word to the firing squad.
PHIL. Yes.
ROBERT. Sergeant!
SECOND SERGEANT. Fall in! ’Tention! March! ’Bout face! Ready! Aim! All
ready, sir.
[_The firing squad is drawn up, behind the table, facing Phil. The
Second Sergeant falls back at the right._]
ROBERT. How about it now? Going to give us those names?
PHIL. No.
ROBERT. You’ll find out in a minute how they died, those three hundred
at St. Jo’s. You’ll be with them.
PHIL. I’ll chance it.
ROBERT. Want to pray?
PHIL. Get through with it.
ROBERT. Give the word, then!
[_Katherine, without her cloak and bonnet, comes from the house, and
pauses on the porch. She does not of course recognize Phil. Neither
does she go into hysterics. She is a sensible woman, and no novice at
the sight of horrors. She does, however, stand frozen in her tracks and
takes in all that follows. On Robert’s last word, Phil pulls himself up
to his full height, with chin uplifted. Obviously he is using the last
remnant of his strength of body and of soul to hold him through the
next moment._]
PHIL. Fire! [_A moment’s ghastly silence._] For God’s sake, fire!
ROBERT. Fall out!
[_The soldiers break ranks and stand beneath the tree._]
PHIL [_going to pieces_]. What are you doing? What are you going to do?
Why don’t you fire?
ROBERT [_going to him_]. Thought we’d let you off easy as that, eh? Not
a bit of it!
PHIL. You devils! You devils! Oh! I can’t bear any more! I can’t bear
it! [_Starts to beat his head against the wall._]
ROBERT [_catching him by the shoulder_]. Cut that out! [_Flings him
away from the wall._]
PHIL [_falling full length, face down._] O God! Haven’t you any pity!
ROBERT [_over him_]. You wasted a lot of strength, striking attitudes
there. Come on now, laddie! [_Kicks him._] Be sensible! Give us those
names.
PHIL. No!
SECOND SOLDIER. Colonel! A light, sir.
ROBERT. Where?
[_Through the ensuing, Phil drags himself toward the table, strikes his
head against the stool, and, having thus placed himself, staggers to
his feet._]
SECOND SOLDIER. On the wooded hill. Flash, sir. There it comes again.
[_The crash of a gun is heard. A branch falls from the tree into the
courtyard._] Got our range, sir!
ROBERT [_catching Phil by the shoulders as he rises_]. They’re getting
busy, your friends. Think they’re going to keep on dropping my
chaps, just because you keep your damned mouth shut? [_Thrusts Phil,
struggling hopelessly, down on the stool at the right of the table._]
I’ll pry your jaws open. Won’t speak, eh?
PHIL [_struggling_]. My God, man! Don’t! Don’t!
ROBERT. Give us those names!
PHIL. No! No!
ROBERT [_jerking Phil’s arms from before his face_]. Damn your soul!
[_Forces his head back upon the table_]. If I get my hand on your
face, you’ll tell in a hurry!
PHIL [_shrieking_]. Christ!
KATHERINE [_somehow arrived at the table, clutching Robert’s arm_].
Rob! Stop! Stop!
ROBERT. How’d you get here, Kate? What are you doing?
KATHERINE. For your own sake, stop!
[_Guns intermittently crash throughout._]
ROBERT. Hear that? Pounding us to bits, just because he won’t talk. Get
into the house, Kate. This is my job.
KATHERINE. Not torture! Rob! Rob! No!
ROBERT. You’re my wife, aren’t you? Do as I tell you, Kate.
[_The familiar names and the woman’s well remembered voice have reached
even Phil’s pain-crazed senses._]
PHIL. Kate! Kate!
[_Robert, for the instant dismayed by the horror of the possibility
suggested, goes back from his victim. Phil staggers blindly to his
feet._]
PHIL. Don’t leave me! Don’t you know me? I’m Phil.
KATHERINE [_catching him in her arms as he pitches forward_]. No! No!
[_She eases him down on the bench, scanning what little of his face is
visible._]
PHIL. The house in the north—Roland—Gertrude—
KATHERINE. Oh! What have you done, Rob? It’s Phil—Phil that saved our
boy!
ROBERT. Yes. For his countrymen to butcher. Get away from him!
KATHERINE [_supporting Phil, with her arms about him_]. No. You’re not
going to touch him.
ROBERT. You were at St. Jo’s yourself this morning. You saw what they
were bringing out of that train-yard. That’s his work.
KATHERINE [_drawing back from Phil involuntarily_]. You did that?
PHIL [_with a despairing cry_]. Then it’s true!
KATHERINE. God forgive you!
[_Phil sways forward, half lying on the bench._]
SERGEANT. Airscout, sir.
ROBERT. Eh?
[_Katherine snatches up the mug and fills it at the water-bucket._]
SERGEANT. Report from Outpost K. The enemy’s foot are advancing against
our trenches.
ROBERT [_to Adjutant_]. Got your horse ready?
ADJUTANT. There, sir. [_Indicating gateway._]
ROBERT. Hurry up those re-enforcements. Ride like hell.
[_The Adjutant hurries out through the gateway. Robert follows after
him, with the soldiers in attendance, all but the Woodsy Boy, Second
Soldier, and the two Sergeants._]
KATHERINE [_at Phil’s side_]. Drink it, Phil!
PHIL [_drinking hurriedly_]. You have not gone away? You have not left
me?
KATHERINE. No. [_Sets the mug on the table._]
PHIL. It was the repair shop I aimed at. I didn’t mean—They suffered?
Tell me! Tell me!
KATHERINE. Some of them, yes.
PHIL. I thought once—I was going to help put a stop to pain. I thought—
Will you tell her, please, I am not any more a coward! With my own
hands—three hundred cripples killed. She should be proud. Say that!
[_Robert comes in through the gateway._]
ROBERT [_to the Major_]. Bring up our own regiment. On the double!
[_The Major hurries out through the gateway. Robert turns toward Phil.
Katherine steps quickly between them, with her arm about Phil._]
ROBERT. That’s nonsense, Kate. You can’t stop me. [_To Phil._] I’ll
see you again in a minute, and when I do—by God! you’ll talk! [_To
the Second Sergeant._] Sergeant! Keep an eye on that chap. We’re not
through with him by a long shot. Come on, you!
[_Robert goes out by the lane at the right, followed by the telephone
Sergeant. The Second Sergeant draws back and paces in the gateway._]
PHIL. Katherine! Will you do for me one thing? Inside my coat here,
sewn in the lining—I can’t get at it—some stuff will make me sleep.
Won’t you please get it for me? I’d have done it for you. I’d have done
it for Rob.
KATHERINE. Don’t! I can’t bear that. Because I believe you would.
PHIL. Then won’t you please—I don’t want to lie screaming on the
ground. In a minute I will. O God! Let up on me! Please, please,
Katherine! For Roland’s sake!
KATHERINE. Hush! Oh hush! [_Gets the tablets from inside his coat._]
Here, is it?
PHIL. You have it?
KATHERINE. Yes.
PHIL. Put it please into some water. Let me drink it quick.
KATHERINE. Phil! My poor old chap! What is it?
PHIL. To make me sleep.
KATHERINE. For how long?
PHIL. Don’t ask questions. Give it to me, and then go straight away.
KATHERINE. I can’t. Oh, I can’t!
PHIL. Give it to me! Three hundred of them—helpless! But I must not
tell. I must not give up those names. I must have something left, or
I’ll be scared to die. Katherine! Help me not to tell! Katherine! I am
here in hell—and blind—blind! Katherine! Katherine!
KATHERINE [_snatching up the mug, and putting into it the tablets_].
Phil! Drink it! [_Thrusts the mug into his hands._]
PHIL [_drinking_]. God bless you!
KATHERINE [_putting down the mug, bending over him_]. Phil, dear! Can
you pray?
PHIL. Pray?
KATHERINE. Before you—go to sleep?
PHIL. Oh, yes. Pray—Roland— [_With her arms about him he slips from the
bench to his knees._] Katherine!
KATHERINE. Yes. I’m here. I’m here.
PHIL. Now I lay me—keep me kind—make me—a good—boy—
[_The death spasm grips him. His head goes back. His kneeling body
stiffens. He collapses limply at her feet. She stands rigid and
speechless, gazing down at him. The guns now are almost incessant._]
MAJOR [_outside_]. Battalion, forward!
A CAPTAIN’S VOICE. Forward!
SECOND SERGEANT. Fall in!
[_Second Soldier comes down the ladder and goes out at the gateway. The
Major comes in. At the same moment Robert comes from the lane._]
MAJOR. All ready, sir.
[_Troops of infantry are seen marching toward right along the road
beyond the gateway. The Major takes his place among them. The Second
Sergeant falls in._]
ROBERT [_to Woodsy Boy_]. Fall in!
WOODSY BOY [_as unexpectedly as if a sparrow should chirp in the face
of a tornado_]. No, no! I won’t kill them. [_Lets his rifle fall._]
ROBERT. Pick up that rifle.
WOODSY BOY. No! No! No!
ROBERT [_drawing his revolver_]. Fall in, damn you!
WOODSY BOY. I won’t kill. God said that—
[_Robert shoots him in the breast. The Woodsy Boy staggers a few steps
forward and falls dead. Across his body Robert goes out at the gateway
and joins the marching troops. There is the flash of a shell, and a
crash. A section of the wall at the right is blown inward. Katherine
staggers back, but the clutch of the little boy, Thomas, roused by
the noise and stolen in terror from the house, brings her to herself.
She holds the child to her, protecting, covering his ears and eyes.
The bursting of shells is now incessant. Another section of wall goes
down. Through the smoke and the dust of the roadway, under the bursting
shells, a horse battery is seen going into action._]
CURTAIN
EPILOGUE
_In the two years that have passed since the events of the Prologue,
the country-house has been in the hands of the enemy. The wide open
doorway and the uncurtained casements show springtide country, with
stumps of fruit-trees, trampled fields, and, in the distance, the
burned rafters of a hamlet and the gaunt tower of a ruined church.
Within, the room has been stripped bare of all that made it livable,
hangings, rugs, cushions, pictures, bric-a-brac. The good and heavy
furniture has been replaced with plain and cheap articles. At the left
is a deal table, on which stand a lamp with a green shade, of ordinary
pattern, and an earthen jug with a few sprays of lilac. A wooden chair
is beside the table. At the centre is a plain table, on which is a big
basket of coarse mending. At either side of the table is a rush-bottom
chair. A cottage settle is at right angles to the hearth. Beside the
hearth is a wheel-chair, and near by a wooden chair._
_The season is May, eight months after the events upon the battle-line.
The time is late afternoon._
_On the bench in the bow-window Thomas, neatly but poorly clad, sits
with a shabby little picture book. Near by the Professor, aged, shabby,
and almost senile, is irritably looking from the window. Lydia, gaunt
and aged, all in black, sits mending at the right of the table. In the
wheel-chair, with a rug across his knees, sits Basil, the haggard wreck
of the boy who meant to end the war in six weeks._
PROFESSOR. Dear, dear! Katherine is very late with the mail.
LYDIA. Well, Kate can’t go like a race-horse, you might remember. She’s
tired, poor girl! And no wonder, with all that she has to do.
PROFESSOR. But at such a time it is most exasperating not to have the
paper promptly.
BASIL. Probably Kate ducked in somewhere when that shower came up.
THOMAS [_going to Lydia_]. Can I go down the lane and meet Aunt
Katherine?
LYDIA. Yes, Thomas. But mind you don’t go near the soldiers’ camp.
THOMAS. No, I won’t.
[_Thomas runs out at the terrace door._]
LYDIA. That camp is enough to demoralize all the boys and girls in the
district. What there is about brass buttons and a bugle—
BASIL. Oh, come, Mother! Our chaps are decent enough fellows.
LYDIA. Well, I’ll be thankful when their camp is broken up. They
demobilize next week, didn’t you say?
BASIL. They were planning to. But there’s no telling what will happen
with these new complications.
LYDIA. Fiddlesticks! You needn’t tell me that we’re going to fight
again. We’ve got peace at last, haven’t we? We’ve got the victory,
haven’t we?
BASIL. I wonder. If we have, I don’t think much of what they call the
fruits of victory.
LYDIA. Fruits of victory! I don’t see much of them in this house.
[_Gertrude, in shabby black clothes, white, sullen, and weary, comes in
at the left._]
GERTRUDE. That last shower did the business. The kitchen roof is
leaking like a sieve. Give me the mending, Mother.
LYDIA. There’s enough for two. Shoddy stuff they sell us nowadays.
GERTRUDE. [_Sits left of table, with mending._] There’s a half day’s
work to do on that roof. We need an able-bodied man—and the money to
pay him.
LYDIA. Well, Robert will be home very soon now. And when he takes hold
of things—
GERTRUDE. We can’t do much without ready money. And every penny is
eaten up with the new taxes.
PROFESSOR. It is entirely the fault of the ministry. They should
have stood out for a proper war indemnity. They should have made the
foreigners pay for all our losses.
BASIL. And what the devil were the foreigners to pay with? I tell you,
they’re worse off than we are.
LYDIA [_going to sit on the settle near Basil_]. O sonny, how can that
be possible?
PROFESSOR. Well, well! Here’s Kate at last. And high time, I should
think.
[_Katherine comes in with Thomas at the terrace door. She wears a plain
and inexpensive walking suit, hat, and blouse. She looks older by ten
years._]
PROFESSOR. You are late, Katherine.
[_Thomas gives the Professor a newspaper, which the old man eagerly
spreads open._]
KATHERINE. I’m sorry, Uncle. The road was a bit heavy. Here’s a letter
for you, Trudie!
GERTRUDE. Why, it’s from Margaret. It’s months since we’ve had a word
from her.
BASIL. Give us a look-in, Uncle.
PROFESSOR. Most annoying! [_Going to Basil._] Only one penny paper a
day, and at a crisis like this—a national crisis. [_Sits on the chair
beside Basil and shares the paper with him._]
THOMAS. Aunt Katherine! Can I go out and play a little?
KATHERINE. Yes, dear. Stay in the garden, remember. [_Puts her hat and
coat in the closet._]
THOMAS. Yes, I will.
[_Thomas goes out at the terrace door._]
BASIL. Well, it looks squally, all right.
GERTRUDE. Bad news, Basil?
PROFESSOR. At least we are in better shape than we were two years ago.
We have an efficient army of seasoned men.
BASIL. Seasoned like me, eh?
LYDIA. We’re not going to fight again?
KATHERINE. It’s nothing but talk, Mother. [_Sits right of table, takes
mending._]
BASIL. We have cause enough to fight, and don’t you forget it.
PROFESSOR. Yes. The conduct of our late associates in arms has violated
every usage of international law.
BASIL. We’ll teach ’em a thing or two. And we’ve got those that will
help us.
KATHERINE. You don’t really think we’ll fight against our old comrades?
PROFESSOR. In the shift of events that is not altogether impossible.
LYDIA. You mean we’ll actually fight now on the side of the foreigners?
Ignorant wretches!
BASIL. Oh, they’re not half bad, Mother. Really they’re much more our
sort than our old associates. They were mighty decent to me, you know,
when I was off my head, before Kate found me.
PROFESSOR. The foreigners are not the worst of people, Lydia. Philip
now, he was a quite likable young man.
[_Gertrude listens tensely._]
BASIL. He wasn’t a half bad sort, old Phil.
PROFESSOR [_turning to his paper_]. Killed in action, didn’t you say,
Kate?
KATHERINE [_rising_]. Yes. He was killed in a raid at St. Jo’s.
Instantly killed. [_Goes to the window at right._]
LYDIA. Poor fellow! At least it’s a comfort to think that he did not
suffer. You have that to remember, Gertrude.
GERTRUDE. Oh, yes! I remember. [_Rises and goes with her letter into
the bow-window._]
BASIL. Poor old Phil!
PROFESSOR [_reading the paper_]. Tut, tut! Shocking! Most shocking!
BASIL. Let’s see, sir. [_Glancing at the paper._] Ah, that’s rotten!
LYDIA. What is it?
BASIL. Getting nasty, our late comrades in arms. Women of ours have
been attacked among them. Oh, I say! Little children—butchered!
KATHERINE. Basil! Two years ago, those are the same stories they told
about Phil’s countrymen.
GERTRUDE. Here’s interesting news. Margaret is to be married.
KATHERINE. Not Margaret— Hush!
[_Lydia lays a hand on Basil’s arm._]
BASIL. It doesn’t matter. Who waits for a man as good as dead?
GERTRUDE. She can forget. There are such women. Isn’t she lucky?
[_Turns to the door._]
LYDIA. Where are you going?
GERTRUDE. Out where the garden used to be.
[_Gertrude goes out at the terrace door._]
LYDIA [_rising_]. Perhaps I’d better follow her. It’s the old folks
have to tend upon the young folks now.
[_Lydia goes out at the terrace door._]
BASIL. You can have the paper, sir.
PROFESSOR. Yes, yes. [_Hurries toward the chair at the left._] The
editorials—their comments are too mild. They do not understand the
principles our late associates have shamelessly violated. [_Sits at
the left and buries himself in the coveted paper._]
KATHERINE [_laying her hand on Basil’s arm_]. Old man!
BASIL [_sharply_]. If you don’t mind letting me alone! I beg
your pardon, Kate. About all I can do now is to bite on the
bullet—gracefully, and keep on biting for a little matter of forty or
fifty years.
KATHERINE. Doctors don’t know everything. Perhaps—
BASIL. They know enough to know I’m tied to this chair till death do us
part. That’s in the marriage service, isn’t it? [_Breaking down._] Ah!
KATHERINE. Basil! Don’t! Don’t!
LYDIA [_outside, excitedly_]. Kate! O Kate!
KATHERINE. Mother! What’s wrong?
[_Lydia hurries in at the terrace door._]
LYDIA. Kate! Here’s Rob come home this very day. Here’s Rob come home
at last. I told you—I kept telling you—they couldn’t fight again. Now
we’ve got Rob back. It’s all right. It’s all right. Come in, Rob! Come
in!
[_Robert, noticeably aged, in civilian clothes, appears at the terrace
door. He has the look of a man who has just been struck in the face.
Lydia hurries down to the Professor, who rises._]
ROBERT. I—I hardly recognized the house. Kate!
KATHERINE [_going to his arms_]. You’ve come back to stay, Rob? You’re
not in uniform. Oh, I was afraid—
ROBERT [_looking about the dismantled room_]. They did a pretty
thorough job here, didn’t they?
KATHERINE. You’ll get used to it, Rob. We’re all getting used to it.
ROBERT [_in the doorway_]. Cleaned out the orchards, didn’t they? All
fruit trees, those were. Just got ’em in condition to bear.
KATHERINE. I wrote you how things were.
ROBERT. Yes. I didn’t quite take it in. [_Starts toward the hearth,
stops, smitten at the sight of Basil, then goes to him._] Hello, Bub!
Hard luck, old man! [_Gertrude appears in the doorway, unnoticed by
Robert_]. Cleaned us up here pretty well, the foreigners, didn’t they?
Cleaned us up, while we were getting ready to fight! And now we’re
turning out to help ’em thrash our old comrades in arms.
KATHERINE. What!
ROBERT. War was declared at noon to-day.
KATHERINE. War was declared!
ROBERT [_going to the Professor_]. Here’s a late paper, sir.
PROFESSOR. Thank you, Robert, thank you! [_Retires into the bow-window,
where he reads the paper, oblivious of all else._]
LYDIA. They’re going to keep on fighting! [_Goes to Basil, sits on the
settle._]
KATHERINE. But you’ve come home.
ROBERT. Yes. They only want able-bodied men for cannon fodder—young
men, strong men, not chaps like me. Knocked my heart out in the
service. Got rheumatism in those damned trenches. That’s why they gave
me my walking ticket. That’s why I’ve come home.
KATHERINE. And now we fight for the foreigners. I can’t believe it.
GERTRUDE [_coming into the room_]. Phil would have been useful now. A
pity, isn’t it, Rob, that you murdered him.
ROBERT. Trudie! What do you mean?
GERTRUDE. Ask Kate!
KATHERINE. Gertrude!
ROBERT. You talked?
LYDIA. You shan’t blame Kate. She found my boy. She brought him home.
ROBERT. You talked, Kate?
GERTRUDE. In her sleep. I know what you did to him. I’m glad you’ve
come here. At every turn of the stair—in every room of this house that
was home to him—you’ll see Phil now, as I see him, all the days of your
life.
ROBERT. Kate! In your sleep—you remembered like that?
KATHERINE. I can’t forget. I can’t forget.
ROBERT. I’d been drinking.
KATHERINE. Don’t! Don’t! I know.
ROBERT. You don’t understand. You’ve got to understand. In the trenches
that winter, with the dirty water at our knees. Days on end, weeks
on end, months on end. Always cold. Always wet. Vermin crawling over
us. Dogs’ food that we snatched like dogs. And all the time the guns
were pounding, pounding, pounding, and we shouted to be heard, and our
ear-drums were cracking. We turned up the filth and slime to bury our
dead, and we came on the rotting dead they’d laid there—
KATHERINE. Don’t! Don’t!
ROBERT. Well, I got to depending on the stuff. It deadened things. But
I never went drunk to bed till the night I got your letter—the letter
about Roland.
KATHERINE. I’m not blaming you. [_Sinking on chair, at the right of the
table._] God help us all!
ROBERT. Can’t you understand, Trudie? I was half drunk that night when
Phil— No! I don’t mean that. All that I did was right.
GERTRUDE. Your friend! He was your friend!
ROBERT. I don’t carry my friendships onto the firing line. He was
nothing to me, that chap. I was ready to make him talk. At any cost.
Yes. [_Gertrude, with a strangled cry, goes into the bow-window._]
But I didn’t do it for fun, Kate. [_Goes to the table._] To save my
own chaps from getting pounded to pieces. I was right. He’s got no
business coming into my dreams. I was right. I’ll say that to you,
Kate, just as I’ll say it to Almighty God.
KATHERINE. Oh, the long way you’ve come, since you stood together,
you three big, kind men we were so proud of, here in this very room,
fussing over a little hurt beast. The Woodsy Boy came through that
door. The boy you—
ROBERT [_sitting down opposite her_]. The conscript you saw me shoot?
That was mutiny in the ranks. I was right, under the rules of war.
KATHERINE. Only two years ago that was, only two years. It was the
day that Roland— Don’t you remember? He asked me about the picture of
Moloch.
[_Very faint, but continuously swelling louder, is heard outside at the
right the music of the March-out, heard in Act I._]
GERTRUDE. What’s that?
LYDIA. It can’t be the March-out that I hear!
[_Thomas, wildly excited, darts in at the terrace door._]
THOMAS. O Aunt Katherine! The soldiers are leaving the camp. They’ll
march right by our house.
[_Thomas darts out again._]
LYDIA. I can’t live through it again. Oh, I’m too old!
BASIL. Why don’t you throw flowers, Trudie?
[_Gertrude, with a hysteric cry, sinks upon the floor in the
bow-window._]
KATHERINE. And we thought the war was ended.
ROBERT. Thought the war was over, did you? Not a bit of it. As long as
men are men, there’ll be fighting.
LYDIA. We can’t bear any more.
KATHERINE. We’ve nothing left to give.
ROBERT. Stop crying! There’s an ocean of tears been shed already—an
ocean of blood. Doesn’t make any difference. We’re fighting still. No
end to it. God’s a joke. Got any brandy in the house, Kate? I’m dead
tired. I’m down and out. [_Rests his head on his arms upon the table._]
THOMAS [_running past the terrace door_]. Oh, the soldiers! The
soldiers! The soldiers!
KATHERINE. Moloch is hungry still.
BASIL. And I can’t go with ’em! [_Collapses, sobbing._]
KATHERINE. More of them—more of them—more of them!
ROBERT. If they’d only stop that damned noise!
KATHERINE. Marching—marching—marching—
[_The March-out is at its fortissimo._]
CURTAIN
THE END
[Illustration]
“BORZOI” stands for the best in literature in all its
branches—drama and fiction, poetry and art. “BORZOI” also
stands for unusually pleasing book-making.
BORZOI Books are good books and there is one for every taste
worthy of the name. A few are briefly described on the next page. Mr.
Knopf will be glad to see that you are notified regularly of new and
forthcoming BORZOI Books if you will send him your name and
address for that purpose. He will also see that your local dealer is
supplied.
ADDRESS THE BORZOI
220 WEST FORTY-SECOND STREET
NEW YORK
[Illustration]
THE NEW BORZOI BOOKS
_Published by_ ALFRED A. KNOPF
TALES OF THE PAMPAS By W. H. Hudson, author of “Green
Mansions.” Including what Edward Garnett calls “the finest short
story in English.” Three-color jacket. $1.25
A DRAKE! BY GEORGE! By John Trevena. A perfectly
delightful tale of Devonshire, with plot and humor a-plenty. $1.50
THE CRUSHED FLOWER From the Russian of Leonid Andreyev.
Three novelettes and some great short stories by this master. $1.50
JOURNALISM VERSUS ART By Max Eastman. A brilliant
and searching analysis of what is wrong with our magazine writing
and illustrations. Many pictures of unusual interest. $1.00
MODERN RUSSIAN HISTORY From the Russian of Alexander
Kornilov. The only work in English that comes right down to the
present day. Two volumes, boxed, per set. $5.00
THE RUSSIAN SCHOOL OF PAINTING From the Russian of
Alexandre Benois, with an introduction by Christian Brinton and
thirty-two full-page plates. The only survey in English. $3.00
SUSSEX GORSE By Sheila Kaye-Smith. A wonderfully vigorous
and powerful novel of Sussex. A really masterly book. $1.50
RUSSIA’S MESSAGE By William English Walling, with 31 illustrations.
A new and revised edition of this most important work. $2.00
WAR From the Russian of Michael Artzibashef, author of “Sanine.”
A four-act play of unusual power and strength. $1.00
MORAL From the German of Ludwig Thoma. A three-act comedy
that is unlike anything ever attempted in English. $1.00
MOLOCH By Beulah Marie Dix. Probably the most thrilling play
ever written about war. $1.00
THE INSPECTOR-GENERAL From the Russian of Nicolai
Gogol, author of “Taras Bulba.” The first adequate version in
English of this masterpiece of comedy. $1.00
THE SHAVING OF SHAGPAT A handsome holiday edition
of George Meredith’s Arabian Entertainment. With fifteen beautiful
plates and an introduction by George Eliot. Quarto. $5.00
_All prices are net._
220 WEST FORTY-SECOND STREET, NEW YORK
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTE
Except for those changes noted below, all misspellings in the text,
and inconsistent or archaic usage, have been retained.
Inconsistent hyphenations have been left as is.
Page 56: “Katherine” typeface corrected from small caps to italics.
Page 74: “froom” replaced by “from”.
Page 83: “Phil Pray?” replaced by “Phil. Pray?”.
Page 92: “replaced table].” replaced by “table.]”.
*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MOLOCH ***
Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will
be renamed.
Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright
law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works,
so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United
States without permission and without paying copyright
royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part
of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project
Gutenberg™ electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG™
concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark,
and may not be used if you charge for an eBook, except by following
the terms of the trademark license, including paying royalties for use
of the Project Gutenberg trademark. If you do not charge anything for
copies of this eBook, complying with the trademark license is very
easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose such as creation
of derivative works, reports, performances and research. Project
Gutenberg eBooks may be modified and printed and given away—you may
do practically ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks not protected
by U.S. copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the trademark
license, especially commercial redistribution.
START: FULL LICENSE
THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG™ LICENSE
PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK
To protect the Project Gutenberg™ mission of promoting the free
distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work
(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase “Project
Gutenberg”), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full
Project Gutenberg License available with this file or online at
www.gutenberg.org/license.
Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg
electronic works
1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg
electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to
and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property
(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all
the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or
destroy all copies of Project Gutenberg electronic works in your
possession. If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a
Project Gutenberg electronic work and you do not agree to be bound
by the terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person
or entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8.
1.B. “Project Gutenberg” is a registered trademark. It may only be
used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who
agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few
things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg electronic works
even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See
paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project
Gutenberg electronic works if you follow the terms of this
agreement and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg
electronic works. See paragraph 1.E below.
1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation (“the
Foundation” or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection
of Project Gutenberg electronic works. Nearly all the individual
works in the collection are in the public domain in the United
States. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law in the
United States and you are located in the United States, we do not
claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing,
displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as
all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope
that you will support the Project Gutenberg mission of promoting
free access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg
works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the
Project Gutenberg name associated with the work. You can easily
comply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the
same format with its attached full Project Gutenberg License when
you share it without charge with others.
1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern
what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are
in a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States,
check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this
agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing,
distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any
other Project Gutenberg work. The Foundation makes no
representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any
country other than the United States.
1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:
1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other
immediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg License must appear
prominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg work (any work
on which the phrase “Project Gutenberg” appears, or with which the
phrase “Project Gutenberg” is associated) is accessed, displayed,
performed, viewed, copied or distributed:
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most
other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
of the Project Gutenberg™ License included with this eBook or online
at www.gutenberg.org. If you
are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws
of the country where you are located before using this eBook.
1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg electronic work is
derived from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not
contain a notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the
copyright holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in
the United States without paying any fees or charges. If you are
redistributing or providing access to a work with the phrase “Project
Gutenberg” associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply
either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or
obtain permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg
trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.
1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg electronic work is posted
with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution
must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any
additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms
will be linked to the Project Gutenberg License for all works
posted with the permission of the copyright holder found at the
beginning of this work.
1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg
License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this
work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg.
1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this
electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without
prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with
active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project
Gutenberg License.
1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary,
compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including
any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access
to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg work in a format
other than “Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other format used in the official
version posted on the official Project Gutenberg website
(www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense
to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means
of obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original “Plain
Vanilla ASCII” or other form. Any alternate format must include the
full Project Gutenberg License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.
1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying,
performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg works
unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.
1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing
access to or distributing Project Gutenberg electronic works
provided that:
• You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from
the use of Project Gutenberg works calculated using the method
you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed
to the owner of the Project Gutenberg trademark, but he has
agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid
within 60 days following each date on which you prepare (or are
legally required to prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty
payments should be clearly marked as such and sent to the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the address specified in
Section 4, “Information about donations to the Project Gutenberg
Literary Archive Foundation.”
• You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies
you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he
does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg™
License. You must require such a user to return or destroy all
copies of the works possessed in a physical medium and discontinue
all use of and all access to other copies of Project Gutenberg™
works.
• You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of
any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the
electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of
receipt of the work.
• You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free
distribution of Project Gutenberg™ works.
1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project
Gutenberg™ electronic work or group of works on different terms than
are set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing
from the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the manager of
the Project Gutenberg™ trademark. Contact the Foundation as set
forth in Section 3 below.
1.F.
1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable
effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread
works not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the Project
Gutenberg™ collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg™
electronic works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may
contain “Defects,” such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate
or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other
intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or
other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or
cannot be read by your equipment.
1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the “Right
of Replacement or Refund” described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project
Gutenberg™ trademark, and any other party distributing a Project
Gutenberg™ electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all
liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal
fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT
LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE
PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE
TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE
LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR
INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH
DAMAGE.
1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a
defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can
receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a
written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you
received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium
with your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you
with the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in
lieu of a refund. If you received the work electronically, the person
or entity providing it to you may choose to give you a second
opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If
the second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing
without further opportunities to fix the problem.
1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth
in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you ‘AS-IS’, WITH NO
OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT
LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.
1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied
warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of
damages. If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement
violates the law of the state applicable to this agreement, the
agreement shall be interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or
limitation permitted by the applicable state law. The invalidity or
unenforceability of any provision of this agreement shall not void the
remaining provisions.
1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the
trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone
providing copies of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works in
accordance with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the
production, promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg™
electronic works, harmless from all liability, costs and expenses,
including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of
the following which you do or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this
or any Project Gutenberg work, (b) alteration, modification, or
additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg work, and (c) any
Defect you cause.
Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg
Project Gutenberg is synonymous with the free distribution of
electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of
computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It
exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations
from people in all walks of life.
Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the
assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg’s
goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg collection will
remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure
and permanent future for Project Gutenberg and future
generations. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary
Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, see
Sections 3 and 4 and the Foundation information page at www.gutenberg.org.
Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation
The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non-profit
501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the
state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal
Revenue Service. The Foundation’s EIN or federal tax identification
number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary
Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by
U.S. federal laws and your state’s laws.
The Foundation’s business office is located at 41 Watchung Plaza #516,
Montclair NJ 07042, USA, +1 (862) 621-9288. Email contact links and up
to date contact information can be found at the Foundation’s website
and official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact
Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg
Literary Archive Foundation
Project Gutenberg™ depends upon and cannot survive without widespread
public support and donations to carry out its mission of
increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be
freely distributed in machine-readable form accessible by the widest
array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations
($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt
status with the IRS.
The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating
charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United
States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a
considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up
with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations
where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND
DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular state
visit www.gutenberg.org/donate.
While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we
have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition
against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who
approach us with offers to donate.
International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make
any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from
outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.
Please check the Project Gutenberg web pages for current donation
methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other
ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. To
donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate.
Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg electronic works
Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project
Gutenberg concept of a library of electronic works that could be
freely shared with anyone. For forty years, he produced and
distributed Project Gutenberg eBooks with only a loose network of
volunteer support.
Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed
editions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in
the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not
necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper
edition.
Most people start at our website which has the main PG search
facility: www.gutenberg.org.
This website includes information about Project Gutenberg,
including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary
Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to
subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.
